BY TERESA MALLAM
Prime Minister Justin Trudeau has made it pretty clear that he expects all of us to do what we can to help our fellow man/woman in this time of trial by coronavirus.
And on Sunday, in HRM Queen Elizabeth’s address to the Commonwealth, the UK (my birthplace) and the world, the 93-year-old monarch praised the many “heart warming stories of people helping others.”
So I am doubly inspired by the leaders of my native and adopted counties to do the right thing in these troubling times which for me seem like the Twilght Zone worlds created by Rod Serling.
Our medical experts are always saying people with underlying health conditions are more vulnerable to the harsher affects of COVID-19. And I do, because underlying my skin, I have a beating heart and pulse.
So now a designated VIP (Vulnerable In-situ Person), I am happy to help where I can.
And here you thought I was just sitting around churning out copy and telling stories. Ye of little faith. No, I am out there, at a distance, doing my good works, for those in need.
Some times it’s the little kindnesses that count, smiling emojis, hearts in the windows, or the gesture by Conservative leader Andrew Scheer (and NDP leader Jagmeet Singh) in giving the amount of their raises which all MPs get every April 1 — to charity.
My religious teachings tell me all good works should be done in secret, not shouted from the rooftops, (or leaked to the media) and I’m not going to get all preachy and uppity about it — I will leave that to other people.
Born under the Zodiac sign of Cancer, I am prone to nurturing, lending a helping hand, a sympathetic ear, a broad shoulder to cry on — so pretty much all my body parts go into it. But this time, I was just called upon for a favour from friends.
Some of my camp buddies, home early for spring breakup, and hitting the liquor store more than is their custom (not for me to say what constitutes an “essential service,” I leave that to the government heads in all their wisdom).
Their complaint to me was that with the grocery stores and liquor stores not taking back empties, and with most can, bottle recycle depots closed, they were fast running out of room, so could I “come to the rescue.”
And so I did.
As soon as the first convoy of pick-up trucks rolled up to my front door, I knew this was a big mistake. So here I sit, surrounded by towers of boxes and boxes of empty wine and beer bottles that now reach the ceiling.
The front hall closet is full of bags of ale and cooler cans, and, snaking around the corner into the kitchen are open shopping bags full of empty booze containers. Woe is me.
And Leo the cat, well schooled by me in the need for physical distancing, is not happy with their proximity to his food bowl, and so he is starting to mark his territory.
The growing lack of living space I can live with, it’s not like I can throw dinner parties right now. But honestly, my place is starting to smell like a brewery, and taking on some pretty rank and rancid smells, so that makes this self- isolating thing harder to bear.
But we all have to make sacrifices, and I am willing to do my share.