Dreams

I woke at 4 am .  A time I sometimes wake.  The pressure of bladder. The early morning pee. The memories.  Of dreams.  These were the finest.  A sense of mystery and adventure lingered. I’d been in that special place, a kind of Mediterranean harbour.  I was at a meeting and after a pretty older woman from my youth spoke to me.  She was not someone I’d remember, though I did. Not a confidant as such. But nonetheless a companion late at night after the guests had mostly gone and a few of us remained.  

Do you miss it? She asked.  I intuitively knew she was speaking of our shared past. High school and coming of age. 

I do.  I said.

Would you want to return.

No. I said with certainty.  

The future at that moment seemed bright. There were more adventures and insights to be had. I might even grasp the meaning of dreams. I would go forward into an unknown future. 

I awoke with that sense. The trust in God.  The feeling that all would be well.  The answers lie ahead not in the past.  

I did pick up a book and read about amends and God.  I don’t want to become lost in my own affairs but want to know what God has in store. 

A friend contacted me from the past and shared he’d relapsed after decades of sobriety, lived 8 hears of relapse and now returned to abstinence and the program. He is well off and a fine fellow. I was glad to communicate with him . There are several men who have spoken with me recently. One is hunting now in the interior while another shared that his partner is content to watch tv.  I often feel alone. My closest friend of sorts is now driving his dementing wife to visit her childhood friend of decades.  He is interested in his brother and we talk of cars and planes and dogs and cats. It’s an odd parallel universe we share. Each individual in his own way isolated but coming together.

I’m aware of my lack of children and brothers or sisters and parents. i see that others still have these close connections while I have more distant relatives. I reflect on my Aunt Sally.  We have so much in common though the truth be told I have so much in common with my deceased parents and deceased brothers, the friends I grew up with the neighbourhood children.  

Once I thought I was unique but the differences really are minute. This biggest one seems to me the lack of children. Yet it could be my being a psychiatrist or as easily my being a ships captain as well. I mostly think of my difference in my poly sexuality, the range of relationship I’ve had, marriages, heterosexuality, homosexuality, Tran sexuality.  I think this even as in ways the whole sexual nature of self ebbs and retreats.  I miss the friend called passion but welcome the friend called patience.  These aspects of character come and ago like moods almost.  There’s a stead search and discovery that pulls me forward.  A desire for seeing around the next corner.  What lies just over that hill. What is in that forest. What is this harbour like.

Of course I’m afraid of strangers. I’m human but there’s God.  Anxiety is a measure of one’s distance from God though equally a measure of one’s humanity.  I have a loving God of my understanding.  The key is love and the realization that no matter what, as Phillips says, my God is still too small.  I must expand my heart to embrace the depths and breadth of love but I’m selfish and tired. I’ve served my life helping others and helping my self. I wonder about my struggles with money.  Alone I’ve managed but with women in my life I’ve lost. Would I have lost more alone. I fear that others are more capable financially and feel s twinge of envy or jealousy as I see their wealth. But then I turn to gratitude and feel blessed to quote a hackney phrase, beyond my wildest dreams

Of course I want to be an astronaut.  I want to go to outer space . I want to explore different galaxies and planets. But there as much intrigue in a new cafe on the street.  I don’t want to visit monsters. I fear I want ‘senstation’, the great kahunna, the consumer sense of the taste of omniscience. I am as the zen master says, a westerner, a product of this time and society, a spiritual consumer.

I’m reading A gentleman in Moscow and aaware of the fear and evil of communism encroaching on this space , much as Jesus was tempted by the Devil.  I say ‘Thy Will Be Done’ but then imagine crucifixion and Joan of Arc.  What if Thy Will Be Done means immense reward and comfort and indeed heaven on earth rather than some Steven King like challenge. 

I have had my peanut butter and jam sandwich . It’s the thing of late night wakefulness. At the same time I’m trying to lose the weight about my middle that comes from sitting at a desk and not doing enough exercise. The problem is watching tv as that’s when I’m most prone to snack. These late night indulgences are a bit of heaven.  I sleep well after this snack.  I look forward to the morning coffee too.  I’ve a meeting today and some work to do but the big decision is whether to buy a new iPhone which will be launched tomorrow. I’ve a plan to drop off laundry and continue to at least look at the new device which my work depends on. My source of adventure is in learning new apps and transferring the old to the new.  I have the cloud to consider.  So much of my past is in the local hard drives and memories while more and more I trust this ethereal space called the ‘cloud’.  

My patients are faced with dementia, others with death and I’m muddling forward wondering whether to face old age in a pair of trousers or trews or a dress.  I really am grateful. My challenges and demons or blessings are almost humorous in comparison to what they could be.  I hank you God for the revelry. Thank you Jesus. 

Sunday October

We had the first rain this week after this endless summer of fall. They used to call it ‘Indian’ summer but that might be deemed racist. Everyone is afraid to speak except the language bullies. Comedians are sued in wee hour night clubs. There is always someon looking for offence. Now the lawyers and politicians the most offensive of the species are cashing in on the victim wannabes. 

