Sunday, May 17, 2020

Wet, Wet, Wet

All day Saturday, light rain pissed down on Pinecone Park. Not enough to really make a difference to all things growing, but enough to make working outdoors unpleasant. I lazed most of the day away, but around one o’clock I decided to facetime with Frani and Chris in Whistler.
I hadn’t talked to them in a while, and I feel very, very close to them and their kids. It was great to talk with them and see them in her home. But halfway through the call, I had a seizure/indulgence—call it what you like. I hadn’t had one since January seventeenth—four months ago. I thought I was finished with them; it was dispiriting to be stuck in that mental state again. It’s like a switch goes off. And for the rest of the call I spoke like someone with Cerebral Palsy. 
I’m fine now. I could speak about an hour later. I talked to Bruce on the phone, at length, fluently.
When Her Highness insisted, we go for a walk (close to three), we went to Rollo Park and—wonder of wonders—Gunter was there! I was very happy to see him. I wasn’t double dumped.
Did you notice that BC’s and Canada’s Covid-19 official government spokespeople are women? And they’re both doctors! That sounds pretty damn fishy to me. 
That was a joke.
The rain picked up in the afternoon. It stopped at six. I went outside and it’s like walking into green air. Every tip of every branch is bright light green. All the Ferns and weeds are tall, the vines are thick, the moss is blooming; little tentacles carry life high and wide. And it all looks twice as green and dense when it’s wet. It’s outstanding. You cannot help but think of the words, “rain forest.”
I went to bed with the window open and late in the night I heard the rain pouring down. I was very happy for my gardens.
Today has dawned overcast but it’s not raining. I’m meeting Eoin and Fran├žois for a dog walk this morning and then I’m going into the village to get some supplies with which to bake a tart for Daryl and Elaine. (I couldn’t do it yesterday.)

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