More Answers for the Poorly Groomed Question; Attempting to Save Alexis ; Emily and Mattie: the Baby and the Bathwater and More…

So two more answers in to my question of yesterday morning posed to special friends: “So you think a poorly groomed man could ever be a good lover?”

She: A good make-over project?

Me: But Oh so terribly messy! hahahahaha

And another:

She: Yes, getting turned on by someone is probably the first indication that they would be a good lover! If they can’t do that, then they’re not going to be good at anything else! I guess a poorly groomed man might appeal to a poorly groomed woman hahahahaha .

Me: Excellent point about the poorly groomed woman.

So we are having such fun with this concept, I cannot wait to think of other brilliant questions to ask my nearest and dearest.

I have not been sleeping well again – not sure what is going on with me. It does seem that I now walk in God’s Grace which is a strange concept to explain when one is basically an atheist. I do guess I believe in God but not some guy in the sky with a beard, looking down and keeping track of everyone behind a cloud to two. A universal spirit, perhaps. I am definitely not a Christian as I think Jesus existed and that he was a prophet but thats it. Back in my London days EVERYONE was trying to save me, Jessica and I would laugh hilariously. There were the Buddhists (boy do they chase you down), the Catholics, the Church of England, the Embezzler Carl Hart, the Sufis, the Jehovah Witnesses. Those were very strange days – no one succeeded by the way. I wonder why the urge to save me? Do I look like a sinner? With my swearing I do talk like a sinner. But save me from what? And why? Caesar Chico (aka Son the Crooner) said in a recent email that I should not be concerned about money. I am not, Mr. Chico, but you essentially embezzled money from me for your Day Care in the Philippines which may exist but you are not the big contributor that you pretend to be. I was naive – as I do not lie to people I used to assume that no one lied to me. MISTAKE, now I know better. I told Mr. Chico that I wanted my money back – that was when he told me not to be concerned about money. It is actually laughable, particularly when one believes in the adage: I’ve learned so much from my mistakes…I am thinking of making a few more. I asked for contributions to his day care on this blog – he said he got none. But he lies and lied, so who knows? I think there may be a way to find out and dnefwmmcb – he seems to have forgotten that.

But onto brighter and more positive things. There is a new exhibit at VAG (Vancouver Art Gallery) Emily Carr in Dialogue with Mattie Gunterman which takes works of Emily Carr and combines them with the photography of Mattie Gunterman. They were contemporaries but lived far different lives. This to be explored at a later time through a docent lead tour and more research on my part. The annual renewal of my membership was due, that was combined with a viewing of the exhibit and conversations with the wonderful women in the Art Rental Gallery. My next rental piece was chosen – an urban scape of New York City – the concept of revolving art is quite brilliant.

But back to Emily and Mattiie, actually more Emily. This from Charlotte Grey’s book: The Promise of Canada: “Her biographer Blanchard points out that throughout her life, Carr exaggerated the indifferences, slights and setbacks she had faced because a sense of alienation nourished her unique creativity.” I wonder if that is true of me – does alienation nourish my creativity? I think so and in my quaint way I am actually alienated. That is the way I feel and that is what counts – if I feel alienated, I am alienated. I eschew smothering, control, intrusion. In the words of somebody: “I Vant to be Alone” Not all of the time, of course not, but quite a bit of the time.

I made a new friend a couple of days ago – Rose, who was also born in Saskatchewan but that is where our similarities end. We went to Hawksworth together – I had been avoiding Hawksworth for months because of memories which were painful, remembering good times, now over was the painful part. Jerome greeted me with great enthusiasm, saying he had missed me and then remembering with accuracy the kind of gin I took in my Gibsons and the wine I drank with my red wine. Rose almost fainted: “How did he remember all of that about you?”

Me: I do not know. What an honor because he serves hundreds of people.

She: Are you crying?

Me: Yes, because I am so touched.

So sometimes one can throw away the baby with the bath water. Whatever THAT may mean. I was keeping myself away from Hawdsworth and their rare hamburgers and Jerome in an attempt to avoid pain. Just plain silly.

The picture is of my dream catcher and a silly post card that is in the alcove by my bed. It is ridiculous because I am an early morning wakener, I NEVER sleep until noon.

But the day and people beckon. I guess it is Goodbye Alienation.

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