Dispatches from the Front

It is amazing how a little sun can brighten ones mood. This winter has been a tough one, especially as we all got off so easy last year.

It was below freezing yesterday but the sun made it at least look like spring, birds were even singing. As the roads were dry I decided to charge the battery on the Thunderbird use my meager gas budget to pick up the children from school. No real difference in cost taking the T-Bird over the Lincoln as they are both powered by 460 cubic inch V8s.

The 73-76 T-Birds just seem to be smiling at you

The Thunderbird does seem to have a tighter torque converter and more responsive gearing so it is a blast to drive around town. The rear wheels want to break free at every traffic light when one has a heavy heel.

The rad might have a slight leak, so I am keeping my eye on that, I believe I have a spare from a 72 Mark IV tucked away somewhere. Free is good. 

The last two weeks have been busy pumping out a series of automotive business articles for Canadian AutoWorld, a dealer focused magazine.

The rest of the month is dedicated to a very difficult and time consuming edit project for an industry directory.

Certainly glad for the freelance work but my real goal remains a career position in marketing.

The Lincoln was in for an oil change, I usually do it myself but one it was too cold, two my friend had given me a coupon for a free service at a local garage. I arrived early and had a nice conversation with the shop owner. Lots of car magazines in the waiting room. He was a big MOPAR fan and we chatted about cars for ages, his quote, “You are a fascinating woman, I could talk to you all day.” And Is your husband into cars as well?”

Mark IV oil change, check out banana bike on wall! 

The seventies Stutz revival cars came up in conversation, wouldn’t you know it the magazine with my article on them was right in front of us sitting on top of a pile of Hot Rod magazines!  I so wanted to claim credit for the article but it had my old name on it.

Stutz Blackhawk prototype 

Speaking of names, my name change is all official right down to my drivers licence and health card. Passport next.

Good news from CAMH today that I am approved for surgery. Still very much hurry up and wait as their positive findings have to then be approved in turn by the Ministry of Health. Only then an appointment for surgery can be made.

Fingers crossed things move swiftly and smoothly as the T-Bird did yesterday afternoon.

Heard on the car radio last week, still sounds so clear and amazing for 1958.

Hugs,

April

PS. photo of me is from Sunday before I went grocery shopping, hate my massive forehead, which I try and hide most of the time, really want to get my hair line moved surgically.  

     

Diana Dors' 1959 Cadillac

 I always wanted to be a starlet….with apologies to Goodfellas.

I secretly idolized the blonde bombshells of the fifties, preferring Mamie Van Doren and Jayne Mansfield to the mainstream fascination with Ms. Monroe.

Then there was home grown Diana Dors. Like Jayne she had a thing for Cadillacs, a rarer trait in conservative Britain. Her most famous was her first, a 1955 series 62 baby blue convertible that she took with her to France. On the streets of London it caused a sensation, pastel and chrome, people ran after it having never seen something so cool.

I heard rumours she had a 1959 Cadillac like moi. One hire firm claimed to have a pink 59 Eldorado convertible that belonged to her. Seemed too good a story to be true, I had never seen any candid or publicity photos showing her with her over the top automotive counterpart. Last year I found a photo of her with just part of the rear fin visible, clearly a 59 but it could have been taken when she lived the States. Finally last night proof an official fan site. A 1959 series 62 convertible (not Eldorado), you can tell by the single row of teeth in the rear grill and Cadillac V and crest on the trunk lid it is not the very similar Eldorado model. The best part is the licence plate DD 200 !

It is a black and white picture…would it be too much to assume it was painted pink?

Extra:

Amazingly her house, Orchard Manor still stands much as it was in 1984 when she sadly died of cancer. Jayne’s pink palace was torn down. I hope Diana’s home survives and is not redeveloped. It is totally Hollywood and should be preserved as a historic site. http://www.dianadors.co.uk/orchard_manor_41.html

watch her bio pic here:

Hugs,

April

A Miraculous Journey

Reading The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane with my 10 year old.

The book is about the adventures of a china rabbit. But it is really about love.

I don’t think I have ever come across such a beautiful written story, which is all the more beautiful and a joy to read aloud.

