Category: COVID-19

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COVID-19: Who’s knocking on my door?

I’m not a healthcare professional but as a writer, I seek to summarize and share the information I’ve gathered from various credible sources.

I imagine that you’re taking COVID-19 seriously, but in case you’re in contact with someone who still doesn’t understand the seriousness of the situation, ask them to consider this:

COVID-19 is called the ‘NOVEL’ coronavirus because it’s new. It’s NOT the flu. 

Why does that matter? Various strains of influenza have been circulating for generations, so — even when we can’t fight it off — at the very least, our immune systems are on alert. 

Personified, the flu is the mischievous, industrious child on Halloween who visits the same home wearing different masks to get more candy. Your immune system is a crotchety old man reluctant to answer the door- alert and onto their tricks, he’s ready to tell the flu to keep it moving, season after season. 

COVID-19 is a little old lady who’s new to the neighbourhood. She knocks on your immune system’s door donning a smile, holding a basket of homemade muffins, hiding her sinister agenda by offering false friendship. Since she doesn’t resemble anything dangerous that your immune system has come to recognize and be wary of, your immune system opens the door and welcomes her in. 

By the time a bunch of the conniving little old lady’s big, strong friends storm through your front door, it’s too late for your immune system to gain ground. (In the mildest cases, COVID-19 will threaten your family and leave, perhaps taking your TV on its way; in the worst cases, it’ll pillage everything you own and burn the house to the ground.)

If you’re still not convinced to do your part to stop the spread, various sources say doctors in Italy have had to decide who lives and dies for the past week because their healthcare system is overwhelmed. Healthcare professionals around the world are doing more than their fair share to help our communities; we agree that they’re heroes — don’t force them to take on the role of the Grim Reaper. That’s not why they went through years of postsecondary school. Please respect them. Help them by practicing social distancing to stop the spread.

And while we’re on the subject, now is not the time to begin your career as a stunt double or a trapeze artist. (Whenever possible, save the hospital beds and healthcare resources for those who may suffer from complications due to COVID-19.)

Whatever your interests, the internet allows you to do so much from the comfort of your own home. Teach yourself another language, build a website, catch up on your favourite podcast, take an online exercise class, watch a comedy, take an online course, read an e-book, learn how to play an instrument or write a play or a poem… the list goes on. 

Some communities wish they could go back in time to change their reaction to COVID-19; while that’s not possible, we can honour the mistakes made by acting in accordance with the lessons learned in the past number of weeks. 

Stop the spread. Flatten the curve.

(I posted the above on Facebook, but I thought I’d share it here too. Stay safe!)

If you liked the above, you would really enjoy:

🇨🇦 Musings of a Masterpiece

A work of art narrates its journey through time in this short story. 

In the centuries since its creation, it has witnessed the joy of love and companionship, the heartache of loss, and hardship. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but what if the masterpiece you so admire silently muses at the countless wonders of humanity?

🇺🇸: Amazon.com users, click here.

🇬🇧: Amazon.co.uk users, click here.

Amber Green is a self-published Canadian author and freelance writer. Her short stories can be found here: www.amazon.com/author/ambergreen

© 2020 Amber Green

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Toastmasters: Pass the Mic

Before COVID-19 was declared a pandemic, I wrote the below short story inspired by the speech competitions that occur at every level of Toastmasters. (Our district competition was cancelled due to COVID-19, which was a wise decision.)

I’ve been a member of two different Toastmasters groups throughout the years. (If you’re unfamiliar, Toastmasters is an international non-profit organization that provides its members with the opportunity to develop their public speaking and leadership skills. )

To my fellow Toastmasters — regardless of where you are — this story is for you.

Pass the Mic

Clammy palms and a long exhale before walking out on stage. This is not my first speech competition, not by a long shot. 

You would think that I am an experienced speaker: that people pay attention to my words and gestures; that my storytelling techniques are always on point; that everyone waits with bated breath when I pause. But you’d be wrong. 

In fact, I can’t speak at all. I am merely the microphone that helps to amplify your message.

As tens of thousands of Toastmasters prepare to compete in speech contests, I wait in storage, reflecting on the contestants and the countless speeches I’ve heard over the years. From the novice speaker, who was encouraged by a mentor to participate in their very first club competition, to the seasoned Toastmaster, who looks forward to competing at the highest level. As an accomplished speaker, they look back fondly to the early days when nerves rattled them; their voice was shaky, heartbeat raced, and the pounding of their pulse felt as though it radiated through their very fingertips.

Of the many speakers I’ve assisted throughout the years, they’ve all had a message to share, a story to tell. Though I amplify their words for but a moment, they create a lasting impact that will live in the memories of those who hear it. Whether it’s a moment of laughter that reverberates off the walls, scoffs of disbelief, or gasps of surprise that unite a crowd, I take great pride in knowing that I contributed to the success of these speakers in some small way. 

After all, I helped their message reach a person in the back of the room; a person who hadn’t expected to be moved, but they resolve to make changes in their life because of something said. Because they heard. Because they felt akin to an experience illuminated in a speech so carefully crafted and practiced by the dedicated Toastmaster on stage. 

I wish I could amplify my own message. If I could, I would remind you of our history and how far we’ve come. Throughout the decades, our membership has grown to include women and people of every race, ethnicity, gender identity, ability, sexual orientation, and creed, which signals progress, marking important societal shifts. 

Even if figuratively speaking, the mic is passed from Toastmaster to Toastmaster in clubs around the world. Each member is a gatekeeper to their unique story or perspective that has the power to make a lasting impression, to alter perception, and shake loose stagnant thought. 

