Gift Cards: Gift Cash is better!

My love affair with gift cards is over!

Our relationship was wonderful … at the beginning.  Gift cards and I seemed to be made for each other.  I thought that we would always be together.  However, over time, gift cards have hurt me. They've been disloyal. They've let me down. They've treated me very badly -    

I 've tried to forgive them. I really have. I've repeatedly made excuses for their cruel and callously disappointing behaviour. I've  hoped desperately for things between us to improve.  But they haven't.  Instead, they've progressively become worse.  

And then, finally, at around 4.30pm today, at the local Westfield shopping centre, the horrible and ugly truth about gift cards became startlingly clear to me.  Finally, I could see them for what they were:  A waste of money!  A poor substitute for cash! 

And, in that moment, I made a difficult but necessary decision:  I decided to end my relationship with gift cards … forever.  

Sure, we'd had some good times together.  But the hard times, and the tears, and the anger, and the disappointments had become all too frequent.  There became too many sad and ugly memories for us to ever try again.   

And, in that moment, at around 4.30pm today at the shops, I made the necessary decision to return, cap in hand, and begging forgiveness, to my old faithful companion - the gift (for-the-person-who-hates-shopping-for-presents) that I had used for so many years previously,  before being  lured away by the sweet siren song of the gift card, my dear old friend:  Gift cash.

My relationship with gift cards was not a short affair.  I was enamoured by them for many years before things between us began to sour. 

If you will allow me - I will briefly explain the path of my love affair with gift cards - before I then tear them apart (like any self respecting, disgruntled ex- ) and explain why I'll be returning forevermore to cash gifts in lieu of gift cards - which had been in lieu of cash - which was my gift in lieu of an actual present-gift.  

I'll try to explain and make things a bit clearer:

When I was first introduced to gift cards, around a decade or so ago, I loved the small and convenient plastic cards so much.  I found them to be so helpful and charming and exciting and sleek and easy-to-wrap and … sophisticated (a bit - well, as presents go).  

I was thrilled by the lovely 'occasion-related' pictures on the cards:  golden gift-boxes, snow flakes, party balloons and so forth.  I loved feeling generous as I requested $50 or so on the cards. (OK.  Maybe not so generous for some people - but on my limited salary with four kids - that's as generous as I can afford).

Early in my relationship with gift cards, I felt that we had such a deep understanding of each other's needs:  I hate shopping.  Gift cards allowed me to almost completely avoid it.

Shopping is one of the things I hate most in the world. 

I think that, for me, my hate of shopping is biological.  I'm almost certain that it's genetic. I think that I was born to hate shopping.  Even as a child I would tell my mother to just give me 'hand-me-downs' from my older sister - rather than take me shopping for new clothes of my own.  I didn't care what the hand-me-down clothes looked like. Or even that they were a little too short for me (I'm taller than my older sister). Or that they had a few holes in them.  'Patch them!' I would desperately request.  'But please, don't take me shopping!'  

And, if I was, on rare occasions, forced to the shops as a child, I would drag my feet and sulk as I followed behind my mother amongst the 'horror' of shoppers (my own personal 'collective noun' for a large noisy group of shoppers).  And I would continuously swing my white vinyl shoulder-bag around in a full circle at my side - resulting in other shoppers ducking for cover and my mother yelling at me to 'Stop that and behave!' or 'How many times have I told you not to swing your bag around like that?!  Wait until I get you home!'  

Although, I would usually be thinking: 'Yes, please!  Just take me home!  Anything to leave this nightmare of crowds and tediously-dull aisles of boring consumer stuff and noise and pushing and shoving.'

The other reason that I hate shopping, and as such I loved gift cards so much, is that I know that I am complete rubbish at gift-giving.  

This is mostly because I cannot be bothered putting any thought into my purchases.  

It's also because I cannot be bothered traipsing right across town to some specialty-store where the recipient of my gift has hinted that I might find the exact paint-brush that they want, or the desired model car, or the rare record by some never-heard-of ukelele instrumentalist.  And,  if it's not there, I might find it at one of four or five other specialty stores around the city.  Or maybe not.

This style of gift giving would require, potentially, hours of mind numbingly boring driving, and searching, and frustration … resulting in a hasty descent into madness for me!  

