The Honey Man

Am I the only person that did not know what the Honey Man did?

Speaking with my 93 year old client who was raised in Inverness Nova Scotia, in a time where indoor bathrooms did not necessarily mean flushable toilets, and a steam whistle served as a fire alarm, I learn something new all the time.

So the Honey Man does not deliver honey.
It is some old fashioned humour.

The Big Relax-o (continues)

It is a work day. I hear the alarm going off. In the distance, I hear one of my chiming clocks strike. *one **two *** three ****four *****five ******six *******seven
-eh? Seven?

Yuppers, seven.
Luckily today is the day I start at seven with the old Army veteran who will be up, fed, dressed, meds taken, and only wish a game or 2 of crib. I use my travel time later in the day to catch myself up. I am getting lackadaisical. Aint it grande?

Lucky doggie-boy, no time for a walk means inbetween clients many many mini-walks.
Lucky me, I get to enjoy some sunshine.

After training my brain, I pick up Sharon Kay Penman's "Here be Dragons."
A little history with my fiction.

Today Beowulf opens. Lady D and I will attend on Tuesday.
Life, she is good today.

Cleaning, clearing, and bins

Because of the dreaded dragon, cancer, and the after-effects of treatment, I have dedicated myself to clearing out junk. There are those who might believe my entire home to be thus. Some of my beloved treasures I sent to homes where I know they will be appreciated. Some 50 of my clocks I just donated to Sally Ann. This day past, my evil twin came to assist me in packing stuff up. (Thanks, P.)

After 22 boxes left the condo, I hesitated over a few books. I cant bear to give away books without telling them how much I loved them. This ceremony amuses others, but truly I have to. In one of the books was a sheath of paper with poems of Arda. My own, of course. I gazed through with a smile. I have not visited Ardan soil since my falling-out with a certain Ainu. A certain Ainu who referred to my home as a "shit-hole." ----cough I miss the place, but not enough to go back. I couldnt bear it to be honest. One of the things about cancer is that it totally sharpens your senses to what is important. Although my holiday helped immensely, I still dont have enough in reserve not to burst into tears. No kiddin. I am a wuzz.

I have a feeling that Frank Gough told this little treat to me, I dont think it's one of mine. It;s sure cute though. I wonder what Frank is doing. If he is still on this side of the sod he will be 98. The scribe. Frank was part Cary Grant, part Edward Gorey. I adore him.

" A little lace in it's place - titillation.
A little frill a little thrill - stimulation.
Doff the lot, what have you got?-- revelation."

For some reason, this little ditty was with dozens of poems about hobbits. - heh

"A Soldier in Flanders"

A SOLDIER IN FLANDERS
============================
A BULLET CHANGED THE
WHOLE COURSE OF HIS LIFE
============================

REPRINTED FROM
"B.C. SHANTYMAN"
Third Impression, January 1945
(Total 25,000 Copies)

Saturday, November 10th, 1917, the 7th Canadian Infantry was advancing on Passchendale ridge, step by step in the soft, deep, treacherous mud. One of them, a former sailor, proud of his own strength, contemptuous of any weaker than himself, caring only for his interests,was using a Lucas lamp in signaling when he saw the enemy approaching. In the ensuing defense of his position, this man's strong body was pierced by a bullet which changed not only his outlook but the whole course of his life. His strength was turned in a moment to weakness, and he fell into a yawning shell hole half full of water - unconscious. Some time later, as consciousness returned, he heard a voice crying for help, then cursing bitterly at the apathy of all who should have offered the help he demanded, then going on into desperate prayer for deliverance. Suddenly our friend realized that the voice
was his own, and the commotion ceased at once. Hours dragged wearily and painfully by and the soldier began to lose hope of being rescued.

Enemy soldiers were seen moving over the ground making prisoners of those who could walk, and killing at least some who could not. He fired his rifle, but apparently without result, and the enemy drew closer, looking at him - but from the grotesque position his body had fallen into - thinking him dead -
the soldier passed onward. This proved that he was lying in "No man's land," and made his chances of being picked up remote.
At about midnight, he saw figures against the skyline moving away from his vicinity and called for help, only to be told that some one would be sent to look for him at daylight. Now human props were knocked away from
him. He had been many hours without food, water, or sleep and was hardly able to keep awake, yet to sleep meant
death. What to do?

Towards dawn a heavy shell struck the ground just behind him, and exploded, and, in making its own crater, almost blocked up the one in which he lay, forcing the water in which he had been lying - close up to his chin, at at last he was able to west his parched and swollen tongue. A short time later another shell dropped
right between his knees into the soft mud, with its ugly butt close enough to touch. Terrified, he waited cringingly for the explosion which never came, and as he realized that the shell was a dud, his nerve gave way and he frantically shouted for help. However, help was not forthcoming yet.

Into his mind now came the words of a song he had often sung before, "Where
do we go from here, boys?" At last the words became a sharp, demanding question, and a warning that he would soon be going somewhere, but WHERE? Then came the answer. Trapped in the mud, his once boasted strength gone, helpless; he knew now that his sould, stained with thirty years of conscious and wilful sin, was to go out NAKED
into the presence of a Holy God without covering or advocate! Terror of death fell on him, and he again made efforts to escape from what seemed now to be his grave.
"I cannot die," he thought. " I can't face God, I am not ready."

Still he could not think what to do.
"I MUST do something or I shall be dead, and then what?" "What can I do?"
Again and again he cried in despair, and then it seemed as if an answer came.
"Call upon ME in the day of trouble. I will deliver thee."
He did not see this as his answer and still wondered
"What can I do?" To every query was given again the thought, "Call upon ME in the day of trouble. I will
deliver thee." This must be from the Bible he thought, and it must mean God. But how call I call upon God? Yet there was no alternative, for sleep must soon end the struggle. At last came prayer, of its kind, the cry of a soul in anguish.
"Oh God, if there really be a God, and if you can hear me in all this confusion, and if you can pick my cry out of all those that cry this morning, and if you will listen to a voice like mine, this is my day of trouble, and I am calling." And fear receded and comfort came. Then he heard, "Whose calling over there?" "7th
Battalion" he answered. "Where are you buddy?" "Over here."

Finally two brave men, temporarily leaving their post- crawled to where our friend lay, and with difficulty pulled his helpless and broken body out of the shell-hole, but having done this, were not able to help further. So,pointing out the closest dressing-station, (Red Cross) they left him to reach that half-mile distant post as best he could. The wounded man could not lift his body from the ground, nor even use his hands, so he dug his elbows into the surface, and dragged himself laboriously forward a foot at a time.

Hours slowly passed. Shells fell beside him, bullets whined above him. Three time an airplane approached, machine-gunning the forward positions, but each time the place reached a point where its fire must strike that crawling worm on the surface, the firing ceased and the plane passed on. Whether this was due to to mere
"sportsmanship" on the pilots part, or to that great promise, "I will deliver thee" I will leave the reader to
judge.

The fact remains that finally he reached a point where he could be seen by other soldiers, and having attracted their attention, he again lost consciousness. But this time help was at hand, and he regained consciousness in a base hospital. Months afterward, telling part of this story to friends, he was given a Bible to read for himself these words so wonderful to him. They many be found in Psalm 50:15, but our friend found a sentence more than he had so far learned. It was ... "and thou shalt glorify ME." This became his new desire, and he has tried in some measure to fulfill his part, giving his testimony to his friends, or to careless folk brought to wonder "Where do I go from here?" He says in conclusion, "It is better to walk to God in health and strength, than to crawl to his feet through the mud of despair and in fear of death."

