Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 164

Idea of North

Record-breaking heat - 34 feeling like 43! 43 degrees - that's 109 in our old world. And my A.C. has decided not to work. No idea why, but this, dear machine, is not a good day to crap out. So I'm huddled in the living room with the fan and a glass of cold white wine. Could be worse. (The liquor store has no more good rosé. Imagine!)

I do have a U of T event tonight, but I just cannot cycle across the city in 43 degrees, full sun all the way, plus I am just not up for it. Mon dieu, BK not up for free food and wine and meeting with colleagues - something must be wrong. Well - I went to my Y class today, my legs hurt, it's too hot. For once, I will go to the Cabbagetown Short Film Festival, run by my friend Gina, instead of a work event. I'm allowed - have not missed one in the 9 years I've been working there.

Went yesterday with Margaret to the AGO to see "Idea of North," an exhibition of Lawren Harris paintings curated by Steve Martin. There is something annoyingly Canadian about this - that an American movie star discovers one of our great painters and suddenly we all do too. Except that we all knew how wonderful Lawren Harris was - his beautiful paintings of Toronto and then the north. It's interesting that he moved directly from houses to mountains. It all gets a bit religious later, and then weird and abstract, but still, his work is glorious.

I am reading Ian Brown's "Sixty" from the library. I admire his writing, his moving book about his handicapped son and long heartfelt essays in the Globe. But I have to say I dislike this book and am not going to finish it. He writes about how he has not achieved success and is jealous of others, while detailing the many successes of his rich and interesting life. He is trying to be Karl Ove Knausgaard, writing with disarming honesty about body functions and every single depressing and intimate detail of his aging body and mind. But it's not charming, somehow, the way Knausgaard does it, it's just whiney, self-pitying and annoying. A big misstep for a very good writer, I think. 
Right now an Idea of North sounds like a good idea - a blast of cold air would be a big help. But then, it'll come soon enough, and we'll all be pining for heat. O Canada.

Helen Mirren at 70

Readers of my FB page know that yesterday was four-year old Eli's first day of school. And he aced it. There's a long road ahead, but his first day was exemplary. His mama wrote to me, "Both his teachers said he was amazing. Well behaved, listened the first time they told him something, and was a great kid. I said I wasn't surprised because he's always so good for everyone else. She said that's a sign I'm doing a great job. LOL."

Watched last night a program on TVO about success in life, various studies etc., and that they feel now the deciding factor for lifelong success is not resilience or intelligence, but self-control in childhood. The famous marshmallow test. And Eli, though he fights his mama so fiercely, has it. So Glamma can officially cease worrying and live a serene life from now on.

LOL.

Hot and beautiful. Friend Margaret staying here. The Cabbagetown Festival coming up, tonight a big U of T event with food, wine and colleagues, and later the C'town Short Film Fest. Too busy. Love it.

Here's a heartening picture for your Wednesday of your typical 70-year old woman:

Labour Day

A gorgeous Labour Day - my labour was spending time with the small boys from across town who descended and destroyed with glee. We spent a lot of time at the wonderful water park on Wellesley Street, where they got wet and Glamma did not. At one point, a very elderly couple - in their nineties, extremely frail - arrived with their walkers and a caregiver and sat, laughing as they watched the children splash in the water. They had come just to watch the kids play, and their delight was beautiful to see. It brought tears to my eyes, in fact, reminding me just how lucky we all were, to be alive on this beautiful day watching children run through streams of water screaming with pleasure. The woman - so very tiny - was wearing bright purple nail and toenail polish. I complimented her and she said she was visiting some very traditional friends later and would have to take it off first.

By mid-afternoon, Glamma was tuckered out and the family went home. I poured a large glass of wine and sat staring at the garden, where the silver lace vine, for the first time, has burst into massive quantities of bloom.

Tomorrow, Eli starts Junior Kindergarten. First day of school. We went to check it out the other day - he knows the building well because the drop-in he frequented with his mama is there. He'll be fine. And his mama will be very happy to have some time with just a very energetic climbing baby.

Here are some things for you to enjoy, at the end of this great summer. Cheers!

A gorgeous Labour Day - my labour was spending time with ...

