Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 168
July 16, 2016
mmmm praise, can't get enough
Happy to receive this note from an acquaintance:
Hi Beth:
Just wanted to let you know that my daughter Elka brought your book All My Loving along on our trip to China - we are still in Shanghai. She thoroughly enjoyed it - and at her urging (and after listening to her laugh and ask me lots of questions) - I read it - in basically two days - and LOVED it. Enjoyed so many aspects of it - thanks!
Hi Beth:
Just wanted to let you know that my daughter Elka brought your book All My Loving along on our trip to China - we are still in Shanghai. She thoroughly enjoyed it - and at her urging (and after listening to her laugh and ask me lots of questions) - I read it - in basically two days - and LOVED it. Enjoyed so many aspects of it - thanks!
Time magazine, Feb. 1, 1982
A cool, grey Saturday with nothing planned - heaven. After watching handsome Viggo Mortensen on Bill Maher's show last night, I may try to see his new movie Captain Fantastic. For those of you in Toronto, TVO is showing a beautiful, very moving documentary, Buck, about a man who has phenomenal empathy and skill with horses, which we find out comes as a result of his horrific childhood. 9 tonight, TVO. Highly recommended.
I was going through some old papers last night and found a Canadian Time magazine dated Feb. 1, 1982. As I flipped through, an article caught my eye: "Islamic Fervor," was the headline, "Fundamentalism on campus." It's about a new but growing trend to Islamic fundamentalism among Palestinian youth on the West Bank, who proclaim "Glory to the martyrs of the Palestinian revolution."
"The signs of fundamentalist renascence are widespread on campus. At Bir Zeit, where Muslims claim the support of well over a third of the students, Muslims tend to organize themselves tightly around such communal activities as studying the Koran, praying and fasting." They quote a Palestinian student: "Islam is the only solution to the problem of Palestine. The Koran predicted the creation of a Jewish state 1400 years ago and also its conquest by Muslims."
And it ends by saying that the Israelis "realize that a militant fundamentalism, implacably opposed to Israeli control, would make their long-term occupation of the area much more difficult. Says one Israeli official on the West Bank, 'If this develops, it will be hell.' "
No kidding. That article is on the same page as one about the murder of an American diplomat in Paris by an Arab assailant, possibly from the "Lebanese Army Revolutionary Faction."
Were we paying attention in 1982? Did anyone have any idea nearly 35 years ago that these nascent movements could escalate into the monstrosity of horror we face today? I think not.
And another monster that once unleashed was impossible to defeat: there's an article on what they call "The Great Tax Giveaway of 1981," when President Reagan slashed taxes, especially on high income earners, so forcefully that the country had "a gargantuan budget deficit looming." The tax cutting bill included "a near elimination of estate and gift taxes ... special write-offs for oil drillers, truckers and developers who rehabilitate old buildings... One depreciation rule on telecommunications equipment could be worth an estimated $14 billion to AT &T alone."
The last paragraph: "Rather than propose repeal of the tax breaks he unwisely agreed to last year, President Reagan seems sure to urge whittling the deficit by slashing away again at social spending ... Moral: tax breaks, once granted, are devilishly hard to snatch away."
No kidding. Here we have the beginning of the erosion, if not the outright destruction, of the great American (and British etc.) middle-class about which we are hearing so much today.
Fascinating reading, old magazines, not to mention the ads for the giant Chrysler LeBaron, Players Extra Light cigarettes (beautiful people in bathing suits holding surfboards), and an ad for Wang computers: "Wang started a revolution by making computers adapt to people instead of the other way around. Wang computers are easy to learn and operate ... We brought the same simplicity to word processing. Wang is the leading marker of word processing systems in the world. We've also introduced Mailway electronic mail. And WangNet: the electronic connection network that links all kinds of office equipment together."
Whatever happened to Mailway and WangNet? I remember when I first heard about email in about 1988 (?), thinking, "Why would I need that when there's the telephone and letters?" It was years before I gave in. And now ... yesterday John was here working in the basement and accidentally disconnected my wifi, and I nearly went mad.
Hi, readers, I'm here, talking to you via WangNet. Or some version thereof.
