Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Endless Sunshine

There is no end in sight to our sunshine. I’m thrilled to be working outdoors in such fine weather. It was 22° yesterday afternoon.
I spent all day yesterday working on the yard. (I will likely be writing that sentence every day I’m without houseguests until October.)  I raked and burned the last of the forest fallings from Saturday’s windstorm all morning; during the afternoon, I wove screen into parts of the fence surrounding my vegetable garden so the Deer can’t eat my vines and berry bushes. Plus, I finally planted my beans and peas. Hooray!
I also had a really lovely spa (in pristine water) and an afternoon nap in the sunshine. I have no trouble at all passing my days peaceably here.
On May 12th, I go to the city for a memorial for my friend Cathy. I’m curious about how that’s going to go because, I feel completely “normal” here now—“here” being the important word. I feel safe anywhere and with anyone on this island so my symptoms have completely abated.
I know I’m not cured. But if I stay here, I’m as good as cured. It’s when I leave home and the island that my symptoms return. The last time I went into the city, it was brutal. I was mute the whole time except when I was with trusted friends. Perhaps that will happen again May 12th. I don’t know. Maybe it won’t.
The thing is, I’m speaking at the memorial. I’ve written out what I plan to say and I’ll use my Rand voice if I have to.
The Arts Council board of directors is going on a retreat to refocus and re-consider their operations. I feel I’ve contributed to their insights into their activities through small papers I have written about aspects of their operations. I’m very proud of a line that resonated with them: “You are either over-producing or marketing insufficiently/poorly.” 
They said they have both problems at our meeting this past Monday, so I’m drafting an essay for them on how their communications could be improved.
Today I do more planting: Romain Lettuce and Dutch Corn Salad, plus some bulbs to bring colour and bees to the garden. The berries will be the last to go in and then I become the garden dhobi wallah until the rains return in Fall.

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