Oh yes I cried and cried, once safely in my own room. I had trouble a few times carrying on reading, claiming I had some dust in my eye or perhaps I am getting a cold.  But such is the story that we gladly exceed story time by a few chapters.

At one point Edward is rescued and befriend by a tramp and his dog. The tramp whose name is Bull explains that he and his dog are lost. He did not mean lost in a geographic sense. That struck such a chord; I have felt so lost myself throughout my life but perhaps never more so than now.

Wishing you all happy endings….

photo Virgil and I

 Later that night, Jack came and sat next to Bull and asked if he could borrow the rabbit. Bull handed Edward over, and Jack sat with Edward upon his knee. He whispered in Edward’s ear.
“Helen,” Jack said, “and Jack Junior and Taffy — she’s the baby. Those are my kids’ names. They are all in North Carolina. You ever been to North Carolina? It’s a pretty state. That’s where they are. Helen. Jack Junior. Taffy. You remember their names, okay, Malone?”
After this, wherever Bull and Lucy and Edward went, some tramp would take Edward aside and whisper the names of his children in Edward’s ear. Betty. Ted. Nancy. William. Jimmy. Eileen. Skipper. Faith.
Edward knew what it was like to say over and over again the names of those you had left behind. He knew what it was like to miss someone. And so he listened. And in his listening, his heart opened wide and then wider still.
The rabbit stayed lost with Lucy and Bull for a long time. Almost seven years passed, and in that time, Edward became an excellent tramp: happy to be on the road, restless when he was still. The sound of the wheels on the train tracks became a music that soothed him. He could have ridden the rails forever. But one night, in a railroad yard in Memphis, as Bull and Lucy slept in an empty freight car and Edward kept watch, trouble arrived.

Takes One to Know One

No not a transsexual but someone who has suffered with depression.

I was at boarding school in England when Ant Mania was at its height, though being a proto rockabilly rebel I had no time for music that though interesting lacked ideological purity.

I recently came across Adam Ant’s new album and particularly like the cut Cool Zombie. Hooked I went back and listened to the songs that were a soundtrack to my last years in the UK. 

I also came across the documentary, “The Madness of Prince Charming”, despite the overly cute title it is a harrowing account of his depression, breakdowns and hospitalization.

The documentary struck a cord, like soldiers comparing notes on the same battle. I admire his fortitude to carry on.

And Oh Boy was he handsome back in the day!

Drafted

My good friend Genni is opening a British style pub in Oakville, Ontario. Named the Bouncing Bomb after the famous Dam busters raid the pub has a definite RAF theme with copious memorabilia and even a vintage air raid siren (no that is not a reference to me).

The pub is conveniently attached to the Trafalgar Brewery, a very successful producer of craft beers. The beer is supposed to be excellent but I wouldn’t know as I never acquired a taste for it, preferring Diet Pepsi.

I had lent a hand here and there painting and cleaning to get the pub up and running. I cannot overstate the huge task Genni took on single-handed to remodel the old bar.

Sunday she catered the brewery’s annual dinner, I was drafted to serve along with three other brave souls but spent most of the time as a plungeur, shades of  Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London (talk about rising to one’s level of competence). I don’t think I sat down till midnight. The dinner was a great success and the food and service received numerous compliments.

The push to get everything ready for the banquet really sped up the renovation schedule and the pub will unofficially open tomorrow with an official grand opening at the end of the month.

I will be making a return appearance tomorrow but this time I will behind the bar, really why hide the pub’s greatest asset in the kitchen LOL! My freelance writing and editing dance card has begun to fill up this month but some additional income is most welcome.  

Can't think of anyone better than George Formby to supply the musical selection for this post:

         well just one more:

Faggot & Freak / Law & Order

If you might recall dear constant reader, I have had some problems with one of my neighbors. I have worked hard to give him a wide berth and to avoid enraging him with my mere presence.

Last weekend he unleashed a string of disgusting sexual terms and mimed sexual acts while my youngest daughter and I were playing outside. He repeatedly mimed pulling down his pants and invited me to give him a blowjob. I was called a faggot and a freak in front of my child.

The next morning he accosted me in my driveway, me two inches from my face he berated me spewing the worst homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic (he is an equal opportunity bigot) spittle flecked rant one should ever have the misfortune to witness.

