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Straipsnis: "It took me a while to feel Canadian"

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  • v1das
    Gavau sita straipsni e-mailu ir pagalvojau kad daug tokiu klausimu ir man kazkada buvo iskile. Cia jei kas planuoja dar vaziuoti paskaitykite :-). Article from
    Message 1 of 6 , Oct 9, 2009
      Gavau sita straipsni e-mailu ir pagalvojau kad daug tokiu klausimu ir man kazkada buvo iskile. Cia jei kas planuoja dar vaziuoti paskaitykite :-).

      Article from Globe and Mail by Gael Melville

      It took me a while to feel Canadian
      Coming from Scotland, I struggled to understand blue bins and two-fours. Now
      I take the elevator, not the lift
      Gael Melville
      From Monday's Globe and Mail Monday, Oct. 05, 2009 12:00AM EDT
      The first question I had while flying over Pearson airport, eyes pink and
      throat raw from sobbing the entire journey, was "where are all the
      mountains?"
      Being Scottish and a newcomer to Canada, much of what I knew about the
      geography of the country had been gleaned from glossy tourist ads in travel
      magazines.
      What became abundantly clear to me as we circled the airport before landing
      was that these scenes bore no resemblance to the featureless terrain below
      me.
      I'm not sure whether I actually vocalized my disappointment, but if I did,
      I'm sure it was a welcome relief for the passenger next to me, who had had
      to endure my hysterical homesickness throughout the seven-hour flight from
      Glasgow.
      My husband Tim is from Toronto, and even though I had lived in the same area
      of Glasgow my whole life, I agreed to move with him to Canada after we
      married in 2003.
      My second question, as he drove me from the airport to my new home, was "why
      is there snow on the ground?"
      Being the end of November, I had neither expected the early onset of winter
      nor its drastic effects on a city I had previously known only during lazy
      July vacations.
      Everything looked different covered in a blanket of snow, and I struggled to
      acclimatize to the freezing temperatures.
      More questions as Tim showed me around our temporary home - a condo rented
      to us by a snowbird. "What's a snowbird?" And then "what's a blue bin?" and
      "how do we turn the heat up?"
      Bemused and mentally exhausted, I excused myself on the pretext of unpacking
      and lay on the unfamiliar bed, crying softly to myself.
      Next came the bureaucratic questions. "What's a SIN card?" "What's OHIP?"
      "Why does the bank charge us for taking our own money out of our account?"
      Then the humiliation of a vertiginous drop in status. "Why can't I register
      to vote?" "Why is my credit card limit a measly $250 when I have the
      proceeds of the sale of my apartment in my bank account?"
      "Why can't I use my professional accounting designation in Canada?" As I
      suffered through the perceived slights and injustices, I consoled myself
      that this situation was only temporary, and would soon be resolved once I
      had a job and a credit file.
      What proved significantly more difficult to fix was the yawning gap in my
      cultural knowledge. "Who are the Group of Seven?"
      "Who are Margaret Atwood and Leonard Cohen?" Canadians indulged my lack of
      knowledge of the arts with patient explanations and visits to cultural
      sites, but pop-culture references were omnipresent and perplexing. "What is
      the humidex?" "What is a two-four?"
      I pored over newspapers and the Internet, and listened intently to the
      conversations of strangers on public transit, trying to tune in to the soul
      of Toronto.
      Reluctant to give up BBC radio and news, I clung desperately to my past, for
      a while maintaining a dual media citizenship of sorts - able to converse a
      little on current events (or current affairs, as they are called in
      Glasgow), but not fully present in either place.
      Once I began working in accounting, a new world of unwritten rules and
      customs was unveiled. I studied assiduously, all the while trying to make
      myself as Canadian as possible.
      I couldn't shake off my accent overnight, but I adopted a slower and clearer
      way of speaking, adding inflection in the right places. Where once I would
      have taken the lift and gone to the loo, now I took the elevator and visited
      the washroom.
      I made slow progress, but at least most people were unable to pinpoint my
      country of origin - to some I was Irish and to others Australian. I counted
      that as progress.
      No matter how much I tried to adapt and fit in, still the questions came
      bubbling up. "Why do they use a different size of printer paper than in
      Europe?" And, most importantly, "three weeks' holiday a year? Is that it?"
      Each night I returned home to our condo exhausted. Scottish friends mocked
      me for sounding Canadian, while Canadians still treated me like a foreigner.
      I was in cultural limbo, drifting between traditions and dialects, neither
      completely one thing nor the other.
      At the same time, I was an invisible immigrant: a member of the visible
      majority to whom no resettlement services are offered. Although I obviously
      enjoyed many advantages to help me settle in, I was experiencing genuine
      culture shock.
      I looked the part, but under the surface I was a mass of insecurity and
      unhappiness, terrified of unwitting social, or worse, work-related faux pas.
      Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the whys began to slow down. The agitated
      and occasionally irate voice inside me quieted a little and asked fewer
      questions.
      When family and friends came to visit, I realized how much I had learned as
      I explained to them the habit of referring to locations by intersections and
      the brilliance of the TTC.
      I found myself occasionally asking, "why don't they have something like this
      in Glasgow?" - the friendly and unpretentious library system, or a car-share
      club.
      And now that I'm a Canadian citizen and have the right to vote, the whys
      seem less intractable. All except for one: "If the Leafs are so bad, why are
      tickets to the games so expensive?"
      Gael Melville lives in Toronto.
    • Danguole
      Labai idomus straipsnis. As kelsiuosi i Kanada (Vankuveri) kitais metais. Aciu. O kas yra blue bins and two-fours ir ar tikrai jie turi car-share club ?
      Message 2 of 6 , Oct 9, 2009
        Labai idomus straipsnis. As kelsiuosi i Kanada (Vankuveri) kitais metais. Aciu.
        O kas yra "blue bins and two-fours" ir ar tikrai jie turi "car-share

        club"?

