I’m Moving to Canada. Part Two: How?

 

I’m Moving to Canada. Part Two: How?

[Originally posted in December 2021] 

So many of you have asked such good questions about our move that I felt compelled to untangle everything I could for you. In Part One of this two-parter, I explained why we made the life-changing decision to become permanent residents of Canada. In this post, I’ll do my best to explain how we went about it, what it takes, and try to provide more answers to your questions. I’ll be going into painstaking detail, because my challenges may help you figure out solutions to yours.

Keep in mind, though, that every situation is different. There are so many factors involved, including age, financial situation, family members, jobs, costs, logistics, and way more that I can’t possibly address here. Part Two is how we did it based on our own requirements and needs. Yours will differ. But hopefully, I can offer a guideline or 12 that will help. I’m no expert, and I found the whole process a little confusing and unnecessarily complicated simply because the Canadian government site roadmaps were so unclear.

Seriously, it was like buying an Ikea product composed of a million parts with instructions that omitted the obvious, and you’re stressed before even opening the box. But once you figure it out, you look back and say, “It’s not that hard if someone would just tell you step-by-step what to do.”

And we even had a top immigration lawyer to navigate for us!

The entire process took 3 years or so. The first few months were figuring out how and what to do. The following 2+ years were actually doing it. Originally, it was supposed to take 2 years until we were processed. Then COVID happened and our lawyer told us it was upped to 30 months. Then 36 months. Then, magically, after just over 2 years, we found out our applications were finally being processed! We were told that once submitted, it would take 2 to 4 months to find out if we got in.

To our utter surprise, it took 2 days!

We made it in and we were stunned, ecstatic, scared, intimidated, and relieved. Now comes the part where we have to plan the move. We’re required to “visit” British Columbia within 6 months, which is fine because we already booked a trip for next June. Once we visit in June, the clock starts ticking: Starting as of that trip, we must live in Canada for 2 out of 5 years. Any increments will do: weeks, days, months, years, it’s up to us. If we fail to do that, our permanent resident status is revoked.

Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a problem, but we have specific personal issues to contend with: Mr. Laffy’s 95-year-old father lives here, and we won’t leave him. So our obstacles will include having to rent for a year to give us time to look for a place to buy, and doing that without living up there. We’ll be splitting our time so we can be with him. And we may not rent at all, we may just buy. Who knows? We’d like to hang onto our house, which we’ll need to sell in order to buy up there. See? I warned you in Part One this would be complicated.

And speaking of complicated, here comes the How part, the mechanics.

Let’s start from the beginning.

The very first thing we did was go here. And here. And here. And here. And here. After we did that, we looked like this:

Then a dear friend and Twitter pal (RIP Miss Myrtle) who lived in Vancouver sent along an article similar to this one (our lawyer is number 3 on the list, Ian Goldman). It costs a ton of money to hire an immigration lawyer. We needed one because there was no way we could do this on our own. We’re way past the age of people who Canada usually allows in, so we needed all the help and advice we could get. And we are so so fortunate that we could afford him.

There is a point system that the Canadian government uses to qualify you. Each and every little thing adds or subtracts points, like, as I said, age. Also, what you do for a living matters, because there are certain vocations that are in demand up there. You get points for those. Here’s a sample of a points list, but keep in mind, there is no “one list” that everyone uses. Ours was different than the one our twins will have to use.

For example, Mr. Laffy is a TV producer with a good income. We found out that the company that owns his show “Naked and Afraid” is based… in Canada! So we really lucked out. He got a letter we needed from the head of TV up there saying he could possibly get work based on some shows he could pitch to them, fulfilling a major requirement. Key words: “could possibly,” “could pitch.” There was no need to prove he would get a job in Canada, just that it was feasible, and we had to show proof of that.

Our twins, on the other hand, have to go back to college, even though they have their M.A.’s and careers and are in their 30s. Why? Because their easiest and best route is to attend classes for a year in order to get a one-year work permit. Or, they could go for 2 years and get a three-year work permit. Once they get the permit, they can hopefully find work. Once they find work, they can become permanent residents pretty easily. AND, as it turns out, their vocations are in demand. That’s our next hurdle, by the way: getting their ball rolling.

Another requirement: Taking an English exam. Nonono, it’s not your typical high school English test. Just because your first language is English doesn’t make it easy to score points. And remember, every point matters. No, this is more like taking an S.A.T. exam. It’s an all-day affair divided into several sections. One section consists of listening to a conversation between two not-American people, so their accents and colloquialisms (like “aught” instead of zero) are unfamiliar, making it difficult to understand some of what they’re saying. Then you have to answer a bunch of questions about what they said.

You also have to write an essay. Did I mention a one-on-one interview during which a subject is given to you and you have to expound? It may be an everyday subject, but you must go on and on as if you’re selling a product on QVC, during which they prod you along with questions. Then there’s another section in which you’re given a dense paragraph about a boring topic like some industry you’re unfamiliar with, and you have to answer questions. It’s a little like reading the Encyclopedia Britannica (I told you I was old).

