Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 165
August 26, 2016
Southside with You + Macca and puppies
It's National Dog Day! And here's Macca with his best wishes for the day. Be still my beating heart.
Speaking of the world's most attractive men, Ken and I just went to see "Southside with You", a movie about Barack's first date with Michelle. Neither of us were dying to see this film, but we'd made our own date ages ago and it was the best bet, since we weren't up for "Hooligan Sparrow" at Hot Docs or the new Natalie Portman film about Israel, and Ken had already seen the Woody Allen. I thought it would be about them and lots of other things, but really ... it's about their first date, from her getting ready to her sitting in a chair at the end of the night with a smile on her face. It's slow and not that great but very sweet. And in the end, if there's a message, it's that the person you choose to be your life partner is the most important decision you will ever make. We get an intimation of how she will change him for the better, and he her.
Macca and Barack - two of the best.
Speaking of the world's most attractive men, Ken and I just went to see "Southside with You", a movie about Barack's first date with Michelle. Neither of us were dying to see this film, but we'd made our own date ages ago and it was the best bet, since we weren't up for "Hooligan Sparrow" at Hot Docs or the new Natalie Portman film about Israel, and Ken had already seen the Woody Allen. I thought it would be about them and lots of other things, but really ... it's about their first date, from her getting ready to her sitting in a chair at the end of the night with a smile on her face. It's slow and not that great but very sweet. And in the end, if there's a message, it's that the person you choose to be your life partner is the most important decision you will ever make. We get an intimation of how she will change him for the better, and he her.Macca and Barack - two of the best.
cucumber query
An important question for my gardening friends: as you may have noted, this year I am inordinately proud of my cucumbers. But several of them have turned out not green, but yellow and sour. I don't think they were once green turned yellow, and they are not a special yellow kind of cuke. How and why did this happen, do any of you know? Not enough sun? But others nearby are green and delicious. It makes this urban gardener sad to waste produce.
catching up
A friend just wrote to point out that I have not blogged in days, am I all right? Thank you for your concern - yes, fine this end, just busy and a bit lazy. Summer is winding down - still blasting heat in our faces but there's cold on the edges. It's my stern resolution to get to work, and I have done some editing and back-to-school work, but not much of my own - every day, something happens. This week it was a visit from my brother Mike and his nine-year old son, a great visit with family barbecues and get-togethers. Had an interesting discussion with Mike, who says he started to read "All My Loving," my Sixties memoir - which after all is about our family and he's a main character, albeit with the pseudonym Dave - and he said it bothered him to read about "Dave," so he stopped reading. I said I was protecting his privacy and he said privacy is not an issue. So from now on, in my memoirs, he'll have his own name. I gave him the dictum that any family with a writer in it is doomed - was it Alice Munro who said that? - and he nodded. True.
Two nights ago, dinner in the garden of my dear friend Suzette and her husband Pierre and their fascinating circle of friends, including a neighbour who, it turned out, was the stepbrother of Pete Seeger - royalty! Yesterday Anna, the boys and I went to see "Munsch at Play," a local production using actors with disabilities - a very funny small man in a power wheelchair and a young woman with Down syndrome - acting out some of Robert Munsch's famous stories. Ben spent part of it outside with his mother, but Eli enjoyed it so much, he wants to go again.
Another treat - I heard an interview with Anny Scoones on Shelagh Roger's CBC show, on her new memoir about her mother, the painter Molly Lamb Bobak. Anny was my dresser during a lunatic show in 1977, a quirky, thoughtful young woman who became a dear friend. And when Molly came to visit, she did as well; a watercolour of yellow freesia she painted for me hangs in my living-room. Anny is now a writer (and many other things) living in Victoria; I wrote to tell her I'd ordered her book and we are now reconnected. Her memoir - "Last Dance in Shediac" - is beautiful. I look forward to my next visit out west.
