Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 146

the Creative Non-Fiction Collective hooray!

Friday was the start of the Creative Non-fiction Collective's conference at UBC. I went out early, so I could go first to the Museum of Anthropology nearby. Its beautiful building houses a moving, beautifully presented collection of First Nation's artifacts, but also a collection of indigenous work from around the world. Not to be missed.
Totem poles, bentwood boxes, canoes -

 And - be still my beating heart - the most beautiful baskets, hundreds of them. On my fondest wish list is a basket like this. Dream on, sister.
The museum continues with a long house and more poles outside.

Thence to the conference. After registration, there was an hour to kill before drinks and dinner, so John Barton, my friend from last year's conference, and I went for a walk. Discovered the staircase down to Vancouver's famous Wreck Beach, the nude beach, and decided to see it. It's quite the hike.

403 stairs, someone told us. But worth it - no naked people but a lovely beach in the sun. Getting back up took some doing.

The conference started with a dinner and cabaret - many writers reading short excerpts from their work, a huge diversity - and continued all day today, from 9 a.m. to nearly 5.30. There was an informal dinner tonight I was going to attend but was just too tired after a full day of talks and talking, meeting fascinating new people and thinking about words. I have made notes and will write about what the day brought forth, but not right now. It was a fantastic conference and a marvel to spend time with my peeps - declared non-fiction writers, a great bunch of people. Love them. And exciting news: next year's conference is in Toronto. May 4-6. Mark your calendars. See you there.

I am sitting in Bruce's chair, have just had leftover pizza (brought from Tofino!) and wine and am gazing at the sunset, the sky orange and grey-blue, the ocean rippling blue-black, eleven vast tankers motionless in English Bay with their lights glittering. It's quiet and I am drained. Tomorrow, my last day, will actually be sunny, and Chris and I will do something. And then, Monday morning, I go home. This spring's peregrinations are over. Paris, Gordes, Montpellier, Nice, London, Vancouver, and Chesterman Beach ... much to digest, much to remember, everything to be grateful for.

champagne with Chris

Home - not to Toronto, but to Bruce's nest in the clouds, seven stories above the ocean. I'd almost finished a draft of the memoir at 10.30 a.m. yesterday, forced myself out of bed to clean up, pack and have a last walk on the beach. Of course the sun was just preparing to emerge for the first time since I arrived. Even so, what a treat my two days were. Expensive - if I'd really calculated how much it cost, I would not have gone. But luckily I just heedlessly went ahead, to lie in bed for two days thinking, writing, reading. This is known as me time, much needed in our hectic world. And now I've had some.

Had to leave by 11 a.m., bidding a grateful farewell to Todd and Lynda who run the place and have created such a sanctuary of peace. I'll have to come back again and try for some sun.
 The view outside the window 6 a.m. Thursday morning - nothing but white mist.
 The view of the kitchen from the bed, where I spent most of my time.
Stopped to take a look at Long Beach, but drove on.

I drove fast, because that afternoon, a big thunderstorm with hail was predicted - did not want to take a floatplane in a storm! So I made record time to Nanaimo, zipping through the most glorious scenery, shimmering mountain lakes and cedar forests ... next time. My chariot awaited.
 The chariot.
Back to the big city and Stanley Park. What a sight!

Of course, Vancouver was hot, no storm at all, though it did rain overnight. After unpacking and getting myself organized I went to Chris's where he regaled me with champagne, his drink of choice - and then we went to his favourite French bistro on Davie Street for dinner. He said after reading me complain about not going out for dinner in Europe, he had to make sure I had one nice dinner here. And it was plenty nice, the freshest halibut in a bath of ratatouille, divine. My friend who has been having such trouble speaking and moving has no trouble when he's with old friends, and we're pretty old, BFF's since 1975. So we jabber a lot. Much to discuss. That's what old friends are for.