So tell a tale. Use your voice. It is yours to employ as you inspire, entertain, lead, and educate. 

If you’re ever told to keep quiet, I’ll be there to raise the volume and amplify your voice.

If you liked the above, you would really enjoy:

🇨🇦 Musings of a Masterpiece

A work of art narrates its journey through time in this short story. 

In the centuries since its creation, it has witnessed the joy of love and companionship, the heartache of loss, and hardship. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but what if the masterpiece you so admire silently muses at the countless wonders of humanity?

🇺🇸: Amazon.com users, click here.

🇬🇧: Amazon.co.uk users, click here.

Amber Green is a self-published Canadian author and freelance writer. Her short stories can be found here: www.amazon.com/author/ambergreen

© 2020 Amber Green

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Chair Observes Virtually Inexplicable Desertion (Where did you go?)

My feet remain bolted to the floor. My legs, back, and seat stiff and unforgiving. 

I’ve never sat vacant for so long. 

I look straight ahead and survey the perpetual stillness. The chairs in the stands across the stadium — directly across from me — are just as empty. They are fellow chairs that were produced in the same factory as me, but who were manufactured too far down the line to cross paths; we were installed too far away from one another to ever have a meaningful conversation. We are at once kin and complete strangers.

As any stationary object, our only hope is that we prove useful to humans and that our neighbouring chairs are not a total bore.

I got lucky. The chairs around me — my friends and family, my brothers and sisters — help me pass the time as we recall the many moments that humans sat upon us, spilling pop and beer and nacho cheese. As chairs, we accept that our mission is to assist you when you want (or need) to take a seat- and yes, the fact that “ass” is in “assist” is considered a fortunate, if not cheeky, play on words.

When the silence began, one of my neighbouring chairs took the opportunity to complain about the goth kids in decades past who had chains hanging from their clothes. They scratched the hard plastic of his seat- their zippers in places that didn’t make sense to any of us. (But then what do we know about fashion?)  Another chair joined in as we commiserated; she reminded us about the ridiculousness and prevalence of body glitter years ago. That was a rough time for all of us, as glitter is a shimmering inescapable mess if you’re a chair made of plastic. Alas, we can’t partake in your trends (or understand them completely); we can merely observe. 

Call me a masochist, but I quite like the small heart that a young rebel in love carved into the left side of my seat when on a date with a young lady. He returned with that same woman years later and proposed in this very stadium. Though they didn’t sit in my section, I watched on the big screen above the court as the man got down on one knee and the young woman accepted his proposal through happy tears. The applause of thousands of strangers who surrounded them thundered throughout. Though these people shared in the joy of this couple’s happy moment, I’ll never forget the way they kissed as if they were not among strangers, for at that moment, he saw only her and she him. 

The little boy whom I assisted that evening had no idea that the heart he traced as he sat through the proposal — waiting patiently for the game to restart — was carved by the man on the screen some years before. I wish I could have told him about the significance of that heart, but that’s not a chair’s place.

Like this little boy, it’s always a joy to see young children accompany their sports-loving family to the most anticipated game of the time. It doesn’t matter the sport; the fanfare, camaraderie, and the love of the game is exuberantly passed down, from generation to generation. Bearing witness to this transfer of tradition is what I’m missing most- when parents explain the game to their wide-eyed kids; children cheer and imitate the adults around them as they offer their own commentary to the delight of the fans surrounding them.

The quiet days have turned into weeks. I yearn for the applause, the laughter, the jeers, the chants, and the boos. Humans are strange, I think to myself. Perhaps we will never understand you. Then again, perhaps it’s not my place.

After all, you left with no warning. I hope everything’s okay, though I know deep in my bolts that you’re facing something extraordinary.

We sit abandoned, dutifully waiting for life to return to normal. In addition to the empty stadium, I wonder what else is left unused? Empty airports, empty schools, office buildings, and museums- structures made to enrich your lives wait for your return. Stationary objects everywhere are holding up our end of the bargain; we only hope that you do what you have to do so life as we know it can once again resume. 

The silence is eerie. Wherever you are, I’m sure you feel it too. 

You probably didn’t realize how social you were until you disappeared. Whatever you’re going through — for however long it takes — perhaps when life returns to normal, you’ll appreciate the little things a little more. 

If I ever have the opportunity to assist you, perhaps standing from your seat to allow someone to pass while you’re gathered at the stadium won’t be such an inconvenience. I wonder- will you offer a stranger a kind word or a smile a little faster than you used to before the silence? 

Will this time inspire you to look up from your screens and experience the beauty of the world and appreciate the moments that you have? (It’s not too late to start now.) Wherever you are, I can only imagine that your phones are with you, as I rarely see you without them. Maybe when you come back, you’ll make an effort to record the special moments in your memory rather than through the lens of a smartphone. 

With all of that said, maybe I’m off my rocker to think that humans would take advice from a chair, but if you haven’t stood up and walked away, consider that while a chair’s mission is to assist humans, perhaps a human’s mission should be to assist other humans too.

Until I can finally assist you again, wherever you are, I invite you to take a seat. Take a moment. Take a breath. Take some time.

If you liked the above, you would really enjoy:

🇨🇦 Musings of a Masterpiece

A work of art narrates its journey through time in this short story. 

In the centuries since its creation, it has witnessed the joy of love and companionship, the heartache of loss, and hardship. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but what if the masterpiece you so admire silently muses at the countless wonders of humanity?

🇺🇸: Amazon.com users, click here.

🇬🇧: Amazon.co.uk users, click here.

Amber Green is a self-published Canadian author and freelance writer. Her short stories can be found here: www.amazon.com/author/ambergreen

© 2020 Amber Green