Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 109

onward and upward: basement suite rented

Good news all round today, though the sun is not shining. First, the basement suite is rented, wonderfully, to Anna's best friend since kindergarten who grew up around the corner. Shani is now the single mother of a teenager who lives with his dad and a 6-year old who lives with her and has big health problems, so she's thrilled not just to find a safe place to land but one near Sick Kids, where she spends a good deal of time. I reduced the rent in return for getting a bit of help on occasion watering or other stuff. She's a beautiful woman and we've known each other for more than 30 years. Moving in May 1. We're all thrilled.

And when Anna comes to visit, she and her oldest friend will catch up while their sons play in the garden. Heaven.

The closet is almost finished and I'm moving stuff in. Love it.
And the big door to the third floor, a major project that was causing huge headaches yesterday since it didn't quite fit, was rehung by Ed this morning - and it closes! A door that closes. We're on a roll.
After all this pleasure, more: I received a letter in the mail from my older grandson, aged six. Dear Glama, how are you are you having a nice day. Has Sam been there recently? Thank you for helping to sending me and Ben to camp this summer. Love Elijah and Ben.
Be still my beating heart. Yes, his mother already has both her sons organized for camp through the summer. I will be writing back immediately, in nice big print.

Watched some good movies on TV - not feeling much like going out as it's slippery and disgusting out there. The woman who loves giraffes - important to us as a family because my very tall son's totem animal is the giraffe - and what a surprising story this is. Who knew that the first white woman to go alone to Africa to study animal behaviour was not Jane Goodall but Anne Innis Dagg, a Canadian zoologist? She fell in love with a giraffe at a zoo when she was three and has spent the rest of her life concerned with this extraordinary animal. The doc takes an infuriating turn in the middle, when she's teaching at the U. of Guelph. As one article says, Despite her impressive record of academic publications and student attestations as to the quality of her teaching, Dr. Dagg was denied tenure. By multiple accounts in the film, she did not conform to the college leadership’s idea of a tenured professor. There was no place for a groundbreaking woman scientist studying the behaviour and biology of animals in the wild.

She's furious and nearly defeated but eventually is brought out of obscurity and acknowledged by the giraffe community - yes, there is such a thing - as their mentor and leader. She goes back to Africa even now, in her mid-eighties. Inspiring and marvellous, the best sort of documentary.

On Sunday Wayson and I watched The Darkest Hour, about Winston Churchill in 1940, before Dunkirk, as France falls. Again, I didn't know Churchill was urged to capitulate and make peace with Hitler, and how hard he had to fight not to. Gary Oldman is a spectacular Churchill, and it brought tears, of course, to hear him thunder his famous, "We will fight them on the beaches!" speech. His enemy, Lord Halifax, listens glumly and mutters, "He has mobilized the English language and sent it into battle," as the House of Commons erupts into patriotic cheers. I thought of my British mother, her sisters, my grandparents, listening on the wireless in their village Potterspury, my mother shortly thereafter quitting the grammar school she was attending on a scholarship to join the Land Army and do her bit.

Here's to writers everywhere, mobilizing their own language and sending it into battle - though usually, thank God, for more peaceful purposes.

Why Quebecers are unimpressed by the "scandal"

Hooray! Blog-reader Anne has just sent me an article I think is the most balanced overview of this whole tempest, saying beautifully and with humour what I've been feeling from the start: WTF? I am now proud to deem myself an honourary Quebecer. If there's little traffic, I NEVER wait for the light to change before crossing.
https://montrealgazette.com/opinion/columnists/josh-freed-why-quebecers-are-unimpressed-by-the-snc-blahvalin-scandal 

And now time to move on.

It's a gorgeous day - warm sun on the melting snow. There's hope for spring; tomorrow will be even warmer. I went out in sneakers! Sun is pouring into my second floor, which is still rubble and sawdust and giant pieces of sawing equipment, but there's hope there too. Today I am moving my clothes, which have been scattered and crammed into corners all over the house, into my closet, the only new room that's finished, so I can free other other spaces for the guys. In 18 or so days, I fly off to Europe, and two women will be living here. We need to finish, and we have a long way to go.

