Happy Hour

A dog walking friend is always talking about "Happy Hour". Today she was saying her dog is getting fat from all the treats she gets at Happy Hour. She's an ex-American, so at Happy Hour she turns on the (American) news and has a drink. I think "Happy" is ironic these days and she can only stomach the news with a nice drink. I was saying to her that maybe I should try Happy Hour, and what time of day was that anyway? She said 4-ish, which is when I go for a walk in the woods with Hapi (a much more pleasant activity than watching to the news!), she said maybe I could take Hapi for a walk earlier, that is what she does.

So today I tried it. The weather today was beautiful, sunny blue skies and above (just barely) zero temperatures. Hapi and I went for our walk in the woods at 3 and were home by 4, I gave her half of her supper and poured myself a glass of wine. No news, just Beethoven on the CD player. I probably won't manage to do this every day, but today it was nice.

* * * * * * *

B is still in the hospital, her doctor told her it would be 2-6 weeks before she could leave. She heard 6 months and freaked out. I had taken 5 days off from visiting but the day I did visit was right after getting the bad news and she was being interviewed by a psychiatrist. Apparently she had been talking about killing herself.

Anonymous advice in the snow

On the bright side, she has a new roommate, S, and those two hit it off like a house afire. S insisted on having her bed moved right up beside B's bed, hardly room for a curtain between them. Turns out S is a friend of B's daughter. She has spina bifida and all sorts of disabilities and medical issues as a result, but very friendly and upbeat; hard to believe she has as many issues as she does to deal with.

The three of us yakked and laughed for a bit and then the shrink came to get B for further conversation, and S filled me in on B's reaction to the news from the doctor. Then she told me how she ended up in the hospital: fell in the bathroom, didn't have her emergency button on her and couldn't reach the phone, had to drag herself all the way out of her apartment into the hallway so another resident could see her and call for an ambulance. I am glad B has S for company, but I don't know how long S will be there. She thinks she broke her leg but nothing showed up in the X-rays so she's waiting for further tests.

Anonymous encouragement in the snow

I've decided I can only handle once-a-week visits to the hospital. I spent more than a week playing catch-up on all the stuff I wasn't doing because of physiotherapy, visiting B, and Hapi's various health issues, and yesterday was the first day that I sat down and thought, Okay, what shall I do now? I actually had an afternoon of Free Time!

I made a chocolate pudding cake, something I've been meaning to do for years and never quite got around to. I misread the recipe and put an extra tablespoon of cocoa in it, didn't hurt a bit! Maybe I'll read a book or knit something, or make another pudding cake. A friend told me her mother used to make something called Hasty Pudding that was almost exactly the same as my chocolate pudding cake, only caramel-flavoured with raisins. If I ever get tired of chocolate, I could try that!

One Out of Three Ain't Bad

(Three out of Three, plus The Dog)

This past week has been perfect winter weather, it has warmed up but there is still snow on the ground, there's no wind to speak of and the snow has been cleared off the long pond for skating. Supposed to get a lot of rain on Sunday so I don't know how long this will last. Yesterday Hapi and I went for a long walk in the Acadia woods and my youngest son called my cell phone, so we chatted while I walked. Hapi used to be his dog.

Things are going very well for him now, he has several projects on the go and they are all looking promising. The best one is his new girlfriend. He is in his forties now and has never had much luck with women. I can remember telling him when he was in early 20s that if he was still single by the time he reached his 40s he'd be in big demand, and that turns out to be more or less true. That's how it went with one of my brothers, he didn't meet his current partner until his mid-forties, after many years of not being quite good enough. Anyway, my son has a couple of other projects happening and they are turning out well too. He moved from the west coast to Ontario and this is his first experience since childhood of 'real' winter. It was nice to hear from a child who was doing well in life.

When I came out of the woods onto the road there were three young women walking towards us. They asked to pet Hapi and were oohing and aahing about how beautiful she was. My son was still on the line listening to this. When we parted ways he laughed and said he remembered when that used to happen all the time with Hiro, Hapi's brother.

* * * * * *

I visited a friend to drop off an application form she needed and to pick up some cheese her husband bought for me at Costco. We were talking about our various offspring and she told me a heartwarming story about one of her sons. She said, "One out of three ain't bad!" I told her some stuff another dogwalker told me, she also has three offspring and two are not doing well. I never hear about the third one, The Good Daughter. We both laughed and said, "One out of three ain't bad!"

* * * * * *

B is still alive and still in the hospital. She is a lousy patient. I was visiting her every other day but that became exhausting and very depressing so I dialled it back to twice a week. Still exhausting and depressing. Last night I googled "pity party" and thought, Yup, that's what we have going on here. She told me that her son F couldn't visit every night any more because he didn't have enough money for gas. I called him and said I'd loan him the money but he said he only told her that because he didn't want to go every single night. They moved her to another room, she no longer has a window and there's a woman with dementia in the bed across from her. I think they moved her because she was disturbing the other patients in the room she used to be in.

F says the doctor told him she won't be moving to a nursing home for 2-3 months. There's a bed waiting for her but she's not well enough to leave the hospital. I suspect they don't want to move her while she is in such a foul mood because they don't want her disturbing the other nursing home residents. She is not nice to be around. I know she's dying, I know she's very uncomfortable and can't sleep. She has to drinked thickened liquids and eat pureed food and hates it with a passion. She tells me terrible stories of being abused by the night nurses. F says to take everything she says with a big grain of salt, she's not in her right mind. Listening to a constant stream of complaints and nasty gossip about the nurses and orderlies is distressing. I may be some kind of naive Pollyanna but I just can't take that anymore. Beginning to see why F and I are the only people visiting her and we are both secretly trying to figure out how to reduce our time with her.

* * * * * *

Yesterday I walked by the skating pond with Hapi and another dog walker. I was admiring how beautiful it was. The other dog walker said I should take Hapi home and come back with my skates. I sighed and said I couldn't, that today was a day to go visit B. I thought about that last night, I don't think I am doing anyone any favours not going skating. Today is Friday and it's going to rain on Sunday and who knows what the ice will be like after that…

Bruce MacKinnon sums it up

Halifax Chronicle Herald, Jan. 11, 2020

Nope

I spoke too soon, she's dying. Her GP is amazed she made it through the night (last night); I don't know if she'll be with us tomorrow morning. I went to see her this afternoon, it was very bad. She's only semi-lucid. She recognized me, but only just. At least her doctor, not the Emerge doctor who admitted her but her GP, realizes she's not demented. But it doesn't matter anymore. She has been living with a few serious chronic conditions but now the diagnosis is congestive heart failure. She's on oxygen but it really doesn't make much difference now. She's quite miserable and uncomfortable, she wants to go home. Nobody has told her that she is dying.