        Danguole

        --- On Fri, 10/9/09, v1das <v1das@...> wrote:

        From: v1das <v1das@...>
        Subject: [LitCanada] Straipsnis: "It took me a while to feel Canadian"
        To: lithuaniansincanada@yahoogroups.com
        Date: Friday, October 9, 2009, 1:47 PM






         





        Gavau sita straipsni e-mailu ir pagalvojau kad daug tokiu klausimu ir man kazkada buvo iskile. Cia jei kas planuoja dar vaziuoti paskaitykite :-).



        Article from Globe and Mail by Gael Melville



        It took me a while to feel Canadian

        Coming from Scotland, I struggled to understand blue bins and two-fours. Now

        I take the elevator, not the lift

        Gael Melville

        From Monday's Globe and Mail Monday, Oct. 05, 2009 12:00AM EDT

        The first question I had while flying over Pearson airport, eyes pink and

        throat raw from sobbing the entire journey, was "where are all the

        mountains?"

        Being Scottish and a newcomer to Canada, much of what I knew about the

        geography of the country had been gleaned from glossy tourist ads in travel

        magazines.

        What became abundantly clear to me as we circled the airport before landing

        was that these scenes bore no resemblance to the featureless terrain below

        me.

        I'm not sure whether I actually vocalized my disappointment, but if I did,

        I'm sure it was a welcome relief for the passenger next to me, who had had

        to endure my hysterical homesickness throughout the seven-hour flight from

        Glasgow.

        My husband Tim is from Toronto, and even though I had lived in the same area

        of Glasgow my whole life, I agreed to move with him to Canada after we

        married in 2003.

        My second question, as he drove me from the airport to my new home, was "why

        is there snow on the ground?"

        Being the end of November, I had neither expected the early onset of winter

        nor its drastic effects on a city I had previously known only during lazy

        July vacations.

        Everything looked different covered in a blanket of snow, and I struggled to

        acclimatize to the freezing temperatures.

        More questions as Tim showed me around our temporary home - a condo rented

        to us by a snowbird. "What's a snowbird?" And then "what's a blue bin?" and

        "how do we turn the heat up?"

        Bemused and mentally exhausted, I excused myself on the pretext of unpacking

        and lay on the unfamiliar bed, crying softly to myself.

        Next came the bureaucratic questions. "What's a SIN card?" "What's OHIP?"

        "Why does the bank charge us for taking our own money out of our account?"

        Then the humiliation of a vertiginous drop in status. "Why can't I register

        to vote?" "Why is my credit card limit a measly $250 when I have the

        proceeds of the sale of my apartment in my bank account?"

        "Why can't I use my professional accounting designation in Canada?" As I

        suffered through the perceived slights and injustices, I consoled myself

        that this situation was only temporary, and would soon be resolved once I

        had a job and a credit file.

        What proved significantly more difficult to fix was the yawning gap in my

        cultural knowledge. "Who are the Group of Seven?"

        "Who are Margaret Atwood and Leonard Cohen?" Canadians indulged my lack of

        knowledge of the arts with patient explanations and visits to cultural

        sites, but pop-culture references were omnipresent and perplexing. "What is

        the humidex?" "What is a two-four?"

        I pored over newspapers and the Internet, and listened intently to the

        conversations of strangers on public transit, trying to tune in to the soul

        of Toronto.

        Reluctant to give up BBC radio and news, I clung desperately to my past, for

        a while maintaining a dual media citizenship of sorts - able to converse a

        little on current events (or current affairs, as they are called in

        Glasgow), but not fully present in either place.

        Once I began working in accounting, a new world of unwritten rules and

        customs was unveiled. I studied assiduously, all the while trying to make

        myself as Canadian as possible.

        I couldn't shake off my accent overnight, but I adopted a slower and clearer

        way of speaking, adding inflection in the right places. Where once I would

        have taken the lift and gone to the loo, now I took the elevator and visited

        the washroom.

        I made slow progress, but at least most people were unable to pinpoint my

        country of origin - to some I was Irish and to others Australian. I counted

        that as progress.

        No matter how much I tried to adapt and fit in, still the questions came

        bubbling up. "Why do they use a different size of printer paper than in

        Europe?" And, most importantly, "three weeks' holiday a year? Is that it?"

        Each night I returned home to our condo exhausted. Scottish friends mocked

        me for sounding Canadian, while Canadians still treated me like a foreigner.

        I was in cultural limbo, drifting between traditions and dialects, neither

        completely one thing nor the other.

        At the same time, I was an invisible immigrant: a member of the visible

        majority to whom no resettlement services are offered. Although I obviously

        enjoyed many advantages to help me settle in, I was experiencing genuine

        culture shock.

        I looked the part, but under the surface I was a mass of insecurity and

        unhappiness, terrified of unwitting social, or worse, work-related faux pas.

        Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the whys began to slow down. The agitated

        and occasionally irate voice inside me quieted a little and asked fewer

        questions.

        When family and friends came to visit, I realized how much I had learned as

        I explained to them the habit of referring to locations by intersections and

        the brilliance of the TTC.

        I found myself occasionally asking, "why don't they have something like this

        in Glasgow?" - the friendly and unpretentious library system, or a car-share

        club.

        And now that I'm a Canadian citizen and have the right to vote, the whys

        seem less intractable. All except for one: "If the Leafs are so bad, why are

        tickets to the games so expensive?"

        Gael Melville lives in Toronto.































