Photo of Canadian Figure Skater Barbara Scott Courtesy of Life Photo Archive
Americans are always threatening to up and move to Canada- it’s like the trump card in our social contract.
Canada manages the American Ultimatum with characteristic neutrality, welcoming all the weary malcontents- and wandering spirits- with open arms and and swinging doors. Enter, me, stage left!
There is something innately romantic about leading the life of an expat, even if up until recently I didn’t need a passport to get into my newly adopted country. First there was the Lost Generation, then there was the Beat Generation, and now there is me!
It’s about time I adopt some classic Canadian customs! So I rack my brain…
No, I’ll never say Eh, unless I’m doing a Canadian Eliza Doolittle: The rehn in Spehn stehs mehnly in the plehn.
More thinking… I can get on board with maple syrup…But I can go bigger!
…Ice skates! What’s more Canadian that ice skates?
So my honey and I head to the sports shop, envisioning antique leather skates à la Hans Brinker and the opening scene of Mystery, Alaska. We’ll be the Danny and Sandy of the Robson Square rink, tearing it up and t-stopping all over the place!
Alas, those vintage figure skates were not to be found. I settled on a pair of practicals, with my honey’s reassurance that we’d remain steadfast in our hunt for my Hans Brinkers. Though my new skates may not be as I had envisioned, I can’t help but admire them there at the foot of my bed and feel pleased that they’re actually mine!
Coulter Curated 