My wife and I saw this movie some time ago and found it amusing as well as causing me to reflect on Esto-Canadian culture and how it has evolved. I was somewhat surprised that someone in the Esto second or third generation didn’t seem to write up our version so I decided to put a few thoughts down on paper.

I recall the moment in the movie where the hero asked his future brother in law to teach him a conventional phrase in Greek (I think it was “thank you”) and got set up to say something not too polite. This reminded me of the time I got into trouble with both my wife and mother about our old female dog. Just for the fun of it, I had taken to calling her by a corrupt slang expression for female private parts. This was one of the few “bad” words I had somehow learned during my somewhat sheltered childhood, probably at summer camp. My wife assumed that this was a particular Estonian term of endearment and started calling the dog the same way. One day during one of mother’s visits I made the mistake of going out for awhile and leaving the three of them alone. When I returned two of them were giving me baleful looks and mother gave me the old “oi oi oi” treatment. My wife waited until later to give me her “head-washing”. Dog still treated me OK but I had to start calling her in English.

My wedding itself (the first one) had its moments. I had an uncle, childless, who decided somehow that it would be appropriate for him to speak Estonian only to us on this occasion. His thinking seemed to be that this would cause my wife to learn Estonian. I thought this was quite stupid and unrealistic; however, this was a time when many others of his generation felt much the same, fortunately not my parents. He succeeded only in making a life-long enemy who didn’t want much to do with him. I think he’s still alive, but I imagine he’s a very lonely old man. Similar situations happened with other families, some reconciled over time but some lost any chance of enjoying the company of their grandchildren. Eventually a 95% plus mixed marriage rate caused the ministers to stop railing against these from the pulpit because it offended too many of their flock. Some of them even forced themselves to face the inevitable and started offering English language services (heavily accented of course) but by this time the damage had been done.

Speaking of Esto clergy, one particular sermon of the early 1960’s particularly stands out in my mind. It was Christmas Eve and the height of the cold war. The minister got carried away a bit (perhaps he’d gotten into the wine before hand) and thundered that he hoped the Americans would nuke the Russians. On the way out I heard the older generation discussing this. All agreed with the sentiment but a few thought that perhaps Christmas eve would not have been a good time to proclaim this wish-peace on earth and all that good stuff.

February at our house is “Aktus” season. Most if not all readers know what an “Aktus” is, particularly the one that celebrates Estonian Independence Day. These have become quite civilized here in Ottawa in recent years with the keynote speech actually having been done in English; however, this was not always the case. In the past in Southern Ontario all too often some old warhorse would rant on for over an hour in Estonian about the need to defeat the evil of communism and free the fatherland. I could appreciate their sentiments but most of this was highly unrealistic to my generation and while I found it boring, my wife also suffered, although probably less so since she couldn’t understand any of it. After awhile she would beg off going to these and even now she gets this haunted look in her eyes when February rolls around and I mention the dreaded word “Aktus”. In the last while I have noticed that on average only a dozen or so of my generation shows up, almost all without spouses although there are a couple of hardy exceptions. Most of us lie politely about how everyone looks great when we see each other once a year even though deep down we are thinking, “boy does so and so ever look like her mother or his father”.

St. John’s day at the Estonian summer camp is upon us yet again and we are having our annual discussion about why I have to do this and leave her alone to look after the dog. It’s a good 5 hour drive there and usually on the long July weekend when she has other things planned for us. I always invite her and get turned down with a snort. To keep peace I only go to these on alternate years. This year was particularily bad because I made the mistake of mentioning that this was going to be a particularily big celebration complete with a song festival and she might find it interesting. Having sat though some Estonian choir performances she wanted to know if was a masochist or did I perhaps have an old girl friend down there that I wanted to visit. In the end I think I wore her down and got her reluctant OK.

Estonian food has its moments was well. Although my wife has taken to liking rye bread, dill pickles, potato beet salad, she won’t touch smoked fish or herring of any kind. I even have to keep my smoked fish, matjes herring and krakus vorst (sausage) in the bar fridge downstairs because she claims it stinks up the main fridge. Every once in awhile the downstairs fridge mysteriously cleans itself out and I have to go out shopping for soul food. Sometimes I have to drive two hours to Montreal to visit the Jewish delicatessens, one of the disadvantages of living outside the GTA.

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