Canadians: Tell Your Stories

So, for my Canadian reader: you know how irritating it is that Americans don't really know what's going on up here?

You know how annoying it is to meet Americans because they invariably say "Hey, do you know my friend Gayle's cousin Levi in Calgary?" Or "Banff is beautiful!" Because there aren't many folks up here, right, and it's not THAT big a place, so you probably live close to Banff, right?

Now Americans are finally looking to Canada, talking about the healthcare system. The thing is, most of them are using a sample of their friend Gayle's cousin Levi in Calgary who they think maybe said he had to wait for a knee replacement, or was it that his sister had to go to a big hospital in Calgary instead of a regional hospital for her heart catheterization...anyway, ol' Levi had some complaint about it, so it sucks and anyway, Americans don't want to be socialists.

Here's your chance to tell your own story. The Huffington Post yesterday ran a story about their own unscientific survey of Canadians and their attitudes toward their healthcare system--and at the bottom, they invite more people to chime in. Here are your instructions:

We would like to hear from other Canadians about which they would prefer: The universal Canadian health care or what is currently offered in the U.S.?

Tell us about the strengths and the weaknesses of the Canadian system as opposed to its southern neighbor. And if you'd like, share a personal story that illustrates how the system works, or doesn't.

So, if you have participated in the Canadian health care system and would like to weigh in, please send your responses to: HealthCareEh@gmail.com.

Consider these your marching orders. Go tell your story!

Many thanks to my first-born brother for calling my attention to this opportunity.

My Brother's Artwork

One of the great benefits of surviving the Crapture is having all my remaining, er, crap, in a--hmm--pile. As in, just one pile. So basically, this is where I live, and all my stuff is here, too.

The second great benefit to the Crapture is having access to your entire past. When one's parents save crap the way my parents saved everything, even the fifth child winds up with a lot of stuff. Report cards from the Dawn of Time. Locks of my hair. Teeth purchased back from the Tooth Fairy. Cards from the baby shower the ladies of First United Methodist Church gave for my mother. Cards from my birth. Cards from my first birthday.

I was particularly looking forward to seeing my school papers. My sister has artwork from her childhood framed in her home. Surely my mother saved some of mine.

Well, she did, all right. Here's one:

Apparently, as a baby, I admired Jackson Pollock.

Apparently I also wasn't encouraged to draw as often as my older siblings were. As the five of us went through the house, we found endless pictures of houses with families standing outside holding hands, contributed by my sister. The swamp scenes showing innumerable and varied dinosaurs, all snarling, came from oldest brother. Even my middle brother had scenes saved for posterity. His were armies of dogs (all named Morgan, after his favorite stuffed dog) doing battle with other dog armies.

But the acknowledged family artist was my youngest brother--five years older than I am. He took extra art classes, and it showed. At least I thought so. So when he was getting rid of his juvenile art, I went behind him picking up the leavings.

I had the pieces framed and they're up in the house. And I like them! See?

This is in the master bathroom, which is sunny yellow (where it's not paneled). The iris was obviously destined for that room.

Here's a couple more:

Above the living room fireplace.

At the bottom of the stairs, on the way to my office.

Yes, I have decorated my "forever" home with childhood artwork--and sadly, it's not even my artwork. Somewhere, home decorators are screaming and pulling their hair out.

Let 'em, I say.

Why It's Broken

Here's a tale about the healthcare system in the U.S. Before I give you the link, here are the usual caveats.

No, it's not the only story about the U.S. healthcare system. About two years ago, I wrote that I was glad that my father was in the U.S. during his last illness. At least that was a system I understood, somewhat.

Here's another individual's saga: How I Lost My Health Insurance at the Hairstylist's. Please read it. Then you'll understand how unfair a system can be.

The Important Word: "System"

Because I'm sure everyone wants to know what I think about healthcare (is that laughter?)...here it is, short (for me) and sweet.

The current healthcare system in the U.S. tends not to cover the very sick. Insurance companies don't like to cover the very people who NEED coverage because then insurance companies lose money. That's why so many people in the U.S. have to sell their homes or hold fund-raisers to cover the costs of being catastrophically sick.