Mr. T has been granted the privilege of telling the story of God's love, warning of His anger against sin, and testifying from his own experience of man's helplessness in the presence of God without excuse. "Reader be SURE
your soul does not go out from you "naked" ! Shelter it under the blood of Jesus Christ - God's Son, shed on Calvary for you." "Christ died for our (my) sins, according to the Scriptures." (I Cor. 15:3)

Rest in his finished work for time and eternity.


======

and THAT is my Grampa - evangelizing!

Ol Grandpa T

Having posted that tidbit on my Grandfather, it occurs to me that the picture left in one's mind would be of an obnoxious evangelical zealot, bombarding any and all with his idea of God.
Perhaps this is part of the man. Not really the larger part of him though.

My Grandpa T was named Lionel. Lionel Claude in fact. Somewhere along the conversion trail he decided that he would take the name Joseph. He referred to himself as Joe. Ol' Jo was 100% disabled in the Great War. He had his left hip shot out. But prior to those days he was a character and a half.

L.C. was born waaaaaay back in the 1880's. He ran away from home after his widower father remarried. (I can relate) His relocation project brought him to Canada but after an aggressive child find program from his publisher father, someone recognised him and he was sent back to London. That lasted another two years and he was off for good this time. He sailed on the three mast sailing ships all around the world and had some glorious tattooes including an anchor on his hand between thumb and first finger.

L.C. was one of those daredevil types who did feats of strength at carnivals. He was very proud of his physique. He fell in love with a lovely English rose who knew right away this was a man who could not be managed. She begged off as she was devoutly Christian, and he worshipped only his body.

When war came, he was in his early thirties, but he joined up anyway. True to form, he was promoted several times for acts of valour and courage, and demoted more times for insubordination. His clarion call in the trenches was after being shot and left for dead, as he heard the moans of the dying around him. He saw advancing enemy soldiers bayonetting those left. His tract said the yells and screams of a wounded man brought him to his senses and he tried to tell that man to shut up, until he realised he was that man.

A Bible verse ran through his head, no doubt courtesy of the English rose. "Call upon me in your time of trouble and I will answer you." L.C. called. He was found by medics 3 days later and brought out. He went to see the English rose and she immediatly reminded him that the Bible Verse has two parts. The second part is: "... and I will glorify you."

L.C. got the girl, my grama, and lived into the 1950's as a Salvation Army soldier and a Shantyman. He never lost the spark though, and never regarded himself as disabled. He refused to take a military pension for this reason. I see many of the traits of this man I never met in my own father, and indeed myself.

Proud. Zealous.
I am proud old Joe was my grandpa. I look forward to meeting him in other realms.
I can't wait to hear the stories that some of those old salts alluded to wouldn't divulge.

heheh

Remembrance

At 11:11 am, although at work, I stopped to remember those who gave their all for my freedom. On my drive home, a CBC radio segment on Passchendaele ridge was on.
This was of interest to me, as my Grandfather was grievously wounded in this battle. Miraculously, he survived and lived to tell any and everyone that God had heard his calling out from no-mans land and saved him. He believed that his duty to God was to become a Preacher and glorify God all the rest of his days. Somewhere in my home is a copy of the "tract" my Grandfather printed about his experiences. It was called "A Soldier in Flanders." One day I should transcribe it here to my blog.

My Grandfather was what they called a Shantyman. He picked up his wife and 5 kids and moved where the Lord called him. In the dirty 30's my poor Grandmother moved an astounding 23 times. I never met my Grandfather, but many many people told me he was a very charismatic gentleman possessed of an iron will and an ability to stay active every minute of every day. Since he did not condone radio, television or cards this involved human interaction. He was a well-loved man from all accounts.

After hearing a harrowing account of what conditions during that battle my Grandfather lived through, I felt very blessed indeed to ever have been conceived. Amazing really.

Burning questions answered...

Ok, ok, enough with the email.

Yes I know I do not go out of my bubble very often, it IS my life after all. (doh)

Yes, I did actually buy myself souvenirs. Perhaps not quite the conventional type.
Aside from the haircut, I bought myself a Nintendo DS and the Brain Age 2 cartridge.
(and the Final Fantasy one, and the Flash Focus one, and Mario...)

When I took the Brain Age quiz, my first results were staggering.
The first brain age test is this rock, paper, scissors thing where you answer orally.
Sometimes it asks you to win and sometimes it asks you to lose.
It, uhm, took me a few go's to get into it.

My brain age score was accompanied by a little tsk tsk-ing. "That's quite a bit more than your actual age, isn't it?" it said. My brain tested in it's 80's.
--- ouch ---

After 10 days on ye olde DS I have gotten it down to 58 years of age.
Still awful but getting there.

My neuropsychiatrist had a good laugh.

I also bought myself an amber necklace. And some dyed seed pearls.
That's all though.

Okay, back to my DS.
TTFN

*Only* in Montreal . . .

Our Hotel is home to one of the best restaurants in Canada.
The second I saw it I knew I had to take a snap . . .


The name says it all.

Iconic: Vacation Snaps

During my Montreal time, I only took a very few photos. I hate having my picture taken as I am notoriously unphotogenic. Somehow, this attitude carries forth into my excursions as photo-ops agogo are missed and squandered.

Being of icon mind, I did manage to sneak some shots in the Basilica.
So this then is what I loved in Montreal:

! & !

Home again Home Again jiggity jig

Montreal was great.

Glad to be home.

More later...

=*= Signs & Symptoms

Signs & Symptoms of Inner Peace.

Tendency to act & think spontaneously rather from fears based on past experiences.
An unmistakeable ability to enjoy each moment.

Loss of interest in judging other people.
Loss of interest in judging self.
Loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others.

Loss of interest in conflict.
Lack of ability to worry.
Frequently overwhelming episodes of appreciation.
Frequent feelings of connectedness to others and nature.
Frequent attacks of smiling.

An increasing tendency to let things happen rather than to make them happen.
An increased suseptability to the love extended by others as well as the urge to extend love.

Change of Plan

The Rocky Mountain Express is out. We are going to Montreal.
On Sunday.
Woh.

It is entirely possible I am the world's worst traveller. My brother knows this and is taking me anyway. He is in shock over my bf's dump of me. He couldn't believe anyone would not want to be with me, (uh huh) but when you have a TBI you get used to people not being able to handle your reality. I need more rest than 99% of people and I cannot stand noise or bright lights. (or breaks in routine, surprises and thousands of other things people take for granted)

I always tell evangelicals that I am not afraid of going to hell after death. I have lived my life in hell. It has to be better than this. Having said that I do love this crazy old world of ours and I am grateful for what quality of life I enjoy. Very, very grateful.

---note to self -- pack ear plugs, gameboy and dark glasses.

Downtime

This vacation time was booked to spend with a person who stood me up last year.
--- Rerun.

People without familial obligations have skewered concepts of what it is like to have heavy ties not easy loosened, let alone broken. I am not surprised, merely annoyed with myself for being coerced into behaviour unsustainable ( by the other). Now my vacation looks different.

Rocky Mountain Express here I come. With my brother.
It will be fun.

- * - * -

Now for what is not fun.
That disease that has settled into my best friends body.

The diagnosis was worst case. The cancer was not contained, and the breast must come off.
Chemotherapy and then, possibly another mastectomy. *(wince) This week we will do fun things and not mention that c-word. It is just a terrible time.

