Home; Another Fall

 

I took these photos last evening. This is the entrance to my back
doors, still looking good as we move closer to October.

I loved seeing all the yellow last night. The Laburnum in the back
of the yard is turning, and I removed all the dying leaves from the
Japonica and left them to add colour to the courtyard for a couple
of days. There's still no green on the ground except for the Spanish
Moss along the edge of the walkway.

I spent much of the early morning working on my script for the SPACE event in October. I think the script I posted will stick, but as I memorize and practice it, it may change some more. But I feel it works as it’s currently written. It gives me confidence to be pleased with it.

Yesterday morning dawned dark and cool. It was 9° when I got up after a crappy night’s sleep. I woke up at 1:23 and could not go back to sleep. I stayed in bed, tossing and turning until I got up at 4:00. I felt hot; I may have had a mild temperature.

When I got up, I worked on my script after feeding the pets. They I took Sheba for a walk, and I recited the part of the script I’ve memorized as I walked. I keep making little changes as I practice, and so the script keeps getting better. 

After our walk, I was keen to do more memorizing. I love memorizing. I really love it. When I did my monologue, I memorized 1,900 words. My SPACE script is just under 1,000 words, so it’s a relative walk in the park. But I had to wait. I had a lot of watering to do. 

Once the watering was done, I went back to memorizing. It ain’t entirely easy, but I love the work, and I love how saying it aloud reveals flaws in the tempo, and missing bits of information. Now, every day I’m a little prouder of the piece. I’ve memorized three hundred of the thousand words so far. Today, while I wait in the ferry line and when I’m on the vessel, I shall try to memorize another couple of hundred words.

In the early afternoon, we went to Elder Cedar to walk. The sun had come out and it was warmer (18°), so it was thoroughly enjoyable. As we walked, I rehearsed my lines. 

When we got home, I fetched my watering jug and filled it from one of my rain barrels, and then I fell. I must have tripped somehow, but the earth is soft and I didn’t bleed anywhere this time. I’ve just got a few bruises. What was sweet, was Sheba came running and licked my face. Usually, she only wants to lick my wounds. She’s part vampire. It was so sweet of her to come to my aid.

Late in the afternoon, I had a spa, and when I went to put my terry towel robe on, I felt quite the sharp pain in my shoulder. I reckon it’s from my fall. But I don’t care. I can’t waste time on worry or pain, it is too lovely a time of year, plus I am reading a great book, and I have more great books waiting. And … I have a 55” TV that makes watching movies way more fun!

It’s a beautiful time of year. My beds are looking like they’ve run a marathon, and we have, fighting drought. A great many of my floral pals are getting ready to hibernate.

To be honest, I’ve done no gardening at all this year. I planted a few things, and Dwight helped me transplant a formerly beautiful Japanese Maple with very delicate leaves. But I didn’t do any weeding, or pruning. I didn’t do anything that requires bending. I think I will hire someone to help me next year. Not a gardener, per se, but just someone who will do things with me. By with, I mean me directing, and this person doing all the work.

Projects keep getting in the way. And in a couple of days, my white pens will arrive, and I must draw vertical parallel lines on my windows. I can hardly wait to do it. I feel sick when the little beauties crash into the large windows of the back doors. I’m going to do the studio windows as well.

Now that I’ve stopped walking with the group I walked with three times a week for eight years, so I’m an even more solitary guy now. But I don’t miss them. I don’t miss the yelling for their pets, the incessant barker, the loudness of the conversation, and the giving of treats to Sheba.

I’m feeding Her Highness less now that she is not doing long walks, and I’m walking her three times a day. She is herself, but slower. She remains my shadow. We’re always together, but when I first moved here, I infrequently left her with a sitter when I had medical appointments in Vancouver. But we have been together all day, every day, for over five years now. That was when I had my heart attack. I was gone ten days. A lovely neighbour moved in. She looked after the pets, watered the garden beds, cleaned thoroughly and left a shitload of baking and cooking here for me for when I got home.

Sheba was put on tranquilizers. It was a group decision of friends here, made to calm her. That’s how I know she loves me, and it’s all about me. 

I did not know what was going to happen when I moved here. I was having, on average, six seizures a day, and unable to tolerate direct sunshine or noise. I came here to get away from the city. I knew nothing about Gabriola; I didn’t even know where Gabriola was when I bought the place.

I really lucked out in many, many ways. I’m recalling this because last night I was so exhilarated by my dawn walkabout, so full of love of my little half-acre world here with the kids. And that made recall the incredible sense of not belonging that I lived with long after I arrived.

