Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 125

hope, voting, and eyelids

So this is the crazy up and down about this writing business: I have more or less written off the current draft of my new memoir. The nonfiction conference and my editor friend showed me some of the problems with it, at least in the first section, so I assumed I would have to rewrite at least the first half. And I've been resisting that, or maybe life has handed me so much to do that resistance has been easy. Nothing has happened in the creative writing department for weeks.

Riding my bike to teach at U of T, I saw a familiar face walking nearby - the publisher of a small local publishing house of repute, to whom, months ago, I'd sent the ms. Have heard nothing and assumed they were not interested. As I cycled by, I called a cheery hello, since I sort of know him, and he flagged me down. "Walk with me," he said, "I have to talk to you. How coincidental to see you now."

He told me his acquisitions editor had given him the ms., saying she wasn't interested in acquiring it, and he had started to read it. "I really like it!" he said, and my heart leapt. It turned out he has not read much, doesn't even really know, yet, what it is about. So anything may happen; rejection may still be nigh. But there, suddenly, for this old donkey, was a big fat juicy orange carrot, dangling in front of her nose.

We shall see.

In the meantime, Ontario is voting. Will our very own criminal fathead Trump be elected? Probably, but when I went to vote this morning, the lineup was so long, I decided to come back later. In my three decades of voting there, that has never happened before. Are all those folks voting for the right party? This is a small l and big L liberal riding. I voted NDP. Let us pray.

In the meantime, my eyes hurt. I needed a procedure on my eyelids - a cyst on one and an ingrown eyelash on the other. Had an appt for yesterday at 3, hoping to get out quickly to recover before teaching at 6.30. At 5 I was still sitting in the waiting room, fuming, and had to leave, fuming, to prepare for class. They managed to squeeze me in today, and though I still had to wait nearly an hour, once I was in his chair, the operation took only minutes. I have small bloody dots above both eyes and will be black and blue tomorrow, he says. I told him he's a wonderful surgeon but his time management needs work.

My home class tonight, with a bottle of Prosecco chilling - we'll watch the returns after class. I doubt we'll have anything to celebrate, but a cold bubbly drink might help us feel better. My poor daughter is distraught. But perhaps the voters are not as stupid as we imagine they are. No. They are that stupid. Look at Trump's approval ratings. And remember the damage Mike Harris did to this province ...

AAAAAGH!!!!!!

Beth's Write in the Garden

An amazing thing has happened in the garden. More than twenty years ago,  I made friends with a British neighbour, Dorothy, who marched into my wreck of a yard and began to teach me what to do. It's Dorothy who started me off with practical advice and encouragement. At one point, she gave me a cutting from a wisteria, which grew like crazy, taking over fences and walls, but frustratingly, never bloomed. Dorothy became ill and had to sell her home and its lovely garden; eventually she moved back to England and died in her twin sister's house, in a bedroom overlooking the garden. Her sister sent me a picture of her gravestone, covered with roses.

After ten years, I cut down the bloody huge trunk of Dorothy's wisteria and hacked at it again only last year, though it's so invasive, there were still bits left.

Today I walked into the garden, and there are purple wisteria blossoms on the fence. They're small, but they're there; it only took them 22 years to grow.
I can see Dorothy smiling down on the garden she helped create. She'd be so proud to see it now.

And to celebrate Dorothy and her lessons to me, I open my garden to ten or so writers every year, to spend the day there digging up stories, planting the seeds of future writing, talking, eating, drinking. It's a wonderful day.

PS Breaking news: Renata Ford, the hopeless Rob Ford's widow, is suing her brother-in-law Doug for various malfeasance issues. Is this what we've been praying for?

And this, from Twitter: people are all wondering why melania trump hasnt been in the news lately, and i have a theory. its because she never does anything. im also not in the news for similar reasons.

