Category Archives: Anxiety

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Put The Ballot In The Box, Eh?

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I was in my early 20’s when someone I worked with convinced me to volunteer for a provincial party in an upcoming election. I had no idea what that really meant, but it sounded simple enough. Answer some phones, knock on a few doors.

So I went for it. A little bit of training as to how to approach people and what to say, and I was on my way.

I liked working in the campaign office, it was simple enough. The knocking on doors part was, well, a little more of an eye opener.

A lot of people weren’t home or didn’t answer, so I just pushed a leaflet through the mail slot. Easy. And of the ones who did answer the door, most were polite and at least took my leaflet.

But then there were the ones who had to, let’s just say “share” their ideas about the election and the candidates. There were a few who called me nasty names. And there were those who basically just slammed the door in my face. Yep, sometimes it’s rough out there for volunteers.

As I was growing up, whenever my my extended family got together for some occasion, the adult’s conversations would almost always centre around politics and current events. I can still hear the voices of my uncles rising and interjecting, not so much in anger, but maybe in small disagreement and definitely with passion.

One of my uncles ended up being an Associate Professor of Political Science at UBC, so it certainly ran in our blood.

That influence always encouraged me to vote, starting with the first election I was old enough to vote in. In my family there was nothing more important than filling out that ballot and stuffing it in the box. Even if you weren’t particularly inspired to do so, you just did it.

It almost feels like an understatement to say that this federal election has felt like no other in my lifetime. In our lifetimes. A couple of people I know have been volunteering for the first time ever. Here’s a toast to all of you election volunteers, by the way. You’re the best.

The advanced polls actually had line ups where I voted last Friday. I’ve never, ever seen that. There was a higher turnout for advanced voting than has ever been recorded in our country. That’s saying a lot.

Because of all of the unpredictable moves and threats from our neighbour to the south, suddenly Canada is united in a way that we’ve never experienced before. I see lots of people checking the labels in the grocery stores for Canadian products. Or Mexican or Italian. Anything but you-know-who.

“Elbows Up” t-shirts and “Proudly Made In Canada” signs are all over the place. The Canadian flag is flying everywhere while the American wine section in my local liquor store is proudly empty.

I’ve always felt the good fortune of being Canadian. Sure, we have our faults (sorry), and we don’t always agree. But that’s the whole point of being a democracy! We’re ALLOWED to disagree!

And, most importantly, we’re allowed to vote. Just imagine if we couldn’t do that.

There are a lot of other countries in the world rooting for us, supporting us, flying our flag. So on April 28th, as Canadians, all we have to do is one simple little thing: if you haven’t already done so, go and vote. Hop on this momentum and take it to the polls.

Because now, more than ever, it means everything.

Let’s put the ballot in the box, eh?

IJ

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He Could Be Me – A Reflection On Homelessness

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There were only two of us in the liquor store, an older fellow who was taking his time choosing his beer, and me. I was running around, distracted as usual, grabbing what I needed for the weekend.

By the time I got to the checkout, the older guy had beat me to it.

I didn’t pay much attention at first, and then I realized he was trying to buy one can of beer, looking for change in his pocket to pay for it. It was a Faxe, a Danish beer, and I had grabbed one of those for myself too. It made me smile.

Then I noticed he was was counting out his change coin by coin, but couldn’t quite come up with enough. The lady at the checkout and I looked at each other. He was short about 25 cents. He slowly dug into one pocket again, and then another.

I could see his clothes were a bit worn and his fingers a little dirty. He might have been in his 70s or older. It was hard to tell.

I ventured to guess that this fellow was probably living on the street, or close to it, like so many people these days. On my daily walk in Oaklands, I pass a park where there are a number of tents set up around the tennis court. People in tents and other people playing pickleball. Two groups living in stark contrast.

Sometimes a tent or two comes down, only to be replaced by others. When I count them, there are usually 6 to 8 tents stuffed full of, and surrounded by everything the occupier owns.

Every now and then the police and city workers come in and surround the area with yellow tape, asking people to pack everything up and go. There’s always a lot of garbage left behind, so there’s usually a garbage truck to deal with that too.

By the next day, the tents are back again.

It’s easy to think I’m a world away from all of that because I have a place to live and don’t have to worry too much about money. Although living on a pension is an eye opener.

