Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 171
June 4, 2016
of teeth
The little family visited today, to take in the fun fair at Sprucecourt School across the street. But it was very hot and the lines for the bouncy castles were very long, so we didn't last long. And I made a terrible faux pas while we were there. We ran into a schoolmate of Anna's, F., whom we had not seen in a long time. 20 years ago, he was a funny, interesting boy with a very neglectful mother who fed him little but Coke and sweets, and by the time he was 18 his teeth had rotted, making him look like a bum. I thought it was a shame such a nice young man would be handicapped in life by looking so terrible and got a bright idea: I persuaded a very wealthy friend to pay my Quaker dentist to remake F.'s mouth.
Me on my white horse - Lady Beth the Good. Sigh.
The dentist tried to teach a boy who had never brushed his teeth dental hygiene, fixed what he could and gave him implants. But it took so long my rich friend got impatient and refused to pay the second half of the huge bill. So when I could, years later, I paid my dentist back. I had not seen F. since. And now here he was, by the bouncy castle, with his children. I asked to see his teeth and exclaimed in disappointment that the whole top row were missing again. Anna was furious, saying I'd humiliated him in front of his kids. I wasn't thinking and was sorry, but still. An expensive philanthropic project was for naught.
I am a deeply flawed person. Should I even be telling you this story?
Okay, as Anna would say. Let it go.
It's 9.30 p.m. and there's that smell - I never know if it's skunk or my neighbours smoking weed. Tonight it's the latter. I as usual am sitting, sitting, sitting cloistered with reading and editing work. There's a deadline: the manuscript goes to my editor in 2 weeks. And there are 3 library books on the go: the new Paul McCartney biography by Philip Norman, which I'm ashamed to say I'm reading cover to cover; a great book called "New Order: a decluttering handbook for creative folks," which just might change my life; and the intimidatingly huge "The four seasons farm gardener's cookbook" which shows you how to lay out a vegetable garden. As you can see, I am not reading the great literature of the world. Not right now, anyway.
Here's the good news, from a serious study. Go for it, I say.
Drinking champagne every day could prevent dementia and Alzheimer's.
Me on my white horse - Lady Beth the Good. Sigh.
The dentist tried to teach a boy who had never brushed his teeth dental hygiene, fixed what he could and gave him implants. But it took so long my rich friend got impatient and refused to pay the second half of the huge bill. So when I could, years later, I paid my dentist back. I had not seen F. since. And now here he was, by the bouncy castle, with his children. I asked to see his teeth and exclaimed in disappointment that the whole top row were missing again. Anna was furious, saying I'd humiliated him in front of his kids. I wasn't thinking and was sorry, but still. An expensive philanthropic project was for naught.
I am a deeply flawed person. Should I even be telling you this story?
Okay, as Anna would say. Let it go.
It's 9.30 p.m. and there's that smell - I never know if it's skunk or my neighbours smoking weed. Tonight it's the latter. I as usual am sitting, sitting, sitting cloistered with reading and editing work. There's a deadline: the manuscript goes to my editor in 2 weeks. And there are 3 library books on the go: the new Paul McCartney biography by Philip Norman, which I'm ashamed to say I'm reading cover to cover; a great book called "New Order: a decluttering handbook for creative folks," which just might change my life; and the intimidatingly huge "The four seasons farm gardener's cookbook" which shows you how to lay out a vegetable garden. As you can see, I am not reading the great literature of the world. Not right now, anyway.
Here's the good news, from a serious study. Go for it, I say.
Drinking champagne every day could prevent dementia and Alzheimer's.
June 3, 2016
Beth's new subscription option
Readers, my beloved friend Grace, who's 24 and who comes to help me with social media, has updated my blog. As you'll see on the left, there's an addition: if you want automatic updates about blog posts, please enter your email address, go through the simple procedure, and once a day, if I've posted, you'll receive notification of my golden words and dewy prose. Yay!
Forgot to tell you, speaking of golden words - during the recent visit of Anna and her two boys, we were all sitting in the living room when Eli, who just turned four, turned to his mama and said, "Mum, how do babies get out of their mummy's tummy?" There was a pause as Anna considered her options. "Did Ben come out of your mouth?" Eli said. Anna made up her mind - he knows the names of body parts, no euphemisms in this family.
"Babies come out of their mother's vaginas, Eli," she said. Pause. He grimaced and pushed his face into the sofa cushions. And then he popped up.
"Mum," he said brightly, "can I have some goldfish crackers?" And that was that.
Later, he said to me, "Glamma, do you wear diapers?" And I wanted to say, "Not yet, Eli. Check in later," but I didn't.
So much fun.