Carole's 70 and Beth's a slug

I went to a party last night as an imposter. A catered affair held in an upstairs room at the Y, it was the 70th birthday party of Carole, my runfit instructor, combined with her 25th wedding anniversary. Though there was lots of family from both sides, there were also many Y members, including some who used to come to Carole's class years ago and whom I have not seen in a long time.

And this is the thing: I've been doing Carole's class since about 1993 and am still at the end of the line, but all around me were serious athletes. A 70-ish couple at my table had cycled 100 kilometres that morning; others were competitive runners or even triathletes. Carole herself ran 50 marathons, announced that was enough, and then changed her mind last year and ran one more, finishing just a few minutes off the qualifying time for the most prestigious of them all, Boston. She had a big job in tech along with her athletic career and decades of volunteering at the Y. This grandmother of three adults is as lithe as a teenager, a cheerful good person, a pleasure to know and an inspiration to all.
Her husband Brian was an athlete too - they met during a marathon - but, some years older than Carole, he is declining into dementia. The evening was especially moving because, with a video running in the background of their wedding in 1993, they renewed their vows. I felt privileged to be there, in a roomful of kind, wonderful people, like the old friend, recently retired, who's now organizing volunteers to read to refugee children, to instil a love of books.

I was glad there wasn't a fitness test to attend this event, because I would certainly have failed. Though Jim did remind me that one spring, he accompanied me doing an 8 k. in High Park. I did once do a 10 k. and several 5 k's. But that was decades ago; now after 5 minutes I'm spent. Thank you for inviting me, Carole, for including me in this fleet group. I've said it before - I'll up my fitness game. Just not quite sure when to fit that in.

Today, heaven - the Don Valley Parkway was closed for the Ride for Heart, and as I always do this particular Sunday, I went for a long peaceful ride down the trail beside it. So many birds, such lush greenery, such silence only a few blocks from my inner city home - made me very happy.

But - here's the but - I need to confess. The family crisis on the weekend was caused by me; I accidentally sent a hurtful email, intended for someone else, to a vulnerable family member. As I was bitching about something to John yesterday, he said, "Beth, do you have anything cheerful to say?" Later, I was complaining to my daughter about "the nightmare of the renovation" coming up, and she said, "Well, Mum, if renovating your lovely house is your worst nightmare, you're pretty lucky."

Reality check: I can be careless and crabby and whiney. And I'm a slug. Good to confront one's flaws every once in a while. But at least I'm a good niece, and I do keep my bird feeder filled. And a happy Sunday to you too.

tea at the Chateau with Do

A whirlwind visit, a great success - I'm in Ottawa. Friday midday at the Toronto island airport I met my cousin Barbara, who had flown in from Washington D.C., and together we journeyed to Ottawa where we rented a car, drove to our hotel, and then on to visit our Aunt Do, whom readers of this blog know well. She is much more frail and forgetful than five months ago. But still, she's extraordinary at 98, not wanting to miss a thing.

We went out for dinner, and my brother and his ten-year old son joined us. My brother recently fell in love with a woman he met in Singapore, who will soon be on her way to visit him here. He wanted us to meet her, so we Facetimed with her at the restaurant. Definitely surreal, chatting on the tiny screen with a woman in Singapore who may be joining our family. Do talked away as if this was something she does every day.

Today, excursions: to The Scottish and Irish Shop, jammed with British biscuits and sweets - Jaffa cakes, ginger nut biscuits, sultana biscuits and much more for Do. And to Ikea, because it's close and fun, to look at cool stuff and buy napkins and dish brushes. By then I expected Do to be exhausted, but no, she was up for high tea at the Chateau Laurier. I'd told them it was her 98th birthday, which was actually a month ago, and they brought a lit candle with a bit of cake.

