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What I Think About the Ice Bucket Challenge

Since the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge started doing the rounds, my opinion about it has gone back and forth. And back again. There are things I don’t like about the challenge, one of them being the choice between dumping ice water on your head and donating $100. The message that being cold, wet and uncomfortable is preferable to donating $100 to charity doesn’t sit well with me.

I do know, however, that many people do both: they douse themselves with ice water and they donate the $100. No-one can deny that this campaign has been extremely successful in terms of raising money and awareness. Fundraising in today’s world is such a monumental challenge. Every year I try to raise funds for autism, and while I am always grateful for the funds that I do raise, I cannot escape the fact that it is getting harder and harder every year. Simply asking people for donations is no longer effective. These days, people seem to need gimmicks in order to donate to good causes.

And that’s fine. It has me thinking that maybe I need to come up with a gimmick to help with my own fundraising efforts. However, as much as I support those who have participated in the Ice Bucket Challenge, I have to confess that I still don’t like this particular gimmick. Yes, it has raised money. Yes, it has more people Googling ALS. Both of these are good things.

But what about those of us who choose not to participate? I have watched in dismay as people with limited financial means have been nominated for the challenge, and I have watched in bitter disappointment as those people have been mocked for not taking up the challenge. I have seen people being called things like party-pooper and apathetic. People are being advised to “give up one cup of coffee a day for a couple of weeks” in order to have funds to donate. I saw a priceless Facebook post in which someone arrogantly stated, “Everyone can afford to donate something.”

You know what, though? Not everyone can afford to donate something. There are people who have to dig around in couch cushions in order to buy diapers for their children, people who are choosing to let their Internet and phone services be cut off because they can’t make the bill payments, people who stand in the grocery store counting their coins and wrestling with the choice between buying milk or bread.

Those people should not be guilted into taking part in a trend that they cannot afford, simply because everyone else is doing it. People who do have money shouldn’t feel compelled to take part. This should be a matter of choice, not of coercion or emotional blackmail. And before people start jumping on me, I do realize that those who engage in these tactics could well be in the minority. But they do exist, and the fact is that many, many people who are short on cash – and some who aren’t – are feeling guilt that they should not be feeling. I’m sure it’s not the intent of those who started this challenge, and it’s not the intent of a lot of people who pass it on, but it has been an unfortunate effect.

The Ice Bucket Challenge is problematic for another reason, which is best described in the following picture that I saw on Facebook this morning.

icebucketWhile people all over the world are dumping water on themselves – water that is essentially being wasted – children are dying of thirst. If we need a gimmick in order to donate, shouldn’t we come up with a gimmick that does not involve so much waste? Could this gimmick be tweaked in a way that raises funds for ALS and also draws attention to the plight of people who do not have access to clean water?

I am glad this campaign has been successful, and I truly applaud those who have participated and contributed to its success. All I ask is two things. First, be respectful toward those who do not take part, either because of financial hardship or simply because they choose not to. Second, if you dump water on your head, try to do it in a way that the water can be reused. Catch the water in something and use it to water your plants, or wash your car, or fill the dog’s water dish – anything that does not result in the water simply wasting away.

And whether you choose to take part in the challenge or not, take a moment to Google ALS.

This is an original post by Kirsten Doyle.

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The End Of Days

Laura might have been dying, but she wasn’t stupid. She chuckled inwardly as she listened to Peter and Holly talk in hushed tones at her bedside. Along with everyone else, they assumed that because she was non-responsive, she couldn’t hear or comprehend anything that was going on. She could not see anymore, and that put her at a dreadful disadvantage, but her hearing was just as keen as it had ever been.

Laura was 93 years old and cancer had been eating away at her body for over a year now. As soon as she had been given the deadly diagnosis, she had checked herself into this private nursing home. Peter and Holly had vigorously opposed this move, saying that she would be better off staying with them. They had made her read articles and statistics about how badly sick old ladies were treated in nursing homes, but she was having none of it. Peter and Holly – her son and her daughter-in-law – did not care about her. They just cared about her money, and they wanted to protect their inheritance.

It was no secret that Laura was a woman of means. She had always had a knack for managing finances. She had known when to take risks and when to be conservative, when to save and when to spend. Over the years, her wealth had grown slowly but steadily, with only the occasional minor setback. She had planned it all just for this eventuality. She did not care about big houses or expensive cars, but she had always known that she would want to spend her final days in a place where she would have her own private doctors and a bed with the best linen money could buy. This place cost an absolute fortune – hence the disapproval of her so-called family – but where she was going next, she wouldn’t need her money.

It was funny how Peter and Holly had ignored her for the last twenty years, only to conveniently reappear in her life when it became apparent that her death was imminent. Peter was her only surviving family: Emily had been cruelly taken by ovarian cancer twelve years ago, and Frankie had only been twelve when the drunk driver had slammed into him while he was riding his bike. Laura’s husband was long gone, and so were her sisters. She didn’t have anyone else to leave her money to, really. But she loathed the idea of her greedy son and his greedier wife getting their hands on it. They had always had more regard for her wealth than for the person she was. It saddened her to think that she had raised a man who expected the world to provide for him without giving anything in return.