Who can be bothered with all of that?!

I'd rather spend my time having coffee and a lovely chat with the recipient of my gift-to-be.  Or going for a nice walk and enjoying beautiful scenery and interesting conversation with the recipient of the future-gift.  

Anything but endless shopping and driving and traipsing and searching … and then maybe getting it wrong anyway! Or finding that the recipient of my prize-gift has got two of whatever-it-was.  And they only needed one.  Or, 'Yes, great  … but I actually hoped to get it in dove-blue - not navy.' 

Aaaaaah!  

So I loved gift cards dearly.  They took away all of the horrors that shopping for gifts had brought to me in earlier years.  

The recipient of my gift card could now blame themselves if they traipsed all over the designated store, from whence my gift card originated, and they still couldn't find what they wanted.  Better them than me go through all that!  

They could deal with the dramas of: getting home and realising that they already had one or two of the purchased items; or finding that they actually hated the item purchased; or finding that they actually wanted  the whatever-it-is  in dove-blue - and not navy! 

Ha!  None of that was my problem anymore!  

As Douglas Adams wrote in Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy: these problems were hidden from me by  the 'SEP Invisibility shield'.  (SEP: Someone Else's Problem).  I could remain unaware and unconcerned and un-miserable by it all.  

However, my early joyful relationship with gift cards had almost entirely involved me giving the cards as gifts - rather than me receiving them.  Giving them was the easy and wonderful part!  But receiving them was something quite different.  

Receiving and using the gift cards is when they revealed their dark underbelly.  It was in attempting to use these cards that my relationship with them began to sour. And when the misery, and the tears, and the deceit  relating to them became increasingly apparent and a serious problem.

And it is the problems relating to gift cards that I will now discuss.  

Oh yes, my friend, gift cards are not all that they may seem to be when you first meet them.  They might have lovely pretty pictures, and look all shiny, and 'wallet-sized,' and convenient.  But they have a dark side.  They are the evil-twin of cash. And I will explain this dark side directly ...

Although, first, I hear you asking me to define what gift cards are, exactly, and explain when and where they were first used.

Good question!  I'm glad you asked.  I'll start by explaining a little about gift cards - and then I'll discuss their dark nature.

Gift cards are, firstly, a restricted money equivalent.  They are issued by retailers or banks to be used as an alternative to a non-money gift. 

The recipient of the gift card can use it at his/her discretion within the restrictions set by the issuing agency.

And the devil is in those restrictions set by the issuing agency details - which I will discuss shortly.

Gift cards have become very popular as they are almost as convenient and easy to give as cash - but they are more socially acceptable as they seems more personal, than cash, as a present. 

Gift cards are highly popular and they have been ranked as the second most frequently given gifts in the US (in 2006) and, in the US, they are the most wanted gift by women, and the third most wanted gift by men.

In Australia it has been estimated that nearly 90% of us have either received a gift card or given one as a present in the last 12 months.

In the US (in 2012) nearly 50% of consumers claimed to have purchased a gift card as a present during the Christmas season.

In Canada - 1.8 billion dollars was spent on gift cards annually.

In the UK - an estimated 3 billion pounds ( equiv. ~ 4.5 billion dollars US) was spent on gift cards annually.

In the US - 80 billion dollars was spent on gift cards annually.

(The above numbers were for 2006)

In Australia - 2.5 billion dollars is spent on gift cards annually (2014 article).

Historically, gift cards were first introduced to the world in 1994 in Florida, US.  They were introduced by Blockbuster entertainment to replace 'gift certificates' that were being counterfeited with the recently introduced colour copiers and colour printers.

Gradually, numerous retailers adapted the gift card program to replace their own gift certificate systems.  And from there the gift card phenomenon went into hyperdrive, commercially, and became a global sensation.  

Sensational for retailers, maybe,  but not so great for consumers.

So, now for the dark side of gift cards:

1.  Expiration dates:

These vary between a few months and a two years in Australia.  

And, if the card has expired then legally the retailer doesn't have an obligation to honour it.  Even if it is only one day past its expiry date.

The card expiring before the full value on the card is used is the most common complaint about the cards in Australia.

