Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 113
January 10, 2019
Reno-land report and Roma
A moment of peace - 8 a.m. Thursday, a light dusting of snow outside, the ground shining white, but there's lots of green still. An exceptionally easy winter, so far. But we have miles to go...
And so do we here, in Reno-land, but our way is considerably lighter too. Yesterday, the city inspector came to check out our work. I'd been worried about it, because of course, this being my renovation, nothing was being done strictly according to the book. But he was open, thorough, fair. He asked for another beam here and there, more support up there and also there; he checked the sites for plumbing, poked into drywall, saw it all, and said, Fine.
Fine. Full steam ahead. We're on the move. Incalculable relief.
Friday the electrician comes for the huge job of re-wiring four floors, new smoke detectors throughout, a heater or two. Then the drywall starts to go up, and soon, this house will start to look like a home again.
Speaking of home: On Tuesday I went across town to my son's apartment. When the movers came from Ottawa in December, they left 3 suitcases full of Do's things at Sam's, and this is the first opportunity I've had to see what was in them. I packed most myself in a blur after Do's memorial, but Pat, her caregiver, had repacked and added stuff. It gave me joy to see Sam's place - Do's Danish teak sofa, coffee tables, chairs and lamps, her dishes. He has my dad's U.S. army picture on display, lots of other family stuff. And he took the silver - trays, tea pots and creamers and all the rest of Do's silver that no one else wants. It's a wonderful thing to have a son as sentimental about all that old stuff as his mama is.
Then we went to Anna's, where his adoring nephews tumbled about him like puppies
and we all ate dinner on Do's dining-room table. She lives on in Toronto, appreciated and remembered.
I unpacked my own treasures when I got home. Here - a ridiculously delicate glass, carefully wrapped and labeled as was everything of Do's - "1 WINE GLASS - SPIRALLED STEM. G. GRANDMOTHER'S?" I imagine my great-great-grandmother in Northampton, sipping sherry from this glass. Another impractical thing I'll be stuck with and cherish for the rest of my life.
In my kitchen, and across town with my kids, the welcome weight of the past. Upstairs, on the second floor about to be rebuilt, the promise of the future.
Last night, feeling queasy perhaps after the tension of the last few months, I watched the movie Roma on Netflix. It's had major buzz and I've been meaning to go to TIFF to see it, but there it was, on my lap. It's so beautifully shot, it should be seen on the big screen, but on a cold night, with a heaving stomach, it was sheer joy to watch on my own personal screen. I understand the critics - the main character is a cipher without agency - and yet, based on the director's own childhood memories, it's a wondrous film, gloriously filmed, moving and intensely real. Autobiography and memoir rule!
And so do we here, in Reno-land, but our way is considerably lighter too. Yesterday, the city inspector came to check out our work. I'd been worried about it, because of course, this being my renovation, nothing was being done strictly according to the book. But he was open, thorough, fair. He asked for another beam here and there, more support up there and also there; he checked the sites for plumbing, poked into drywall, saw it all, and said, Fine.
Fine. Full steam ahead. We're on the move. Incalculable relief.
Friday the electrician comes for the huge job of re-wiring four floors, new smoke detectors throughout, a heater or two. Then the drywall starts to go up, and soon, this house will start to look like a home again.
Speaking of home: On Tuesday I went across town to my son's apartment. When the movers came from Ottawa in December, they left 3 suitcases full of Do's things at Sam's, and this is the first opportunity I've had to see what was in them. I packed most myself in a blur after Do's memorial, but Pat, her caregiver, had repacked and added stuff. It gave me joy to see Sam's place - Do's Danish teak sofa, coffee tables, chairs and lamps, her dishes. He has my dad's U.S. army picture on display, lots of other family stuff. And he took the silver - trays, tea pots and creamers and all the rest of Do's silver that no one else wants. It's a wonderful thing to have a son as sentimental about all that old stuff as his mama is.
Then we went to Anna's, where his adoring nephews tumbled about him like puppies
and we all ate dinner on Do's dining-room table. She lives on in Toronto, appreciated and remembered.I unpacked my own treasures when I got home. Here - a ridiculously delicate glass, carefully wrapped and labeled as was everything of Do's - "1 WINE GLASS - SPIRALLED STEM. G. GRANDMOTHER'S?" I imagine my great-great-grandmother in Northampton, sipping sherry from this glass. Another impractical thing I'll be stuck with and cherish for the rest of my life.
