Irresistible Fun!

Not So High (See Previous Post)

Ethel asks Lady Cora, "Mama, can I ask you something?  You don't think I'm bad, do you?"

Cora: "You're a little sharp tonged every now and then, but bad, no."

Edith: "Sometimes I have bad feelings."

Cora: "We all have  bad feelings. It's acting on them that makes you bad."

What a timely concern because I am turning into a big "C" word. I am becoming a curmudgeon—but not the nice kind as in the movie, Up; instead, I am grumpy, bring life to the word's original meaning. I not only cannot suffer fools, I don't suffer many at all well. Have I changed, I wonder, or is this new awareness due to my increased exposure to the multitudes on the street, in busses and on the subway?

In South Africa, three times!, my first glimpse of someone led me to instant and extreme aversion to them and later, not only did I come to realize that these people were generous and kind individuals, they  all initiated acts of generosity to me! I am sure to rot in Hell.

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On another note…

Yesterday morning I went to do some ironing whist watching THE OLYMPICS. YAY!! And soon after plugging in my new Rolls Royce iron, I smelled what I thought was cooking corn. Then I smelt a  burning smell and with every swipe of my iron I found black lint on my clothes. Then I realized the black flakes were coming from inside the iron…. wait for it….

Then I, resident on the seventh floor, realized the the entire global population of these teeny weeny ants were living in my iron. I was able to get a lot of them out by turning the iron upside down and shaking it, but I had to shoot steam through it for half an hour to get all the ants from inside the plumbing of the iron. Imagine!

High

For the past two days I have wondered if I am bipolar, such is the level of my appreciation of life right now. I feel almost manic about the sunshine, my mobility and breathing and, in particular, the scents in the air. I see buds emerging in flower beds and they look like how I feel. I question a lifelong sense that winter is to be avoided because being out in it brings on a daily epiphany.

My euphoria is partly due to being retired but having purpose. I volunteer far more hours weekly to PAL Vancouver than I do for pay at Emily Carr University. And I can manage my life well because there is so much time left over.

Awareness of my bounty of good fortune makes me want to thank …. well who or what? So I think a lot about God who is not a presence in my life except as a need. I can't believe so I have no one to thank for this over-flowing love of life.

On March 26, 2008 I truly wanted to die. I don't remember why. Then was the low; now is the high. So, for the past two days I have wondered if we aren't all a little bipolar over enough time.

DId I Kill Her?

Five friends came over for dinner last night. Dear friend, Bruce, asked me to make the dinner for four mutual friends as his "good-bye" dinner before leaving for Europe. Sue, one of the guests, was immediately unwelcome because she was coughing but what could I do?

Just after desert we noticed Sue had long been absent—and that's remarkable in a one-bedroom apartment. Maureen found her on the floor in my bathroom so we called 911. Sue, it turns out, has COPD and had developed pneumonia.

Note to friends: Guests in like condition are unwelcome. Nothing personal.

Today was Fish Day. Costin came for one of his bi-monthly visits. He makes me feel so Downton Abbey, having staff—Costin, my fish man.

Pastille Pie

This is a dish I like to make that combines the flavours of Morocco with a classic French Canadian medium—the savoury tart; a form of Tourtiere. It's a lot of shredded chicken with bits of prunes, fried apricots, sweetened roasted almonds, cashews, raisins and a fair bit of egg. The spices include lots of turmeric, coriander, cardamom and cinnamon. It usually goes over well because it is unique.

I made it for my friend Bruce because he is going to Europe for three months.

And, of course, I made an apple tart for dessert. It's so easy now after having made so many.

I baked all day, listening and watching the Olympics. I always have such a good time watching the competitions and the interviews with the athletes.

Angle of Repose

Wow! I read Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner and am still not over it.

I took my degree in English literature. In fact, I took 2 extra courses a year while at college and became deeply immersed in it because it was easy and relatively fun. It wasn't absolute like the sciences. And the end result was  … are you familiar with the song "nothing" from A Chorus Line?

And I said… "Nothing,

I'm feeling nothing,"

And he says "Nothing

could get a guy transferred."

They all felt something

But I felt nothing

Except the feeling 

That this bullshit was absurd.

So after college until about ten years ago, I read non-fiction exclusively—a lot of it and I loved everything I read. I read everything by Oliver Sacks and Simon Winchester. I loved historical biographies like Stacey Schiff's Cleopatra. 

Then, a decade ago, I awoke as out of a fog. No more non-fiction for me. I can't remember many titles from the beginning of the resurrection of my poetic soul, but I do remember binging on P.D. James, having discovering her whilst travelling in India. What I do remember was Jamie O'Neil's At Swim, Two Boys. That novel affected me so much a friend asked me if I had been to Ireland because of the way I was speaking. 

After a book like that, it is hard to keep reading. I want every book to move me as At Swim, Two Boys did but it takes a while. And then came Adam Vergese's Cutting for Stone and the earth moved again. and with these two books, not only did my earth move, it never returns to the same place again.

Well, now I have (regretfully) finished Stegner's Angle of Repose. Oh my God, what a book. I still miss Susan Burling Ward and Lyman Ward, but they will live with me forever. And if anyone had suggested I read a book about the settling of the American West, I would have never given it a second's thought. No way. But this book got a grip on my soul right away—both the story and the writing is arresting. God bless writers like O'Neil, Vergese and Stegner. 

I'm Back!

I am back in the world of the living. I re-joined yesterday but I had to go through my first vertical day coughing up dump trucks full of phlegm. Today feels almost normal. What an ordeal—so routine in one way but so dreadful in another. That was my fifth asthma attack requiring hospital intervention in two years. Now I know what to do and when to do it.

The last thing I did with joy before getting sick was to go to the Vancouver Aquarium with my best little buddy,  Hudson (aged nine). We had the best time after a Sunday night sleep over watching the Grammies and then, once I dropped him off with his mother last Monday afternoon, I went straight to the hospital for a cocktail of Azithromycine and Prednisone.

And boy, that Prednisone! It sure works but the side effects are unbelievable.

The Critic Speaks:  I actually liked the latest episode of Downton, much to my relief. My favourite moment involved, of course, Mary. I am so smitten with Michelle Dockery and Mary. Anyway, the scene that resonated for me was when she was in her boudoir and Anna, her maid, is asking for permission to go out for dinner with her man, Bates.

"I'll be back in time…(to assist you with retiring)," says Anna.

"Nonsense," says Mary, "you go and have a good time with Mr. Bates and don't worry about me. I'll be fine." She says something like that to Anna—in effect, saying that she can put herself to bed. But then she dips to allow Anna to put her necklace over her head." I loved the juxtaposition of her action and words. Wonderful!

I could barely follow Sherlock. Prednisone affects cognition. I was grateful for the "behind the scenes" interviews at the end that helped me understand what I had seen. And how absolutely lovely to discover that that was Benedict Cumberbatch's real parents playing the parents of Sherlock and Mycroft. 

 Hudson in a bubble tank at the Aquarium.

 I want a tank like this! But I love my fresh water tank.

Look at the blue spots on this ray.

 I could watch seahorses for hours. They move like angels.

 A spotted ray.

Jellyfish.

Sleeeping Otter.