        [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
      • v1das
        Danguole, Blue bins: cia siuksles skirstai i 3 skirtingas kruvas: blue bins - visi popieriai ir visokie plastmasiniai konteineriai, stiklas. Green bins -
        Message 3 of 6 , Oct 9, 2009
          Danguole,

          Blue bins:
          cia siuksles skirstai i 3 skirtingas kruvas:
          blue bins - visi popieriai ir visokie plastmasiniai konteineriai, stiklas.
          Green bins - maisto atiekas
          Siuksliu maisai - visos kitos siuksles.

          Blue bins ir Green bins isveza kiekviena savaite.
          Siuksliu maisus isveza kas antra savaite.

          two-fours - man taip atrodo, kai taip vaidnamos alaus dezes, kuriuose buna 24 buteliai.

          Tiesa sakant as nieko apie "car-share club" nesu girdejes, nezinau nieko kas tuo naudotusi ir ar tikrai cia toks klubas yra.

          Vidas M.

          --- In lithuaniansincanada@yahoogroups.com, Danguole <lietuvossky@...> wrote:
          >
          > Labai idomus straipsnis. As kelsiuosi i Kanada (Vankuveri) kitais metais. Aciu.
          > O kas yra "blue bins and two-fours" ir ar tikrai jie turi "car-share
          >
          > club"?
          >
          > Danguole
          >
          > --- On Fri, 10/9/09, v1das <v1das@...> wrote:
          >
          > From: v1das <v1das@...>
          > Subject: [LitCanada] Straipsnis: "It took me a while to feel Canadian"
          > To: lithuaniansincanada@yahoogroups.com
          > Date: Friday, October 9, 2009, 1:47 PM
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >  
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          > Gavau sita straipsni e-mailu ir pagalvojau kad daug tokiu klausimu ir man kazkada buvo iskile. Cia jei kas planuoja dar vaziuoti paskaitykite :-).
          >
          >
          >
          > Article from Globe and Mail by Gael Melville
          >
          >
          >
          > It took me a while to feel Canadian
          >
          > Coming from Scotland, I struggled to understand blue bins and two-fours. Now
          >
          > I take the elevator, not the lift
          >
          > Gael Melville
          >
          > From Monday's Globe and Mail Monday, Oct. 05, 2009 12:00AM EDT
          >
          > The first question I had while flying over Pearson airport, eyes pink and
          >
          > throat raw from sobbing the entire journey, was "where are all the
          >
          > mountains?"
          >
          > Being Scottish and a newcomer to Canada, much of what I knew about the
          >
          > geography of the country had been gleaned from glossy tourist ads in travel
          >
          > magazines.
          >
          > What became abundantly clear to me as we circled the airport before landing
          >
          > was that these scenes bore no resemblance to the featureless terrain below
          >
          > me.
          >
          > I'm not sure whether I actually vocalized my disappointment, but if I did,
          >
          > I'm sure it was a welcome relief for the passenger next to me, who had had
          >
          > to endure my hysterical homesickness throughout the seven-hour flight from
          >
          > Glasgow.
          >
          > My husband Tim is from Toronto, and even though I had lived in the same area
          >
          > of Glasgow my whole life, I agreed to move with him to Canada after we
          >
          > married in 2003.
          >
          > My second question, as he drove me from the airport to my new home, was "why
          >
          > is there snow on the ground?"
          >
          > Being the end of November, I had neither expected the early onset of winter
          >
          > nor its drastic effects on a city I had previously known only during lazy
          >
          > July vacations.
          >
          > Everything looked different covered in a blanket of snow, and I struggled to
          >
          > acclimatize to the freezing temperatures.
          >
          > More questions as Tim showed me around our temporary home - a condo rented
          >
          > to us by a snowbird. "What's a snowbird?" And then "what's a blue bin?" and
          >
          > "how do we turn the heat up?"
          >
          > Bemused and mentally exhausted, I excused myself on the pretext of unpacking
          >
          > and lay on the unfamiliar bed, crying softly to myself.
          >
          > Next came the bureaucratic questions. "What's a SIN card?" "What's OHIP?"
          >
          > "Why does the bank charge us for taking our own money out of our account?"
          >
          > Then the humiliation of a vertiginous drop in status. "Why can't I register
          >
          > to vote?" "Why is my credit card limit a measly $250 when I have the
          >
          > proceeds of the sale of my apartment in my bank account?"
          >
          > "Why can't I use my professional accounting designation in Canada?" As I
          >
          > suffered through the perceived slights and injustices, I consoled myself
          >
          > that this situation was only temporary, and would soon be resolved once I
          >
          > had a job and a credit file.
          >
          > What proved significantly more difficult to fix was the yawning gap in my
          >
          > cultural knowledge. "Who are the Group of Seven?"
          >
          > "Who are Margaret Atwood and Leonard Cohen?" Canadians indulged my lack of
          >
          > knowledge of the arts with patient explanations and visits to cultural
          >
          > sites, but pop-culture references were omnipresent and perplexing. "What is
          >
          > the humidex?" "What is a two-four?"
          >
          > I pored over newspapers and the Internet, and listened intently to the
          >
          > conversations of strangers on public transit, trying to tune in to the soul
          >
          > of Toronto.
          >
          > Reluctant to give up BBC radio and news, I clung desperately to my past, for
          >
          > a while maintaining a dual media citizenship of sorts - able to converse a
          >
          > little on current events (or current affairs, as they are called in
          >
          > Glasgow), but not fully present in either place.
          >
          > Once I began working in accounting, a new world of unwritten rules and
          >
          > customs was unveiled. I studied assiduously, all the while trying to make
          >
          > myself as Canadian as possible.
          >
          > I couldn't shake off my accent overnight, but I adopted a slower and clearer
          >
          > way of speaking, adding inflection in the right places. Where once I would
          >
          > have taken the lift and gone to the loo, now I took the elevator and visited
          >
          > the washroom.
          >
          > I made slow progress, but at least most people were unable to pinpoint my
          >
          > country of origin - to some I was Irish and to others Australian. I counted
          >
          > that as progress.
          >
          > No matter how much I tried to adapt and fit in, still the questions came
          >
          > bubbling up. "Why do they use a different size of printer paper than in
          >
          > Europe?" And, most importantly, "three weeks' holiday a year? Is that it?"
          >
          > Each night I returned home to our condo exhausted. Scottish friends mocked
          >
          > me for sounding Canadian, while Canadians still treated me like a foreigner.
          >
          > I was in cultural limbo, drifting between traditions and dialects, neither
          >
          > completely one thing nor the other.
          >
          > At the same time, I was an invisible immigrant: a member of the visible
          >
          > majority to whom no resettlement services are offered. Although I obviously
          >
          > enjoyed many advantages to help me settle in, I was experiencing genuine
          >
          > culture shock.
          >
          > I looked the part, but under the surface I was a mass of insecurity and
          >
          > unhappiness, terrified of unwitting social, or worse, work-related faux pas.
          >
          > Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the whys began to slow down. The agitated
          >
          > and occasionally irate voice inside me quieted a little and asked fewer
          >
          > questions.
          >
          > When family and friends came to visit, I realized how much I had learned as
          >
          > I explained to them the habit of referring to locations by intersections and
          >
          > the brilliance of the TTC.
          >
          > I found myself occasionally asking, "why don't they have something like this
          >
          > in Glasgow?" - the friendly and unpretentious library system, or a car-share
          >
          > club.
          >
          > And now that I'm a Canadian citizen and have the right to vote, the whys
          >
          > seem less intractable. All except for one: "If the Leafs are so bad, why are
          >
          > tickets to the games so expensive?"
          >
          > Gael Melville lives in Toronto.
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
          >
        • vaidas u
          Taip, yra tokie klubai, regis zipcar vadinasi... ... From: v1das Subject: Re: [LitCanada] Straipsnis: It took me a while to feel Canadian
          Message 4 of 6 , Oct 10, 2009
            Taip, yra tokie klubai, regis "zipcar" vadinasi...