Last night, dinner with my francophone group, always animated and rich. One is a music teacher in a Toronto school who got married to his partner in January; his students celebrated with him. We asked if any of the immigrant kids had trouble with gay marriage, and he said no, they understand the open ethos of the school and they like him, so his being openly gay is not a problem. But he did tell the moving story of a 14-year old girl from Iran who asked his help to come out to her mother. The mother had a hard time understanding and only asked that they make sure the dad never finds out. We then launched into our usual spirited discussion, in French, about issues of the right and left, especially the Islamification of the world, which those on the right in our group speak about with fear and revulsion and those on the left, including me, with more tolerance. Never less than fascinating.
Okay, we're more or less up to date. Today, lunch and a movie - Barack and Michelle's first date - with Ken. Bound to be heartwarming. Anna wrote yesterday that she started to read the news and burst into tears. I don't blame her. So we need all the heartwarming we can get. Body warming, not a problem these days. For a while longer.
Two nights ago, dinner in the garden of my dear friend Suzette and her husband Pierre and their fascinating circle of friends, including a neighbour who, it turned out, was the stepbrother of Pete Seeger - royalty! Yesterday Anna, the boys and I went to see "Munsch at Play," a local production using actors with disabilities - a very funny small man in a power wheelchair and a young woman with Down syndrome - acting out some of Robert Munsch's famous stories. Ben spent part of it outside with his mother, but Eli enjoyed it so much, he wants to go again.
Another treat - I heard an interview with Anny Scoones on Shelagh Roger's CBC show, on her new memoir about her mother, the painter Molly Lamb Bobak. Anny was my dresser during a lunatic show in 1977, a quirky, thoughtful young woman who became a dear friend. And when Molly came to visit, she did as well; a watercolour of yellow freesia she painted for me hangs in my living-room. Anny is now a writer (and many other things) living in Victoria; I wrote to tell her I'd ordered her book and we are now reconnected. Her memoir - "Last Dance in Shediac" - is beautiful. I look forward to my next visit out west.
Last night, dinner with my francophone group, always animated and rich. One is a music teacher in a Toronto school who got married to his partner in January; his students celebrated with him. We asked if any of the immigrant kids had trouble with gay marriage, and he said no, they understand the open ethos of the school and they like him, so his being openly gay is not a problem. But he did tell the moving story of a 14-year old girl from Iran who asked his help to come out to her mother. The mother had a hard time understanding and only asked that they make sure the dad never finds out. We then launched into our usual spirited discussion, in French, about issues of the right and left, especially the Islamification of the world, which those on the right in our group speak about with fear and revulsion and those on the left, including me, with more tolerance. Never less than fascinating.
Okay, we're more or less up to date. Today, lunch and a movie - Barack and Michelle's first date - with Ken. Bound to be heartwarming. Anna wrote yesterday that she started to read the news and burst into tears. I don't blame her. So we need all the heartwarming we can get. Body warming, not a problem these days. For a while longer.
August 20, 2016
celebrating Gord and the Hip
It's 9 p.m. Saturday night and I am, of course, along with much of the rest of this country, watching the last concert of the Tragically Hip on CBC TV. What a profoundly moving experience, to watch a man dying of brain cancer singing his heart out, with his band, to enraptured fans who have come to celebrate his life and say goodbye.
Here's a most beautiful article about the man, the band, the music, and this beloved country of ours:
http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/watching-canadas-biggest-rock-band-say-a-dramatic-goodbye
P.S. I admit, I was not a fan, didn't know their music and even now, listening, it's not quite my thing, though I love that their hit song features Bobcaygeon - who else could say that? But I admire the courage and artistry of the man and am thrilled to be part of something that means so much to so many of my countrymen.
Here's a most beautiful article about the man, the band, the music, and this beloved country of ours:
http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/watching-canadas-biggest-rock-band-say-a-dramatic-goodbye
P.S. I admit, I was not a fan, didn't know their music and even now, listening, it's not quite my thing, though I love that their hit song features Bobcaygeon - who else could say that? But I admire the courage and artistry of the man and am thrilled to be part of something that means so much to so many of my countrymen.
August 19, 2016
praise for "All My Loving"
Received this wonderful note from a former student and friend, a very accomplished woman who took my class at least ten years ago, and would like to share it with you. Does a writer's heart good. I wrote back to thank her and to ask her to pass the book or her recommendation of it on to anyone she thinks might be interested. I've had a bunch of notes like this, people who really enjoy the book - but so few people know it exists.