I felt I was in a B&B. It did not feel like home. I loved the house very, very much. But the yard was shite. Building the garden made this place home. I moved from a small condo, and I sold it with my furniture. To make the move easy, I bought all my furniture from a from one store. I bought it on condition that they store it for me until my moving date. The van fetched the furniture and then came to place for the rest of my belongings.

It was the furniture that made it feel like a B&B, plus the whole foreignness of the place. And of course, I wasn’t conscious of the slow transition to bonding with my new environment. 

I reckon building the gardens was, for me, as a dog pees on the boundaries of his territory. It was a lot of work to create. And a lot of money—particularly for the soil and the fencing to keep deer out. But it made Pinecone Park mine.

The first brilliant thing I did here was acquiring the pets. I wanted a family, and I knew they would thrive because my condition makes home the only place I feel safe, and I believe the best thing that can happen to pets is to always have company. And that meant I’d always be here to water the gardens I created. I built myself a paradise of flora and fauna around and inside a log home. Talk about feeling safe! How’s about sixteen inches of solid wood for walls?

I have been unable to shake my Catholic upbringing. It made me wonder if I deserved to be sick for being gay? I loved being a Catholic boy when I was a kid. I absolutely loved it. There was a constancy to the relationships, and we sang together, I was in the cub scout group of our church and we had uniforms. I was a soloist in the choir. People saw worth in me, and Don and Connie didn’t.

That Catholic mind told me last night that I must have been an okay person to get to live in a private park and lodge. This must be a reward.

Last night, as I was basking in the last rays of the sun for the day, and feeling smug about my luck in living here, my thoughts to a sudden turn unbidden. I thought of Andrea Salton. We went to elementary and high school together, but when we were in grade eleven, she died, and last night I thought of all she missed. To be as old and me and as happy as I am. 

That lead to reflection on the accumulated lost days of so many good friends who are gone. I often recall these ghosts I happily bear. I’ve wished, all my life, that souls lay on soft beds in massive, beautiful buildings, and each soul has a little bell nearby, and it rings when someone thinks of them, and they know from who’s soul it comes. I still love that idea. It brought worth to missing loved ones, to think that I am ringing their bell.

Pray for rain. Praying works, right?

A Great My Day!

Sunday, My Day, passed beautifully, but until 16:00 I had a modest dose of anxiety nagging at me because I was worried about fetching Ali and Pete from the ferry, taking them home, and getting to The Surf in time to meet Eoin for dinner. I heard from them at 16:00 and relaxed. They were on the 16:05 ferry and it was on time. Phew!

Our day began as ever day does, with me at my computer and the brood, once fed very early in the morning, sleeping late. It was cloudy and cool. I lit a morning fire, watched my favourite bloggers weekly video on YouTube, posted, did dishes and then Her Highness went for our morning walk.

After our walk, I tweaked my script for the October SPACE event. Practicing it out loud leads to tweaks that improve it. I’m really pleased with the script now, so if you scroll down after reading this post, you’ll see another post and it contains the script I’m using.

Mid-day, we went for our second walk. We went to Rollo Park where the annual slow pitch softball tournament was being held. There were lots of teams, many of them indigenous, and it was really lovely to be around people having so much fun. And there was music and food and lots of onlookers picnicking. It was such a lovely atmosphere!

When we came home, she slept and I read. I love Angle of Repose. I’m reading for the second time and I’m saving the book to read again. Nothing beats a good book one I never want to put down or end. But I have John of John to read next and The Things We Never Say to read, and other books that come highly recommended.

At 16:30, I picked up Ali and Pete and dropped them off, after which I headed off to meet Eoin for dinner. It felt so good to be going out for dinner on such a beautiful evening of bright warm sunshine. I loved getting out and having someone else cook my dinner. And Eoin is always great company. 

When we were finished, I roared home to be reunited with Sheba and the twins. I am strongly bonded to my four-legged family.

It was 9° this morning and the highs for the coming week are only in the high teens. Morning fires are a must now. I shall be doing SPACE work and reading today, but first a thorough watering of all the beds is essential. Hopefully, we’ll get rain on Wednesday, so I might not need to water again until Friday. Fingers crossed.

Post below: my script for the October event.

Voices

 VOICES

Listen.

I can’t believe what I’m doing.

I can’t believe I made this choice

To stand in front of strangers and let you hear my voice.

But once I had a best friend who suddenly went blind,

and in defiance of his malady, he found himself inclined

to do things that sighted people do; to live his life unbarred,

and prove that he was living full. I was his bodyguard.