JM is flying off tomorrow, so came to take a last look at his creation. I have so much to be grateful to him for. We had our issues, we certainly did, but came through it as friends who know a great deal more about each other now.
It's Saturday. Time to sit in the sun and breathe in the hyacinths.

celebrating my men

How to be inappropriate on International Women's Day - I'd like to talk about MEN. The men working here, my heroes - problem-solving heavy-lifters, dealing with my infuriatingly eccentric house where there isn't a straight line or square corner anywhere, and my eccentric taste and JM's details.

Yesterday afternoon at 3.30, my living room was a dump, with 8 and 10 foot-long pieces of leftover moulding and trim stacked along the middle tripping us, and 3 apartment-sized appliances, a washer, a dryer, and a fridge, taking up all one corner, plus various pieces of construction equipment and the hall crowded with seven old doors we were not using or had cannibalized for handles. John came to take the trim away, Bill came to help carry extremely heavy appliances upstairs, Kevin, Ed, and Evan heaved and strained, 8 huge plastic boxes overflowing with rubble plus the doors were carried out to go to the dump, and by 4.30, my living room was respectable again, ready for the vacuum cleaner and my home class at 6.30.

Today, Ed and Evan, plus Dan the painter who was painting my closet, heaved a giant heavy window box thingie into place on the third floor, all 3 hoisting, then Evan holding it up with his shoulders until Ed got it screwed into place.
Hooray for men! Thank you to my guys here for strength, expertise, sense of humour. Gettin' 'er done. However, in case you think I'm relaxing, we have a long way to go:
 My bathroom
My bedroom
The guest bedroom
The hall.

Onward!

Of course I celebrate women too, every single day of my life, including in my classes, which are 85% female. Last night's class, as always, one beautiful story after another. Lucky moi. And speaking of writing and women and lucky, my daughter just sent me a tribute she wrote today about her grandmother, her dad's mother Connie who died last fall. It finishes, "I am fiercely proud to be her granddaughter, and I think I speak for all my cousins when I say that. To me, she proves, when a woman is allowed to reach her potential, she nourishes the world for generations to come. I love you grandma, and I will carry you in my heart forever."

Tears in the eyes - another writer in the family. Be still my beating heart.

It's still really cold and snowy - I don't remember a winter this tough, not for a long time. But there's blessed sun, and it's supposed to go up to 6 on Sunday. We'll take it.

So - the painters back next week, the electricians back the week after, Kevin and the boys finishing a ton of details - we're on a deadline here. It'll be close, but we're moving right along. Right now, there's a cardinal at my bird feeder, the sun is hot on my face, and the hyacinths Annie brought me last week are perfuming the air with springy scent. Two good men are pounding away upstairs. Life is good.

Cabbagetown suite for rent: pictures

Dear friends, I'm sorry to advertise my wares like this - but it's a necessity. 
The first six shots were taken before the renovation, when the apartment was a bachelor with bed in the living space. Now, after a renovation, there's a separate bedroom and a full-sized washer/dryer. The current tenant is still there, so the space has not been rearranged yet. Living-room and kitchen space from the front door.
Kitchen
 Entrance - private, through the garden
large shower
 bathroom
dressing room - on the way to the bathroom
new bedroom on the other side of the bathroom, which I am currently using.

So - fully furnished, self-contained one-bedroom suite with high-speed wifi, cable TV with HBO (and the Documentary Channel), all utilities included, and use of the back part of a glorious, nearly 200-foot long garden in summer. You might occasionally get to see my son barbecue.
And best of all - Cabbagetown, a most wonderful neighbourhood in itself and very close to TTC and downtown.

I am asking $1600 but am willing to negotiate a bit for the right person - quiet and responsible. Incidentally, my current tenant wanted to bring in a lot of his own furniture, so uses the dressing room as storage for my tables and chairs.

Please pass on to anyone you think might be interested. Thank you!

coming into the closet

People have been asking for photos of the rental spaces, so I will post a few of the basement suite, though not of the top floor yet because it's a work in progress.

