Metric Madness!

When moved to Ontario, I knew I’d have to adjust to the metric system. How much difficulty that would cause me is what I underestimated.

My car’s speedometer has KM per hour as well as miles per hour. This has been the least of my problems as I usually just drive as fast as I want to anyway and don’t really look at the speedometer at all. Filling up my car’s gas tank with liters instead of gallons has also not been too much of an issue as I usually just fill the tank. Buying ground beef in the store has been a little more tricky, but I’ve found that they tend to package the meat in quantities that are the metric equivalent of a pound or two.

I do feel like a bit of a moron asking for 300 grams of sliced salami at the deli counter. Every time I ask for something in grams, I feel really embarrassed as if as soon as I say, and try to say discreetly, “400 grams of potato salad, please” everyone in the vicinity will erupt into laughter. No one bats an eye. I’m usually surprised when I find out what kind of quantity 400 grams is. It always seems to be much less or much more than I actually wanted.

The real challenge with the metric system here relates to the weather. Perhaps you think that this should be a minor inconvenience and something I should adjust to quickly. But, before you dismiss my misery as whining about a miniscule obstacle consider how often you listen to or speak about the weather each day. If you haven’t paid attention before, start noticing how often it comes up in conversation. From a very early age, we’re taught that talking about the weather is a good conversation starter, an ice-breaker. Also, the weather is always on the radio or tv, listed on the side of the newspaper or web pages, and even if you’re not consciously paying attention, you’re subconsciously absorbing and processing the information. Most importantly, remember that wherever you go you take the weather with you! This means the weather is always there, influencing what time you leave for work, what you wear, your decision to go on a road trip, a choice of the highway or the back roads, if you should leave the house with wet hair, if your soccer game will be cancelled, how much hairspray you should use, if you should buy a house with a basement, whether you would invest in property in Florida, your grandparent’s visit and length of stay, the need for time to mow the lawn/shovel the driveway, the number of smoke breaks you’ll take, your need to find a babysitter, and whether you’ll be in a good mood. In other words, even though weather is often a side note in the news or just a forced conversation-starter, it really is important in our lives.

Here’s a calculation. Take the 35 years I lived in the US talking about and observing the weather in Fahrenheit and inches, and multiply that by the six months I’ve been living in Canada trying to comprehend the metric weather, factor in the Great Lakes weather in both places that creates the most dynamic, unpredictable, and tumultuous weather on earth, double that and add 32. Now you have an idea of the impact metric weather is having on my adjustment to Canada.

While in a meeting recently, someone commented that the room was very cold. Everyone agreed. So, someone went to look at the thermostat and remarked, “No wonder it’s cold in here. It’s only nineteen degrees!” I thought, “Yeah, I guess that does explain the chill in the air” and tightly clutched my class of water to try to keep it from freezing into solid ice.

This has been one of the worst winters I can remember, and the amount of snow has bordered on obscene. But, I do remember my panic the first time I heard a co-worker declare, “We’re getting 13 centimeters of snow tonight!” I started making a mental list of preparations for what would certainly be debilitating weather. I decided to stop at the store for water, bread, milk, batteries, and other emergency needs before I stopped and realized that I had no idea what 13 centimeters even looked like. My mind had heard “13” and translated into inches. I pulled out my ruler and found, to my delight, that we were only talking about 5 inches. Five inches of snow to a West Michigander is just a light dusting.

From that point on, every time a discussion of weather conditions involving snowfall arises, I sigh loudly and make a big display of pulling out my ruler.

Winter temperatures are a whole different complication. When winter weather first came in late October, I would overhear hear on the radio and at work that temperatures were going to drop to *gasp* ZERO degrees! I started wondering if I had made a mistake in moving to a land where November temperatures were that low. I figured that by January, all molecular activity would be ceasing. Then I remembered that they were speaking in Celsius and 0 C is only 32 F.

As the deep freeze this January settled in, my bemusement changed to amusement. “It’s going to be very, very cold this weekend,” the radio announcer said gravely and dejectedly. “Highs will only be around NEGATIVE FIFTEEN.”