Today it was grey, and I worked all morning finishing the draft and emailing it to Rosemary Shipton, the master editor, who has agreed to read it. A relief, and new trepidation. Now there's a bit of blue on the horizon, and I'm about to head off to UBC for the first evening of the Creative Non-fiction Collective's annual conference, which is why I'm here. Oh yes, THAT's why I'm here. Almost forgot.

bed rest/seaview cure continues

It poured all yesterday, all night, much of today. Now, at 3 p.m., it's grey, windy, and drizzling but not heavy rain. I lay in bed all morning, working, reading, computing, imbibing coffee, cereal and peanut butter toast. Finally, at noon, ran out of food, so had to get dressed - dressed! - and out the door in the rain, to find Red Can Catering someone here told me about, with, she said, "gourmet takeout." Really? I thought, in my snobbish Toronto way. Gourmet takeout - in Tofino?

I came back with a hot gourmet pizza - artichoke hearts, fresh tomatoes, caramelized onions and roasted garlic - and with seafood chowder and a salad with fresh baguette for supper. The pizza was so good, I had to have a glass of wine with it. Gourmet takeout indeed! And then putting on many layers I went for a walk on the crowded beach. There were at least five people and several surfers, the whole length of Chesterman Beach.

Now I'm back in bed, working, looking forward to my chowder. I cannot recommend this more highly - a day or two in bed with a computer. The thing is, though, that you need a view of cold grey skies and wet trees. That makes bed SO much better.
The view from my window
 The room with its heavenly fire
Lunch
 The crowded beach at low tide
Just off the beach is Frank Island, which is private property. There's a house on there - can you see it?  What an amazing place, surely with no electricity or plumbing, though you never know.
Multicoloured starfish waiting for the sea to come back in
[image error]  Anemones? I have no idea what these beautiful emerald things are.
My very own deck, with a table I'd use if there were sun. Love how they've accommodated the tree.

Tomorrow, of course, it's meant to be sunny, so I hope to be up early and have another walk on the beach. Perhaps I won't manage a hike through the ancient cedar forests this time. Have to leave this gorgeous place by 11 a.m. and get back to Nanaimo. Will go first to Red Can Catering and get a sandwich for the trip.

Silence, except for the distant roar of wind and sea. No one here, no one to talk to. I love it. Especially because you are there to write to, email is there, the phone. I am alone and not alone, feeling better, safe and warm in the trees with pizza, chowder, the ocean. Grateful for every moment.

the ocean-view cure

Where is she now, you ask, the footloose one? I'm in a big bed with four huge pillows in front of a fire stove burning hot. There's a little kitchen stocked with supplies I brought with me - cheese, wine, nuts, even a little baggie of peanut butter. And outside the window I can see Chesterman Beach on the west coast of Vancouver Island, being pounded by the Pacific Ocean in the driving rain. Could I be cosier? Absolutely not.

Patsy and I came here to Chesterman Beach B and B last year, to a lovely little cabin, but this time I booked "The Lookout" as a solitary treat for myself, a tranquil work space and think place. (And I will certainly be looking out - at the freezing wet wind-swept beach where I will not be walking anytime soon.) I almost cancelled this little jaunt, was feeling so shaky. But I'd prepaid so had to go - luckily. Which involved taking a float plane to Nanaimo, where I met old friend Patsy, then renting a car and driving 3 hours across the island on winding mountain roads.

First I had to get from Bruce's to the harbour airport, which is complicated on transit at rush hour, so last night I called Black Top Cabs and booked a cab for 9 a.m. This morning I called to reconfirm and change the time to 8.55. At 8.50 I was outside waiting; at 9 I called the company. A cab hadn't even been dispatched to my address, she said, and she had no idea when one would be. When I hit the roof, she said, ma'am, it's rush hour.

Lesson: do not EVER get Black Top Cabs in Vancouver.

I ran up to Davie Street, managed eventually to find a cab and got to Harbour Air on time. The 20 minute flight over the water was wonderful, the sun actually shone for a bit, and dear Patsy had taken the ferry from Gabriola Island and was waiting for me, for a quick coffee. She had brought a care package, the nicest I've ever received - lemon tea and a lemon and clementines, chocolate truffles, a little pot of honey, other goodies ... and a poem, because she is a very fine poet, my friend.

And then I got into the little blue car and drove. It started to pour partway through the trip, of course. What a relief to get here in good time, to be installed in this aerie. I connected to the internet and got into bed.