As I have said before, the Canadian healthcare system has its pros and cons. One of its biggest downsides is that it tends not to cover those who are well. Seriously: The sicker you are, the higher up the list you get. On the up side, when you are sick, you're cared for. Still, lack of early access to the system makes it more difficult to catch problems early.

But the real problem, in both countries, is that healthcare is a system. Systems are, among other things, abstract ways to group individual concrete elements.

Which is fine, until you're the individual concrete element, and it's your knee that prevents you from walking, and the waiting list for knee replacements is a year. Or when you have an aggressive cancer, for which a new treatment shows promise--but that treatment isn't covered by your insurance company.

Models and systems always have cracks, through which individuals always fall. Yes, it stinks. However, you can get better systems and models when you accurately define the goal in the first place--and when people know what that goal is.

So what's the goal? Decent healthcare for as many people as possible? Designer healthcare for those who can afford it? Both? Neither? Something in between?

Whatever your answer, remember that someday you--YOUR child, YOUR parent, YOUR spouse--WILL be the one falling through the cracks. It WILL happen. Does that change anything?

Uh-huh. Thought so.

Twice in One Week, Amigo

You don't hear about Mexico much up here. Or anyway, I don't, not compared to what one hears in the States.

Perhaps it's because most Canadians in this part of the country come from England/Scotland, Scandinavia, or Italy. People do pay some attention to the parts of the world where they, or their grandparents, emigrated from. The Queen also keeps the UK on the minds of Canadians. And then there's that big elephant to the south.

In comparison, Mexico just doesn't register, except as part of the world where one might go sometime between January and March. And often, the Dominican Republic has better deals on its beach vacations.

Even the H1N1 virus quickly became about the flu and its spread, not about Mexico.

I do understand that Mexico is in the news more often in BC. The link there is drug trafficking and organized crime, and connections between the drug trade in BC and Mexico. But BC to Canadians is a little like California is to Americans--a universe unto itself.

So for central Canada to suddenly have two stories about Mexico--well, it was rare.

First, two women from Thunder Bay could finally rest easily again. In 2006, they were on vacation in Mexico at a resort when a couple from Toronto was killed there. Ever since, for inexplicable reasons, they were considered "suspects" who were somehow involved in this case. However, they were recently declared to be in the clear. What an ordeal for them and what a relief now.

As you might imagine, this story prompted lots of questions about the competence of Mexican policing and investigative services. Why would they consider these women as suspects? Did they try to pin the crime on other tourists in an effort to maintain the belief that Mexico's resorts are safe except for rogue Canadian moms? (Um, probably.)

Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What a cost--financial and emotional--for no reason.

And second, as of last week, Canada now requires visas from Mexicans traveling to Canada for any reason. At the same time, Canada's immigration officials reinstated a visa requirement for the Czech Republic (it was suspended about 18 months ago). The Czech Republic immediately implemented the "Oh yeah, well..." response (aka "I know you are but what am I?" and "I'm rubber, you're glue" and "You can't fire me, I quit!") by withdrawing its ambassador. Mexican officials are still expressing disappointment and hoping to influence policy through discussions.

The reason for the requirements, according to Canada Immigration, is the rise in requests for political asylum from those two countries. Canada is proud of having an open door to immigrants, but at times, the requests for immigration apparently overwhelm the system. My permanent residence was granted some 10 months after I submitted the reams of supporting paper (the compiling process took six months). This processing time was considered "lightning fast"--and I was obviously not going to have difficulty supporting myself. So yeah, the bureaucracy has lots of papers passing through.

Canadian tourism officials naturally aren't excited about the new visa requirements for Mexico. Certainly tourism from Asia and Europe is down this summer--who can afford it? Though tourists from Mexico didn't exactly flock to Canada, they did come, and now they have to jump through more hoops to get here. With the new U.S. visa requirements for those traveling from Mexico, officials here had hoped tourism from Mexico could increase.

This visa requirement has prompted discussions of the difference between political refugees and economic refugees. During the first 50 years of the 20th century, Canada accepted many immigrants from various parts of Europe; these people were more or less economic refugees--my husband's parents among them.

Obviously, economic refugees have helped Canada's economy in the past. Why are we viewing them with suspicion now? It can't be simply because they're checking (ticking) off the wrong box on their forms. Or is this Canada's over-reaction to the weakened global economy--the indirect version of "buy Canadian"?

