Monday, May 8, 2017

Crises

There’ve been a few glitches but the skirt of the defiant dress is coming together. At my age, patience is much easier and a valuable asset. I’m letting the paper mulch get good and dry before I try to add the paper surface.
This is definitely a weird dress. It’s clumsy, heavy and right now its pretty ugly.  But I’ve a long way to go with this one. The marble dress was nothing until the logo went on. The logo made it and it went on last after weeks of work. This one will not look good until the words are carved into it.
Beth leaves this morning; we had a great visit and it ended really nicely. Last night we went to Ancora and I met her on the seawall just below my place. She’d come along it in the sunshine from Bruce’s apartment and I had two glasses and cold champagne in my backpack so we sat on a bench in the sunshine right on the water and talked and drank champagne. She’d brought some nibblies too.
We had a beautiful gracious server, ate outside in the sunshine and saw Loretta. It was a lovely night; I couldn’t have wished for better for her to see why I love Ancora so. And she was swooning over the incredible Peruvian/Japanese food.
Today our strata council begins the renovation of our building envelope. They plan to start on our south elevation — the side with almost all my windows. There’ll be no blue tarpaulin but they're using one of those platforms that go up and down; soon there'll be noise and people outside my windows and for a long time. Plus, I have my office on the west side so I get hit twice. Pooey. And it’s an expensive undertaking for all of us residents.
 
I have a thirteen-year old friend. I hired his grandfather to build my theatre and consequently met his grandmother; I dearly love them both and I’ve watched their kids grow up.
Their daughter is the mother of my young friend; she owns my heart. I melt in her presence and love her like a daughter. It’s our relationship that led to my very special friendship with her son who went last Thursday to a professional counselor and said he wanted to kill himself.
I’d known something was wrong for a long time. We’ve been talking. But did not know how serious things had become. I’m terribly proud of him for taking action.
He’s gone to live with his grandparents and is scheduled to come back to his home at the end of the week — and he’s asked that I be there. Suddenly my being a psychologically troubled man feels like a plus; I am unashamedly troubled and very positive about psychiatric therapy.

















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