2. Gift cards are no more secure than cash if lost or stolen:

There is no protection against fraud.  Anyone could steal your gift card just as easily as stealing cash - from a posted envelope, or a purse, or if it is dropped.

3. Gift cards are considered 'unsecured debt' by bankruptcy courts, and as such can become valueless if a company becomes bankrupt.

4. The business, in which the gift card is valid, may be inconveniently distant from the recipient, or not a store the recipients wishes to purchase anything, or the recipient of the card couldn't find anything in the store that they wanted.

The card may then go unused.

5. Administration fees, restrictions in use:

Some stores/outlets may not accept the card - for example in a 'shopping centre' card.

Also, some card users have reported that it was hard to check the balance on the card, or there was a fee to check the balance.

Other fees and charges may also exist - eating into credit on the card.

6.  In surveys, most people reported spending more than the value of the card once they get into the store.

It has been estimated that around 10% of gift cards are not redeemed. They are either:  lost, stolen, a store wasn't  one wanted by the recipient, or there were complex rules on redemption of the credit on the card.

Australia currently lags behind other markets in the regulations on gift cards to protect consumers:

In Canada legislation has now been passed to ban expiry dates and fees on gift cards.

In the US - changes to legislation (since 2010) have prohibited retailers from setting expiry dates unless they are at least 5 years after the card date of issue, or the date on which funds were last added to the cards.

In late 2011, the Commonwealth Consumer Affairs Advisory Council launched an inquiry into the gift card market and released an issue paper that highlighted the problems.  But, ultimately, this had little impact.  

An Australian survey by Choice magazine, in Sept/Oct 2014, in which 735 people responded, found that  60% of people who took the study had problems with gift cards.  Premature expiry was the biggest issue.

So, that brings me finally to the reasons for the end of my relationship with gift cards.  I'll never give them as presents for other people again.  I'll give cash - in lieu of a gift card - in lieu of a present-gift.  

I'll still be thoughtful - as a gift giver.  

My thoughtfulness - is to NOT  burden the recipient of my gift - with an annoying gift card!!  

This will allow the recipient of my thoughtful cash gift to lose their purse, for a year or so,  under a wardrobe possibly, and, after that time, find the purse again - and still have their money ! Cash.  Not a pile of worthless pretty coloured plastic cards which are good only for the bin.  And yelling at.  And crying over.

This, unfortunately, is exactly what happened to my 11 year old daughter this week.  She found a purse which she had lost for about a year.  It was filled with an assortment of gift cards - about $ 150 worth of them - and they had all expired!  

She was so upset.  It was like her bank account had been plundered.  Like she had been robbed.  And, in a way, she was!

We did find that one card - an ABC shop card - which had  expired less than 5 weeks earlier.  So, at 4.30pm today I took the card - along with my young daughter - and I told the story to the manager of the shop (who I might add knows me very well as I'm a DVD addict - and I've spent literally thousands of dollars in that shop.  I can write that as my dear husband never reads my blog. Never. I could even write that I've spent millions of dollars at that ABC shop - and he'd be none the wiser.  Although I'm almost certain that I've spent less than that.  Pretty sure).

But, getting back to my sad story, the card was invalid and none of the $20 credited to the gift card could be redeemed.   The store manager said that there was nothing that she could do - as the card was more than four weeks past the expiry date.  

Rules are rules.  Business is business. 

Although, I wonder - does business is business mean that money trumps kindness?  I think that it does.  That was not a rhetorical question.  I think it actually does mean that.

This is also not the first time that one of my four children has lost all of the credit on a gift card.  It's happened many times for us - as a family.

One of the saddest times that it happened, however, was five years ago when my eldest daughter won some gift cards as academic prizes at the end of primary school.  

Unfortunately, she couldn't use the vouchers for over a year as she soon became very unwell with a serious medical illness.  She was admitted to a Paediatric hospital for over a year.  She's almost completely recovered now - but it was an awful time for all of us.  Obviously, especially for her.  She was admitted to ICU twice and nearly died numerous times.

However, when she finally did come home - she thought it would be nice to buy something with her academic-prize gift cards.  

All were expired. 

