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Put The Ballot In The Box, Eh?

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

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.

Walkers and Cycles and Scooters, Oh My!

This time of year always brings the fair weather cyclists like me out into the fresh air for a spin. Having been e-bike enthusiasts since our retirement a couple of years ago, my husband and I have enjoyed a lot of the trails and try to get out for a good ride at least once a week.

The pedestrians and dog walkers are out in big numbers at this time of year too. It’s getting crowded out there, and that leads to the occasional “situation”.

It was no surprise to me when I saw the story about an accident between a pedestrian and a cyclist on the E&N Rail Trail recently. We’ve witnessed a few incidents on the bike trails that could have lead to more serious consequences.

When my husband and I ride up behind a walker or a slower cyclist, we ring our bike bells to let them know we’re coming. Just common courtesy. When cyclists who are a lot faster than us quickly come up behind us, many of them will say “coming up on your left”, or something like that, so that we are forewarned. (I’m guessing they think bicycle bells are for babies.)

I always thank them for warning me. Although sometimes they’re going so fast, they might not hear my reply.

But then there are those who don’t have any sense of courtesy. Or even common sense.

I have a rear view mirror on my bike and I do keep my eye on it. But sometimes I’m coming around a bend and can’t possibly see them approaching from behind.

I’ve been startled a few times. How do they know I won’t suddenly swerve to miss a pot hole or a branch or something else? Or lose control of my bike? I’m not exactly 20 any more. Or even 30.

The truth is that they don’t know. They just carry on at their unbelievable speeds, heads down, elbows back, eyes straight ahead, trying to outdo themselves or something. I’d like to have some kind of radar unit to measure exactly how fast they’re going.

Their exercise apps might love them for their speed, but I don’t. As the cliché goes, it’s an accident waiting to happen. And of course, it has.

I also like to walk twice a day 4 or 5 days a week, and have experienced not only speeding cyclists but also scurrying scooterists (is that a word?) whizzing past me. Stand up scooters, called LSM’s, are supposed to be licensed but sometimes I wonder if they are. Some models are capable of reaching speeds of up to 145kmh.

They seem to be mostly driven by young males with the need for speed. And no helmet. What drives me nuts is when I see them riding on the sidewalk, trying to skirt traffic.

Then there are those electric unicycles. They’re not as common as the other modes of transport, but they go insanely fast. There used to be a fellow in my neighbourhood who I regularly saw riding an electric unicycle. He didn’t have a helmet on, which didn’t surprise me. But one day I saw him carrying his little girl in his arms while riding it. She didn’t have a helmet either.

That should be an absolute no-no.

One of the trickiest parts of being a cyclist can be interacting with vehicles. I would say that MOST drivers are careful and courteous, but every now and then…

I’m a driver too, so I know how difficult it can be to navigate around cyclists in some places. The new rule is that there should be at least 1.5 meters between us, but if a cyclist decides to ride in the middle of a lane, then it can get contentious.

Let’s face it, we all have to find ways to live with and respect each other on the roads and trails. In July a campaign begins where park rangers, bylaw officers and police will be out in force on the trails keeping an eye out. I’ll be happy to see them.

Otherwise, forget lions and tigers and bears…it’s walkers and cycles and scooters we’ve got to worry about. Okay, maybe a couple of bears.