Dear Corona

Dear Corona

You seemed to come out of nowhere but in truth, if we’d been paying attention, we would have noticed that you and your cousins have been around for a while, possibly millennia. But we can be forgiven if we didn’t see you coming. How could we have known that you co-exist with some animal species with impunity, but could wreak so much havoc on the human species? While your microscopic organism might look like a colourful alien spaceship with no landing gear, you had the power to stop us in our tracks, demanding notice with your attention-getting behaviour. We were gobsmacked like a ton of bricks. But you also did something else: You taught us to take the time to review a few things about our lives. You gave us a new perspective.

You made us realize the importance of the hugs and personal interaction we sometimes take for granted. We rediscovered that humans are hardwired for physical connections; virtual hugs and air kisses while standing two metres apart are just not the same. Families have had the time to put down their smartphones and bond over meals. Kids needed extra cuddling. We paused and thought about our loved ones and how important they are for our physical and emotional wellbeing.

Dear Corona, you made us proud to be Canadian, to live in a country with a safety net, and caring governments who put people’s health ahead of everything else. It may not be perfect, and many people have suffered, but we need only look around the world to see much worse.

You helped us seriously rethink our priorities and value the front line and behind-the-scenes workers who keep us healthy and fed: The grocery store staff, nurses, caregivers, doctors, first responders, government workers, food processors, truck drivers, and I’m sure I’ve forgotten so many. Everyone pitched in and worked together, enabling the rest of us to stay safe.

You made us grateful for the little everyday pleasures in our lives. Like neighbours, parks, knitting, baking, funny videos of people’s dogs, and the boundless creativity of people cooped up in their homes. In our isolation, there were days when the most exciting thing we did was get dressed to take out the garbage. We learned the value of trade-offs, like deciding whether scoring a bottle of wine was worth the line-up to get into the store, then grateful to substitute our less favourite brand when our first choice was out of stock.

Dear Corona, you helped us consider the most vulnerable in our communities and wonder how we take care of them, what their daily lives are like, the conditions they live in, and how they’re protected from infections.

Thank you for showing us how resilient humans can be in a time of crisis and how we can rise to the occasion. After the first week of shock and disbelief, in spite of your attempts to defeat us, we settled into self-isolation as the new normal and, more or less, behaved responsibly. A few short months ago, who would have thought that schools, exercise classes, business meetings – just about everything – could go online. But we made it happen, stretching our behaviour changes way past our collective comfort zones and still remaining positive, recognizing the importance of supporting each other and kindnesses that pay back. We embraced the lifestyle changes living with you necessitated. Virtually embraced, not hugged, because that would be too close for comfort and now we prefer to keep two metres apart. Who knew that most of us who have not lived through a war or depression, would have been able to muster the strength to adjust our behaviour to such a significant degree. We have had it so good for so long, we thought we were too soft to change.  

You made us realize that it’s possible to slow down. Slow enough to be amazed at how the late afternoon sun in April falls across the sky and lights up the clouds. We were so busy and scheduled before, we barely noticed March and April: They were the months we endured while we waited for summer. But in the spring of COVID, we have had time to watch the daily growth of the buds on the trees as we dawdled to the speed of slow motion. We explored the parks and ravines in the cities where we live, and listened to the layers of birdsong we hadn’t noticed before.

Thank you for helping us bond with acquaintances who have now become good friends. We have shared our honest, raw emotions and frustrations in ways we haven’t before. We talked. We listened. We banged on pots and pans, we exercised in the streets, we strengthened connections with neighbours.

So, you see, dear Corona, you may have seriously interrupted our lives, even turned them upside down, but far from dampening our spirit, you have given us a surprising gift: To be more appreciative of what we have, and to live each day more thoughtfully. But, if you don’t mind, we’d rather you left as quickly as you arrived, and we’re hoping you don’t return. One visit was enough.