He bought paintings sold at auction, and taught himself to ski,

And so, after years of life with a stuttering voice, 

I thought of him … and the degree

to which he’d risen over loss, and so I resolved to do

something brave to honour him. 

That’s why I’m here … in front of you,

using memory, rhyme and rhythm as aids so you can hear

All there is that I want to say, and I can do it without fear.

Sometimes to communicate, I use a workaround

When time is of the essence, I use one of two voices I've found.

So, listen

I hold up a sign to the audience. It says, “One voice I can use is to speak French.”

Ma mère était québécoise. Avec mes amis français, je parle couramment. Mais ca, ce n'est pas tout ! J'adore parler français parce que je suis pleinement moi-même. Je peux participer activement à la conversation et approfondir des sujets complexes. Je ne peux pas faire ça aussi facilement en anglais. Je ne peux plus être la même personne car exprimer pleinement moi meme avec mon bégaiement n'est pas naturel. J'ai l'impression de perdre trop de temps. C'est mon choix et il me convient parfaitement.

 

I hold up a sign to the audience. It says, “The other voice I can use is to speak using a fake accent. I’ll use it to explain what I said in French.”

My mother was a Quebecoise. So, with my French friends, I speak fluently. But that's not the win! I love speaking French because I can become my true self. I can fully participate in conversation, and I can go deep into complex thought. I can't comfortably do that in English. I can't be who I used to be because getting deep with my stutter is not yet comfortable. I feel that I take up too much time. It’s my choice and it fits well with me to keep things simple when I use my own voice.

 

Pause.

 

Listen.

 

This is my real voice. It’s the voice I use all the time. This is the true me.  It’s the voice I love. (Pause.) I was given up at birth and spent my first few years in an orphanage. Then I was adopted by people who abused me. From age eleven, I was on my own. I changed my name to the name of my birth mother as soon as I was able to find her. Orphans have no history. No story. I have no family, no partner and no children. All I have is my own story, and that’s all there will be. That’s why my voice is so important to me. It is a huge part of my identity. Fluent or not.

And I have one more voice. It’s the voice inside my head. It’s a voice that’s always been hard on me. All my life it’s been telling me that people are cruel and not to be trusted. But …. Something has changed that. I’m a neurogenic, or late-onset stutterer. We stutter due to trauma, brain injury, disease, there are many reasons. Becoming a person who stutters late in life altered my world view — and very much for the better. My disability is audible. And because of that, nearly every time I present to a clerk, a salesperson or a receptionist, I’ve been met with kindness and understanding. Since I began stuttering, I have found myself living in a kinder, warmer, safer world. My stutter has revealed something wonderful about people. It triggers empathy in the strangers I meet. I’ve learned that people can be exceptionally kind.  

So, I’ve found my voice, but will you hear my words, 

or just how they are spoken?

If I speak to you, will you take the time to understand,

or write me off as broken?

These questions live in me as I head out each day.

or when I want to use my phone

I wonder, should I speak like me

or become an Aussie or Francophone.

Ultimately, it's up to you,

You affect how well I do.

If we should meet, give me a sign 

that you know I need just a little more time.

A smile helps, eye contact too

How well I speak can depend on you.

 

I shall wrap up by speaking off the cuff in my real voice. 

I’ll rave about SPACE and finding succour in the stuttering community. 

I'll rave about Luke and his Stutter Stream.

And finally, I’ll end with a magic trick unique to neurogenic stutterers. It’s weird and a fabulous way to end my presentation. You see, if I place my right hand flat against the right side of my face, and then slip the fingers of my left hand under the heel of my right hand and press them against my face, I can speak fluently., 

1.    I shall show them that using just my right hand doesn’t work.

2.    I shall show them that if I slip my left fingers under my right hand BUT flipped so that the backs of my fingers touch my face, it doesn’t work.

3.    I shall show them that it doesn’t work on the left-hand side.

Computer Revolt!

 

This video happened to come up on my YouTube page, and something made me watch it. Perhaps it was the handsome face and majestic smile of the young man performing. He is Rafferty Coope, and this old man who produced a lot of performing arts events, was captivated by his charm and stage presence. When he made his first performance on Britain’s Got Talent, he was sixteen and he won a pass to the finals.

This video is of his semi-final performance. (His inaugural performance was more impressing in my opinion. It’s also on YouTube.) He was seventeen at the time of this performance, and he’s six feet four inches tall. What grabs me is his confidence, his joy and his talent. His magnificent big smile is also profoundly alluring. What a guy! I hope he has a magnificent future.

