Thursday, November 24, 2016

Bacchus!

Last night was a real treat. Nicola came for drinks and then we went out to dinner to Bacchus at the Wedgewood Hotel. It was perfect. The restaurant was quiet, the service perfect and the food exquisite. Plus, as a surprise, Miss Nicola treated me.
And she wrote me a card that is the nicest card I could ever want. I will keep it forever. She wrote such nice things about our friendship.
And now things show down now. It’s been a busy week but now I can get back to my dresses and, maybe, the script.
It’s odd. In the mornings, my fingers itch to type. What I want most is for an idea to come into my head that inspires me to fire off about a thousand to post on this blog. I would love to do that every morning; it’s my nature to do it. It is practical as well, in that no one interrupts in the mornings.
But I avoid the script. When it comes to my project, I prefer to work on the dresses first. Dress work is ecstasy for these hands and, of course, there’s that repetitive/methodical part I like so much. Besides: An exhibition of the dresses (perhaps as a fundraiser) is almost certain whereas a scripted performance is far, far more work and less likely an outcome.
I am underway on the apron and I am stoked about it. I’m writing the script in a font that lends itself to needlepoint on a grid. Once I have mapped it out on paper, I will transfer it to the aida paper in fine cotton wool. I just love figuring out how to do the things my imagination wants to do and learning how to do things I’ve never done before.
Tomorrow morning at 6:30 I have to leave here to go to UBC hospital to get a heart monitor. I have to go back again on Saturday to return it. And then I have to wait until February, apparently, to hear the results. I wonder why. It’s either than or they have already determined no intervention is necessary — that’s certainly possible and maybe even likely. Perhaps my February appointment is a monitoring exercise. My HIV and asthma are checked quarterly, so I now may be cardiac monitored. I’d like to be told I don’t need a pacemaker.















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