Another major requirement is an FBI background check. We had to get fingerprinted. Twice. Well, to be more precise, I had to get mine done about 5 times because they didn’t “take.” I finally had to give up and write a letter explaining that this was common and show proof that I tried repeatedly. After we found out that we were finally being processed, we had to submit new ones (see end of post). FYI, mine finally “took” that time. Yay!

The background check also included all kinds of obscure documents and forms. We had to give them photos of our passports. I had to drive to downtown L.A. (an hour away) to get proof of my divorce from 1975! They ask you to provide the dates of deaths of parents (right down to the day, which I couldn’t remember easily). We had to pay a qualified, approved photographer to take photos that looked like mug shots that had to have very specific dimensions.

Of course, we had to cough up our tax returns and financial statements showing net worth (Hi, Trump!), and documentation of our education, from kindergarten through college.

There may have been more, but you get the idea.

Whew!

We sent all of those things to our lawyer, who tweaked some of it, or would ask us for letters of explanation or request some other odds and ends. He eventually submitted, and we waited.

And waited.

We waited for two-plus long, anxiety-filled years.

We took a trip to Canada in September/October 2021 to scout neighborhoods on the off-chance that we would be accepted. We found an excellent realtor and got to meet Lawyer Ian.

Both surpassed expectations. So did Port Moody, where we’ll make our home. And yes, our pup Hamilton loved Canada, and Canada loved him.

Last month we got word that they were finally processing us, but needed us to fill out yet another form, submit more fingerprints, and get yet another letter from Mr. Laffy’s work contact in Ontario. Everything was due on December 18th. If we missed that deadline, fuggetaboutit.

Last Thursday, December 16th, we found out they never received our fingerprints (thanks DeJoy). We scrambled (don’t ask) and got them scanned and sent electronically (vs ink) on Friday, December 17th. Done. Just in the nick of time.

Last Tuesday, December 21, 2021, we found out we got in. We. Got. In.

And with any luck, we’ll live happily ever after.

I know this saga was endless, but honestly, I get asked so many questions about so many details that I decided to be as thorough as I could. I truly hope this helps.

Now we’ll have two home countries to love, some peace of mind, and an amazing new adventure. Wish us luck.

UPDATE: The above post was originally written in December 2021. Since then, sadly, my father-in-law did pass away recently, and we’re now moving to Canada permanently in May 2024. Our sons are currently living in the Port Moody townhouse we leased in September 2022, going to classes for 2 years (see above), and will get their 3-year work permits. Meantime, both have jobs (having student permits allows them to work) but will have to find full-time work in order to help qualify for permanent residency status. We’ll sell our California house and hope to buy a new one in Port Moody, although there are VERY few available. 

Plus, in case all of this isn’t complicated enough, we’re required to be in Canada for 6 straight months (which we were unable to do while caring for Father-in-Law… We’d go up for a month at a time to satisfy our residency requirements, then come back down to be with him) in order to finally get an Medical Services Plan (MSP) card so that we can get a family doctor. And family doctors are in very short supply, have waiting lists, and finding one could take a year (health care is still available, via clinics and urgent care). Again, permanent residents do get free health care. The only thing we can’t do is vote. We’re still U.S. citizens. 

I could go on forever, but this is where I’ll stop… til next time (Part 3).

I’m Moving to Canada. Part One: Why?

 

I’m Moving to Canada. Part One: Why?

[This was originally posted in December 2021 and has been updated]

When George W. Bush frauded his way into the White House, I cried for two days. My twins watched me, and they didn’t understand why. I tried to explain to them why I was sad. Little did I know that my worst fears about a Bush presidency would be realized, and then some.

When Donald Trump duped 62,984,828 Americans into voting for him– 2,868,686 fewer votes than Hillary Clinton got– and somehow became the *shudder* President of the United States, I cried for two weeks straight. This time I knew what was coming. Hell, I knew what was coming in 2015 when The Former Guy opened his big racist mouth after his infamous escalator ride. But I was wrong. It was exponentially worse than I anticipated.

Both literally and figuratively, I haven’t stopped crying since 2016, not only because of the tragic disaster of November 8, 2016, but because of the inescapable, nagging feeling of impending doom after having observed the proliferation and increasing intensity of his rabid supporters.

Watching fellow Americans openly revere such a despicable misogynistic, racist, bigoted fraud, serial sexual assaulter, twice-impeached abysmal failure, inveterate liar, and criminal who disdains the same fawning lemmings who were/are stupid enough to fork out millions to keep him afloat in cash, is beyond disheartening. It’s downright scary. 

And now, after years of T.F.G.’s browbeating a willfully ignorant electorate and an obedient Republican Party while exploiting his giant Hitlerian, media-amplified mic, what’s left of  democracy is barely hanging on by a thread. Yikes.

Trump junkies– astonishingly including, our own members of Congress– are giving the finger to us and a thumbs up to the violent January 6th coup, winking and nodding at white supremacist domestic terrorists. (I can’t believe I’m typing these words.) Q-aNazis are openly salivating at the prospect of shooting people like you and me, gleefully fantasizing about murdering rational citizens who cherish our voting rights, our legal system, and a small-d democratic government. 

