Serious Cold!

Sunday was a gorgeous day, but it was very cold. Of course, when it is this cold, the first thing I want to do is to light the fire. I went out, chopped a bit of wood into kindling and put it into a box, and then I loaded a couple of thick pieces on one arm, and headed into the house. I left the kindling behind, knowing that it would be too much for me to carry.

As I approached the hearth, I felt myself collapsing. Luckily, I just dropped myself onto the bench I use as a coffee table, and I desperately gulped air. Thank God I have my heart imaging in only one more week. 

I might have had a spa to get immediately warm, but I cannot lift the lid open, so I am awaiting an opportunity to ask for help from Jay or François because both neighbours, Dave and Pete, are in tropical climes. My plan is to turn the cover 180° so that the heavy half is over the half of the tub that I don’t use. The other half of the cover is much lighter.

As I read yesterday on the chaise, I kept looking out at the dense growth of trees that meet my view. In Winter, with the sun so low, the trees across the street sometimes glow golden in the sunlight and I think that I am the luckiest man on earth to have such a view.

Sheba took her sock off in the morning, so I cleaned her wound, added some Polysporin and a small bandage, and put a clean sock on her. She is clearly sick of being eternally indoors at home. I take her outside often just to get some fresh air and to pee, but I can tell she is eager to return to normal. I think we’ll be taking it easy for another couple of days.

I’m reading my last Thursday Murder Club book. I just love how Richard Osman writes. I hope they capture his wit in the movie they are making of the TMC. The four main members of the Thursday Murder Club are played by a crew of talented thespians: Helen Mirren plays ex-spy Elizabeth, Ben Kingsley is ex-psychiatrist Ibrahim, Pierce Brosnan portrays ex–union activist Ron, and Celia Imrie takes on the role of ex-nurse Joyce. I can hardly wait.

We’re back on our regular bed. I’ve got a little plush cushion that Sheba uses as a step up onto the bed. I shall miss sleeping by the fire. I don’t miss our walks in this cold, but I know that if we were walking, I’d be enjoying it because I have a great coat to keep me warm.

•

As usual, there’s been some thinking in advance of my session with Dr. Shoja tomorrow, and something made me think about when I went to visit the orphanage I’d been in. I was twenty-five at the time, and I’d made an appointment to speak with a representative. I told them I was coming to learn everything I was legally able to know about myself that was in my files.

A woman came up to me as I sat on a bench in the reception area. She took me to an office and motioned for me to go in. A woman who had been sitting at her desk in the room, rushed to me. She took my hand and shook it. She was beaming in high beam. I told her my name and she burst out with glee saying something to the effect of how brilliant it was to see so handsome and polite a young man I was, and that nothing thrilled her more than meeting the wonderful results of successful adoptions.

In her first short exclamatory welcome, she offended me and took all the fun out of my expectations. That incident deeply hurt me. They never followed up on my adoption, and now they were basically using my visit as an excuse to assume my story was a wonderful placement success for them. They did not want to ask or know about my experience, but that didn’t stop me from telling her. But I was neither angry nor rude. I was calm and clear. She’d been very kind to me, so I did not want to, in any way, hurt her, but registering my experience as a failure of the church to do right by me, helped me.

My birth mother, Françoise, had her first child at age fifteen. Her experience with her mother, her family and the church the first time, had her flee to Vancouver when she got pregnant a second time with me. And yet, it was to that church that she left me. Also, very, very, sadly, she told me many lies, including about my birth father, and she would not tell me who my father was.

She was also an actor and a theatre producer of renown in Québec. I can tell stories about her, but I won’t anymore. I gladly brag about her co-starring role in A Special Day, in which Sophia Lorena and Marcello Mastroianni star. That is one of her many amazing accomplishments. That I can be proud of. I worked in theatre for many years and wrote plays that I produced myself for friends.

Everyone loves her theatre stories, but her mothing stories are naught but disappointments. I was warned. One thing about our reunion that really was soul satisfying was simply seeing her. I look exactly like her, and I can prove it.

At her funeral in Montreal, much of it was filmed. There were a lot of cameras there. There were many reasons for that, but I mention them because I could not stop crying. I felt awful, and I was there alone. I knew no one in the room. Besides, I was in no state to have to speak to anyone. So, I stepped outside. Shortly thereafter, two women came walking through the parking lot near where I was standing, and when they saw me, they turned and approached me.

“You must be Françoise’s son,” said one.

I said I was and I asked how they knew that, and she said it was because I look so much like her … and … they hadn’t seen her since she was eighteen. I really do look a lot like her, and for a person with no ties to anyone, that was an intensely wonderful experience. I could look at her and know with certainty that through her, I was linked to everyone. That’s how I felt.

Best though, of all, was knowing for certain that I was at least half Quebecois. She instilled her French in me. She planted a seed that took and thrived inside a very appreciative soul. 