“Holy iceberg, Batman,” I thought to myself as I pulled out my new Celsius to Fahrenheit conversion chart. Negative fifteen Celsius is. . . five degrees Fahrenheit. I don’t usually get too worked up about temperatures until they are below zero degrees Fahrenheit.

The first time I went to donate blood in Canada, the nurse took my temperature and told me it was 37 degrees. I desperately searched the room for a mirror so I could see my lips turning blue. Then they proceeded to take a half liter of my blood, which for all I know was enough to almost kill me!

Contrary to popular belief, the Canadians don’t use metric for everything. Unfortunately, they still use pounds for their own weight. I was looking forward to casually tossing around my lower numeric weight in kilograms while in conversation with my friends from Michigan. This would indicate that Canadians use metric when it suits them. And, it certainly suits them for describing weather because it makes the Canadian winter sound that much more scary and therefore makes the Canadians sound that much tougher. Consider the psychological impact of hearing that the forecast is for temperatures of negative ten with eight centimeters of snow and winds at 50 kph as compared with the impact of hearing the forecast is for temperatures of fourteen degrees with three inches of snow and winds of 30 mph. The metric system also allows Canadians to warn of one centimeter of snow. That’s less than one inch, an amount that wouldn’t even be mentioned in Michigan weather forecasts.

I’m only just starting to adjust to the winter metrics, and by the time I am adjusted, summer and rain will be here. At least I have been able to set my thermostat in my home to display in Fahrenheit and I’ve even found that I can change the settings on www.weather.ca to display in non-metric.

For more information on the metric system, see http://www.conversion-metric.org/ .

Waiting on the World to Change

So, the 111th US Congress had it's first day of business on January 6, 2009. We all knew things were going to change with the election of Barack Obama, but who would have guessed the extent?

Ever since Sarah and I met in 1998, the US government could not have cared less about immigration rights for same-sex bi-national couples. Every year, bills were introduced to try to remedy the unfair and painful situations that so many of us experienced, but every year, Republikkans ensured that these bills never left the committee room.

Anyway, on the first day the Senate met this year, Senator Patrick Leahy (D-VT) was speaking on the need for immigration reform in the US. He began by saying:

"Mr. President, as we begin the 111th Congress, we will try, once again, to enact comprehensive immigration reforms that have eluded us in the past several years. With an administration that understands the critical necessity of meaningful reform and that understands the policy failures of the last 8 years, I am hopeful that the new Congress can finally enact legislation consistent with our history as a nation of immigrants."

I was so surprised to learn that, nestled in his comments, was this sentence:

"We must also live up to the goal of family reunification in our immigration policy and join at least 19 other nations that provide immigration equality to same-sex partners of different nationalities."

(You can find the entire statement by using the search feature here: http://thomas.loc.gov/home/r111query.html )

After all Sarah and I have been through, all the pain, separation, and expense, there is no way I can express how wonderful it feels to see our plight acknowledged in a formal government forum. So, I won't try.

Bi-national couples have long been the forgotten children of the gay-rights movement. However, we suffer just as much, if not more than the other GLBT Americans who are disadvantaged. We are the ones who are faced with the choice of having to move out of the US or be separated from our family members. The Immigration Equality group has been working hard to promote fairness in immigration for bi-national same-sex couples. I plan to work with them as they educate and lobby members of the US Congress. Please consider supporting them. You can learn more about them here: http://www.immigrationequality.org/ .

By the way, the nineteen countries that give their citizens' same-sex partners immigration rights are: Australia, Belgium, Brazil, Canada, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Iceland, Israel, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Portugal, South Africa, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, and the United Kingdom.

What do Ontarians know about Michigan?

So what do Canadians, and in particular Ontarians, know about the Big Mitten? Well, the answer is practically nothing, much to my surprise.

