Between and In Both

On my reading list, I have finally come to Sherman Alexie, the Native American storyteller and writer. His voice is courageous and mesmerizing. Both The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, for young adult readers, and The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, a collection of short works, layer humor and heartbreak with extravagance and understatement.

Also, here's the podcast in which he talks about his experience moving between two cultures, which he describes as being like a job. He speaks in the context of going to high school off the reservation but continuing to live on the reservation. (It starts at about 29 minutes in.) "In the end, when you cross borders and boundaries, you end up becoming an alien in both worlds, and you end up having to really work hard in both places, and so it ended up feeling like a job."

I would add that it is sometimes possible to feel at home in each culture, just not fully. Actually, I think most people don't feel fully at home in their "home" culture, if they get beyond flag-waving and speak honestly. If you define "American culture" as "everything happening culturally in the U.S.," you've created a complex multifaceted shape. No one person could conceivably fit into it exactly. Same with "Canadian culture" -- two official languages, for starters.

But a sure way to see your "home" culture with new eyes is to move to a new one. And when you find a way to fit into the new culture, you have a new way to experience the feeling of "home." A new vocabulary.

Moving between the cultures of Canada and the U.S. is of course not as wrenching as moving between the Spokane Reservation and the dominant white culture of eastern Washington state. It's a different kind of cultural contrast, like the difference between night and...later that night.

Which is another example, albeit a trivial one. That last line -- the difference between night and later that night -- is from television. I was too young to understand the full range of angst on thirtysomething, and too old to be one of the Friends. Yet I own a Filofax in part because Ellyn gave one to Hope in a thirtysomething episode. From Friends, I know I appear as Monica but inside, I'm Phoebe. (And I know how to express a slight difference, between, say, a guy named Ross and a guy named Russ, or between aspects of Canadian culture and U.S. culture, from Friends.)

Although I don't fit exactly into either TV show's demographic, I can understand both. I move between them. I'm not fully at home in either, but I'm somewhat at home in each one.

The advantage of experiencing that alienation and hard work Alexie talks about (though the "hard work" of my privileged life was nothing compared to his experience) is that now I have two vocabularies with which to explain myself to someone. I have two vantage points from which I can examine (and experience) the world.

And being in both places lets me rest more easily in each one.

American/Canadian: My Essential Differences

Apparently there's a book that posits something important about the Essential Difference between male and female brains. I am not touching that discussion with a ten-foot piece of softwood lumber.

I'm also not talking today about a way to tell Canadians from USA-ians. The world is more nuanced and subtle than that, thank goodness.

No, because it's all about me here, this is about how I am essentially different from both Americans and Canadians.

Before we start: yes, I know I'm using stereotypes for the "American" and "Canadian" roles, and I know I'm not unique in being different from those norms.

So. The essential difference between me and "Americans": the whole gun thing. As a Canadian said recently, "I don't get how 'guns equals freedom.'" Me neither. I don't own weapons; I've never shot a weapon (unless you count archery in Grade 8 for four weeks, and that was shooting at targets). I don't get it. I will say I also don't know that the equation "gun control equals increased safety" is true, either. I am all for studies that examine the efficacy of gun control legislation. And I won't be owning a gun while they're going on, either, and I do not feel un-free about it.

The essential difference between me and "Canadians": I LOoooooove elections. Love love love.

For the Americans reading this, some background: Canada's Conservative Prime Minister is loathed by many and merely tolerated by most (the man has apparently NO FANS), but evidently the prospect of an election is far more frightening than allowing a man who disdains science to run the country.

Nothing makes me feel more American than listening to this week's political discussions up here (and note that criticism comes to him from both sides): "We hate Harper and everything he stands for. For the past five years, he has shown time and again how irresponsible he is [in spending so much money to end the recession] [in callously disregarding the real needs of the people in favour of his conservative social agenda] [in continuing to sing and play the piano in public] [insert your favourite Harper egregiousness here]. But, gasp, we don't want an election. The Canadian people don't want an election."

