My Longest Ramble Ever

 Sunday night I awoke in the middle of the night to a sound I haven’t heard since last April: thundering rain on the roof. Real rain was falling. I went back to sleep wondering what our group dog walkers will think about walking in a downpour. But as the time to walk arrived, it had turned to lighter rain. Still, it’s a rude, but inevitable, awakening to the wet season.

No one in our dog group wanted to walk. So, I did the dishes from the dinner with Dave and Ursula as soon as I had fed the brood, and I set and lit a small fire. It’s so cozy to have a fire when it rains. And I reveled in the thought of a complete day of rest. I’ll be making the same dinner as I made yesterday again next weekend for Kris, Steve and Nancy. I’m super happy that I practiced the roti, and I’m even happier that I was pleased with the bread’s structure and taste. I was thrilled at the dinner when Ursula asked how I got all the layers in the bread! 

By 9:00 the rain had let up, so Her Highness and I went to walk the soggy trails of the 707. My, her and prednisone made the walk easy and wonderful because the rain brings new fragrance to the forest. My nose gives me such thrills. Last Spring, a particularly beautiful and lush tree was felled in a storm. All Spring is filled the air with a spectacular arboreal sent. And I was thoroughly chuffed to come home to so clean and tidy a home. I did all the cleaning for Dave and Ursula, but I am the biggest beneficiary. 

What a day of calm and peace. I had absolutely nothing to do or worry about. And the prednisone has me feeling so wonderfully healthy. And because I’m not on my feet all day in this weather, my heel is less painful, walking is without a limp, and my hip is not hurting because I’m walking normally. Now, if I could just improve my posture!

We walked the 707 trail we so often walk, in gentle rain. It had stopped raining early in the morning, and it didn’t rain most of the day. Mid-afternoon we went to Elder Cedar and walked in light rain, and when I got home, my 10 pounds of clover seed arrived so I went out to sow it on a part of the yard that gets more sun now and where there is nothing growing. I’m desperately hopeful that it thrives like Dave and Ursula’s white clover. Time’s going to tell. It arrived at a perfect time, just as the weather changes, and the predictions for both rainy and sunny days ahead make for perfect growing weather.

I went to the vet to get some anti-hairball medication in case that is what is disturbing Fred’s digestion and excretion. And I’m giving him wet food at the suggestion of the vet. Again, time will tell, but I feel good doing something to address his cries when he poops and often after he eats. Last night, there was no howling at all, just a lot of normal conversation. Fred is the most talkative cat I have ever known. He just called to me from the bedroom now.

I see Dr. Shoja today on Zoom. It’s only an hour; I have the rest of the day to do as I please, and I wish what pleased me was reading, but I just can’t it still. It’s a ‘skill’ that may come. I’ve been on my feet and on the go non-stop for the five months of no real rain. Motion is what I’m used to.

I wish I wanted to make paper dresses again or do some other craft that would keep me on my feet and moving, but something died when I had my breakdown. I lost my creative mojo. Have you noticed how long my posts have become? It wasn’t long ago that I was going to stop writing here. I could never think of things to write about.

I have always said that writing was the active form of interaction with words and ideas, whereas reading was a passive form that too often reading the ideas of others. Active interaction with words requires a more vital form of thinking and imagination. These long posts are consistent with all I’m saying about motion. My mind turns and my fingers tap.

Now here’s a segue: Speaking of taps, every time I went to the sink today, I smelled a bad smell. It reminded me of the same thing not long ago when I discovered that prednisone was making Sheba pee on a carpet in the hall leading to the guest rooms. It stank in the house for days before I discovered the cause, so today I was diligent with my search.

I checked my garbage container, I moved furniture (thinking dead mouse), checked the recycling containers, and I opened drawers, but I couldn’t determine what was making such a stink. When I came in from sowing the clover, it was smelling very badly. And then I knew what it was. I’d put paper towel on the collection tray at the bottom of my air fryer when I thawed some cod and prawns for the laksa. Sure enough, that was it. And wow, what a stink emerged when I opened the fryer door!

Paula’s been talking about her future, musing on options with me, so I’ve stated campaigning for her to move here and sell her place at Point Roberts. God, I’d love that. We became neighbours when we both moved into Brewery Creek, Vancouver’s first artist live/work studios, and we immediately hit it off. We’ve been fast friends ever since.