I was going through some old papers last night and found a Canadian Time magazine dated Feb. 1, 1982. As I flipped through, an article caught my eye: "Islamic Fervor," was the headline, "Fundamentalism on campus." It's about a new but growing trend to Islamic fundamentalism among Palestinian youth on the West Bank, who proclaim "Glory to the martyrs of the Palestinian revolution."
"The signs of fundamentalist renascence are widespread on campus. At Bir Zeit, where Muslims claim the support of well over a third of the students, Muslims tend to organize themselves tightly around such communal activities as studying the Koran, praying and fasting." They quote a Palestinian student: "Islam is the only solution to the problem of Palestine. The Koran predicted the creation of a Jewish state 1400 years ago and also its conquest by Muslims."
And it ends by saying that the Israelis "realize that a militant fundamentalism, implacably opposed to Israeli control, would make their long-term occupation of the area much more difficult. Says one Israeli official on the West Bank, 'If this develops, it will be hell.' "
No kidding. That article is on the same page as one about the murder of an American diplomat in Paris by an Arab assailant, possibly from the "Lebanese Army Revolutionary Faction."
Were we paying attention in 1982? Did anyone have any idea nearly 35 years ago that these nascent movements could escalate into the monstrosity of horror we face today? I think not.
And another monster that once unleashed was impossible to defeat: there's an article on what they call "The Great Tax Giveaway of 1981," when President Reagan slashed taxes, especially on high income earners, so forcefully that the country had "a gargantuan budget deficit looming." The tax cutting bill included "a near elimination of estate and gift taxes ... special write-offs for oil drillers, truckers and developers who rehabilitate old buildings... One depreciation rule on telecommunications equipment could be worth an estimated $14 billion to AT &T alone."
The last paragraph: "Rather than propose repeal of the tax breaks he unwisely agreed to last year, President Reagan seems sure to urge whittling the deficit by slashing away again at social spending ... Moral: tax breaks, once granted, are devilishly hard to snatch away."
No kidding. Here we have the beginning of the erosion, if not the outright destruction, of the great American (and British etc.) middle-class about which we are hearing so much today.
Fascinating reading, old magazines, not to mention the ads for the giant Chrysler LeBaron, Players Extra Light cigarettes (beautiful people in bathing suits holding surfboards), and an ad for Wang computers: "Wang started a revolution by making computers adapt to people instead of the other way around. Wang computers are easy to learn and operate ... We brought the same simplicity to word processing. Wang is the leading marker of word processing systems in the world. We've also introduced Mailway electronic mail. And WangNet: the electronic connection network that links all kinds of office equipment together."
Whatever happened to Mailway and WangNet? I remember when I first heard about email in about 1988 (?), thinking, "Why would I need that when there's the telephone and letters?" It was years before I gave in. And now ... yesterday John was here working in the basement and accidentally disconnected my wifi, and I nearly went mad.
Hi, readers, I'm here, talking to you via WangNet. Or some version thereof.
July 15, 2016
grief and the garden
The only thing that makes sense this morning, as I read about more hideous, senseless carnage in the world - the good people of Nice gathering to watch fireworks, slaughtered - the only thing that heals is a walk in the garden. I just walked out into it as into a chapel, a sacred site, the green scented place on a sunny summer morning after a heavy rain.
There I see the wisdom of the world, of growing things, the force of life. The delicate yellow fingers of the rudbeckia about to unfurl, the phosphorescent scarlet of the geraniums, the tips of the green bougainvillea at last beginning to glow fuchsia, the green-black beetle nestled inside one rose - because yes, there's disease and death there too, of course, there are predators, but as part of life. Who are these madmen who only understand horror, terror, death? What kind of life do they lead with that much black hatred inside?
It won't be a tranquil weekend in the garden - it's the Indy here, race cars the west side of town sounding like angry flies through the day. But it's fun for some, so I don't mind. Not the same people, I think, as those who ride bicycles around town looking at art installations, but there is something for everyone in a sane city. And so far - I hardly dare say it - this city is sane.
Choose only one master -- Nature.
