Half-Way

Duncan's apron.

Cardinal dress.

The cheerleader.

Pearl dress.

Peacock dress.

Wheat dress.

It’s time to relax and celebrate having reached the halfway point in my self-determined project to make a dozen “dresses” and do something with them. My project is the latest manifestation of the creative imperative I’ve been experiencing since retiring, walking the path not chosen at the onset of my earning years.

Going for my first speech assessment at Columbia this week is another reason to celebrate and since Monday is nine months to the day I became a stutterer, I am taking Robin to Ancora for dinner Monday night.

When I look ahead at 2017 I have things on the short-term and long-term to look forward to. In the very near future I will find out whether or not I qualify for speech therapy with Columbia and if they do feel they can help me, I will start formal (and expensive) speech therapy. And in a month I will find out what, if anything, is to be done about the arrhythmia in my heart.

In the long-term come summer and some kind of resolution of the dress project—I may face having to find a rodent and humidity-free place in which to store my ladies’ clothes.

And come April I will move from seeing Dr. Shoja once a week to seeing her once every second week. I can handle that; I will remain attached to a single emotional apron string for another year.

This morning (Saturday) was depressing. I had angina a lot but it stopped by the time Tim came by. We went for a nice walk together and enjoyed Mexican food for lunch and the angina did not come back through the rest of the day.

Apron

The apron (above) is done. As said before: You have to read the story to fully appreciate it: It’s made as a compromise by a man who has a secret desire to wear women’s clothes.

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No heat. The building boiler was down overnight and this morning—during one of the coldest winters we’ve had in a decade. Lucky for me, my decorative fireplace has a heating function and it is keeping me warm.

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My property tax assessment has arrived. Last year my place was assessed as being worth $349,000; this year the assessment is for $462,000, an increase of 32%. I am going to defer my taxes this year for the first time.

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I have to stop calling Mr. Inappropriate by that name. Yes he is challenging and distant when he has a girlfriend but when we talk it is like I’ve taken a drug. He is constant, honest and affectionate; he doesn’t deserve the name I gave him long ago when I couldn’t control my response to him. But now I can, so he is now Dr. Soothe.

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I’m still deriving comfort the speech therapist’s frequent response to things I told her: “Yes, it’s often that way with stutterers.” What she said made me feel less alone and less unusual; her words were like a caress.

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Writing the script is not nearly as much fun or as satisfying as listening to a good movie and sewing my brains out in idyllic symbiosis with Leon.  But I have to write one to see if I can produce a monologue of merit that lasts about 75 minutes. So Friday morning I got a toe damp and I liked it. I think I can do it. It’ll be short and I’ll use sections of the letters and curatorial BS I’ve written about several dresses, but it might work.

Movie: Genius

It’s 5:00 AM and the snow has just started and the heating for my suite or building is broken. I am heating my place with my oven and my decorative fireplace that emits some heat. I am comfortable, but what timing. It is supposed to snow for the next week.

I love the thought of being home, warm and cozy, and making a lot of progress with the apron over the next few days. It is not, as I have said, a showy piece but I like it.  I think it will interest people but not impress them. With the letter, it works well.

The wheat dress is going over really well with viewers. It and the cardinal dress are the winners. I’m excited about trying to achieve another (or two more) stunner(s).

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I chose a movie called Genius on Netflix. It’s about Scribner editor Max Perkins (Colin Firth). His wife is played by in incredible Laura Linney and the first writer we meet is Thomas Wolfe who is played by Jude Law who does an thoroughly believable job. I was immediately drawn into this movie until Mr. Wolfe goes home to a partner played by Nicole Kidman whom, sadly, I find impossible to believe in anything.

I really liked the movie. I had no idea about how short Thomas Wolfe’s life was and whereas I knew about how prolific he was, I had no idea how much until this movie. But what I loved in this film was its central theme: The lovely story of a deep fraternal love between Max Perkins, the introvert who wanted a son, and Thomas Wolfe, the maniacal extrovert who desperately wanted to love and trust someone.

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And speaking of fraternal love, today is Dwight’s birthday. We’re going to lunch.

Cold Winter News

The wheat dress is completely done; Nicola came over last night and was very complimentary. And during the next week I have only my visit with Dr. Shoja and one dinner with a friend so I expect to finish the apron soon too. Then on to a dress I am calling the architecture dress.

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One day I will stop writing about my speech. One day I may even stop wanting to write about it; one day it may stop being an issue but right now within an hour or two of getting up every fucking morning there comes the moment when I try to speak and can’t. Sigh.

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Nicola and I went to Ancora restaurant last night and we were alone upstairs on a quiet night. We had the best of times. Our server has a mega million-dollar smile and was a joy, like the food. It’s easily become my favourite restaurant. I am going back Monday night.

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The clear cold days are supposed to end today with snow. Choosing where to go for a walk—that is to say where there will be no ice—is a challenge. Another thing about winter walking is that when you are facing the sun it is brutally hard on the eyes, even with dark glasses, because the sun is so low in the sky.

And the New Year Keeps Rolling Along

Assessment session #1 is done and it was unremarkable. It was largely an interview about my history with voice problems. On the plus side, the assessor repeatedly referred to me as a stutterer so I am more comfortable using that word again instead of having to say I have psychogenic dysfluency. She was also extremely careful to use the conditional tense when talking about any future therapy.

The next session, on January 18, is practical and likely to be more interesting. She said we would be trying various exercises in order to assess my potential for treatment. I told her about my Rand voice and she said we’d be talking about my adaptive techniques next time. But she did say my ability to talk well with friends bodes well for my future.  

I’ve decided that I’ll be okay with it if she says she can’t help me because it won’t mean all hope is lost. I might spontaneously improve and if I don’t my therapy with Dr. Shoja might lead to improvement. Besides, when I am with friends I love and trust, I can speak perfectly and that is enough.

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You see murder on TV all the time. You read about it in novels and killing fills movies. I’m sixty-nine years old. I’ve seen murder portrayed a gazillion times and never once thought about the consequences. But all that has changed due to the news I got about Donna, murdered by her husband.

When you hear someone has died, you want to know why or how. If you’re lucky, the answer brings you peace. With murder, you are left with the knowledge your friend has left life in a heinous way.

At a service, you want to hug those with whom you grieve. Wen I think of the service coming up for Donna, I don’t want anything to do with that or with anyone; horror overwhelms the loss. It’s worse than mere death.

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And Alex, who died in Puerto Vallarta last week, where he loved to go and where he found idyllic winter happiness, he had listed my buddy Bruce on his passport as the person to contact in the event of an emergency because, as I have written here before, he and Bruce and their mutual friend Michael, all had apartments in the same building so that they could care for one another. And so now Bruce may have to fly to Mexico to identify Alex’s body.

I’m still not used to its being 2017.