It’s dawned bright and, as usual, cool. It’s an excellent day for Lucie and Sylvie’s flight from Vancouver this afternoon. The entire coming week (except Friday) is predicted to be sunny and slowly warmer.
I worked my butt off glazing and decorating the cake yesterday. I have incredible respect for the bakers on the Great British and Canadian Baking Shows; it is a Hell of a lot of work to make a fancy cake and decorate it. I also took Her Highness for three short walks as her foot continues to heal.
I did a lot of cleaning and tidying so that Pinecone Park is ready for Sylvie and Lucie’s arrival, and I reserved a table at The Surf for dinner. It’s got a great view and I’d rather not knock myself out preparing a meal after al the work involved with the two-day bake of the cake.
I also invited my tea party mates (Anna, Di and Donna) for tea and the remaining cake on Friday. They are women with whom I walk Sheba three times a week and they have been very, very welcoming to me since I moved here.
Today, there’ll be more short walks with Sheba and I’m going to shop and make some canapés to have with wine (D. Coke for me) this afternoon with my guests.
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I cancelled my participation in the mental health program run by the Nanaimo Hospital in which I was enrolled. It was to begin at the end of the month and go for two months but I continue to enjoy perfect mental health. (And I save myself a lot of commuting and taxpayer money!)
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I see signs of hope in America. As Biden, the fuddy duddy, amasses delegates, and as Trump mishandles the Covid19 crisis, I have hope that Trump will lose. And what a thrill that would be. I tremble with glee at the thought of what will come out once he’s out of office as well as seeing the end of all his horrid spawn.
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My friend Dianne called yesterday right after I sent her an email. I thought she called because of my email, but she hadn’t been online: nice co-incidence, eh?
She’s coming to visit next week with her daughter, Ashlee. We were talking about her visit and in the conversation she noticed how all my inflections were back in my speech, so we talked about my recovery. I told her about my miraculous and sudden improvement and she said that she didn’t think I’d ever speak properly again. Neither did I.
I’m still gobsmacked that after thirty-five years of speech problems, the last four of them really intense, are over. I think a contributing factor has been a conviction I developed: Both Dr. Shoja and Cathy believe that the Tyrell’s lack of care and abuse screwed me up and I decided it wasn’t fair that they were getting a second “kick at the can” (on my psyche), so I resolved to end their destructive influence.
Free at last!
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