Rembrandt, painter and etcher (15 Jul 1606-1669)
There I see the wisdom of the world, of growing things, the force of life. The delicate yellow fingers of the rudbeckia about to unfurl, the phosphorescent scarlet of the geraniums, the tips of the green bougainvillea at last beginning to glow fuchsia, the green-black beetle nestled inside one rose - because yes, there's disease and death there too, of course, there are predators, but as part of life. Who are these madmen who only understand horror, terror, death? What kind of life do they lead with that much black hatred inside?
It won't be a tranquil weekend in the garden - it's the Indy here, race cars the west side of town sounding like angry flies through the day. But it's fun for some, so I don't mind. Not the same people, I think, as those who ride bicycles around town looking at art installations, but there is something for everyone in a sane city. And so far - I hardly dare say it - this city is sane.
Choose only one master -- Nature.
Rembrandt, painter and etcher (15 Jul 1606-1669)
July 14, 2016
ArtSpin
It’s 9.30 p.m. and I am grateful to be home drinking wine as the rain pours down. I was at something called ArtSpin tonight, riding my bike along with hundreds of others to see art installations - it was a lot of fun except that there was a thunderstorm and we got completely drenched and the art wasn't so great. I left early to get home before dark, my friend Richard with whom I went is still with the group somewhere on the other side of town, and it’s pouring again, just teeming. Hundreds of cyclists looking at art in the pouring rain on the other side of town. Thank God I’m home drinking wine and talking to you.
The lion bike
Before the ArtSpin ride began
En route - stopping traffic, much honking of horns by enraged drivers as hundreds of bikes took over the streets. Yeah! We stopped at CAMH, the centre for mental health, for a dance program, and went down two levels in the Honest Ed's parking garage for another event. But yes, in the pouring rain, not so much fun.
It had the feeling of the Occupy groups - kind of anarchic and peaceful but still getting stuff done. But mostly anarchic. People over 60 were definitely a rare breed, but everyone was welcome; a guy was transported in a rickshaw so he could play his saxophone for us, there was lots of music, we stopped to see people dance and do other interesting things - I love Toronto! And am grateful to Richard, and Jean-Marc who's away today, for including me in some of the amazing things they do.
And here's a summer bouquet from the garden:
The lion bike
Before the ArtSpin ride began
En route - stopping traffic, much honking of horns by enraged drivers as hundreds of bikes took over the streets. Yeah! We stopped at CAMH, the centre for mental health, for a dance program, and went down two levels in the Honest Ed's parking garage for another event. But yes, in the pouring rain, not so much fun. It had the feeling of the Occupy groups - kind of anarchic and peaceful but still getting stuff done. But mostly anarchic. People over 60 were definitely a rare breed, but everyone was welcome; a guy was transported in a rickshaw so he could play his saxophone for us, there was lots of music, we stopped to see people dance and do other interesting things - I love Toronto! And am grateful to Richard, and Jean-Marc who's away today, for including me in some of the amazing things they do.
And here's a summer bouquet from the garden:
July 13, 2016
whining about back pain
It's 32 degrees out there, feeling like 37 - tropical. I'm trying to keep the garden alive, but mostly huddled inside. To think, I almost didn't get A.C. when my house was renovated.
My dear friend Chris sent me a concerned note - why was I informing my blog readers about my return visit to the mammogram clinic, and not my children? Would they not be hurt to find out? Should I not seek support from my nearest and dearest?
And I replied, if there were ever anything serious going on with my health, my children would be the first to know. Until it's serious, I don't want to bother their busy lives. I prefer to bother yours.
I also mentioned to my friend Gretchen that I've been having constant lower back pain for quite a few weeks. "It's back cancer," I said to her, "to go with my breast cancer. And there's also mouth cancer, because I found out that if you drink very hot coffee, you're at risk, and I drink mine very hot." Or at least, I used to - not any more. Tepid coffee from now on.
Gretchen sent me a link to an article she found online, a woman writing that her severe back pain was healed by red wine. Now, that's medical advice I can live with. I just tried it, and two delicious glasses later, I can affirm that it works! The only problem is that I wake up in the morning with the pain. Should I start quaffing right away? That'll make for an interesting summer.
