Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 103
April 29, 2019
loss
Still in shock. One dark thought passed through my mind in bed last night: it has begun. The losses of aging and old age - the gradual disappearance of loved ones - it has begun. We expect our parents to die before us. Wayson felt like another generation to me, but he was in fact only 11 years older than I. Except for the terrible losses due to AIDS in the 80's, he's the first of my closest friends to vanish.
I don't want to lose people I love. It will hurt too much. But the only alternative is that I die first, which wouldn't be so much fun either.
The other words that went through my mind were: Someone who loved me is gone. For those of us without a significant other, the loss of the significant others whom we choose is devastating. Wayson loved me and cared about my life, as I did about his. It was a powerful bond that hasn't faltered since we met in 2002 or 3. In the local Goodwill, of course. Junk junkies both.
Friends have been calling and sending beautiful emails of tribute to him and to our friendship, and I thank them. Nick Rice sent this pic he took at the Miles Nadal JCC - I gave a talk there and Wayson was with me to sell my books, hover solicitously, and beam.
Loss. Grief. Last night I found myself in the bathroom, madly cleaning the leaves of the tall gardenia that survived the winter and the renovation, but with dusty leaves. And then I realized - it was a gift from Wayson, years ago, that brings him to me every time it blooms. And it will be blooming soon.
And this I had from him also: Onward.
I don't want to lose people I love. It will hurt too much. But the only alternative is that I die first, which wouldn't be so much fun either.
The other words that went through my mind were: Someone who loved me is gone. For those of us without a significant other, the loss of the significant others whom we choose is devastating. Wayson loved me and cared about my life, as I did about his. It was a powerful bond that hasn't faltered since we met in 2002 or 3. In the local Goodwill, of course. Junk junkies both.
Friends have been calling and sending beautiful emails of tribute to him and to our friendship, and I thank them. Nick Rice sent this pic he took at the Miles Nadal JCC - I gave a talk there and Wayson was with me to sell my books, hover solicitously, and beam.
Loss. Grief. Last night I found myself in the bathroom, madly cleaning the leaves of the tall gardenia that survived the winter and the renovation, but with dusty leaves. And then I realized - it was a gift from Wayson, years ago, that brings him to me every time it blooms. And it will be blooming soon.And this I had from him also: Onward.
April 28, 2019
Uncle Wayson
The loveliest picture ever - 2012, Eli had just been born
going through junk, as always, as our favourite store, Doubletake
the little aquarium was his Xmas present to Eli
Uncle Wayson
The worst picture of us ever
his 75th
Wayson spoke to many of my classes, including a home group here
Sam loved to cook for him, and as we all know, Wayson loved to eat
At one of my book launches, with my former student and current friend, fabulous writer Laurel Croza - Wayson blurbed one of her books
with Jean-Marc and Richard, my birthday party
a quiet moment in the garden - he never went anywhere without a bag full of books, pens, coloured pencils ...
The loveliest picture ever. Feasting joyfully on life, as always.
Wayson here in pictures
The loveliest picture ever - 2012, Eli had just been born
going through junk, as always, as our favourite store, Doubletake
the little aquarium was his Xmas present to Eli
Uncle Wayson
The worst picture of us ever
his 75th
Wayson spoke to many of my classes, including a home group here
Sam loved to cook for him
At one of my book launches, with Laurel Croza
with Jean-Marc and Richard, my birthday party
a quiet moment in the garden - he never went anywhere without a bag full of books, pens, coloured pencils ...
The loveliest picture ever.
Wayson Choy: "utterly amazed and happy still"
I came back with Ben this afternoon from a visit to the playground and Riverdale Farm, when Anna, who'd stayed behind with Eli, greeted me at the door. Come into the kitchen with me, Mum, she said, and I knew something was wrong.
It says on Twitter that Wayson died last night, she said, opening her arms as I stood frozen in shock and then began to weep.
Impossible to believe. Not yet. Too soon.