In my kitchen, and across town with my kids, the welcome weight of the past. Upstairs, on the second floor about to be rebuilt, the promise of the future.Last night, feeling queasy perhaps after the tension of the last few months, I watched the movie Roma on Netflix. It's had major buzz and I've been meaning to go to TIFF to see it, but there it was, on my lap. It's so beautifully shot, it should be seen on the big screen, but on a cold night, with a heaving stomach, it was sheer joy to watch on my own personal screen. I understand the critics - the main character is a cipher without agency - and yet, based on the director's own childhood memories, it's a wondrous film, gloriously filmed, moving and intensely real. Autobiography and memoir rule!
January 7, 2019
"I think you've been looking for me."
What a difference a few days can make. The reno is progressing; all of us feel the momentum. Today they removed the odd third floor walkway that hung over part of our second floor hall; it was a platform for a loft bed when that room was a teen's bedroom, before we moved in, but it was a useless path that never made sense for us. Today, it was taken down, and the ceiling soared.
From the landing looking west, to the door of my office; the platform was above. The window above will be replaced.
From the door of my office looking east. Space and light.
Again, I feel as if I've moved out from under a dark cloud or emerged from an illness. Though in fact, I felt terrible today and did nothing but sit in my chair with aching bod and work on essays and read websites. Hope that helps head off whatever it is that's trying to get in. I sent an essay to my new editor, Laura Cameron, yesterday, got it back today with helpful comments, rewrote. God I love this.
Last night, I turned on the Golden Globes, but it was so anodyne, so tedious despite Sandra Oh's heartfelt speech about diversity, that I switched channels and ended up watching a Canadian documentary called "I think you've been looking for me." And, to my surprise, I ended up weeping. A tremendously moving story, a young man telling us about his mother, in her seventies, who'd been withdrawn and depressed during much of his childhood and that of his two older siblings. She reveals her secret: as a teen, she'd been a victim of date rape, though, she says, those words did not exist in the Sixties. She'd become pregnant, and as a young Catholic girl, was sent to a home for unwed mothers, where she sat for months in isolation, eventually giving birth alone. Her baby boy was shown to her once and then she was not allowed to see him again. She went home, and the baby was given up for adoption.
She says that as each of her 3 children were born, she felt nothing. It was only when caring for them that she began to feel like a mother. She felt that the terrible pain of losing her first child was punishment for her sins.
O the sins of the church and of that repressive, woman-hating, profoundly dishonest time.
Through the magic of the internet, her son is found, and to the joy I'm sure of the filmmakers, he's handsome, open, and kind; he had a happy childhood but is anxious to meet his birth family. The reunions, the first online Skype conversation of mother and son, their reunion at the airport - oh the strength of that hug - the eventual meeting of all members of the family, the adoptive parents, the son's wife and kids, all the siblings meeting their half-brother for the first time - extremely moving. The power of blood, the desire to know our roots - such a deep-rooted need. The last shot - spoiler alert - the mother holding and gazing at her daughter's firstborn baby boy, blissfully absorbed in his tiny face, all her losses put to rest, her heart at ease. I'm the luckiest person in the universe, she says.
Sometimes, television is a great, great friend.
From the landing looking west, to the door of my office; the platform was above. The window above will be replaced.
From the door of my office looking east. Space and light.Again, I feel as if I've moved out from under a dark cloud or emerged from an illness. Though in fact, I felt terrible today and did nothing but sit in my chair with aching bod and work on essays and read websites. Hope that helps head off whatever it is that's trying to get in. I sent an essay to my new editor, Laura Cameron, yesterday, got it back today with helpful comments, rewrote. God I love this.
