Those Saucy Canadians

I've written before, a couple of times, about food and even what might constitute typical Canadian food.

Recently, my sister, a foodie who also watches decorating shows, mentioned donair. One program features a designer who selects a colo(u)r palette for a couple based on items in their home. In one episode, the designer found an off-white, and the couple was thrilled because the off-white was exactly the colour of donair.

I had never heard of donair--a sweet white garlic sauce, usually used for kebabs--but apparently it's a big deal in Atlantic Canada. It seems to resemble the white sauce I might have seen on a garlic chicken pizza.

So here's a list of "Canadian" foods. Poutine (french fries covered in cheese and gravy), butter tarts, Nanaimo bars, Shreddies (a specific brand of malted wheat cereal). I am also now aware of donair.

Five foods, two of which feature gravy. Go (Oh!) Canada.

True Change in a Minority Government

Welcome to Canada, where nobody wants an election, not now, not ever, but the threat of an election never quite goes away.

And when politicians can't manufacture election talk, they talk about the impossibility of accomplishing anything in a minority government. Too much compromise. The PM can't get anything of substance passed.

Americans: This is like saying that a president who's a Republican can't get anything done if the House is controlled by Democrats. You saw how that kept Bush from misdeeds in his last two years. And you can see how well Obama is succeeding with the Democrats also in charge of both the House and the Senate. As in, NOT in both cases.

The difficulty of governing with a minority government didn't stop Lester Pearson in 1960s Canada. Here are four important changes he made in five years, all without a majority behind him.

1. The Auto Pact, an early experiment in "free trade," in which trucks, cars, and auto parts moving between Canada and the U.S. were exempt from duty. It may look less like a great idea given the events of the past two years, but it worked for the previous 40.

2. The Canada Pension Plan, which deducts money from wages to support the elderly. Americans may recognize this: it's the equivalent of Social Security.

3. The Medical Care Act, which extends public healthcare coverage to include physician services. This is a step toward today's public healthcare system. Yes, Canadians have had public healthcare since 1971--and no one has yet started growing horns, tails, or cloven hoofs; pitchfork sales remain low.

4. A suspension of capital punishment. Pearson put capital punishment "temporarily" on hold; under Trudeau in 1976, capital punishment was officially abolished.

Even if you don't agree with the policies these actions put into place, you have to admit it's an impressive list.

So, we agree, it's impossible to effect change in a minority government.

Unless you're a statesman.

Are you listening, Mr. Harper? Hello? Anyone?

P.S. Because I am a serious student of Canadian history, I rely on impeccable sources. In this case, I am indebted to the 2nd edition of Will Ferguson's Canadian History for Dummies (John Wiley and Sons Canada, 2005), where Mr. Harper, Mr. Ignatieff, Mr. Layton, and Mr. Dion can also read about Pearson's minority government achievements. Because they seem to have forgotten their own history.

Freedom: Thanks to Health Care

In a recent interview (available for download here), science fiction writer Robert Sawyer was asked about creativity and living in Canada.

He says, and I'm paraphrasing, that the federal and provincial arts programs that award money to artists (writers, musicians, visual artists, multimedia, film, etc.) are fine, great, whatever.

But the single best thing that Canada did for his writing career was provide universal health care.

Surprised? I was, till I thought about it.

You may or may not like Robert Sawyer's writing, but imagine what that form of health care could mean for YOU.

Imagine being able to quit your current job and start your own business. You don't need a spouse to give you healthcare coverage. You can put your savings into the business, not into expensive COBRA coverage.

Imagine owning a small but growing business and being all too aware that if you grow such that you employ more than a certain number of people, you have to provide health insurance. Makes your long-term strategic planning look a little different, doesn't it?

Imagine owning a business and NEVER having to provide basic health insurance, at all--and not having to explain that it's a hardship or otherwise justify NOT doing it.

All that concern, that expense just...goes away.

And that's for the business world. Imagine the freedom and flexibility for artists, for students, for educators, for those who work out of the home part-time (or who work only at home) and raise children, for those finally finishing school, for career-changers.

Here's something close to home for people between 30 and 70. Your elderly mother suddenly needs more care. Guess what? You can move to be near her. No need to line up a job in advance long-distance or worry about your own health coverage.

Of course, each province has its own healthcare plan, so moving to a new province requires jumping through a hoop or two. But it's do-able, especially compared to what you'd go through in the U.S.