Let’s just say I loved the sun and faced the rain, the clouds, and drop in temperature with some anxiety. I began to ache in joints with the change in barometric pressure. They call this the ‘flu season’ and I’ve a flu and Covid vaccination scheduled for tomorrow. I’m looking forward to desert heat the weeks vacation in November to raise my Vitamin D levels to survive the winter.

With the restrictions of Covid I was too much indoors. Dr Nocebo Fauci and others were threatening death to all. Repent! Repent! Everyone was depressed. I’ve been the complaints department for life. This last year the mental illness became infectious as mor and more were hurt by government mismanagement and corruption. We are now facing massive inflation and outrageous energy costs. All of my marginal patients are suffering as the middle class is squeezed.

I like my work. I serve doing virtual, making diagnosis suggesting treatment, making referrals and initiating investigations. I don’t feels the need to take on the most challenging or cure the incurable. I did years of that, pleased myself with exceptional outcomes but seeing no one cared if one person complained. I was popular i high school. Mediocrity is the key. I muddle on now. I liked my colleague who asked if he was going to retire answered he’d work as long as he can. I’m enjoying working. There’s no alternative for patients. There are such shortages. So many waited a year or two to find me and so many were orphaned when others retired. The healthcare system is broken.

I like making money to pay off the mortgage on my home. I could sell my sailboat and pay the mortgage off but as it is each year it lessens and my savings increase. I suspect if I took a few months or a year off I’d again find work that satisfied but why as now I’m happy doing what I’m doing taking this month ‘workcation’ in the south, muddling along.

I like that I’ll be cross dressing as a challenge. I did a week like this in Germany and Greece. And enjoyed the ‘carefree’ experience of au femme.

When I think of sex change I am uncertain as without the stress of living in Vancouver and Canada with world wars and threats and inflation I might just be satisfied to be in Mexico retired in shorts and t shirts or a sarong. I weary of the heavy clothes of winter. I like to no longer imitate the hollow men of boardrooms, wearing the greys so favoured by government and administration, I miss the playfulness of my youth in theatre and dance. I miss the music. I may just not be aging gracefully.

If Laura wasn’t working I’d travel with her and Madigan around North America with RV or Camper. I’m thinking that a trip with just the camper to central and South America would be an adventure. I’d thought to sail there but now imagine travel with just truck and camper and Vespa would be a great adventure. Maybe just with Madigan as Laura might find Central and South America to foreign. I think of friends who did it on motorcycle. I would lock up the big home. I can’t envision the truck and camper and motorcycle.

What to do till the Messiah comes?

I am so grateful for the life I have today. Such blessings. A miracle.

I printed some fifty pages of the books I’m working on and can see what is needed but I’m more focused on what needs to be done before I leave.

It’s been hunting season and most is on hold during that time. I’ve been out tenting and in a motel but without the camper and with back pain and less pressure to shoot big game I’ve done enough. I shot a dozen or so grouse. Last night Madigan and I enjoyed three of them I fried in butter with curry and cumin serving them on rice. A delicious treat. I’ve enjoyed barbecuing but in December May return to making more stews and soups. In Arizona staying in a hotel I hope to lose weight with less snacking at night. I’ll be doing more than I would here. 

I pray and meditate each day. God is all. I try to focus on the good. My mind is quick to catastrophize and often I have intrussive thoughts of old traumas, betrays, injustice, the manure that was needed for the flowers to bloom in my life today.

I love the peace of mind I know for times and love that I can use the tools to stop me sucking in the tit of despair. 

I wake with back ache and am much improved with the chiropractic treatment of Dr Ready yesterday but then think it’s metastatic invasive cancer and I’ll die because I’ve not had good health care while striving to provide the best. I miss George and am striving to trust Minos and Lydia. I don’t have anything wrong with me but lack of stretching and traumatic arthritis in my lumbar spine. I’m having wear and tear of old age. But I see everything as psychosomatic and feel the pain is the back stabbing and betray I took in relationships and medicine. But there it is, self pity. I love that the defective thinking of alcoholism describes alcohol, the demon of drink as ‘cunning, baffling, powerful’. Pain is that which you can say in no other way. Pain is anger turned inward. Yet sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

I believe the dessert with help my spine. I have applied to do tai chi when I come back I’m swimming each week. There is more I can do. I need to lose at east 20 pounds or more. I need a new couch

Covid worried me. I got TB as a fly in doctor serving the natives in the north. I had a year of medication and my hearing was affected. I have had so many episodes of bronchitis and pneumonia having smoke tobacco and cannabis for a decade in varying degrees. I know pneumonia is the old man’s friend but I want to live. I am enjoying life now and seeing the reward in the working in the south.

