Thursday, March 22, 2018

Psedotsuga Menzisii

True story: In 1966 the Procrastinators’ Club of America marched on Philadelphia’s city hall. They were calling for an end to the War of 1812. They succeeded; the club’s newsletter declared, “… A treaty has now been signed.”
The one bummer of my trip to Nanaimo yesterday happened at the x-ray place.
I parked in the centre space of three spaces marked: “For Small Car Only.” The car to my left was a huge black SUV and when I opened my door it touched the door of the SUV. That’s the right word, too: “Touched.”
The woman in the passenger seat of the SUV rolled down her window and I said: “I’m / sorry / no dent / to / car.” Then I turned to close my door she said: “What the fuck is the matter with you?” And she started opening her door, forcing me to back up.
I said: “Me / touch / car  / mistake. Me / sorry” (I can’t say “I” when I’m stuttering badly.)
And then came expletives and the finger in the air and name-calling. It was incredible. I got back into my car and backed out of the spot and then I thought: What am I doing? I drove back into the spot and she opened her door again — I think to say something else — and I just took hold of her door and slammed it shut as hard as I could. Then I headed to the x-ray clinic where, of course, not a word would come out of my mouth. I had a requisition I could give to the receptionist. I was actually trembling; my whole body was quivering.
It’s so unfortunate when things like that happen. I’m usually very conscientious about not hitting cars with my door; it was a simple accident. Her over-reaction and total lack of any integrity — like the woman at Cirque du Soleil last year — is something from which I can’t protect myself.
My stutter triggers bullies who only attack weak people. I lived with my father who beat his only sister and then me.
Tonight is my first training class with Sheba. I love that I am going to a class at Gabriola's Agrarian Hall.
My friend, Bunny, shocked me the other day. I told her what I thought Bruce, a botanist, had told me: That Fir trees produce pinecones because they are of the family Pinaceae. I don’t know whether Bruce was wrong or I heard wrong, but I have been lying to people ever since. Bunny finally corrected me: They are, in truth, Fir cones — more commonly now called seed cones.
Coast Douglas Fir: (K) Plantae; (P) Pinophyta; (C) Pinopsida; (O) Pinales; (F) Pinaceae; (G) Psedotsuga; (S) Menzisii.
The rain is back, it’s cooler and it’s predicted to be like this until Tuesday when Spring is supposed to return. It hasn’t rained in a fair while, so this rain is welcome in my yard full of new plantings.

My favourite flower when I lived in Nice was Mimosa.

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