And then we drove back and talked family. Barbara had brought photos - one of our great-great-grandfather - and Do told stories. After hours, she was still going strong, though fading. For the decades of our growing up, I hardly knew Barbara, and she hardly knew Do - we were in Canada, Barb and her family were in Bethesda, our fathers didn't get along particularly, and Barbara's mother Margaret didn't get along particularly with her younger sister Dorothy. So, after years of a kind of estrangement, a wonderful bond has been made between two cousins and aunt and niece. Barb thanked Do for sticking around long enough that she could get to know her, and we had a good laugh.
But I wonder how much longer my dear aunt can live alone in her apartment and what will happen when she can't.

In the middle of all this, I was assailed with a family crisis - on the sofa with my phone and my computer, I was dealing with Toronto, texts flying back and forth, while listening to my relatives discussing life in the twenties and thirties - the thatched cottage where my mother was born in 1923, which never had an indoor toilet. My grandmother cooking on a stove that burned coke. How they had a fire to heat water for their Saturday night baths, which is where a family of three girls and their mother burned their sanitary napkins. Fascinating stuff.

My cousin and I are very alike - both the older of two with younger siblings who are completely unlike us and not close, both of us strong-willed and efficient, both driven and anxious, she even more than I and that's saying something. I love her a lot. It was a huge gift to see her and Do together, to see the joy on their faces as they hugged goodbye. Family. Blood. Goes deep.

neat stuff

Why I stay: ... from the deck, five minutes ago. You can't see that the grass needs cutting and some plants are already wildly out of control. This looks groomed and orderly. As if.
The mid-point. My garden, aka, Vitamin GAs the man says:
And: love is... Have never seen this beautiful photo before. It must have been fairly late in their time together and yet there they are, the band of brothers.
I was older than this kid and there were no headphones. And that's the American version. But ... yes.
And: LOL PS. This from Twitter:In Roseanne’s defense, it’s hard to know the difference between racism that gets you fired versus racism that gets you elected President of the United States.

the power of plumbers, and Roseanne winning today's Vileness Award

My dear handyman and friend John, his plumber friend Paul, and the plumber's silent assistant Stanley, arrived at my front door this morning at 7.55 a.m. I'd been up since 7 to save them a parking spot out front and gear myself up for 3 men arriving before breakfast. We had to wake my poor downstairs tenant Gabriel, so Paul could check out the leak in his apartment. Is it the hot water tank? Paul thinks not. He thinks it may be a cracked pipe in the storage room next to the tank, which needs to be cleared out to check, and is, of course, jam-packed with stuff - the big Christmas box, the bag of my and my kids' souvenir baby and child clothes, a box of my grandparents' fancy dishes that nobody wants, 46 paint cans, and much, much more. It all needs to be cleared out so we can ascertain if the leak comes from there. And if it doesn't, well, I've probably rid myself of 46 dried up paint cans, if nothing else.

And again, I ask myself, Why am I hanging onto this albatross of a house? Many many hours not writing but dealing with leaks, tenants, garden, maintenance, upkeep. Why not throw in the towel and free myself?

And then I look at the garden. Here's the dilemma, as anyone who has had to make a difficult decision knows: there is no right answer. I love the garden and think of it as sanity, not only for me, but for my family and friends. Right now, I'm sitting on the deck smelling gardenia, jasmine, mint, the fresh green smell of life. The birds chatter, the trees whisper, and it's so lush, it makes me weep with joy and gratitude, the sweet, tender beauty of it all - lilac, bleeding heart, pansies, climbing hydrangea, honeysuckle, gardenia, oleander, geranium, clematis and roses getting ready to reveal themselves, and behind their safety cage, the veggies, growing.

So shut up with the bitching. You are choosing the garden and the kitchen, the big bright kitchen where your guests are happy to congregate. And in doing so, you acknowledge that it will take a lot of time, energy, and effort to sustain life here. Luckily, you have John to help you. So shut the @#$#@ up.

Thanks, I needed that.

(Don't forget the squirrels digging up the grass and the lettuce on the deck, the raccoons who shit everywhere, the grey cat who lurks trying to devour the sparrows at the feeder, the scale that wrecks your deck plants. Nature sweet but also red in tooth etc. You're opting for that too.)