He bragged of having a police record for beating up “faggots” back in the day, I assume he is in his sixties. He also claims to have videos and photos of me doing “things. I believe this is called stalking.

Most amusingly he seems to have a fascination with the number of times I check the oil in my cars, a more solitary and quiet activity I cant imagine.   It is terrifying how quickly a situation with the potential for violence can escalate. I was scared to go out to my car to even go to the grocery store for fear of another incident. I do not fear him physically but nor did I wish to be seen as the “bad guy” for defending myself against an “old” man.

Yesterday morning I phoned the police, fearing that property damage and violence would be next on his agenda.

Despite some mix up with schedules a police officer did take a statement from me in the evening then cautioned my neighbor.  I will see if the visit from the police will have cooled his ardor but I am not confident. The officer discussed me laying charges and mentioned hate crime legislation. However, some sort of physical attack seems to be necessary before they would charge him with such an offense. I was not pleased with the officer mentioning I should remember he comes from a different generation. I didn’t realize that age was an excuse for violent bigotry.  

On the whole I try to avoid politics in this blog but I envy the more robust civil liberties of my neighbors to the south and their 2^nd. amendment. Even such self-defense products as mace and pepper spray are sadly illegal here.  In Canada it is safe to say that the accused has more rights than the victim.

I have been advised to call 911 if he sets foot on my property again.

 

Edge of Reality

 

 Not just an Elvis song. I am still recovering from the worst flu ever! Seriously folks I have never been so sick.

A week in bed has left me near stir crazy, insomnia, claustrophobia (my biggest fear). I wake up in the middle of the night feeling buried alive and on the edge of panic and insanity.

These feelings have come to follow me into daylight hours. I imagine this is what it is like to come close to experiencing a nervous breakdown.

I think the sickness left me too much time in my own head and all my worries and concerns have overwhelmed me producing feelings of being trapped. It has got to point where I fear going to sleep and stay up as late as possible to guarantee I will be unconscious as soon as my head hits the pillow. Even then I have to calm myself by breathing deeply and slowly while thinking happy thoughts.

Perhaps it is the bitter cold and bleak winter landscape is adding to my desperation.

 

I hope as I get better and do my best to address each issue, primary a lack of a “real” job I will be able to enjoy sleep again.

Sick as a Parrot

I have been feeling poorly for a week, which I had put down to burning the candle at both ends and worry about my CAMH meeting.

Yesterday I was laid low by the full force of whatever flu bug is rampaging across the continent. I spent most of the day in bed experiencing weired dreams (yes cars were involved....I was lost in Miami driving a white and blue 1977 Lincoln Town Coupe frantically looking for the airport) and a pounding skull that felt as if I had been beaten repeatedly with an aluminum baseball bat.

Today I am off to the office but am unsure if I will do any good. I conducted an interview this morning with the expert on Ford modular engines for a car magazine. For my British readers he worked on engine packages for Marcos, Jensen and the late lamented V8 powered MG SV and ZT.

Not me nor my car

Here are two mixes that if I hadn't shared them earlier with Cass I would have thought I imagined them in a fever dream:

On Ramp, Stand On It!

Friday was my fourth and second official visit to CAMH (Centre for Addiction and Mental Health) at the same time.

To explain, I originally went to CAMH in late 2009 after which I diagnosed with GID, I did not go back until 2011 when I changed jobs and was free to set a date for going full time. 

I followed the familiar path along the QEW (Queen Elizabeth Way) highway up Spadina Avenue to the CAMH building again in October 2012 to show them I had met all their major requirements for surgery….living full time for over year, name change and working as myself.

So yesterday was my second official visit leading to surgery. I had to be interviewed by two psychiatrists and be able to explain the surgery in detail, the risks and my plans for recovery. I made sure I prepared as well as I would for any interview.

The weather was cold and snow forecast for later in the day so I decided to take the commuter train instead of driving. Dressed in conservative business attire I nonchalantly boarded the train to Toronto, back in 2009 I would not have had the confidence to sit cheek by jowl with my fellow commuters.

Union Station

I felt a pang of longing for my old routine of journeying to Yonge and Bloor everyday on the train to work in banking….well more for the pay cheque than the commute.

