Dust!

It’s lovely in Pinecone Park this morning because there’s been a light dusting of snow. Even better: The hot tub is pristinely clean and a toasty 104°. You know where I’ll be later today.

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Sheba and I hopped into the car to go for our walk, Saturday morning, only to discover that I had a flat tire. Then I discovered my car had no spare; the words, “spare tire,” don’t even appear in my car’s operation manual.

Luckily I have an appointment at 8:00 am tomorrow morning at the automotive shop for engine work, because I found a guy, John, with a tow truck and he came and took my car to the garage. 

Watching John, all alone, use incredible tools to get my car onto a trailer and off to the garage all by himself was fabulously interesting. And what a guy! He’s a real gentleman like Scott the arborist and the young fellow who delivered the water right after John left.

After John left, I realized I’d sent the car to the garage without the key! I called Jay and he took me there to drop one off. Sheesh. Then, while the spa warmed up, Sheba and I went for a walk in the trails nearby. The evening went by cozily by the fire.

I watched Not Far From the Treeon Netflix. It’s a movie derived from a book by the same name by Andrew Solomon. It’s about people with differences and the families who love them—and some of these kids present their families with verychallenging differences. One of them, “out of nowhere” slashed the throat of an eight year-old girl.

One person featured in the film, is a small woman and I fell completely in love with her and when we follow her to a conference for small people it’s horrifying to hear how they react to news from the medical community that will genetically “correct” dwarfism.

They do not feel broken and I loved hearing that because neither do I any more. 

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I can’t join my big dog-walking group this morning; I can’t get there without a car, so it’s back to the trail at the end of my street.

Spa Day: YAY!

Above are three of the four raised beds that will be the base of my vegetable garden; they’re four meters long by a meter-and-a-half wide. (Three smaller planters are coming for my Apple trees.) I’ve to line them with plastic and level them before I fill them with soil, fish manure and peat. The last one comes this morning. (I can sit on the sides and weed!)

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I baked cookies yesterday, for a meeting I’m hosting here on Monday. I washed Sheba, too. But the focus of the day yesterday was the treatment and draining of the spa. Four hundred gallons of fresh water arrive at around 9:30 am, so I’ll be soaking in pristine water tonight. 

Last evening was lovely: My pets and I comfortable and lazy together in front of the fire.

Cold weather is coming so today I’m moving my hanging baskets that still have some living plants from last summer into my studio where there’s enough heat to keep them alive for the few days it will be cold. (We’re talking West Coast cold here, not Polar Vortex. It’s only predicted to be 0° on the coldest day.)

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Dr. S. screwed up, so my February appointment has moved to April 1—April Fools Day. I’m going to Vancouver March 30^thto April 1. I’ll have three days in the city and I’ll be staying at Bruce’s while he’s in Europe.

I saw Dr. S. for just over two years after the onset of my condition. During our time together I was possessed of nothing but questions and I looked to her for answers. 

No more.

I’m no longer interested in what psychiatry has to offer me. I’m going for a letter and to “tell,” not ask. I’m the expert now. I’ve not improved one bit, but I’ve relaxed into my condition. I accept it and still love life—a different, isolated life, but a rich one all the same thanks to my home, pets, hot tub, gardens and my ideal rural island life. 

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It’s certainly chilly today, but the sky is largely clear. It’s going to be a beautiful day for the renaissance of my spa. Splash!

February!

I went on the community dog walk this morning. Then I came home and Darrell was dropping off the second “coffin”—actually a 12’ X 3.5’ raised bed. He’s building a total of four, so I ordered three Cedar planters for my Apple trees.

After Darrell left, I added the chemicals to the hot tub and I could see it working almost immediately. This afternoon I’ll add one final chemical and then drain it.

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My life is not rich enough for the writer within.

Ideally, I’d write two-to-three thousand words between 5:00 am and 9:00 am but my life is so dreary dull, I have nothing to write about. Island life pretty much happens indoors in Winter and my four-legged family and I live a life of routines. 

The veggie garden will inspire some prose.

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Last week I was in a fluent conversation about visiting Vancouver and I said, “On that date, there are no flights available.” And the person I was talking to said: “Why don’t you take the ferry?” And I immediately started stuttering terribly for about a minute.

Last night I was talking fluently to Dwight and he asked me: “What about coming to Vancouver?” And the same thing happened.

I feel fine, but my brain shuts me down at the mere mention of certain triggers. I’ve long known that Vancouver and ferries (and many other things) trigger me, but the immediacy of the collapse at the mere mention of a word is really shocking—and inconvenient and embarrassing. 

But as I often say: I’m an optimist. I got the “good” kind of mental illness. I got one that does not cause me to hurt others and one that is reasonable to bear.