Sigh.

Next week, I'm going to have a cosmetic operation on my eyelids. On the left side, there's a white cyst or lesion, and on the right, an ingrown eyelash. The surgeon said he had never seen one, and there is is, an eyelash poking out and growing up into my lid. if it's not a leak in the basement, it's an ingrown eyelash - isn't life exciting?

And thank you, Roseanne, for today's Vileness Prize. Today, you even beat out Donald Trump, and that takes some doing. Do you think the explosion of vileness liberated by Trump will spew out hatred until there's nothing left and it's spent, like a volcano? Or is there an endless supply of human vileness in the world? These are the thoughts that keep me up at night.

Ripley's Aquarium and Trump at yesterday's debate

It is ridiculously hot - over 30 degrees at midday. It's still May! Maybe there'll be snow in July? Confusing. I usually turn my A.C. on once or twice a summer - and today, it's on already. Scary.

This morning, an adventure - for Eli's sixth birthday, instead of getting him another toy, I offered to get tickets for the aquarium for him, his mama and Ben. Got them for first thing Monday, thinking it would not be crowded. Ha! As Anna said, we forgot to take end-of-school trips into consideration. When I saw the number of tour busses lined up outside, I knew it'd be crazy- and it was, it was mayhem.

It's a marvellous place, with all manner of fascinating sea creatures and a moving walkway with fish, including sharks and manta rays, swimming not only on both sides but overhead. Amazing - stunning anemones, silky jellyfish, gorgeous specimens, big and small, from everywhere. Ben as usual shrieking, Glammaglammaglamma! pointing to every fish, and there were millions. Eli has been there before but even he was excited. But ye gods, the noise was unbearable. We did not last long. Anna suggests we go back on a Tuesday in November.
Hundreds of Nemo's!

Yesterday Ben was sick and his mother was desperate, so I took Eli to a Doors Open place on the waterfront - a fire station that has a rescue boat with giant nozzles for fighting fires at sea, very exciting. And then we played in the sand at the fake beach there and rode our bikes all the way to my house, a long ride for a brand new six-year old. Later, I watched the beginning of the leadership debate at Anna's, and couldn't finish. Excruciating - hearing our own blowhard idiot mini-Trump sing from the Trump playbook: promise them everything with nothing to back up your claims, tell pointed lies about your opponents and your own achievements, et voila, a province for the taking.

I am having trouble getting myself in motion. There's so much to be done, and it's as if I too am floating serenely about in a giant tank. Well, I did do a big talk last week, am teaching and dealing with tenants and my old house, have managed to get the garden in and keep it, so far, alive. I did a fasting blood test that proved I do not have diabetes and finished reading "The Empathy Exams" and took it back to the library on time. But I feel like a lump, thinking of all the things there are to do, including exercise, house clearing, and the next draft of the memoir, and turning to FB, or the NYTimes, or a snack.

Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's this extra kilo or two I seem to have acquired around my belly that makes me uncomfortable.

Maybe I should cut myself some slack.

the grammar lady

In the Star this morning, a journalist wrote about someone who would "plum the depths."

Plum the depths. What would that look like, I wonder - something to do with jam? And then I got an email about home improvement from the august New York Times, and here is what I read: Add hooks to the back of doors, and see where else you can eek out extra inches.

I hear someone screaming - EEK! EXTRA INCHES! I sent a note to the Times saying EEK about the horrifying lack of copyediting.

And an article - unreal but true - about a parent in South Carolina who ordered a cake for her son with the words "summa cum laude" on it, because that was his status when he graduated. When the cake arrived, the middle word had been replaced with hyphens, because it's a rude word.

Lord. As my father would say, "The barbarians are at the gate."