I’m going to tell Dr. Shoja how good I feel about my speech. I am doing extremely well with local friends. It’s harder with visitors because my broken brain, with whom I share custody of my body, is less familiar with them. I’m speaking better than I ever imagined I’d be able to. I’m still mute out in the world, and I still have a rough time in noisy or chaotic environments. And my seizures happen pretty much only when I have guests staying over (but I hope friends never stop coming).

I’m come miles. I owe such a huge debt to Dr. Shoja, and to our medial system that gives me unlimited access to her for life. I always wanted a family, and more than anything a mother. A mother seemed like the easiest person to work on for affection. Instead, late in life, I’ve been very, very successfully adopted—finally—by a psychiatrist. Instead of affection, she gives me comfort, insight and trust.

I didn’t really think much about getting Sheba, Fred and Ethel. The Tyrell’s had a dog and two cats. No, they had one cat. I had the other. He was Aleck and he was my first love, and I learned that love was born of love from him. If I was home, he was on me, and I fell deeply, deeply in love. I never long for Connie Tyrell, every once and a while, I wish I could call Don on the phone. That’s all we ever did, and he lived to an old age. But I think of Aleck constantly. I cry for him often because he taught me love; he was a beautiful along-haired Persian cat with white fur and yellow eyes. And he was big and comforting.

It was one of a cluster of suddenly taken impulse moves; the biggest one being moving here with no forethought. But what a brilliant decision that was. Besides Dr. S., living on Gabriola Island has certainly done wonders for my mental health. Imagine, having friends with farm animals, some of whom cuddle. What better place to live is there for me?

I don’t imagine I’d have thrived here without Fred, Ethel, and Her Highness. I talk to them, I love them deeply, and they are welcoming souls that love it when I touch them. Plus, all my friends here are either a neighbour or a dog owner whom I met on our group Sunday dog walks. 

When I was four, our home was quarantined because I was sick. I’m not certain why, but my best guess would be it was because I had scarlet fever. I learned that name very, very young; that feeds my guess. There was a sign on our front door warning people about us. My only memory of quarantine was of being in bed and listening through the window, filtered with flowing see-through curtains, to birds, particularly robins.

They were free agents, and I was confined to my room. It made me listen and hear life. I was alone in a little room, not allowed to experience any of it. That memory comes to mind often because I am living what I call self-imposed house arrest, is of chosen semi-quarantine. But this time I am fully and wonderfully engaged with nature. My other mother.

Dr. S. said the worst words I have ever heard directed to me. They were the names of my conditions and an explanation of the cause. For the first several years, her words went through me. I was more focused on learning how to live with my symptoms and without the capacity to use the telephone. She changed my history; I been rendered co-author of my own life story. But now, her story feels like my story. I have my own chosen words for my past and my present.

Only in the past few years have I focused on the psychological part of my illnesses. The focus of my therapy for the first eight years was on things neurological and me finding the non-medical vocabulary with which to explain my changed self to friends.

These past two years have been the best. I feel comfortable with who I am. My wonderful friends who mirror calm and understanding when I have seizures and when I get long blocks in my broken speech, they cure me with their kindness. It feels wonderful to feel comfortable with myself. I believe that is why my speech with friends has improved so dramatically.

My friend Beth, I rarely see, but bee in constant contact with her via telephone, email and now FaceTime, since she moved to Toronto many decades ago. She may come to visit next year, I dearly hope she does, and I’ll bet I’ll be able to speak well with her because one, I love her, and two, my brain is familiar with her, thanks to FaceTime. I hope my theory is tested. 

I had to accept I was gay, long, long ago. It was a long, and painful process—very, very painful. But I did it. I came out to Marie-Claude in her condo. She was my French teacher, and she invited me to live in her home with her husband and two children so I could afford to finish my year of studies. No one had ever treated me so kindly in my life.

My mental health diagnoses, and worse, the explanation of the cause, this has been a very difficult journey of acceptance and understanding as well. It’s been far, far more demanding of me than adapting to life without speech for a long time, and then life with various speech capacities, depending on many factors.

This process was more coming clean to me than coming out. My symptoms outed me on first contact. Coming clean means understanding my psycho/neuro divergent self and finding a lay-language explanation of my condition that is positive, informative, and short. And, most importantly, feeling good about myself. I don’t know if I ever could say that until now.

I hated being gay. I still hate it. I love my gay friends, being out was fun, living with Steve was a joyous/difficult education and wonderful life experience, and I’m not ashamed to be gay. It taught me a lot about the true nature of society and, particularly my faith. I only hate it because it meant I wouldn’t have children, and if I had a child, I’d have a real, and true and loving family. That went out the window. When rights came, they came too late. But now I’m proud of my society that has become so accepting and corrective.