I loved this year going with Laura to Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Oxford, London and Paris. I loved the museums and shows. We had such wonder visiting the Scottish Gallery, the Ashmolean Museum, the British Museum and National Gallery in London, the Louvre in Paris and especially the Musee ‘Orsay.

The summer was fine but the high light was tenting the Ace Hotel in Princeton with Laura hunting more grouse with Madigan meeting up with the Bustards.

I really enjoyed the symphony especially with Colonel Hadfield.

Life is good. God is good. My back has improved immensely with Dr. Ready. I walk a half hour or so 3 or 4 times a day with Madigan. Now Kelvin from Travco is installing my new awning with his son Brian.

My Ford F-350 is at Coastal Ford getting two new tires. It also needs a fog light replaced when they get the part this winter.

I do laundry make meals, have the luxury of a cleaning lady each month after several years without.

World politics continues concerning with Trudeau in Ottawa. I met Pierre Poilievre and he won the Conservative leadership.

Putin’s Russian invasion of Ukraine continues but the west has some wins and Taiwa has continues to resist invasion by Communist China who did invade Hong Kong and begin another reign of terror. There are riots in Iran and girls being murdered  by the regime. Inflation is world wide .

I try to avoid the news and media. I’ve been focusing on being present and thought blocking negativity by prayer and affirmation. 

I am happy and at times even joyful. 

I have this Sunday. I thought to go to St. Barnabus Anglican Church this week as I had last week but slept in. That was good  as Kelvin from Travco came and installed the awning. 

Madigan has found this very exciting. He’s been enjoying playing fetch and at times will even throw the ball in the air himself and chase it.

The sun came out and the clouds open to intermittent blue sky.

I’ve no real plans or demands and have the rest of this day before me. Life is good.

Thank you God. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Holy Spirit.

Jacks place

Kelvin of Travco and his son Brian

Grouse dinner

Leaves of autumn

Burnaby Rain

When I first came to the West Coast as an adult, I stayed in Burnaby.  The magnificent hues of rich green foliage, shrubs and grass amazed me.  Canada’s rain forest.
Today I remembered that as I heard the heavy rain falling on my roof. I pushed the button that extended the awnings on my home and a deluge of water poured off. It had  been trapped in the folds.
I turned on the electric fire feeling the warmth challenging the chill. I'd left the outside door open with only the screen door to keep the cat and dog from escaping.  I lit a lavender incense stick enjoying the rich fragrance as it joined the heat.
Then I brewed some Sambucca tea and  poured the rich exotic elixir into an elegant grey and white tea cup . I added a dab of honey and savoured the fragrance as I swallowed the sensuous creation.   It reminded me England, the time I lived there,  My latest memory was of Ireland. I always think of Britain when I have tea.
I was putting pictures up that I’d previously had up in my office, before it closed. Cherished photos, etchings, paintings and engravings.  So many memories.  Oxford, Singapore, Saipan, Scotland, Ireland, St. Petersburg, Mexico, the SV GIRI.  I couldn’t decide. How high, where. Holding the St. George engraving my friend George came to mind.  I had to sit. Each picture holds a favoured memory.  I found I couldn’t even decide the placement of the cross I’d brought back from Rome.  Jesus.
I thought how I’d once imagined myself this old, smoking a pipe, drinking Irish whiskey, sitting in an old house with a fireplace and writing desk, looking out on a forest scene and lake or sea. Now I’m lightening up, giving stuff away. I don’t even smoke or drink anymore.  I’d rather wear a skirt than sport a moustache or beard.  I especially like a cup of tea.
So often the rain was an enemy at sea, obscuring vision, making the deck treacherous, my glasses fogged, the north Pacific seas in winter,  rain  freezing on the rigging.  I didn’t like it either motorcycling year round , squinting into the face hurting sleet praying my tires would maintain their grip, hoping the distracted signal impaired Vancouver drivers would see me.
Here in Burnaby the plants thrive and literally sing in the rain.  They are alll a glow with new found wonder. This is their time. This is their season.  I can’t pout in face of such celebration.
However, I can’t say it sounds like pitter patter. Heavier.  Like an invasion of Lilliputian paratroopers.  I fear for my roof.  The water seeks to get in everywhere.  The soldiers who’d been to Afghan told me the sand was like that.  Invasive.  I’ve always associated sand with vacations.  I first met this Burnaby rain on vacation.  I imagine that’s why I like it so much better than Vancouver rain and work rain.  So often I ‘ve fought the rain to get to work.
Here I can sit in the warmth of my home looking out my window at the magnificent forest sipping my delicious tea as I thank God for all the wonders of sights and sound, and smell and taste. I am especially thankful for this weekend.   I am  waiting for my friend. She’ll help me hang things.  She’s wise that way.
And luscious like the foliage.  And tasteful as the honeyed tea.
We have dinner and a movie planned.  After hanging memories.
She reminded me to get the pop corn and I did.
What a wonderful way to enjoy a Burnaby rain.
Indoors, curled up on the couch together, with the dog and the cat.