I went over to his place Thursday, and we sat in the kitchen he shared with Karl and Marie. He wanted, as usual, to go out for lunch, but I did not, so we had tea. He was frail and his asthmatic lungs were wheezing, which is why he wasn't supposed to leave the house. But as always, he was full of humour and kindness and wisdom. We hugged, as always, when I left, with promises to see each other soon. He usually came here for dinner on Sundays, but this Sunday, today, my grandkids were coming and I knew they'd be too much for him. He called yesterday, and we made a date for him to come for dinner Thursday.
In hindsight, I think of the call, how insistently he thanked me for everything. I wonder if he felt something coming. Of course, whatever I did for him was a pleasure, he was family; he was ours and we were his. My kids adored him and he them, and my grandsons gave him nearly as much pleasure as they do me. Anna and Sam are devastated too by this loss.
There is much to say about his life and his work, his legacy. My textbook True to Life: 50 steps to help you tell your story is a tribute to him; he is quoted on every page. He was an important mentor to many, none more so than I; he taught me so much both as a writer and as a teacher. And in return, I made sure he had a home cooked meal once a week, if possible. It was a good exchange.
I can't believe he's not there. He won't be coming for dinner, we won't be talking nearly every day. But at the same time, I am glad for him that it was a peaceful end and not protracted. He knew he had Alzheimer's, he discussed it openly, though for now he was coping well. But that would not have lasted, and then it could have been terrible for him. It never was. He had it seems as beautiful a death as such a beautiful man deserves.
This was his last email to me, last week, after we'd exchanged words about what was happening to him.
Thank you again for being so understanding, Beth ... I'm somewhat enjoying the scary bumps on this ride, if it weren't for the mental bruises that are leaving their mark and left me wondering - but I'm not ever feeling alone or abandoned. For example, you're pushing ahead and going on and on ... my hero!
Keep writing - your life is crazy in the right proportions - crazy, yes, but as always crazy-smart and crazy-lucky! Meanwhile, I'm just 'crazy' ... and utterly amazed and happy still.
x0 Wayson.
December 2017 - playing pirate boats with Eli
Dinner here in February - his favourite, steak.
My last shot of my friend, in early April, helping put together a complicated light fixture neither of us could figure out.
Already missed missed missed.
It says on Twitter that Wayson died last night, she said, opening her arms as I stood frozen in shock and then began to weep.
Impossible to believe. Not yet. Too soon.
I went over to his place Thursday, and we sat in the kitchen he shared with Karl and Marie. He wanted, as usual, to go out for lunch, but I did not, so we had tea. He was frail and his asthmatic lungs were wheezing, which is why he wasn't supposed to leave the house. But as always, he was full of humour and kindness and wisdom. We hugged, as always, when I left, with promises to see each other soon. He usually came here for dinner on Sundays, but this Sunday, today, my grandkids were coming and I knew they'd be too much for him. He called yesterday, and we made a date for him to come for dinner Thursday.
In hindsight, I think of the call, how insistently he thanked me for everything. I wonder if he felt something coming. Of course, whatever I did for him was a pleasure, he was family; he was ours and we were his. My kids adored him and he them, and my grandsons gave him nearly as much pleasure as they do me. Anna and Sam are devastated too by this loss.
There is much to say about his life and his work, his legacy. My textbook True to Life: 50 steps to help you tell your story is a tribute to him; he is quoted on every page. He was an important mentor to many, none more so than I; he taught me so much both as a writer and as a teacher. And in return, I made sure he had a home cooked meal once a week, if possible. It was a good exchange.
I can't believe he's not there. He won't be coming for dinner, we won't be talking nearly every day. But at the same time, I am glad for him that it was a peaceful end and not protracted. He knew he had Alzheimer's, he discussed it openly, though for now he was coping well. But that would not have lasted, and then it could have been terrible for him. It never was. He had it seems as beautiful a death as such a beautiful man deserves.