I do not want to lose one more person I love.

Some good news, we'll take it!

Apparantly the Hospital's equipment is markedly better than our local Lab's and the new resonances show the tumour to be smaller than originally thought. This is very good news as it makes a difference in the type of surgery that is done.

Surgery is on Tuesday, and one week later the dreaded pathology report.
*fingers crossed, candles lit & negativity banished*

Tim C.

Is there ever a good time to say goodbye to a young person full of promise?

I am so glad my father failed his 3rd and final road test or it might have been him that hit this young man and cut short his life. As it is, some other 70 something has to live with it.

Tim was a vibrant young man, killed doing something he loved - longboarding.

Too soon. Way too soon.

Remembering Nick Drake

If you do not know of Nick Drake, take a moment to acquaint yourself with his work.
Nick Drake

There is a wonderful documentary airing on BBC this week.
Take the time to listen.
I think they leave the link up for seven days but dont wait.
Listen now. If my link acts up click off this page... http://www.bbc.co.uk/6music/shows/inthearchive/?focuswin
Tomorrow part 2 will be up.

I commemorate his passing each Nov 25th but this year I am a bit early because of the radio documentary.

Two shots of happy. One shot of sad.

After reading on Neil Gaimans blog that Jim Rigney (aka Robert Jordan) passed on, I was struck by the timing. September is indeed cruel this year.

How much nicer to read there about the Beowulf trailer. The second one!
Woohoo. Another thing to look forward to!

The other shot of happy is this:

(*insert your joy here)

Cancer, bloody cancer

My own cancer is at bay with more LEEPing and lasering and slice and dicing and all this without the benefit of a boyfriend to hold me and tell me all is well! Well, bugger the cancer anyway. It aint mine that is the worry, it is my best friend.

Once a Doctor says that dreaded c-word, the patient tends not to hear anything else as in their head a tape is playing.... Cancer, cancer cancer cancer. That is why they recommend you take a friend. We heard today that DREADED word. Yes, it is breast cancer. Now her choice is a surgical option of either lumpectomy or mastectomy.... but the part that she is staggered by is the radiation followup. She will be in Victoria for 15 treatments. Five a week for three weeks. Tuesday we go again for the last pre-microsurgeries Xray and consult.


My own date came and went. I went by myself because the only people I could ask are ex-husbands and elderly parents....
But I am strong in some key ways. I get mad and the anger propells me forward. My friend is more fragile and decidedly not a blogger or blog reader. I am ranting because I have paid my debt to cancer if debt it be. I want it to leave me alone now. And my friends too.

So we go.
In all honesty I would rather it were me than her. She has three beautiful daughters to raise.
Bloody cancer.

Bugger!

Sept 20th 1997

It was ten years ago today that my mother died.
It was a wretched time.
Her illness was awful in its wasting ways. She went kicking and screaming and lived 14 months longer than any team of Doctors believed possible. It werent pretty.

After Mom died, one by one we all fell apart.
In my case, after examining my life exhaustedly, I cast my lot in with a man I loved.
I loved him unlike any other person in my life. It was not the conventional romance, but a decade of longing and loving. I forgave him anything, permitted him everything and ultimately, watched as he walked away from me without a backwards glance.

Grief and loss. Twin themes.

It has been a strange ten years without a mother.
I have had to be companion, daughter and guardian angel for my father.
I long for the days of being just the daughter.

As I lay the flowers at Moms grave I will remember her for her secret legacy. Quiet charitable acts. I never knew about them until after her funeral when person after person came to me to tell me of her good works. She made them promise not to tell.

My mother was a warrior. Not gentle but fierce as Bodaciea.
She never had the struggles I have, but her own battles were epic. Somehow I think she emerged ever the champion.

One thing about Mom, -- she always commemmorated events.
So happy ten years in Heaven Mom.

Padraic Kennedy, FGA, GG

Sometimes you meet people who love life. Sometimes you find people who love words. -and- there are those who have such a love of both they spontaneously break into soliloquies verbose.
This then was Padraic.

We met at work. Padraic was the new Gemmologist. He had the very esteemed double degree that separates the sheep from the shorn. Padraic knew his stuff. He had to answer every question with a thousands words or more. He tried to fit in, he really did, but in an industry where speed is of the essence he really was a stand-out.

One night we went for appies and then back to his place for wine. He had the most amazing rental on the southern border of Chinatown. Padraic occupied the top floor of an ancient home. The ceilings were 12 feet high at their lowest which was a good thing as he had shelves of books everywhere, floor to ceiling. He lent me a book on Garbo (which I still have).

I had blue and pink hair and he was as straight as an arrow. For some reason it amused him to read me his long pedantic love poetry for his lost wife, and for an even odder reason it amused me to hear it. I used to think to myself: "No wonder she bloody left. The guy never shuts up."
Hey, I never said I was a nice person back then. I was a good person. Quite a different thing entirely.

I had heard that one of my co-workers from that time dropped dead at home suddenly. I thought it was Darren,(who used to dress up as Sherlock Holmes and take the bus to work).
It was just recently that I found out it was Padraic. To say it floored me is an understatement.

Now it is me sitting pedantically writing about lost loves and life.
I hope he looks down with a laugh and wonders when I will shut up.

I pulled down a book to read today and there was his signature.
Ah, Padraic. They were good times.

Late Summer Loverlies

mmm warm sunshine without the toxic heat. The winds are low and soothing; the skies blue and the touristas mostly gone! Woo Hoo!

It's paradise.
And I live here.

Downsides..... in Paradise

Perhaps I am slow on the uptake.
I did notice the markers in the concrete at the top of the street. I did notice that the concrete sidemarkers had been removed. The surveyers caught my attention. Yes, each detail was in my head but the meaning of the whole eluded me until....

7am.... my day off. Bang bang bang rumble bang.
Right til 6pm.

The inevitable yet again up close in my personal space.
The large and empty lot at the top of the street that once was industrial has been rezoned Residential (multi-family). So..... where noone lived will become 265 homes.
265. At the top of my street. 2 long blocks away.

There are currently 22 residential dwellings in this space including the (once) empty area.
Of the 22, 14 are in my estate (slash townhomes) . The road is being prepped for this upcoming change. Sewers, electrical, and yadda yadda bloody buggery yadda.

(sigh)

Everyone in Paradise wants to make MEGAbux. Noone wants to just *be* everyone wants to *maxx*. Yes it is inevitable, but golly it is sad to live through. Does every scrap of land have to be built on now? We are headed for a Los Angeleization of paradise.

I look down my hill to the water. It is about one mile away. I used to look up to the mountain.
Now I look at diggers and dump trucks.

Radio Boxes & Cosmic Checks and Balances

I awakened from the best single sleep I have enjoyed in years. Refreshed and happy and completely attuned to the wonderful world we inhabit. The day stretched out with promises unclaimed and like a little Mario I jumped up to touch every single one. The prizes glittered in my hands.

Seven clients were on my roster. Each one had some very nice thing to say as I departed. One, a 97 year old stodgy English woman, quite uncharacteristically laughed as she thanked me. Heaven on earth, as I saw the fruits of my labour ripened and sweet. The harvest was bountiful.

