Glued to the monitor this morning as the news comes around the realms and the commonwealth that our Queen is dead. I am so sad. Her picture hung in my grandparent's living room when I was a child, and I have always been enchanted by the Royals, as are most Canadians, since she was our queen too.
A sad day indeed. A spirited, fighting lady to the absolute end.
I tossed on my old Billabong sandals to go to Batman's last night. It's a long walk but a pretty one and frankly it's the time of year when my feet are black perpetually and everyone starts complaining. A good scrub helps nothing and so I wear shoes now while I wait for the dirt to fade.
And the scars but wearing shoes honestly isn't going to help my heart look better. It's ruined and painted over, a pretty pink shade with a glossy finish. Good enough, they said, and pushed me back out into the world.
I made it through the evening, dinner, the movie (did not stay awake but it seemed pretty good) and then the walk home with Lochlan, who came for the end of the film and to collect me. Couldn't feel the ground the whole way home and then woke up with my foot throbbing painfully at four in the morning. Which, oh well, because my glasses are on Lochlan's night table, my phone is on Ben's, the actual medical magnifying glass we have is downstairs in the kit and the whole house is paused on silent.
I swallowed two Advil (I hope they were Advil) and went back to bed, looked at my foot in the morning and there was a bunch of little deep cuts in one spot where my heel begins. Fucking HURTS. I figured I dried them out on the sand, salt, water, lack of attention, whatever and then I threw on those flip flops again to go do some gardening and there's the pain again. I sat down and there was a sharp rock wedged in the sole of the shoe, poking right up into my foot. Black tusk after the mist clears.
It took me a pair of pliers and a half hour to get it out, only to have Lochlan throw the shoes away.
We'll get you decent shoes on the weekend.
Hell, no.
You're right. We should wait for it to get infected and then after they remove your whole leg we'll get you a scooter.
Can I ride a unicycle with one leg?
I highly doubt it.
No way to test that, I suppose.
Peanut!
What?
Better sandals. Not foam. Not a dozen years old. Take a little care.
Yes, Dad.
So how did last night actually go?
You should have been at dinner.
That good?
I don't know, man, the food was great but the scallops were the size of like...peas!
Huh. Must be a West coast thing.
Yeah. Must be.
Let me put something on that cut.
It's fine.
Peanut-
Okay, okay.
If we can get this dirt off. Your soles are brown.
Cut it with iodine.
You are feral. I think sometimes they're right.
Screeching in just in time for the sun to go down. I have a date with Batman in a few to watch Dune over dinner. He has promised Moscow mules and seafood fettuccine. My stomach has been growling for hours in anticipating of a late dinner but I am holding out because he said the magic words.
You know.
Scallops and vodka.
I hope Dune is good. I hope there is popcorn for after dinner so I can stay awake. I'm not very good at science fiction. Lochlan has said he may join us if he finishes working on his latest motorcycle project but he might just meet me at bedtime at home. None of us are moving very fast at the moment but at the same time we are all anxious for routine, or whatever semblance of that we entertain here.
I got my email back today too. They said at the end of the summer, right? Well that's here now and I blinked and missed most of it anyway. I'll get back on track.
See you tomorrow, and I promise I won't review the movie since it's been out forever already.
I am still vaguely sick and operating at maybe seventy percent of myself so my time sitting up online has been non-existent and my apologies for that, but who really would complain if they get to lie in bed and drink Aperol spritzes and hot blueberry tea and snooze under the plantation fans with the Poppia song from KCON 2022 playing on repeat?
Not I, said the spider to the fly.
Plus I have been conserving all of my energy. Today is the penultimate birthday dinner for Lochlan and Ruth (they opted to share their celebrations this year) and I am up and dressed and icing cakes and preparing the big garden table, hoping the rain holds off until after midnight tonight and it's nice. I have a lot of help and I sit down a lot and things are going well. Caleb still kisses way too rough, coffee tastes so bad now and someone gifted us at least a hundred scones and I have no freezer space left so that's all we've been eating for days and days now.
It's great.
I'll be back next week for dailies again. Life keeps changing. But the question is, did you miss me?
For the record I am sick and cranky and boy do I HATE the Tiny Dancer remake Britney/Elton thing. Hate it. It's awful. Like so bad. So pandering. So on-brand bullshit club vibe stupid ass dumb song I want to rip my face off when ever anyone mentions it. Tiny Dancer was a perfect song. A beautiful song. A song I adored. This Hold Me Closer duet is an abomination. If you need to dredge up a fifty year old song to remake to be relevant maybe rethink your career. Seriously. Fuck this.
Also for the record, Covid is not 'a mild cold'. It's the worst flu I ever had with bronchitis sprinkled on top. It's so bad. I am on day fourteen? Twelve? I don't know. I hate it. On the upside we are all recovering safely at home so that's good.
Eleventh hour announcement: No one is going to Burning Man.
It was an outside hope for me, a chance at a do-over, a logistical nightmare on the best day and an almost certainty for the crazy boy contingent here, led by the least crazy person I know (August) but somehow a pattern that has worked for a very long time. I think I've worked through my intense jealousy, now that I've been an almost died at it and I still wanted to go quite badly for whatever reason if maybe only to have a better time or not leave under medical duress, I guess.