But first - today's triumph, as the snow continues to fall: the walk-in closet is nearly done.


Not a double row - the shelves are reflected in the mirror. All done with found materials - the supports are doors, cut into pieces, and the shelves were from Ikea found at ReStore; designed by JM, built by Kevin. Lots of room for shoes! It's a dream. I had a narrow walk-in closet in childhood that I used to hide in and play with dolls. I may do the same here.

Met for two hours this morning with a fantastically interesting woman who wants me to be her writing coach. Inspiring. This afternoon, a Skype (or rather Zoom, which is what we use now) meeting about the Creative Nonfiction Conference. We needed funds for a particular project, I wrote to friends in Vancouver, and the other day, the David Suzuki Institute offered to sponsor us with $1000. A huge help.

Somehow, I'm getting through this stressful time - a long hard reno and a long hard winter simultaneously. With the help of the Y and a lot of soup and of course family and friends and books and the internet, the woman is alive and even, occasionally, perky.

FOR RENT: both basement suite and newly-renovated top floor room

Hooray - just what we need - more snow! But got to admit, even after all this, it's pretty, especially in my 'hood. This is Craig and Joe's yard with its vast chestnut tree.
All quiet on the eastern front - the weekend, no men tromping about. Plans for next week: trim, staircase, closet, top floor. Time's flying; I leave in 3 weeks for 3 weeks in Europe, my long-planned escape from winter. And while I'm gone, two women will be renting rooms here. The place has to be habitable.

Speaking of which: two rentals to announce again. Please share widely.

Quiet tenants wanted. Ideal location very near TTC, shops, downtown, Ryerson, and U of T. Fairly nice landlady, on a good day. 

One bedroom basement suite available as of May 1 or May 15 (depending on how long it takes me to get it painted...) Furnished with private entrance, full-sized kitchen, washer/dryer, wifi, cable TV, and use of the back part of a pretty spectacular garden, if I say so myself. $1550. 

A bargain, I've been told.

AND: Beautiful, bright third floor attic room for rent for short term stays, three day minimum (except for friends): newly-renovated and painted, furnished, queen-sized bed, TV, desk, skylight, kitchenette, two-piece bathroom with use of shower. $700 a month, $210 a week, $35 a day.

Again, I've been told I can charge much more. Guests coming for a week? Visitors to Toronto? This might be the place.

Please pass it on. Nice landlady really needs to start paying off renovation expenses. Just sayin'.

Wayson coming for dinner - we'll watch a bit of the doc about Michael Jackson, though it might be too depressing. First, this aft, a recap meeting about the Christmas pageant. Yes, in beautiful downtown Cabbagetown, it's always Christmas.

Leah McLaren in the Guardian

Ran into a friend at the Y, who said as a lawyer she finds the timing of JRW's testimony suspect and thinks it's payback. Who knows? My friend thinks Scheer will win the next election, and so will Trump. Made me want to slit my wrists. I do not believe it. So it's nice to read McLaren's article with its hopeful ending, except for the very last bit.... So it’s been a bad week for Canadian Liberals, and indeed for “small l” liberals everywhere. For those of us who earnestly and passionately believed in Trudeau’s project (*slowly raises hand*), his moral disgrace is a bitter pill to swallow. The leader we believed to be special and unique has seemingly behaved in ways that reveal him to be probably not all that. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. Except for the fact the old boss – Stephen Harper – ruled the country for nearly a decade like a vindictive autocrat, stonewalling the press, overhauling the elections act to his benefit, ignoring climate change and proroguing parliament at a whim. Not that this excuses Trudeau, of course.There’s no need for despair quite yet – even with the social media outrage. It’s important to remember that Trudeau’s scandal does not cancel out the importance of his government’s project. With any luck a majority of Canadians remain unshaken in the values of liberal democracy, fair governance and the international rules-based order. Come September, my country will, I hope, find a way to persist in its sunny ways and set a clear moral example in this fractious, uncertain world.The message is still good and clear and true. Too bad about the chap in charge of selling it.

hounds on the hunt for blood

Again I say - perspective, people, perspective! I simply cannot understand what is happening in Canada right now, except that the media, even the leftie Star, and the opposition parties smell blood and have set off like bloodhounds on a trail, howling and slavering; it plays well and sells papers. As if this has never happened before, as if Stephen Harper or other prime ministers never put pressure on cabinet members to do their bidding! It's preposterous. To me, it betrays a lot of schadenfreude, celebration that the arrogant Liberals, and especially their perky boy king, are brought low.