WHY NOT???? I love elections. Okay, no, I haven't voted in every single election I was eligible to vote in--when I lived in the U.S., I let some of the city council elections slide. And nowadays I don't vote in Oklahoma-specific elections, because I don't live there and it's not fair for me to inflict my opinion on those who do. (Also because it's a big waste of time, since I'm so far out of synch with the state.) And I'm sad that I now no longer vote every two years (representatives) and every six years (senators).

Because in the US, Canadians, we get to vote every two years. Two years!! And senators--well, first, unlike you, we get to vote them in. Then, yes, six years later, we get to vote them out, if we want. We know when. We can start countdown clocks to election day.

And the president, the big guy, the commander-in-chief--four years. That's all he gets. Sadly, Americans gave Bush 8 years, but the point is, they were given the opportunity to come to their senses. You know how? Through an ELECTION.

Canadians, if you dislike elections because (in the words of the wise yet mythical Leo McGarry, as scripted by the genius Aaron Sorkin) you're sick of voting for the lesser of who cares, I hear you. If you look at the leadership of opposition parties and shudder or say "meh," I get it.

But that's not the fault of the ELECTION. That's a cultural thing. If I were going to be mean, I would say it's your own fault, for accepting crappy leaders. For not expecting more from politicians, and for not holding them accountable for their actions. For imagining that the status quo is all you can hope for, that the unknown is necessarily frightening.

So I'm not saying that, because I'm Canadian enough to not want to be mean.

I'm also not saying that frequent elections sometimes don't result in mistakes. In 1980, the people of Arkansas elected Frank White as governor because a young and gifted politician named Bill Clinton had irritated them by raising the cost of car registration. (I could not make this up.) For two years, Arkansans endured idiocy, but they managed to survive it, and so did Mr. Clinton. And several Arkansans recognized that hey, their votes counted, so maybe they want to vote FOR candidates instead of "teaching a candidate a lesson" by voting AGAINST him. (Plus they were so chastened they changed the state Constitution to give governors four-year terms, like most states did in the 1800s.)

In conclusion, I urge Canadians to embrace elections, and that starts at home. Raise your argumentative, intellectually curious, and caring children to become politicians or at least civil servants. Your government could use a few more of your best and brightest.

For Americans--I don't know what to say, because I don't want to talk about guns. I have the right to not talk about guns because my freedom of speech is guaranteed. And isn't that true freedom?

Finally, in our "we're more alike than we are different," kum-ba-yah moment, I will demonstrate how truly Canadian AND American I am by complaining about the weather: Brr.

Wondering When This Happened

Since a recent birthday (that ends in zero), I have found myself wondering about a few things.

Like: When did I become the person who, with (ahem) relative ease and competence, throws together a turkey dinner for the holidays? (I used to be the "next generation" person, a daughter or in-law, who helped the family matriarch get everything together.)

Like: When did I become someone who inspects every bit of barnacle skin that has recently begun appearing on various appendages, just to be sure that the barnacles are harmless? (I used to "lay out" in the sun in pursuit of a tan, positive that wrinkles and skin cancer would never come my way.)

Today I found myself wondering something slightly different, yet ultimately related: Why does the house smell like sweet-and-sour takeout?

The answer is that at some point, my husband accepted that he is the person who is responsible for ensuring that our home maintains some humidity in the driest time of the year. This means he fills and maintains the humidifier. Our well water is calcific (calceous? calciferous?) (contains lots of calcium) and that builds up and creates clogs. So he's running the humidifier with vinegar, which makes the house smell like sweet-and-sour sauce (to me).

All of which, taken together, indicates that at some point I crossed a boundary into adulthood. Which you would think wouldn't be news to someone whose recent birthday was not, alas, her 40th. Whose parents, as my nephew points out, now celebrate their birthdays in heaven. Whose keychain includes not only a plastic thingy for a gym membership and the library but also a CARP membership.

However, as I've said about moving to a new country, it's the little things about your journey into new territory that trip you up.

Aha! So that's what this is--culture shock. Okay. (Is it too late to go back? It's just that, like that Sherman Alexie quote about being at home in neither culture, I'm not always sure I belong here.)