This was his last email to me, last week, after we'd exchanged words about what was happening to him.
Thank you again for being so understanding, Beth ... I'm somewhat enjoying the scary bumps on this ride, if it weren't for the mental bruises that are leaving their mark and left me wondering - but I'm not ever feeling alone or abandoned. For example, you're pushing ahead and going on and on ... my hero!
Keep writing - your life is crazy in the right proportions - crazy, yes, but as always crazy-smart and crazy-lucky! Meanwhile, I'm just 'crazy' ... and utterly amazed and happy still.
x0 Wayson.
December 2017 - playing pirate boats with Eli
Dinner here in February - his favourite, steak.
My last shot of my friend, in early April, helping put together a complicated light fixture neither of us could figure out. Already missed missed missed.
cardinal love, coming home
There's a wonderful scene outside: I propped a long mirror against the south wall in the garden, thinking it would go somewhere eventually - and now I see that the cardinal has fallen in love. He's married; Mrs. Cardinal is usually nearby because their nest is in a tree at the bottom of the garden, but he keeps flying down to look at himself in the mirror, hopping back and forth, gazing with fascination.
I will move the mirror later today to keep their marriage safe. But for now, cardinal love is a signal that it's spring at last; the sun is shining, the robins, sparrows, finches, and cardinals are singing full force, nesting, soaring. There's a sweet cover of green on most of the trees and shrubs - the willow is bright yellow - and the gardening helpers are coming tomorrow so we can begin the big job of pruning and clearing away winter detritus.
Like the garden, like the city, your faithful correspondent has come through a long hard winter. After months of panic, exhaustion, and stress, how light I feel. I know, a renovation is not a cancer diagnosis. It's not homelessness; in fact, it's the opposite, it's going through a rigamarole to improve one's home. And let me tell you, though the process was excruciating and I would never do it again - (never say never, girl) - it was worth it. There is light. Things are in their place and they actually have a place to be put in. Things that have never worked in my 33 years in this house are fixed. It's miraculous.
Of course, just saying this is asking for trouble, another sump pump explosion, perhaps; God knows what's in store, as the house has a way of producing nasty surprises. My close neighbours at 306 and 310, for example, did not have a recent infestation of termites, but 308 did. I will be paying for all this for a long time to come.
The house and I went through the fire in August 2005, the complete rebuilding of the basement and main floor which took till spring 2006. Then this felt like a brand new house. A couple of stylish friends came to visit, loved the sparkling modern kitchen and asked to see the rest of the house. I remember the look on their faces upstairs, because that part was completely unchanged. Old floors and windows, a strange jumble of rooms, a skylight stuck in a closet -
But now the glorious skylight is the centre of the house, the ceiling is opened up, the walls are painted, the windows are fixed, the floors are new, I can hardly believe it. And by next week, both the rental suites will be occupied and I can start paying off the debt.
Anna and the boys are on their way over; we'll go to the local playgrounds in the sun and then have a barbecue with Anna's oldest friend Shani, who's moving in Wednesday with her younger son Leo. Anna and Shani have been best friends since we moved here in September 1986, when they met at age 5 in Winchester Public School SK. Something has come full circle, and it makes me want to cry. I'll watch the cardinal admire himself and have a laugh instead.
Just for today, I won't think about the idiots in power, flooding, refugees, the heartbreaking list of injustices and horrors. Today, I celebrate rebirth.
I will move the mirror later today to keep their marriage safe. But for now, cardinal love is a signal that it's spring at last; the sun is shining, the robins, sparrows, finches, and cardinals are singing full force, nesting, soaring. There's a sweet cover of green on most of the trees and shrubs - the willow is bright yellow - and the gardening helpers are coming tomorrow so we can begin the big job of pruning and clearing away winter detritus.