I'm all in favor of discussions. Learning about the different reasons people move is fabulous. But I'm also grateful that Canada doesn't require all its immigrants to live in refugee camps before they consider their immigration requests.

A Little Whine

Just to be clear: I'm not the one whining. However, Canadians who want to pay less than $10 a bottle for a Canadian-made wine are. Or maybe they aren't--but what they're buying isn't exactly Canadian.

Canada sells wines that are "cellared in Canada." That means that about 30 percent of the wine is made in Canada from Canadian grapes. The rest is wine that's imported, in bulk, from somewhere else (France, Australia, California), and blended with the Canadian stuff. Then, presumably, it goes through all the rest of the hoop-de-do wine goes through, including being stored in a cellar while
flavo(u)rs blend or ripen or whatever it is they do. Hence the term.

In Ontario, it's sold in the "Canadian Wines" section of the liquor store, but if you know what signage to look for and read labels, you can see what's "cellared" in Canada vs. what may be more properly termed a "Canadian" wine.

The lines between what's Canadian and what's not are blurry, neither from excess wine consumption nor from tears at paying more than $10 for the bottle. That's all I'm sayin'.

For an interesting discussion of "Cellared in Canada" and the grape industry, go to this story by Alan McGinty.

Buy Eh-merican

I have been known to hold forth a time or two about things that I believe in. (See posts with "soapbox" labels.)

Recently, I have struggled again with what it means to "buy American" or "buy Canadian," expecially as those concepts intersect with "buy local." One example I used was apples, and how Wisconsin apples are more "local" here in Thunder Bay than BC apples are.

The New York Times recently ran an interactive feature that helps make my point in relation to the auto industry. Go here. It's pretty cool. Not a fabulous example of interactivity but not bad for a staid, traditional print newspaper.

Anyway, it's useful. You can see from this feature that, for example, the Mazda B-series pickup is assembled in St. Paul, MN, from transmissions that come from either Japan or France and engines from either Germany or the U.S. So are Mazdas assembled in Minnesota really "furrin" cars?

But what about a Ford, a quintessential "Murrican" vehicle? The Ford Explorer, say? Well, according to this feature, the Kentucky plant takes transmissions from the U.S. or France, adds in engines from Germany or the U.S., and makes an "American" car.

So yes, it's possible that all the parts come from the U.S. and are assembled in the U.S. But it's also possible that these "American" cars are part Canadian, part Mexican, part European, and part Asian.

Now scroll down to the bottom. Here are "American" cars assembled in Mexico and Canada.

And can I just add that it's entirely possible that a car fully manufactured and assembled in the U.S.--even from U.S.-made components and raw materials (unlikely)--is made in a plant using energy that relies on oil imported from Canada?

One part of this whole "buy whatever" discussion that makes me nuts is that for years--decades--we've heard lots about the "global economy" and the "shrinking world" we live in.

As in: "We take advantage of today's global economy to outsource our materials acquisitions to Canada and Africa, our customer service to Brazil and India, our manufacturing to Indonesia and South Korea, and our marketing to citizen journalists, all of which lets us rightsize our domestic workforce and achieve economies of scale." Bleah.

So suddenly those international agreements and supposed advantages of the global marketplace aren't important? What?

How about, instead of buying "American," we buy things we need instead of things we want? Let's buy high-quality things that are designed well, work well, and last a long time. Let's make art and tell each other stories. Let's take care of each other, including those in other countries whose work has made so much possible for us. Let's go outdoors and play, under our own power. Quick, while it's sunny.

A Bemused "Huh"

The Safeway on Court Street was playing all-Michael Jackson, all-the-time this morning. Presumably because today was the memorial service.

But still. Not really sure what to make of that.

Holiday Highlights

Recently I went on vacation, which is a term difficult to define when one's life is infinitely satisfying. Same with "holidays." I marked both national holidays last week by working. Because I enjoy my work, that's why. I also puttered around, because I needed to.

And the beauty of this life is that I can declare holidays whenever I feel like it.

Last week, I skipped the hot dogs and potato salad, the dessert that looks like the flag, the beer. Instead, I made our traditional brownies in hono(u)r of the holiday. The traditional brownies are whatever kind we happen to have in the cupboard. I make them kinda whenever and declare them Holiday Brownies. They appear at official holidays like Thanksgiving (either or both) and Christmas, too. And no, they have no "special" ingredients. The chocolate in them is plennnnnty intoxicating.