Last night, I turned on the Golden Globes, but it was so anodyne, so tedious despite Sandra Oh's heartfelt speech about diversity, that I switched channels and ended up watching a Canadian documentary called "I think you've been looking for me." And, to my surprise, I ended up weeping. A tremendously moving story, a young man telling us about his mother, in her seventies, who'd been withdrawn and depressed during much of his childhood and that of his two older siblings. She reveals her secret: as a teen, she'd been a victim of date rape, though, she says, those words did not exist in the Sixties. She'd become pregnant, and as a young Catholic girl, was sent to a home for unwed mothers, where she sat for months in isolation, eventually giving birth alone. Her baby boy was shown to her once and then she was not allowed to see him again. She went home, and the baby was given up for adoption.
She says that as each of her 3 children were born, she felt nothing. It was only when caring for them that she began to feel like a mother. She felt that the terrible pain of losing her first child was punishment for her sins.
O the sins of the church and of that repressive, woman-hating, profoundly dishonest time.
Through the magic of the internet, her son is found, and to the joy I'm sure of the filmmakers, he's handsome, open, and kind; he had a happy childhood but is anxious to meet his birth family. The reunions, the first online Skype conversation of mother and son, their reunion at the airport - oh the strength of that hug - the eventual meeting of all members of the family, the adoptive parents, the son's wife and kids, all the siblings meeting their half-brother for the first time - extremely moving. The power of blood, the desire to know our roots - such a deep-rooted need. The last shot - spoiler alert - the mother holding and gazing at her daughter's firstborn baby boy, blissfully absorbed in his tiny face, all her losses put to rest, her heart at ease. I'm the luckiest person in the universe, she says.
Sometimes, television is a great, great friend.
January 6, 2019
coming home
Today was sunny and not too cold, a lovely bike-riding day. I went to the Y to get stoned. Yes - I watched a doc about the body, and one point they made was that exercise produces the same chemicals - cannabinoids - as weed. I texted my weed-smoking daughter that in fact I go to the Y to get high.
And I do.
My friends, I feel I'm returning to myself after an illness. In fact, I have been in the throes of an extended panic attack brought on by the renovation. It terrified me, pushed me into paranoia and resentment. December was a hard month. The fear does feel as if it's fading, though, and I'm regaining perspective and a sense of humour. The reno is an adventure, and I know it'll be worth all this disruption and expense. She said bravely.
Also, the sister of an English friend emailed when she heard about my misery, and she told me hers - she and her husband, with little money and six small sons, bought a wreck to renovate. She raised her boys in a house that had a plastic sheet for a wall and no roof at one point, had no hot water for years, no indoor toilet. When the house was fixed up, they sold it at a great profit and bought another wreck - and then her husband left her. She was left with six boys in a falling down house, and then suffered a life-threatening illness. But she came through it all magnificently, sent a picture of her grown sons visiting with their children - her many grandchildren.
Talk about gaining perspective! Thanks, I needed that.
I've started writing essays again - haven't written in that short form for years, after doing so throughout the early years of my writing career in the 90's. It's fun. Once I started focussing on books, I decided essays were a distraction and I'd have to leave them behind. But now that the memoir is on hiatus, essays are another way to say what I want to say. Or to find out what I want to say, perhaps.
Just came back from having Sunday dinner at Anna's, giving Ben and Eli their baths - well, watching them splash and shriek and squirt bathwater from their mouths - and then, while Anna put Ben to bed, I played Go Fish with Eli. I haven't played Go Fish for decades. I'm happy to say he won, 5 games to 4, but it was close. My daughter's house is a miracle of order and cheer. She had made a warm, safe, stimulating home for her family. She is a homemaker.
Is there any blessing greater than that? No. None.
And I do.
My friends, I feel I'm returning to myself after an illness. In fact, I have been in the throes of an extended panic attack brought on by the renovation. It terrified me, pushed me into paranoia and resentment. December was a hard month. The fear does feel as if it's fading, though, and I'm regaining perspective and a sense of humour. The reno is an adventure, and I know it'll be worth all this disruption and expense. She said bravely.
Also, the sister of an English friend emailed when she heard about my misery, and she told me hers - she and her husband, with little money and six small sons, bought a wreck to renovate. She raised her boys in a house that had a plastic sheet for a wall and no roof at one point, had no hot water for years, no indoor toilet. When the house was fixed up, they sold it at a great profit and bought another wreck - and then her husband left her. She was left with six boys in a falling down house, and then suffered a life-threatening illness. But she came through it all magnificently, sent a picture of her grown sons visiting with their children - her many grandchildren.