Now, as she lay listening to their chatter, she knew that her time on this planet was very close to being at an end. She didn’t mind. She had lived a good life. She had been happy and she thought she had treated her fellow man in a way that would guarantee her entrance into Heaven, if such a place existed. She was ready to move on.

Peter was going to get the surprise of his life when she died and her will was read. He knew that he was the only person his mother would logically leave her fortune to. She wasn’t the eccentric type who would leave everything to a cat shelter, like the woman in the newspaper article a few weeks ago. But little did he know that the money would come with conditions, that he would have to prove his worth as a human being before he saw a dime of it.

Laura’s son might be 56 years old, but she didn’t think it was ever too late to teach him some values. If the promise of money was what it would take to make him give something to the world instead of taking all the time, then so be it.

It’s never too late, she thought, moments before she died. It’s never too late to be a good human being.

This week’s Indie Ink Challenge came from Niqui, who gave me this prompt: "Don’t go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first." – Mark Twain
I challenged Michael with the prompt: "Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so." (Douglas Adams)

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Do I Really Need A New Dress?

This coming Saturday, Gerard and I are going to pretend we have a life and go out for the evening, sans children.  Said children will be home with their grandmother, no doubt driving her insane with their boundless energy that never runs out. They’re like the Energizer Bunny, those children.  They just keep going and going and going.

Gerard and I will be heading downtown, to some fancy hotel, to attend the Christmas gala dinner being put on by my employers.  There will be prizes, good food that neither of us had to cook ourselves (and that no-one will have to clean up after), dancing, and out-and-out fun.  I am looking forward to it.  Gerard is looking forward to it.  My mother-in-law is looking forward to an evening alone with the kids – at least, that’s the story she’s bravely putting forth.

And yet I find myself with a dilemma.  This is a dilemma that men can never seem to quite grasp the severity of, but that women all over the world can identify with.

What Do I Wear?

I posed this question on Facebook, and it sparked a fairly lively debate.  Most of the people who responded – all women – were of the opinion that I should buy myself a new dress.  The general consensus was that I work hard, I’m always taking care of other people and not enough care of myself, and that I deserve to pamper myself a little and buy something nice.  There was one lone dissenter – a man.  To protect his privacy, I will not state Kane’s real name (whoops, did I just say that out loud?), but I will say that I am impressed with his bravery.  How many men would jump so fearlessly into a discussion that women are genetically programmed to feel strongly about?

I love Kane.  He is a good and dear friend, and I give him credit for the fact that I actually survived the intense loneliness and off-the-boat neediness that I experienced when I first came to Canada.  Unlike many people, he actually does possess common sense, and he has the integrity to be honest instead of just saying what he thinks people want to hear.  I value Kane’s opinions a great deal.  when he expresses an idea that is contrary to what other people are saying, he’s not trying to be difficult.  He’s trying to help.

And that is why, when Kane posted a reply asking if I really need to spend money on a new dress just for one party, I actually did stop and think.  After all, he has a valid point.  There are other things that I could be doing with my money.  I have kids to buy Christmas presents for, a wedding to plan, groceries to buy, telephone bills to pay.  A new dress should not be high on my laundry list of priorities.  And besides, I have a closet at home that I can barely get into because it’s so chock-full of clothes.  There must be something in there that I can wear.

But.

But, but, but, but, but…

Even as the logical, rational part of me (and yes, despite what many people think, there actually is a logical, rational part of me) was making a strong case for saving money and digging something out of the scary depths of my wardrobe, there was another part of me that was pitifully saying, “But I want a new dress”.  Talk about conflict.  Talk about indecision.  For a couple of days I was flip-flopping between “Have to have a new dress” and “Cannot afford a new dress”.  How I wish I could just win the lottery and not have this problem.

By the time I got home from work yesterday, I had come to some kind of compromise with myself.  You see, I have this skirt.  A really nice long black skirt that is perfect for occasions like this.  What I would do, I decided, was buy a nice top with bling to go with the skirt.  That way, I still get to wear something new, but without forking over the money for an entire dress.

Ten minutes after I got home, that plan went right out the window.  What happened was this: I opened the mail.  And found a cheque from the Government of Ontario. For $335.  I will say this in words, because it somehow adds more weight.  Three. Hundred. And Thirty Five. Dollars.  The Ontario Premier has been sending out these “sorry I screwed you over with the sales tax” cheques, and I got enough to be able to say, “Screw this, I’m getting a new dress!”

So at lunchtime today, I wandered over to my favourite clothing store in the shopping mall, and emerged with a lovely new dress that I got on sale. The way I see it, everyone wins.  I get to go to the party in a new dress.  And I still have an extra $200 in my bank account that I didn’t have before, which means I can splurge a bit on Christmas presents for the ones I love.

And I’ve contributed to the economy by doing a bit of spending.  Just doing my civic duty.