•

I am a Boomer. I was born in 1947 and as world boomed right after the end of the second world war. One evening in the Winter of 1974, I laboured through deep snow to the bus stop in the coldest weather I had ever experienced. The tiny shelter was a long way from the building where I was taking introductory French classes. I fell onto the bench, after asking permission of the elderly couple already there.

We waited forty minutes for the bus, and I talked with that couple the entire time we were together in the hut. Talking to them took my mind off the cold. I love meeting strangers who are open to conversation. I’ve always enjoyed meeting people of other cultures. This couple were from New York. They’d come to a wedding of their son. It was the first time they had ever left New York City.

They enthralled me. I could not stop with the questions. They bought a place somewhere in the city, and they were still there. When they bought their place, horses were the main means of transport. I could not believe I was talking to these people. They were living history to me.

Being a Boomer meant growing up in a period of optimism for the future. And it was realized as technology and populations growth changed our (Western) lives. And now, as my end approaches, I am extremely sad to be leaving this world believing that mankind is doomed. Greed is the devil.

Cold Weather!

Sheba’s recovery is progressing rapidly. I’m terribly happy see life back in her. She’s keen to play and interact, and she was walking around the house often, but she is still favoring her foot. Today, I’ll change her bandage and add some cotton to it underneath her foot and that should help her to walk in comfort.

I finished my friend, Beth’s, book Mid Life Solo. She’s a good writer but shite at marketing, so if you’re inclined to read a wonderful collection of essays about a single mother raising two kids, this is a good book for you. Yes, she is a dear and very close friend, but she’s open, honest and sometimes funny; each essay is short. It’s a view into one life that’s quite intimate, and we all can relate to the ebb and flow of life events and their attendant emotions. You can order it on Amazon. And now I will read my last book by Richard Osman about the Thursday Murder Club. I am a huge fan now of this writer and this series.

I’ve decided, hoping that my coming tests reveal a correctible problem in my heart and surrounding blood vessels, that when I am stronger, I will do some entertaining. I like going to visit my friends here, and I don’t. I’d rather visit with people here. After almost nine years living with my condition, I’m benefitting from experiential knowledge. 

I think of my condition as a demon. Born of abuse, this creature has taken over parts of my brain, but I can defeat him if I stay indoors, see no one and never speak (except to my beloveds). The demon feeds on stimuli. By staying at home all the time, I am in control of stimulation because it is silent here, and private. I carefully choose my entertainment and music, and the demon starves, and my body returns in full to my control.

And I’m not going to cook and bake to impress—well, maybe I’ll try to impress with dessert—and keep things simple and easy.

Dianne is coming to visit on the day of my echocardiogram. I’ll be coming home from the hospital to find her here. That’s next Monday. When she first saw me, she said to herself: Now there’s someone I don’t want to meet. We were both taking a one-ear post grad program to become teachers.

We did meet and we became very close friends. She taught in Kelowna; I was in Vancouver. I got an MG and loved driving upcountry to visit her with the top down and taking in the beautiful landscapes of southern BC. 

She, like me, is an only child, and we both had distant/selfish parents. I think of her, and Beth, and Leslie, as my sisters. I was in my thirties when I read a sentence attributed to Armistead Maupin when he was speaking about LGBTQ children abandoned by their parents. He said: “Some of us have our biological families, and others of us have our logical families.” Bruce, Dwight, John and Steve are my brothers. Soul siblings.

It's cold now. It was two degrees yesterday, but bright and sunny. This weather is predicted for a week. I don’t want it to snow. If there’s too much snow, walking with whatever is wrong with me will be impossible. Even when I am healthy, walking on fresh snow in our trails where there are trip hazards everywhere, is exhausting. I plan to ask friends to walk Sheba if there is a snowfall that is too deep.

Today is My Day! It is gloriously sunny but really cold. When I got up, it was -1° and now it is only 3° (11:00 am). We’ll be staying indoors today, that’s for certain. But my garden is coming back to life:

Fuscia blooming on my deck.

Little shoots on my. Clematis.

Hellebores.

Daffodils; I've scores and scores of them.

Garlic

Chard

More Hellebores.

Caring for Sheba

The vet gave us an appointment on Tuesday, but in making the appointment, I was calmed by their lack of alarm. Sheba is eating every meal, so they are not concerned that there is anything seriously wrong in her throat. But I am glad to be going to see Thomas about her foot pads and her throat this coming week.

All day yesterday, every minute, was about Sheba. I monitored her every move to ensure that she did not take her sock off and have a go at her foot. She’s been phenomenally cooperative; her sock stayed on all day. And there was no wheezing, no coughing, she showed more life yesterday than she had on Thursday, and I’m very relieved.

We slept on the sofa in the living room again last night. I’m very comfortable there, and it’s a treat to fall asleep in firelight. Even with my eyes closed, light flickers on my eyelids, and with Sheba’s strong back against mine, I am in heaven and quickly doze off to dreamland. 

My reading is going much better. I loved reading Bill Hays’ book about Oliver Sacks, and I’m loving reading Mid-Life Solo by my friend Beth. It’s a collection of her essays and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every one of them, and my enjoyment has nothing to do with knowing her, although it does add to my experience as a reader. I reckon one reason I like these two books, is because they are non-fiction.