Talk about gaining perspective! Thanks, I needed that.
I've started writing essays again - haven't written in that short form for years, after doing so throughout the early years of my writing career in the 90's. It's fun. Once I started focussing on books, I decided essays were a distraction and I'd have to leave them behind. But now that the memoir is on hiatus, essays are another way to say what I want to say. Or to find out what I want to say, perhaps.
Just came back from having Sunday dinner at Anna's, giving Ben and Eli their baths - well, watching them splash and shriek and squirt bathwater from their mouths - and then, while Anna put Ben to bed, I played Go Fish with Eli. I haven't played Go Fish for decades. I'm happy to say he won, 5 games to 4, but it was close. My daughter's house is a miracle of order and cheer. She had made a warm, safe, stimulating home for her family. She is a homemaker.
Is there any blessing greater than that? No. None.
January 5, 2019
apartment for sale in Ottawa
Know anyone who wants to buy an apartment in Ottawa? A bright, convenient, and open but unrenovated two-bed two-bath apartment in a highrise on Regina St. near Britannia Park. New windows, partially furnished with 60's teak shelving. Belonged to my dear aunt Do. Please get in touch if you know someone who might be interested. Many thanks.
INFO ON BETH'S CLASSES AT U OF T AND RYERSON
It's nearly time for the teaching term to begin, and for once, I'm not checking numbers at the universities and dry-cleaning my teaching jackets. That side of my work won't resume until May.
As I wrote last week:
I will be running this note regularly to be sure potential students checking this blog know: I AM NOT TEACHING THE WINTER 2019 TERM AT EITHER U OF T OR RYERSON.
My U of T class Life Stories has been cancelled for January through March 2019. At Ryerson, True to Life is being taught by the terrific writer Sarah Sheard.
I WILL RESUME IN MAY AT BOTH UNIVERSITIES: Life Stories Tuesday evenings starting May 7, and True to Life Wednesday evenings starting May 1.
Please write if you have any questions. Thank you and Happy New Year!
As I wrote last week:
I will be running this note regularly to be sure potential students checking this blog know: I AM NOT TEACHING THE WINTER 2019 TERM AT EITHER U OF T OR RYERSON.
My U of T class Life Stories has been cancelled for January through March 2019. At Ryerson, True to Life is being taught by the terrific writer Sarah Sheard.
I WILL RESUME IN MAY AT BOTH UNIVERSITIES: Life Stories Tuesday evenings starting May 7, and True to Life Wednesday evenings starting May 1.
Please write if you have any questions. Thank you and Happy New Year!
January 3, 2019
the view from here
It snowed in the night. I was up at 4 a.m., and this is what I saw through my kitchen window:
And I thought, that's why I'm going through this @#$@# renovation - so that I can keep looking at that. Or this, a few hours later:
That's why. Also my beloved kitchen. Also my neighbours and the whole neighbourhood. It's good to remember why I'm doing this, because when a fit of despair hits, I forget.
Anna found a place in Muskoka that rents rooms and cabins winter and summer, so she rented a room with two double beds, and she and the family went. They made snow angels, skated, snowshoed, warmed themselves by an outdoor fire - a real Canadian winterland. Rosy cheeks.
Whereas I'm happy to sit in my kitchen with my noise-cancelling headphones on, listening to a Schubert piano sonata. As I did this morning, while the crashes went on above.
Doing errands later, saw these signs that some wag had put all over the fences nearby, outside the Regent Park buildings slated for demolition:
And there were more. Fun.
Otherwise, not much fun over here. But it's nearly wine time. Things are looking up.
And I thought, that's why I'm going through this @#$@# renovation - so that I can keep looking at that. Or this, a few hours later:
That's why. Also my beloved kitchen. Also my neighbours and the whole neighbourhood. It's good to remember why I'm doing this, because when a fit of despair hits, I forget.Anna found a place in Muskoka that rents rooms and cabins winter and summer, so she rented a room with two double beds, and she and the family went. They made snow angels, skated, snowshoed, warmed themselves by an outdoor fire - a real Canadian winterland. Rosy cheeks.