I just got back from a couple of weeks away at a cottage in Temagami where I read your book! All My Loving had me hooked from start to finish...It also brought back all your coaching - cutting to the chase, telling your own story, writing the truth, sharing your pain, mining the journal!
What a terrific read. I can't believe you were so mature as a young teen that you travelled via Paris metro to the box office, bought tickets for TWO shows, AND went by yourself! As a crazy Beatles fan myself I could feel the electricity of how excited you were.
I still want to write. The answer, I know, is write. There is some discipline in my life but it doesn't include writing at the moment, even though I know that the hardest, but really the easiest part is to just start.
I know I'm late to the game on your book, but congratulations. I loved it.
I just got back from a couple of weeks away at a cottage in Temagami where I read your book! All My Loving had me hooked from start to finish...It also brought back all your coaching - cutting to the chase, telling your own story, writing the truth, sharing your pain, mining the journal!
What a terrific read. I can't believe you were so mature as a young teen that you travelled via Paris metro to the box office, bought tickets for TWO shows, AND went by yourself! As a crazy Beatles fan myself I could feel the electricity of how excited you were.
I still want to write. The answer, I know, is write. There is some discipline in my life but it doesn't include writing at the moment, even though I know that the hardest, but really the easiest part is to just start.
I know I'm late to the game on your book, but congratulations. I loved it.
home three days early
Hello internet, glad to have you back in my life! Hello garden, hello house, hello major modern metropolis. Happy to be with you once more.
Home three days early. Perhaps that tells you all you need to know, considering the time and expense it took to organize this trek north. Basically - the cottage is the friend of a friend's, in a good location, and, as we'd been told, on a big shallow lake with a shady beach for small people. Amenities - toys on site, grass, gorgeous sunsets, hammock, paddleboat, call of the loon. Lovely.
But there were problems, some with the cottage and some with us. To be brief, the place was not well maintained. In the sun, not a problem, but in bad weather, when you're stuck inside with two incredibly energetic children, it was. Our arrival day, Sunday, and Monday were wonderful - Lani and Maurice arrived for a visit and had supper with us, Lani doing puzzles and playing a game of catch the bubbles with Eli, and then it was painting time.
On Tuesday, the heavens opened - not just rain, but a biblical downpour. Anna located a wolf sanctuary on her phone and off we went, to spend $25 to look through windows at some empty woods - the wolves very sensibly opting not to get drenched - and see a documentary. The visit was great for Ben, though - he spent an hour going up and down the stairs to the bathroom. All Ben wants to do is climb - he is, at one, a fearless Cirque du Soleil gymnast. After our rather dispirited non-sighting of wolves, along with other desperate families of small kids, we drove to Haliburton and found a restaurant for lunch, where the waitress forgot our order so by the time it arrived, the kids were going insane, Eli especially disputatious and Ben emitting the ear-piercing scream that gives him so much pleasure. On the way back, the rain was so heavy, I had the wipers on as fast as they would go and still could hardly see.
The next two days were variable tho' we could mostly go outside - but thunderstorms were predicted for the whole weekend. No way. Anna and the kids were supposed to get the bus back Friday night and I to stay with a friend or alone for the weekend. No way. Between the musty smell and the weather, we decided to pack up early.
But also - I know there are people who have quiet grandchildren who sit and look sweetly at picture books. I am not one of them. Eli is a dervish - constant activity and noise from the moment he awakes, much too early, to when he blessedly drops off to sleep at 7 or so. He's bright, contrary, wilful and stubborn - as his mother says, he's her karma, because that was her young personality too, except that he's also bouncing off the walls. No problem when we could get him in the water and burn off some of that energy. And Ben was in the meantime trying to climb everything in sight, including the steep fence and steps of the deck, and when not climbing, he was gnawing on his brother's Crocs, my rubber boots, gravel, sticks and dirt. And paintbrushes.