I showed her some pictures of Hapi, she liked that. She wished I could bring Hapi in but of course that's out of the question. She's by a window but it faces onto a courtyard that I can't get into with a dog. F said he had me on the list of people the nurses will talk to on the phone about her but he wouldn't put B's sister or brother on the list because he said they were mean to her and didn't deserve it.

Relief in sight

B's son F came by yesterday to do a minor repair on my car. I asked after his mother and he told me she was in the hospital. F spoke to the doctor who admitted her and asked him to please not allow her to sign herself out. The doctor assured F that wouldn't happen, that she was too sick to go home anymore. They plan to keep her there until a nursing home bed comes available.

F is relieved: "Now I can get some sleep!" Not only is B unable to sleep but anyone taking care of her cannot sleep either. After getting her admitted F went home to bed, but the hospital called him in the middle of the night for B's CPAP machine. F got up and delivered it; he said he didn't mind being woken up for that, knowing he could go back to bed afterward and sleep the rest of the night and into the morning without interruption. I feel relief too, I have been rather stressed by the whole situation.

The doctor said they were going to run a lot of tests on her to find out what is wrong and how to treat it. They are even going to test for dementia. That worries me a bit, if they decide she is demented what exactly will they do? I am pretty sure that is not her problem. The main symptom the doctor and nurses are seeing is extreme grumpiness. I think after months of difficult breathing and little sleep, coupled with financial difficulties and inability to get help from Social Services or our healthcare system, I'd be pretty darn grumpy too.

But overall I am glad she is in the hospital and not coming out until they get her into a nursing home. I think that is where she needs to be, let's hope the next available nursing home is not too far away (the rules say up to 100 km away is allowable). If you go to the hospital in an ambulance you jump to the head of the queue in Emerge; and if you are already in the hospital when you need a nursing home bed then you jump to the head of that queue too.

Hurrah for January

Yippee! It's January! I know I am supposed to make some new year's resolutions, or goals for the coming year or something like that, but I am so happy that December is now A Thing Of The Past that all I really want to do is wallow in that pleasure. It's over. I am happy. I just had a cup of tea reclined in my lounger reading The New Yorker. I am way behind in my reading so this is only the December 2nd issue, but it is rather nice to read about what made headlines in December knowing that they are now a thing of the past.

Last night I went for supper and card games at a neighbour's place. The weather was truly crappy but knowing that I did not have far to travel to get home made me feel quite secure. Of the seven women—myself included—I knew only three others and I think that was true for most of us, except our host who presumably knew us all otherwise why did she invite us? It was interesting to engage in conversation with women you knew and didn't know. When the conversation turned to cats I was bored (not a cat lover), and when it went to dogs no doubt the cat lovers were bored. But we all put on interested faces. None of us were born here and two of the women currently live in Alberta and the NWT. A bunch of us grew up in Ontario and one woman hails from Switzerland. Three women were sisters living in different parts of the country and enjoying an annual reunion. None of the sisters ever married or had children, they are known in their family as The Three Aunts and are apparently quite popular amongst the nieces and nephews.

One woman came in the throes of a cold, which I didn't realize until some time after I sat down beside her at the dinner table. At first I hoped it was just an allergy but eventually she confessed to feeling rotten and left the party muttering about wishing she were dead. Oh joy. But the food was excellent, and the rest of us managed to hang in there until midnight when the champagne was poured and we toasted the new year. These days staying awake that long is an accomplishment! Today I am dosing myself with vitamin C and Oil of Oregano (my go-to respiratory infection preventative).

A couple of days ago I got an email from my walking group saying that we would be walking at the Reservoir on New Year's Day. I wrote to our leader advising that the trails there were icy and maybe he could suggest to the group to bring ice grippers. He did not. This morning Hapi and I went early and walked a bit on the ravine bike trails before meeting the group near the ponds. Half of them did not have ice grippers, including the leader. 

I asked him if he got my email and he looked stunned. Yes, he got it but he didn't recognize my (new) name so he disregarded it! I stared at him. You ignored it because you didn't recognize my name? He said that he didn't recognize the name and thought whoever it was probably didn't know what they were talking about. If he had known it was me of course he would have relayed the information to everyone else. I rolled my eyes at him and suggested that perhaps next time he ought not to be so judgmental. 

The walk was cut off early because half the walkers were having a lot of difficulty with the ice without ice grippers. Hapi and I stayed on to walk with our eldest dogwalker (93 years old) who was fully equipped with ice grippers and ski poles. We laughed about it.

On the sad news front, one of the regular dogs has been diagnosed with what Hiro died of. His owner will bring him to the Reservoir as long as he is able, but his days are numbered. Already he is refusing to eat. He is one of my favourites, I tell people he is a cross between Ferdinand the Bull and Eeyore. Very sweet dog.

Magic

All day yesterday I was thinking about Magic. I get all nostalgic for the Christmas of my childhood but usually not until Christmas Eve. The realities of the commercial celebration of Christmas drown out any thoughts or feelings about Magic, but on Christmas Eve things have settled down—relatively speaking—and it's a lot easier to let other thoughts in.

For many people—myself included—Christmas is a travesty. Some turn to Solstice celebrations as an alternative but I have never warmed up to that one, somehow celebrating the return of the sun at the beginning of winter just seems wrong. In this latitude we have several months of very long cold nights ahead of us before the return of the sun becomes noticeable. Winter in the Maritimes can be quite horrible, what with blizzards, power outages, and bitter winds. The return of the sun just seems like a nasty joke at this time of year. Maybe in March...

On Christmas Eve I remember how I felt about Christmas as a child. When you are really young and gullible you believe in Santa Claus bringing you the toys and gifts you long for, in the whole Nativity story with its angels and bright stars guiding wise men to the birth of a Holy Child. The Holy Child.

The Santa Claus story gets dropped first, at some point you realize it is just make-belief perpetrated by adults. You pretend you believe anyways because there are hoped-for gifts involved. But the Nativity story stays with you longer because even adults seem to believe in that one. And it is a magical event full of joy and wonder. 