Now to the counterweights.
I had agreed to care for my parents dog whilst a wee trip was in the offing. Three days of the yappiest poodle ever highly bred, - a 4 pound menace to the eardrums. This dog is the apple of both my fathers. and my eldest siblings eye. Same eye, shared.
Every Thursday, faithfully comes sister 1, to care for the dog (and dad). Dad care involves med checks and simple meals. Dog care involved 5 or 6 walks a day, being carried around on her shoulder and lots of special treats. It is rather unseemly.

Our father has a pension hefty enough to care for extras such as dog-walkers, ex-wifes and new cars he cannot drive. His greatest challenge is to reach out and do things for himself. It is important that he maintain his independance. But no. In families like ours, someone always saves him. meh.

So I arrive to get the little menace and there is my sister who took an extra day off because she did not want the dog to be alone for 3 hours. (sigh) And on and on goes the advice and tips, as I am trying to register for an online semester of learning.

Radio boxes everywhere. I really am computer savvie, really I am. I am good at the human/machine interface after 17 years of this. It took, finally. But that damned background noise. Blah blah buggery blah.

So it was a wonderful day. A fabulous day. A day of late summer sunshine and roses.
And the registration somehow managed to leave off all the Core academics but included German and Cadets. Yes, Cadets. - - - cough

A Kindred Spirit - - - and my new addiction

My days are done by rote. I am a willing slave to routine. The need for peace in my head has brought my afternoons into a new pattern that contains my new addiction.

BBC7
(http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio/aod/bbc7.shtml)

Listening to the "7th Dimension" I stumbled across a kindred spirit.
William Hope Hodgson. The dramatization of his "House on the Borderland"
has elements of my active dream life. I wonder if Hodgson had a head injury as a child?
Strange to find someone from my tribe in an audio story.

The story contains those things that I dream so strongly - the absence of time, the disassociation from the corporeal, the awareness of a presence not me. Gave me the creeps it did!

If Hodgson had not died in the first world war he would still be too olde for me to connect with sans fiction. I would have enjoyed speaking with him. Not many people can put into text that strange twilight world so few admit to occupying.

Bugger the Familes, Ask the Damned Client

This WAS my rant about families of clients.

Since we have similar issues in my own family with other siblings not me treating the paid help less than thankfully, graciously, and GRATEFULly, I shall consider the title of this post self explanatory.

Small life, small day - absolute bliss

The Work Day

04:30 open one eye and check the time. Yup too early.
05:30 Cuddle doggie and walk doggie
06:00 Oatmeal and mocha
07:00 - 14:00 work no break
14:30 Eat a big huge meal
15:00 Enter the sanctuary of my wonderful room
16:00 BBC7 and the seventh dimension and other dramas
19:00 Walk doggie
20:00 Lovely bath and book
20:45 zzzzz

The Waiting Game

whew!

The 6 month check up is now in the past.
My specialist assures me things look very good and just in case only, he took a couple of biopsies.
Strangely, I did not feel as badly this time altho I have been lounging about shamelessly since.

So good news all round.

Grey September

This weekend is summers last hurrah. Back to school on Tuesday for the kidlets and goodbye to the tourists. This is a holiday of course. Labour Day weekend. And I am labouring.

The beach is grey and quiet. The tide gently nears the shore. An abondoned lawn chair still sits on the float now beached. My lonely heron sit on the tide marker post. I realise that cranes and herons are different birds but I am fairly certain this is a heron. As a runner pelst the sands, shoes in hand, my bird flies away.

It is 7:15 and the morning regulars pull into the lot by the change rooms. The affluent dog walkers who visit while their dogs strain at the leash, alas, no walk just a chat. These particular regulars all drive 100 thousand dollar vehicles. They may be in the sunset years but they arent immune to the shiny thing bug. Several of their luxury SUVs are overly gold-plated. The Octogenarian bling.

Today I am close enough that they look over to me and strain to read my visible name-tag. They wonder why I come and go in these spurts. Simple, Watson. Early morning weekend and holiday visits are fraught with a built-in hazard. NOONE wants to see Community Health at & am. Or 8am for that matter. My regular assignments this day these times are not pleased. So I come back to my beach.

I know that on my next assignment I am lucky to have my quiet helper. The gentlest of the Workers has the uncanny habit of seeming slightly dense altho he is very caring and capable.
The usual helper I get there is a stocky woman of bad attitude who broadcasts her distaste through her body language. Today's helper is possessed of that great trait which cannot be trained nor bought - the trait learned only by the willing.

More dogwalkers breeze by. The average age on the boardwalk this morning is 75. They walk, I sit but we both heal the spirit.

- Apology

Alas the shiny thing blog still be not linked here.

(apologies)

Another friend!

Uncannily, just as I was lamenting to Randy I could not remember any friends from the murky past, a friend occurred to me. Now I have two longtime friends on Facebook.

It is hard to explain the delight of this.
I dont much live in the past and not just because I dont remember it very well.
But this I do recall. Mimi and her wonderful family.
I lived there in her house for 3 years or so. Oh sure I actually had a different address but it was her family that saved my teenage sanity.

I love this feeling.
---mmm---

Small Life

Tonight I am clicking away at the keyboard Facebooking to my dearest oldest friend, Randy.
I love Randy. *hug*

It is funny but one of the features of Facebook is to search for friends. I couldnt remember if I had any friends when I live in Vancouver. Other than Randy of course.

I must have lived a small life for longer than I suspected.

:)
No wonder I am so happy.

Two Candles

One for my brother, who only wants what we all crave - love and acceptance. The candle is to open his eyes to see he already possesses both aplenty.

One candle for dear Diana - may your health increase.

I suppose I should light another for myself. That my faith multiplies enough to make the candles worth lighting

Monsters , scary monsters

Last week my very best friend called me to ask for a special coffee date.
Usually this means confiding about the antics and exploits of her wonky ex-husband. I always have time to listen as quite frankly if it were me, the man would be either in jail or dead. I have zero tolerance for violence and abuse. -= zero =-

It was rather worse. A lump had been discovered in her breast. A large lump. She was off for a mammogram and some unltrasound. One week later she is scheduled for surgery asap. A mastectomy most likely, a lumpectomy hopefully. And radiation following.

Monstrous.

I have some candles lit. I think they will stay lit.

-=.-=.-=.-

Video--genic

My goodness but what a fuss a video camera can make of a life.
Now there are 3 or 4 silly videos of me being myself (egad).

Inevitable.

Ahh this is the stuff. Lounging about 'til all hours in the warm late summer evenings.
It is the time of year we know we are the lucky ones living here.
We have the best beaches in Canada right at our doorstep. In our case its a 7 minute walk down the hill to that gorgeous panarama and worth every step. MMMmmmm, paradise.
Apparantly the secret is *out* as every piece of real estate climbs ever higher in price.

Tonight, after the ritual visit to the bulk food store for lentils and grains, my keen senses detected a new real estate " house for sale" sign on the lawns in front of our estates. Another of our 14 is on the block now. And -shudder- it is my neighbour.

When my little haven was built back in the late 70's, it was targeted towards single elderly folk who were still capable of stair climbing. It was low end stuff, with one bathroom and a teeny tiny cubbyhole kitchen. No gratuitous use of granite, no sweeping countertops and high end appliances. There is no garage, attached or otherwise, and the back yards are little squares of hopefulness. We got lucky in the grounds department as a visionary planted low maintenance heathers, rhododendrons and low growing cedars. It looks great and keeps the doggies out whilst providing a home for the grouse and quail populations. They duke it out with the hummingbirds.

