A movie I have not seen but for the trailer got me thinking about the whole “marrying a foreigner” thing which I honestly don’t give any thought to at all unless I am tangling with Immigration rules and hoops, or I use some American saying or slang that Canadians don’t know (because it really is never safe to assume that people up here are “just like us” – us Americans that is). In the film, Blue State, it is 2004 and Bush has been re-elected prompting one fervent young Democrat to make good on his threat to move north and become a Canadian. At one point in the trailer we see him perusing a website called Marry a Canadian.com because, I am assuming, he has discovered (as most people do) that it is not so easy to pick up and move to another country. Pack a bag and visit is okay, providing the FAA is not making an example of the particular airline you are traveling with that day (and you aren’t leaving from New York City as the only timely way out – or in – after a certain point in the early morning is really by car). Emigration however entails a lot of paperwork and can take months, or years, depending on your situation. Although this movie portrays marriage as the quickest route to residency and citizenship, I can assure you that it isn’t. There are rules, mountains of paperwork and documentation and a whole lotta waiting involved. And they will check to make sure you are, um, consummating on a regular basis.
Rob wondered idly after we saw the clip if anyone wonders how he met me. Anyone who doesn’t know our story that is, and who could read me and not know more than they ever wanted to about us? We are quite open with having met on the Internet (interesting how many of us speak of cyberspace as though it were a real place), and probably not as apologetic as some would think we should be when we elaborate that our meeting site was a widowed support board.
Back in the early days of our friendship, a new friend at the YWBB and I were chatting on the phone and she enquired as to Rob’s accent. She was not assuming it was a Bob and Doug Mackenzie “hey, hoser” type of thing but French because her perspective led her to believe that most Canadians are of the French persuasion. Canadians do have an accent that is not the over-exaggerated one of the Mackenzies but is similar in a very non-cartoonish way. Most of the people I know use “eh” as their end sentence filler and have the distinct “ou” pronunciation. Canadians have their own slang, thank you very much, that is not American derived. Given the ubiquitous number of Canadian cities masquerading as American ones on U.S. television, I was surprised to note that there are subtle but still noticeable differences like traffic circles and a softer, more rounded shape to traffic lights and light poles. The Canadian post boxes are everywhere in residential neighborhoods and the concept of a freeway American style doesn’t seem to exist anywhere I have traveled and that includes the length of Saskatchewan, from Calgary to Grande Prairie in Alberta and a chunk of B.C.
One of the things I get quizzed on quite a bit is the health care system here because, unlike the States, anyone who cares to buy in can have access to health care. So right away one should notice that it is not free. There is a premium that varies according to income and is sometimes paid for by your employer, and you are correct if you are muttering that it doesn’t include the cost of prescription drugs. Medications are out of pocket for the most part though again an employer might have a prescription plan as part of one’s compensation. Speaking however as an asthmatic with allergies, I can tell you that the out-of-pocket cost for some of the medication I need is on par with just the co-pays my health insurance plan stuck me with back in Iowa. It’s odd not to have access to just run of the mill care on the weekends. Clinics just aren’t open. Many people use only clinics and haven’t any primary care physician because like everything else up here in terms of labor, there just aren’t enough doctors. Which is also why whole wings of hospitals are closed and it’s hard to get into a hospital for non-emergency things, there aren’t enough nurses either. But our little town of just a bit over 16,000 people has its own hospital when I know that rural folk in Iowa were having to drive hours to get to a hospital and in the case of an emergency, you would be treated somewhere.
Having just done taxes, I have noted differences there too. There is no such thing as filing jointly. Every adult is required to file yearly regardless of whether they worked or earned a single dime (and they do have dimes here but not dollar bills. The dollar is a coin called a “loonie”). I had to get a SIN in order to file taxes. It is similar to the U.S. Social Security number. They have two types. One is for citizens and legal residents and another for temporary workers. Wow. Differentiation. What a concept.
Canadians don’t have any idea what real consumerism looks like as I have written before. Stores close at 6PM on Saturdays and 5PM on Sundays (after only opening at noon). The shelves are often bare and strangely, to an American, sometimes stay that way. For example, during the heat wave last July, stores ran out of air conditioners. The end. There were no more shipments until probably now when they stores begin to gear up for summer again. Seriously. This happens. When stuff is gone, well it will be back next season. Oh and Canada is devoid of Target. Not a single one anywhere. ‘Nuff said.
I have never thought of myself in terms of place. I was born in Iowa and lived there my whole life before coming here. I had thoughts of living somewhere else before I met Rob, but I hadn’t fleshed anything out. A place is a place really and it is your human connections that make it home. Even so, I have never really missed a place once I have moved on to another one. Oddly, or maybe not, I feel more at home and connected here – to this place, Canada – than I have at any point in my life. There is a genuineness to the people I meet and a sense of perspective of time and the ground we occupy that I don’t remember from back in the States. Not that I have developed any anti-American sentiments that I didn’t already have, but I am comfortable in my Canadian skin. Enough so that I can heartily recommend marrying a Canadian to anyone who gets the chance.