Like the garden, like the city, your faithful correspondent has come through a long hard winter. After months of panic, exhaustion, and stress, how light I feel. I know, a renovation is not a cancer diagnosis. It's not homelessness; in fact, it's the opposite, it's going through a rigamarole to improve one's home. And let me tell you, though the process was excruciating and I would never do it again - (never say never, girl) - it was worth it. There is light. Things are in their place and they actually have a place to be put in. Things that have never worked in my 33 years in this house are fixed. It's miraculous.
Of course, just saying this is asking for trouble, another sump pump explosion, perhaps; God knows what's in store, as the house has a way of producing nasty surprises. My close neighbours at 306 and 310, for example, did not have a recent infestation of termites, but 308 did. I will be paying for all this for a long time to come.
The house and I went through the fire in August 2005, the complete rebuilding of the basement and main floor which took till spring 2006. Then this felt like a brand new house. A couple of stylish friends came to visit, loved the sparkling modern kitchen and asked to see the rest of the house. I remember the look on their faces upstairs, because that part was completely unchanged. Old floors and windows, a strange jumble of rooms, a skylight stuck in a closet -
But now the glorious skylight is the centre of the house, the ceiling is opened up, the walls are painted, the windows are fixed, the floors are new, I can hardly believe it. And by next week, both the rental suites will be occupied and I can start paying off the debt.
Anna and the boys are on their way over; we'll go to the local playgrounds in the sun and then have a barbecue with Anna's oldest friend Shani, who's moving in Wednesday with her younger son Leo. Anna and Shani have been best friends since we moved here in September 1986, when they met at age 5 in Winchester Public School SK. Something has come full circle, and it makes me want to cry. I'll watch the cardinal admire himself and have a laugh instead.
Just for today, I won't think about the idiots in power, flooding, refugees, the heartbreaking list of injustices and horrors. Today, I celebrate rebirth.
another note from a satisfied customer
For some reason, the numbers for both my classes, so far, are low. Maybe it's because I dropped out during the winter. In any case, I hope the numbers jump next week. As if to encourage me as a teacher, I just received this from a student who was in the class at least 15 years ago. Yes, I replied. Yes yes yes.
I was wondering....will you be teaching True to Life at Ryerson in the Fall of 2019? I took your evening class eons ago. I see that Sarah Sheard was taking over while you took a break for other things - yay for breaks and travel and even renovations - but hoping you'll be back in the coming fall. Since I was 'under your wing' there have been many fits and starts, but I'm trying to get back to serious, regular writing. I'm still working so evening classes are my best option.
I've also been writing fiction and poetry, and am casting around for a writing class to focus my efforts in the fall. I so enjoyed my very productive time with you, and so much of what you shared with your students is/was helpful in fiction.
Only a few more days to register.
https://learn.utoronto.ca/programs-courses/courses/2281-life-stories-i
I was wondering....will you be teaching True to Life at Ryerson in the Fall of 2019? I took your evening class eons ago. I see that Sarah Sheard was taking over while you took a break for other things - yay for breaks and travel and even renovations - but hoping you'll be back in the coming fall. Since I was 'under your wing' there have been many fits and starts, but I'm trying to get back to serious, regular writing. I'm still working so evening classes are my best option.
I've also been writing fiction and poetry, and am casting around for a writing class to focus my efforts in the fall. I so enjoyed my very productive time with you, and so much of what you shared with your students is/was helpful in fiction.
Only a few more days to register.
https://learn.utoronto.ca/programs-courses/courses/2281-life-stories-i
April 26, 2019
letter to the editor
Just like old times here today - Dan painting in the basement, Ed fixing things and putting up pictures; Kevin dropped by to see Ed, Evan dropped by to use Kevin's saw which Ed was using. Yesterday, Jean-Marc came to admire his design handiwork. All winter, I had to get used to lots of men in my house, and soon, I'll get used to no men in my house. I am more than ready for that day. But it's not here yet - they're all back next week. Plus the window guys, to fix something that doesn't work. And soon the roof repair guy and the termite guys will also be back.
