Chris, my computer expert, sent me the statistics of last week. The blog, in existence for less than five months, had 11,828 visitors making 50,320 visits So to all my readers:: ”You Are Not Alone”. Some of you are friends but as popular as I am I do not have 11,825 friends. But there are amusing stories stemming from the universality of the blog, I emailed Bruce who was taking one of his arduous hiking ‘vacations’ in Switzerland. He emailed back instantly saying that he was reading my blog just as my email came bouncing in. What do I make of all this? I really do not know, and I am not sure that i will ever figure it all out. The blog would not have been born save for my being in London and meeting up with Chris who enabled it and is a necessary source of support.
But here is the paradox. For so many reasons London was a necessary transitory period but, as I contrast my recent experiences in Canada, it was all a bad dream. It was a miracle I survived the two and a half years. First the motorcycle accident (blog 4/28/17), the dreadful, usurious Onions, the inhospitable Manuel, the shoddy school, (Blogs 2/15,2/24,3/22,4/25) the chronic bladder infections, the occasionally dreadful medical care, the embezzlement by Carl Hart, ((3/6,2/17)the allergic reaction to anti depressants, the terrible inefficiencies of Dolphin Square populated by many stodgy long time hostile residents (Blogs 1/31,2/6,,3/5,6/5) many flakey so called friendships, the betrayal of my classmates at the shoddy school. Then the private horrors – being weaned from anti depressants resulted in post traumatic stress flashbacks which had been suppressed by the drug which was prescribed to soldiers who served in Iraq. At one point I became the object of an obsessive friendship that almost destroyed my creativity. Then there were the men. It was in London that I became a man magnet but in contrast to the men here in Canada those London men did not treat me with underlying respect, they toyed with me.. The Canadian men do respect me. And yes Colette, there are men in Canada,(4/14,4/15) but it is not the same. This is the difference (perhaps) I was transitory, in London, I was leaving. Here I will remain. At some point I will write at length about the horrors I experienced in London but first I have to complete the biography of my uncle.(6/25)
I suppose the epiphany came yesterday at the Greek Festival in Kits. I was there with my new found friend Cecilia (more about her and the day in later blogs. The day was uncharacteristically warm and sunny. Blocked off Broadway was congested with smiling, polite Canadians. It suddenly occurred to me that I felt safe – I did not feel safe in London, nor in the USA . Ever. What a realization. I barely could contain my tears, but they were not tears of sorrow but tears of gratitude that I was back home, in time for Canada’s 150th birthday. Wow! I spent some time at the booths collecting clothes and accessories for the big day – a smashing hat, a T-shirt. I left Canada in 1967 – the year Canada turned 100. When I told people at the Greek Festival of my absence from the county they all said: “Welcome Home”. It was the best day of my life. Well so far, I am optimistic!
I met new found friend Cecilia here at the Trump International Hotel. We were dancing to Cecilia – before here I never danced. She called me about a week later. We went out to dinner at Chewies and then she called again two days ago and we met at the Trump International Hotel and we made plans to see one another yesterday and today. There is a picture of the two of us taken that day. She is so wise. This is the insight she provided that day. She told me that i (Alexis) am connected to my feelings, some people are not at all. So I thought about this observation and realized the truth of it all. It was such a gift as i revealed a mystery of my life of late. People, both apparently and obviously, feel a connection to me. Why? It must be because I am connected to my feelings, it all springs from that. But trust me, not all of my feelings are positive, sweet, happy or upbeat. It was very uncomfortable getting to this so-called state of grace. I jokingly say that I have had more psychotherapy than Woody Allen and the misery did not end there. I have serious questions about the efficacy of my psychotherapy and am convinced that my dreams and the analysis I methodically do has lead to more enlightenment. The other necessary beacons of my enlightenment are my friends, both the old and the new.
But here is some much needed humor. I ordered tea when Cecilia came to visit.
Me: I would like tea please. Earl Gray
Chappie: You are drinking tea? And not the Long Island variety?
Me: Changes in latitude, changes in attitude.
I neglected to mention this moment of humor. When Son the Crooner saw the picture of his “Dad” on the iPad , he immediately broke into song. “I am So Excited, and I Just Can’t Hide It.”
Me: Son, you are being Optimistic
Son: Mother, you mean stupid
Me: Yes, son
This stems from an early conversation where he said he was optimistic. No, said I, you are stupid. We laugh about that constantly. It took him ages to learn how to say Saskatchewan. He finally does says it properly accompanied by a sweeping arm gesture. But just about when he learned how to say it I decided I was not going there, right away anyway. Paradoxical perhaps, certainly incongruous.
Also included is a picture of me taken at the Greek Festival. How Canadian can one girl get?