However, one of the local stores kindly said that as the card had expired only a few weeks earlier - she could redeem the value on the card.  The store was a small beach-wear shop.  Not a large franchise company.  Maybe that made a difference.

It is worth saying here that it is probably worth asking if the gift card could be reinstated - as in the study done by the Choice magazine in Australia, about one third of those people who made this request of expired cards - were successful.

However, sadly that was not the case for my daughter and me at 4.30pm today.  And that is when my love of gift cards died forever.  And that is what prompted this blog.

So, with my own cash I bought my daughter whatever she wanted to the value of the worthless card.  I also bought a few DVD's.  I have no hard feelings toward the ABC shop.  It is the gift cards that I have a problem with.

So, here's my suggestion with regard to non-present (more liquid asset) gifts:

Give cash as a gift along with something thoughtful and personal from yourself:

(in this way you still give a useful and versatile and easily aquired gift which is, in addition, not impersonal)

- a handmade card.

- a lovely photograph

- a little bought-something extra (chocolates … ?!   That's it for suggestions from me.  As I said I'm rubbish at gift giving.  I think it's a genetic disability.  I'm gift giving challenged. Seriously.)

- a little poem (Google one.  My answer to everything is 'Google it')

- a little conversation.  Actually that is something most people really want.  A little of your time and your kind thoughts and interest in them.

Be creative.  You'll get better at adding a little personal touch, to the cash present, with practice.  

And, isn't that the only reason we buy gift cards.  To make our cash gift a little less impersonal.

A gift from the heart will be felt more in the loving and thoughtful words in a card than the present as well.  Most adults care more about what's written in the card or the letter, which is given with the gift, than the present per se.

So why not consider cash as a gift - if you don't want to give a present-gift.  Why not?  That's not impersonal - if you add a little extra to it.  And cash is no less safe to send in the mail than a gift card!

Also,  most teenagers will love you for giving a cash gift.  It's what they actually want. I know a lot of teens and I've done my own personal survey - 100% want cash!  I've asked them.  My friend's children especially - as well as nieces and nephews.

In fact 100% told me that they preferred gift cash to gift cards.  And a few even said that they regularly traded gift cards, with someone else in their family, for cash.

And my advice if you receive gift cards.  Spend them as quickly as you can - before you lose them or forget about them.  

So, why not consider gift cash instead of gift cards.  

There are so many reasons to make the change from cards back to cash - unless you're a retailer that is.

                      *                 *                *

The Fire (a story of fiction)

                                                             

The fire began on a cool autumn night.  

It came to life as a tiny spark which escaped the confines of an open fireplace. A dying ember gave it life and from there it leapt to freedom and landed on a discarded paper.  

The spark, at first, only scorched the paper.  The golden mark  thus created, however, quickly morphed into a larger and darker blotch. And from there it spread across the entire page flaming orange on its advancing edge and leaving in its wake a blackened and fragile ash.  

The flame remained hungry.  It needed more.  It needed to grow.  That was its nature.  It needed to devour and destroy all that stood in its path.   It was ruthless.  It took no prisoners. It could not be tamed.

It searched about for more to consume.  It moved onto the hearth-rug. It devoured the soft white shag pile fibres and left only a black molten corpse.  It then leapt to a nearby curtain.  It growled and crackled as it ran up along the flowery heavy material toward the ceiling.  It began to roar.  It had grown more powerful and dangerous left unnoticed and unchecked.  Its deadly breath filled the room and drifted out into the hallway and up the stairwell toward the family sleeping upstairs.  The choking air would find them first and the wild flames would follow soon after to finish them off.

The fire would then look for more. 

It would not be sated:  Another cottage.  A fence.  A tree. … to start with.  It was  powerful and angry now. It had tasted blood and destruction.  It craved more. The village would be its prey.  A village unprepared and oblivious to the dangers it now faced.    

Across town, Hetty Miller was just waking up.  She had a busy day ahead. It was 6 am on a Tuesday morning and, as a freelance journalist working for the village newspaper, she needed to get her weekly 'opinion-piece' written and onto her editor's desk by no later than 3 pm on that afternoon.  She could not be late with it again.  Her editor had already warned her that if she was late one more time he would give her column to Jan - the office 'suck-up' who was the most smug, annoying, arrogant …  

Hetty took a deep breath.  She would not  be late with her piece. Jan was absolutely no threat to her and her column and her job - because she would not be late!  And that was that!  The column would take absolute precedence over everything else for the day. 