Hate = anger. I have long carried both. However, self-acceptance has side effects. If I were on a medication, it might be called Peaceful. That’s how I feel. After the jolt of the collapse of my mental health, I feel fully well again. And that goes for asthma too. Dr. Dorscheid had told me that Tezspire heals, it doesn’t just slow loss. Maybe my drug should be called Optimism.

I’m celebrating self-reconciliation today. The rest of the party won’t miss me. Thanking Dr. S. is on today’s agenda.

A Day of Cooking Malasian Food

The launch of yesterday did not feel as though My Day was truly my day. I stayed up late on Saturday night. That’s unusual. Sometimes I feel ready for bed at 18:30! But not last night. I was full of energy all afternoon and evening, and I think it was due to getting more oxygen, thanks to prednisone.

Fred came in howling to wake me. Then Sheba joined in with her anticipatory panting. I had to get up. Damn! Not only that, I had a demanding self-determined agenda to get underway. I vacuumed thoroughly everywhere, and dusted shelves so that Dave and Ursula would not know the truth.

First, I made the dipping sauce for the roti, and I am not happy with it. I’m going to seek out other recipes, and I’m going to get higher quality ingredients. I don’t trust Jimmy Pattersons cheap products that flood our shelves at Nester’s, so I’m going to check out Wishbone or find products with a brand name I respect when I make my next batch. But this batch will do for my first testing of making roti.

This isn't a very interesting photo, but it was delicious dip for the roti

Then I had a quick spa before taking Her Highness for our morning walk, and when I got back, it was time to get busy. As I measured ingredients for the salad dressing, and roti, I realized that I had everything I needed to offer David and Ursula dinner instead of just coming over for roti. They were keen to join me, so I came home and rushed into action.

I’m so familiar with making Laksa, I don’t even refer to my notes. I charged into getting it done before I started on the roti, and for the first time I very successfully used my air fryer to defrost the cod and prawns. I learned this new method because microwaves are hot and harsh heaters. I added cilantro, sliced leek, noodles, and sliced hard-boiled egg.

Laksa is so easy to make and so, so delicious. The only hard part is
finding the right spice mixture and amount to use.

As the Laksa came together, I tasted it and loved it. And that made me take a taste of the curry dip that I made for the roti, and it tasted much better after having been at rest for a while. That encouraged me as I headed into the hardest part of baking—making the roti for the first time in my life.

I have no confidence going into new bakes, but once I’d made the dough and I saw it rising in the bowl after 9 minutes of kneading, I felt a little more optimistic. That was the first rest. It was an hour long. Next, I had to divide the dough into four balls, coat them with ghee, and set them aside to rest for another hour. This is the second rest and it’s the rests that make the process take so long. And the next step was the hardest; I was very nervous going into it.

I divided the dough into 4 bts to make 4 roti.

Once they are all stretched, twisted and coiled, they rest.

Once they were all cooked, I kept them warm in the oven
and I served the a roti and sauce in ramekins.

I had to stretch the dough of each ball into paper thin consistency, one at a time. After I stretch the dough very wide and very, very thin, I must fold the dough into thin multi-layered strips, brushing each fold/layer with melted ghee. I then twist and roll the folded dough strip into a coiled ball for each roti, and then they get the third resting. I, however, had no rest. There were salads to prepare—particularly shallots to dice into tiny bits, then fry in oil, and then dehydrate in the air fryer. These dried fried shallots are the finest part of the salad.

The next step with the roti involved flattening out the dough balls with the heel of my palms into flat ½” deep round patties that I then fry in ghee, getting both sides nice and brown, and once they are done, I put them on a clean dish towel, and then I put my hands under the towel, and I crush the roti with both hands and it creates a pile of smashed up fried dough that is part crispy and brown, part light, fluffy, and stretchy dough that is a delight to pull apart. To eat it, you pull a part of the roti and dip into the curry sauce, and eat.

So… the meal is laksa soup, roti and dip, and an Asian salad. I’ve baked nothing for dessert, but I have ice cream. I was very busy all day. It is not the usual plan for My Day, but I love cooking and baking, and I love visiting with Dave and Ursula, and tomorrow I rest.

I could not love the salad dressing recipe I found more.

Cutting the shallots, frying them and then dehydrating them is a lot of work
but it is all worthwhile because they are the hits of the salad.