The only other Christian Holy Day that comes anywhere close is Easter, but that is tinged with betrayal, horror and despair. Adults give you the story of the Easter Bunny to make up for all that but like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny is exposed as a fraud pretty early. The gifts that the Easter Bunny brings pale in comparison to the gifts of Santa Claus. 

For me, Christmas and Easter are the only times that Magic becomes real, the bright and dark sides of Magic. I think of it as a whole other world that briefly touches our world of reality and cold hard facts at those times. So on Christmas Eve, I think about and feel the bright joyful side of Magic. It is close enough to touch. On Christmas Day it spins out and away, not to return until Good Friday in its darkest form of death and sadness, but Christmas Eve is a time of awe and deepfelt joy. 

Last night I kept going outside to listen for the harness bells of Santa's magical reindeer-drawn sleigh. As a child I convinced myself that I really could hear Santa's sleigh, so I continue to listen for that even in old age. I looked for Betelgeuse but it was a cloudy night and I didn't see it. I have heard that Betelgeuse has dimmed in preparation for going supernova and I would like to see that for myself.

Pre-Christmas newsletter...

It's been a good news/bad news kind of week, but I guess that's normal for this time of year. Going shopping for the necessaries is torturous due to all of the seasonal gift shoppers out and about. I have kept my own gift shopping minimal; in one short hour I went on Amazon to pick out five gifts—four for grandchildren and one for a distant terminally ill long time friend—and had them gift wrapped and shipped to various parts of the country. Sons and their wives will get Amazon gift certificates on the 24th. Easy-peasy if a little ethically compromised. I'd just as soon skip the whole thing but right now might not be the time for it. Maybe next year…

Hapi is cruising along uneventfully, her limp comes and goes. She has discovered garbage which I suspect is deliberately being left out for her, someone out there likes to see her snooping around their back yard and is encouraging her illicit activities (the garbage was not only not in a bin but carefully placed in what looks like a dogfood bowl!). Now that there is a bit of snow on the ground I can track her and managed to catch her in the act, so now she is locked into my back yard. The picture above is her looking morose about her captivity.

After years of sending unreciprocated Xmas cards I decided to give it up this year, and then two of my dogwalking buddies gave me cards at the Reservoir. Now I am considering rushing out to buy cards to give back. Who knew we would become a little community of card-exchanging friends?

The ponds are now at their most dangerous, covered in ice that looks thick enough to walk on but really is not. Hapi learned her lesson long ago and avoids ice-covered bodies of water like the plague, but many younger dogs don't know any better. Then dog owners attempt to rescue their dogs with the not unexpected results, soaking wet and freezing cold humans and dogs.

The park maintenance guys have been busy doing post-Dorion clean-up and over the past few weeks have come to know all the regular dogs. They stop their chipping machine when we walk by to chat and pet the dogs; the dogs have come to look forward to these little encounters. The other day one of the guys was asking after one dog in particular who they hadn't seen in a while and we realized that we hadn't either. The dog's health has been iffy lately so we wondered if something bad had happened. But that very same morning the dog showed up with his owner, who explained their absence as a happy event. They were off in PEI celebrating her 65th birthday.

The bad news is two-fold. One is finding out about the terminally ill friend mentioned previously. That was shocking. I have been debating going to see her (she lives on the opposite coast), but leaving Hapi behind is problematic and taking her with me is out of the question. So for now our relationship will be confined to the telephone.

The other is regular visits with B, who is in terrible shape. Can't move, can't breathe, can't sleep. All efforts to get her help have either failed, been put on hold due to the holiday season (!!!) or been sabotaged by B herself. It is so depressing and makes me so angry that I am almost beside myself after such visits. I fantasize about angry calls to various authorities but am afraid I will only make matters worse if I follow through on such fantasies. Three times in the past few weeks her son has called an ambulance to take her to Emerge because he can't move her himself. At $140 a pop it's an expensive proposition and they have no money. I said to him, well, they can't get blood from a turnip so keep those bills coming. Maybe someone will take notice of her if she becomes a regular ambulance user. He agrees.

December howls

Almost everyone I know around here was bleary-eyed with exhaustion yesterday, none of us could sleep with the wind howling through the night. After two days it finally died in the wee hours of this morning.

Can't speak for anyone else but I lay awake listening and imagining worst case scenarios with all that noise outside. Last night I did manage to go to sleep in confidence that the wind was slightly less howly.

The hot the cold the rain the snow, I can live with all that, but the wind, oh the wind...

Story tails

It was an unseasonably warm day, rain was forecast but was minimal. I turned off the heat pump and opened all the doors and windows to get some fresh air into the house, something that is in short supply in the wintertime. I puttered around getting some winterizing chores done. Then I noticed that Hapi was nowhere around and I had left the gate (and the front door) open. So I set out to find her. I headed in the direction that she had last been sighted a couple of weeks ago, a small row house complex up the street and across the field. There were a couple of older men loading junk into a pickup there. I asked one of them if he had seen a large grey wolf-like dog around.

"Oh, I've seen that dog, beautiful! But not today, sorry."

I was about to turn away and head in another direction but he asked for my phone number in case he did spot her. So I gave it to him. One thing led to another and in less than ten minutes we had exchanged the broad details of our past lives, our children, what it's like to live in this town. I'm guessing he was a few years younger than me, but not much. Another younger man with long black hair and tattoos all over bare arms (it was warm out!) came by and the older man asked him if he'd seen my dog. The young man said no he hadn't but he could text his wife to see if she'd seen her.

"That's okay, she only just got out, I'm pretty sure she's still close by," I said.

The young man nodded and continued on his way with a bag of garbage for the outdoor garbage bin.

I went back to chatting with the older man, now we were on to where our children lived and what they were doing there. Eventually though I had to call a halt to the conversation, I was expecting company and I should probably be at home when they arrived. Besides, I had left all the doors and windows open. As I left, the man said he wanted to know more about my son who had recently bought a house in town, he himself made his living as a landlord of over thirty units and was curious about someone just starting out on that career path.

"I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger, I'm not sure I would do it over again," he said.

When I got home Hapi was in the basement, sleeping. I think she was there all along.

Good advice

These days I am not taking a lot of photos, so pictures for my posts are going to be scarce.

Last night I ushered at the Jeremy Dutcher show. Wow. Powerful music. I'd never heard of him before, but last night was amazing. We ushers were invited to a reception for Dutcher after the show but I had already agreed to meet another usher at a local pub so I didn't go to the reception. Some nights the last thing I want to do is usher but I go anyway and sometimes it is really worth it. Dutcher and the previous show, Between Breaths, were spectacularly worth it.

