Two Guests

Friday morning began with a massive clean up after the dinner party. I washed all my dishes by hand and then I had a meeting with the Arts Council. When I got home, I 

It’s not like my life has been normal at all. I shouldn’t be freaked out by anything any more, but yesterday in the meeting with the Arts Council something unusual to me happened. I arrived mute so I was using my Dingo voice, but when we got past the small talk and into discussion of the issues that brought us together my voice came snapping back.

Then, the moment I noticed I was speaking well—BAM: I was instantly mute again.

I’ve stopped wondering about “why” my brain and speech do the things they do. There are no answers in the end, just: “That’s mental illness for you.” Every time I sense a pattern, it falls apart. All there is to do is to “keep calm and carry on.”

Yesterday I used YouTube yesterday as an auditory sampler. I searched through videos in which people were doing a lot of talking—such as people doing film reviews—and I tried to find people that had an accent that was “different” enough for me to emulate but closer to my natural speech than Dingo.

I played each one I selected several times and then tried to emulate what I’d heard. But within one or two sentences my Dingo voice would start creeping in and then take over. I tried so, so hard to find a more comfortable accent but everything turns into Dingo. 

I had several moments of deep self-pity. It’s frustrating, mystifying, sad and it makes me angry that I can’t talk. I keep thinking: If I just try harder. But it doesn’t work.

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It’s bittersweet rising early during this oasis of dry heat. It’s dark now when I get up, as it is in winter, so every day begins with an awareness that we are on a downward slope toward winter. Sigh. Still, it’s just the end of July. There are two more months of summer—the final two of my first year of residency here.

Kelly’s visiting today. She’s Jay’s brother who was here Thursday night for dinner. We’re having lunch together and then I have to race to Silva Bay to pick up Jacques who’s here for two days from Montreal. I expect a rather unique experience with Jacques because I barely know him. He was a friend and admired my birth mother, Françoise.

Recovery

Setting up outside for dinner. 32°

I've never posted a shot with the screen door open. It's
lovely how it opens up my entry area that I never use.

I keep my dinning room doors open permanently so the cats
and Sheba can enjoy the breeze when there is one and take in
the view of people and birds in the yard.

I am so F’ing glad I have nothing to do today. I’m pooped from yesterday.

Go, go, go; that’s what I did all day Thursday in advance of the evening dinner party.

I went in for the last of a few things mid-day and when I went to pay, my wallet was not in my bag—or in the car, yet I’d just had it at the post office. Panic! Then I saw it lying on the pavement in the parking lot. Phew.

I worked hard right up until 5:30. Then I could take a break so I had a spa and rested until my guests arrived at 6:30. 

I wrote everything I had to do from 7:15 onward so the champagne would not interfere with my plans. I had all the ingredients I needed for the cooking measured and chopped at the ready. I felt blessed to be having a dream come true.

My years, first in a townhome and then in a condo with no balcony or land, are so  over! Now I have such a generous deck, the courtyard and its fountain and lots and lots of flowers—all steps from my kitchen. I’m shitfaced happy. 

It could not have been a more perfect night. It was 33° when they arrived. That’s when I opened the Veuve. Hoorah! I’d put the glasses in the fridge, too! I don’t know about the others, but it certainly relaxed me (especially knowing my written instructions were held by a magnet on the side of my fridge).

I wanted things to go right—to go well. And I think everyone had a good time. We sat comfortably outside without bugs until 11:00 when everyone left. Of course, as I was cleaning up I found the Manchego cheese unused. After all that relief of finding it against all odds on Gabriola, I forgot to put it in the corn. Sigh.

Today I meet Michelle, the Arts Council ED at 11:00 and that’s my only duty today—that and watering all the plants. Tomorrow Jacques arrives from Montreal to stay for a couple of days and then I go to Vancouver for two days—one for Asthma the other for anxiety and—and some visits with friends. So today: REST!

Party Prep Day

Wednesday dawned a lovely warm day. I enjoyed a morning soak in my hot tub and could have stayed there for hours now that it’s cooler. Although we’re well into a very hot spell, there was a bit of a breeze making things a little more comfortable.

Mid-day I went into the village to shop for tonight’s dinner. I Googled “substitute for Manchego cheese” before I went; even in my recipe book there’s a warning about the challenge of accessing that particular cheese for a baked corn dish I want to make. I stopped at the deli to see if they even carried cheese. I knew the grocery store wouldn’t.

They did! So I asked for some Asiago—it’s similar to what I wanted—but I mentioned to the woman serving me that what I really wanted was Manchego. And voilà! She produced some. It’s another reason to love Gabriola!

I’d decided to make a tarte aux pêches for dessert—following a favourites recipe from the French culinary school my friend Liz attended when we both lived in Nice—but there were no more peaches left at the store. So I substituted Nectarines and added some Blueberries. The base is almond; it’s sweet—more cake than custard.

I’m glad my passion for good food and “gourmet” cooking has (modestly) returned. Poor Bruce despaired over my aversion to the kitchen when he was here. When I pulled the tart out of the oven it was 34° outside. Still, inside I’m cool enough to bake without baking myself.

I’m serving cucumber salad with radish and dill, roasted corn with the Manchego, jalapeno and lime, pasta mixed with mashed beet, browned butter and deep fried poppy seeds. And for the main I’m barbequing pork loin in an incredible sauce I learned in my Dirty Aproncooking course. 

Tonight’s meal will be my first served outdoors. It’s a way to enjoy a summer meal I’ve longed for since moving here—all the atmosphere of a picnic with none of the hassle. The temperature is ideal and I know how to turn the spa off so we don’t have any sound from it while we’re eating.

Where we really should eat is in the shed. It is really cool inside because it’s under the trees and has no windows. But it ain’t pretty in there.

I’m excited about tonight. I’m hosting a small dinner party of lovely people, all of whom I have met here on Gabriola. And I’m building connections and earning respect in my volunteer work with the arts council. 

It’s easy to hire a guy and build a fence and courtyard and to renovate a building to make a place feel like mine—like home. But it’s a big deal for me tonight because these people feel like true friends. 

I bought a large bottle of Veuve Clicot—my favourite drink of all—with which to toast acknowledge the significance of the evening to me. I’d love to be able to make a nice toast to this effect, but doubt I have the social chutzpa.

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Watering Eden this morning was enjoyable. I feel like a doctor doing rounds, checking on all my “patients.” I have a few that are ill. I realize watering is only onerous when project/volunteer work is pressing.  I’m in good shape for tonight’s dinner party; I’m in control of all the preparations. I’ll spa my way through the day and take Sheba to the beach so she’s exhausted tonight.

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I heard from Bill. He’s about to read my script. 

I was grateful he wrote with a question about the dresses. It allowed me to set him up a little for the odd/non-traditional structure of the play. He asked to see the dresses so I sent him a link to an online gallery. I’m so lucky to have so talented and generous a friend. 

Appia Via