Her husband, John, could be fed breakfast and then kicked out the front-door with his bank-manager's  brief-case and his packed lunch by 8.30am.  'Missing you already!' she would call out to him as she laughed - like she always did when she was in a hurry.  He knew that she was kidding.  

Tom, her four year old son, could be packed up and off to childcare by 9am.  His ear infections and asthma attacks had kept him home from childcare frequently in recent weeks, and as a result of this Hetty had been late with her column on more than one occasion.  But that would not happen today.  He was now fit as a fiddle and so off he would go!  

All going to plan, Hetty hoped that she would be able to start working on her article by around 9.30am. She would put on her headphones and listen to music, like she always did when she was writing, and zip through the piece for her column.  

She'd have it ready by midday!  Hopefully…  Maybe?!  Well, no later than 2 pm!  Absolutely!

Smug Jan could crawl back to her own desk.  She would not take her job.  Not yet, anyway.

Hetty sighed as she got out of bed and walked over to her bedroom window. The view from the window was particularly good, not only because the window was on the second floor of her two storey cottage, but also because the house was situated on top of the only hill in the district.

She looked out at the village beyond the glass.  It appeared to be sleeping. It remained shrouded in a subsiding darkness which allowed the buildings to be only vaguely delineated as solid black objects against the softening grey. Above the distant horizon, which was a rough black silhouette of the forest trees, the sky was now filled with a warm yellow light which pushed the morning up into the receding navy sky of the fading night.  A few tiny stars lingered still. 

As Hetty stood admiring the beauty and tranquility of the early morning vista, she gradually became aware of something different  about the scene.  Something unexpected and unsettling.

Squinting into the darkness she could just distinguish the grey outline of smoke rising into the sky as a grey cloud on the horizon. She wondered if someone might be burning off rubbish. Alternatively, she wondered if it might even be a house fire.  Although, it was too far away to see clearly.  

Either way, Hetty reassured herself that the fire was very far from her own house and neighbourhood, and as such it was almost certainly no threat to her, or her family.  Also, she thought, whoever owned the house or land, from whence the flames originated, would very likely be well aware of the fire and they would  most likely be dealing with it right at that moment. 

However, in the village, fires  of any kind were always a little unnerving  as  the village had  no Fire department:  No fire trucks.  No large hoses.  No fire alarms. Nothing really.

The people of the village were aware that to outsiders this situation might seem ridiculous - especially given that the village was composed entirely of wooden houses, and it was surrounded  by a dense forest. 

However, the mayor had explained the situation completely to the village people.  And it had all made absolute sense - the way he told it.  He was a very wise man who had never let any of them down before; not that anyone could remember, or knew about, anyway.

He had explained - with lots of graphs and numbers and examples - during many town meetings on the subject -  that a Fire department would be largely a waste of money for the village.  The facility would rarely be used, as the people of the village were very careful around fire, and there had never yet been any extremely large fires which would justify a fully equipped on-call  Fire department.

The mayor had explained, in a very optimistic and cheerful way, that the villagers were 'over-worrying' to think that a large fire would ever require more than a few hoses and a good plan by residents to come home from work to deal with any fire that might happen themselves.  Unlikely as the event of a fire happening in the first place would be.  

Furthermore, he had added, if a fire ever did require additional help then, possibly, local neighbours could help.  And, in the extremely unlikely 'worst-case scenario' of a large fire occurring - then the police department and ambulance services could help out with long hoses from other local properties. 

The villagers were reassured that everything would be fine.  A major fire would almost certainly never happen, and small fires could be controlled with systems that were already in place.

It had all made so much sense.  They had been worrying about crises that were extremely unlikely.  Adequate plans were already  in place. And the money saved would  allow more money to be available for wonderful projects - like 'halls for schools' and lovely statues in the village squares.  

Of course, there were always a few trouble-makers at the meetings.  Pessimistic over-worriers with ridiculous hysterical ideas about massive fires occurring, for which the village would be completely unprepared, and which could have potentially catastrophic outcomes. 