A gorgeous Labour Day - my labour was spending time with the Hurricane, the small boys from across town who descended and destroyed with glee. We spent a lot of time at the wonderful water park on Wellesley Street, where they got wet and Glamma did not. At one point, a very elderly couple - in their nineties, extremely frail - arrived with their walkers and a caregiver and sat, laughing as they watched the children splash in the water. They had come just to watch the kids play, and their delight was beautiful to see. It brought tears to my eyes, in fact, reminding me just how lucky we all were, to be alive on this beautiful day watching children run through streams of water screaming with pleasure. The woman - so very tiny - was wearing bright purple nail and toenail polish. I complimented her and she said she was visiting some very traditional friends later and would have to take it off first.

By mid-afternoon, Glamma was tuckered out and the family went home. I poured a large glass of wine and sat staring at the garden, where the silver lace vine, for the first time, has burst into massive quantities of bloom.

Tomorrow, Eli starts Junior Kindergarten. First day of school. We went to check it out the other day - he knows the building well because the drop-in he frequented with his mama is there. He'll be fine. And his mama will be very happy to have some time with just a very energetic climbing baby.

Here are some things for you to enjoy, at the end of this great summer. Cheers!

cute boys

Amazing - it turned into September, and I had to put a quilt on the bed and wear my light wool housecoat the next morning. I know it'll go back and forth, but still ... Mama Nature flipped the calendar to Sept. 1 and said, Okay, that's done, moving right along, and turned down the heat.

Went across town to go swimming with Anna and the boys, as the giant public pool near them will close on Monday. It's wonderful they live so close to the lake; we walked on the boardwalk, ate at the restaurant practically right on the beach, and were deafened by the air show practicing right in front of us.
Eli looked for "instering" rocks to throw into the water. And found plenty.

Yesterday, another kind of heaven - I worked on the manuscript all day - well, with interruptions, including dear Wayson who came for dinner. But mostly, blessed solitude. Richard invited me to go with him and Jean-Marc for a picnic and swim on the island and I said no. Working. That's the first time in weeks and it felt good. Today, no work again, but I'll get back to it. Have not done much this summer, but then ... it was summer.

What I just did, instead of working, was to spend half an hour listening to a YouTube video about Paul McCartney's vocal range and tone. Absolutely incredible, from pure, sweet and low to the highest Helter Skelter-type screams, his voice is infinitely flexible - and he wrote all the @#$# songs himself. Sheer genius. Be still my beating heart.
Speaking of which - how's this for a nice-looking guy with a lovely smile? The one on the right. Atsa my boy.
And now it's 10 o'clock and I can go to bed and read. Does life get better than this?

Ryerson class full

Work starts soon - hard as it is to believe. Work, what's work? Wait, this is from the woman who was at a cottage with a one-year old and a four-year old. Believe me, that was work.

Labour Day on Monday, and the following Monday, back at it. And here's the news from Ryerson: my class is already full. Yes, a week and a half before term begins, there are already 18 people registered, which is the maximum.

So if you wanted to take my class, I'm sorry, you're too late. Here are 3 options:

1. Check out my day class at U of T: Life Stories, Tuesdays 12.30 to 3, starting October 4.
2. Wait until next term at Ryerson, starting in January, and register EARLY. In the meantime, read my book "True to Life" which is the textbook for the course and get yourself started.
3. Take another Ryerson writing class this term and come back later.

Hope that helps.

It was sweltering today, my A.C. is broken, and there's no lake to plunge into. But there are cucumbers. Have I mentioned them recently? Mmmm. A group of good friends from the Y came over for a pot luck lunch and there was a cucumber or two and a great deal more; I'm still recuperating.

Life is full. I am not going to reflect on Anthony Weiner or any other crazy or unpleasant person. Just on summer, growing things, and life. Time to go read.

When you have time, please give this a listen. It's a Moth story told by a scientist called Janna Levin, sent to me by my editor friend Chris, and it's stunning.
https://www.brainpickings.org/2016/08/16/life-on-a-mobius-janna-levin-moth/?mc_cid=553fc8c01c&mc_eid=0a0866d206

And here's the ultimate Canadian photo to make your day:

cottage love

Yes, now I understand what the cottage bug is all about. Especially when you're a guest who doesn't have to buy the place, renovate it, keep it running, pay the taxes, and bring in everything it needs. I just got to swim - I usually do not like swimming much, but loved every minute in this lake - and walk and eat and read and look at trees and water and sky. Just about the perfect summer treat.
My hosts Eric -
and Ruth.