Whereas I'm happy to sit in my kitchen with my noise-cancelling headphones on, listening to a Schubert piano sonata. As I did this morning, while the crashes went on above.Doing errands later, saw these signs that some wag had put all over the fences nearby, outside the Regent Park buildings slated for demolition:
And there were more. Fun.Otherwise, not much fun over here. But it's nearly wine time. Things are looking up.
January 2, 2019
putting demons to rest
Friend Chris has kindly been listening via email as I howl about renovation misery. He pointed out that though after years of therapy I boasted about being psychologically healthy, even serene, I seem during this process to be fraught with tension and anxiety. And he's right; the reno has brought out all my demons. I see the potential for disaster everywhere. This does not help anyone, not the men doing the work, and certainly not me.
So I will work to stop. As I pointed out to Chris, I have a natural pessimism. When as a child I was asked how exams had gone, I'd always say, "They were terrible. I'm sure I failed." I meant it and believed it, and then I'd win a prize. Year after year, predicting disaster, winning a prize. The pattern never changed.
So I'm a pessimist, always seeing the worst case scenario. Is that from the Jewish side? No, because my British mother also was terrified of everything. Until the worst case scenario actually came, my father's terminal cancer diagnosis, and she just went through it. Because she had no choice. Here, I have no choice but to go through it. Yes, there are men in my house ripping things apart every day - stressful. But it's to make things better, and they are nice men. So relax, baby. Relax into the blow.
Easy to say.
I'm reading a very good book which will only interest a few of you: "The Business of Being a Writer," by Jane Friedman. Full of the kind of practical stuff creative writing courses don't teach you and that really, these days, we writers need to know. With the publishing business exploding all over the map and nobody making any money anywhere, we need to know what's going on and how to cope with social media and all the rest. Brands! I'm taking notes. Am also reading "How to behave in a crowd," a novel by Camille Bordas, entertaining, about a very eccentric family. And of course, 56 websites, FB, Twitter, newspapers, the New Yorker, and now, seven decorating magazines that someone just left in the Little Free Library.
Speaking of the library, it's almost always empty because of the horrible crazy man - or men - who empty it regularly, stealing every book. But yesterday, it looked like this. Thank you!
Here are some pix from upstairs today.
This will be a new source of light on the second floor when it's finished. For 31 years it has driven me crazy that there was a gorgeous skylight in a small closet. Now the closet has gone and the skylight will illuminate much of the second floor. So much light - a dream come true. Let's focus on that instead of what might go wrong, shall we, you crazy woman?
A gift from Ken - freesia in a cut glass wine glass.
It's 3.45 and the men have just left. I can go and play the Moonlight Sonata and remember what my afternoons used to be, and will be again, one day. Happy 2019 to you all. May you find peace and put your inner demons to rest. And may the light pour in.
So I will work to stop. As I pointed out to Chris, I have a natural pessimism. When as a child I was asked how exams had gone, I'd always say, "They were terrible. I'm sure I failed." I meant it and believed it, and then I'd win a prize. Year after year, predicting disaster, winning a prize. The pattern never changed.
So I'm a pessimist, always seeing the worst case scenario. Is that from the Jewish side? No, because my British mother also was terrified of everything. Until the worst case scenario actually came, my father's terminal cancer diagnosis, and she just went through it. Because she had no choice. Here, I have no choice but to go through it. Yes, there are men in my house ripping things apart every day - stressful. But it's to make things better, and they are nice men. So relax, baby. Relax into the blow.
Easy to say.
I'm reading a very good book which will only interest a few of you: "The Business of Being a Writer," by Jane Friedman. Full of the kind of practical stuff creative writing courses don't teach you and that really, these days, we writers need to know. With the publishing business exploding all over the map and nobody making any money anywhere, we need to know what's going on and how to cope with social media and all the rest. Brands! I'm taking notes. Am also reading "How to behave in a crowd," a novel by Camille Bordas, entertaining, about a very eccentric family. And of course, 56 websites, FB, Twitter, newspapers, the New Yorker, and now, seven decorating magazines that someone just left in the Little Free Library.
Speaking of the library, it's almost always empty because of the horrible crazy man - or men - who empty it regularly, stealing every book. But yesterday, it looked like this. Thank you!