I remain dismayed at willful ignorance in the "debate" south of the border. Worse is the sheer lack of principle of those who create lies--and those who believe them--to justify their investment in the status quo. Death panels? You can say that with a straight face? You really believe that? Seriously?

I've stayed out of the discussion, mostly, and now I'm going on to something else. But I wanted to share this little what-if exercise, because I think it shows how universal healthcare coverage could give Americans what they claim they want most: freedom.

Toronto's Amenities

I previously wrote that Toronto, being a large city, has the amenities one associates with big cities.

Well, one of Toronto's amenities the second largest film festival in the world, the Toronto International Film Festival, which was happening last weekend. Huge coverage in this country and even some recognition in the U.S. A Really Big Deal.

Except not in most of the city. Which goes to show how big Toronto is. (Yes, I know: duh.) Our hotel was less expensive than similar places elsewhere in southern Ontario, so the rates weren't jacked for TIFF. The streets weren't particularly clogged with stars and stargazers, at least that I could tell. TIFF was just one thing happening, and to most people who live there, it happened in someone else's neighbourhood.

Which brings me to the inevitable Life Lesson. Toronto, and I'll extrapolate this to include other big cities, are just lots of neighbourhoods strung together. People live in these little
neighbo(u)rhoods. They go to diners for breakfast, shop for doggy treats, take kids to the park, gossip with the people next door.

And okay, sometimes they do stupid and criminal stuff, like get drunk and beat up a loved one. And sometimes they do weird stuff that authorities have a hard time figuring out, like this guy.

In any case, I enjoyed my brief stay. I will go back and do the tourist things, and there will be parts of the city I will like less than the parts I saw this time. But seen from the perspective of a sorta-adult instead of an easily intimidated, snarling teenager, the Big City was interesting and stimulating. I anticipate spending more time there throughout the coming years, and enjoying that, too.

Though I will say that navigating most of the length of the 401 (ranging from 10 to 16 lanes wide) for a driver with left/right issues at about 4 on a Friday afternoon wasn't something I would relish doing regularly.

Speaking of food (always), one thing I noticed was the ubiquity of fast-food-esque sushi places. Apparently some are icky, while others are yummy. (Seriously: we saw Ikki Sushi and Yumei Sushi.)

But still. Where I live now is my capital-H home. So although I may resist being Erica, I identify completely with Dorothy. No place like it.

Unfortunately Being Erica

CBC has this show, "Being Erica," in which a thirtysomething underachiever learns Valuable Life Lessons by reliving events from her past and talking with a magic shrink dude.

I don't really like the show. I know I'm supposed to. But I don't. Yes, I've watched more than one episode. Yes, I'm aware that part of my dislike is a weird talking thing that the lead actress does. Holly Hunter, Keira Knightley, and Winona Ryder all annoy me for a similar thing they do. And yes, I'm extremely aware that none of this is logical.

Imagine my excitement to realize I get my own private Being Erica experience.

We're on a trip to southern Ontario. My husband has a little business to attend to. I'm going along for the ride. Then we get to visit family.

And I will see Toronto, and parts of the rest of southern Ontario, as an adult. It's a little bit of a do-over, a chance at a Life Lesson. Dammit.

The last time I was in greater Toronto was multiple decades ago, when I was a teenager. Back then, I was resentful at leaving our fabulous vacation in the cool boreal forest to go to large hot cities full of people I didn't know to do "family" stuff with strangers and then go back home where it was also hot and humid.

In other words, going to southern Ontario was the end of the fun part of vacation and a return to drudgery, and every day spent en route was a day stolen from Paradise.

What can I say? No room for gray in a teenager's world.

Fast forward those decades. I've known for years that I should want to go to Toronto. What's not to like? It's a city, lots of amenities, an important part of this country. For two years, I've even theoretically wanted to go visit the stepson. However, in practice, just thinking about southern Ontario brought up all that old stuff.

Hence the Being Erica experience--I mean, sorta. I'm not actually becoming a teenager again, and I'm grateful for that. There's no magic shrink dude--my husband would laugh if I tried to cast him in that role.

But I can predict the Life Lessons. There's nothing inherently wrong with southern Ontario--Toronto and the other cities we're stopping in are probably interesting, wonderful places to visit. And when you live in Paradise, going home is doubly fabulous.