•

This morning when I turned on my computer, chaos ensued. For one thing, there were fourteen emails from a theatre company in Québec that I admire, today’s post that I wrote yesterday was gone (the file was empty), and there were a lot of files on my desktop that were not there yesterday and that were files that I don’t recall making. Weird!

Saturday was a good day because no watering was required. Her Highness went for a short morning walk, and then we went into the village so that I could get supplies for making laksa. When we got home, it was lunch time. The clouds that had kept the morning dark and cool dissipated, so while the pets ate indoors, I ate my lunch on the deck.

Then I made a nice big batch of laksa. I love it, especially when it is made by Banana Leaf restaurant, but mine is just fine. I had a small bowl when I was done, and then Shebs and I went to Elder Cedar to walk. It was a fabulous walk. I love my days alone and my life of low demand. I walked slowly, keeping Sheba ahead of me so that I could watch her and ensure that she didn’t find and eat any poop. We had all the time in the world. I love that.

When we got home, I had a spa while Sheba rested, and then it was time for supper and a movie. I watched a documentary about Alvin Ailey. I first saw his dance company in the late 1970s and I was immediately hooked. It was overwhelming to see Revelations, his masterwork, while sitting a few seats away from Leon Bibb who was the star of the very first professional theatre show that I worked on, because Leon, an incredible singer, sings two of the songs on the soundtrack for Revelations. I have quite a few heroes; Alvin Ailey was early on my list. What a magnificent man!

I got into bed at eight and read for a while and went to sleep at nine. Nine! Just like when I was a child. And last night I had a dream that I could recall in the morning. It’s the first time I’ve been able to recall a dream, or part of a dream, in over a decade. 

When I was young, I was plagued with dreams that were full of anxiety. I’d often awaken drenched in sweat. When I went on the AIDS cocktail, the second cocktail I was on, was psychoactive. It made my dreams and anxiety far, far worse. I endured that drug for five years, but when I had my breakdown, I asked if I could change the drug and my current cocktail induces neither hallucinations nor dreams. It was a surprise to be able to recall a dream this morning, but no surprise at all that it was an anxiety dream.

Today is My Day, but sadly fish tacos will not be part of it. The Firetruck Grill is gone until next Summer. Sigh. I shall water, read and tonight I eat with Eoin at The Surf. François is away, spending a month in Vienna.

Just Another Fine Day!

Friday was another stunning day, but I long for rain. It appears likely that the seasonal twitch from eternal sunshine to more of a mixed bag of weather is about to happen. I hope so. I need a break from watering, and I love the season of warm fires and good books.

Sometimes my mind wanders to recollections of things I used to really enjoy about Vancouver. Yesterday morning, I visualized walking along the seawall. It was an eleven kilometre walk from my place to the seawall, around the park, and back to my place. Once, I walked twice around the 8 K seawall. However, yesterday, the images that came to mind horrified me.

It was the thought of all the people and people noise that was always a part of walking the wall (except on dull and damp rainy days). That’s been a huge post-breakdown change in my temperament. I am now frightfully averse to contact with strangers.

I got an email from Blogger, the platform that hosts my blog, saying that they are going to remove a bunch of my videos and they included screenshots of the videos they intend to remove. They are not my videos, so I don’t know why I got the email and I wonder what is going to happen to my blog. Time will tell I guess. 

I decided to take Her Highness with me to join our dog walking group to walk part way with them, and then we’ll turn back. I haven’t walked with them for over a month, so it was fun to see everyone at first, but Sheba found some human poop, ate it, and got some all over her head so we turned around and I came home to wash her head. I was pissed.

What time is it? What’s up? What do you want to do? Worst of all, the name of the App we use at SPACE for communications: What’s App. I can’t say the words ‘what’ or what’s,’ and it’s driving me crazy. I say ‘wot’ or ‘wot’s’ instead. It’s the same trick I use for the words, ‘can’ and ‘can’t;’ instead I use the English pronunciation.

I Zoomed with Bonnie and Sue at 11:00. They are wonderful new friends. They are off to Greece and traveling up the Dalmatian coast, all the while checking their email to see if a house on Gabe has been listed that they like. They must vacate their current home, which they have sold, and that’s why they are do keen to find a place here.

When that call was done, I went outside to check on the garden beds. It turns out I had to do a thorough watering job. The forecast changed again. Now there is no rain forecast until next Thursday. Sigh. Mr. Hose and I spent the ensuing two hours intimately. Hopefully, today can pass without me watering again.

Last evening was the usual, but this morning was slightly unusual. The brood let me sleep in until 5:15. That is a real treat. I plan on reading today and working on my bit for the show in October.