Sincerely, The World

The Art of Regifting

I love regifting, and I don’t feel guilty about it. CONTRIBUTED TO THE GLOBE AND MAIL, DECEMBER 17, 2019

We all do it. Come on, admit it. You regift. So do I. Those items lurking in the back of the cupboard that I haven’t yet found a use for really do have a purpose. They lurk because when I received them, I carefully put them away, knowing that the time would come, one day, when I would enjoy them. But they ended up waiting for so long that, at some point, I had to admit to myself that day might never arrive. Then an unexpected dinner invitation turned up or a birthday party (maybe not so unexpected, but squeezed in among a flurry of other events), and I wanted to bring the host a little something, and those lurkers suddenly became just the thing I needed. Their purpose became clear as part of my personal reduce/reuse/recycle program. Why rush out to the store when I can shop at home?

Over the years, while I’ve gotten bolder about regifting, I’ve also learned to choose my regifts and regiftees carefully. Here, dear reader, are a set of rules that I try to follow:

Rule No. 1 It goes without saying to never, ever, give the same gift back to the same person. Ever. In order to keep track, write down the name of the gifter and the date said gift was given. Maybe use a little black book or an Excel spreadsheet with each item carefully logged in. I’m not usually that organized and have to rely on my memory, which is probably why I have unwittingly broken my first, most sacred, rule of regifting. But then, if I’ve forgotten the provenance of the item, maybe the other person has, too? I live in hope.

Rule No. 2 The first rule does not apply to wine. Ever. No one will remember they gave you that exact bottle of wine. If it should happen, you can pretend it’s just a coincidence. Or, you could turn your faux pas into a compliment, something like: “The same wine you gave me?! Really! You were the one that introduced me to this fantastic wine? I love it so much, it’s the only red I drink now.” Smile ingratiatingly and inwardly groan as you make a note to self: must always give this exact brand of wine to this person. No other regifting options possible.

Rule No. 3 In desperation (as in, you’re already late for the party), if you’re not sure of the gift’s history, it can be repackaged with a few other items, tastefully wrapped in a nice little bag with tissue and ribbon, to look like something new. Absolutely acceptable window dressing.

Rule No. 4 (corollary to No. 3) Always keep decorative little gift bags, colourful tissue paper, ribbon, gift cards and scissors in or around the same location as potential regift items for those rushed moments. Efficiency is the key here – you don’t want to have to go running all over the house looking for ribbon when you’re late for the event. After all, the party is the point here, not your gift, right?

Rule No. 5 Be on the lookout for wayward gift tags from the person who gave you the gift. They are a dead giveaway if they have somehow gotten embedded in the depths of the plant you received, or on the folded-over gift tag on the neck of the wine bottle. Search diligently to remove all evidence.

Rule No. 6 Comestibles make excellent regift items. Everyone can use little jars of jam or mustard or paté. But always check the Best Before date. Always. Nothing screams regift like an expired item.

Rule No. 7 Christmas stockings are a free-for-all. The only decree our family holds immutable is that you can’t try to give the same item back to the person who gave it to you (restocking the stocking, as it were) in the same year. But if that person finds said item in their Christmas stocking next year, well, perfectly reasonable. And, hey, this is just family, so the rules of regifting are somewhat relaxed anyway. A sly “Did Santa Caroline find this in her stocking last year?” will suffice.

Rule No. 8 Whenever those charities call looking for clothing and household item donations, always say yes. Then go to the cupboard and be honest: Weed out the items you know you’re not going to use and you’re never going to regift, the ones that keep getting rejected in favour of the more interesting items. In this case, you might not know the end recipient, but you’ll enjoy the gratification that comes with donating something that somebody else might be able to use.

Rule No. 9 If for whatever reason you haven’t followed the above rules and you’re caught regifting, the correct response is to graciously smile and immediately launch into distraction compliment mode: the hostess or host’s choice of evening wear or musical selection. Quickly look around the room to see if there’s a new piece of furniture or set of curtains. Apology optional.

Oh, and if it should happen you’re on the receiving end of something you know you have given someone, the appropriate action is to give the gift back to that person. A friend and I continue to exchange a dish towel back and forth – sometimes it wraps a gift, sometimes it’s hidden inside a gift – and we get a laugh out of it every time.