I finished up the table setting and did all my dishes at 16:30. I was totally beat! I’d been go, go, going since 5:00, after rising and going immediately into action. But I had half-an-hour to chill before D&U arrived, and I was positively thrilled with my roti. They looked fabulous, especially for a first try, and they were delicious when dipped in the sauce. Dave and Ursula were very happy and very impressed.

They also loved the laksa. It was their first time having it, and the Asian salad was a monster hit, and Ursula noticed the punch of the fried shallots I’d made. They really liked the dressing as well, so, all in all, a hit dinner, and I’m making it again next weekend.

God bless prednisone. I was full of energy all day.

Dave and Ursula. What great friends and neighbours!

Anticipating Dr. Shoja

 I can finally truly emotionally understand why I became addicted to marijuana, and I have more understanding of, and sympathy for, with other addicts. I am very grateful that I did not move onto harsher drugs. And when I think about the burden of childhood trauma, I want to go back in time and scream FUCK YOU to all those who said to me, “get over it.”

The drug blew all the bad thoughts out of my head. I still have them, and they fill my brain the minute I lie down, slide into the spa, or get onto my recliner to nap in the sunshine. Whenever my brain could rest, it doesn’t. It tortures me with memories of times my past and my failures. Now, though, I don’t freak out, I write and what I write becomes the fodder of my sessions with Dr. S. But I still want to go back to one or two ex-friends and yell, FUCK YOU for saying, “get over it.”

I had no idea what I was in for when Dr. Morrison, the physician in charge of my treatment after my breakdown, said to me, “The problem is upstairs.” Quick to catch on, we were in a tall office building that was part of the Vancouver General Hospital (VGH) complex, I replied, “On what floor?” I shall never get over that.

And that’s how I met Dr. Shoja, whom I will see on Tuesday. She, Dr. Morrison, and world-renowned speech language therapist, Dr. Ramage, together worked as the Pacific Speech Clinic at VGH. That was in April 2016. This coming April will mark the tenth anniversary of beginning therapy with Dr. Shoja, and as I said, I had no idea what I was in for.

I had no idea that I’d be seeing her so long. And I had no idea how she would understand my past. Her diagnoses were shocking; the word ‘neglect’ fractured me. That word hurt more than being called a faggot back in the days. 

•

Her Highness and I walked late in the morning, and we ran into Lucy and Vinny and their owners. I am smitten with both dogs, so we all stopped to chat for a while, and I had lots of cuddle time with the two dogs. When we parted, I made a big fuss over Sheba because she gets jealous.

We said good-bye and headed on our way, and after a minute or two of slow walking, I was huffing and puffing. When I got home, I went to bed. That was at 10:00 o’clock. At noon, I had my first prednisone pill with lunch. Then, at 14:00, we walked again on the same trail, and at a faster pace and yet I was not breathing heavily at al! Now you know why I love prednisone.

I was not tired at all when we got home, so I puttered around the house, having a ball doing little things that brought me pleasure. I hung up the laundry—yes, I love doing laundry, hence the frequent photos of laundry on the line—and vacuumed before heading into the village to pick up a prescription. (And yes, I also like vacuuming. It yields a great emotional return for little effort.) And that brought an end to the day. It was couch time for my old bones.

Doug wrote. He wants to visit Oct. 6 and 7, but I have guests here for dinner on the 4^th, Aidan, the stuttering activist, here on the 11^th, and Dianne and Beverly here Oct. 12, 13. Adding the 6^th and 7^thwould be too much for me, so I wrote to suggest the 16^th or later. I’m thrilled he wants to come, and I love the guy, but I must pace myself. If I’ve learned anything at all about neurodivergence, it’s all about managing stimulation.

I must think through my visit to every off-island store. I must anticipate every possible question that I might want to ask, and I must write all my questions in my iPhone. In advance of legal, taxation or medical appointments, I must write a short explanation of my purpose in visiting. I cannot write in cursive with strangers. I must host my friends; I love hosting my friends. But I now have protocols to share. And I must pace visits, and excursions to the big island. No going to any indoor gatherings; rare exceptions can be made if accompanied by a trusted friend. Refuse invitations for events with more than six people but remain open to appeals. Noisy environments: no admittance. Video chatting; no telephone conversations. Always carry earphones when going to unfamiliar environments. This is what mental health self-management is for me. And there’s more.

The miracle is that this all works, and I’m very comfortable living this way, largely because I have such compassionate and understanding friends. Where would I be without my them? What is life with out them? I’ve never met another person who was an orphan/neglected child. I’ve never met another person who lived in an orphanage, but I’ll bet you anything that they love animals and live for their friends.