At Union Station (my favourite old building in Toronto) I decided to walk up through the financial canyons to my appointment. Near city hall I turned left along Queen Street, which still claims to be the hip centre of Toronto, I passed Kops (a record store) where I spent my lunch money on vintage rockabilly 45s and over priced European imports. The Horseshoe Tavern where I had seen the Sun Rhythm Session and The Razorbacks.

Now I felt free to look in the windows of the designer boutiques I passed. In the bad old days those clothes were a symbol of a world I could only dream of inhabiting. I feared any furtive glance would lay my secret self bare.

The two meeting went very well and I was told unofficially I am on my way. I still have to wait two months for the board to meet to find out officially. 

Assuming I receive my funding approval  the date for SRS will be another three to six months (possibly longer) in the future. So 2013 looks to be my year! the surgery will be in Montreal with Dr. Brassard.

The sense of relief even at this point was immense, a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Later that Day I visited Bobbi and Alex in the city where we enjoyed some delicious Thai food and discussed our shared experience as great fluffy flakes of snow turned the city from dirty Soviet grey to glowing white.

I would have stayed later but I had been up at five am and was beginning to seriously crash and burn. Bobbi drove me to the subway and I rode it back to Union. Avoiding the temptation of everything from McDonalds to Cinnabon in the station I caught the 9:45 back to Burlington.

The Lincoln dusted in snow faithfully started on the first crank. Home, dinner and bed in that order. 

In honour of Cass and and her narrow escape from a van full of ninjas here is her future boyfriend: 

crying, waiting, hoping

Hugs,

April

A Final Solution to the Trannie Problem

Like waking up to find a virtual burning cross on ones front lawn. Not to over do the hyperbole (too late) or to make light of the racism suffered by African Americans. But that is the image that popped into my mind when I came across the submission given to Parliament by Dr. Joseph Berger in regards to Bill 279 described as a trans human rights bill and a bathroom bill by different camps.

Whatever you think of the merits of the Bill 279 lets be clear this NOT a case of transgender vs. transsexual politics, he doesn’t care where we are on the spectrum. He explicitly denies our existence, in his opinion we are nothing but unhappy psychotics.

When he says transgendered he means transsexual, those seeking surgery.

I will let his own words condemn him:

"From a scientific perspective, let me clarify what transgendered actually means...

Sometimes some of these people have claimed that they are 'a woman trapped in a man's body' or alternatively 'a man trapped in a woman's body'. Scientifically, there is no such a thing. Therefore anyone who actually truly believes that notion, is by definition deluded, psychotic."

As a psychiatrist he bases most of his reasoning on “science”. Really how is he any more qualified than I am to speak on surgical and neuroscience issues.

"what we are talking about scientifically, is just unhappiness, and that unhappiness is being accompanied by a wish – that leads some people into taking hormones that predominate in the other sex, and even having cosmetic surgery designed to make them ‘appear’ as if they are a person of the opposite sex."

I realizes that some people have difficulty in dealing with us but hopefully that group is becoming extinct.

He was invited to speak by REAL Women of Canada, now I am a conservative and no doubt share some of their small government views. However, a REAL conservative believes in personal freedom and responsibility, they don’t seek to stigmatize and suppress others.

After reading the doctor's submission I was shaking with rage. I can only imagine the horror that could well have befallen me if I had come out at a younger age and come into the care of such evil men.

It is a slippery slope from calling people whom you disagree with sick, delusional psychotics to locking them up and applying electroshock. And that did happen in the past to women and men like us.  

Talking with friends about this they both suggested perhaps the good doctor is perhaps over compensating….if that is the case he has my sympathy.  

Fuelish

April realizes how little $20 bucks of gas is....the shock literally blows her mind....notice all the hearts and flowers falling out.....not a puppy dog tail in sight. 

Sure I looked wicked cool cruising around town in my seventies luxo yachts. I can drive in plush isolated splendour or burn rubber like any muscle car.

Unfortunately I have lately realized there is a draw back to five thousand pound Detroit dinosaurs powered by big block V8's….. 