Spelling as a Political Act

Lately, I've been having what I have come to think of as Sherman Alexie moments. That is, those moments in which I feel "between cultures."

One of those between-culture moments has to do with language, perhaps not surprisingly, given what I do. As you might expect from an American living in Canada and working with words, I have had to create some mental rules around spelling.

When I write something, I use the spelling that the audience expects. American clients expect "color," and Canadians expect "colour." Great. That's easy. Usually, with the guidance of MS Word's language default setting and my own reading of Canadian periodicals, I can get it right. This rule works even in the creative work I'm writing more of nowadays: if it's designed for Canadian audiences, it gets Canadian spelling.

On Facebook, I've adopted some practices, mostly to see how they work. For example, I celebrated "Labour Day" this year because I celebrated it in Canada. When I converse online with American friends, I tend to "type American"; for Canadians, I "type Canadian."

You've seen me use parentheses on the blog here for things like
"favo(u)rite." It's a way to type "between cultures." Hey, we're an inclusive place here.

But then I wondered: when I'm just me, writing just for me, what do I use?

And THEN I wondered: when on earth do I write "just for me"?

The answer is, I don't. Even the journaling I do will be read by someone other than the writer. Even if that "someone" is some future version of me--well, that version of me won't be the same person that I am at the "now" in which I write.

This also ties in with something I first heard discussed in graduate school: writing is a powerful act. One of my professors said his favorite (he was American) students were those he taught in a penitentiary. They were extremely motivated to learn. Learning to read and write effective arguments could help with their appeals and help them gain parole. For them, writing was highly personal, political, powerful.

I was more recently reminded when listening to CBC's Sunday morning news program, which featured a panel discussion about language issues, that even spelling is political. Someone on the panel mentioned Noah Webster, who of course is famous for changing the spellings of words such as "center," "defense," and "traveler." He did it for unashamedly ideological reasons: American English should be different from British English.

So, I am tempted to say, "Oh for crying out loud, this is not a big deal." Except that it is. Language and identity are so closely related as to be inseparable. It gets to Sherman Alexie's statement that whoever lives between cultures eventually is at home in neither.

Is spelling going to be my measuring stick? (Notice how I avoided using "yardstick"?)

If so, I guess it's time to take a baseline measurement. At present, the default setting for my spelling is still American. I wonder how much longer that will be true.

East or West...Up or Down...Where am I, Again?

In an interview on a podcast that I swear I heard but can't find now, Native American writer and storyteller Sherman Alexie said that people who travel between two cultures eventually end up at home in neither one.

I will likely write more about that idea, especially when I run across that darn podcast again. And no, I have not read any of Sherman Alexie's work, because I am at heart an intellectual lightweight. Although my stack of "to be read" impresses even me.

After two trips into the U.S. in the past two weeks, and some touring around amongst Americans, I recognize what he means.

Sometimes it feels easier to be in the U.S. It's not that I understand "the people" or "the culture" better. I have a long history of feeling out of place in the U.S. However, I think I share some of their mental default settings (probably also their mental defects, but that's another issue).

Here's an example. When politicians do something boneheaded in the U.S., well, some cadre of morons somewhere elected that bonehead and perhaps his or her days in office will be numbered.

But Canadians have a queen. A local stand-in (the Governor General) represents Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II in matters of state. I'm not completely sure what this means except that the GG has a literary award and she walks up and down rows of uniformed soldiers. (The GG has been female since I've lived in Canada, but we're due for a new guy in the fall.) In terms of actual matters of state, the Prime Minister, Parliament, and civil servants still seem to do the war-declaring and ongoing allocation of soldiers.

The GG is appointed by the Prime Minster, and thus We the People of Canada have little to no say in who it is. The person in this office has some kind of responsibility that used to be exercised by the Queen, whose claim to office is...being born.

Nothing against Her Majesty, of course. Just that my mental default is that people in positions of power are elected. Or they are celebrities, and thus are essentially unexplainable fireworks that will eventually fizzle out.

So where is home? Canada. But where do I fit culturally? Hmmm.