Based on the many conversations I’ve had with the Canucks I’ve met, their US exposure has pretty much been limited to:

*Buffalo, New York
*Florida
*Traveling through Detroit on their way to Florida
*What they see on TV about the US (usually about New York or LA)
*The portrayal of Americans by the Canadian media (see previous post)

So, this leaves me with the self-inflicted responsibility of educating the Ontarians about Michigan and the momentous duty of countering the incorrect stereotypes I encounter about the US and about Michigan.

Even though in my previous post I indicated that people in Michigan are aware enough of Ontario to know that Ontarians don’t live in igloos, I am in no way implying that Michiganders are entirely knowledgeable about their neighbor to the north and east. I’m just as likely hear “So how’s the weather up there in Canada” from one of my friends in Michigan as I am to hear “Are you going down to the States for the holidays” from a colleague in Canada. Neither party seems to be aware that the majority of Ontarians, and in fact, the majority of Canadians, live within the same latitudinal lines as falls the state of Michigan. My travels across the border don’t involve much up or down at all—in fact, I’m usually traveling almost due east or west Where I live now is only about 30 miles further north than where I lived in Michigan.

But, one characteristic that’s common between Michiganders, Ontarians, and any other resident of a northern jurisdiction is what I call Ice Ego. Ice Ego is a group’s collective belief that they can nobly endure more hardships due to cold and snow than any other group. Michiganders have a very big Ice Ego. So do Ontarians. However, characteristically of any type of ego, neither group seems to want to acknowledge the other’s heartiness as it would detract from their own. I’ve already explained that the most populous areas of Ontario are similarly distanced from the equator as Michigan. Likewise, Michigan and Ontario are both extremely susceptible to the wrath of the dreaded weather phenomenon known as “lake effect” where the weather is heavily influenced by the mood swings of the Great Lakes. An area’s proximity to the eastern edge of a Great Lake usually is proportionate to the amount of snow they can expect to receive in winter (and spring and fall and sometimes summer). I currently live two to three times further from a Great Lake than I did in Michigan; therefore, I now live somewhere that gets less snow than I’m used to experiencing in an average winter.

This winter has been especially harsh. It started snowing on November first and hasn’t stopped since. We’ve had several feet of snow so far this winter, and many days of nose-hair-freezing temperatures. I wish I had a loonie for every time one of my co-workers or hockey teammates has asked me, “So, how do you like your first Canadian winter, eh?” It seems the Canadians think that snow hardly falls outside the borders of their country. If I also had a loonie for every time I had to explain to the Canucks that my hometown in Michigan routinely has, and this year has had almost twice as much snow as they’ve had here in Southwest Ontario, I’d be able to buy a nice new hockey helmet.

(Maybe it’s just my need to flex my Ice Ego here, but as an aside, I’m astounded at the number of Ontarians in my area who have snow tires put on their cars each winter. About 70% of people I know here have winter snow tires. Back in Michigan, I didn’t know ANYONE who put snow tires on their cars. I’m not really sure what this means, but I guess it could indicate a superior skill level at winter driving in Michigan.)

The Ontarians, in addition to their insular climatic comprehension, also seem to believe that the geographical boundaries of Michigan don’t extend beyond Detroit, or at most, Ann Arbor. My co-workers and teammates know I’m from Michigan, and despite all my detailed explanations, which include using my hand as a map in a desperate attempt to illustrate that I am not from Detroit, will still ask me when I am going to take a trip back home to Detroit. When I meet new people in Ontario and I tell them I am from Grand Rapids (with emphasis) in Western Michigan, they invariably reply with, “Oh, I was in Michigan once. I went to my nephew’s hockey tournament in (insert-name-of-Detroit-suburb-here).”

Much to my dismay, my hockey teammates have decided to nickname me “Motown Mary.” My protests against this have fallen on deaf ears. They also like to give me a hard time about the Detroit Lions, the worst team ever in NFL history, as if I am the owner of the team. After all, I’m from Michigan so I must be from Detroit, right???