And I’ve never met and talked with a person who stutters. I have met many online, but no one in person. But that’s going to happen on October 11, when Aidan comes. My life feels awfully exciting, and I feel better about my speaking as time is passing. I’ve not experienced a regression in my speaking for probably six years now. And Dr. Dorscheid, my God of Asthma, has told me to expect a state of being on Tezspire, very much like what I feel on prednisone. Prednisone, however, works by shutting down my immune system dramatically, and that makes me vulnerable to infection. Tezspire doesn’t interfere with my immune system, it affects the Eosinophilic cells of my lungs so that they do not trigger my immune system to fight them. This is enormously safer than past therapies, this new biologic drug that I am on. Here's hoping this autumn is the introduction period to a very good year in 2026.

I’m a pharmacological cyborg, a chemical smorgasbord, a king of drug addiction.

Ramblings. I see Dr. S. on Tuesday and as the date gets closer, it lights fires in my brain and my fingertips. This is where I organize my thoughts. This is my safe space. Hence, this long post.

PS: I once wanted to yet, FUCK YOU for the way you treated me, and double FUCK YOU for doing and not doing what you did and didn’t do you a baby. And FUCK YOU for thinking I wasn’t a baby, that I was a bastard, a thing not a person. I don’t want to do that anymore. Instead, I reject the faith of those who taught them think and act the way they did.

•

Today, My Day, will be a full day. I’ll walk Her Highness, vacuum everywhere, and then I’ll make the curry dip to go with the roti I plan to make today as well. Once the sauce is made, I’ll start making the bread and during the resting periods for the dough, I’ll rest and have a spa. And if the roti is to my satisfaction, I’ve invited Dave and Ursula over to share it with me. 

Then it’s couch, dinner and a movie of course. It’s going to be a dry day with both cloudy periods—probably lots of them—and some sunny breaks. It’ll do.

A Wonderful Day!

Me (left), and Stacy, our hostess yesterday morning after the dog walk (to my left), then Di, the birthday girl who just turned 87 (!). Left of Di is Regina, a great and dear friend, and then Nola is taking a photo. Di’s youngest sister was a good friend of mine; we all attended the same school, but Lynn was my age. Stacy has become a very important friend, as has her sister, Kris, who’s coming here for dinner next week.

•

Yesterday got started very early. I awoke at 3:30 and could not go back to sleep. Fred was up as well and wanted a lot of attention. However, I stayed in bed resting until 5:30, when I got up to light a fire because it was so cool in the house. And, as I wrote yesterday, I chopped wood in the company of a bat flying around in my shed.

I took Sheba to the groomers and then came home to watch the weekly vlog of a lovely gay couple who moved to France to renovate an old farmhouse for themselves and the parents of one of them. I just love them and watching their progress on their project. I picked her up, came home to fetch the cake, and went to Stacy’s.

What a blast we had being together but not on the trails and walking. We had a very nice visit and then Stacy brought out my cake with candles and we sang Happy Birthday to Di. I left all the remaining cake behind, and I only ate one tiny croissant. I was highly motivated to stick to my diet because it is working so well.

I heard from Aidan, the fellow who’s an amazing stuttering activist. He’s coming here to visit me on October 11^th. I feel both honoured and excited about his visit and his palpable enthusiasm for getting together. It was a highlight of my day, but the thing that really made my day yesterday, was seeing so many diplomats leaving the UN assembly room when Netanyahu went to the podium to speak. 

I loved yesterday. It was dark and cool, but I had a small fire going all day. What I loved about the day was the freedom I felt to do whatever I wanted to do. All Summer, there is endless work, and to think I was worried about the change in the weather and being forced to be indoors all day. (I am a weather sissy.)

The freedom of the wet season is wonderful. Sheba and I walked in the morning before going to the groomers, and then mid-day, it got bright and so we went to Rollo to play fetch. She loved that, and then late in the afternoon, we went for another walk. And that was our day! And I never tire of my evenings, comfy on the couch and settled in for dinner and a movie. I had the Asian salad that I love so much, with huge prawns. 

This morning, I awoke to a wet deck. It rained in the night, and it will likely rain again today. However, the weather forecast has changed. It’s not predicted to rain every day for a week anymore. It’s a varied forecast now, but it seems clear to me that my duty was the water walla is over.

Today, I’ll go to the pharmacy when it opens at 10:00. I hope to get my prednisone prescription. Sometimes it takes a while for Dr. Dorscheid’s assistant to get scripts out, but I hope mine is there today. I’m keen to take the pills because the drug is a miracle for asthmatics.