Because of the anti-democracy party, formerly known as the GOP, not only are our freedoms in peril, but so are our very lives. 

Which brings me to COVID. These very same zealots are also anti-science, something unimaginable to me only two years ago. They choose insane conspiracy theories, eating magic dirt, bleach injections, and self-imposed illness over life-saving vaccines. They choose death over masks. “Pro-life” my ass.

And this hardcore mania is not letting up. In fact, it’s getting worse. The crescendo of irrationality is overwhelming. Congressional Democrats who try to stop this lethal crisis-gush are being stopped cold by members of their own party. It’s hard to see how this ends well. I care so deeply about this country, and watching it writhe in distress is excruciating.

Like you, I’ve struggled emotionally, tried assiduously to remain optimistic, or at least somewhat hopeful, giving every benefit of the doubt to “the process,” to elected officials who are genuinely and actively trying to win this war. I’ve hung on every word from legal warriors like Marc Elias who go to court on our behalf to do everything in their power to save what’s left of our beautiful country. 

Sometimes they win. Marc Elias wins a lot. But he can’t win the war, only the battles. He’s said so himself. Republicans are trying to change current and future election outcomes. It’s up to Congress to make laws that can undo some of the damage, but… well… Manchin, Sinema, and of course, the anti-democracy party.

And let’s not forget the oodles of courts stacked with Trump judges that Elias and others are up against. Nor can we ignore the ultimate horrific nightmare that is the 6-3 Trump Supreme Court, who, as we speak, keeps chipping away at every gain we’ve made, whether it be voting rights, women’s rights, gay rights, civil rights, racial justice, economic equality, you name it. There’s no stopping them now, they’ve only just begun (bye-bye abortion and birth control).

I’m old, I’ve seen a lot. I’ve protested a lot. I’ve marched, demonstrated, and have been tear-gassed. I’ve written, vocalized, called, emailed, tweeted, used my voice on radio and podcasts for years and years. When I had a career as a comedy writer, director, actress, it never occurred to me that I’d end up as a political commentator and activist. Yet here I am and here we are. And right about now I, like many of you, am feeling pretty unheard, pretty impotent, and definitely not funny.

After decades of hopeful effort, it’s feelings of angst, anguish, frustration, and dread that stubbornly recur. It shouldn’t be like this. And it’s kind of maddening, because I’m generally pretty perky and goofy. But over the past few years, outrage and despondency are breaking and entering my thoughts, sleep, and well-being. Insecurity has loomed where comedy once romped. I miss feeling safe. I want my family to feel safe. 

I need a breather. I need to know there’s a place for us where open-carry isn’t a thing, where strident fanatics aren’t stopping traffic on my lovely, quiet neighborhood streets with their Trump-flag-adorned truck caravans. I need to know my neighbors don’t want to hurt me, do away with my Jewish family and gay children. I need a place where misguided hatred, violence, threats, and slavish devotion to a mentally unstable, vicious, vengeful, wannabe king aren’t around every corner. 

So.

A few years ago, we did it. We looked around, profoundly alarmed at what we saw, put aside our fretting, and took action. We applied for permanent residency in Canada. 

British Columbia, to be precise. 

Vancouver area to be more precise. 

Port Moody to be precisely precise. 

My family used to take month-long road trips to Canada starting when I was 6 years old. I love it there, always have. It’s a welcoming, friendly, gorgeous country, and, despite going from sunny Southern California to a rainier, cooler climate, we said Yes to moving. (Sidebar: To those who keep tweeting me about that, the area, with occasional exceptions, “has relatively mild winters with little snow.”) We can deal with rain and snow, we can’t deal with fascism. We can’t deal with the growing velocity of Hurricane Insurrection. And after many many conversations, lots of analysis, both self, practical, and political, we made the decision to take the plunge and apply. 

It’s one of the most momentous– at once exhilarating and agonizing– choices we’ve ever made. But it’s so worth it to have some peace of mind, a safe haven, a viable option, a sense of security.

No place is perfect. Canada sure isn’t. I’ve had my share of Twitter trolls and pals remind me of that. I’m aware. But at this stage of my life, I could use some comfort. My mental and physical health depend on it. It took every bit of courage and determination we had to make such a life-changing move. The challenges are enormous, but the rewards are too.

One of my (now former) Twitter followers accused me of being “cowardly” because he made the faulty assumption that I would no longer vote or engage politically. Wrong. We will still be U.S. citizens. We were accepted as permanent residents, not Canadian citizens. 

We’ll still vote in U.S. elections, I’ll still be sitting at my same computer, tweeting my little smart ass tweets, sharing breaking news, trying to inform, making bad jokes, playing Whack A Troll, ranting with my dear friend and host Nicole Sandler on her show, and fighting hard for democracy… from up north. And sometimes from the U.S. too. This is more complicated than it sounds.

And for those who are interested in why it’s complicated and the mechanics of achieving permanent residency in Canada, here's a link to "I’m Moving to Canada. Part Two: How?"