The Cookie Monster and I forced ourselves on
My Fellow Canadian and his lady for a World Cup Wafflefest this morning, and, in the spirit of celebration, I offered to bring
mimosa makings. Mimosas are a long-treasured Fabulous Family tradition when events coincide with breaking the fast, and the orange juice is really only there for the colour, if you know what I mean. I'm blaming the second mimosa on the tension created by the inability of either Portugal or England to score, which led to a penalty kick-off, which was lost by England. Sigh.
Off I went to yoga, barely arriving in time, only to find an empty room and a pathetic paper sign indicating that all classes had been cancelled for the weekend. It would have been kind of them to tell us that last week. But as I was all dressed for athletic endeavours, I went home and went for a run. Running on a stomach full of waffles and a head full of champagne is not smart, in case you were wondering.
I don't have a good segue here, but in case you were wondering what else was going on this week, aside from football,
Wimbledon, the conclusion of the
Supreme Court Spring Session, and the largest display of patriotism the planet can handle:
In the midst of Independence Day preparations, a hidden minority of well-meaning and largely indistinguishable people will have a patriotic celebration of its own today: Canada Day.
At the embassy in downtown Washington, there will be a pancake party. Along the Mall will be exhibits from the province of Alberta. And in the hearts of many expatriates, there will be pride mixed with a quiet sadness -- the conflicted feelings of strangers living in a not-so-strange land.
Like most expatriates, Canadians in Washington talk about the foods they miss, the people, the culture and, of course, the beer. But they also mention the twilight-zone quality of life in the United States.
"It would almost be easier if it were a place with a whole different language," said Jaime Lavallee, a Northern Virginia transplant from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. "Sometimes you'll go for weeks with everything just normal, and then something hits you -- like getting mail on Saturday or seeing the temperature in Fahrenheit -- and you remember."
Suddenly from within emerges the angst, the existential questions, the whole love/hate relationship fostered from centuries of cohabitation along the world's longest undefended border, an 8,893-kilometer divide (or 5,526 miles, for the metrically challenged).
A transformation occurs upon crossing this line. Canadians who spent their lives complaining about taxes and parliament find themselves wrapped in their maple leaf flag. They sport patriotic slogans on their cars and T-shirts. Maple leaves sprout everywhere.
Some recount crying upon hearing their national anthem at hockey games. Many speak of a strange compulsion to point out Canadian celebrities who, like them, have infiltrated American society. Mostly, however, they just blend in.
"You learn to avoid words that will blow your cover, like 'processed' and 'out' and 'about,' " said Lavallee. Feld, 32, put it this way: "When you live in Rome amidst the Roman Empire, what is Dacia and Thrace to you?"
A Celebration Migrates South [WA Post]
I had a great weekend! Good food, good friends, visited the Fluevog store for the first time and played the /meet new people/ game with Midwest Medved, the people magnet. And I have a teachable moment to share. Do not, under any circumstances, drink peach vodka and Red Bull after midnight, especially if you're a Red Bull virgin. Just say no. It doesn't matter how cute your new friends are, how great their hair is, how hard it is for them to keep their shirts on (boys), or how much fun you're having encouraging the aforementioned boys to pay for drinks for girls so far out of their league it's embarassing. It wasn't so much a traditional hangover headache as just feeling ill for the next 36 hours. Stick with your Grey Goose on the rocks. Trust me.