            --- On Fri, 10/9/09, v1das <v1das@...> wrote:


            From: v1das <v1das@...>
            Subject: Re: [LitCanada] Straipsnis: "It took me a while to feel Canadian"
            To: lithuaniansincanada@yahoogroups.com
            Date: Friday, October 9, 2009, 8:16 PM


             



            Danguole,

            Blue bins:
            cia siuksles skirstai i 3 skirtingas kruvas:
            blue bins - visi popieriai ir visokie plastmasiniai konteineriai, stiklas.
            Green bins - maisto atiekas
            Siuksliu maisai - visos kitos siuksles.

            Blue bins ir Green bins isveza kiekviena savaite.
            Siuksliu maisus isveza kas antra savaite.

            two-fours - man taip atrodo, kai taip vaidnamos alaus dezes, kuriuose buna 24 buteliai.

            Tiesa sakant as nieko apie "car-share club" nesu girdejes, nezinau nieko kas tuo naudotusi ir ar tikrai cia toks klubas yra.

            Vidas M.

            --- In lithuaniansincanada @yahoogroups. com, Danguole <lietuvossky@ ...> wrote:
            >
            > Labai idomus straipsnis. As kelsiuosi i Kanada (Vankuveri) kitais metais. Aciu.
            > O kas yra "blue bins and two-fours" ir ar tikrai jie turi "car-share
            >
            > club"?
            >
            > Danguole
            >
            > --- On Fri, 10/9/09, v1das <v1das@...> wrote:
            >
            > From: v1das <v1das@...>
            > Subject: [LitCanada] Straipsnis: "It took me a while to feel Canadian"
            > To: lithuaniansincanada @yahoogroups. com
            > Date: Friday, October 9, 2009, 1:47 PM
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >  
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            > Gavau sita straipsni e-mailu ir pagalvojau kad daug tokiu klausimu ir man kazkada buvo iskile. Cia jei kas planuoja dar vaziuoti paskaitykite :-).
            >
            >
            >
            > Article from Globe and Mail by Gael Melville
            >
            >
            >
            > It took me a while to feel Canadian
            >
            > Coming from Scotland, I struggled to understand blue bins and two-fours. Now
            >
            > I take the elevator, not the lift
            >
            > Gael Melville
            >
            > From Monday's Globe and Mail Monday, Oct. 05, 2009 12:00AM EDT
            >
            > The first question I had while flying over Pearson airport, eyes pink and
            >
            > throat raw from sobbing the entire journey, was "where are all the
            >
            > mountains?"
            >
            > Being Scottish and a newcomer to Canada, much of what I knew about the
            >
            > geography of the country had been gleaned from glossy tourist ads in travel
            >
            > magazines.
            >
            > What became abundantly clear to me as we circled the airport before landing
            >
            > was that these scenes bore no resemblance to the featureless terrain below
            >
            > me.
            >
            > I'm not sure whether I actually vocalized my disappointment, but if I did,
            >
            > I'm sure it was a welcome relief for the passenger next to me, who had had
            >
            > to endure my hysterical homesickness throughout the seven-hour flight from
            >
            > Glasgow.
            >
            > My husband Tim is from Toronto, and even though I had lived in the same area
            >
            > of Glasgow my whole life, I agreed to move with him to Canada after we
            >
            > married in 2003.
            >
            > My second question, as he drove me from the airport to my new home, was "why
            >
            > is there snow on the ground?"
            >
            > Being the end of November, I had neither expected the early onset of winter
            >
            > nor its drastic effects on a city I had previously known only during lazy
            >
            > July vacations.
            >
            > Everything looked different covered in a blanket of snow, and I struggled to
            >
            > acclimatize to the freezing temperatures.
            >
            > More questions as Tim showed me around our temporary home - a condo rented
            >
            > to us by a snowbird. "What's a snowbird?" And then "what's a blue bin?" and
            >
            > "how do we turn the heat up?"
            >
            > Bemused and mentally exhausted, I excused myself on the pretext of unpacking
            >
            > and lay on the unfamiliar bed, crying softly to myself.
            >
            > Next came the bureaucratic questions. "What's a SIN card?" "What's OHIP?"
            >
            > "Why does the bank charge us for taking our own money out of our account?"
            >
            > Then the humiliation of a vertiginous drop in status. "Why can't I register
            >
            > to vote?" "Why is my credit card limit a measly $250 when I have the
            >
            > proceeds of the sale of my apartment in my bank account?"
            >
            > "Why can't I use my professional accounting designation in Canada?" As I
            >
            > suffered through the perceived slights and injustices, I consoled myself
            >
            > that this situation was only temporary, and would soon be resolved once I
            >
            > had a job and a credit file.
            >
            > What proved significantly more difficult to fix was the yawning gap in my
            >
            > cultural knowledge. "Who are the Group of Seven?"
            >
            > "Who are Margaret Atwood and Leonard Cohen?" Canadians indulged my lack of
            >
            > knowledge of the arts with patient explanations and visits to cultural
            >
            > sites, but pop-culture references were omnipresent and perplexing. "What is
            >
            > the humidex?" "What is a two-four?"
            >
            > I pored over newspapers and the Internet, and listened intently to the
            >
            > conversations of strangers on public transit, trying to tune in to the soul
            >
            > of Toronto.
            >
            > Reluctant to give up BBC radio and news, I clung desperately to my past, for
            >
            > a while maintaining a dual media citizenship of sorts - able to converse a
            >
            > little on current events (or current affairs, as they are called in
            >
            > Glasgow), but not fully present in either place.
            >
            > Once I began working in accounting, a new world of unwritten rules and
            >
            > customs was unveiled. I studied assiduously, all the while trying to make
            >
            > myself as Canadian as possible.
            >
            > I couldn't shake off my accent overnight, but I adopted a slower and clearer
            >
            > way of speaking, adding inflection in the right places. Where once I would
            >
            > have taken the lift and gone to the loo, now I took the elevator and visited
            >
            > the washroom.
            >
            > I made slow progress, but at least most people were unable to pinpoint my
            >
            > country of origin - to some I was Irish and to others Australian. I counted
            >
            > that as progress.
            >
            > No matter how much I tried to adapt and fit in, still the questions came
            >
            > bubbling up. "Why do they use a different size of printer paper than in
            >
            > Europe?" And, most importantly, "three weeks' holiday a year? Is that it?"
            >
            > Each night I returned home to our condo exhausted. Scottish friends mocked
            >
            > me for sounding Canadian, while Canadians still treated me like a foreigner.
            >
            > I was in cultural limbo, drifting between traditions and dialects, neither
            >
            > completely one thing nor the other.
            >
            > At the same time, I was an invisible immigrant: a member of the visible
            >
            > majority to whom no resettlement services are offered. Although I obviously
            >
            > enjoyed many advantages to help me settle in, I was experiencing genuine
            >
            > culture shock.
            >
            > I looked the part, but under the surface I was a mass of insecurity and
            >
            > unhappiness, terrified of unwitting social, or worse, work-related faux pas.
            >
            > Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the whys began to slow down. The agitated
            >
            > and occasionally irate voice inside me quieted a little and asked fewer
            >
            > questions.
            >
            > When family and friends came to visit, I realized how much I had learned as
            >
            > I explained to them the habit of referring to locations by intersections and
            >
            > the brilliance of the TTC.
            >
            > I found myself occasionally asking, "why don't they have something like this
            >
            > in Glasgow?" - the friendly and unpretentious library system, or a car-share
            >
            > club.
            >
            > And now that I'm a Canadian citizen and have the right to vote, the whys
            >
            > seem less intractable. All except for one: "If the Leafs are so bad, why are
            >
            > tickets to the games so expensive?"
            >
            > Gael Melville lives in Toronto.
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            >
            > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
            >



















            [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
          • Kenmunications
            Unstated statistics: #1 The number of people in Canada who are from Scotland, is a nmber greater than: --all of the people in the world who are Lithuanian who
            Message 5 of 6 , Oct 10, 2009
              Unstated statistics:

              #1
              The number of people in Canada who are from Scotland,

              is a nmber greater than:

              --all of the people in the world who are Lithuanian who are not in Lithuania

              and

              --all of the people in Lithuania
              #2 If the wealth of individuals in Canada were computed as to ethnic origin,

              people of Canada from Scotland would have more wealth than all of the
              Lithuanians in the world.