Most of my teammates are from the Kitchener/Waterloo/Cambridge area. Kitchener is about three-hours’ drive from Detroit. So is Grand Rapids. I explained to them that their hometown is just as far from Detroit as my hometown, yet it appears that the more I object to my nickname, the less likely I am to lose it.

My Ice Ego would be much more appreciative of a weather-related nickname that reflects my ability to endure harsh winters. However, if I can’t convince my teammates I’m not from Detroit, I doubt I’ll be able to convince them that I’ve persevered through winters that would make the ice arena feel like a tropical escape. Yet, even if I did tell stories of frozen tears, dead car batteries, ice dams on the roof, and bone-chilling power outages after ice storms, a major communication gap would present itself—I don’t communicate in metric or Celsius!

Sighing and Stomping

Being the internationally-connected family that we are, Sarah and I had several packages to send to other countries before Christmas. We mailed about twelve boxes total to England, New Zealand, Australia, and the United States. If you have ever mailed a package internationally before, then you know it’s not as simple as just paying the postage. You almost always have to fill out a lengthy customs form that identifies, in an itemized list, the contents and their values. Not only does this spoil any surprise for recipients when they open packages, it also takes a considerable amount of time. You must print your address, the recipients’ address, the itemized list, and sign and date the form regardless of what information is already on the box itself.

So, a few weeks before Christmas, Sarah and I went to our local post office with about seven of our packages. We figured it would be a lengthy ordeal to fill out a form for each package and have the postage calculated and applied, so we went to the post office later in the evening when we figured it wouldn’t be as busy. What we forgot was that post offices are always busy around Christmas.

We got in line with our parcels, and the lady at the counter was sending a few internationally herself, and since only one clerk was working, this took a while. By the time it was our turn, a very long line had formed behind me. I didn’t realize it at first, but I started to get nervous. I didn’t want to hold up so many people for so long. Finally it was our turn. I apologized for my large number of packages and told the clerk that if she’d give me the forms, I’d start filling them out while other people had their turns. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what form I’d need for any package until she’d weighed and measured it and calculated the shipping cost.

So began a very long process that probably lasted more than fifteen minutes total. While this was going on, the line behind me continued to grow. And I continued to grow more and more nervous and sheepish. By the time there were about ten people in line behind me, I was really sweating in my winter coat as I frantically filled out forms.

Then, I was suddenly struck by something so unusual and unexpected. This whole time, I hadn’t heard a single sigh coming from the line behind me. No one stomped impatiently. No one stormed out of the building muttering expletives. No one complained about quietly to the person behind her in line. No one made a cell phone call loudly explaining the reason he was late for an event. I couldn’t figure out why none of this was happening behind me, and then I realized that it was because I was in Canada, not the United States!

Had I been in the US under the same circumstances, I’m sure that I would have observed all of the above. What’s really sad is that I might not have even noticed the sighing and stomping because I would have expected it. The silence behind me was what was most shocking in this case.

As I left the post office after mailing my packages, no one in the line glared at me. I wondered if the lack of visibly impatient people in the situation had been just a coincidence, as if every patient person in town decided to go to the post office that night. Then I decided that, no, Canadians are just different. They may not be more patient than Americans, but they appear more patient. This theory was confirmed a week later.

As you certainly know, Christmas season is often criticized for the ironic way in which it brings out the worst in people. This is never more evident than when shopping. So, here it was, two weeks before Christmas, and I, who usually pride myself on being the opposite of a procrastinator, am at a large chain store buying a few presents. There were only four checkout lanes open, and each one had about fifteen people in line with carts and arms full of items. I thought I could feel the stress and tension in the air as we shoppers were packed together in uncomfortable lines, but then I realized it was just my imagination. Once again the scene from the post office repeated itself. I didn’t hear a single sigh. No one rolled her eyes. No one stomped impatiently. No one threw his sweaters and bath salts onto the checkout gum rack and stormed out muttering expletives. To be fair, one or two people did leave the line, but they quietly slipped away. When customers did reach the cashier, they were polite and expressed empathy for the cashiers who were clearly frazzled.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the line next to me. A supervisor had come by and instructed one of the cashiers to turn off her lane light and take a break. This meant that the people in line a certain way back would have to move to another line. A woman in line, in her thick Eastern European accident began complaining, “So, now I must svitch line? I af been in line for twenty minute! Vy vould they close register??!!”