Still we had a wonderful time, truly we did. It was a joy to watch them paddling, splashing and digging in the sand, these hilarious and marvellous children - discussing Eli's family of dragons, watching him carefully set the table for them so they could eat their soup. He sent them home before us. "Perhaps," I said, as we drove, "they're talking to your dad now." "Glamma," he said scornfully, "dragons don't talk."
And their mother is, as I've said before, a force of nature, the best mother in the world, dealing with the kids and producing one beautiful meal after another in a kitchen with no counter space - for Eli who's very picky and tiny Ben who eats a small amount and then throws the rest on the floor. And Glamma, who eats everything with gusto but was a tiny bit overwhelmed by it all. What an enormous amount of energy it takes to parent effectively, especially to children as forceful as these. It's relentless, like being in the eye of a hurricane. My daughter does not quail. But still, we were both very happy about the decision to go home Thursday night - she to her bed, her home set up for kids and cleaned to her exacting specifications - and I to the internet and PEACE AND QUIET. She organized the trip back to perfection - we wore them out during the day and left at 4, so they both slept for nearly the whole blessedly peaceful 3 hour trip to civilization.
But today, as I came home from taking the car back - glad to be rid of that behemoth - I passed the fire station on Dundas. They had the ladder out and a fireman was climbing it, and I so missed being able to show it to Eli, who would have been enthralled. I miss the feeling of a wriggling baby in my arms. Never mind - I took a picture of the fire engine and sent it to Anna, and I'll see them all again soon enough.
In the meantime, a mountain of laundry and piles of stuff to put away. No loon. But the cicadas, the little woodpecker hammering at the dead ivy, the sirens, the distant roar of the Don Valley Parkway - music to my ears.
Home three days early. Perhaps that tells you all you need to know, considering the time and expense it took to organize this trek north. Basically - the cottage is the friend of a friend's, in a good location, and, as we'd been told, on a big shallow lake with a shady beach for small people. Amenities - toys on site, grass, gorgeous sunsets, hammock, paddleboat, call of the loon. Lovely.
But there were problems, some with the cottage and some with us. To be brief, the place was not well maintained. In the sun, not a problem, but in bad weather, when you're stuck inside with two incredibly energetic children, it was. Our arrival day, Sunday, and Monday were wonderful - Lani and Maurice arrived for a visit and had supper with us, Lani doing puzzles and playing a game of catch the bubbles with Eli, and then it was painting time.
On Tuesday, the heavens opened - not just rain, but a biblical downpour. Anna located a wolf sanctuary on her phone and off we went, to spend $25 to look through windows at some empty woods - the wolves very sensibly opting not to get drenched - and see a documentary. The visit was great for Ben, though - he spent an hour going up and down the stairs to the bathroom. All Ben wants to do is climb - he is, at one, a fearless Cirque du Soleil gymnast. After our rather dispirited non-sighting of wolves, along with other desperate families of small kids, we drove to Haliburton and found a restaurant for lunch, where the waitress forgot our order so by the time it arrived, the kids were going insane, Eli especially disputatious and Ben emitting the ear-piercing scream that gives him so much pleasure. On the way back, the rain was so heavy, I had the wipers on as fast as they would go and still could hardly see.The next two days were variable tho' we could mostly go outside - but thunderstorms were predicted for the whole weekend. No way. Anna and the kids were supposed to get the bus back Friday night and I to stay with a friend or alone for the weekend. No way. Between the musty smell and the weather, we decided to pack up early.
But also - I know there are people who have quiet grandchildren who sit and look sweetly at picture books. I am not one of them. Eli is a dervish - constant activity and noise from the moment he awakes, much too early, to when he blessedly drops off to sleep at 7 or so. He's bright, contrary, wilful and stubborn - as his mother says, he's her karma, because that was her young personality too, except that he's also bouncing off the walls. No problem when we could get him in the water and burn off some of that energy. And Ben was in the meantime trying to climb everything in sight, including the steep fence and steps of the deck, and when not climbing, he was gnawing on his brother's Crocs, my rubber boots, gravel, sticks and dirt. And paintbrushes.
Still we had a wonderful time, truly we did. It was a joy to watch them paddling, splashing and digging in the sand, these hilarious and marvellous children - discussing Eli's family of dragons, watching him carefully set the table for them so they could eat their soup. He sent them home before us. "Perhaps," I said, as we drove, "they're talking to your dad now." "Glamma," he said scornfully, "dragons don't talk."