              :D

              Best regards,
              K
              Vilnius, formerly from Canada

              //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
              2009/10/10 vaidas u <vaidas74@...>

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              >
              > Taip, yra tokie klubai, regis "zipcar" vadinasi...
              >
              > --- On Fri, 10/9/09, v1das <v1das@... <v1das%40yahoo.com>> wrote:
              >
              > From: v1das <v1das@... <v1das%40yahoo.com>>
              > Subject: Re: [LitCanada] Straipsnis: "It took me a while to feel Canadian"
              > To: lithuaniansincanada@yahoogroups.com<lithuaniansincanada%40yahoogroups.com>
              > Date: Friday, October 9, 2009, 8:16 PM
              >
              >
              >
              > Danguole,
              >
              > Blue bins:
              > cia siuksles skirstai i 3 skirtingas kruvas:
              > blue bins - visi popieriai ir visokie plastmasiniai konteineriai, stiklas.
              > Green bins - maisto atiekas
              > Siuksliu maisai - visos kitos siuksles.
              >
              > Blue bins ir Green bins isveza kiekviena savaite.
              > Siuksliu maisus isveza kas antra savaite.
              >
              > two-fours - man taip atrodo, kai taip vaidnamos alaus dezes, kuriuose buna
              > 24 buteliai.
              >
              > Tiesa sakant as nieko apie "car-share club" nesu girdejes, nezinau nieko
              > kas tuo naudotusi ir ar tikrai cia toks klubas yra.
              >
              > Vidas M.
              >
              > --- In lithuaniansincanada @yahoogroups. com, Danguole <lietuvossky@ ...>
              > wrote:
              > >
              > > Labai idomus straipsnis. As kelsiuosi i Kanada (Vankuveri) kitais metais.
              > Aciu.
              > > O kas yra "blue bins and two-fours" ir ar tikrai jie turi "car-share
              > >
              > > club"?
              > >
              > > Danguole
              > >
              > > --- On Fri, 10/9/09, v1das <v1das@...> wrote:
              > >
              > > From: v1das <v1das@...>
              > > Subject: [LitCanada] Straipsnis: "It took me a while to feel Canadian"
              > > To: lithuaniansincanada @yahoogroups. com
              > > Date: Friday, October 9, 2009, 1:47 PM
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > > Gavau sita straipsni e-mailu ir pagalvojau kad daug tokiu klausimu ir man
              > kazkada buvo iskile. Cia jei kas planuoja dar vaziuoti paskaitykite :-).
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > > Article from Globe and Mail by Gael Melville
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > > It took me a while to feel Canadian
              > >
              > > Coming from Scotland, I struggled to understand blue bins and two-fours.
              > Now
              > >
              > > I take the elevator, not the lift
              > >
              > > Gael Melville
              > >
              > > From Monday's Globe and Mail Monday, Oct. 05, 2009 12:00AM EDT
              > >
              > > The first question I had while flying over Pearson airport, eyes pink and
              >
              > >
              > > throat raw from sobbing the entire journey, was "where are all the
              > >
              > > mountains?"
              > >
              > > Being Scottish and a newcomer to Canada, much of what I knew about the
              > >
              > > geography of the country had been gleaned from glossy tourist ads in
              > travel
              > >
              > > magazines.
              > >
              > > What became abundantly clear to me as we circled the airport before
              > landing
              > >
              > > was that these scenes bore no resemblance to the featureless terrain
              > below
              > >
              > > me.
              > >
              > > I'm not sure whether I actually vocalized my disappointment, but if I
              > did,
              > >
              > > I'm sure it was a welcome relief for the passenger next to me, who had
              > had
              > >
              > > to endure my hysterical homesickness throughout the seven-hour flight
              > from
              > >
              > > Glasgow.
              > >
              > > My husband Tim is from Toronto, and even though I had lived in the same
              > area
              > >
              > > of Glasgow my whole life, I agreed to move with him to Canada after we
              > >
              > > married in 2003.
              > >
              > > My second question, as he drove me from the airport to my new home, was
              > "why
              > >
              > > is there snow on the ground?"
              > >
              > > Being the end of November, I had neither expected the early onset of
              > winter
              > >
              > > nor its drastic effects on a city I had previously known only during lazy
              >
              > >
              > > July vacations.
              > >
              > > Everything looked different covered in a blanket of snow, and I struggled
              > to
              > >
              > > acclimatize to the freezing temperatures.
              > >
              > > More questions as Tim showed me around our temporary home - a condo
              > rented
              > >
              > > to us by a snowbird. "What's a snowbird?" And then "what's a blue bin?"
              > and
              > >
              > > "how do we turn the heat up?"
              > >
              > > Bemused and mentally exhausted, I excused myself on the pretext of
              > unpacking
              > >
              > > and lay on the unfamiliar bed, crying softly to myself.
              > >
              > > Next came the bureaucratic questions. "What's a SIN card?" "What's OHIP?"
              >
              > >
              > > "Why does the bank charge us for taking our own money out of our