Dutcher talked about his (and his parents') efforts to preserve their language, Wolastoqey (Maliseet). He said that there are only a hundred native speakers left now. He said that it was not just about the words lost but the unique worldview lost. Every language expresses a worldview, when you speak that language you participate in that worldview. When a language goes extinct, so does that worldview. I think this is true.

* * * * *

The usher that I met at the pub is francophone, from Montreal. At 77 years old she is one of the most beautiful women I have met. I love the sound of her voice and her laugh as well. Mostly I spent the evening just listening. Our server recognized her as someone who had participated in a panel on women aging in her sociology class. The server said she really appreciated my usher friend's advice. After the server took our order I asked my friend what her advice had been.

"I told them to get an education, it would set them free."

She said that living free is the most important thing; and maybe a university education these days doesn't get you as far as it used to, but it is still important enough to help young women be free in their lives. Apparently our server took that to heart.

* * * * *

I gave myself a good scare this week, really silly of me. It started out consulting Doctor Google about some signs (symptoms?) that Hapi was displaying. I came to the conclusion that she had Cushing's Disease. Among other things, one sign of this disease is increased appetite, so one day I let Hapi eat as much as she wanted to see just how far she would go. She used to be very picky about what, how much and when she ate but that seemed to be changing. So that day I just kept refilling her bowl to see how far she would go. She ate twice as much as usual. In my mind that kind of confirmed the Cushing's diagnosis. However the next day she didn't eat a single thing and she seemed to be in pain. All she really wanted to do was hide in the basement. So I made an appointment for Friday with the vet to discuss, by which time Hapi had recovered from her day of overeating.

The vet darn near laughed in my face. She waved the results of Hapi's recent bloodwork at me and said, "She's healthy! Old, but healthy!"

I got myself all worked up for nothing. Hapi might have Cushing's, but it's kind of irrelevant. The tests are expensive, there is no cure, and dogs can live for years with it. I'll try not to overfeed her again.

My knee versus Hapi

What ElizabethAnn saw on a recent trip to the big city

My knee gave out last week. I have a longterm issue with my left knee, stemming from an injury in 1975 now turned arthritic. During the summer the pain gradually increased but I ignored it, figuring it would go away on its own. Not so. Last week it became almost intolerable climbing stairs and then driving my car. Since my car has a standard transmission and clutch and the problem is in my left knee, that proved to be an unfortunate combination. These days they don't make standard transmissions any more but my car is old. I know I have to replace it but was hoping to keep it going at least as long as I have Hapi because it accommodates her quite nicely.

Now it's a race to the finish, my knee versus Hapi. A couple of months ago I would have said my knee was going to last much longer but Hapi has perked up so much with the onset of cold weather that I think she will outlast my knee. With a knee brace and some knee exercises and a slight adjustment of the seat in my car I can get by. I've signed up for physiotherapy as well. We have a free physio clinic in town but of course there is a waitlist for that. I spoke to one of the physiotherapists there and she thought I had a good chance of getting in before Christmas.

One of my dog walking friends at the Reservoir cautioned me against getting knee surgery. She has had numerous surgeries on her knees and back and says that in retrospect she never would have had the knee surgeries; it was a downhill run right from the get-go. The back surgeries are another story, although they were high risk she felt she had no alternative if she wanted to save her mobility for a few more years.

My friend B was checked into the hospital last week by her doctor (good news: B has a doctor now!!). She can't breathe and I guess he was quite horrified by her condition. I went to visit her in the hospital in the next town over and was amazed at her improvement. They had her on an oxygen tank and she was her old self again. Not exactly mobile but in good spirits and joking about everything. I think the nurses were quite enjoying her rough good humour. However she was quite bored and the hospital charged almost fifty dollars a week for watching TV, which is B's main activity during the day. She doesn't read, she rarely knits and she was in a room by herself. So after a few days she checked herself out.

Her son came to drive her home and her breathing problem immediately resumed. I came to visit her a few days later and she was in a far worse mood than she had been before the hospital stay: depressed, angry, spiteful, self-pitying. I commented on how being able to breathe while in the hospital had enormously improved her mood, her son seemed relieved that someone besides himself was telling her that.

B said that she couldn't get an oxygen tank at home until she was assessed and that they wanted to keep her in the hospital for another four days to do the assessment, but she refused to do that because it was too boring. She had been given a bunch of forms by the Housing Authority to get her doctor to sign but he would only sign one of them. She showed me the forms he refused to sign and frankly, I can't say that I blame him. In order to jump the housing waitlist queue she has to prove that she is in dire need and although it is plain as day to anyone familiar with her situation that that is the case, the form is so bureaucratic and convoluted that the doctor would be forced to sign his name to things that he could not prove.

I can certainly understand B's mood in the face of her ill health and all the barriers to getting help, the problem is that she is lashing out at the people who are trying to help her and that is not furthering her cause. But I'd be mad and spiteful in her shoes too.

Another friend suggested that perhaps B would be better off in a nursing home. I am now inclined to agree, but as near as I can tell the process of getting her into one is almost as bad as getting her into decent subsidized housing. Never mind that she will fight tooth and nail against being consigned to a nursing home.

This is all taking a toll on me, I feel quite helpless to do anything for her and visiting her when she is in such a foul mood is not fun at all. Besides her son, I am the only person who sets foot in her apartment, and the main purpose of the visit is for B to feed treats to Hapi. They adore each other. I am thinking that my next visit will be at a time of day when her son is not around and I am going to have a hard talk with her about hospitals and nursing homes. She is very hard on her son but inclined to be gentle with me since I am her only friend now, so I might be able to get through to her if he is not around.

On the positive side of the ledger, I have been invited for Christmas dinner with a bunch of fun people, and am considering joining a committee to bring another refugee family to town. This committee has already successfully settled four Syrian families and is looking to take on a fifth. Apparently there are a million Syrian refugees currently living in Turkey and the Turkish government is looking to send them all back to Syria as soon as their push to end the Syrian war is done. Many Syrians are desperate to get out of Turkey before that happens, they do not think their chances of survival in a war-torn Syria are great. I think that for all our problems one of the big pluses of living in this country is our attitude towards refugees and immigrants. It would be nice to be actively involved in that.

Sleep

Hapi at the Reservoir after the snow

The cold snap we are having fueled an energy burst in Hapi, she is enjoying the weather a lot. She still limps but it doesn't seem to bother her, we are doing a lot more walking than I thought she was capable of.