I got to kayak - oh boy, do I love that. So quiet, gliding along nearly at lake level.
One of my onerous chores: watering. Not every waterer wears the hose. The view last night from my screened bedroom window.

And now - home. Sigh. No more trees chewed by beavers, pileated woodpeckers making holes in the trunks, no more loons and chipmunks, and a sad goodbye one of the sweetest dogs ever, Cocoa. No more lake.

But - there are a million tomatoes and some cucumbers and flowers and cicadas and a lovely city sky. Home.

O Canada - morning walk in Muskoka

My companion Coco

cottage bliss

I’m in paradise – sitting on a deck in the sun on an island in the Muskokas. When my friend, neighbour and student Ruth read about our unfortunate cottage experience of a few weeks ago, she wrote to invite me to her family cottage for a few days. I’ve heard about her country place for years – Ruth is in my home class and a wonderful writer – and this time, my time was clear and on Sunday morning, I got on the bus to Gravenhurst.
It’s now 8.30 a.m. Monday morning. I am surrounded by water and trees and rock and silence, complete silence. Though it can get noisy here too – the woodpecker’s call and hammering, the whirr of the hummingbird, and last night those noisy party-goers, five loons, dancing and singing in a splashing group just beyond our bit of rock. Thrilling, beautiful and so Canadian, I wanted to put my hand on my heart, as the Americans do at patriotic moments. But I did not, because I am Canadian.
The thing is that this cottage is isolated and incredibly quiet, accessible only by boat and on a big island with only one other family way on the other side, and yet full of creature comforts – fast wifi, for a start, how does the internet reach here?! Big comfortable sofas, bookshelves full of good books, magazines and newspapers, good coffee and great food, big comfortable beds – how well I slept last night, with a sweet wind flooding through the huge windows.
I am a happy camper.
Only here till tomorrow, but today we are going to swim in the delicious lake, as we did yesterday, and kayak which believe it or not I’ve never done – yes, Canadian, never kayaked. But then, as perhaps I’ve mentioned, I’m not a cottage person. If I’d had a sublime retreat like this in my life, however, things would have been different.

Many many thanks to Ruth and Eric, who are not only perfect hosts, but very funny, and who have shown me why people do this. I’ve always wondered why people make such a point of fleeing the fascinating city. This morning, I thought, perhaps Canada is such a peaceful nation because so many of us have cottages. Regularly, we just sit and stare at water and breathe in pine. Very good for the soul. 

P.S. I do have to add that one reason it's so tranquil is because there are no small children here. No rushing after a one year old who's about to hurtle off the dock, or a 4 year old who is throwing toys into the lake to see if they'll sink. Just nice calm adults. I feel guilty saying so, I adore my grandchildren, but there are times it's nice they're with their parents.  

Woody and Beth's fall classes at Ryerson and U of T

It's getting to be that time again - school is on the horizon. I'm happy to tell you that this term, my Ryerson class is nearly full already, two weeks before term begins. So if you want to take True to Life at Ryerson, you'd better register quickly. It starts Monday Sept. 12 at 6.30.

I won't know the numbers for Life Stories at U of T for a few weeks, because it doesn't start till Tuesday October 4. It's the day class - 12.30 to 3.

Saw this, below, in an article about Woody Allen, and it made me smile; Woody thinks nostalgia is indulgent, but that it would be nice to write an autobiography. I encourage this endeavour, Woody, and offer you a couple of great courses in Toronto in the fall to help you on your new path. IT WOULD BE NICE TO WRITE THAT OUT, Woody. I can help with that.

Late-stage Woody Allen, then, is a man who gets through by playing ball, even if the sport is stacked against him. By disregarding the results and declining to dwell. “You’re probably happier in life if you can forget things,” he advises.And yet, there may be a coda. Allen doesn’t permit himself the “indulgence of nostalgia”, but, “sometimes, when I’m alone, I think maybe it would be a nice life to stop making movies and write maybe an autobiography”. It might be “pleasant” to relive his childhood, like he does when he reminisces with his sister, Letty.Yet writing a memoir would also require resurfacing less happy events, right? Putting them on paper. Well, yes. “I would have to go through the many regrets in my life and the many turbulences. But that’s OK. It’s conflict and excitement. It would be nice to write that out.”