              > account?"
              > >
              > > Then the humiliation of a vertiginous drop in status. "Why can't I
              > register
              > >
              > > to vote?" "Why is my credit card limit a measly $250 when I have the
              > >
              > > proceeds of the sale of my apartment in my bank account?"
              > >
              > > "Why can't I use my professional accounting designation in Canada?" As I
              > >
              > > suffered through the perceived slights and injustices, I consoled myself
              > >
              > > that this situation was only temporary, and would soon be resolved once I
              >
              > >
              > > had a job and a credit file.
              > >
              > > What proved significantly more difficult to fix was the yawning gap in my
              >
              > >
              > > cultural knowledge. "Who are the Group of Seven?"
              > >
              > > "Who are Margaret Atwood and Leonard Cohen?" Canadians indulged my lack
              > of
              > >
              > > knowledge of the arts with patient explanations and visits to cultural
              > >
              > > sites, but pop-culture references were omnipresent and perplexing. "What
              > is
              > >
              > > the humidex?" "What is a two-four?"
              > >
              > > I pored over newspapers and the Internet, and listened intently to the
              > >
              > > conversations of strangers on public transit, trying to tune in to the
              > soul
              > >
              > > of Toronto.
              > >
              > > Reluctant to give up BBC radio and news, I clung desperately to my past,
              > for
              > >
              > > a while maintaining a dual media citizenship of sorts - able to converse
              > a
              > >
              > > little on current events (or current affairs, as they are called in
              > >
              > > Glasgow), but not fully present in either place.
              > >
              > > Once I began working in accounting, a new world of unwritten rules and
              > >
              > > customs was unveiled. I studied assiduously, all the while trying to make
              >
              > >
              > > myself as Canadian as possible.
              > >
              > > I couldn't shake off my accent overnight, but I adopted a slower and
              > clearer
              > >
              > > way of speaking, adding inflection in the right places. Where once I
              > would
              > >
              > > have taken the lift and gone to the loo, now I took the elevator and
              > visited
              > >
              > > the washroom.
              > >
              > > I made slow progress, but at least most people were unable to pinpoint my
              >
              > >
              > > country of origin - to some I was Irish and to others Australian. I
              > counted
              > >
              > > that as progress.
              > >
              > > No matter how much I tried to adapt and fit in, still the questions came
              > >
              > > bubbling up. "Why do they use a different size of printer paper than in
              > >
              > > Europe?" And, most importantly, "three weeks' holiday a year? Is that
              > it?"
              > >
              > > Each night I returned home to our condo exhausted. Scottish friends
              > mocked
              > >
              > > me for sounding Canadian, while Canadians still treated me like a
              > foreigner.
              > >
              > > I was in cultural limbo, drifting between traditions and dialects,
              > neither
              > >
              > > completely one thing nor the other.
              > >
              > > At the same time, I was an invisible immigrant: a member of the visible
              > >
              > > majority to whom no resettlement services are offered. Although I
              > obviously
              > >
              > > enjoyed many advantages to help me settle in, I was experiencing genuine
              > >
              > > culture shock.
              > >
              > > I looked the part, but under the surface I was a mass of insecurity and
              > >
              > > unhappiness, terrified of unwitting social, or worse, work-related faux
              > pas.
              > >
              > > Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the whys began to slow down. The
              > agitated
              > >
              > > and occasionally irate voice inside me quieted a little and asked fewer
              > >
              > > questions.
              > >
              > > When family and friends came to visit, I realized how much I had learned
              > as
              > >
              > > I explained to them the habit of referring to locations by intersections
              > and
              > >
              > > the brilliance of the TTC.
              > >
              > > I found myself occasionally asking, "why don't they have something like
              > this
              > >
              > > in Glasgow?" - the friendly and unpretentious library system, or a
              > car-share
              > >
              > > club.
              > >
              > > And now that I'm a Canadian citizen and have the right to vote, the whys
              > >
              > > seem less intractable. All except for one: "If the Leafs are so bad, why
              > are
              > >
              > > tickets to the games so expensive?"
              > >
              > > Gael Melville lives in Toronto.
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > >
              > > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
              > >
              >
              > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
              >
              >
              >