I've become the centre, for my friends, of the "Let's get a grip" faction; people are sending me reports of malfeasance by Wilson-Raybould, pointing out that she is a highly flawed figure herself, though portrayed currently as the saintly saviour of decency and honesty in Canada. I won't copy what's been sent, but it's from credible sources. I have no desire to tarnish an accomplished woman, just to bring a sense of - shall I say it again? - @##@ perspective to this debate.

And to point out that nearly this exact scenario happened in Ontario: voters recoiled in horror when they discovered Kathleen Wynne was - shudder in shock - a politician who wanted to be re-elected - no, say it isn't so! And a flawed human being who did many good things but also made some bad mistakes. They rushed to vote instead for kind, decent, highly intelligent Doug Ford. Now we're seeing how well that plays out.

Okay, again, enough. My blood pressure rises.

Last night's treat - gathering with Pamela, Kirsten, and Cathy, three of the team of six who organized last year's Creative Nonfiction Conference here, for dinner - next to the fireplace with a view of the frozen lake - at the Brewhouse at Harbourfront, and then to the Taylor Nonfiction Prize event next door, with the five finalists in conversation. We're all going to Vancouver for this year's conference in June and will be on board to help if it comes back to Toronto next year. We talked about going to the San Miguel Writer's conference in February. Mexico in February sounds good.

On the home front, moving right along - seven of eight doors are now on, and knobs are being found that work, a major job. Even more major, it took all three guys to hoist a very heavy ReStore door turned into a window high above the hall and get it into place. Nearly an hour of hoisting and shaving corners and hoisting again, and there we were. Today, trim.
Best of all, the other day friend and neighbour Monique came over to check things out and have a glass or two of wine, our regular treat. On the third floor, an awkward attic space under the eaves with mostly low, sloping ceilings, JM and I have been wrestling with how to fit a mini-fridge and kitchenette along the south wall where it's possible to stand up. Since we moved in in 1986, the bed has also always been against that wall. Monique took one look and said, "Why don't you put the bed over there, against the north wall?" It's a small space now occupied by the dresser, but in fact a queen bed fits tightly but well in there and opens up the rest of the room, which will now feel twice as big.

This is the pleasure not only of having smart friends with taste, but of getting a new pair of eyes on a dilemma that has defeated those of us who can't see it any more. We'd thought of every configuration in the room but that one, and she saw it instantly.

Friends have written to say they're glad the reno is nearly over. And I have to say - in yer dreams. So much still to do. But we're on the move.
  The reason, with a few others, for this whole exhausting, expensive experience: that skylight.

GET A #@$# GRIP, CANADA!

Unbelievable. Pathetic. A tiny scandal is gripping our country - the first ten pages of the Star this morning about nothing else, not one other subject than the Wilson-Raybould debacle from Ottawa.  Yes, it seems our boy king behaved inappropriately in urging - even, possibly, insistently urging his attorney general to do something she was loath to do. Imagine that - insistently urging! The country writhes in agony.

And in the meantime, on the same day to the south, as Michael Cohen testified, we were privy to a breathtaking portrait of corruption, treason, lying, cheating, stealing, vile cynicism of the most appalling, abject kind - and at the centre, a flawed man struggling to become a human being again, truly a Greek tragedy in the playing.