Forgot to tell you, speaking of golden words - during the recent visit of Anna and her two boys, we were all sitting in the living room when Eli, who just turned four, turned to his mama and said, "Mum, how do babies get out of their mummy's tummy?" There was a pause as Anna considered her options. "Did Ben come out of your mouth?" Eli said. Anna made up her mind - he knows the names of body parts, no euphemisms in this family.
"Babies come out of their mother's vaginas, Eli," she said. Pause. He grimaced and pushed his face into the sofa cushions. And then he popped up.
"Mum," he said brightly, "can I have some goldfish crackers?" And that was that.
Later, he said to me, "Glamma, do you wear diapers?" And I wanted to say, "Not yet, Eli. Check in later," but I didn't.
So much fun.
Robin Phillips and Shakespearituality
Just heard from my student Kathy, a university psychology professor in her day job, that after I sent a contest outline to her class, she decided to send in a piece she'd read at So True. And she was a finalist. She did not win, but just entering is a feat, let alone placing in the top finishers. This is the second student whose So True piece was a finalist for a prize - Grace's was too. Brava to you both! Kathy wrote:
Of all the instructors I have had, you have been the one that has truly moved me forward, so most of the credit goes to you. Thanks for your continued mentorship.
My great great pleasure.
Perfect days - not muggy and too hot, as it was last week, but fresh and sunny and breezy. Good to be alive, thank you June! And on top of that, I ran into a male friend yesterday. "Beth, you're still a hottie," he said. "What's going on?"
I have to tell you that of all the things I aspire to in my life, being a good teacher and editor is high on the list, and being a hottie is pretty far down, if not at rock bottom. And the "still" - well, I guess that means, "at your age." He made me laugh - I had barely brushed my hair, was in old yoga pants, my favourite "Stop Stephen Harper" t-shirt and Birkenstocks; if that's his idea of a hottie, so be it. But still. It means I'm alive, and it's June.
Yesterday, I went to see the documentary "Robin and Mark and Richard III," at the Bloor, made by my friend Martha Burns and her friend Susan Coyne. And all I could think, as I watched this brilliant man illuminate the play, was, "Why didn't someone do this before? Why wasn't Robin Phillips filmed as he directed at Stratford, in his prime? Why isn't there a full-scale documentary about him?" This is one hour of Robin near the end of his life, going over two speeches of Richard's with an actor famous for goofball comedy. And yet it's riveting, supremely moving, to hear the passion and detailed knowledge in Robin's words, and to watch Mark McKinney transform under his focussed guidance. It's a master class for actors. "Half an actor's job," he says, "is to recall all the emotions."
"Technique is the pathway to the emotion," he says, as he talks about "Shakespearituality," what a brilliant word. At the end, he gives his favourite line from Shakespeare: "It is required you do awake your faith." I Googled - it's from "Winter's Tale." "The line takes my breath away," says Robin. "When I hear it, my heart stops."
He was a very difficult man, no question. My ex-husband worked with him, on and off, for years, and there were nights when the phone rang at 3 a.m. with yet another hysterical Robin demand. He was nearly impossible sometimes. But he was worth it, because he cared so deeply about what he was doing, and most of the time, he did it so very well. He knew so very much. We see a parade of great Canadian actors - Brent Carver, Martha Henry - and the great Maggie Smith speak with enormous affection and respect about his work and his person. His time at Stratford encompassed the flowering of Canadian culture. Thank you, Robin, for all you gave. You are much missed.
Of all the instructors I have had, you have been the one that has truly moved me forward, so most of the credit goes to you. Thanks for your continued mentorship.
My great great pleasure.
Perfect days - not muggy and too hot, as it was last week, but fresh and sunny and breezy. Good to be alive, thank you June! And on top of that, I ran into a male friend yesterday. "Beth, you're still a hottie," he said. "What's going on?"
I have to tell you that of all the things I aspire to in my life, being a good teacher and editor is high on the list, and being a hottie is pretty far down, if not at rock bottom. And the "still" - well, I guess that means, "at your age." He made me laugh - I had barely brushed my hair, was in old yoga pants, my favourite "Stop Stephen Harper" t-shirt and Birkenstocks; if that's his idea of a hottie, so be it. But still. It means I'm alive, and it's June.
Yesterday, I went to see the documentary "Robin and Mark and Richard III," at the Bloor, made by my friend Martha Burns and her friend Susan Coyne. And all I could think, as I watched this brilliant man illuminate the play, was, "Why didn't someone do this before? Why wasn't Robin Phillips filmed as he directed at Stratford, in his prime? Why isn't there a full-scale documentary about him?" This is one hour of Robin near the end of his life, going over two speeches of Richard's with an actor famous for goofball comedy. And yet it's riveting, supremely moving, to hear the passion and detailed knowledge in Robin's words, and to watch Mark McKinney transform under his focussed guidance. It's a master class for actors. "Half an actor's job," he says, "is to recall all the emotions."