              [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
            • yeronimas
              two-fours dar galetu buti two-by-four arba tiesiog 2x4. Tai tokia lenta labai populiari naudojama statybose karkaso konstrukcijai ir kurios matmenys yra 2
              Message 6 of 6 , Oct 13, 2009
                two-fours dar galetu buti two-by-four arba tiesiog 2x4. Tai tokia lenta labai populiari naudojama statybose karkaso konstrukcijai ir kurios matmenys yra 2 coliai and 2 coliu, bet ir tai tik lentos pries isdziustant. Normaliai matmenys yra mazesni, tik vadina 2x4.



                --- In lithuaniansincanada@yahoogroups.com, "v1das" <v1das@...> wrote:
                >
                > Danguole,
                >
                > Blue bins:
                > cia siuksles skirstai i 3 skirtingas kruvas:
                > blue bins - visi popieriai ir visokie plastmasiniai konteineriai, stiklas.
                > Green bins - maisto atiekas
                > Siuksliu maisai - visos kitos siuksles.
                >
                > Blue bins ir Green bins isveza kiekviena savaite.
                > Siuksliu maisus isveza kas antra savaite.
                >
                > two-fours - man taip atrodo, kai taip vaidnamos alaus dezes, kuriuose buna 24 buteliai.
                >
                > Tiesa sakant as nieko apie "car-share club" nesu girdejes, nezinau nieko kas tuo naudotusi ir ar tikrai cia toks klubas yra.
                >
                > Vidas M.
                >
                > --- In lithuaniansincanada@yahoogroups.com, Danguole <lietuvossky@> wrote:
                > >
                > > Labai idomus straipsnis. As kelsiuosi i Kanada (Vankuveri) kitais metais. Aciu.
                > > O kas yra "blue bins and two-fours" ir ar tikrai jie turi "car-share
                > >
                > > club"?
                > >
                > > Danguole
                > >
                > > --- On Fri, 10/9/09, v1das <v1das@> wrote:
                > >
                > > From: v1das <v1das@>
                > > Subject: [LitCanada] Straipsnis: "It took me a while to feel Canadian"
                > > To: lithuaniansincanada@yahoogroups.com
                > > Date: Friday, October 9, 2009, 1:47 PM
                > >
                > >
                > >
                > >
                > >
                > >
                > >  
                > >
                > >
                > >
                > >
                > >
                > > Gavau sita straipsni e-mailu ir pagalvojau kad daug tokiu klausimu ir man kazkada buvo iskile. Cia jei kas planuoja dar vaziuoti paskaitykite :-).
                > >
                > >
                > >
                > > Article from Globe and Mail by Gael Melville
                > >
                > >
                > >
                > > It took me a while to feel Canadian
                > >
                > > Coming from Scotland, I struggled to understand blue bins and two-fours. Now
                > >
                > > I take the elevator, not the lift
                > >
                > > Gael Melville
                > >
                > > From Monday's Globe and Mail Monday, Oct. 05, 2009 12:00AM EDT
                > >
                > > The first question I had while flying over Pearson airport, eyes pink and
                > >
                > > throat raw from sobbing the entire journey, was "where are all the
                > >
                > > mountains?"
                > >
                > > Being Scottish and a newcomer to Canada, much of what I knew about the
                > >
                > > geography of the country had been gleaned from glossy tourist ads in travel
                > >
                > > magazines.
                > >
                > > What became abundantly clear to me as we circled the airport before landing
                > >
                > > was that these scenes bore no resemblance to the featureless terrain below
                > >
                > > me.
                > >
                > > I'm not sure whether I actually vocalized my disappointment, but if I did,
                > >
                > > I'm sure it was a welcome relief for the passenger next to me, who had had
                > >
                > > to endure my hysterical homesickness throughout the seven-hour flight from
                > >
                > > Glasgow.
                > >
                > > My husband Tim is from Toronto, and even though I had lived in the same area
                > >
                > > of Glasgow my whole life, I agreed to move with him to Canada after we
                > >
                > > married in 2003.
                > >
                > > My second question, as he drove me from the airport to my new home, was "why
                > >
                > > is there snow on the ground?"
                > >
                > > Being the end of November, I had neither expected the early onset of winter
                > >
                > > nor its drastic effects on a city I had previously known only during lazy
                > >
                > > July vacations.
                > >
                > > Everything looked different covered in a blanket of snow, and I struggled to
                > >
                > > acclimatize to the freezing temperatures.
                > >
                > > More questions as Tim showed me around our temporary home - a condo rented
                > >
                > > to us by a snowbird. "What's a snowbird?" And then "what's a blue bin?" and
                > >
                > > "how do we turn the heat up?"
                > >
                > > Bemused and mentally exhausted, I excused myself on the pretext of unpacking
                > >
                > > and lay on the unfamiliar bed, crying softly to myself.
                > >
                > > Next came the bureaucratic questions. "What's a SIN card?" "What's OHIP?"