I am now sipping a Chilean Malbec from a very large wineglass and eating a local Brie with melba toast. In bed. This is called the Chesterman Cure, and it will work, I just know it, I'm feeling better already.

Cheers.

distant memory - heat

Brucie just sent me this picture of our hike around St. Jean Cap Ferrat. It was hot; the sun was relentless. Nearly a month later on the other side of the world, the sky is grey, it's chilly and pouring with rain, and I'm in Bruce's bed feeling terrible. I'd rather be the woman in the picture. Sigh.

Le Patin Libre - glorious

My son called today. He went to my house for a bit of r and r, cooked a meal and was about to put some bread in the toaster when, he said, a mouse jumped out. Of the toaster. I knew there was a mouse but not one quite that bold.

I am sick. I know, I can hear Lani - how can you be sick again, after pneumonia in the winter? Why do you get sick so often?! ! It's the cold I've been battling that finally, perhaps after yesterday's festivities, moved into my lungs to roost. Yesterday, after several fine days, was cold and rainy. I went to the Y, not to exercise but to sit in the hot tub and the sauna and to have a long hot shower. Went to my dear friend Margaret's for dinner, where I glad to meet again her son Will, who is getting married in two weeks. Long ago, Margaret and I were pregnant with our first children together, I with Anna and she with Will. And now they're in their mid-thirties and Margaret and I are ... just as youthful as ever, yes we are. I love going to her house, where a warm fire, last night, was burning.

Then I went to the Britannia Ice Rink, which perhaps was not the best place for someone incubating a cold.

I was the guest of my friend Nettie to a fabulous show put on by a Quebecois troupe, Le Patin Libre - the Free Skate. And free they are, incredible skaters who dance, run, jump, soar, head straight for the audience at 40 kmh and then swerve at the last minute ... For the second half, we were actually sitting on chairs on the ice, there was a fog machine, and these five stunning athletes flew out of the fog directly at us. It was breathtaking. Check them out: http://lepatinlibre.com/en/

Marvellous. But cold.

Today, a sore throat, a Tallulah Bankhead voice, and no energy. So, taking it easy and cancelling my trip to visit Patsy on Gabriola Island tomorrow. I have to go to Vancouver Island Tuesday, I've prepaid for a room, so must be well by then. But today, lunch with my friend Tara, and that's it.

Friday was sunny and beautiful. Chris and I had a walkabout downtown in the afternoon, and then he came to pick me up in the evening; he'd brought homemade chocolate cake, and we parked by the water to eat it at dusk, in the car. Then we went to see "The Piano Teacher," a new play, flawed but very worthy, especially the lead character, the piano teacher, talking about the healing power of music and actually playing. It made me think about my own complex relationship with the piano.

Lying on Bruce's sofa, I can see the boats going up and down, the new bright green of the trees, the vast sky, his tulips in the harsh wind. Grateful that though I'm not home, I'm safe and warm. Onward.

extreme, even for Vancouver!

RECORDS ON THIS DATE IN VANCOUVER, BCRecord Low1.1°C 1975Record High23.9°C 1976I was here for both of these. Today - 10 and pouring. A true Van day.

think twice, another day in paradise

My luck is holding, so far - there was a chilly wind today, but the sun was still beaming, a beautiful day. I worked all morning in Bruce's tranquil aerie, then Chris came and we walked in Stanley Park, talking non-stop as we do, and stopped at the teahouse for refreshments.
Can you see how unbelievably green it is behind, and lovely, with tulips and daffs and fruit trees in bloom? Incidentally, that red button I'm wearing was a gift from Penny, in London - it says Abbey Road. Sigh. That seems a long time ago.

Groceries and errands, home for a rest, then the little ferry over to the Maritime Museum -
- the view of the West End after getting off the ferry - could a city be more photogenic?

- and a short walk to a Thai supper with Colin Thomas, who has done several substantive edits of my memoir. He's a terrific editor and a very nice man, fired suddenly last year from his job as theatre critic of the Georgia Straight after 30 years there. Disgusting. But he's finding lots of work as an editor. I recommend him highly.