Let's weigh these two things and find balance, shall we? And shall we also look at the alternatives to the Liberals, who, let's not forget, have achieved some pretty remarkable things and failed, no question, at others. My daughter is relentless about their failures toward Indigenous peoples, for example. But look at what's on offer on the other side of the aisle - the disgusting Scheer, who recently met with the racist, xenophobic convoy from Alberta to cheer them on. Please, I beg my friends on the left, let's not tear our own side apart as we always do, as Bill Maher loves to point out we always do. And in the meantime, the right gets on with its job of rewarding wealth and destroying everything else. As our premier and his party are doing right now in Ontario.

Perhaps as an outsider, an Indigenous woman, the Attorney General refused to play the old boy's game as it is usually played. Trudeau has found out the flip side of his policy of selecting former outsiders - women and formerly marginalized people - for his cabinet. Boy, has he found out. But if this small mess leads to the election of the Conservatives ...

Unthinkable. Cannot go there. Okay, rant over for today.

Meanwhile, in renoland:
 the handles for the old doors which are starting to go in upstairs - sorting, fixing, and installing these will be a hell of a job for Ed
 living room decorated with handsome uncheesy trim
new hallway with new light and old doors
beginnings of walk in closet, using recycled bits of furniture 
  Hallway facing east, toward my bedroom. Light. Yesterday's snowfall - a record for this day in February, apparently. My most important job today: to get to the birdfeeder.

But I'm in my office in the sun - the new old door installed, without handle, shut against the noise. I'm not working on my own stuff, but I'm editing for So True and U of T. I'm in my office, as if everything is normal. As one day, undoubtedly, it will again be. But then - what's normal?

PS Anna just sent me a terrific article about Raybould et al. She pointed out that we shouldn't lower our standards just because the other side is so much worse.
https://www.thestar.com/politics/political-opinion/2019/02/27/for-justin-trudeau-the-days-of-sunny-ways-are-over.html

Sam's memoir in cocktails

This blog is keeping me sane. Something happens, an absurdity or a triumph or simply something I want to share - and there you are.

Upstairs, four men a'measuring. Five golden rings, six French hens. Now it's Kevin with Ed who's just back from another job plus Evan to help plus JM to command - plus right now Joe the painter to pick up piles of stuff he left here. Ed discovered the wide opening for the doors they were hoping to hang today is not wide enough - two and a half crucial inches. Do they re-cut the opening or trim the doors? Half an hour of a four-man discussion, with me checking Ikea for the size of the shelving we'd intended to put near the doors. In the end, they're cutting an inch off each door.
My lovely, dignified front hall and living room - on the right, a complete wooden Ikea bed-frame that Kevin found on the street on garbage day, and the two of us rescued. It will go on the top floor.
Three men a'measuring
The spare room
My tranquil bedroom - a reclaimed Habitat for Humanity door which is going to be cut into pieces and support the shelving in the closet.

The day is young and already my stress level is high.

Yesterday's triumph, though - my son used to work at Gaslight, an unpretentious, warm little bar on Bloor that became a local for many, particularly once my welcoming, funny son started there. He was invited back last night and sent out word to his legions of followers on Instagram and FB. Anna, the boys, and I went at 5 last night to say hello, eat pizza, and drink cocktails before the crowds, which started to pile in not long after, young people who'd been regulars when he worked there and now came with their babies and small children, followed by the after-work crowd. Many hugs and laughs, Sam greeting everyone and shaking cocktails. He'd made a small card which he handed out:
The mother writes memoir; the son made a memoir in cocktails, a drink for each of the jobs he's held since leaving Gaslight. While we were there, Vince, his best friend and former flat-mate, arrived with a gift in a pretty bag for him. It was a pile of about 30 black socks Sam left behind when he moved. "They're clean," said Vince.

When we left, the place was already packed with only Sam welcoming, taking orders, making people laugh, making drinks, preparing and serving food, and clearing. He sent a text to his dad and me at 5.30 this morning that he netted nearly triple the amount the bar usually makes on a Monday night. "Plus," he wrote, "I cleaned the place top to bottom after everyone left. So happy and tired."

So proud. This young man needs his own place. That's the plan, eventually.

Just as long as wherever it is, it doesn't need to be renovated.