It never ends.
In the night, I was writing protest letters about this government, so as soon as I got up, I put the words on paper and emailed both the Globe and the Star. I sent a long version and a short version; the Star wrote back immediately that they might use the short version early next week. Hope so. That's my writing for the day. Here's the long version:
To the Editor:
Here are words I never thought it possible to say: worse than Mike Harris. Harris destroyed the Ontario education system as my children went through it; year after year, their classes were disrupted by demonstrations and strikes, as vicious cuts came down, and teachers, students, and parents marched to make their voices heard. And then he attacked Toronto itself.
But this guy is worse. It’s possible Harris, mean-spirited and heedless as his policies were, may actually have believed they were for the best. Our current premier has no beliefs except winning, destroying, and getting even. He’s a vindictive, resentful blowhard, and his hates are many, education, healthcare, women, and this city chief among them. A man of lifelong wealth and privilege, he has no understanding of what a library means to a community, what legal aid means, safe injection sites, midwives – for that matter, what climate change means to our planet. He’s smashing the Ontario education system as my grandchildren go through it.
What shocks me most is not the man himself; we were well acquainted with his brother, and this man was his brother’s enabler. But what about the others in his team, can they not see how short-sighted and destructive these cuts and changes are? Where’s the conscience of Caroline Mulroney or Lisa MacLeod or the others who used to have a modicum of decency? Or maybe we just imagined it was there.
Donald Trump has eviscerated his country with the hearty backing of his spineless party. Now we are enduring the same here in Ontario. The damage inflicted by Ford and his team will bring harm to our province far worse than the damage inflicted by Harris and his. And that is something I once would have thought impossible.
Yours,Beth Kaplan
It never ends.
In the night, I was writing protest letters about this government, so as soon as I got up, I put the words on paper and emailed both the Globe and the Star. I sent a long version and a short version; the Star wrote back immediately that they might use the short version early next week. Hope so. That's my writing for the day. Here's the long version:
To the Editor:
Here are words I never thought it possible to say: worse than Mike Harris. Harris destroyed the Ontario education system as my children went through it; year after year, their classes were disrupted by demonstrations and strikes, as vicious cuts came down, and teachers, students, and parents marched to make their voices heard. And then he attacked Toronto itself.
But this guy is worse. It’s possible Harris, mean-spirited and heedless as his policies were, may actually have believed they were for the best. Our current premier has no beliefs except winning, destroying, and getting even. He’s a vindictive, resentful blowhard, and his hates are many, education, healthcare, women, and this city chief among them. A man of lifelong wealth and privilege, he has no understanding of what a library means to a community, what legal aid means, safe injection sites, midwives – for that matter, what climate change means to our planet. He’s smashing the Ontario education system as my grandchildren go through it.
What shocks me most is not the man himself; we were well acquainted with his brother, and this man was his brother’s enabler. But what about the others in his team, can they not see how short-sighted and destructive these cuts and changes are? Where’s the conscience of Caroline Mulroney or Lisa MacLeod or the others who used to have a modicum of decency? Or maybe we just imagined it was there.
Donald Trump has eviscerated his country with the hearty backing of his spineless party. Now we are enduring the same here in Ontario. The damage inflicted by Ford and his team will bring harm to our province far worse than the damage inflicted by Harris and his. And that is something I once would have thought impossible.
Yours,Beth Kaplan
April 24, 2019
coming together
The most wonderful thing happened today: I rode to the Y to do the usual Wednesday lunchtime class - Carole is away but someone always subs for her - to find that all the classes were cancelled! There'd been a power outage. Yes, I could have lifted weights or jogged around on my own, but instead, I sat for ages in the sauna, had a shower, and went home. I didn't need exercise, for God's sake, I've been hauling boxes up and down for days. I only went to see my friends, but another day. Hooray for power outages at exactly the right time.
