Tears

This is the loft fence I built to keep the cats from climbing up and down the wall to get to their toys. It worked. They use their stairs now. They were ruining the tapestry I brought home from Rajasthan. 

Every day Pinecone Park & Spa is “better” than it was the day before. My constant work makes it so — at least to my eye.

I know lots of artists so I know I’m not alone when I say that when I step back to look at my work, I see things that need to be done. I see things I don’t like; the things I consider unfinished. My friends don’t. They see a work they respect and say so (bless them). It’s so extreme I did an experiment in the mid-nineties.

I made six pencil crayon drawings that were quite large for the medium. Each one was 16” X 20”. The first thing I drew on the paper were three or more half-inch squares randomly placed on the page. Then I drew my outline and completed each one leaving the little squares blank — each one revealed the paper’s raw surface.

Those squares were all I saw when I looked at the work but when I showed them to friends who visited, not a single one of them mentioned the squares — and not because they’re too polite. When I’d point them out, they were all surprised and hadn’t noticed them.

The point is that it’s the same with my house; people are terribly complimentary about it and I am grateful for their admiration but I see all the things that need to be done. I’m glad of that. It’s one reason I came here — to be kept busy.

Today I plan to finish filling the hole Her Highness dug with another Rhodo, put string lights on the hand railing around the hot tub and do more work on the Pinecone Park & Spa sign.

•

Last night it was the house of catharsis at Pinecone Park & Spa. I watched the movie Spotlight. I’d seen it before so I knew it was good and powerful but I was unprepared for how hard it hit me last night.

Dr. Shoja has helped me realize that the Tyrells worsened a bad situation but they are not singularly responsible for my condition. She thinks my problems began when Françoise, my birth mother, gave me up after keeping me in a very intimate relationship for six months. Dr. S. said an infant would suffer removed from such a mother, especially when placed into the fostering rotation policy of the Catholic Church.

I can’t help loathing the Catholic Church. Its deep and strong because I think it ruined my life by shaming my mother (for her “immoral” pregnancy) and shaming me.

The Catholic orphanage I was in had different policies for “innocent” orphans and bastards. It made me feel horrid to read about it; I felt as I did when I contracted HIV. It’s not right to judge people in crisis — especially for a church.

So I identified with the victims of sexual abuse by priests in the film. I felt equally abused and it hurt a lot to watch.

There’s a scene that crippled me. All the work of the journalist team in the movie progresses to their exposé in the Boston Globe but to go to press they need indisputable proof and that proof lies in the hands of a defense attorney who’s worked for the Catholic church. He initially refuses and then changes his mind.

When he changes his mind, my mind burst. I was a wreck to think that there was a real man out there who’d made the exposure of the scandal possible.

At the end, the closing credits detail some outcomes and they also hurt to watch.

The Catholic Church repulses me, but not its priests necessarily. I judge the individuals by their actions. I love faith, church and the idea of God. I love the idea of religion but abhor how its practiced.

•

The scratching post in the kitchen that occupies prime real estate is never used. I realized yesterday that it should go, so this morning I went to get it and as soon as I saw it I burst out crying. And it just kept coming. It had been Leon’s and I was overcome by grief over his absence. I missed him terribly this morning. He was my ideal partner.

I feel terrible saying that as Sheba warming my feet and after recent deep cuddles with Fred and Ethel. I love my crew.

Sunshine!

Yesterday in the stores I could not get any sound out at all. It didn’t surprise me at all given the day before with Rob, but my God am I good at my own invented signing. I’d kill at Charades.

This morning, however, I’m fluent again (with ticks). I ascribe my fluency to my conviction to never have anything to do with Rob again. My soul knows I’ve made the right decision and that I’ll stick to it.

•

When I woke, it was one shit morning here — no rain but everything waterlogged wet.  

Sheba dug a huge hole in the garden yesterday. I caught her in the act and was able to loudly reprimand her at the hole. Then I shut her in the (lit and spacious) shed for ten minutes before washing her.

Then she did it again and the hole had become huge. I caught her in the act again so again: Site scolding, the shed (for an hour this time) and then a bath. It was a slow, slow hour. I hated leaving her out there. Finally, I concluded it was my fault.

