Epiphanies

It’s warm. I’m happy! Even so, I put on my new Merino wool long johns. They are cozy warm and make me very happy! So has hearing from Leslie. I’m glowing, knowing that our friendship continues. I’m also very happy and relieved the dip in my spirits is over.

This morning, Sheba and I walk alone, on another damp and grey day. My plan is to take it easy today, for tomorrow I go to the city. Anna has confirmed that she’ll take Sheba for me tomorrow. I’m going to Vancouver to search for papers for my paper sculpture and to have a fine, fine lunch at Le Crocodile.

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The birds! Oh my goodness! There are scores of them at my feeders. It’s a frenzy. I guess much of what they eat is now gone in the forest.

The Jays make a mess. There are seeds all over the ground beneath the feeders, but it suits the smaller birds to eat below the big birds in the feeders. And the new location seems to deter the rats that, in the past, that came to eat the seeds. I don’t see them any more. I have the suet out now, too. And it’s very popular.

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I taught high school for two years. I was not suited for the profession; there was way too much repetition and professional respect seemed to be earned through longevity and not by achievement. But I think I was a good teacher; I was young and enthusiastic and I loved the kids.

But there was one day, one class, in which I was excellent. I was teaching a class about the Canadian novel, Who Has Seen The Wind, but W. O. Mitchell. In that class, I was doing what I’d done before, but there came a moment when I was talking and I turned to reference something I had written on the blackboard.

And suddenly and wondrously, I was overcome with insight. I suddenly “got it;” I understood clearly what the book was about. I had notes on the blackboard—bits of information representing events in the novel encircled in chalk, each of them floating like clouds in a green sky. Suddenly I understood—or felt I did—why W. O. Mitchell had included every one. 

I understood what them meant to the protagonist, to the story and I was thrilled. When I turned back to the class, I was energized like never before or ever again, and I could see in the faces of my students that they were following me. They “got it” too—at least many or most of them. My pleasure was like a drug and they were infused with it.

It was as close as I have ever been to an epiphany. And I feel, with far less dramatic intensity or suddenness, the same way now about my condition as I did about that novel. 

I used to care, so, so much, about what to call my condition and my symptoms. Now I don’t care at all about that and it’s because I believe I understand, in my own language and from my own experience, what’s wrong and how to live.

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The insight, the constancy of friends and this pastoral life with birds and pets and meaningful, satisfying chores, these aspects of my life are making this birthday (tomorrow) the best I can remember.

Yay Leslie!

I was right. Costin and Marina are pregnant. They’re having a boy. I suggested they call him Boris. We talked on Facebook for two hours last night. It was a wonderful evening.

I was very  nervous when I met Costin. I hired him through the aquarium store to be my fish guru and he came to my house, sight unseen. (A male stranger is not something I want coming into my home.) But all my anxiety disappeared when we met. And when he spoke to me about how hard it was to find an original engagement ring for Marina, my heart melted.

He wanted something unique and hand made. He didn’t want something manufactured/commercial and I loved him for that. So I gave him Connie Tyrell’s jewelry that I’d inherited to use in a commission—mostly diamonds and gold that could be melted down. Marina now sports Connie’s gems. 

I struggle with self-esteem, so to feel all the affection of last night’s call was a real moral booster. I promised to visit them in January.

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Today has been warmer. It got  up to 5°, but it’s been cloudy all day and damp (but not raining). Weather like today is predicted for the next week. The fire will be raging. 

I shopped today and on the way home I stopped to check my mailbox. There was a key in it and that meant a parcel was in a locker. “But I haven’t ordered anything,” I said to myself. Then I saw the return address; it was from Leslie and I am so, so happy. 

After decades of constant contact, we rarely see each other now. (I last saw here two years ago.) She withdrew years ago and it hurt inside me for years, but now I know we are okay, just on different terms. I am just over-the-moon. I wrote to her about a month ago, and I’m really glad I did. (I mean I really  wrote to her; I wrote a hand-written letter with my fancy fountain pen.)

The “cabin fever” has passed and I feel full of love for this quiet, calm rural life.

PS: I bought myself a pair of Marino wool long johns. 

Twelve Aches @ Xmas

Last night I watched the musical Kinky Boots  on the PBS Great Performances  series, and what fun it was. And what fabulous performers—oh my goodness!

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This morning it’s cloudy and cool. Waiting for the 10:00 am big community dog walk, I went on a cleaning binge. I was after cobwebs. Around all the door and window jams, where the flat trim boards are laid vertically over logs, there are scores of little hiding spaces that are for Spiders. And where walls intersect, there are more dark recessed spaces where webs thrive. 

Then, once there was enough light, I went carefully over every part of my porch where the cats go to be outside. It’s enclosed with screening, yet on each of the past two days my cats have somehow managed to kill a Hummingbird. I found a couple of tiny spaces the birds might have entered, and filled them. I really hope that ends the killing.

Next I cleaned everywhere where the floors meet the walls. I used a torch to illuminate the seams so that I got everywhere totally clean. Then it was onto all the wood furniture: I cleaned, lightly oiled and waxed all my wood furniture. And when I did my bookshelves, I bundled up all the books I’m done with; they will go to the local recycling charity shop.

The dog walk was wonderful  because it started snowing as we departed. It fell almost the whole ninety minutes of our walk, but it had turned to rain and then stopped altogether by the time I got home.

I did all this work today because my Sciatic nerve seems to be taking the day off and both shoulders felt less painful after I got out of bed. But after four hours of working—I started at 5:00 am—one shoulder is throbbing.

Twelve joints are aching

Eleven digits breaking

Ten beats per second

Nine toes are fecund

Eight tries to get up

Seven nails crack up

Six daily pissings

Five minute farts

Four missing teeth

Three hemorrhoids

Two kidney stones

And no cartilage inside my knee!

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Tonight, at 6:00, Marina and Costin are calling me on Facetime.  Costin was the young fellow who came to my place every two weeks to help me maintain the big aquarium I had when I lived in Vancouver. And I absolutely adore the man—and his wife, Marina. Like Adrienne who lives here, Costin and Marina are probably in their late thirties and I get a bit of a high when I see and feel their affection. 

There’s something particularly lovely about a comfortable cross-generational friendship. For one thing, when they call after a while of not talking or emailing, I don’t worry something is wrong. Instead, I wonder if they’re calling to tell me they’re pregnant. 

The mat is on a hockey rink; the women are on their butts!

Bioluminescence.