Yesterday, I spoke for an hour with my editor, Colin Thomas, in Vancouver. I have learned so much from him about what goes wrong in my work - the lack of narrative tension, always an issue; the inclusion of details that instruct or indicate but do not advance the narrative. He has divided the book into three acts, which makes a huge amount of sense, and come up with what he thinks the thing is about, which I could not. Extremely helpful. If you want a good editor, I can recommend 3 - Rosemary Shipton, Chris Cameron, and Colin Thomas - the best. My great luck to have worked at least once with all of them.
There's a huge amount of work ahead; today I spent (wasted) time setting up my office with fan and files. I also switched chairs so I can sit in one that's better for my back. And now I just have to @#$ sit there and figure it all out. That's the job.
One more complaint - I am a completely different shape now. I'm wearing a dress I bought at a market in Provence, a little orange slip of a thing that I used to wear outside the house. I wouldn't wear it anywhere public now if you paid me a great sum of money. I have not gained weight but I have lost my waistline - does that make sense? I wrote to my doctor - doesn't the fact that I'm the same weight but much fatter in the middle mean that I must have lost bone? And she replied comfortingly, perhaps you've just lost muscle.
The dress seven years ago, in Provence. It does not fit the same way now. But I notice that what's in my glass is the same. Must have had back pain then too.
Hooray! Getting old is going to be so much fun. At least I can take you along with me. Here we go.
PS More of life's pleasures. The Tuesday farmer's market at Riverdale Farm - the best sourdough bread, smoked salmon like sweet butter, light and dark carrots. And last night, I decided to spend time listening to my records, especially the classical ones inherited from Uncle Edgar, aficionado of the Baroque, a Bach man. The Bach double concerto for violin and oboe - sublime, especially the second movement. Such gifts. This isn't the best interpretation, but you get the idea.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSfb0r_xPec
My dear friend Chris sent me a concerned note - why was I informing my blog readers about my return visit to the mammogram clinic, and not my children? Would they not be hurt to find out? Should I not seek support from my nearest and dearest?
And I replied, if there were ever anything serious going on with my health, my children would be the first to know. Until it's serious, I don't want to bother their busy lives. I prefer to bother yours.
I also mentioned to my friend Gretchen that I've been having constant lower back pain for quite a few weeks. "It's back cancer," I said to her, "to go with my breast cancer. And there's also mouth cancer, because I found out that if you drink very hot coffee, you're at risk, and I drink mine very hot." Or at least, I used to - not any more. Tepid coffee from now on.
Gretchen sent me a link to an article she found online, a woman writing that her severe back pain was healed by red wine. Now, that's medical advice I can live with. I just tried it, and two delicious glasses later, I can affirm that it works! The only problem is that I wake up in the morning with the pain. Should I start quaffing right away? That'll make for an interesting summer.
Yesterday, I spoke for an hour with my editor, Colin Thomas, in Vancouver. I have learned so much from him about what goes wrong in my work - the lack of narrative tension, always an issue; the inclusion of details that instruct or indicate but do not advance the narrative. He has divided the book into three acts, which makes a huge amount of sense, and come up with what he thinks the thing is about, which I could not. Extremely helpful. If you want a good editor, I can recommend 3 - Rosemary Shipton, Chris Cameron, and Colin Thomas - the best. My great luck to have worked at least once with all of them.
There's a huge amount of work ahead; today I spent (wasted) time setting up my office with fan and files. I also switched chairs so I can sit in one that's better for my back. And now I just have to @#$ sit there and figure it all out. That's the job.
One more complaint - I am a completely different shape now. I'm wearing a dress I bought at a market in Provence, a little orange slip of a thing that I used to wear outside the house. I wouldn't wear it anywhere public now if you paid me a great sum of money. I have not gained weight but I have lost my waistline - does that make sense? I wrote to my doctor - doesn't the fact that I'm the same weight but much fatter in the middle mean that I must have lost bone? And she replied comfortingly, perhaps you've just lost muscle.
The dress seven years ago, in Provence. It does not fit the same way now. But I notice that what's in my glass is the same. Must have had back pain then too.Hooray! Getting old is going to be so much fun. At least I can take you along with me. Here we go.