I haven’t been exercising her enough of late so we played fetch and then went for a walk. I undertook the walk for her but, as always, the smell of the air, the silence, the birdsong and the healthy feel of the moisture in the air lifted my spirits. When I got home the sky was clearing and I felt hope and energy returning. Now it is glorious outside.

•

I finally solved the buzzy speaker problem and I vastly improved the sound system in the studio.

•

The Arts Council has asked me to do more volunteer writing and editing. I’m happy about that. I also got a nice note about my food event suggestion too. They’ve allotted Fall for fundraising.

Oh please! This is a magazine ad for bowling.

Show Chickens

Today I Chill

I started my journey of patience and understanding with Rob out of respect for my experience with my mother who was also without empathy. I watched everyone abandon her for something that wasn’t her fault — that’s what her doctors hammered into my head; her “evil” had an organic cause as Rob’s does.

He initiated intimacy into our relationship and I lost my objectivity. He is exceptionally handsome and I crave affection. We’ve enjoyed intimacy for ten years; that’s why I was so excited about his visit but it went horribly wrong.

He arrived and announced he wanted dinner and that he wanted it done for him; he wasn’t prepared to help he said. I told him I’d make it but that it would take me a while. He was not happy and so he started opening my cupboards and refrigerator finding and eating food.

Then he wanted to go for a walk and he wanted me to go — in the dark and rain. I dressed warmly and I was enjoying the walk when he decided we should go back and when we arrived back at the house he became really rude. He demanded dinner right away and when I asked if he’d help, he said No.

For the first time ever in our relationship, I started answering back as I prepped dinner but it only made his barbs faster and more hurtful. I suggested he take my car and go into the village; he didn’t. I think he liked being an asshole at me.

“You don’t talk and act this way with a person who’s bought your return air ticket and is feeding you. You are biting the hand that feeds you and that’s as ugly as human behaviour gets.”

As I was cooking, the power went out. I lit candles and finished cooking dinner on the barbeque. He ate his dinner and then went to his room so I went to bed and slept well. I felt no guilt, pain or shame; I just wanted to get to 2:15 Thursday afternoon when I’d be driving him to the seaplane.

I got up early Thursday and the power was still out. I lit my oil lamps and washed the dishes in water I boiled on the barbeque. I used rainwater to flush all the toilets; I lit the fire in the studio to keep my paper dry and beefed up the fire in the house.

I just kept going. I cleaned the barbeque, moved my outdoor furniture ˆ I even sorted all my screws and nails into jars while Rob kept sleeping. As the hours passed I got happier realizing he was going to stay sleeping until his departure.

He got up at 12:30 complaining of a headache. He said some nice things about the house and then we had a hot tub. I stayed cheery, knowing it was almost over. And then I drove him to the plane.

After I said goodbye at left Silva Bay, I took the top down on the car to enjoy the sunlight, I put some of my favourite music on the player and opened a nice bottle of cold Diet Coke and I enjoyed the ride home.

I came home to live out the day as best I could. I had no energy or will. My body hurt everywhere and I felt soul dead. I went to bed at 7:30 incapable of anything but sleep.

Today my sadness makes all my muscles sag. I’m left with an image of him walking away towards the plane. It’s going to hurt for a while — really hurt; especially today as I work to rid this place of all evidence of him and our day (not) together.

He’s broken but he’s not stupid. He knows he broke my spirit. He thinks time will heal and may, one day, reach out but I’ll be busy and I will definitely never reach out to him.

I’d forgotten the bad parts and romanticized the good. I thought the “leaver” was supposed to feel relieved, though — feeling free and happy. But I feel far, far from that. I feel smart but I don’t feel happy about quitting Rob. It’s not just him I’m leaving, I’m likely leaving intimacy forever and that is sad.

Today happens to be gloomy. However, starting tomorrow we’re predicted to have sunny days and 10° temperatures. The good weather will enable me to do more work on the fence and PP&S sign. I’d like to finish them before starting the excavation for a paving stone patio/driveway.

Today I chill.