Bruce called. When I saw his name on my phone screen, I knew we would be talking about my anger—not with him, but evident in my language—that he noticed at our bar date this past Saturday night.
I was not sure I welcomed a talk about my behavior. I thought: Will I be defensive? What about his behavior? Will we talk about that? And what about the entitlement I felt to my anger issues? I earned my anger.
Friends wisely ask: Why not concentrate on my successes? I hear that question another way: Why not become someone else? I think losing my anger is about as likely as me turning straight. I’d like to lose it, but I may be able to keep it in check more for the sake of those around me.
Meanwhile, on the superficial plane…. Sunday’s walk was like no other. I did not enjoy it.
It was a glorious day and I was with a good friend, Tim, who set a brisk pace as we walked around Burnaby Lake, but I was not into it. I have never felt that way about a walk—ever. And, in spite of proving just how hip I am by going to bed at 8:15 on Saturday night and sleeping for the longest time in a decade, I was pooped by the end of the walk.
Worse: When we went for lunch after our walk, both my hands were numb because of a slightly pinched nerve in my neck where I had surgery many years ago. And so I went to bed at eight—that’s two nights in a row of the longest sleeps that I can ever remember.
|Amidst the browns of Fall, this lovely green path of whisky|
grasses looked like a setting from a lovely short story.
|We don't have a lot of Birch on the West Coast. There|
can be beautiful pale hues of colour in the bark, and its
whiteness can look so glorious against the blue sky.
|With the sun low in the sky as we approach the winter solstice,|
and with the sun low in the sky in late afternoon the already
stunning colours of Fall take on an even more dramatic look.