Gezellig

There is a restaurant in Ottawa named “Gezellig.”

Gezellig is one of the Dutch language’s greatest words.  There is no English equivalent, which explains how this word can survive sixty years to a generation of Anglophone Canadians of Dutch descent.  For the uninitiated, gezellig (with the g’s pronounced with the beautiful guttural phonetics that no one can pull of quite like the Dutch) is a word that calls to mind warmth and coziness, the feeling that one has after having a warm time or moment with family friends.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, there is a restaurant in Ottawa called “Gezellig.”  When I first heard of their existence I was very excited because I thought I would finally be able to dine on some fine Dutch fare – perhaps have some steaming stumpot or a nice appeltaart.

But no, apparently this restaurant does not actually serve any Dutch food.  I was disappointed to learn this and then bitterly remonstrated, in my head, against this callous act of linguistic appropriation.  Imagine if there were a restaurant named “Jolly Good” that didn’t serve any British fare or a restaurant named “Jambo” that didn’t serve any East African food.

Still, I heard that the food is very good, and they’ll definitely be getting my business sometime in the future.  When I do go, I should suggest serving at least one Dutch dish. You know, because they borrowed such an awesome word. 

I can always get some fine Dutch cooking from my mother.  

Renaming Wellington Street

Ottawa's Wellington Street runs west from the Rideau Canal past the National War Memorial, Parliament, the Supreme Court, the Bank of Canada, and the National Archives before finally ending rather anticlimactically at the Ottawa River Parkway. Well, it doesn't really end there, because it is reborn, much to the great befuddlement of tourists, as Wellington Street West. I'll leave that for now, though.

Recently, Randall Denley of the Ottawa Citizen suggested that it would be a great idea to change Wellington Street's name to Sir John A. Macdonald Street. So far, one more Citizen writer has given his support for this idea while two others have, I think, given some fine reasons why this is a poor idea.

Those in support of the name change cite Wellington's supreme lack of any Canadian experience, his utter British-ness, as reasons behind the necessity of this name change. After all, they argue, shouldn't such an important Canadian street be named after a figure from Canadian history? Who better for this than Canada's first Prime Minister, the heavy-drinking Scot who served Parliament for eighteen years? We're grown up now, we don't need to name our streets after daddy's heroes.

Terrible idea, the detractors counter. Sir John A. Macdonald himself was staunchly British and so were the men who named this street. Why should we re-shape our history to suit our immediate needs? Why cut Canada from its British roots, from the men and women who shaped Canada and firmly believed in the British Empire? We have grown up, but we did not have a revolution. There is no need to cut ourselves off from our roots, from our history.

I can see the perspective of those who support the name change. After all, Wellington has had more than enough things named after him, from the capital of New Zealand to beef wrapped in pastry. There are at least three towns in Canada named after the Duke, and he even has his own boot. How many Canadians even know who Arthur Wellesley, the first Duke of Wellington, is?

Nevertheless, I believe it is irresponsible to try to cut Canada from its roots. Canada still has the British form of government, the queen is our head of state, and it was not all that long ago that an influential segment of the Canadian population proudly declared themselves United Empire Loyalists. Like it or not, the 1st Duke of Wellington was a hero to many of the men and women who built this country. If they saw fit to name one of Ottawa's most important streets after the Duke, why should we change it?

If we rename Wellington Street, we would not be remembering Sir John A. Macdonald so much as forgetting the time he lived in.

If Only

These thoughts lay knotted and jumbled
in a dark forgotten corridor
of thick restrictive walls,
loud grating noises,
and soft sullen whispers.


The knots are wet,
prickly to the touch -
as knobby fingers
tear haplessly at their
slippery edges.

Elbows knock the walls as ears
strain to hear the whispers,
but their incessant hissing only
occasionally reveals the rounded sounds
of words.

If only this thick rope can be untangled . . .