I had an appointment with my doctor this week, I was hoping to convince her to give me a prescription for sleeping pills. Not that I want to be on sleeping pills but I don't know what else to do, I've tried everything else. It took six weeks to get the appointment, and then the day prior to the appointment the clinic called me to say the doctor was sick and would I mind rescheduling with a substitute doctor the same day. I didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing but I sure wasn't going to say no.

The substitute doctor was a locum, a young woman who does not have her own practice but just substitutes for other doctors as necessary. She scheduled extra time because she didn't know any of the patients she would be seeing, and it became immediately obvious that she had done her homework. She knew why I was there, my medical history and recent bloodwork results, and was very engaging. I quite enjoyed the meeting with her and she was very informative and helpful.

I asked a question about my hearing. I know it is going and I am trying to put off hearing aids as long as possible. I can hear better if I can clear my Eustachian tubes, but the one on the left is difficult to clear. She said she had the same problem and had been told she should blow balloons. She had never tried it but hoped that I would so she could find out if it really works. She said I could also try decongestants but they don't work well on Eustachian tubes and the side effects are not good.

In the end she gave me the prescription for sleeping pills, saying that my regular doctor was probably going to kill her for that but she wasn't going to be around then so I will have to deal with that in three months time. She also told me that my bloodwork was fine, and not only that but she said that it was reasonable to expect that it would stay that way more or less indefinitely. She saw no warning signs of impending trouble. Of course all that can change on a dime but it's nice to know that for now everything is fine.

Interestingly, doctors (in this province anyway) are being strongly advised not to prescribe sleeping pills to seniors. There is currently no recommended treatment for chronic or longterm insomnia with the exception of cognitive behaviour therapy, which is essentially not available due to lack of certified therapists. But provincial Pharmacare for seniors subsidizes sleeping pills at the highest strengths available (formerly they only subsidized lower strengths). I guess the right hand does not talk to the left hand. Not only did I get my prescription but it cost me less than ten dollars for a three month supply, which is a lot cheaper than any over-the-counter medication.

I spent some time on the internet following up on some of the stuff the locum had referred to. I found an interesting article about a sleep clinic in the UK that apparently is very successful and popular, with a years-long wait list of patients. They do cognitive behaviour therapy for insomnia (CBT-I) and apparently have a 50% cure rate, with around 80% of patients experiencing significant improvement. That means half of patients who come to this clinic are not cured, and 20% see little or no improvement. The head doctor of the clinic is rightly proud of their record, nevertheless he says that doctors should be prescribing sleep medication because chronic insomnia is a severe malady and there are simply not enough therapists to provide CBT-I for everyone who needs it.

Also, not everyone responds to CBT-I. I have read that seniors are less likely to see significant improvement because of age-related changes, although some studies seem to show that seniors are especially benefitted by CBT-I. I tried to do it on my own last winter and had some success, but could not break through a limit of six hours a night. Months of six hours a night left me exhausted. Non-prescription medications—including herbal remedies and cannabis—have been unreliable, ineffective, and/or left me groggy during the day. My one experience of sleeping pills for about one month of daily use a couple of years ago was effective, reliable and did not leave me groggy during the day. But they were hell getting off of when the supply ran out.

I haven't used my new pills yet. The bottle sits in my bedside table drawer, a kind of talisman against sleeplessness.

Super powers and other odds and ends

You know how some people talk about having a super power? I just realized today that I have one too. Unfortunately I don't have a lot of control over it, it just pops up spontaneously, usually in the middle of the night. Kind of inconvenient but at least it makes being sleepless a little more entertaining. So the super power is a kind of laser-like clarity on any issue I choose to focus it on. When it is happening I think of questions that I have been puzzling over and then shine my laser light on it. Instant clarity! Sometimes I might be wondering what makes someone I know tick, I just shine this light on them and then I know. It is non-judgmental, there is no right or wrong about it or emotional content, just it is what it is.

Last night it kicked in and I focussed it on some emotional stuff I've been dealing with lately. Nothing like lack of sleep to leave you off-balance emotionally. The whole issue was laid out clear as day. What it was I was feeling, where it came from, how I was misdirecting it, what I needed to do about it. I played around with it for awhile, directed it towards some other things on my mind to see if I could get more answers, and then it went away and I went back to sleep. It's a weird super power. But it definitely gave me some clarity.

My new birth certificate finally arrived. It's very odd looking, everyone I have shown it to agrees with me on that. It is so thin and light (I think it is made of the same plastic that they make dollar bills from now) that I almost threw it out with the envelope it came in. I was expecting a little plasticized card and there was none in the envelope. First I pulled out a blank sheet of paper and stared at it, then I looked into the envelope and thought I saw some writing inside the envelope. Sure enough there was this really thin piece of plastic in there that was my birth certifcate. I went to the bank to change my name on my account, the teller said she was born in another country and had never seen a birth certificate like that. Then I went to another bank to change my name on my credit card and the teller there pulled out her own New Brunswick birth certificate which was a conventional plasticized card. I still have to go back to Service Canada to get my SIN name changed.

I harvested my second crop of peas, my pathetic squash crop, and a couple of turnips. I have two rows of snow peas, I pulled up one row but left the other row in place. It dawned on me that snow peas might be aptly named. So I am leaving the second row out to see what it will do in the snow. I took most of the peas off the plants and left some of the smaller ones in place. The plants are very green and still flowering vigourously. The pea pods are still growing. I still have beets, kale and turnips in the garden and a few onions that hadn't sprouted when I harvested their cohorts. Now they are providing me with green onions. I like beets but I like beet greens better, so mostly I grow beets to get the greens. Also, I found what appears to be a single oakleaf lettuce plant growing in my garden. I did not plant it, I don't know where it came from.

I changed out the rope that I hang my birdfeeder on in preparation for putting the feeder out soon. The old rope was frayed and brittle and broke a couple of times last winter so it's time for a new one. The board I put peanut butter on was mouldy because I left it out all summer so I will have to replace that too.

What Crows Know

The other day I was walking to the Reservoir with my dog and we stopped to chat with a woman I know who lives on the road to the park. She is a bit older than me and lives in the cutest little blue cottage set in a garden lot with a screen of trees and shrubs along the roadway for privacy. In the good weather she is often out in her yard with her cat, who happens to like Hapi. Hapi has come to know who I am friends with along our route and she always wants me to stop there and chat with them, regardless of whether their cats are friendly or not.