PS More of life's pleasures. The Tuesday farmer's market at Riverdale Farm - the best sourdough bread, smoked salmon like sweet butter, light and dark carrots. And last night, I decided to spend time listening to my records, especially the classical ones inherited from Uncle Edgar, aficionado of the Baroque, a Bach man. The Bach double concerto for violin and oboe - sublime, especially the second movement. Such gifts. This isn't the best interpretation, but you get the idea.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSfb0r_xPec
July 12, 2016
asymmetry
Never count your chickens, as they say. Don't speak too soon. Make no assumptions. Hubris.
I am feeling the Flying Fickle Finger of Fate zooming over my head. My doctor just called; Women's College Hospital told her there's an "asymmetry" in my left breast and I need to come back for an ultrasound.
This has happened once before, I hasten to add, and I'm still here, with my body so far intact. But it's scary nonetheless. I looked at the x-ray pictures and thought I saw nothing, but then I'm not a diagnostician. An asymmetry. Well, I've never been symmetrical. Symmetry is too bourgeois.
Last month, my friend Louise Edwards, in her late sixties, extremely healthy, a Y-going vegetarian yoga nut, was told she had a brain tumour and died three weeks later. So that finger is very much on my mind.
It's a good thing my kids don't read this blog. I'm telling you so I can avoid telling them; they have enough on their plates without worrying about Mama, particularly when there might be nothing to worry about. And in fact, I have now made a resolution for myself: no point worrying. Que sera sera. So I will put it from my head till next Tuesday, when I go back.
But in the meantime, I will relish even more the perfection of this July day, the flowers, the birds, the ... the two bright yellow Bell ladders in my backyard, as they inch toward burying the wires.
I am feeling the Flying Fickle Finger of Fate zooming over my head. My doctor just called; Women's College Hospital told her there's an "asymmetry" in my left breast and I need to come back for an ultrasound.
This has happened once before, I hasten to add, and I'm still here, with my body so far intact. But it's scary nonetheless. I looked at the x-ray pictures and thought I saw nothing, but then I'm not a diagnostician. An asymmetry. Well, I've never been symmetrical. Symmetry is too bourgeois.
Last month, my friend Louise Edwards, in her late sixties, extremely healthy, a Y-going vegetarian yoga nut, was told she had a brain tumour and died three weeks later. So that finger is very much on my mind.
It's a good thing my kids don't read this blog. I'm telling you so I can avoid telling them; they have enough on their plates without worrying about Mama, particularly when there might be nothing to worry about. And in fact, I have now made a resolution for myself: no point worrying. Que sera sera. So I will put it from my head till next Tuesday, when I go back.
But in the meantime, I will relish even more the perfection of this July day, the flowers, the birds, the ... the two bright yellow Bell ladders in my backyard, as they inch toward burying the wires.
July 11, 2016
What three words dot com?
The first day of my summer holiday, and I spent the morning getting a mammogram. Yay, breasts squished between two plates! I caught a glimpse of the pictures, and it didn't look as if there's anything that shouldn't be there. Fingers crossed. I am high risk because my mother and her older sister Margaret had breast cancer - not her older sister Do, I hasten to add, who at 96 has had no health issues at all, no heart problems, no cancer or arthritis or mental issues, just difficult feet and the threat of macular degeneration, which has not hit her yet because she gets injections into her eyes.
I want Do's body and mind. She says it's because when she steams broccoli, she drinks the cooking water afterward. I want Do's body and mind but without drinking broccoli water, please. Thank you. And also, if possible, no injections into the eyes.
Somehow the rest of the day vanished in bits and pieces, and now it's rosé time, the best time of day. I'm working - figuring out what my terrific editor Colin Thomas has critiqued about the memoir and how to fix it. That will be my big project for the summer. That and staking my beans, which are flailing about all over the place.
A fun thing in Sunday's Star, though barely incomprehensible - a guy has developed an algorithm (what IS an algorithm?) that locates any address on earth with three words. If you go to map.what3words.com and type in your address, you will find out your words. Mine, I kid you not, are blurts. impulses. defers. It's like a Rorschach test. In my classes, I always write Carol Shields' words on the board: BLURT BRAVELY. I am impulsive and yet deferential - my algorithm is psychoanalytic! But when I typed in my childhood home in Halifax, it came up as cornfields.insulating.spurn. Nothing psychoanalytic there. Try it and see how close it comes to your core.