When I was a kid, I read the books that were in our basement, which became my bedroom. I read them because they were there, and what a weird assortment of books they were. Once in school, I became a voracious reader of library books. Starting in university and lasting until my late fifties, I read non-fiction exclusively. 

Something made me switch to fiction, and I was again exclusive, but now it’s time to return to non-fiction. I suppose I could read either, and I may do that, but non-fiction is more appealing to me right now. However, the real trick is to find books, either fiction or non, that are engaging. And speaking of engaging, I saw a pretty great movie last night.

A Real Pain stars Jesse Eisenberg and Keiran Culkin, both of whom deliver entirely believable performances. And Eisenberg wrote and directed the movie. I felt I was watching a small masterpiece of a film. I loved how it is edited; I felt like I was watching life, and not a movie. It’s a powerful film, ideally written. I saw it on Disney which is a free streaming service if Shaw/Rogers is your internet provider.

It's another beautiful sunny day. It’s barely rained all month. But we will be housebound again today as Sheba’s foot heals. I sense improvement this morning, and I am grateful for that.

Sheba Needs Care

Sheba has done damage to her foot. This time, I could find the wound and treat it and put a sock on her foot. It will heal quickly, but we spent the day at home without walks. It was a glorious sunny day, but cool, and colder weather is on its way. Sigh. I just pray that there will be no snow, because should it snow, I do not want to walk. It is very tiring trudging through snow, and my heart cannot sustain that.

Last evening, Sheba seemed to be choking. It panicked me, so I called Regina to ask for advice about where to take her, thinking she might need surgery to remove something caught in her throat. Our local vet doesn’t do surgery. But Regina calmed me, telling me it’s a common problem with some dogs, so last night we slept on the hide-a-bed in the living room which is lower to the ground and easier for Sheba to mount with her sore paw.

This morning, we are off to the vet.

I cannot believe how deeply, deeply attached I am to Sheba. We are never apart, except for the odd social date or hospitalization. Best of all, we sleep side by side. In the mornings, as soon as I see her, all that matters is going to her to hug her, to talk to her, and to kiss her, and our days end in the same way. I am besotted.

I realize that my previous paragraph might put some people off. But for me, this love I have for her, and for Fred and Ethel, is my best medicine. It feels so very, very good to love them.

Loving a human being is not easy for me. I mistook lust for love, I was desperate which is not alluring, and I was a virgin—not sexually, but emotionally. I grew up without love, unaware of what I was missing. In its place grew a lack of trust of others. I was kind of doomed, but then I met Aleck.

I won’t bore you with the story of Aleck, because I’ve written about it here before. What matters is a neglected cat came to be mine, and we healed each other. It was for Aleck that I felt love for the first time. I believe he saved me.

Leon was a similar story. He belonged to a fellow who lived at the other end of my condo building from me, and he was constantly away doing business in Berlin and LA. Leon would go out the window of his home and walk along the roof meeting the neighbours. When he found me, a single and retired older man who was at home a lot, he stayed. Again, a neglected soul found mine.

Aleck, Spike, Bela (as in Bartok), Leon, Fred, Ethel and Her Highness, they have filled my world with love. And love spread to include all animals. My friends with whom we walk our dogs know. I thrill to the touch of their dogs and all the other dogs—and sometimes horses—whom we meet on the trails.

No photos today, I must get to the vet. Back tomorrow.

Lunch with Bev

Whereas yesterday dawned dark and damp, by 8:30 the sky had cleared to reveal sparkling blue sky. I was very happy to have such good weather for our trip to Nanaimo for the day. After weeks of being alone, day after day, I was excited to be going for a bit of an adventure—and one that would enable me to come home with delicious sushi for dinner.

The day began normally: we walked together, came home and got her lunch to take with us and Beth’s book to read, and we caught the 10:30 am ferry. Once on the big island, we went to our favourite park to walk together, and then I headed into town to meet Bev for lunch.

It was great to see my friend whom I met in high school. We had a very good lunch in a nice quiet restaurant. We chatted together for two hours and then we bid each other goodbye, and I knew, once I was in the car, that we would not be stopping for sushi. I was anxious to get home.

We were home just before three pm, and I went directly to bed and slept for over an hour, and when I woke up, I did not want to get up. Reluctantly, I got up and fed the cats and Sheba, but I had no appetite. I did manage to eat as I watched and thoroughly enjoyed an animated movie called Flow that was about animals bonding together to survive a flood. And then we all went to sleep. 

I was rather shocked to find how depleted I felt after what was really an easy day. All I did was sit. I sat in the car waiting for the ferry and as we crossed to the big island, I sat all through lunch, and I sat all the way home. Why was I so completely exhausted when I got home?

Today I shall be sitting all day. I am glad to be home and free of any duties or appointments. Today will be about recovery for both of us. Sheba seems lethargic and it worries me; she has done damage to her foot. I hope our easy day at home today has her soon feeling herself again.