And their mother is, as I've said before, a force of nature, the best mother in the world, dealing with the kids and producing one beautiful meal after another in a kitchen with no counter space - for Eli who's very picky and tiny Ben who eats a small amount and then throws the rest on the floor. And Glamma, who eats everything with gusto but was a tiny bit overwhelmed by it all. What an enormous amount of energy it takes to parent effectively, especially to children as forceful as these. It's relentless, like being in the eye of a hurricane. My daughter does not quail. But still, we were both very happy about the decision to go home Thursday night - she to her bed, her home set up for kids and cleaned to her exacting specifications - and I to the internet and PEACE AND QUIET. She organized the trip back to perfection - we wore them out during the day and left at 4, so they both slept for nearly the whole blessedly peaceful 3 hour trip to civilization.But today, as I came home from taking the car back - glad to be rid of that behemoth - I passed the fire station on Dundas. They had the ladder out and a fireman was climbing it, and I so missed being able to show it to Eli, who would have been enthralled. I miss the feeling of a wriggling baby in my arms. Never mind - I took a picture of the fire engine and sent it to Anna, and I'll see them all again soon enough.
In the meantime, a mountain of laundry and piles of stuff to put away. No loon. But the cicadas, the little woodpecker hammering at the dead ivy, the sirens, the distant roar of the Don Valley Parkway - music to my ears.
August 14, 2016
up and away
Did a solid two hours work last night in the lovely office - so there. Everything I need right in front of me - it boggles the mind. I began the hard work of renovating Act One. More drama, conflict, struggle needed. So difficult, when it's the story of my own serene and flawless life.
It's the first fresh morning we've had in a week, the garden wet and happy. I got a $30 parking ticket for parking on my own street last night, but that's life in the beeg ceety.
Now - north. See you in a week or so.
It's the first fresh morning we've had in a week, the garden wet and happy. I got a $30 parking ticket for parking on my own street last night, but that's life in the beeg ceety.
Now - north. See you in a week or so.
August 13, 2016
Once more to the lake
There's a honkin' great SUV outside, a Jeep Cherokee that yours truly will be driving tomorrow, filled with family and mountains of stuff, to cottage country. It is one of my great regrets that we didn't have a cottage when my kids were growing up. We didn't have one during my own childhood because we travelled in the summer, and then with our kids - well, my husband was always very busy, and a cottage was just not my tradition, and certainly not his. But I've heard over and over about people's wonderful summer memories, family gatherings, board games, camp fires, water skiing, and I am sorry we did not provide that for our kids.
So - I've rented a cottage for the first time from the friend of a friend, to see if this is a tradition I can provide for my grandchildren. It's apparently on a shallow lake, and I imagine the screen door banging, watching the kids splash, sitting by the lake with a glass of something as the sun sets. Anna and I have been texting back and forth all day - I needed to go pick up the car seats, did you pack the bandaids, should I bring the bug spray and pb or will you? We have enough equipment for a month.
Today is not an auspicious start - after a week of the most gruelling heat, today is still very hot but very wet, major downpours all day long. Please, God, do not rain on our week at the cottage. Being inside with two small energetic boys - well no, we'll just go and swim in the rain. But better not, if that's okay with You. Clouds are predicted. We'll take clouds. Pouring right now; good for the garden, not so much for small boys.
Sam will be here, and John, seeing to the house and the watering, especially the veggies. This year I am the queen of cucumbers. I am proud of my magnificent cukes.
Otherwise - my new office is terrific but I've done very little work in it. Had a drink with a student, who asked wistfully about my writing discipline - and I had to laugh. If I'd had a writing discipline, there would be more books. But I'll get back to the memoir when things settle. Yes I will. In the meantime - northward. To make memories.
So - I've rented a cottage for the first time from the friend of a friend, to see if this is a tradition I can provide for my grandchildren. It's apparently on a shallow lake, and I imagine the screen door banging, watching the kids splash, sitting by the lake with a glass of something as the sun sets. Anna and I have been texting back and forth all day - I needed to go pick up the car seats, did you pack the bandaids, should I bring the bug spray and pb or will you? We have enough equipment for a month.
