We went away for a week to a cottage that we rented. All the "Ontario summer cottage" clichés applied. It was divine. I will post an update with the details soon. There will be pictures.
In other news:
I think I finally have a health card. A temporary paper one, but the real thing is in the works. It was a strange process. After much perusing of web sites, and calls to the Régie de l'Assurance blahblahblah, I determined that I needed to visit a local community health centre to make my application. We stopped in on the way home from work. I had my pictures, a variety of documents "proving" my address, and the application I received from the province. Most importantly, I had Sweetie McPie with me. (And that's not a gushy afterthought. His presence had real, practical implications!)
It turned out that none of my documents (bank statement, income tax statement from the province of Quebec) were valid proof that I lived where I said I lived. In Quebec. I had an INCOME TAX STATEMENT FROM THE PROVINCE OF QUEBEC!!! Dated two months ago! But that didn't prove I lived in Quebec. (At this point, I turned to McPie and commented with much bitterness about all the $$ I blithely chucked at the QC gov't for living in the the province for a mere three months. Because I am honest. Grr.)
No, I needed a municipal tax bill (gas, hydro, etc), or rent receipt or something more... concrete. I pointed to McPie: "But, all the bills are in HIS name!" (And of course, although the clerk spoke better English that I did French - which is always the case in Hull - there was a still language barrier that precluded a more philosophical argument of the issue.)
The clerk turned to McPie, and they proceeded to discuss en français. She directed him to write down on a piece of paper that I live with him at the address noted. She turned to her colleague who was a "commissaire" (notary), and got her to also sign this affadavit. She checked McPie's driver's license. (*I* have a Quebec driver's license!!) He didn't have show any of the documents that they had wanted from moi.
Then she stamped a few things, gathered the goods to send away (my ORIGINAL birth certificate, pictures, and McPie's affadavit), gave me an piece of paper to serve as my interim card, and sent us on our way.
It seems quite fishy to me. There seem to be holes in the process. I also suspect language bias. But that's my fault, isn't it? (I'm not being facetious. My lack of language is getting more and more tricky, not to mention embarrassing de temps en temps.)
I'm going to have to sign up for La Constance et Ben Ecole de Langue en Français. Toot Sweet.
2 comments:
it doesn't seem fishy so much as governmental, emphasis on "mental."
the language thing is kinda tricky, isn't it? i feel so ignorant that i can't speak french, especially after all those years of it being drilled in my head. je m'appelle angela! je suis un tres fatigue! il y a un osseau avec un pomplemousse dans la fentre!
but god, as soon as some french person rattles off some francais at me i totally freeze up. it sounds like this:ilyaunosseauavecunpmplemoussedanslafentre!
and my response: ?!
Oh my - your description is exactly my experience! There's so much French in my head (occasionally I dream it), but I can't get it out my mouth. When I'm relaxed and just listening, like at home when the kids are talking, I can understand quite a lot of it. I can usually help Constance with her homework. But if someone on the "outside" directs a question at me: !?
McPie says I just have to start saying whatever I can in French at home, regardless of how wrong/stupid it may sound. I'm lucky to have that kind of environment available, but it's harder than it sounds!
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