Other than the brownies, the highlights of the recent holidays were in the quiet times. While walking back from "It's a shack, but it's OUR shack," we startled Doe-With-Two-Fawns and got to watch them bound up the side of the cliff. The lilies are out and prove irresistible subjects, as always. Roy saw a bug and snapped it. One of the lone deer came tearing through the yard on the lake side this afternoon while I was in my office.

Brownies, small moments of work and wonder, and summer. Not a bad holiday at all.

Un-Patriotism

Hi, my name is Marion, and I'm un-patriotic. In both countries. And I'm taking advantage of this sweet spot between Canada Day and Independence Day to clear the air.

Here are a few of my un-favo(u)rite Canadian things.

• Diana Krall. I know I should like her music but I don't. I just don't. I really want to, but I don't. I have tried. I don't like her public performing persona. I'm sure she's a wonderful person. I just don't like her. I also don't like performances by Celine Dion, Shania Twain, or Rita MacNeil (though Rita writes reasonable songs). I'm not nuts about Anne Murray. Yeah yeah--icons, wildly successful, I get that. But no, I don't like them. Sorry. Oh, and Mike Myers and Keanu Reeves. Nope.
• The Listener. It's a Canadian program that's also popular in the U.S. and I'm supposed to be supportive and happy, but this program is ridiculous. It's certainly no Flashpoint, which is the best of that lot. And CBC doesn't necessarily do a better job of original programming. The Border is waaaay melodramatic but I have managed to sit through entire episodes because the content is interesting to someone interested in the Canada/U.S. border. Reaching back in time, Intelligence and DaVinci Goes Viral are both too dark. Not dark in content--literally dark. I can't see a thing and the content doesn't inspire me to try harder. And you remember last summer's vote-Maria-off-the-island reality show. Brrr.
• Lloyd Robertson, anchor of CTV news. I should admire his ability to mince while sitting behind a desk, but that seems a dubious distinction. His delivery is just plain distracting, even when he's not stumbling over the words. Peter Mansbridge, CBC anchor, bellows a bit but he, at least, reads reasonably well. Though he needs to stop it with that "Next on most CBC stations: Geoooooooooorge Stroumboulopoulous! and The Hour."
• Persians, a dislike that makes me doubly traitorous because they're unique to Thunder Bay. But blech. Also poutine: don't get the point. And I'm not a fan of either Tim Horton's or Robin's Donuts. I'm supposed to support Tim's again because it recently moved its headquarters from Delaware back to somewhere in Ontario. But sorry.

Of course, the list of my un-favorite American things is longer. I've had many more years to compile it. But for some reason, the existence of that list inspires far less guilt. Somehow it seems acceptable to have reservations about the country one is born into, where one grew up. Though, given the country, it's sometimes risky to be vocal about one's reservations.

However, for the most part, I am unapologetic about the content of my un-favorite American things. The top of that list, today, is Michael Jackson. I know: icon, maverick, influential, yeah yeah. Don't like him. Didn't like Elvis, either. I can appreciate the importance of their contributions without liking them. And therefore, I do.

But about having un-favo(u)rite Canadian things: it seems churlish, having chosen to live in this country, not to be out front leading the parade with my face painted like the flag, red bars on the sides and maple leaf down my nose. I should be singing "Ontari-ari-ari-oooooo" and "Can-a-dah!" I should see nothing but fabulousness. I shouldn't complain about the weather, the healthcare system, the roads, the gas prices, the difficulty an immigrant has in establishing credit, the political leadership...well, you get the idea.

I do enjoy many Canadian things and people. I'm a big fan of Leonard Cohen, Holly Cole, and Molly Johnson. I like butter tarts and Nanaimo bars. I like meeting people with all kinds of interesting backgrounds who speak many languages.

But mostly I enjoy living in a country where patriotism takes the form of a mild smugness. Canadians think their country is pretty great, but they would never be so crass as to say so aloud. And that's darn refreshing.

So--Canada, I'm sorry about that "don't like" list but I know we can still be friends. And U.S.--well, I'm wishing you the best from elsewhere and hoping you have a fine holiday. (Pssst. Canada Day was better.)