The quaintness of our abodes is unique for this area where the main target buyers are seniors wanting one level homes. There are oodles of condominium projects, mostly gated, mostly way up over the $250k mark. Our little corner of heaven has sold for $190k recently. A scandalous amount in these greed-ridden times but without parallel. There is nothing else in our price ranger comparable. --nothing--

The last two units sold to young couples as a first home. Will my new neighbours be like this?
It has been nice these last few years living between two older retired ladies. One is a gardener who keeps convent hours (and lifestyle) and the other a traveller who dragon-boats around the globe with her mates.

Ah change. Inevitable.

Relax -ed

After wondering futilely what lived on the floor of my roommates room, at last I can authoritively hold forth.

Within the bounds of a 8 by 10 space, there were 7 pop tins, 5 water bottles, 33 of my sterling teaspoons, two bowls, five plates, and 3 huge hefty garbage bags of scrap paper, clippings and other more sinister things. And how do I know this? I took advantage of an extra day off to make good my threat of cleaning it myself. This undertaking was only possible as said roommate was not home for a few days.

Believe it or not, I did not find it disgusting nor upsetting. I found it very calming and satisfying.
It was just totally time to get that damn beast under control.

And now, as the machines finish the last of multiple piles of laundry, I am relaxed and happier than I have been for a long long time.

And the roommate?
She said a guilty thank-you although I am sure part of her wants to kill me.
Luckily the part that is grateful is bigger.

Shake your brain...

I am chagrined to admit I now have a Facebook account.

Glory days but what fresh hell it is!

Gettin Olde.... r

Off I go, zoom zoom, after chit-chattering away a safety check, I change my shoes, adjust my glasses up my nose and step outside to the morning coolness. It is 07:15 and I am happ-hap-happy.

It is one small step to the walkway which will take me to my car. One step.

-=-=- WHOMP! -=-=-

I appear to be on my elbows and knees. yeowwwwch. 3o long seconds is what it takes for my breath to return. For a short moment I am concerned that I have broken my wrist but miraculously it has bent precariously and returned to a human position. As the feeling returns to my extremities I realised that I have skinned my knees and arms. Minor scrapes are like paper cuts: they hurt majorly for so minor a thing. The shock is beginning to dissipate and the pain radiates like a warm sun.

Now I pretend to be fine as I hear the door open behind me. My client is worrying that there was water on her step. No no, I tell her its the damned glasses. Can't take me anywhere. I get up to prove I am really all right and thank God I am wearing black pants. The blood does not show. My hand rebels and will not hold my binder. I clutch it to my chest with my arm and make my hasty comic exit.

Next client is a palliative care assignment. She had a bad night and wants her opiated sleep. Hello. Here are your medications. Good bye. Quick. Efficient. Over.

Now I am at the beach. A Crane, a solo Crane, is sitting on the float where swimmers will congregate later. He looks out to Sea. Alone, like me. I watch "The Stroll" where joggers burn calories and dog-walkers exercise their little companions. Almost noone seems to have a larger animal.

Off to my left, a digger starts up. It is a strange sight. It appears to be scooping sand up and pushing it into the water. Why? The Crane flies away, spooked by the sounds. My radio is set to, what else? GodblesstheCBC. Dustin Bentall plays some folksy tune. Is this Barney's son? Or Daves? Or are there more than 2 Bentalls in this world. Bentall, there is a name that sparks memories.

David Bentall was the first person I knew to have a White Spot credit card.
I always pretended not to care about his wealth and vanity but secretly I was very curious.
Until we went to Keats Island camp and I met Barney Bentall.
oh swoon.

I remember being young. It was glamourous and exciting and completely wasted on me.
I was always so busy. Running running running.

Now I stand still.
I like standing still.

breaks over... back to work.

Blessings raining down upon my soul

It is inconceivable that the me of the 1980s would recognize the life and style of the me of the now. Trading in infamy for anonymity - taking for giving - upward mobility for standing still.
I like standing still! Who knew?

A new name to me to replace a cancellation or two. A wonderful elderly gentleman so very pleased to meet me, a cancer-ridden woman not many years older than I being so very happy to share her story in a barely audible voice. Blessings are raining down on me like sunshine streaming through a country kitchen window.

My best of all worlds is to hear people remunerating life episodes wistfully/sorrowfully/joyfully. To live in this world so sensually alive is not a blessing unless you live one on one all day every day; quite impossible these days unless you work as a paid Companion.
Or in HealthCare. Community to be precise.
Facility is more run run and run some more.

To do what you love and get paid for it is Paradise.

A Chaucerian Blessing

Chaucerian Blessing

Blesse this house from every wikkede wight,
Fro nyghtes mare werye the with Pater-noster;
Wher wonestow now, seynte Petres soster?”

— (The Mylleres Tale by Chaucer , also Chaucer's The Miller's Tale, annotated version)

A Very Cool Gentleman

Don To Earth, A Nonagenarian (90+) Ponders Life, the Universe, and Aging

This is someone I understand completely.

Go Don go.

read his blog-- as many of his very insightful posts as you can - -
here

More Stardust

Ah Stardust.

We went to see it on Saturday night with great anticipation.
It was a hoot and a half. Robert de Niro was grande as the fiercesome pirate whoopsie.

Highly recommended.

:)


Or you can have the reading pleasure and enjoy that as well.
A purist might have quibbles with the film but it was great fun.

Quibbles and bits

Oh how people notice small things.

Ok ok so...

“Never commit yourself to a cheese with having first examined it.” - T.S. Eliot

Wellness Versus Chaos

Like so many people who look great, I have my secret invisible injury to keep me company day in and day out. Some days it is far away from me, and others right in my face. It is completely impossible to explain to people who have no experience with it, and sadly the very worst to deal with are one's own family.

I had a very bad few days for no apparant reason at all. I do not take time off work for these things but I do have to come home and go to bed in a very dark room alone. The people I work with and the people I work alongside never have any idea that I could have anything less than a perfect life.

Oh this looking good thing. Because of my lifestyle choices, alot of people assume I am independantly wealthy. After all, I display all the trappings of success including a workweek most people would chomp their teeth off to get. I work 30 hours a week at most over four days. At most. My clothes are beautiful and bountiful and my car is shiny and newer, and I have a ridiculous penchant for jewels, but no, I am not wealthy. Not in the material sense at least.

Bad day. bad night. Another bad day, another bad night.
What did my own family say to me?
"Don't you think you will feel alot better if you would just deal with it and get over it?"

Well, yeah that would be great. Could you send that memo to God about reversing brain injuries? I am sure He will get right on it.

So I still take these damn medications, and wonder if they do anything other than make me fatter and sleepier. I look so good. Plus-size good but good, so they tell me.

Does this mean anything at all?
Not to me.

If I won a lottery prize of any substance, I would go off my meds and take a year off somewhere to see what exactly would happen. I know I would not sleep very much, and I know I would not be able to stand having many people near me, and possibly I might have a seizure but ......

It doesnt translate to text this preoccupation of mine.

Like Pinocchico I just want to be real.

Expect Cultural and Privacy Issues ... ?

This was the phrase spoken to me over the telephone as a new client was added to my tomorrow.
I must admit I fretted all day about what on earth that could possibly mean.
"Expect Cultural and Privacy issues"

Well, bugger me sideways with a spoon but the last time anyone said anything like that to me, it was a 50 yr old alcoholic having a welfare wednesday party with a few friends that awaited me.
I was, most definitly on high alert for this one.

Semantics/syntax is everything.
What the phrase should have been was:
"This is a revered Elder. Please show utmost respect."

