Human pustule, Andrew Sheer, says the country should not be held “hostage” by a discontented few. It’s an interesting choice of word, don’t you think? He’s referring, of course, to people who were historically held hostage in residential schools and reserves. What an inconsiderate and thoughtless dumb fuck he is!
We continue to enjoy sunshine in paradise. In the past two weeks we’ve had two short rain showers during the night, otherwise it has been dry and bright but cool every day. But: When I’m in the sun in Rollo Park every afternoon, my mind is flooded with warm sunny days past and I feel wonderful!
When I was four years old my parents moved us to West Vancouver and I very quickly met Doug and Marilyn D. They became surrogate siblings and the epicentre of life for me. We were inseparable and the core of the neighbourhood tribe of post-war kids.
Three weeks ago I found Marilyn’s address on the web; she married a former car pool mate of mine and so I know her married name. So I wrote a letter to her in longhand and told her how often I think of our days together and of how much she, in particular, meant to me and I included my email address under my signature.
I’ve heard nothing back and now every day I experience a little bit of sorrow every time I boot up my computer and see no email from her. Pooey.
“From the roots to the crown and back to the seeds, The Overstory unfolds in concentric tings of interlocking fables that range from antebellum New York to the late twentieth-century Timber Wars of the Pacific Northwest and beyond. There is a world alongside ours—vast, slow, interconnected, resourceful, magnificently inventive, and almost invisible to us. This is the story of a handful of people who learn how to see that word and who are drawn up into its unfolding catastrophe.”
That’s how The Overstory is described on its cover and it’s the next novel that I’m writing. It’s a Pulitzer Prize winner and this is what Ann Patchett has to say about it: “The best novel ever written about trees, and really just one of the best novels, period.”
I saw Cathy. I thought seeing her might be over for me, but no, she wants me to keep going. And it’s clearly worthwhile; my speech has been failing a little (but not even close to muteness—just stuttering) and I realize I’ve still got work to do to manage my anxiety. So I’m sticking with my appointments with her and also going for an assessment with the mental health clinic in Nanaimo as a first step to joining a group therapy program there.
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