He drove me to Granville Island for my next event, a fundraiser for Medecins sans Frontieres, a series of readings culled from blogs and reports of frontline workers for MSF. It was written by John Gray and featured Suzie Payne and Stevie Miller, wonderful actors, all 3 of them founding members of Tamahnous Theatre, once a theatrical force in this city. We had a brief chat after. Let's found a theatre company and do experimental work! I said, and we all laughed.

The ferry back to the Aquatic Centre and a walk along the darkening beach back to Bruce's. How I love getting ferries everywhere.
How I love this gorgeous place when it's not raining. So much sky. I am dizzy from so much sky.

Mom's the Word 3

I say this categorically: when the sun is shining, there is nowhere as gorgeous as Vancouver. But the key word is 'sun'.

The weather report stated: chances of precipitation on Wednesday, 80%. When I woke this morning, as you saw, there was a clear sky, but as I headed out for the day, I knew for sure, 80% sure, it would rain, so I wore my rain boots and carried my umbrella. Went to Chris's, where I saw his dresses, the incredibly inventive, bizarre, fascinating dresses he spent the past year designing and making out of paper, plastic, wheat, marbles, God knows what else - just amazing. Check out his blog on the left if you want to see for yourself.

And then we headed out to get the ferry to Granville Island, on one of the most beautiful days I've ever had the pleasure of enjoying. Bright sun, fresh wind, and Vancouver - sea, mountains, beach. Incredible. Granville Island was abuzz, as usual, but not too much. Chris and I swanned about a bit, and then Judy arrived. She and I met at the Banff Creative Non-fiction conference but really bonded at the writer's festival in Toronto. Now we Skype regularly to keep up with each other in work and life.

We had lunch on the patio at Bridges, on the edge of the water.
What a location! We shared garlic shrimp with fiddleheads and a Ceasar salad full of fresh fish. Sublime, and the view was even better. Then we saw a marvellous play, "Mom's the Word 3," a collective creation by five talented and funny women, who've been writing about their own lives and women's lives in general for decades, in two past shows. This one hit close to the bone a number of times - about aging, the push-pull of adult children leaving home and returning home, our becoming parents to our parents. The actresses are in their fifties so neither orphans nor grandmothers yet. That'll be the next show. Hope I get to see it.

Incidentally, was looking at the photos on display in the Arts Club lobby and called Judy over to show her the picture from "Cruel Tears" with me in it. The fall of 1977 - I was 27. My past life. But watching the Mom show stirred something in me. Collective creation was my favourite kind of work, where we actors wrote and performed our own words. I loved it.

Sigh.

Some shopping in the market and back in the brilliant sun on the tiny ferry, to walk along the water back to Bruce's. Safely inside, I watched the rain gather force over the water and come in - a sudden flash storm - and then it was over, there's a tranquil blue and pewter sky as dusk descends, and I am safe and warm with fresh soup for supper and the best view in the world.

Vancouver

 6 a.m.
7 a.m.

The view from one of my favourite places in the world: Bruce's balcony on Beach Avenue. I could sit here and gaze all day. But no, I have things to do: go to Chris's to see his famous dresses in the flesh, so to speak, and then the mini-ferry across the inlet to Vancouver Island to meet friend and fellow writer Judy McFarlane for lunch at the Granville Island Market, another of my fave places on earth, and then we're seeing a matinee of "Mom's the Word 3," a smash hit about women who are empty-nesters, which Judy and I both are. Then I'll get groceries at the Market, the soup place which sells divine soups and other goodies.

Perhaps you can tell I have regained some energy. But I'm predicting a jet lag crash about mid-afternoon. No problem, I'll just go go go till then.

The flight was painless. Confession: the plane was packed and they had me in a middle seat, which I knew would drive me insane. So I told the gate agent I was claustrophobic, was there anything she could do please? And she found me an aisle seat, saving the day. The woman next to me was quite happy there, whereas I got up five or six times because that's what I do. I also saw 2 good movies: Tampopo, a very funny vintage Japanese film about the transformative power of food and specifically how to cook good ramen noodles, and Les Choristes, a terrific French film about the transformative power of music. Though I also watched Minority Report on the screen in the row ahead and Arrival again on the screen next to me. My beloved Chris, BFF since 1975, was there to greet me, and it wasn't raining! What could be better? Except that Bruce's sister Jane had made up his bed for me. My second home. What a city.