The client was the equivilant of a Prince, but not that he would have ever told you so.
His Caregiver on the other hand was very mindful of this. I do not blame her at all for wanting the HealthCare team to show deep respect. The gentleman was an utterly amazing force.
He hobnobs all over the world and leads ceremonies and blessings for WorldClass events but he was watching George C. Scott as Patton when I entered.

The home was a treasure trove of articles of cultural importance from all over the world. Given in trade for things depicted in large mounted photographs that adorned the walls. The photographs were of top quality and mounted like paintings. A story in every single room of that home. And yet, there he sat waiting and smiling.

"This is hard for me', he said. " I am not used to this."

Once finished the assignment, I left feeling blissed. It was such a privilege to have been there -
a wonderful blessing he presided over - for me.

Stardust

I am so looking forward to this film.


Opening August 10th.

Count me in.

Hello New Closet (Good bye storage room)

Hello New Closet!!!

After living here five years, perhaps I might stay awhile. It is small here and the storage is minimal. This has necessitated the premature ejaculation of many shinies and books and beloved mathoms. -sigh- I have wheedled down to where I no longer want to say goodbye to anything at all. Not long ago I gave away just under 3 dozen of my lesser clocks. It felt like a limb being amputated.

The new closet is not attached to my room, but the second very small bedroom. It is beautiful. White and pristine and in use by the bedroom dweller. But the storage....

(Good bye storage room) (Hello outside clutter)

It is really difficult to get things in order. I did not work at all on the closet so I cant complain there. All I did was come home and oooh and awwww appropriatly. Not enough, I am sure.
(*Obviously)

My new plan includes giving away many more things.
My limbs are twinge-ing.

Holiday Directions

Every long weekend, there is someone new on my list. This is due to the number of people who choose to take holiday weekends off. Sometimes it is also due to people calling in sick at the last minute. I had one or three new folk and some of them had addresses most unfamiliar to me.

The one I went to today had an address in the binders that differed from the ones on the Weekend sheets. It did not match the one in the computer. Three different addresses for the same client. There was nothing to do but call and get directions. I followed the directions meticulously, and wound up driving around a campsite, trying to avoid kids and bikes and weekend holidayers.

I got smart. I called the client. Seems the directions the OFFICE gave me left out a crucial left turn. -heh

All's well that ends well. As I left I heard the gentleman asking his wife, my client if she liked me.

"Like ice-cream" she said. "But better for me."

I will take that as a compliment.

Hey - I recognise that deer!

(and the *sneaking* teenager too!)

Did I happen to mention.... ?

Me and my doggieboy are content and happy in this small life we have.
Around me, the little city grows and the green spaces diminish. The property values soar ever higher and the newer residents all seem to be disgustingly wealthy. They also want all the perks of the big city and vote for changes that are spoiling this little paradise of ours. But that was inevitable.

Still this happiness has settled upon me in these, my advanced years.
As opposed to those my retarded years. heh. Truth!

The sorrow of my birth family continues as addiction and co-dependance continues without respite. It pains me greatly as there is no gain in dissecting the past. It is dead.
Many times in my life, I have been reminded that my capacity for compassion was born of this horror of olde. I could easily have been the one still searching for solace. In key ways I still am. More likely, I , like the Witch of the East in the Wizard of Oz hear the cry: Begone! You have no power here!

I am lighting my candles now.

The Weekend!

Ever more mundane and pedantic, my weekend thrills have become super-colossal.
This weekend, I YouTube-d the audio BBC Lord of the Rings - as I MUD-ded.

Now that may seem small spuds to you, but to me the thrill was palatable!

Tonight I logged on to my YouTube and once again revisited one of the biggest parties I ever went to waaaaay back when. It was *the Fleshtones* and man it was one hell of a party. That was what my olde weekends were. Hah.

I smile when I see the uploaded *Right Side of a Good thing* - !
And you can too.

Sometimes I do miss the wasted days. That would be me being wasted I mean.
Sometimes.
I had so much energy! People always thought I was loaded or high when most of the time I was just completely excited beyond compare! But that night I was completely wasted. __Someone__ served me repeatedly a lethal cocktail of some kind. I had a blast.

I remember the next day by the pool announcing that the sun was hurting me.
It was 5pm. hah

Yet Another One...

One of the very nicest people of my acquaintance, lost her husband a day or so ago. It was not unexpected, nor untimely but it was still unwelcome.

Oh dear Mrs. T-A, I wish you well.

*hug

The Entitled

Reading and researching Elder Abuse claims can be harrowing stuff. Over and over you hear about these relatives left high and dry when the family are taken advantage of by a stranger.
It seems to be strictly about money and expectations. You read the sorrow and anger as estates are not what was expected. Sorrow and anger. Do you read about the quality of life of the Elder person? What their hopes and dreams were? Rarely. It is mostly about the *Entitled*.

Perhaps I have a different point of view because of my background. My Grandparents were not poor and my Grandfather left a sizable estate. Stock options, exclusive properties, and lots of cash were in his portfolio. My Grandfather was a self-made man; an immigrant who worked very hard to attain his wealth. He and his brothers all did very well indeed. Had my Grandfather lived past the 60 years he achieved, life would have been very different for my parents. As it was, the estate passed into the hands of my Grandmother who had no intentions of sharing with anyone.

I grew up watching bitter parents making nice for the sake of their possible futures. My grandmother meant more than money to me. She was a wonderful charming person with a frugal streak and no tolerance for extravagance. My parents were very extravagant and it is fortunate my Father also worked hard and achieved a very good lifestyle on his own merits.
This money inheritance stuff is not for me to brood upon. Of course I like money- who doesnt?
But I am not going to go the way of my Mother who died of colon cancer after decades of obsessing on her lost inheritance.

There is a middle way of course. I do not see much of it in my practice. What I do see are sons and daughters, nieces and nephews swooping in at the end of life and grabbing everything they can while casting a suspicious eye on the *hired help*. Hey, we had a private nurse steal sterling flatware from us too, but that never stopped us from believing the best in others.
I hope she needed it, that's all.

My other observation is that abovesaid relations frequently thank the Hospital Staff and Nurses for the fine care of their deceased, in those last hours, days, weeks. They never think to the people who kept their relation in the home happy and independant. They are too busy taking inventory.

One of the saddest things that happened to me was reading that a private funeral had taken place for my very favourite client. The obituary was placed after the private service. There was no closure for me other than my angel ritual at the beach. I would have liked to be present to honour her amongst other who felt the same way. I know the staff where she lived felt the same way. Empty and lost. But the Doctor and Nurses in that hospital got a huge thanks.

It isn't about being seen, it isn't about the thank you. It is about respect. The respect for your departed, knowing and understanding that the people who were close to them miss them too.
Loss. Sorrow. We need to grieve it to move on.

A Light Shining Deep Inside

Having just posted about two wonderful people now gone, I find a note on my desk about another.

The light shining deep inside me, is from interaction with the stars. Each soul that touches me fuels another flicker to share.

Not sure you can understand what I mean, but I just wanted you to know that nothing in life is ever wasted.

Not Unexpectedly, Alice leaves the building...

*Alice* was a very strong woman indeed. She was clever and talented and hugely compassionate. She was a founding member of a volunteer organization in Vancouver devoted to caring for those with disabilities. She had been a career civil servant and had been forced to retire in her early 50-s because of very ill-health.