Despite my not working a regular corporate gig (freelancing etc) I still need to drive everyday. I pick up my girls from two separate schools and to after school sports meaning stop and go trip across town., which plays havoc with my fuel economy.

The Ford 460 cubic inch V8 is perhaps the least fuel efficient engine ever, returning  16 mpg highway and sub 9 mpg around town. My 455 powered Buick Electra and V12 Jaguar are marginally better. 

To be fair these cars are relatively efficient on the freeway with the cruise control on.

My pocket book has been taking a pounding at $1.20 plus cents per litre, which works out to approx 16 l  or 4.42 US gallons from a twenty. At 8.7 mpg that will allow me to squeak by almost two days of driving though the low fuel light on the Mark IV glows like Rudoplh's red nose. ….perversely it refuses to burn out.

My calculations showed that with the distance travelled daily I should have more than enough fuel until I realized that in winter fuel economy drops anywhere from 12 to 28%!!! 

Why, well fuel vaporization for one, oil companies switch to winter gasoline that provides better cold vaporization characteristics but results in less available energy for combustion, lower engine temps means a richer mixture, lubricants are thicker, tire pressures lower both creating more resistance and requiring more energy. Even the air conspires against you, a vehicle’s aerodynamic drag is proportional to air density, and the density increases as temperature drops. For every 10 degree F drop in temperature, aerodynamic drag increases by 2% 

As I like to say OPEC never fails to send me a Christmas card. 

Buy a econo box I hear you say dear constant reader, well all my cars are paid for and after years of driveway tinkering they are relatively bullet proof. Come the inevitable zombie apocalypse I know I would choose my Mark IV to start every time.

zombie ready

Sure I would love to tool around in a cute MGB or Spitfire but they don't allow any room for children, are not suitable for the rigorous of Canadian winters and as our roads are still populated by huge SUVs and 18 wheelers not very safe.

I do own a very fuel efficient 1985 Cadillac Seville (my most modern car ever), 30 MPG highway, but as she is a rust free southern belle, I don't like to expose her to road salt.

looks full of gas, someone should invent something that tells you how much gas is in the tank 

Update:

I had written this blog last week when we had a warm spell and I enjoyed a Sunday tuning the Lincoln and getting the Jaguar and Seville out for a run round the block. As the weather looked good for the rest of the week and rain had washed all the road salt away. I decided to drive the 1985 Cadillac Seville with its fuel efficient 4.1 litre V8. 

I had a meeting with my editor Monday morning, in the rush to get ready I forgot I had used the Seville the day before to take my oldest daughter to swimming practice. As I pull into late morning rush hour traffic on the QEW I feel a hesitation, transmissions problems? no I realize with mounting horror.....I forgot to put gas in the car. I roll helplessly to the side of the road. I quickly call the auto club and the magazine in that order. 

In a prior life I would have scaled the fence and hot footed back home to get a gas can, instead I wanted to cry. Also no way I was walking all the way home in high heeled winter boots.....I would ruin the heels.

Luckily my good friend Genni choose that very moment to text me and was quickly on her way with the precious gasoline (say it like they do in the Road Warrior movie).

This less said about running out of gas later that same day very close to home the better. 

Hugs,

April

Because I'm Awesome

A beautiful day in Southern Ontario, the sun was out and the temperature was above freezing making it seem all the world like spring.

Pale citizens ventured forth blinking at the strange ball of light in the sky. Couples walking hand in hand, convertibles with their tops down, even a few motorcycles.

If it were an Elvis movie I would have burst into song.

Having survived a tough week I felt as if I had received a reprieve from the governor. Perhaps even a little giddy at leaving the depression behind.

Last night I got out with friends and I was able to realize how far I had come and how lucky I am.  There is still a lot of anger in me ( I would think this is common with anyone born transsexual) that often threatens to boil over into self hate.

I am trying to appreciate and enjoy what I have now while striving for an even better future.

Here is a tune by the Dollyrots that sums up my rediscovered positive but oh so humble belief in myself:

Hugs,

April

Shameful

Awfully tough two days that saw me back to being seriously depressed and utterly without hope. I wanted it to be over, the struggle to put one foot in front of the other seemed unbearable. Another year of being unemployed too shameful to face.