Here are some pix from upstairs today.
This will be a new source of light on the second floor when it's finished. For 31 years it has driven me crazy that there was a gorgeous skylight in a small closet. Now the closet has gone and the skylight will illuminate much of the second floor. So much light - a dream come true. Let's focus on that instead of what might go wrong, shall we, you crazy woman?
A gift from Ken - freesia in a cut glass wine glass.It's 3.45 and the men have just left. I can go and play the Moonlight Sonata and remember what my afternoons used to be, and will be again, one day. Happy 2019 to you all. May you find peace and put your inner demons to rest. And may the light pour in.
December 31, 2018
recap: 2018, a tough year
It's New Year's Eve, and I just poured a nice Chilean Cab Sauv and am defrosting a rich French onion soup that Sam made for me in the spring. My lunatic daughter is holding her annual party for Eli's friends; the big bunch of 6 year olds were supposed to be outside but it's raining, so they're rampaging through her small apartment. My poor son is working non-stop from the afternoon till 2 a.m. in the frenzy of this night. I can't understand the desperate need to go nuts; I have a vague memory of staying up to celebrate, but not any more. Another year. We've alive, hooray.
All I hope is that 2019 is better for the planet. This was a ghastly year politically, ecologically, in almost every way. Thank you to Christine Blasey Ford for her mesmerizing courage and honesty, for all the good it did her.
I am reflecting back on my own year, its plusses and minuses: two exciting speaking engagements, one in NYC and one here, two successful So Trues, and my dance party, which was a bit less successful - a new venture which needed more marketing. The big non-fiction conference in May, a lot of work and a big hit, thrilling.
A great trip to B.C. in late winter, time in Vancouver and on Gabriola Island with my dear friend Chris. A visit with friends Lynn and Denis, here in the summer from France, especially Montreal with Lynn which included seeing Macca. Seeing Macca - what's better than that! And Coriolanus with Lynn at Stratford.
Two great personal losses - my colleague Ann Ireland, and my dear Aunt Do. Many visits to Ottawa before and after her death, including meeting my cousin Barbara from Washington there and taking Do to tea at the Chateau Laurier. Bless her heart.
Termites and reno - not so great. Student successes, a bunch of books and articles out - wonderful. "My Brilliant Friend." "Calypso" by Sedaris. "Lincoln in the Bardo," George Saunders. Paul Simon. Itzhak Perlman. My great-grandfather's Mirele Efros at Ashkenaz. Nothing Like a Dame, just last week. My memoir out to an editor yesterday. Moving right along.
Dear friends, this NYEve I look at myself in the mirror and see a woman who's drained and grey and pale. But this too shall pass and my perky self will return. Any day now. As soon as I can find some clothes and a bit of makeup. In the meantime, I wish you a glorious NYEve and a joyful, healthy, creative 2019. Do not be silenced.
Onward.
All I hope is that 2019 is better for the planet. This was a ghastly year politically, ecologically, in almost every way. Thank you to Christine Blasey Ford for her mesmerizing courage and honesty, for all the good it did her.
I am reflecting back on my own year, its plusses and minuses: two exciting speaking engagements, one in NYC and one here, two successful So Trues, and my dance party, which was a bit less successful - a new venture which needed more marketing. The big non-fiction conference in May, a lot of work and a big hit, thrilling.
A great trip to B.C. in late winter, time in Vancouver and on Gabriola Island with my dear friend Chris. A visit with friends Lynn and Denis, here in the summer from France, especially Montreal with Lynn which included seeing Macca. Seeing Macca - what's better than that! And Coriolanus with Lynn at Stratford.
Two great personal losses - my colleague Ann Ireland, and my dear Aunt Do. Many visits to Ottawa before and after her death, including meeting my cousin Barbara from Washington there and taking Do to tea at the Chateau Laurier. Bless her heart.
Termites and reno - not so great. Student successes, a bunch of books and articles out - wonderful. "My Brilliant Friend." "Calypso" by Sedaris. "Lincoln in the Bardo," George Saunders. Paul Simon. Itzhak Perlman. My great-grandfather's Mirele Efros at Ashkenaz. Nothing Like a Dame, just last week. My memoir out to an editor yesterday. Moving right along.