Anyway the woman was in her yard and I crossed the road to chat. She told me she has been watching the crows and their reactions to different people walking by. Apparently they have been dive bombing some passers-by.

"Really? They don't dive bomb me!" I said.

"Of course not," she said, "They know you because of your dog, and they know me because of my cane, but it is interesting to watch how they react to people they don't know."

That took me aback. They know me?

"Well of course they know you! You have that big gray dog!"

I know that crows are smart and it is interesting to watch them go about their business, but it did not occur to me that it was a two-way street. When I left my friend's yard to continue on to the Reservoir I was thinking about the crows. What exactly do they know about me? For sure they know where I live, and they must recognize my car. But mostly I am on foot around town so they know my comings and goings, they know something of my daily routine.

Do they talk about me?

When I hear them cawing as we walk by, are they saying, "Here they come, there they go"?

The crows must know quite a few people around town, I can't be the only identifiable person to them. Do they keep track of relationships, who knows who and what they do together?

Or maybe they are completely uninterested in me, it's my dog they are keen to watch. The day that Hapi took so long to get out of bed I saw a crow standing in my driveway near the back door where Hapi usually emerges first thing in the morning.

It was pecking at the ground, as if pretending that it was there hunting for food when really it was wondering what had happened that the dog was not outside yet.

My smarty pants kid

My youngest son wants to buy a house here. He doesn't want to live here, he just wants it for rental income. I've been going out with a real estate agent off and on for a year or more to look at possibilities. He's got a condo out west that he is selling to buy the house. The condo sale has been a torturous affair but it now looks like it might actually happen. So I went out yet again looking at houses and I found one. I really liked the look of it, it is in a good neighbourhood and within my son's budget. The price is reasonable for the current state of the housing market here.

My son was not enamoured with it, he thought it was too "suburban" for his taste. He sent me links to houses that he thought were more to his liking. I pointed out to him that while the houses he liked would probably be nice places for him to live, they were not really suitable as income property. He thought he could get a twofer, something that he could make money off of and also enjoy living in himself some day. I said I didn't think that was really possible unless he came down here himself to do the house hunting. It's one thing for me to choose an income property for him, quite another for me to choose a place he might like to live in.

So I think he is reconciled to this house. In any case he made an offer and it was accepted, we did the home inspection and I made the deposit on the house. Until he closes the sale of the condo he has no money. Let's hope the condo sale goes smoothly.

The weekend before the home inspection my son found another place for sale that he wanted me to look at. It was well beyond his budget, I think he was just getting jittery about the house. I think I talked him out of it, then felt jittery myself that I might be pushing him in a direction he did not want to go. But I think he is okay with it. We chatted last night after I paid the deposit and he told me of his plans for the future. It's all very ambitious and I really hope it works for him. We talked about him coming for a visit to see Hapi, who used to be his dog. I said travel in the winter is a bit dicey here, he should either come right away or later in the spring, but I didn't know if Hapi would still be around in the spring. Some days she's full of beans, other days I think she's just barely hanging in.

I mentioned to him a book I was reading. I said it contained a lot of philosophical references which I was not expecting and were kind of over my head. He asked who the author was and I couldn't remember, then I looked at the book and told him the author's name.

"Oh that guy is garbage, don't read it," he says.

"What do you mean, why is he garbage?"

My son starts in on how the author has off-the-wall theories about ethics, but this book I am reading I don't think is about ethics. Although I could be wrong on that, I'm only on the first chapter.

"Well I think I'm going to read it anyway, I'll let you know what I think when I'm done," I said.

He told me once that I was the smartest person he knows (aw shucks!) but he's pretty smart himself. I'm kind of proud of him.

The sorry month of November

High tide in the harbour

Hapi has her good days and her bad days, today was a bad day.

Yesterday at the Reservoir she took off on her own into the woods and was gone for almost twenty minutes. She came back looking quite proud of herself but very shortly started limping. By the time we got to the parking lot she was limping pretty badly and another dog walker offered to drive us home.

During the night she was licking her paw and in the morning she had no desire to get out of bed. She didn't seem ill, she just didn't want to get up. Around 11am (with the time change that would have been the equivalent of noon) I made her get up. I decided that even though she was limping very badly now it would still be a good idea to go to the Reservoir. I drove this time. She limped slowly down the road to the ponds. We met several dogs along the way and she was happy to greet them all. Three dogs were leaving the Reservoir and she looked like she really wanted to go with them but I coaxed her down to the pond. She went in the water and just stood there. Some more dogs arrived and she got out of the water to greet them too. Then I took her home. I think that even though she was in pain she still appreciated the little bit of social time she had there. She spent the rest of the day in her doghouse. I hope she is a little better tomorrow.

I'm not in great shape either. Sleep has become elusive and after multiple nights of insufficient sleep I am tired all the time and quite lacking in energy for anything. Even reading has become difficult, a couple of pages and I'm done. It's depressing. I have pretty much exhausted all the various remedies and relaxation techniques out there and am wondering how I am supposed to function. Hapi and I are a sorry pair right now.

Name Change

Elizabeth Ann, by Ernest H. Shepard

Well I knew this was going to be tedious and full of red tape, and so far that is true.

I called the CRA office first thing in the morning, within minutes of their opening, and already there was at least a 20 minute wait time on hold. I called my bank: no answer. I went out for a walk with the dog. I called the bank again: no answer. I called CPP/OAS and waited a very short time before someone answered. They were quick and courteous and they had all the information at their fingertips, they even knew what my birth name was without me telling them. Apparently some government departments do talk to other government departments. I called the bank: no answer. I called the CRA office and the wait time was now over 40 minutes.

I had an early lunch and drove to the Access Nova Scotia office where I thought I would get my driver's licence and health card changed. Turns out I could only do the driver's licence, I have to phone the health insurance people. But I also got my vehicle registration done and a new photo taken for the driver's licence which they said would be in the mail. In the car in the parking lot I called the health insurance people and they gave me an email address to send them a copy of my birth certificate and my new health card would be in the mail. Next on the list was Service Canada to change my name with the SIN people.

I am pretty sure the CPP lady got my birth name from the SIN office so this should have been pretty easy. At Service Canada they said they just needed my birth certificate, which I had. However, when they ran it through their computer it didn't work. Apparently there is supposed to be a number on my certificate that they can use in the computer. My certificate was issued in 1967 and it is a photostat. Being over fifty years old it is a little worse for wear but still legible. There are a few numbers on it, one typed and three handwritten. None of them are the number the people at Service Canada needed. I was told to get a new birth certificate, they couldn't change my SIN name until I did. Hard to believe since they already have my birth name on record, but that's what I was told.