Those fools had been laughed down by the mayor, and escorted from the village meetings as trouble-makers.   They had been banned from all future debates.  They had upset the other villagers and scared the children.

The same small groups of trouble makers also wrote into Hetty's newspaper.  Letters to the editor.  They requested more conversations about  the construction of a Fire-department.  They wanted to discuss further the risk for major fires, and they argued that the current arrangements were completely inadequate.  

They never let up!  They had become a nuisance and, eventually, they had  been warned by the police to stop harrassing people in the village with their stories of doom and demands for change.

Hetty had been proud that she had been able to convince her editor to ignore the vocal minority of trouble makers with their demands to further discuss topics which had already been debated, concluded, and finished with.  

What would those few over-worrying trouble-makers know that the mayor did not?  The mayor was such a clever man.  Hetty had complete faith in his judgement.  She also had an absolute respect for authority figures.  Her parents had instilled that in her.  She never questioned the judgement of an authority figure.  

Her editor, however, had been initially reluctant to ignore the letters written to him. He'd even considered researching the issue - which is more than anyone else in the village had done.  Anyone other than the trouble makers agitating for the Fire department that is.

However,  the newspaper had become busy with other stories:  The annual village fair.  The building of a new bakery in the town.  The football season.  These were happier topics.  These were more exciting stories than budget decisions and health-and-safety discussions.  

So, finally, the concerns about the risks of an uncontrolled wild fire were forgotten.  The letters to the editor from the agitators in the village were not published. The letters were thrown in the bin.  Conversations about the issue were finally left alone - and the topic died away.

Hetty pulled her eyes away from the smoke which spiralled  into the clear blue sky.  She acknowledged that it would be a fine day.  Another warm and sunny day in a long line of similar lovely days.    

She left the window, put her dressing-gown on, and skipped downstairs to make herself a coffee, and get her hectic day started.

She was on a deadline!

Five hours passed rapidly during the morning.  Hetty finally looked up at the clock sitting on the writing desk in her home-office.  It was already 11am. 

The article that she was writing for her column was going well.  It was a piece about The usefulness of school halls for playing hop-scotch on rainy days.  However, something had pulled Hetty out of her deep concentration and her writing.  She took her headphones off and looked about the room.  The house was quiet.  However, something was not right.  She could sense it.  She wondered what it might be.  

And then she knew…  Smoke!   She could clearly smell smoke!

Jumping up from her desk she looked about the room. Nothing was on fire.  She ran to all of the rooms in the house.  To her great relief there was no fire.  She returned to her study.  But the smell of smoke was distinct and strong.  She looked over towards the window.  She remembered the smoke that she'd seen five hours earlier. When she had first gotten out of bed.  She walked over to the window and looked down the hill toward the village.  

Smoke was everywhere. 

The village was almost completely obscured by misty grey smoke.  The smoke rose high into the air - large and dark as a thundercloud. Hetty wasn't sure how much of the village was on fire.  

Possibly, she thought, it was all worse than it looked.  Maybe it was like the time her cat had been savaged by a local dog, and when she had taken the cat to the vet and he had cleaned her up - it had eventuated that most of the blood had been the dog's blood.  Her cat was fine. She had over worried that time.   Maybe this was similar.  Maybe a fire in only one or two buildings was creating all of the smoke. Maybe it all just looked a lot worse than it actually was.  

She decided that she wouldn't worry too much.  Anyway, Hetty had complete faith in the mayor and his ability to control the situation.

Also, she still had a deadline to make.  She needed her article on her editor's desk in less than four hours time.

She closed the window and pulled down the blind.  She needed no distractions.  Today she had very important things on which she must focus.

She returned to her desk and put her head-phones back on.  Her music was a lovely soothing distraction.  She returned to her writing and her discussion about school halls and hop scotch.

It didn't seem long before Hetty  finished her article.  She was quite happy with it.  She looked at the time.  She was early.  It was still only 1.30pm.  She printed her article along with an extra copy.  She put the pages neatly into a manilla folder.  She decided that she  would take them in to her office before the deadline, and then pick Tommy up from the child-care early.  

