Groundhog Days

I woke up yesterday in a bad mood because Fred woke me. He was racing around the house making as much noise as a horse might and clawing at the furniture, beginning at four am. So, I got up and then, once I’d lit the fire and done all my other morning chores, I saw the horrid headlines I mentioned in yesterday’s post and felt worse. If ignorance is bliss, what is a knowledgeable life?

There are two more months of Winter; two more months of darkness and wet and cold. I’ll survive, I know that, but I’m itching for stimulation other than what I eat, read and pat. 

I’ve looked into what it takes to get to Vancouver to visit friends, and I’m discouraged. It involves a lot of waiting and a lot of expense for not much time in the city: I have to reserve to be able to stay in my car and be at the terminal an hour before sailing (in both directions), pay four ferry fares and line up four times.

I’m now familiar enough with my mental health to know that I’d have to do the trip medicated. I’m going to do it, but first, I reckon, I’ll visit Victoria for some excitement. I have fewer friends there, but it’s so, so much easier on me to get there. I’ll visit Vancouver come Summer.

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Yesterday I got a note in my mailbox to call the post office. It looked like a notice that others might have received; they were changing some locks where my box is. So, I called. I got a clerk saying, “Canada Post.” I said that I was calling in response to a note I’d received, and she said: “Oh, hi Chris.” Then, she told me about getting new keys.

Next, I called the pharmacy. I hate using the phone, so I wait until I feel up to it and do all my calls one after the other. I had to see if my pills from VGH had arrived for me to pick them up. The clerk answered saying, “Island Pharmacy. How can I help you?” I asked about my pills, and she said, “Hi Chris. Yes, they’re here.”

Everyone knows the guy who can’t speak very well. Amanda knows me at Wishbone, they know me at the clinic here and at St. Paul’s. I can’t be anonymous. I’m as fed up with my speech as I am with this endless Winter. However, I have chocolate—lots and lots of chocolate.

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Life is like the movie Groundhog Day wherein the protagonist lives the same day over and over. There’s no sign of good weather ahead but at least the threat of snow seems to have passed. I am sick of television, as I’ve said before; reading is my principal escape, and I get outside whenever it isn’t raining to have a spa, walk Her Highness or to do something in the yard.

I’m actually looking forward to stacking wood when I order the wood for next season come April. And to revitalizing the front lawn that looks like crap; I seeded it a mere three years ago.

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Bruce asked my why I’ve been using “the English ‘whilst’” and Sharon wondered where I picked up “reckon.” The answers are easy: “Whilst” I can say, whereas “while” is impossible for me, and it’s the same with “reckon.” I have trouble with initial “th” sounds, so “reckon” has replaced “think” in my thoughts and speech.

Today is cloudy, not as dark and it has been, it’s slightly warmer and it’s not raining. Still, it’s another day indoors. God bless my books, pets, fireplace, food and the spa.

Good Riddance

In my early formative years, family, friends and educators all despaired over my ambition to work professionally in the arts.

“You’ll be poor,” my friends said. And my teachers, guiding me through an enriched academic program, considered a career in the arts “a waste.”

What are families and teachers thinking now that the pandemic has eviscerated the entire cultural sector of its earned income I wonder. As Covid variants threaten all recovery planning, the future of the industries that ennoble us seems dire. 

I’ve been reading online articles from English speaking nations all over the world for insight. Recently, I came upon one that really stood out. It’s entitled Our Revels Now Are Ended: What the Pandemic Portends for the Performing Arts in America, by Joseph Horowitz, published in The American Scholar. Interested? Here’s a link.

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Yesterday afternoon the sky turned bright. There were high clouds and only moments of sunlight, but it brightened my spirits and so I took Sheba for a nice long forest walk.

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My move to this island startled my friends. They did not know what I was dealing with, living as I was with extreme anxiety, and I never betrayed any desire to leave the city I’d lived in my entire life. Some wondered how I’d cope without restaurants, theatres and concert halls—and the close proximity of my friends. But I surprised them and once they saw Pinecone Park, they understood. Many came to see the wisdom of my decision for anyone.

Now they, my urban friends, are doing without all they thought I’d miss by moving here. They can’t go to restaurants, movies or theatres, and they can’t visit their friends—at least not as they once did. And they live where exposure to the virus is far more likely than here where we’ve not yet had a case of Covid. It’s an irony I could never have imagined when I moved here.

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Guess what: It’s raining and cool. Worse: I saw headlines this morning about how fourteen states in the U.S. are proposing anti-LGBTQ legislation, that all but five GOP senators oppose Trump’s impeachment, that Golden Sachs has reduced the annual salary of its CEO by ten million to seventeen and a half million and that Trump is forming an organization to further his agenda. What a totally fucked up world!