I went to the bank, the one where they never answered the phone. Stood in line for a very long time only to be told that they required photo ID to change my name. Until the new driver's licence arrives I have no photo ID in my new name. I said something unpleasant about the fact that they don't answer the phone so I had to make a useless trip into their office. But clearly there have been so many staff cutbacks that there is no one available to answer the phone while there are customers lined up waiting for service.

So, I had previously looked into getting a new certificate and in the province where I was born they require a guarantor of a specific occupation (they give a list of acceptable occupations) who has known me for at least two years. I decided to ask the Mayor of my town. Strictly speaking he probably hasn't known me for two years but we did have a very friendly conversation at the Reservoir last summer so I thought he might do it. He has definitely known my dog for more than two years, so why not? I drove back to town and caught the Mayor just before he headed into a meeting. He said he'd do it, I just needed his permission and his work address so it didn't take much effort on his part. Unless they phone him of course. The town clerk was sorry to hear I was changing my name, she said she would have a hard time getting used to the new name. I told her she could call me whatever she wanted. Then I asked her how I change my name on my property and she gave me a phone number to call.

Since I was downtown anyway I got my name changed on my library card. Easy peasy, the library doesn't care what I call myself and has no requirement for proof of identity. I should have come armed with something fanciful, maybe Purple Dragon Lady, but I was unprepared and just gave her my birth name.

I went home and called the CRA, still over 40 minutes wait time. I put my phone on the charger with the speaker on and got Hapi's supper ready. Then I got my supper ready. 75 minutes later I got through to a live person. It all went smoothly and less than 10 minutes later it was done. So I thought I'd try one more bank, an online bank. Also easy. They just wanted my email address so they could send me a special message that included a signature card to fill in. In return they wanted a scan of my birth certificate. I had my supper and then replied to the online bank. For some reason my response was refused, I got a message saying that it did not comply with official protocol. Oh well, I would deal with that in the morning.

Today I did a bunch more phone calls and managed to get the online bank problem fixed (turns out it was an error on their side) and changed my name in two other places. I called another online bank who required a document with my new name and my SIN number. They said a T4 or an NOA would do. Had to ask what an NOA was (Notice of Assessment). I explained that the earliest I could get a T4 with my new name on it would be late February and the NOA never comes before July, so that was going to be a bit of a wait. Kind of crazy. I explained how the SIN change was delayed because of my ancient birth certificate. Maybe when I finally get the new birth certificate and take it back to Service Canada I can get them to issue me some kind of document with my birth name and SIN number (and address) on it. Probably too much to ask.

There are a few more places I can probably change my name but for the rest I have to wait until I have my new driver's licence and my new birth certificate. Slowly but surely it is happening. 

Here is a little poem about my new name, courtesy of A.A. Milne:

Explained

Elizabeth Ann

Said to her Nan:

"Please would you tell me how God began?

Somebody must have made Him. So

Who could it be, 'cos I want to know?"

And Nurse said, "Well!"

And Ann said, "Well?

I know you know and I wish you'd tell."

And Nurse took pins from her mouth, and said,

"Now then, darling, it's time for bed."

Elizabeth Ann

Had a wonderful plan:

She would run round the world until she found a man

Who knew exactly how God began.

She got up early, she dressed, and ran

Trying to find an Important Man.

She ran to London and knocked at the door

Of the Lord High Doodelum's coach-and-four.

The Lord High Doodelum lay in bed,

"Please, sir (if there's anyone in),

However-and-ever did God begin?"

But out of the window, large and red,

Came the Lord High Coachman's face instead.

And the Lord High Coachman laughed and said:

"Well, what put that in your quaint little head?"

Elizabeth Ann went home again

And took from the ottoman Jennifer Jane.

"Jenniferjane," said Elizabeth Ann,

"Tell me at once how God began."

And Jane, who didn't much care for speaking,

Replied in her usual way by squeaking.

What did it mean? Well, to be quite candid,

I don't know, but Elizabeth Ann did.

Elizabeth Ann said softly: "Oh!

Thank you, Jennifer, now I know."

(from Now We Are Six, by A.A. Milne, decorations by Ernest H. Shepard)

A peek behind the curtain

Yesterday I scrutineered at a local election voting poll and learned a thing or two about the messy side of democracy.

Scrutineering is a volunteer job, actually working the polls is a pretty well-paid job. Election workers put in very long hours, we scrutineers only show up at the end to observe. Some political parties have their scrutineers at the polls for the entire day and they do what is called "vote pulling". They have lists of people who have said they will vote for that particular party during door-to-door canvassing and they make sure those people actually show up to vote. The Green Party does not do that, they just observe the counting, and I was the official Green Party scrutineer for a nearby voting station. There were three polls there and I was assigned to one of them but I also got numbers for the other two before leaving.

So, I was amazed at how chaotic and confusing the whole process was. The doors of the poll were locked at 8.30pm, no one could enter or leave until the process was finished. Earlier in the day a Green Party representative had dropped by my place to "train" me. Basically, don't touch the ballots, do what you're told, and keep track of what is going on. Also no communication with the outside world until you leave. The poll workers had all kinds of binders and instruction manuals and envelopes and forms to fill in. The instruction manual was easily as big as an income tax manual, except they had to read and follow all of the instructions, not just the ones they thought applied to their particular circumstances. They had all been "trained", but judging by what I saw, I think they all got different versions of the training.

I had been told that if all goes well it would take maybe 45 minutes. I left after 2.5 hours and the poll workers were still there working when I left. I was barely functional at that point, I had not slept well the night before, been wakened by a strange nightmare and had a busy day doing other stuff, so by 11pm I was a zombie. Good thing there were no other cars on the road as I drove to the Green Party party.

Turns out they don't start counting the minute the doors close, there are a whole bunch of steps to be done before actual counting begins and a bunch of things that have to be reconciled. They did not reconcile. I think the big debate was, do we carry on with the count or do we spend a bunch of time trying to reconcile something we have no idea of how to reconcile? Apparently the manual had no answer to that question.

