It felt like the end of the world when I got up yesterday morning. Sheba and Fred had demanded I rise at 4:00 and it was as black as black can get. There was no moonlight, so it was impossible to see anything when I walked to the back gate to let Sheba out. It felt like the sun had died; I was grateful for the slow dawn that began at 5:30.
I had a lot of watering to do before Beth, Sheba and I left for Courtenay, and I had to take Her Highness for a walk. We departed from Pinecone Park just past eight to ensure that we were on the 8:45 ferry to Nanaimo. Once on the big island, we headed north, gasping along the way at the expansive landscape full of tall, majestic trees.
We gabbed and laughed the entire way. We arrived in Courtenay at 10:30 and found a public pathway beside the sea that was three blocks from the White Spot where we were meeting Marsha. Back in the seventies, all three of us were attached to the Arts Club Theatre: Marsha did graphics and managed season tickets, Beth was an actor who did shows with us, and I was a stage manager. Over lunch, we reminisced and laughed with great pleasure together.
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| Beth (L), Marsha and moi. |
Marsha is a treasure. Her partner, Bill, was our boss. He created the most successful theatre company in the country. His fiscal history is impeccable; his artistry played perfectly to Vancouver audiences. Ours stage was the floor of an old gospel hall; the audience sat on chairs on risers sloping away from the stage area on two sides. I studied Bill and applied all I learned to the design and management of the theatre I built years on.
Marsha took Beth to catch the bus to Campbell River where she caught a ferry to Quadra Island to visit with her friends, David and Tara, and I easily found the coastal route south to Nanaimo. I am so glad I did that. I’d never seen the views before, and they were amazing in places where I could see the sea. It was sunny, beautiful and warm. Sheba slept in the back. We stopped in Union Bay to go for a walk and made our way to the ferry.
We only had to wait half an hour to get onto our vessel, and we were home at 15:00. I had the best time with Beth, but it was also wonderful to come home to solitude. I crashed onto the chaise once I had checked for thirsty plants, and I reflected on things done and said with Miss Beth. We had a great time. She loved the trees, the birds on my fountain, and the quiet. I did very little cooking, and I’m glad all our meals weren’t out. It was fun to get comfortable at home—dining in the garden and then watching a movie.
I video called Dianne when I got come, to talk with her about coming to stay at her place on Saturday for her daughter’s wedding in Dianne’s backyard. I’m glad I did because she is clear about my vulnerabilities. She makes me feel safe and when I feel safe, I feel good and I function well. There are going to be a lot of strangers, but there’s also going to be a small cadre of friends whom I’ve known for decades. And Sheba’s coming.
I dread leaving, but there’s no way I’d miss Ashlee’s wedding to Mr. Wonderful, Alex. I’m going to take a Lorazepam on Saturday as a neuro-psychiatric prophylactic.
I’m back in my world, and that means I must water today. This is the time of year when I must water every day, but the bottles I’ve installed in places to seep water to some plants means I don’t have to water some pants twice a day—my many Hydrangeas and Strawberries, one Skimmia and a Flowering Plum tree.
At 11:00, I see Dr. Shoja.
As Beth has witnessed, I pooh-poohed counselling as I grew up. For one thing, I was very self-reliant and felt well adjusted. I carried trouble about being so badly adopted. My discomfort I felt about my past seeped into my conversations. I think that’s why Beth, and others, felt that I would benefit from counselling services. I tried it a couple of times and hated both tries.
And now, here I am in my eleventh year with Dr. S. I can see her for life. I think I get this expensive therapy for free because of my condition, obviously, but I think it’s also because the trauma was neglect and now I live alone and have no family support. She soothes me because she remembers what we talk about and that means she listens. And well. And she advises, if asked. And she’s truly understanding of my feelings.
A huge benefit of having her in my life, is that I don’t talk about my past and my pains with my friends. I needed someone to talk to when my breakdown happened because I had a BIG recovery challenge. What a life I have lived since then!
I’m going to be eighty next year. When puberty hit and I discovered that I was gay, my migraines started and they ate up many of my weekends. I can’t help but believe it was because I had to be with Don and/or Connie. I never had a migraine on a weekday. I was a sickly kid. My angst and shame may have contributed to my preponderance of illnesses. I’ve had three heart attacks, asthma since puberty, and AIDS. Early on in life I had every reason to believe I would not live long.
I had two friends whose work made me think of them as very healthy and strong. Mike was an engineer who travelled the globe project managing the building of pulp and paper mills; Bob was a geologist who worked in Tanzania. And they were very sporty. They both died a decade ago, and Mr. Sicky is still ticking. Go figure.
As anyone who knows me knows, I make decisions easily and quickly. Moving here was a decision veryquickly taken.
One day I was having people over for dinner. I had a lot to do in the kitchen to be ready AND to be rested before the arrival of my guests. I always made dessert the day before the dinner, and I prepared everything for the evening. I prepared all the ingredients and measured all the spices so that I could cook comfortably. My plan was to conserve energy for conversation and to prevent fatigue.
On this day, I was making a complex meal of several courses. It was a show-off meal. And I was resenting having to take time to fucking vacuum the big rug and hall runner and to do a quick clean-up of the bathroom. And suddenly, I had an epiphany. I decided that henceforth, I would never do that again. Guests would live in my home that’s always in pretty good repair, and my focus would stay on food.
I’d vacuum the morning after the dinner, making the vacuuming for me and not for my guests. When I went into grade seven, I was told that I was in the ‘accelerated program,’ and that I was going to take math at UBC. My counsellor told me my academic career would be in math.
After three months, I got out of the programs. I got a lot of side-eye from a couple of my teachers, but I was clear about where my interests lay: theatre, literature, and visual art. I believe that is when “I” was born. It was the first time I took responsibility for about how I was going to live my life. It was the first time I stood up for myself. I was eleven.
When I changed to vacuuming for me, that was a second awakening of the need to have a certain amount of “me first.” I was extremely frightened socially, and very insecure because of my secret: that I was a homo. I wanted to blend in with the furniture. Speaking up for myself was a sign of growth.
Now, my “me first” attitude is my all day every-day existence. I live a precautionary life, defined by needs created by my neurological condition.
