Perfect Weather

It’s bloody perfect outside and it’s supposed to be like this all week — the week of my rejection or acceptance (not that I’m obsessed or anything).

And speaking of that decision: There are two people deciding if my play is accepted this week: Rachel and Bill. Rachel is the dramaturge; Bill is the artistic director of the company and Bruce’s dearest friend so he writes to me every couple of days to ask about Bruce.

Sunday morning’s visit with Bruce was particularly lovely because he was so welcoming when I arrived. He asked me to help him do his exercises and then he got into his chair — with just me; no nurse — and then we went into the garden. And I am using my phone to contact his friends via Skype and Face Time so he can talk and they can see him.

Then I walked the seawall. It was a bit too much, but until I felt that way it was spectacular. The smells and the sun on my back were wonderful. And I got the purple umbrella I need for the marble dress. It’s perfect.

I came home, bathed and chilled for a bit and then went back to see Bruce before one of my favourite things of every week: Being home alone on Sunday night.

I’m feeling quite happy, well adjusted to my condition, pointing and hand signaling in stores and walking alone and doing better.

Decision Week

When I was four, my family moved to West Vancouver and into a house on a hill. Our driveway was steep; at the top it leveled off and at its end was a garage. Everyone of my generation remembers where we were when we heard Kennedy had been assassinated. Well in the same way, I remember the first time I saw that garage because the moment I saw it, I saw a theatre (with an odd wooden curtain that went up and down).

That’s how I know theatre is in my blood. I started putting on plays with neighbourhood pals right away.

All my life, the number one position on my bucket list was to see a play of mine professionally produced. When I was in my late twenties, I had an idea for a play and so I wrote out a scenario and conscripted two actor friends to develop it with me. It was a monster hit. It even got a rave review in Variety, but the actors claimed exclusive authorship and I had to go to court to win back my rights. It was truly sad, but I won in court.

I never followed up and late in life I abandoned my dream and, instead, I self-produced a play about my life. That went well too; I re-wrote it as a screenplay and sold it, but self-production is not satisfying.

So … tomorrow is the first day of the week in which a BIG step toward my life-long dream will come true or not.

It’s also the week Bruce will move to Holy Family Hospital to get earnestly into rehabilitation.

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Today’s likely to be hot again. Yesterday was 25° and humid so it felt hotter. It’s ideal summer weather, exactly the kind of days you dream of all winter — the kind of days that once pulled me outdoors for a four-to-five hour walks. But today, as I did yesterday, I’ll stay home except to go the two blocks to visit Bruce in the morning and again in the afternoon.

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Me: “An estimated 3% of the population has a gene that allows them to fully function on six or less hours of sleep a night, rather than the general recommendation of eight hours.”

Normalizing

My world is normalizing.

In retrospect, I think my problems with speech and spasticity has been due to my concern for Bruce. However, now that I have seen him and seen improvement and have an idea of his future and optimism about it I am feeling better. (I know: It’s not about me.)

Also, this has been one of the nicest Junes I can remember. It’s predicted to be sunny and a very comfortable 25° all week — the week I wait for word from the Arts Club. (No, it’s not really on my mind at all.)

I have to finish the bodice of the fortune cookie dress and I feel the full weight of the project as I undertake these last sections. It’s like if I fail on this bodice, the whole project goes down. It’s ridiculous, but I get so anxious every time I get to work on a dress now. (I know; I get anxious about everything.)

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I like my new life. It’s very different: There’s no more walking, no more cooking or entertaining, no more TV or movies and far less contact with people. And Mr. Tidy Home now lives in clean chaos. I shove my furniture around to create space in which to work and to store finished pieces.

In a week I may get word that my work will be on a stage in January. If it’s to be, my ladies have to stay here until then. But… if things go well in January, and I certainly hope they do, then I have to store them until sometime in late 2018 or for 2019!

Decision: Keep them here until January if the Arts Club says yes next week. And if they like it in January — and I sure hope they do — I find a place to store them.

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Now I’m off to the farmer’s market right beside the hospital. I’m hoping to get some things to offer Bruce right afterwards.