Issa

Thursday was another beautiful and sunny day. It was 25°. In October! I spent much of the day outdoors in shorts and a tee. It’s intense, the feeling of joy that fills me as warm wind blows as I walk through golden stalks of tall grass. It’s like being in church—the forest scents are incense, and the silence makes me feel like I am in a church. 

Mid-day, I went to the dentist. When I got home, I watered everything. The ground is fried. We’ve had one day of rain since mid-July. Showers are predicted, but that word usually means it won’t rain here on the island. It’ll likely be cloudy all day. And then it’s back to sunshine.

Late in the afternoon, I heard a knock at my back door. It was Merrill and Issa. They’d come over at the same time the day before, so I was thrilled to see them again. Her parents both tell me how much Issa loves me. I see when I’m with her, the way she always wants to hold my hand, and always wants me to come home with her and her mom.

I wonder where it starts, loving? I’ve always loved babies and I like children. I’m proud to say that I see them as a peer. I don’t talk down to kids. And then came Issa. I’ve often written here about Merrill and Leo. There company is thrilling. They are energetic young people. They are happy, open, and warm. We talk comfortably and there’s always a lot of laughter. 

I’m extremely fond of Merrill. Leo works in Vancouver and is home on weekends, and so I think she likes talking to an adult. And she knows I adore Issa. 

There was a time when I thought God might be my best friend. It was a tie with Dougie Downey. I loved God, but I hated going to church. For the rest of my life, I regularly had conversations with God in my head. I felt loved by God because I went through a lot of childhood challenges, but I emerged relentlessly happy. Having Merrill, Leo and Issa next door would have been something I saw as proof that God loved me.

These visits to grandpa Chris when she gets home from daycare may continue.

Writing for the clinic has become more of a challenge. I write what I’m asked to write. I send my finished tasks to my leaders, Dyan and Nancy. In everything I write, I seem to include things that are not appropriate. They are true, but not for sharing. Each part of my writing that must be removed is seen as a learning opportunity for me. In an ‘I’m too old for this’ moment, I told Nancy that I was thinking I should do more learning before I do more writing.

There are political edits and what I call’ trump’ edits. A trump edit is when I write something that is true, but that truth is trumped by another truth within government policies. The learning is exhausting and deeply complex. This old and tired dog is really having trouble learning his tricks. However, I shall press on.

Today I shop for Pad Thai supplies. My dried shrimp arrived today from Amazon, and Dianne is bringing Tamarind from the big smoke. And we are having turkey for thanksgiving.