Instead I rode my bike in the crisp spring sun - the day started cold but bright, and later it got hot - to the wonderful Carpet Mill in Riverdale, which sells carpet remainders at very reasonable prices, to replace the rug ruined by the sump pump leaks. Visited my beloved Wayson on the way, since he lives nearby. He is now quite open about what's happening to him. "I now know - I have Alzheimer's," he says, with his impish grin. He has notebooks where he writes everything down and though thinner, looks fine. The last time I called him to say I'd come visit, he misunderstood and set off for my house, so when I arrived at his, he was arriving at mine. What matters is that he's safe and will come over soon for dinner.
Ed was working here all day today. He was Kevin's helper during the reno; Kevin, my neighbour the contractor, was in charge of most of the work - carpentry, plumbing, drywall, he does it all, and so does Ed, who's a stellar problem solver in his own right. He's here to replace the baseboards damaged by the sump and put up pictures and do other stuff - my idea of heaven, a willing and able man with a power drill and a stud finder. Kevin came by, and there we were, the trio who somehow survived a brutally exhausting, protracted, and difficult winter renovation. It was good to be with them again, these capable men; good to know that we are all friends despite the stress and tensions we went through. Best of all, I'm still friends with Jean-Marc, who designed the project and was my main opponent - and ally.
So yes, it's all coming together, this investment, better than ever. If only the old bag who lives here could say the same.
Instead I rode my bike in the crisp spring sun - the day started cold but bright, and later it got hot - to the wonderful Carpet Mill in Riverdale, which sells carpet remainders at very reasonable prices, to replace the rug ruined by the sump pump leaks. Visited my beloved Wayson on the way, since he lives nearby. He is now quite open about what's happening to him. "I now know - I have Alzheimer's," he says, with his impish grin. He has notebooks where he writes everything down and though thinner, looks fine. The last time I called him to say I'd come visit, he misunderstood and set off for my house, so when I arrived at his, he was arriving at mine. What matters is that he's safe and will come over soon for dinner.
Ed was working here all day today. He was Kevin's helper during the reno; Kevin, my neighbour the contractor, was in charge of most of the work - carpentry, plumbing, drywall, he does it all, and so does Ed, who's a stellar problem solver in his own right. He's here to replace the baseboards damaged by the sump and put up pictures and do other stuff - my idea of heaven, a willing and able man with a power drill and a stud finder. Kevin came by, and there we were, the trio who somehow survived a brutally exhausting, protracted, and difficult winter renovation. It was good to be with them again, these capable men; good to know that we are all friends despite the stress and tensions we went through. Best of all, I'm still friends with Jean-Marc, who designed the project and was my main opponent - and ally.
So yes, it's all coming together, this investment, better than ever. If only the old bag who lives here could say the same.
note from a grateful student
My classes start soon - Ryerson next Wednesday and U of T the Tuesday after that. There's still room. Scroll down to the post from a few days ago for more information and links.
These are the treats that inspire teachers to keep going - out of the blue, this morning, I got this email from a Syrian woman who came to class 15 years ago. 15 years! But then, I've been teaching this stuff for 25. And still love my work.
Hello Beth,
I wonder if you remember me :) I took one of your creative writing courses at Ryerson year 2007 I think!
Just touching base with you to say that you an inspiring teacher. I learned from you.
These are the treats that inspire teachers to keep going - out of the blue, this morning, I got this email from a Syrian woman who came to class 15 years ago. 15 years! But then, I've been teaching this stuff for 25. And still love my work.
Hello Beth,
I wonder if you remember me :) I took one of your creative writing courses at Ryerson year 2007 I think!
Just touching base with you to say that you an inspiring teacher. I learned from you.