Alice and I met a few years back when she was released from hospital after some infection or other had settled in on her refusing to leave on it's own. Alice had great Doctors, and knew her own treatment options backwards and forewards. Alice chose her own path, charting it with great care.
She never did anything without informed consent.

The disease ravaging Alice was merciless. She had a drug regime that was destroying her kidneys. She traded longevity for quality of life. Alice knew her days were dwindling but nothing prepared *me* for the day, not long ago, when during my visit she broke down and wept. I had no words of wisdom for her. All I could say was how difficult I knew it must be for her always being the strong one.

Alice had a longtime companion who was older than her. The companion did her best and they lived a good life. I knew it was trouble that day when Alice told me she was tired of it all. She wept and said she was sick of fighting, sick of being strong, sick of pretending everything was going to get better when she knew it was only going to be worse. She had just come home from a horrendous hospital stay in which 3 hell-nurses had sucked her hope away.

That of course is heresay. But Alice never lied to me about anything else and was always exceedingly kind and caring, even when her care was substandard. This last stay was different in some way. She had been vunerable for the first time in her life, in a way she was unused to, and these Nurses had gotten to her. They were trying to get her to do things for herself, telling her to get out of bed and do it herself. They told Alice over and over that she was capable.

A woman of such immense self-will, who had battled harder than most can imagine finally being tired and being rewarded with the "Do it yourself" routine. I have to tell you that even the dullest care-giver could tell at a glance that Alice had some huge problems to overcome. Her limbs were twisted and her body was bloated from kidney failure. Of course she could do it herself when she was well, but damnit she had not been well in years. And yet she HAD done it herself, day in and day out, getting only minimal support.

Alice thanked me when I left for listening. She asked me to pray for her. I heard two days later she was readmitted, hopefully not to the same floor. She passed on within a few days.

Alice, I know you are free now. I could never do what you did. I am not that gracious.
I know I did all I could for you, but I wish it was more and better.

This one hurts.
Farewell to another warrior.

A Swell Dame

It is another sad farewell. A person in their 90's passing on is not unexpected, yet in some instances it is quite too soon none-the-less. My dear client just departed was so very alive. She had a life-force you could feel.

When I met this woman, it came about in conversation, that I had grown up 2 blocks away from her home. She knew who my family were, all the Aunts and Uncles. We lived in *Shannon* district in Vancouver; just up from Marpole. Four of my close relatives lived in a 3 block area, one just across the street from where my client lived. Back in those years, *Shannon* was not the inner-city next to the Granville freeway, it was quaint and lovely with tree-lined streets. The neighbours were all long-time residents and people mostly all got along with each other. We knew the names of everyone on our street, both sides long, and they knew us.

"Carrie" had been married and widowed by the age of 35. She was an only child and had no children of her own. Once widowed, her father began to worry about her future. Carrie was comfortably well-off even before her husband's estate was settled on her. She did not work of course, but she did the rounds of Country Clubs and golf courses. She was the life of any party, and a grand hostess. A swell dame.

Under pressure from her Father she did indeed remarry in her late 40's. There were children from a prior marriage, but that did not bother her. Until later. When husband number 2 died, he wrote his will in an ambiguous way which, under legal (very expensive legal) scrutiny, left half of everything Carrie owned to his children. Half of everything Carrie had possession of, half of all she had inherited from her first husband and her father, was legally bequested to these children of his who wished immediate dispersal. They got some cash out of her and a legal promise for half of the proceeds of the sale of her home when at last she would sell.

Carrie had no plans to sell and continued to live on happily until she was declared legally blind.
Suddenly she was visited by a Doctor she did not know in her own home. Not many weeks later she was informed she was incompetent to make her own decisions and her home was put on the market and sold in record time. Her large Art collection contained many family pieces. Some of them were large sculptures.

What did not sell at auction for a song, went to her step-kids, against her wishes. A few cracked sculptures came along with her to the small 2 bedroom apartment in assisted living chosen for her. This was a huge change from her 4000 square foot home, and she was mad as hell for about a year. She told everyone who had ears to make sure to make their wills with caution.

Carrie did settle in eventually to live another 3 years in that place. She brought elegance and happiness and endeared herself to all. She was a great friend and a charming companion and enriched the life and soul of the place. Carrie is not replaceable. It is a terrible loss.

Her obituary somehow did not manage to catch her joy and spirit. It had several lines duly chronicling in black and white those step-relatives of hers. I am certain they believe they did what was right and proper under trying circumstance. No doubt they are congratulating themselves on a job well done as she lived on much longer than expected.

SO: listen to Carrie. Be sure to make a Will, an iron-clad will before you re-marry, and choose your Power of Attorney with great care. It may seem trivial at the time, but as years go on, the entitled need to be protected against. You think you won't care, but in my experience, most people care deeply.

Farewell Carrie, you were a swell.

I got *clean teeth*

Somehow, in my brain, that title is being sung to the Pointer Sister's "Steam Heat" melody line.
My teeth are spectacularly clean. They look fabulous, and feel even better. So I have to wear a retainer that makes me gag... bfd. It's worth it. They look good and I feel great. No more jawa cramping or painful nerve pain shooting behind my eye. It is all good.

I am over my bad-show-itis. Like an olde skin, I have shed it. Of course returning to my staid normalcy and work-a-4-day-week world helps oodles. It is good to be love-d. And you know what? My clients appreciate and love me. It floats my boat. I like feeling needed. I like working at something meaningful. (Even if I do dream about appraising at least once a week in full detail)
I also dream about being on stage at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver. Sometimes I even dream about being on Network television. Oh there it is. My guilty secret out.

It is a source of deep and lasting bliss to me that when Hollywood came a-calling, I had the sense to say no. I can still see the guy from Paramount Pictures in my mind. Not many people say no I suppose. If I had said yes, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind I would be deceased. Or worse: world-famous with a huge addiction problem.

I dream it though. Heh.
For today, my clean teeth are my everything.
It is well with my soul.

Should have, could have, would have

It is called INTUITION for a reason. Sadly, mine was correct.

I sucked at the show. I mean, I really sucked. It surprised me, as I am usually spot on.
I even had some shakes goin on. ( !! )

I arrived 35 mins before show because of another committment. When I walked in to a full house, I realised I had gotten the time wrong. It was 5 minutes to show. *Five*

The Stage Manager did not have a mic for me set up. "Öh, do you need one?"
--ya think?
Anyway I sucked. Gave my cribs to someone else for the later performance.
Apparantly he did NOT suck. Thats great. My day is done.

Perhaps I won't do the little theatre gig this summer.
It's been awhile since I did a bad job. I wasnt totally bad, but noticably not good.
---bleh
We all have bad shows. Like bad days they are best forgotten.

Show tomorrow...

I am uncharacteristically nervous. I love the stage and the stage loves me. I know it will go well and noone really cares about the things that I stay up obsessing about.... as in which of my many seemingly casually off the cuff remarks to trot out when the sound guys miscue or someone forgets a costume and I have to *do the blah blah* for a few...

Could be all this buggery ailing about has me down. Still not quite right although much better. I never did get the hearing back in that ear fully, and my energy is not what I would like but I am most assuredly better. My immune system needs a good shot of HEALTH points.

Tomorrow I get the G- Rated crowd as I opted for an afternoon gig.
Gramas and mommies and kiddos.
God help ém.

There is some kind of party tomorrow night but I am going to give it a miss.
I cannot afford to take any chances at the moment. And bugger it all I cannot even sip a drink.
All these damned chemicals swirling about inside me.
*The no-fun* version of me.