Instead I can be here under medical duress.
We all have Covid. All of us. Every last one of us.
Ha.
I finished Keep Breathing. It was really good! It actually ended fairly strong and got very deep all in all, though honestly, well, gawd. The lead actor, Melissa Barrera was incredible skilled at her craft and never once put in a cringe-worthy moment, though as I said I questioned the writing a few times. The bear doesn't come back for the dead guy covered in blood, but the potential suitor AKA office-romance guy gets brickwalled time and time again and just aw-shucks climbs up higher.
Right.
I guess the whole thing is a big allegory for people doing what they want to do. Dad wants to protect his daughter from a flighty, absent mom. Mom wants to stay connected though she must be her free-spirit self. Office boyfriend is just enthusiastic about all of it (right or wrong) and Liv (main character) is determined to somehow heal her complete roster of childhood traumas by figuring out how to make a compass and then getting lucky with some well-placed falls into water or soft woodsy spots.
The flashbacks I hated at first finally fit together well enough that I enjoyed both the survival aspect and the human interest, well-lit moments leading up to it.
The only string they dropped was the bloodied meat bag showing up so many times to her psyche to warn her that someone would be looking for the money and then suddenly this...stopped being a concern? And also to everyone who said the location was the Cheakamus River, I beg to differ. I think some of it was at North Beach and Gold Creek. It would have been safer by a hundred times. And easier to film at.
But very well done. Worth the investment.
I hear there is a season 2. I hope it's the baby, all grown up but somehow I doubt it. What in the heck would they even do for it? Ohhh! The family with newborn could go on the run away from the guys looking for the money and figure out how to outsmart them with psychology and calming habits. It'll be great. I will watch.
Also as always the most useful thing you can carry with you for survival/EDC is a scarf. Never fucking fails! Tourniquet, gear-wrapper, flag, blanket, towel, washcloth, rope, pillow, sun protection, bandage, yada yada. I've been saying this for decades.
PJ, come fight me.
I am watching Keep Breathing on Netflix. It's a limited series that has been out for a hot minute so I'm not too worried about leaving spoilers for you. However I am two episodes in and I'm extremely concerned that the director (writer?) literally has a woman able to scare a bear away from a body that's been hemorrhaging blood for like two days, and the bear comes along, eats the power bars she rescued, takes a fat shit on the beach and lumbers away without the giant bleeding man that would have been such a tasty snack?
Righhhhhhht.
I will report back when I finish the series. There is so much wrong with it but it's also weirdly good.
Last night I took Ben to see Nazareth! We drove all the way out to the beginning of the Fraser Valley proper (same area I go for my blueberries and also there is a spooky Halloween farm out there every October or just a little further I guess) and found free parking and then got some cans of pop and hung back to see the band play. We caught the end of Honeymoon Suite which made me laugh. The juxtaposition of summer radio hits from Canada against the powerhouse of craziness that is Scottish hard rock was very strange.
Also I went in with a broken heart because I knew up front they would not be playing Crazy (A Suitable case for Treatment) which is my all-time favourite song by them, from the Heavy Metal Soundtrack for the movie that came out when I was nine and I hated the movie but the soundtrack might be my single desert-island album.
They played everything else, though and they rocked everyone's faces off. It was a beautiful warm night and I was sweating. Ben was nice and cool and really minded the lights from the stage as they whipped around in our eyes so we were so far in the peripherals by the time the show was over I think we were the first ones to leave the field.
But he talked about it the whole way home. So excited. Had such a chill time. He didn't need to sit, we leaned against one of the barricades for a tent and I noticed he moved his fingers when the leads took place, picking out the notes on an invisible full-moon air guitar and I smiled at nothing in the dark.
That was our date night and by the time I drove us home (HA. That isn't fun anymore. I have a crazy sideways astigmatism that gets worse every damn year now and night driving sucks so bad. It's like driving straight into a KiraiKira filter.) we were both exhausted and very sweaty and had a cold shower and then passed out cold, only for me to wake up like a rocket at eight because it's Monday and I am supposed to be doing things.
Ha.
Best show. Might have topped Paul McCartney if just for charm and smiles and effort.
Sitting with Dalton today while he gets some work done on his (tattoo) suit. It's ice-cold here so finally I can cool off as much as I would like, though I never feel cold-cold any more even sleeping with all the windows open and the fans on high and the AC on full blast until the white noise drowns me out and I am but a memory.
My Teflon Jesus is a rock. He doesn't say much while he's getting tattooed. He goes to a place inside his head but he likes to have company in the form of a hand to hold tightly and someone to be his advocate and remind him to eat and drink and breathe. I go and get smoothies for the whole group and come back with two trays stacked and a bag that contains bananas, baby carrots and a package of store-bought croissants and he inhales everything gratefully. And then I resume holding his hand and saying Hey TJ, breathe normally as I notice he holds it in his lungs deeply. Sometimes he is good to watch home videos on my phone with me but mostly his eyes are closed. Four more sessions of four or five hours each and he's done. Maybe three if he can manage.
So I wasn't in church today and that's fine. I think.