I delivered the Mayor's Heart

I've been trying to digest what transpired today -- I delivered the heart.  But, it has taken me a while to make sense of the results.

I phoned my City Councillor's office and asked if I could drop off this special Xmas present for the Mayor, explaining exactly what it was. After a humourous conversation and discussion, the Councillor's assistant suggested I deliver it directly to the Mayor's office.

My concern (as you might imagine) was that I would be unintentionally involved in explaining myself to an arresting officer, hastily dismissed, or having to explain to the bomb squad that the heart doesn't even actually tick. But no, they put me in touch with 'Tom' in the Mayor's office and he said 'Come on in...'

So, I did.

The office. The Mayor's office. Well, actually only the Mayor's office reception area. (Like I expected he'd actually meet with me? No.)  In I walk. Tom is on the phone speaking with an unhappy Torontonian. (Like I expected he wouldn't be? No.)   Tom... poor, poor Tom.   Must be a tough job being Mr. Ford's assistant.  I look around the office.  Another assistant is up on a ladder taping the Mayor's received Christmas Cards to the glass wall.   I begin thinking 'Wonder if he'll tape my note up there with those notes & wishes'? Um... No.  Finally, I hear "Yes?"   I present Tom with my gift wrapped prezzie.
I explain it's a hand knit Christmas gift for the Mayor.
I tell him it's a heart.

I am then summarily dismissed.

I am not surprised.

In fact, I begin to wonder if my original thought of an off-the-wall yarn-bombing would have been more successful.   Picture this: me on a pink e-scooter, wearing a Margaret Atwood mask, launching the heart like a woolly, fibre-grenade into the Mayor's path.   Juvenile. I know.   But at least he would have seen it, perhaps even read the note.   Instead, Tom tossed it behind him, into a stack of assorted 'obviously this will be recycled soon' things.

Still, I am glad I did it.

I have always believed if you feel strongly about something being wrong, say and do what you can to try and change it.

I have taught my children the same. When my daughter had a complaint about the poor quality of children's programming on Rogers on Demand, I encouraged her to write to Mr. Rogers.  When my son didn't like how a daycare friend was being physical with him, he was taught to say "No Thank You. I don't like it when you do that. You are hurting my body."

What kind of mother would I be if I didn't follow the same advise?

If you feel passionately about something... say something, do something... knit something.

Join me in trying to open the Mayor's eyes, and more importantly, the Mayor's heart.

If you are a knitter, crocheter, painter, sketcher, writer or musician why don't you knit, crochet, paint, draw, write or compose how you feel about these proposed cuts -- they are soon to become very, very real cuts. You must speak up.  Or, in my case, knit up.

It's important speak up, so why not speak simply and say what toddlers learn in daycare:

"No Thank You! I don't like it when you do that. You are hurting my city."