I can see it now - I'll be a little old lady sitting with a red pen and a disapproving expression, reading newspapers and magazines and slashing through them with my pen. There is no money for copyediting, and the few editors that are working are all 32-year old women, very sweet and well-meaning but without a basic grounding in spelling and grammar, because schools ditched all that boring stuff years ago. Soon, no one but us crabby old grumps will know that eek is actually eke and plumb is the proper spelling.

Focussing on these minor issues keeps my mind off the major ones. All kinds of interesting things in the paper today - a very courageous article by a former friend and colleague of his about the frightening megalomania of Jordan Peterson, "the world's most influential public intellectual" at this time, a U of T professor and a darling of the alt-right. An article about the real Andrea Horvath, who, if we're lucky, will become the new premier of this province. The tide seems to be turning, though it's too terrifying to be complacent yet. But our very own blustering millionaire windbag idiot seems to be fizzling out. I have asked for an NDP sign for my front yard and made a campaign donation. Let us pray.

It's not even June yet, and today felt like mid-July - sweltering and muggy. My left lower eyelid has a twitch, driving me crazy. Exciting: my neighbour to the north is right now up a ladder with his chainsaw, cutting down a dreadful messy tree that was leaning over my yard wreaking havoc.

Or, as someone might write today, reeking havoc. Why not? Who cares?

P.S. Go Ireland!

summer!

Another shot, just sent to me, from yesterday. I'm still getting nice emails. Another -
I only laugh a lot when things are hysterically funny and/or witty. Today was your finest hour - a stellar performance! We both loved it. And neither of us knows beans about the Beatles, or indeed the rock idiom. You were captivating, Beth.

Well, good to know and a surprise, truly. My friend Chris wrote that he's wanted me for years to go back to some kind of performance. I think I've found what might work - readings like this, with powerpoint. Just have to figure out who would want it, and where.

It's 29 degrees! Full on summer already. (Tomorrow, 35 degrees with the Humidex.) Just found out the leak in the basement is a broken hot water tank. Water tanks are supposed to last 8 to 12 years - and this one is 7 years old! My poor brand new tenant is going to have to mop until the plumber can come on Tuesday. Thank God for the sun, to dry out the soaked carpet and mop.

So the day has flown. I feel sometimes I am barely keeping my head above water - today, literally as well as figuratively. But somehow, things move along. What would I do without this little machine on which I'm always tapping tapping tapping?

"She Loves You" - good times

Coming down from the performance high, just like in my acting days - it's not nearly as intense, speaking rather than inhabiting a character with makeup and costume, but still, it's a show and I feel it to my core.

It went well, my talk today to a full house at the Miles Nadal. I told them it should be called "Beth's Adventures in Beatleland," because I fell down a musical rabbithole in January 1964 and have yet to emerge. Whereas my memoir just tells the beginning of the tale, this was the whole story, up to now. My friend Lisa Roy, who runs programs at the Miles Nadal, was there beside me working the powerpoint, which did have a glitch or two - we had never tried it before. However, no one seemed to mind. I spoke for about an hour, there were questions, and people even bought books afterward, including my other books. So - a success. Exhausting, but wonderful.

One friend - remember, these are dear friends - emailed, "You are an amazing storyteller. Charismatic, hilariously self-deprecating, your writing witty and the delivery triggering big laughs. Very moving too. Love the image of your parents dancing, finally, to the Beatles. Too many other moments to mention here. A rapt audience loving it all. Went to support a friend and left as a fan!"

And another, "I loved loved loved your talk. It was funny and full of history and it resonated with people on many levels. I loved the slide show and memorabilia. You delivered it with warmth and passion which was delightful and made me cry at points. Please take it on the road."

Maybe, after all that work to prepare it, I will.

Selling books and signing, afterward, with Wayson keeping an eye on things.

Take it on the road - any ideas out there?

Yesterday, several people read such beautiful moving stories in class that we all cried. How lucky I am to have work, several kinds, that I love so much.

But I'm glad the talk is over. I came home to an emergency in my downstairs tenant's apartment - a leak, water coming through the walls, disaster. Lest I get too comfortable.