Dear friends, this NYEve I look at myself in the mirror and see a woman who's drained and grey and pale. But this too shall pass and my perky self will return. Any day now. As soon as I can find some clothes and a bit of makeup. In the meantime, I wish you a glorious NYEve and a joyful, healthy, creative 2019. Do not be silenced.
Onward.
December 30, 2018
Beth is free! Temporarily.
Momentous. I'm sitting here listening to Randy Bachman, feeling somehow empty and exhilarated at the same time. I just emailed the memoir manuscript to the editor who'd expressed an interest in seeing it.
It was just too absurd and difficult to be dealing with this currently catastrophic renovation, still issues with my aunt's estate, everything else, and trying to write too. My office is nearly uninhabitable, and so is the house; it was time to push the thing out. So, after many weeks of work already, I spent the whole weekend on the manuscript, sitting here till the bum fell asleep, as usual. And finally, with trembling hand and heart, I just hit Send.
I am sure - yes, I'm sure - that it's not right for this editor of a big, majorly prestigious mainstream publishing house. But I hope that she'll perhaps help to steer me to the right place. And in the meantime, I can celebrate New Year's Eve without my beloved millstone.
Here is the blurb I sent: Loose Woman continues the tradition of Eat Pray Love and Wild, in which a lost young woman sets out to discover the world and finds herself. It’s a celebration of the miracle of Jean Vanier’s humanitarian creation L’Arche - the Ark - which now comprises 147 communities in 35 countries on 5 continents, where men and women with intellectual disabilities live and work with assistants who are not disabled. It explores in depth the intense, nomadic, feast-or-famine life of the theatre. As well, the memoir tells a coming-of-age story set in a precise time and place: the western world at the end of the seventies, as feminism and the sexual revolution turn social mores upside down and cocaine is everywhere, and yet a fiercely single feminist realizes just how much she wants a child.The book illustrates how, with the help of six damaged men, a gifted, insecure, damaged young actress searching for an authentic inner life learns to trust and forgive herself and thus, at last, to accept the love of others.
Would you buy this book? Keep your fingers crossed for me, friends.
From my past life, a student just wrote:
Just busting at the seams to tell you that The Globe and Mail's "First Person" has accepted my submission. Wow, happy happy is me. Thank you for your critique which was a huge help !!! Would have never happened had I not taken your course.
Last night, I watched a lovely doc, "You are here: the making of Come From Away," about 9/11 in Gander, Newfoundland, the incredible generosity and hard work of a small community inundated with thousands of travellers from around the world, grounded by the disaster in NYC. Many tears, of course - at the end, the real heroes from Newfoundland there in New York for the opening of the musical, on stage, being applauded by New Yorkers - what a story. And in the commercials, I turned over to TCM which was showing "A Hard Day's Night." Gosh, those boys have talent. Hope they go far.
Before that, dear Ken came to take me out to dinner, but we ended up staying here and eating Christmas leftovers. Delicious.
Tomorrow, work on the house begins again, and we sort out where we are in my skeletal home. I can focus on it now. I AM FREE!
My daughter posted this on FB, telling her brother this sounded like me. Misty eyes.
It was just too absurd and difficult to be dealing with this currently catastrophic renovation, still issues with my aunt's estate, everything else, and trying to write too. My office is nearly uninhabitable, and so is the house; it was time to push the thing out. So, after many weeks of work already, I spent the whole weekend on the manuscript, sitting here till the bum fell asleep, as usual. And finally, with trembling hand and heart, I just hit Send.
I am sure - yes, I'm sure - that it's not right for this editor of a big, majorly prestigious mainstream publishing house. But I hope that she'll perhaps help to steer me to the right place. And in the meantime, I can celebrate New Year's Eve without my beloved millstone.