She smiled as she imagined her son's little face when she arrived early to pick him up.  He'd be so happy to see her.  

She'd been a little short with him that morning.  She'd been in such a hurry.  But he'd been so patient and understanding. She remembered his words when she'd told him to stop talking as she was so busy.  

He'd said, 'OK.  I'll just talk in my brain.'  

Also, she recalled his words as she dropped him off in his day-care room.  He'd hugged her, as she signed him in, and he'd said 'I love you too much, Mummy.'  She'd kissed his soft cheek. She felt blessed to have such a dear little boy in her life.

Hetty left  the folder on her desk and she stretched as she stood up.  Strangely, she could still smell the smoke.  Her window had been closed for hours … and still the smell of smoke persisted.  In fact it was even stronger now.

A thought came to her in that moment.  A scary and horrible thought. 

Hetty turned slowly to face the window.  A heavy feeling of dread had formed in her gut. The blind was still down and it obscured any view of the world beyond.  

Hesitantly she walked toward the window.  Her hand was shaking as she released the blind.  It flew upward creating a loud bang when it came to a stop. She removed her headphones and let them hang around her neck.

She looked through the glass and as she did she felt like her heart had stopped.  The blood drained from her face and she wondered if she might faint. She reached for a chair.

Smoke was everywhere.  Black, billowing clouds of smoke.  She dared not open the window.  The smoke wafted up against the glass. She could see flames in the forest about a mile from her house.  A wall of fire.  With her head-phones off she could now hear the roar of the firestorm.  She wondered how she could not have heard it earlier.  Even with the music and the headphones.  It sounded like a train rushing through a tunnel. Like a horrible monster screaming at the world.

A terrible thought suddenly occurred to her.  What if her husband and her son were in danger?  What if they had been trying to call her? She would have never heard the phone!  

She couldn't bare to consider the idea that her son and her husband had been needing her help … and she hadn't been there for them.  She hadn't come for them!  She would never forgive herself if anything happened to them!   

Her thoughts became less optimistic.  What if ...

She couldn't bring herself to even  consider the end of that sentence:  What if …

She ran downstairs.  She picked up the phone receiver.  The line was dead.  The lights were all out too.  She checked the switch.  The electricity was off.

She grabbed her car keys.  She would have to see if John and Tommy were alright.  As she was about to run out the front door, she remembered the article.  Maybe things were  still not as bad as they appeared.  The Mayor had said …

She hesitated - and then she ran up the stairs again.  She grabbed the folder and then she ran back down.  She would take the article with her - and drop it off after she had checked on her husband and son.  It may all look worse than it actually was.

Hetty grabbed the handle of the front-door but instantly let go.  The metal handle was burning hot. Her hand began to blister almost instantly.

Horror flooded her mind and stabbed at her heart like a sharp knife.  She brought her blistered hand to her mouth. The terrible reality of the situation was becoming clear.  She could feel the radiant heat from the door.  The paint on the inside of the door was beginning to bubble and peel off.  She dared not touch it.  She knew it would be burning hot.  She could feel the heat from where she stood. 

She looked down to the carpet. Grey smoke was seeping into the house from under the door.  

The roar of the fire was deafening now.  Hetty dropped her folder and she ran to the back door.  Grey smoke was  seeping into the house from under that door as well, and the radiant heat hit her like a furnace. 

She looked about the room.  She felt like a caged animal about to die.  Black smoke and fire were present at every window.

A series of thunderous crashing noises occurred in quick succession.  The windows on the ground floor were  exploding. The fire was inside.  The deadly monster had entered her house and it was now surrounding her on all sides.  

Hetty knew that there was no way out.  

She  ran up the stairs to her bedroom.  She knew now that it was too late for her.  She wondered if it would have made a difference if the people of the village had  listened to those few  'agitators', and a Fire-department had been built ...

It didn't really matter now.  The village was beyond any discussions about dangers and prevention-planning and the future.  

There would be no future for any of them.

Hetty looked out of her window.  She could still see a few glimpses of the village between the flames and the smoke.

She could see Tommy's child care centre.  It was a smoldering ruin. Nothing remained.  She imagined that Tommy was most likely already dead - along with all of the other children and staff in the centre. 

