Thursday was a day of fine sunny weather, but it’s Saturday that’s predicted to be a wonderful 18°! God, I hope that happens.
We went for a morning walk together before my Zoom call with my UK stuttering group. It was an excellent session. We’ve been getting a lot of new people and I’m really enjoying being part of the group.
When we were done, I fed the brood and then Sheba and I went into the village to shop, and then we went to Rollo Park to play fetch. I’m hoping playing fetch every day, which she loves to do, will help her lose the weight she put on when felled by her sore feet. She spent a month without any exercise.
Late in the afternoon, we went to Elder Cedar to walk. It’s gorgeous to walk there when the sun is shining, and the sound of the stream that runs through the park adds to the wonderful sensory experience of walking in the rain forest.
When we got back, I got started on an essay that I will give to Jennifer, my nurse practitioner. I haven’t yet made an appointment with her. I’m still waiting to see if I hear from the cardiologist that Dr. Chen said he’d arrange for me, but I suspect that he’s forgotten to make the referral. I’m not at all a fan of Dr. Chen because he mumbles and doesn’t make eye contact when he speaks to me. My prejudice may be affecting my patience and thinking, but I do want to get onto finding out what is wrong.
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I didn’t care for Bob Dylan when I was young. Song lyrics went in one ear, and out the other. My heartbeat to the music. That’s all I hear. I didn’t like Dylan’s voice. And speaking of things I didn’t like. I’ve never warmed to Timothée Chalamet. I don’t know why, I just had no interest. However, I also hated all things western, including books set in the American West, but Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner. It is set in the American West.
I live with a constant strong emotional response to a broad spectrum of stimuli. I have strong prejudices. I loathed Rita, Don Tyrell’s girlfriend. She was Connie Tyrell’s nurse. I hated Rita because I had been admiring Don’t dedication to Connie, but it was Rita having him go to the hospital after work and when he came home, he went to bed. I was out most nights anyway. But then, when she had her breakdown shortly after Don died, I became her guardian can came to love her.
I’m very grateful for these experiences because they remind me of the risks of serving prejudices. I was thrilled to find I loved Angle of Repose, and I am very proud of how I cared for Rita and that I came to love her. I’m very proud of that. I couldn’t help it. She was so kind, and she said such nice things to me, how could I not fall in love with her? She did things Connie never did. She cared for me.
Well …. Pay attention Beth.
Last night I watched A Complete Unknown, the Bob Dylan bio-pic, staring Timothée Chalamet, and I had just the most fabulous time watching it. I cried when I heard the first cords of most of the songs. How could I not love this movie? It’s about a time I lived through. The cliché is true: it is the soundtrack of a time in my life when my generation was becoming who they would be for the rest of our lives.
But what stunned me, was Mr. Chalamet. All my many non-metaphorical hats are on the floor. He has Dylan’s speaking voice down pat, and the guy sings and plays the guitar in all the songs. I was truly impressed. Hearing all those songs though, is very overwhelming because they were all making me cry. But now, I hear the lyrics and it’s no wonder he won the Pulitzer Prize for literature. And it's no wonder Mr. T. was nominated for an Oscar.
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I once watched a man, while I was awaiting a train in Deli, who was sitting squatted on the ground with a bathroom scale in front of him, and I could see man after man stepping onto the scales, but what drew me to him, was the crowd around him that was so engaged with the weighing. They were constantly cheering.
I went over to get a closer look, and a man in the crowd spoke to me in English. He asked me if I understood what was going on. I said I didn’t and that I really wanted to know, so he explained what was going on. He was running a gambling operation. People would pay him ten rupees (I’m guessing the amount), and then he’d kind grip/massage the fellow’s wrists and he’d have the fellow jump up and down while he had his head very close to the jumper’s stomach. Then he’d tell the client what he thought the client weighed, then the client would step on the scale and read aloud his weight.
If the person weight was more than the man’s guess plus two pounds on either side of his guess, then the man would pay the client 25 rupees (again, I am guessing, but the principle is there). But the man was very rarely wrong.
Everybody knew the guy’s story. He’s learned the game while sitting idle simply charging people 2 rupees to weigh themselves. That is how he once earned his living. He invented the game out of necessity to feed a growing family, and he was very, very successful.
Do something often enough, and you get good at it. That includes living with a disease or disorder. For me, that has meant living a life of low stimulation. I love in a dark home in silence. All I hear is chosen. Sometimes I hear a chain saw, sometimes a generator, but it’s not very loud with solid log walls.
I stopped entertaining, and I try to never be around more than 4 people. This has been a bit of a challenge to live in Winter. In Summer, I see neighbours all the time walking the street or in their yard on either side of me. I’m frequently in very short, very warm conversations as they pass or over the fence. I enjoy these Summer social moments.
Yesterday afternoon, I did a walkabout. The garden beds are desperate for attention, as is the yard. I shall enjoy doing as much as I can each dry day, once it get’s warmer. What I saw on my walkabout excited me. More and more of the beds are green with new growth, and more grown than last year. All the annuals have expanded and look so lush and vibrant. I want to clean their beds.
And the sun, and the longer days, and Sheba’s four healthy paws, and although I can very easily run out of breath, I am still alive and happy and very excited to soon be embarking on another wonderful bright and warm season. The bees are buzzing around me again, when we walk. There are blossoms and flawless young shiny emerald leaves everywhere. Yesterday, all the weight of my beathing blew off my shoulders.
I endure the cold and wet season. I survive it easily only because of the firebox. I thrive in the warm season. I live a bear’s life: dormant in the cold, living full when it’s warm. It’s enjoyable doing the yard work that I can do—the watering and the cleaning of the yard. Henri does the beds. Grayson stacks the wood. Life felt so, so good yesterday, and the thrill was back for Pinecone Park.