But a number of months ago, a member of my family had to move in with us due to a series of unfortunate events. As we adjusted to another person in the house, inflation got worse and worse and the cost of living went through the roof.

It’s not only happening in my little family. According to statistics, in the last couple of years about 60% of Baby Boomers and Generation Jones’s are having to support children or family members in one way or another because of the high cost of living. I never once imagined this for my retirement years.

What on earth happened? I’m sure there are a gazillion reasons and, as usual, it’s very complicated. But it isn’t entirely new.

My Dad wrote in his memoirs about going through the “dirty 30’s” and his family having to live on what was then called relief. Another name for welfare. My grandfather had to wake his family up in the middle of the night once so they could sneak out of the place they were living. He didn’t have enough money to pay the rent.

And many years ago when I lived in downtown Vancouver, I’d walk down Robson Street on my way to work and see a number of people sleeping under the covered doorways of the stores along my route.

In the library where I worked, a few street people would come in when we’d open the doors in the morning so they could sit inside and warm up a little. Especially in the winter, or when it rained. There were no warming centres back then.

Poverty and homelessness has always been a problem to one degree or another, but now it seems even more so. I look out my upstairs window towards downtown Victoria where I see more and more new high rises popping up. But who can afford them?

Nobody I know.

I glanced at the liquor store clerk again. “I’ll pay for it.” I said quietly to her, reaching for my wallet.

“Oh, isn’t that nice? Sir, this lady has offered to pay for your beer!”

I smiled at him and picked up my Faxe to show him. “We have the same taste!”

He looked uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, and whispered a “Thank you.”

We finished the transaction, and he left with his beer. I moved closer to the counter. “I would have gone to the back room to get him the change he needed,” the clerk said. “We have some we put aside for people who are a little short of cash.”

I nodded, understanding. “Oddly enough, I think I felt better about paying for his beer than he did,” I said.

We are, many of us, one depression, one recession, and maybe even only one paycheque away from living on the streets. I turned and watched him walking carefully through the parking lot.

He could be me.

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Do You Still Wear A Mask?

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On the first day that the mask mandate was lifted here in B.C., I had an appointment at the optometrist in the mall. I was curious to see how many people would be without masks.

I was asked to wear a mask for my appointment, so it was hanging beneath my chin as I walked toward the mall entrance. Approaching the door, I placed it securely over my face, out of habit, or maybe just because I wasn’t ready to be without one yet.

How many people would show their faces?

When I opened the door, I was immediately surprised to see three ladies about my age, without masks. They were giving the thumbs up to each other. I assumed it was because they were happy to be mask-less, but I don’t know for sure.

I had half expected all of the mask-less minions to be young and male. Maybe that came from watching and reading too many stories lately about the so-called Freedom Convoy.

My guess was that about 90% of the people in the mall that day had masks on. They were all ages, although the majority were middle-aged and older.

Since then I think that number has gone down to maybe 50-60% or less.

The truth is that, for many of us, it feels strange not wearing a mask. Two years of heightened awareness, of strict protocols and news about upticks in COVID cases, deaths, and virulent variants, have made us extremely cautious. So not wearing one just feels wrong, somehow.

It took awhile to get used to donning masks in the first place, but in the beginning we used our creativity and embraced the notion of mask wearing in public. Well, some of us did. But it was a novelty, and as usual, the novelty wore off and the reality sunk in.

They were sometimes a pain to get on or off, especially with glasses or hats or hearing aids. They made it difficult to converse with people or to understand instructions. They made your glasses fog up. Sometimes it was just that much more difficult to breathe.

You’d think we’d all be happy to be rid of them.

I have a collection of masks from many different sources over the past two years. I have Christmas masks, funny masks, N95 and KN95 masks. I have mask extenders, ties and clips. I always have one in my purse, in my car, and in my coat pocket. Just like Kleenex.

But like many people, I’m not quite ready to be without them yet. “We need to support that. We need to recognize that we all have our own risks and our own vulnerabilities,” Bonnie Henry said at the news conference announcing the end of mandate.

I would add “anxieties”.

At this point, I find myself staring at people indoors without masks. Maybe I’m just not used to seeing naked faces. I have to keep reminding myself that masks are no longer required, at least for now, and people should do what they’re comfortable doing.

As long as the mask-less offer me the same respect.