Today is not an auspicious start - after a week of the most gruelling heat, today is still very hot but very wet, major downpours all day long. Please, God, do not rain on our week at the cottage. Being inside with two small energetic boys - well no, we'll just go and swim in the rain. But better not, if that's okay with You. Clouds are predicted. We'll take clouds. Pouring right now; good for the garden, not so much for small boys.
Sam will be here, and John, seeing to the house and the watering, especially the veggies. This year I am the queen of cucumbers. I am proud of my magnificent cukes.
Otherwise - my new office is terrific but I've done very little work in it. Had a drink with a student, who asked wistfully about my writing discipline - and I had to laugh. If I'd had a writing discipline, there would be more books. But I'll get back to the memoir when things settle. Yes I will. In the meantime - northward. To make memories.
August 12, 2016
killing me softly ...
August 11, 2016
Bach on the mountaintop
After that nice note the other day about my first book, "Back Page Stories," I came across a copy of my second book, "Yours Truly - a book of the blog," a compilation of my first year of blog posts, including my five month stay in France. My mother kept her copy by her bedside and told me it was the best book she'd ever read, though since she was not a great reader, and she was also my mother, that's perhaps not the review to put on the cover.
Inside, I found this entry from Friday Feb. 22 2008. This was before I started to go to Macca concerts. I was 57.
Not a rocking chair
My beloved Paul McCartney was on the British Music Awards last night, getting an award and then playing a few songs. He was wearing tight black pants, a mod little jacket and Beatle boots, he and his band rocked and screamed and crooned, and I thought, “My God, this man is nearly 66 years old!” He’s the age when people retire and settle into their lazy boy chairs with the remote, join the shuffleboard team, buy the skirts and pants with the stretchy waistbands and the comfy shoes and let it all sag out. Not the Paul machine. There’s something absurd and fantastic about the fact that so many boomer heroes – Eric Clapton, the Stones, the Who – just keep going. Paul’s voice was rough last night, but his hair was a lustrous brown, and he jumped around looking pretty damn great. I’m proud of the way we are redefining middle age. I can see us all in groovy old folks communes, with state of the art sound and movie systems and hookahs built into our Mag-wheeled, graffiti-splattered wheelchairs.
Rock on, Grandpa Paul.
Well, that’s not the image of a 66-year old - or of a grandparent - I have today, that’s for sure!
Your inspiration for today, ageless readers - a musician climbs a mountain with a cello on her back, to play Bach at the top.
https://aeon.co/videos/a-bach-cello-piece-played-atop-a-mountain-is-as-exhilarating-as-you-d-expect
Inside, I found this entry from Friday Feb. 22 2008. This was before I started to go to Macca concerts. I was 57.
Not a rocking chair
My beloved Paul McCartney was on the British Music Awards last night, getting an award and then playing a few songs. He was wearing tight black pants, a mod little jacket and Beatle boots, he and his band rocked and screamed and crooned, and I thought, “My God, this man is nearly 66 years old!” He’s the age when people retire and settle into their lazy boy chairs with the remote, join the shuffleboard team, buy the skirts and pants with the stretchy waistbands and the comfy shoes and let it all sag out. Not the Paul machine. There’s something absurd and fantastic about the fact that so many boomer heroes – Eric Clapton, the Stones, the Who – just keep going. Paul’s voice was rough last night, but his hair was a lustrous brown, and he jumped around looking pretty damn great. I’m proud of the way we are redefining middle age. I can see us all in groovy old folks communes, with state of the art sound and movie systems and hookahs built into our Mag-wheeled, graffiti-splattered wheelchairs.
Rock on, Grandpa Paul.
Well, that’s not the image of a 66-year old - or of a grandparent - I have today, that’s for sure!
Your inspiration for today, ageless readers - a musician climbs a mountain with a cello on her back, to play Bach at the top.
https://aeon.co/videos/a-bach-cello-piece-played-atop-a-mountain-is-as-exhilarating-as-you-d-expect