                > >
                > > "Why does the bank charge us for taking our own money out of our account?"
                > >
                > > Then the humiliation of a vertiginous drop in status. "Why can't I register
                > >
                > > to vote?" "Why is my credit card limit a measly $250 when I have the
                > >
                > > proceeds of the sale of my apartment in my bank account?"
                > >
                > > "Why can't I use my professional accounting designation in Canada?" As I
                > >
                > > suffered through the perceived slights and injustices, I consoled myself
                > >
                > > that this situation was only temporary, and would soon be resolved once I
                > >
                > > had a job and a credit file.
                > >
                > > What proved significantly more difficult to fix was the yawning gap in my
                > >
                > > cultural knowledge. "Who are the Group of Seven?"
                > >
                > > "Who are Margaret Atwood and Leonard Cohen?" Canadians indulged my lack of
                > >
                > > knowledge of the arts with patient explanations and visits to cultural
                > >
                > > sites, but pop-culture references were omnipresent and perplexing. "What is
                > >
                > > the humidex?" "What is a two-four?"
                > >
                > > I pored over newspapers and the Internet, and listened intently to the
                > >
                > > conversations of strangers on public transit, trying to tune in to the soul
                > >
                > > of Toronto.
                > >
                > > Reluctant to give up BBC radio and news, I clung desperately to my past, for
                > >
                > > a while maintaining a dual media citizenship of sorts - able to converse a
                > >
                > > little on current events (or current affairs, as they are called in
                > >
                > > Glasgow), but not fully present in either place.
                > >
                > > Once I began working in accounting, a new world of unwritten rules and
                > >
                > > customs was unveiled. I studied assiduously, all the while trying to make
                > >
                > > myself as Canadian as possible.
                > >
                > > I couldn't shake off my accent overnight, but I adopted a slower and clearer
                > >
                > > way of speaking, adding inflection in the right places. Where once I would
                > >
                > > have taken the lift and gone to the loo, now I took the elevator and visited
                > >
                > > the washroom.
                > >
                > > I made slow progress, but at least most people were unable to pinpoint my
                > >
                > > country of origin - to some I was Irish and to others Australian. I counted
                > >
                > > that as progress.
                > >
                > > No matter how much I tried to adapt and fit in, still the questions came
                > >
                > > bubbling up. "Why do they use a different size of printer paper than in
                > >
                > > Europe?" And, most importantly, "three weeks' holiday a year? Is that it?"
                > >
                > > Each night I returned home to our condo exhausted. Scottish friends mocked
                > >
                > > me for sounding Canadian, while Canadians still treated me like a foreigner.
                > >
                > > I was in cultural limbo, drifting between traditions and dialects, neither
                > >
                > > completely one thing nor the other.
                > >
                > > At the same time, I was an invisible immigrant: a member of the visible
                > >
                > > majority to whom no resettlement services are offered. Although I obviously
                > >
                > > enjoyed many advantages to help me settle in, I was experiencing genuine
                > >
                > > culture shock.
                > >
                > > I looked the part, but under the surface I was a mass of insecurity and
                > >
                > > unhappiness, terrified of unwitting social, or worse, work-related faux pas.
                > >
                > > Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the whys began to slow down. The agitated
                > >
                > > and occasionally irate voice inside me quieted a little and asked fewer
                > >
                > > questions.
                > >
                > > When family and friends came to visit, I realized how much I had learned as
                > >
                > > I explained to them the habit of referring to locations by intersections and
                > >
                > > the brilliance of the TTC.
                > >
                > > I found myself occasionally asking, "why don't they have something like this
                > >
                > > in Glasgow?" - the friendly and unpretentious library system, or a car-share
                > >
                > > club.
                > >
                > > And now that I'm a Canadian citizen and have the right to vote, the whys
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                > > seem less intractable. All except for one: "If the Leafs are so bad, why are
                > >
                > > tickets to the games so expensive?"
                > >
                > > Gael Melville lives in Toronto.
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                > >
                > > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
                > >
                >
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