Her grief was overwhelming.  Tears streamed down her face. She couldn't bear to imagine her little boy's last moments.

The whole village was an inferno and the fire had devoured the forest surrounding it.  There would be no escape for anyone.

She could see the roof of her newspaper office.  It was a mass of flames, as was the bank where John worked.  

Hetty's  world was on fire and her family were almost certainly dead - as were her friends.

Her life was over.  Her world was gone.  

The fire was now at her bedroom door.  The flames had come for her. 

Hetty's last thoughts were: 'If only … '   

                                                              
                                    The End

Fire, in this story, is a metaphor for the problems relating to terrorism which the western world currently faces - which threaten:  our western culture;  democracy;  human rights; freedom of speech;  our freedom ...

Simply stating Je Suis Charlie ( I am Charlie) - is not enough!

We need to puts some verbs into our sentences with regard to the problems we now face.

And the firestorm has not yet come for us.  It is not yet too late.

Journalists need to see problems where they exist. Optimism is fine - but it needs to be realistic optimism!  There are serious problems facing our western culture from terrorism!

In medicine we say:  'half of any treatment is making a correct diagnosis.'

A problem needs to be seen accurately as it is - not how we hope or wish it would be.  And then an effective solution, or treatment, needs to be started as soon as possible.

If a patient has cancer - there is a 'window of time' in which treatment will work.  A diagnosis must be timely and an effective treatment found.  As doctors we need to act in a timely manner - or a patient might die.  

Opportunities to save a situation don't last indefinitely.  That is why doctors often rush and fight aggressively to save patients - if that is what's needed.  We don't hesitate!  We can't hesitate.  Time is crucial.

We diagnose accurately.  We treat effectively.  We act quickly.

Currently people are doing the equivalent of:

- denying the patient is even sick!  (ie denying there is a serious problem currently).

- minimising problems - when major problems actually exist.  A form of denial and rationalisation.

- writing the patient a 'Get well card'.  - In the form of 'Je suis Charlie'.

But no-one is actually doing anything that will make any difference.  Writing a get-well card and denying a serious illness exists and giving no effective treatment will result in the patient dying! 

There is no place for denial or placebo treatments (ie Je suis Charlie).  

That is just wasting time when really serious problems exist!

As a doctor I sometimes need to be blunt with patients.  But my patients have all done very well - and survived.  Especially with cancer.  Early and accurate diagnoses and effective treatments are the key.

I suppose that I am blunt and harsh here.  But some things need to be said.

The western world needs to unite and fight together for our freedom and our democracy and our lives.

                                              *                        *                     *

Lastly, a quotation by Pastor Martin Niemoller (1892 − 1984)

He was a prominent Protestant pastor who emerged as an outspoken public foe of Adolf Hitler and he spent the last seven years of Nazi rule in concentration camps: 

First They Came

First they came for the Communists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Communist

Then they came for the Socialists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Socialist

Then they came for the trade unionists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a trade unionist

Then they came for the Jews

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Jew

Then they came for me

And there was no-one left

To speak out for me

                            *                                       *                                    *

We need to work as a team.

We must preserve our freedom of speech.

Without our freedom - what life for each of us would remain?

 At least consider the reality of the potentially fatal situation the western world is now in.

People are not annoying 'over-worriers'.  They are the canaries down the coal mine!

At least consider the situation and open up discussions about what needs to be done.  Don't shut down freedom of speech.  That is exactly what is needed to solve problems.

                             *             *             *

PS:

On a slightly lighter note:

It is now a week since I wrote the above blog entry, and I have just returned from having a lovely coffee with a female friend of mine.  

While we chatted - I mentioned, somewhat smugly, that the world might endure less violence, and wars, and killing - if women ruled instead of men.

My friend replied that while that might be true - she had heard it said that if women ruled the world - it is likely that half the countries wouldn't be speaking to each other any more!

I can just imagine it.  The female president of country A might say: 'Well, we may not be having a war with country B - but we're not speaking to them!  And they certainly won't be invited to our national bar-b-que next month!'

We laughed. 

I know the problems in the world are serious and awful.  But humour is still a good coping mechanism.  It felt good to have a laugh with my friend.

                                 *               *              *