It had occurred to me on a number of occasions that it seemed unusual that I had not yet received the Canadian Cancer Society canvass kit for the month of April. My long-time area captain is usually ahead of the month, delivering canvass kits to those in her area who have agreed to participate in the door-to-door neighbourhood canvass for charitable donations at least halfway through March.

But, truth be told, the thought that niggled in my mind was drowned by the greater thought that there's no hurry, it isn't yet April, and procrastination being an affliction that is sometimes helpful, I preferred not to take possession of the canvass kit too soon. Perhaps in the daft idea that if I didn't have the thing hanging around I wouldn't think those disagreeable thoughts of trudging up and down the street I live on, knocking on neighbours doors, importuning them for donations.

For though I've done this kind of thing for decades and decades, it's a routine and a ritual that I detest. Irrespective of which charitable medical/health group I canvassed for, I've always hated doing it, but have found it well-nigh impossible to deny my responsibility to my society, for someone has to do these things that nobody wants to be involved in. To raise needed funds for public education into heart and stroke, diabetes, arthritis, cancer, multiple sclerosis, blindness, and any other charities I've canvassed for over the years -- as well as support for those afflicted, and research funding for medical science that always hopes a cure may some day be discovered, and if not that, then better management protocols for chronic conditions.

And then, on the last day of March, Kaye called, and I cheerily greeted her, in reflection of her own usual cheery voice. The cheeriness on her part was somewhat subdued, but there in evidence. She explained the reason for her tardiness in distributing the canvass kits; she had been rushed to hospital, to stay there for several days, after the discovery of a bleeding ulcer that had taken its toll on her iron and haemoglobin count. She's better, recovering from the ordeal. Four years earlier she had been diagnosed with age-acquired haemophilia. She's an energetic 86-year-old. She had been cooking up a batch of jam for a church sale, when she was suddenly struck with feeling very ill.

So, once again, we discussed that it was time for us to reconsider our commitments in favour of conserving our energy and endurance for life itself. For her, it certainly is a grave consideration, for me perhaps less so, but I am tired of doing things that more people in our society should be committed to. And, I said to Kaye, this will surely be the last year. Curiously enough, we said the same thing to one another last year.