I love the television show Mad Men, it was so sad when last season the British character Lane commits suicide, his first attempt foiled by a Jaguar that refuses to start despite his best efforts to correct the problem. It occurred to me that morning that I had a Jaguar in the garage too and one that would start. 

A close friend came by and we talked most of the afternoon away. We are not ourselves when depressed and can do things that we might not have the opportunity to regret.

The next day we talked more and I spoke with a close friend and blogger here on T Central. By the end of the day I was back to my "normal" self. 

Thanks to my friends both near and far for being there for me.  

foiled by Lucas

Gutted

What a miserable day, that started with such promise.  Over the holidays I had been preparing, researching and honing my interview skills for a senior marketing position with a company near me.

The job description was near to perfect (without involving cars) as I could have wished, the commute short and the pay great. I was sought out by a headhunter, as the position was not publicly advertised.

This was my express ticket back to the corporate world.

All signs were good! The job would have cut the Gordian knot of my life and solved multiple problems….so I should have known I wouldn’t get it.

I dressed conservatively but well, hair done and as far as I know passing with flying colors. According to headhunter and my own appraisal of the one on one with the president I aced the interview with my “winning personality” but fell short when it came to manufacturing industry experience.

Got the call I didn’t make it.  I knew that I would be depressed if I didn’t win the position but wow. …gutted, as you’ll in England say. Vile depression rushed into the void left by hope. I felt like this was my last chance at a normal life. All I want is to hide in my room and cry, pathetic.

It has been a challenge to keep functioning but I have other responsibilities and must continue. Sorry to be a downer but writing about such events does take some of their power away and even inject a little perspective.

The Heartbreak of Sleep

As a child at boarding school I suffered terrible insomnia, no doubt brought about the stress of my surroundings. 

I rarely suffer from sleeplessness as an adult, in fact I can usually down a cup or two joe in the evening and then sleep the sleep of the innocent, my lights going out as soon as my head hits the pillow.

The problem is that in the innumerable years in between I developed a bad habit of being a night hawk. Going to bed at two in the morning and getting only four hours (sometimes less) of sleep a night.  

Freelancing means that I have to devote most evenings after the children are in bed to getting in my second shift.  By 11 PM I have got my second wind, if I am on a roll I will push it till the early hours. Sometimes I will try to squeeze in some exercise in those evening hours too.

It used to be working outside on cars in all weathers, I always found a reason to tire myself out and never be in danger of being all alone with my thoughts....hmmm wonder what all that was about ;)

As the children  have been off for two weeks and I have been spared the early morning routine of being the family alarm clock, breakfast maker, a lunch bag packer I have let  myself get to bed later and later…sometime after three am. 

Last night was no exception, I had to edit an article that proved a little more difficult than I expected. The thirty minute job stretched into three hours. I should also mention that I am enabled by fellow scribe and inveterate insomniac Cassidy http://cassidysquest.blogspot.ca/. We will trade off musical and cultural links well into the night.

School begins again on the 7th so wish me luck in my attempt to better manage my schedule. 

There is still hope science will eliminate the need for sleep, think how productive we could all be. Of course we might all go crazy from the lack of REM sleep.

Does anyone remember that X-Files episode, "Sleepless" where the intrepid Mulder and Scully investigate strange deaths surrounding a group of Vietnam veterans, guinea pigs of a secret military project that eradicates the need for sleep.

 "sleep is where demons are released in our dreams."  The characters in "Sleepless" were haunted by their memories in real life because they were not able to sleep".

When I first saw the episode I thought, where can I sign up!

2013 Predictions

OK kats and kittens another Christmas has come and gone. Its time to look ahead to 2013 (jeez hope it was better than 2012) with my first annual predictions for the New Year:

1.Mini skirts will make a come back:

2. Detroit will be sold to Omni Consumer Products for $1.

3. Aliens will return Elvis:

4. Lincoln will release a Mustang based Mark IX with a 600 HP Coyote V8, well that is if I am made Lincoln brand manager, Ford you can contact me at this blog. Don’t forget to add lots of chrome boys.

5. Zombie virus will break out in China finding its way to our shores via infected leopard print mini-skirts sold at Walmart.

 And knowing is half the battle....

Hugs,

April