Okay I actually have somethings to say but I am too tired.
Heh.

Send good energies.

Shiny things

Believe it or not, after 7 years of blogging it all out loud, ranting and raging and spitting into the wind, I am jest about talk-ed out.

That's right you heard me.... talk-ed out!

I deleted the old blog in a moment of unclear on the concept, but this one is going to stick around.
Likely I will start posting about my beloved shinies.
The things I cannot change continue on. New day, same old shit, and being shit I need to flush it.

I can't change the world, only my own mind. I try to be kind every day and share joy.
I live in hope that all the good people are doing likewise and better, and thus the world is improved. Actions are imperative. Talk is cheap.

So - shiny things! Let's hear it for Shiny Things.
Shiny, glittery, loverly things.

Todays shiny thing is the curtain on my wall. I have no idea what the symbol means.
But its cool.
My thinking regarding symbols is that they mean whatever you imbue them with.
--- posting picture later when I get batteries for digicam

Hard times, soft people

IF you have never experienced a moment un-copable, if you have never been touched by the hand of fate in a withering manner, then you cannot possibly empathsize with those in crisis invisible -- the warriors of the unseen, the shadows of the mind.

During my walk-a-bouts, I frequently run into people who I met when I volunteered at the Street level Mental Health Centre. This group of people has the highest rate of loss of any group I know, including my elderly clients. The ones who wink out, or flash by tend to be in their 30s, or 40s.

It was sad news to hear that yet another of the folk I bonded with during my 2 year sojourn is gone to a heroin overdose. Damnitall people, HEROIN HATES YOU!

I would like to think this was an accidental overdose. Like last time it was an accidental fall from a cliff. And before that an accidental carbon monoxide poisoning.... and on and on and on.
The system is broke. And noone with power, authority and money is taking responsibility and trying to make it right. We need a Mike Holmes of Mental Health.

Years ago after my volunteer stint I applied for a job at this *place* and was told that they perceived my skills to be in the social realm of things. This, evidentally, was not in the job criteria. But they would be delighted if I continued to volunteer. I hate to say it but something my ex said to me rang in my mind:
"Even Jesus had to eat."

Yes, I am retired from the BIG LIFE of olde. No, I am not independantly wealthy.
I require income.

All these losses make me sad. The 3am of the soul came hard for each of these folk.
I understand. And after a week on heavy doses of codeine, I understand very well.
Opiates of any description or strength do not agree with me. Oh they take the pain away....
but they make me exist in a twilight of terror.

Getting close to 2 years since Mad Bee Maddie took her life.
I saw her former lover today - (sigh)

Why is life so hard on the young?
Why do fragile people find little strength from friends and community?

I try not to take it all on. Good thing I did not get the job at the Mental Health centre.
It would have challenged my every boundary.

Still human,...... sigh. Currently decidely human.

Faithful friends

Thinking this is a post about you?
Naaaaaaaah.

This is a post about my faithful friend who loves me no matter what I think say or do.
He just loves me. He is faithful and kind and most of all loyal and true.
He never criticizes or chides, he always greets me with affection and happiness and I love him to bits!

Yes, my doggie-boy who sees me through good times and bad.
During my baaaad codeine moments, he jumps up and reminds me I am, to him, fine, just fine.

What's not to love?

Another Warrior felled

Sometimes the strongest warriors are the gentle ones.

A year ago, this lovely man, looking transluscent, shook my hand and looked into my eyes and thanked me for taking time on a morning to sit down with him and chat. He was critically ill and already past the day when it was expected he would join the choir invisible.

This week I had the sad news that the gentle warrior went on to other realms.
Kendall was his name, and he was a friend of mine. He used to come for the Friday morning breakfast club at the local A & W when he was well enough. His cancer was slow and insidious, but it never ever triumphed over him. He was a man who lived and died with cancer, but not of cancer.

This quote is for you, Sir Kendall:

"Though my soul may set in darkness it will rise in perfect light, I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." -- (Sarah Williams)

Weird dreams

I remembered to write down some keywords from a very vivid and strange dream.
Believe it or not I was dreaming about the Empress of Blandings .. ( yes, yes I know, stranger than strange)
Okay, so I consult the paper that I jotted down keywords, thinking I would remember everything....
The list reads:
" Empress, Jello, pool, 6th husband"

Uhm, okay....
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Antibiotics finally got my immune system to reboot. I feel alot better altho I am still completely deaf in my left ear which is still feeling *full*. The mass on my jaw is loosening. My teeth, although still sensitive are tolerable. THANK YOU GOD!


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A good score for me. 75th anniversary edition of *Dracula* starring Bela Lugosi.
I have a soft spot for Lugosi thanks to Nightmare Theatre (late nite highschool tv on a friday night), Chris Houston's rant about Bela Lugosi being *buried beside my record company* ("I aint losing it" on the Evil Twang "War of the Dudes" early 90's release. Or was it 89?
----and----- of course from my Goth days, or is that my poseur days? or hmm, just like listening to deep voices intoning melodious atmospheric music days, BAUHAUS
I still love that damned song.

Don't tell ye olde thrift shoppe but my jeweller training allowed me to buy a hollow gold bracelet. $6.99 Hell yeah. Not as good as the day I found a 60 pt VVS2 diamond earring there in a platinum setting for $2.99 but still very satisfying.

While at the Sally Ann, the very nice clerk laughed when I commented on my usual gleanings of shiny things and candles... I spotted a key chain under glass for 50 cents, It was a pester crown with three charms hanging down; a tiny crown, a VW bug style charm and an elongated shoe. The key chain was engraved in large letters - QUEEN OF THE ROAD.

The only way it could have been better was if it was either queen of the fucking road or queen of the whole damned road. As I asked her to include it in my booty haul, and made my shiny thing comment, she laughed and said loudly:

" I see. I want. And I shall not be denied."

ok, uhm yeah. Busted.

*Sleepsies

Thank goodness I laundered my linens today.
Tonight's sleep is something I am anticipating with great delight. Not that I exerted myself with serious work or workouts.... just the weather breaking. At long last!

I am a person who possesses the genes of a Nordic dweller; someone North of 60. Alas I live smack dab on 49. The last week has been very humid as well as hot. During the nights I have awakened absolutely covered in sweat. Oddly enough for such a well known hedonist, I find it difficult to sleep naked. A throwback to my prudish upbringing when the sight of even panties where verboten, I find even in the hot hot heat, pajamas or some kind of nighttime outfit necessary.

The Price of Paradise Shared

It breaks my heart to see the changes in my Paradise. I know the Island was all logged out once in this area but even second growth forests are still forests with little ecosystems. We have alot more wildlife wandering around in stupors as their habitant is destroyed.

This last while, a very large acreage near the resort downtown was clearcut. It is now for sale as single acre lots for development. People are coming here for the lifestyle that is rapidly being lost. Never mind that our infrastructure can barely support the huge influx we have already had. Now we are trying to triple it seems.

Here is an object lesson.

An Affirmation most welcome

She was sound asleep when I arrived. I tried to be quiet but it just isn't in me. Mornings are for enjoying! LAAAAAH!!! WELCOME DAYBREAK!

She opened one eye and stole a glance at me. She is very capable of pretending to be asleep if it suits her. She broke into a huge smile and said exhubertantly:

" Oh thank you - GOD IS GOOD!"

I love being loved.

G O D is G O O D