Look out, Monday.

Language Miscellany

Happy Labo(u)r Day! Celebrate work by taking a holiday!

Here are two snippets to contemplate on your day off and even tomorrow, when you return to regular September life.

First, in the U.S., people out in the boat should be wearing PFDs--personal flotation devices. I have heard these things called "life vests" and "life jackets" south of the border.

I've also heard them called PDFs, as a joke, in reference to the computer file, and let me just say, you do so at your peril. It's one of those things that you say so often that it becomes what you really say and then you sound truly ignorant instead of just jokingly ignorant.

Anyway. In Canada, the same things (not the computer files) are called "life preservers," at least in the popular media. This is one of those things my mother used to say that we all thought was "weird" but turned out to be Canadian. Like pronouncing pasta "pass-ta" instead of "pah-sta."

Second, in the U.S. organizations send out "press releases," or "media releases" if the PR person works in the Web 2.0 world. Small businesses, large businesses, nonprofit organizations, run-to-cure-cancer organizations, you name it--they're all sending out media releases. Because they're trying to be news.

In Canada, nonprofit organizations release PSAs--public service announcements. Obviously, the U.S. has PSAs too, but mostly on commercial TV. Remember "This is your brain on drugs?" That was a PSA in the U.S.

But here, PSAs are the norm for nonprofits. Because putting out information about nonprofit organizations is viewed differently by the media, apparently. Still learning about the "why," because it's actually the "what" that's important to me.

And now, I'm going out in the boat and I will wear my PFD, because it's the one my sister left here and it's purple and teal and cute.

Here's to working!!

Stumped

Last night was the first time I had cause to wonder whether we happened to have any tomato juice around.

I got home from a meeting at about 9:45 (almost dark; fall approaches!). As I parked, I saw a small skunk trot from in front of the garage (possibly even from inside the garage) right across the sidewalk, just a couple of yards away.

From my vantage point at the bottom of the stairs (still inside the car--why hurry?), the skunk had disappeared. For all I knew, it could be standing right where I needed to walk to get into the house. It could be frightened and even now be gathering all its little skunky courage to spray, once a suitable target (me!) appeared.

"Hmm," I thought, in my usual articulate and quick-witted way. "Now what?"

Sure, I could go around to the back and come into the house from the deck. That would mean crossing in front of the garage, where the rest of the skunk family might be gearing up to follow the first one. Or crossing the yard in the other direction, where I hoped the skunk had actually gone.

So maybe the front was still my best option.

Or maybe not.

I gathered the stuff I was bringing in and got out of the car. And I stood there beside the car, thinking, "This is a decision I don't even know where to start to think about how to make." And then the tomato juice crossed my mind. And I stood there.

And then, aha, the deus ex machina. My husband had heard me drive up and wondered why I hadn't come in yet. The porch light came on and I could see him inside. I motioned to the door, and when he opened it and stuck his head out, I said, "Do you see a skunk anywhere?"

He didn't--and to his credit, he also didn't slam the door shut in my face. With trepidation, I climbed the stairs, passed the bush where the skunk might be aiming its spray at me, climbed onto the front porch under which the skunk might be ditto, and came in.

Nothing else happened. We're not sure where it went. It might have been too young to have scent glands because there wasn't even a skunky hint lingering in the air. For all I know, it slept under the porch, or under the bush, and it may sleep there yet.

I still don't know what I would have done. I guess I had options. For one, I could have summoned the deus ex machina by phoning the house with my cell or honking. I could have lobbed stones into the area where I needed to walk. I could have stayed in the car.

I'm still thinking about it today, obviously. Now that I am at the age I am, I rarely face situations that are so completely unfamiliar to me. I don't know when it happened or what age I was, but at some point, I developed a tool kit (namely, the phone, combined with the Internet or a phone book) for most of life's perplexing difficulties.

When the toilet makes a funny noise, I know I can call a plumber if ignoring it doesn't work. If the electricity goes out, I know to check our own power lines for trees; I can call the power company and a tree service to deal with the related bad stuff. I have seen death, mechanical breakdowns, job loss, and family breakups, and I generally have the tools to deal with them or know who to call if I don't.

I may not like them. But I can deal with them.

But last night, I was stumped. I might have needed that tomato juice. And no, we didn't have any.

It's situations like this that keep my life so interesting.