This is a picture post, once more sharing some of the Facebook photos I selected from the last couple of weeks, to keep myself and my friends cheerful. I took the photos at Mud Lake, near the Champlain Bridge, outside my front door in our driveway and at the Arboretum. April really does have its compensations, especially when the remnants of snow have disappeared three weeks earlier than last year.
There's a long list of things we're not allowed to do just now, as far as the Pandemic is concerned, and the end is by no means in sight yet, although we had our first shots of the Moderna vaccine this week, on April 13th (me) and 16th (Chris), which does give a glimmer of hope. Our booster shots are scheduled for August.
We have been forbidden to cross the Ottawa River unless for medical appointments or for "the transportation of goods" which I doubt includes the garden plants I'd like to buy from a garden centre in Gatineau, which probably isn't open in any case. "Ottawa police will begin setting up checkpoints at the five inter-provincial crossings between Ottawa and Gatineau on Monday, as part of new COVID-19 restrictions announced by the Ontario government.
[... This is] intended to be on a 24-7 basis and will carry on for several weeks." So read the announcement yesterday, but it looks to me as if they have simply reprinted what was announced a year ago when, from April 1, 2020, to May 17, 2020, the police stopped more than 316,000 vehicles to question the drivers at these same checkpoints. I feel for the journalists having to do such repetitive work.
All of the above is of utter insignificance compared with the privations of some poor souls in this world, in Brazil for example, where nurses in the wards with too many patients have no time to sit beside and hold the hands of the dying. I am haunted by a photo I saw of a rubber glove filled with warm water and tied to the back of a patient's hand to give him the illusion of a human touch during his last moments. (Or hers.)
I did not start this post with the intention of writing about COVID-19. It was to have been a post about my considerable frustration over not being allowed to write about two memorably impressive talks I heard. The first was at a meeting I hosted recently myself, at which 45 of us eagerly heard about a newly developed community in our vicinity that promises to be the world's greenest and most sustainable ever. However, the presenter sent me an urgent message afterwards to warn me and the other participants that we must not publish a report of the presentation in the public domain, because the way we tell the story might not win official approval! (I do see his point.) Similarly, last Monday, my women's club heard a fascinating and likewise inspiring and impressive talk by a retired, high ranking VIP who is adamant that we do not report what we learned about measures taken to deal with a sensitive internal issue in her arena. As editor of our club's newsletter I do have to state that these events took place. What detail to add is a tricky choice; I'm strictly limited.