“Aha,” I thought, “Canadians can be pushed to showing impatience!” Then I immediately realized the error of my thinking when another woman, in a very thick Canadian accent rebuked the other woman by saying, “Well, everyone needs to have a break sometime, eh? I’m sure that cashier needs a break!” The people in line around her nodded and murmured their agreement.

I know that many Americans feel that the squeaky wheel gets the grease, but as I always say, the squeaky wheel gets the spit in the hamburger. Americans are not afraid to voice their concerns and impatience, especially related to customer service, but what they don’t realize that that their complaining so rarely changes anything. If no more clerks or cashiers are available, no amount of sighing or stomping will make more magically appear. If the restaurant is out of ingredients for your preferred dish, no amount of complaining or whining will make those ingredients magically appear. Every once in a while, an American does get his way from complaining, but this just encourages him to complain even when nothing can be done or changed.

Americans could learn a lot from Canadians about coping patiently with situations beyond their control.

My Hockey Experience

When I first moved to Canada (at age 35), I wanted to immerse myself in Canadian culture. Clearly, getting involved in hockey would be a great starting point. The week I moved to Canada, I signed up for a women’s recreational hockey league. This may not sound remarkable, but I had never played hockey before, and had only been skating a few times.

During our first game, I struggled a great deal, but still had fun. I wondered how obvious it was to everyone that I hadn’t played before until the break after the first period when the ref skated over to our bench and said to me with a smile, “First time out on the ice, eh?”

I continued to struggle but improved for the first few games of the season until I decided it was time to have my skates sharpened. I knew it would take a bit of time to adjust to the sharper skates, but I never imagined how much I would regret getting the skates sharpened without testing them out before a game.

With my newly sharpened skates, I went out to warm up with my team and noticed the skates slipping a bit. I figured I would just have to adjust. Soon the game started, and during the first period, I lost my balance and fell right at center ice. As a beginner, I had fallen many times before and gotten right back up. This time was different. I attempted to stand up, and as I was partway up, I went crashing back to the ice. The game continued around me. I tried again to get up, but as before, fell right back down. I was so embarrassed. My teammates skated by and asked if I was okay, but they weren’t about to stop in the middle of the game, already short by one skater, to help me up. Finally, I got up and made it to the bench. I was laughing about the incident because I knew I wasn’t very good at skating.

Later, in the next period, the same thing happened again, but this time right in front of the other team’s bench. Was this more embarrassing than floundering around on center ice? Probably. After a couple attempts, again, I finally got up and made my way to the bench. This time I wasn’t laughing.

In the third period, the same thing happened again, but this time when I fell, I took an opponent and a referee down with me. My muscles were so tired from my previous falls and attempts to get up that I had even more trouble getting up. On one attempt to rise, my leg slid out from under me and pulled a muscle in my thigh. When I finally did get up, I limped off the ice. This time I was crying.

My coach and teammates insisted there was something wrong with my skates. I thought they were just being nice and trying to make me feel better by blaming my embarrassing episode on something other than my poor skills. However, I did take my skates in before the next game (to a different sharpening facility) and learned, much to my surprise, that my skates HAD been sharpened incorrectly. The person who sharpened them forgot to put a hollow in the bottom of the blade. Essentially, a skate blade has two edges of less than 90 degrees. My skates did not have that.

I had the skates resharpened and never had the same problem again! The good news is that I went back out on the ice for the next game even though my embarrassment tempted me to give up hockey for good. It’s only been a couple of months since this happened, but playing hockey is my favorite hobby and something I look forward to each week. I am still the worst player on my team, but I think I have more fun than anyone.

Here is a picture of me in my typical game form. Thanks to my friend Tony for capturing this special moment on camera.