I wonder: Do all elders wind up welcoming death out of exasperation with the intransigence of corruption and immorality in our societies? When I die, my final words may be “Good riddance!” 

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Meanwhile on Gabriola today, I’ll be “in” Korea and Japan (reading Pachinko, that is) and having lots of the thick, rich curry soup I made yesterday and following that up with chocolate chasers. And, of course, I’ll be walking Her Highness dressed head-to-foot in rubber/plastic.

It’s A Sin

This, above, is a form of gardening I’d love to be involved with. How I wish my island were located in tropical waters! Instead, yesterday, I walked Sheba with my friends in dark, wet, cold weather. Thankfully, I’ve the proper clothes and I could come home to a toasty warm home.

The short days seem long. I’m feeling cabin feverish as Winter progresses, and it’s not even February yet—the month that always feels hardest to endure. Spring seems far, far away right now. Thank God for books. Now, I’m in Korea. Pachinkohas engaged me.

I realize that reading functions as an escape for me. Perhaps that’s why I no longer want to read non-fiction because it presents reality—that of which I am so tired. Two things I wanted never to read about, The American West and the world wars, have yielded me my favourite reads. The Nightingale and Beyond the Scarlet Sky are novels I hope to never forget, and Angle of Repose is one of my all-time favourite reads. Beware your prejudices!

In the afternoon, yesterday, on the recommendation of my friend, Tim, I watched It’s A Sin on Flixtor (free streaming service) and was immediately immersed and committed to it. The writing, acting and the arc of the story was riveting. I bawled all afternoon because it’s a horrific accounting of the AIDS crisis. 

Everyone’s acting is wonderful! Everyone, including Neil Patrick Harris and Kitty Hawes in small roles is pitch perfect. It’s debuting soon on HBO, if you’re a subscriber. I cried for the characters in the film and for all the friends I lost back in the day. And I cried with guilt/shame/relief that I lived—that I got the cocktail.

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I tried the CBD oil the other night, as I relayed on this blog, and regretted it. So, yesterday I tried it again, but this time in the afternoon after first trying my hardest to speak aloud without success. Later in the afternoon, I was talking better. I will try it again another time or two before I conclude anything about its efficacy, but I feel it may have benefited me.

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Mr. Sissy-Pants, Esq. has a new toy. Rather, he is taking full advantage of a feature of his van that he accidently discovered by pressing the wrong buttons on his fob. There’s a button on the fob that, if pressed twice, starts his car remotely, turns on the heater in his driver’s seat and also starts the forced-air heater. And now that the weather has turned cooler, Mr. Sissy-Pants uses it all the time and is very, very warm and happy. He’ll use it today when he goes to the post and to the grocer for supplies with which to make himself a big batch of curry soup.

I love church architecture but this
one looks like a chicken.

Now It's Winter

Mr. Self-Reliant chose not to rely on help from my neighbour, Kevin, and instead to buy a cot and mattress from Amazon with which to outfit my van with a bed. Soon I’ll be ready to start going on adventures with Her Highness visiting parks and friends in Vancouver and Victoria. I’m really excited about how much larger my world is going to be, come better weather.

In spite of the darkness of the day, yesterday, the sleet and my dreadful speech, I felt wonderful to be so cozy and warm and rich with books, pet friends and lots of delicious risotto. And … the birds! I load my feeders at dawn and an hour or two before dusk when the birds are hungry. There were dozens and dozens of them yesterday morning—Juncos, Sparrows, Thrushes and Towhees—fluttering about, adding mightily to my happiness.

After our morning walk in the woods, I came home to read Anxious People. I stopped after two paragraphs. It’s a comedic novel I may enjoy come summer. It’s by Frederik Backman, the author of A Man Called Ove that I truly enjoyed, but after The Nightingale and Beneath a Scarlet Sky so full of human heroics and so, so moving, I couldn’t take something so light. Instead, I’ve started reading Pachinko, by Min Jin Lee. The reviews are outstanding.

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I realize I get overly harsh about Mr. Trudeau. I understand that the real villain today is a political system dreadfully compromised by capitalist economics. The real rulers are those whose hands are on the money and that reality sickens me. I appreciate that his party is in power. For me, conservatives are, to use a word made famous by the runt of the litter, the “deplorables.”

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So, this is Winter. Whereas during our first month of the season temperatures hovered around ten degrees, the night temperatures now are very low and daytime temperatures are only four-to-five degrees and it’s making Springtime feel farther away. 

It’s sleeting again this morning, and the forecast ahead is for more of the same. Pooey! Regardless, I carry on. I have something to look forward to: Donald and Melania, the pigs, have arrived at François’s and Eoin’s, so when we have a decent day, I’ll go for a visit.