One of the three polls was very small, only 50 actual votes to count, and it reconciled and was counted in a speedy manner. Those poll workers got to leave early. The poll with the worst problem was of course the one with the most votes to count. The one I was assigned to was in the middle. We scrutineers were all sitting at a table away from the workers but one of the scrutineers had some experience doing this and he said we should go sit at our poll. It was interesting but I imagine it just put more pressure on the workers having us three "observing" them.

Finally our poll workers decided to go ahead with the count. The box of paper ballots was difficult to open and while there was plenty of paperwork and envelopes and pens and stuff, no box cutter was provided. So we "observed" the poll workers struggling to open the damn thing. Then finally the poll clerk got it open and started pulling out ballots one by one. She unfolded it, displayed the ballot to all of us scrutineers and the other poll worker, and called out the name on the ballot that got the vote. It was like something right out of "Survivor". She placed the ballot on top of the envelope designated for that particular candidate. She did this for all hundred-odd ballots.

Two of us scrutineers recorded the vote, the third scrutineer who was more experienced did nothing. He knew he could get the final tally at the end and as long as at least one of us besides the poll worker was recording this, he didn't have to do anything. Sneaky bstrd, lol. At this particular poll there had been a discrepancy of one before the actual count started, and a discrepancy of one after the count. I think the decision was made that an extra name had been crossed off the voting list that shouldn't have been—human error—but no real damage done since the differences between the counts for each candidate were well over one vote. They just had to record that as the possible reason why the numbers did not reconcile.

The poll clerk recounted all the ballots after she had read them all out to confirm the numbers. Then they were all packaged up and more paperwork done as per the manual. Meanwhile we scrutineers moved on to the last and biggest poll which was in progress. Since we were coming in the middle of the count we couldn't really confirm the numbers and since this poll already had problems with reconciliation it was not surprising that it did not come out right. But again the difference was only by one vote and the totals for each candidate differed by a lot more than one vote. I was so tired I just copied down the numbers the poll worker had recorded and left, knowing that the numbers I had were possibly out by one vote but not really caring at that point. The poll workers had to continue to recount and confirm the discrepancy and come up with an explanation for it.

All I can say is, if a simple First-Past-The-Post count is that chaotic, moving to some kind of Proportional Representation type of vote will be a horror show. We won't know for days what the final result is! But I do like that it is all done manually and on paper, and we are all just a bunch of amateurs trying to make it work.

Afterward I drove to the party and turned in my records to our candidate. We all knew she wasn't going to win, not even close, but still I could see the disappointment on her face. She had to call the winning candidate to concede and she was putting it off, her husband was urging her to get it over with. We watched the election results on TV and discussed our experiences and thoughts on the matter. I particularly liked Megan Leslie's comments on the results (on CBC), I thought she was spot on. *

The winning candidate in my riding was a Liberal, and I'd heard him at the all-candidates meeting and thought he was good enough. I also thought that the final result—a Liberal minority government—was the best possible result. Someone at the dog park this morning cynically said that although the Conservatives are dead against Proportional Representation, she bet they wished they had it now since they got the majority of the popular vote.

We now have three Green Party members and one of them is here in the Maritimes. That is fabulous news. We are coming for you.


* [Megan said, look at the map, it says it all. It was all done up in colours representing five different political parties and looked like an abstract painting. She said we are a very divided country with lots of regional differences and although we were promised proportional representation and then denied it, we gave it to the politicians anyway. The voters have spoken and they have forced cooperation on the politicians like it or not. Deal with it.]

Who am I

I've been researching what is necessary to change my name. I went looking for my birth certificate, marriage certificate and final divorce decree and could not find them. After a couple of days of hunting I found the divorce decree and then quite by accident found the marriage certificate, but the birth certificate eluded me. I went online to find out how to get a new copy. I was born in Ontario and it turns out that they are so fearful of fraud that they make it exceedingly difficult. Among other things I need a Guarantor, someone of a specific occupation or government position that has known me for two years. And I had to have all sorts of data about my parents on hand, stuff that I know was on the lost certificate so I certainly didn't bother writing it down elsewhere. For a while there I felt stymied. But again, quite by accident, I found the birth certificate tucked into a little folder intended for my SIN card. It is a photostat of the original record of my birth and I think I first got it when I was a teenager so it is quite old and well worn. I probably should get one of those plasticized cards, but at least there's no rush on that now, having found the original.

The other thing I found out is that in order to change my name on my passport I have to buy a brand new one, and that's not cheap. I only renewed my passport a few months ago and it is supposed to last me for 10 years, so at the time I thought it was worth the cost. I couldn't put it off because I was already at the deadline for being able to renew instead of starting a whole new application, which would have required a few extra steps. But now, in order to change my name, I have to do the whole new application anyway. Wish I'd thought about the name change thing a few months ago, I could have saved myself a bit of money. Since I have no immediate plans to travel I'll just put off the passport thing. Everything else is tedious but doable.

Thinking about all this has opened up a whole new line of enquiry, who am I anyway? It's been interesting.

When I was 21 several friends and I rented a house together in downtown Toronto, near Kensington Market. For a while we were putting up draft dodgers who needed a place to stay, until we ran into a couple who were drug-addicted thieves, then we gave it up as not worth it. But before the thieves we had one fellow who was very grateful for our help and gave us ten tabs of acid as a thank you gift. We planned our use of those ten tabs very carefully. Our first trip started in our tiny backyard on a warm summer day.

We each ate one tab and waited on a blanket spread on the grass for whatever was going to happen. At one point someone brought some oranges out and distributed them. I remember breaking mine open and it was the most absorbing experience. At a certain point it seemed like I was inside the orange experiencing all of its orangeness and being in total awe of this little orange globe. Looking around and seeing the grass move in amazing geometric patterns around us. It was quite wonderful. In the midst of all that wonder and beauty I had the thought, "I belong here."

It was no small thought, it was a revelation. Until that moment I was unaware of how much I believed that I didn't belong, I didn't fit in, I wasn't right. That other people knew what they were doing but I did not, I felt I was in constant catch-up mode and all the while trying to hide that fact. I didn't really know what I was doing and didn't really belong here and I was a kind of impostor. Now in a flash I knew that just wasn't true, I absolutely belonged and I was absolutely a rightful part of the whole universe.

That moment has been a touchstone for me ever since. All I have to do is think of oranges and it washes over me. So when I think about who I am, I know I can just invent it, I can be anything. Of course the realistic me sets all sorts of limits on that, but still it is something to keep in mind. I am currently thinking about how much of my life is defined by assumptions, and how many of those assumptions I can let go.