Here is the blurb I sent: Loose Woman continues the tradition of Eat Pray Love and Wild, in which a lost young woman sets out to discover the world and finds herself. It’s a celebration of the miracle of Jean Vanier’s humanitarian creation L’Arche - the Ark - which now comprises 147 communities in 35 countries on 5 continents, where men and women with intellectual disabilities live and work with assistants who are not disabled. It explores in depth the intense, nomadic, feast-or-famine life of the theatre. As well, the memoir tells a coming-of-age story set in a precise time and place: the western world at the end of the seventies, as feminism and the sexual revolution turn social mores upside down and cocaine is everywhere, and yet a fiercely single feminist realizes just how much she wants a child.The book illustrates how, with the help of six damaged men, a gifted, insecure, damaged young actress searching for an authentic inner life learns to trust and forgive herself and thus, at last, to accept the love of others.
Would you buy this book? Keep your fingers crossed for me, friends.
From my past life, a student just wrote:
Just busting at the seams to tell you that The Globe and Mail's "First Person" has accepted my submission. Wow, happy happy is me. Thank you for your critique which was a huge help !!! Would have never happened had I not taken your course.
Last night, I watched a lovely doc, "You are here: the making of Come From Away," about 9/11 in Gander, Newfoundland, the incredible generosity and hard work of a small community inundated with thousands of travellers from around the world, grounded by the disaster in NYC. Many tears, of course - at the end, the real heroes from Newfoundland there in New York for the opening of the musical, on stage, being applauded by New Yorkers - what a story. And in the commercials, I turned over to TCM which was showing "A Hard Day's Night." Gosh, those boys have talent. Hope they go far.
Before that, dear Ken came to take me out to dinner, but we ended up staying here and eating Christmas leftovers. Delicious.
Tomorrow, work on the house begins again, and we sort out where we are in my skeletal home. I can focus on it now. I AM FREE!
My daughter posted this on FB, telling her brother this sounded like me. Misty eyes.
December 28, 2018
Ben at the AGO
It's 12 degrees today - like spring! I sailed along on the bicycle, overdressed in mitts and scarf. If only this would last. Hard to hate global warming when it means that winter is actually warm.
I was on my way to the Art Gallery to meet Anna and the boys. The AGO has got a wonderful art room for kids and art stations throughout with great stuff to play with, not to mention the spacious Gehry corridors and staircases, which small boys ran up and down and along. There's delicious mac and cheese in the cafeteria and a fabulous playground in Grange Park round the back. In between, we managed to squeeze in the Anthropocene exhibit - Burtynski's giant photographs of how human beings are destroying the planet. It's epic and depressing but also mesmerizing, as Ben found out in a 20 minute sequence of a train going through a tunnel bored right through the Swiss Alps.
I left the boys screaming with joy down the big slide, kissed their marvellous mother, and hopped on my bike for a spring-like ride home.
Around here, I'm settling into the new normal - men in my house from 8.30 to 4; bangs and crashes from upstairs; me sleeping in the basement. Kevin has repaired some of the damage done on the termite hunt, so the dining room doesn't look quite so destroyed. I can live with this. The past month has been a long trail of tension and concern, really quite terrible for me - I who love routine and who love my house suffering the total disruption of both. I was frightened about money, about decisions, about everything.
First world problems, I know. Anyway, I do feel calmer now. Sort of.
Relax into the blow. I'm getting there.
I was on my way to the Art Gallery to meet Anna and the boys. The AGO has got a wonderful art room for kids and art stations throughout with great stuff to play with, not to mention the spacious Gehry corridors and staircases, which small boys ran up and down and along. There's delicious mac and cheese in the cafeteria and a fabulous playground in Grange Park round the back. In between, we managed to squeeze in the Anthropocene exhibit - Burtynski's giant photographs of how human beings are destroying the planet. It's epic and depressing but also mesmerizing, as Ben found out in a 20 minute sequence of a train going through a tunnel bored right through the Swiss Alps.
I left the boys screaming with joy down the big slide, kissed their marvellous mother, and hopped on my bike for a spring-like ride home.
Around here, I'm settling into the new normal - men in my house from 8.30 to 4; bangs and crashes from upstairs; me sleeping in the basement. Kevin has repaired some of the damage done on the termite hunt, so the dining room doesn't look quite so destroyed. I can live with this. The past month has been a long trail of tension and concern, really quite terrible for me - I who love routine and who love my house suffering the total disruption of both. I was frightened about money, about decisions, about everything.First world problems, I know. Anyway, I do feel calmer now. Sort of.
Relax into the blow. I'm getting there.