April 23, 2019
shelves of glory
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Then I noticed the internet symbol on the computer was off. Twenty minutes of fussing and anxiety later - the computer refused to recognize my network - I'd fiddled and tried and checked Diagnostics, then </span>finally<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> turned the router off, and the internet</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> eventually came back. By then I was off on another track entirely. </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">It never ends, does it? What was that glitch about? The computer saying, You think you're going to get to work? I have news for you. Mwa ha ha!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, let's start again. I'm sitting in my east-facing bedroom because this is where the morning sun hits, and we've been hard pressed for sun this last while, except for yesterday which was sublime. The house around me is becoming recognizable again. The front hall is stacked high with empty boxes, because the books in those boxes are on shelves - and they're organized. There are shelves for memoir and books about writing, shelves for poetry and theatre and plays, sections for subjects that interest me: Jews, Beatles, E.B. White, travel, and languages; shelves for my own published work and for the family photo albums and books from my childhood, like <i>Little Women, </i>and a special section for family treasures - my grandmother's Shakespeare, my mother's little book of Rupert Brooke poetry, Virgil's <i>Aeneid </i>with marked inside "Gordin Kaplan, 1939" - what Dad was reading at 17. <i>Barnaby Rudge</i> with "Xmas 1907, Marion, from Father and Mother." What my grandmother was reading at 17. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And two other special sections: the little red record player Lani gave me with my old Beatle records stacked beside, and a shelf of toys and dolls: my teddy bear, my mother's, my aunt Do's, our dolls, the Sootie hand puppet that was mine in England in 1956. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Immense satisfaction.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Outside in the hall, in the new bookshelf Jean-Marc created, two more categories: classics, and books by friends, and in the spare bedroom, current children's books for when the boys come. Downstairs, stacked miles high, books I've yet to read. Luckily, Doug Ford has destroyed the magnificent and generous Ontario library system, so instead of getting out new books - I just counted 14 ordered, delivered, and read between November 2018 and March 2019 - I'll have to read the ones I have. Gosh, thanks, Doug. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">My office is still a mess but much better. The closet is getting there. I went out in the garden yesterday and did a bit of pruning, though there are still days of work remaining. <span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shani the downstairs tenant came yesterday and we saw what has to be done: the baseboards need to be replaced after the flooding, Ed I hope is coming tomorrow to do that and other things, and I'm hoping to buy a new carpet today. The new sofa is arriving next week. Otherwise, she's good to go. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the upstairs rental, again, more needs to be done - her toaster oven is ordered, also arriving soon, thank God for online shopping and delivery. We'll get there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Best of all, yesterday I went across town to visit Anna and Thomas and the boys. Thomas has created an even bigger fenced-in garden and a whole greenhouse of seedlings under gro-lights - amazing. Being with the boys fills my heart with so much joy that it hurts. The day before, a very rainy day, Anna had entertained and fed some of Thomas's extended family, including six children plus her two. We had leftovers and I did storytime - Harry Potter, such a treat to read it again - and bathtime, because she was exhausted.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2O1F7mDsOG..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2O1F7mDsOG..." width="320" /></a></div>How to tell Anna lives here? Eli's sign: "Queen Victoria PS against education cuts!"<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3DaDtPyDP1..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3DaDtPyDP1..." width="320" /></a></div>Helping in the garden by flinging dirt. Nothing better.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And then the streetcar home to a house which is now, once more, after a long and difficult and expensive year, my home. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Dear blogger friend Theresa Kishkan, 3 books by whom are in my hall, wrote yesterday that instead of saying I have incurred debt, I could say, I have made an investment. And it's true, I have spent a year investing in the future of this house and my own future in it. I'm aware, however, that while I was busy renovating and fretting, arguing with Jean-Marc and choosing trim, Theresa was writing essays and books, with several published and others coming out soon. She made an investment of another kind - in her talent and her work. Which is what I must get back to too.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I settled down here this morning to begin writing work but the computer intervened, and now I'm writing to you, and then it will be time to get on with the practical side of the day, the hunting and gathering, before the predicted thunderstorms roll in. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Stay tuned.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SUwelPc0dX..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SUwelPc0dX..." width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>