Wanted to tell you a bit - I promise, only a tiny bit - about my time with Eli. As we walked, he shouted gleefully, pointing to a car, "There's a reedub!" "A what?" I asked and followed his finger, pointing to a Volkswagen, a VW. A reedub, of course, and so it shall remain for the rest of my days. He came in while I was dressing, looked at my half-dressed body and asked, "What do people's gina's look like?" Hmmm. I decided not to take this one on and said, "You'll have to ask your mother." Coward!
When we were reading a book, I realized he didn't know the fairy tales, so we went to the library and the campaign has begun - he knows all the characters of the schlock TV show Paw Patrol and he will also know Cinderella, the Three Little Pigs, Goldilocks, Sleeping Beauty and all the rest. It's a language he should speak. Glamma is on the case.
It's 6 p.m. and 25 degrees, the birds are chirping and the ice cubes are tinkling. Over and out.
I want Do's body and mind. She says it's because when she steams broccoli, she drinks the cooking water afterward. I want Do's body and mind but without drinking broccoli water, please. Thank you. And also, if possible, no injections into the eyes.
Somehow the rest of the day vanished in bits and pieces, and now it's rosé time, the best time of day. I'm working - figuring out what my terrific editor Colin Thomas has critiqued about the memoir and how to fix it. That will be my big project for the summer. That and staking my beans, which are flailing about all over the place.
A fun thing in Sunday's Star, though barely incomprehensible - a guy has developed an algorithm (what IS an algorithm?) that locates any address on earth with three words. If you go to map.what3words.com and type in your address, you will find out your words. Mine, I kid you not, are blurts. impulses. defers. It's like a Rorschach test. In my classes, I always write Carol Shields' words on the board: BLURT BRAVELY. I am impulsive and yet deferential - my algorithm is psychoanalytic! But when I typed in my childhood home in Halifax, it came up as cornfields.insulating.spurn. Nothing psychoanalytic there. Try it and see how close it comes to your core.
Wanted to tell you a bit - I promise, only a tiny bit - about my time with Eli. As we walked, he shouted gleefully, pointing to a car, "There's a reedub!" "A what?" I asked and followed his finger, pointing to a Volkswagen, a VW. A reedub, of course, and so it shall remain for the rest of my days. He came in while I was dressing, looked at my half-dressed body and asked, "What do people's gina's look like?" Hmmm. I decided not to take this one on and said, "You'll have to ask your mother." Coward!
When we were reading a book, I realized he didn't know the fairy tales, so we went to the library and the campaign has begun - he knows all the characters of the schlock TV show Paw Patrol and he will also know Cinderella, the Three Little Pigs, Goldilocks, Sleeping Beauty and all the rest. It's a language he should speak. Glamma is on the case.
It's 6 p.m. and 25 degrees, the birds are chirping and the ice cubes are tinkling. Over and out.
Cabbagetown apartment to rent Sept. 1
This is me in my landlady hat: My tenant downstairs is a young athlete who's confident she'll be playing overseas in the fall, so my basement suite will be looking for a new inhabitant come September. As you know, I live in a fantastic location close to TTC, Ryerson and U of T.
Please tell anyone coming to Toronto to study or work, or let me know if someone you know is interested, and I will send pictures and detailed information.
Many thanks!
Please tell anyone coming to Toronto to study or work, or let me know if someone you know is interested, and I will send pictures and detailed information.
Many thanks!
July 10, 2016
wild abandon
Good job, Milos - you played a great game. I gather.
A few things to share with you:
Our Prime Minister at Toronto's Gay Pride. Be still my beating heart.
A few things to share with you:
Our Prime Minister at Toronto's Gay Pride. Be still my beating heart.
Wimbledon on right now, hope someone wins.
The most stunning Sunday morning here, the air drenched with jasmine, camellia and roses - but in the background, the TV is turned to an epic battle of grunting - Raonic versus Murray, the men's final at Wimbledon. My mother would be so torn; as a Brit she supported Murray, as a patriotic Canadian, she rooted for the young Canuck. I just called Auntie Do, who has been fixated all week, of course, and asked who she's for. "The Canadian," she said, which made me glad; she did leave England forever in 1952, after all. "But Murray is playing better," she said.
I don't care particularly but will check in once in a while.
