There aren’t any easy answers, Rachel

“Hi! It’s Rachel from the PC Party of Newfoundland & Labrador. Can we count on your support in the provincial election? Reply: Yes No”

Hi Rachel!

It’s so good to hear from you.

Have you ever heard of the novel “Gadsby,” written by Ernest Vincent Wright in 1939? It was a 50,000word novel written entirely without using the letter “e,” which happens to be the most commonly used letter in the alphabet. (Although, personally, I think he failed in his endeavour right there on the cover, because after all, his name alone had two of the letters, and he uses the letter in his introduction, and if you’re going to be dedicated to your craft…) That sort of novel is called a lipogram, but if you’d asked me what the word meant before I looked it up, I’d have assumed right off the bat that it was a measuring unit for fats. But, anyway…

I’m telling you this, Rachel, not just because “Gadsby” was such a novel novel (did you see what I did there?), but for a more practical reason: I realize that I can’t use the words “y-s” or “n-” in my response, because you’d merely pass over everything else, satisfied that I had answered your question.

And then you’d be gone, and there wouldn’t be anyone I could share my thoughts with.

As you know, it’s been almost a full year now since the pandemic hit in Newfoundland and Labrador, and it’s been an up and down year for sure. For the last few weeks, with a Level 5 lockdown keeping us all apart, we’ve been stuck in our own little bubbles, our personal horizons smaller, it seems, than they ever have been.

So, before I answer your question, I thought we could have a little time to talk things out.

I mean, if I answer your question. I’ve been here since Tom Rideout was a candidate for premier, after all, and I’ve never told anyone from a political party just who it is I support. I always vote, though, civic duty and all that.

And I could tell you some stories from all those years of covering political campaigns.

Not that this campaign doesn’t have some whoppers of stories. I mean, the chief electoral officer, Bruce Chaulk, told the CBC that he’d delivered a few special ballots by hand, presumably to notable citizens who had complained publicly about not getting their ballots. Now, you can call me petty if you like, but unless Chaulk is willing to provide that service to everyone, you can’t really say that the balloting process is fair and equal across the board, can you? Doesn’t that mean some citizens’ ballots are more important than others?

I don’t know. But it sure is a good story to talk about.

I really like a good story. I think stories are underrated, but people don’t realize how often they tell each other the same ones, especially, apparently, if you’ve been cooped up in the same house for 360 days or so.

You might start off on a snowy evening saying something like, “You can’t stress the value of good snow tires enough. Did I ever tell you about…” and someone can immediately respond, “Many times. Many, many times…” before you can get any further.

You might then try the same story on the cat, but in my experience, the cat just stalks away, looking, I suppose, for some other place in the house to hide her latest hairball.

That cat might be longhaired, but she has a short temper.

I guess you could call it cabin fever. This whole thing, I mean. Here you are, getting in touch with just a simple question, Rachel, and here I am, completely chewing your ear off with this never-ending chat. Wait — maybe it should be chewing your eye out? Because you’ll be reading it, not hearing it. Well, as a saying, that certainly doesn’t make any sense.

So, listen, here’s a thought — even though we’re not supposed to travel right now, we can certainly talk about it. Just before the pandemic lockdown started, my wife and I got to spend some time in the Nevada desert.

Sit tight, Rachel, I’m going to go to another part of my phone and get some pictures to send you…

And then you’d be gone, and there wouldn’t be anyone I could share my thoughts with.