Home. What bliss, what heaven is this city, so tiny and tidy after NYC, and yet huge, crowded with things to do and places to see. Just the right size for a city person, though growing too fast, the traffic insane. Though not, never, as insane as the streets of New York. I had a thrilling visit to that great city, and was, as always, beyond thrilled to come home.
A last few shots from my trip:
New York is tolerant - signs like this are everywhere.
Spelling perhaps not the strong point here.
There's poetry all over, in the busses and on walls. This famous poem was on the wall at Pen station.
The day after my return I had a sleepover with Eli, who was driving his mama crazy. City day camp starts next week, but in the meantime, she has a very stubborn, extremely energetic boy in a small apartment. He and I had a busy visit - did lots of watering here, went to the Farm, then on Saturday morning he washed the car and went for a drive and then played golf, as the men in his family are wont to do on the weekend. Genetics!
Then we went to see "Finding Dory," a charming film about a fish without a short term memory. Perhaps a bit too advanced for a four year old, but he didn't mind and I enjoyed it, plus the theatre was air-conditioned, and then we rode across town for a barbecue with the rest of the family.
I told Anna about an incident, forecasting the bullying her children are in for in the world - as we were coming home from the Farm we passed through a group of youngsters, around 5 years old. Eli was riding his little wooden strider bike, and one kid planted himself in front of Eli and sneered, "That's the ugliest bike I've ever seen. It doesn't even have pedals. It's even below training wheels!" We just stopped for a few seconds, taking this in, the out of the blue nastiness of a child to a stranger, and then we moved on. Eli didn't mention it, so neither did I, but in the night I fumed - that horrible conscience-less child is going to turn into a hedge fund manager!
Anna said, "Imagine what must be happening to him at home if that's how he responds." What a great big heart she has. She'll need it. There was an article by John Ibbitson in the Saturday Globe about the worsening state of the world, the resurgence of a bullying Russia and the emergence of a bullying China, facing a disintegrating U.S. and a weakened Europe. Very very depressing. Better go out and smell the jasmine.
Okay, I do have a preference. Go Milos!
I don't care particularly but will check in once in a while.
Home. What bliss, what heaven is this city, so tiny and tidy after NYC, and yet huge, crowded with things to do and places to see. Just the right size for a city person, though growing too fast, the traffic insane. Though not, never, as insane as the streets of New York. I had a thrilling visit to that great city, and was, as always, beyond thrilled to come home.
A last few shots from my trip:
New York is tolerant - signs like this are everywhere.
Spelling perhaps not the strong point here.
There's poetry all over, in the busses and on walls. This famous poem was on the wall at Pen station.The day after my return I had a sleepover with Eli, who was driving his mama crazy. City day camp starts next week, but in the meantime, she has a very stubborn, extremely energetic boy in a small apartment. He and I had a busy visit - did lots of watering here, went to the Farm, then on Saturday morning he washed the car and went for a drive and then played golf, as the men in his family are wont to do on the weekend. Genetics!
Then we went to see "Finding Dory," a charming film about a fish without a short term memory. Perhaps a bit too advanced for a four year old, but he didn't mind and I enjoyed it, plus the theatre was air-conditioned, and then we rode across town for a barbecue with the rest of the family.I told Anna about an incident, forecasting the bullying her children are in for in the world - as we were coming home from the Farm we passed through a group of youngsters, around 5 years old. Eli was riding his little wooden strider bike, and one kid planted himself in front of Eli and sneered, "That's the ugliest bike I've ever seen. It doesn't even have pedals. It's even below training wheels!" We just stopped for a few seconds, taking this in, the out of the blue nastiness of a child to a stranger, and then we moved on. Eli didn't mention it, so neither did I, but in the night I fumed - that horrible conscience-less child is going to turn into a hedge fund manager!
Anna said, "Imagine what must be happening to him at home if that's how he responds." What a great big heart she has. She'll need it. There was an article by John Ibbitson in the Saturday Globe about the worsening state of the world, the resurgence of a bullying Russia and the emergence of a bullying China, facing a disintegrating U.S. and a weakened Europe. Very very depressing. Better go out and smell the jasmine.
Okay, I do have a preference. Go Milos!