"Technique is the pathway to the emotion," he says, as he talks about "Shakespearituality," what a brilliant word. At the end, he gives his favourite line from Shakespeare: "It is required you do awake your faith." I Googled - it's from "Winter's Tale." "The line takes my breath away," says Robin. "When I hear it, my heart stops."
He was a very difficult man, no question. My ex-husband worked with him, on and off, for years, and there were nights when the phone rang at 3 a.m. with yet another hysterical Robin demand. He was nearly impossible sometimes. But he was worth it, because he cared so deeply about what he was doing, and most of the time, he did it so very well. He knew so very much. We see a parade of great Canadian actors - Brent Carver, Martha Henry - and the great Maggie Smith speak with enormous affection and respect about his work and his person. His time at Stratford encompassed the flowering of Canadian culture. Thank you, Robin, for all you gave. You are much missed.
May 30, 2016
So True recap - we done good
Well, to paraphrase Sally Fields, they liked it, they really liked it - our eighth So True reading event yesterday afternoon. People are so kind! Many nice things were said by audience members; emails flew back and forth. The students who read were universally articulate and pleased. Here's one:
It was truly a thrill. Thank you for creating the environment that enabled us to realize our potential as writers in such an enjoyable and fulfilling way. Sitting there in the dark experiencing with great pleasure the work of our classmates and friends, I felt tremendously privileged to be a part of such a talented and committed group. So I thank you for your passion, leadership and hard work in creating this wonderful event, and for inviting me to be part of it. We’re all feeling enthused and inspired, thanks to you, Beth.
So glad it works! I realized yesterday why I am always exhausted afterwards, though. The process of choosing and editing stories starts months beforehand, and then during the show itself, I sit there like a mother bird watching as each reader triumphs. Yesterday, they were all marvellous, surprising themselves, I think, with the ease and skill of their performances and the rapturous reception to their writing work. It's a joy.
Then it's my turn. I stand up to finish the evening, say something wise and witty and then either tell a story of my own or read one. I may have self-confidence as a teacher and editor but not so much as a performer. Despite my years on the stage, I am full of self-doubt as a reader and speaker.
And then it's over, everyone says how much they loved it, and I sometimes believe them. Several audience members said they were going to take my course, and former students said they are anxious to submit for the next event. Which will take place October 30. Topic, in honour of Hallowe'en: DISGUISE.
It's way too hot for May. Today I bought a big purple elephant wading pool that caused much delight. I carried it home from Home Hardware on my head.
And then, after a visit to the Farm and supper, we settled for a second or two. Two little boys is a lot, really really a lot, of work.
David Sedaris protested once about friends visiting with "their wrecking crew of three." Anna visits with her wrecking crew of two, and I love every minute. (Incidentally, that little boy above was born with a club foot, and thanks to Sick Kids and the dedication of his mother, look at those perfect little footies.)
Paul Krugman writes in the NYT today that Donald Trump will not win. I'm going with that.
It was truly a thrill. Thank you for creating the environment that enabled us to realize our potential as writers in such an enjoyable and fulfilling way. Sitting there in the dark experiencing with great pleasure the work of our classmates and friends, I felt tremendously privileged to be a part of such a talented and committed group. So I thank you for your passion, leadership and hard work in creating this wonderful event, and for inviting me to be part of it. We’re all feeling enthused and inspired, thanks to you, Beth.
So glad it works! I realized yesterday why I am always exhausted afterwards, though. The process of choosing and editing stories starts months beforehand, and then during the show itself, I sit there like a mother bird watching as each reader triumphs. Yesterday, they were all marvellous, surprising themselves, I think, with the ease and skill of their performances and the rapturous reception to their writing work. It's a joy.
Then it's my turn. I stand up to finish the evening, say something wise and witty and then either tell a story of my own or read one. I may have self-confidence as a teacher and editor but not so much as a performer. Despite my years on the stage, I am full of self-doubt as a reader and speaker.
And then it's over, everyone says how much they loved it, and I sometimes believe them. Several audience members said they were going to take my course, and former students said they are anxious to submit for the next event. Which will take place October 30. Topic, in honour of Hallowe'en: DISGUISE.
It's way too hot for May. Today I bought a big purple elephant wading pool that caused much delight. I carried it home from Home Hardware on my head.
And then, after a visit to the Farm and supper, we settled for a second or two. Two little boys is a lot, really really a lot, of work.
David Sedaris protested once about friends visiting with "their wrecking crew of three." Anna visits with her wrecking crew of two, and I love every minute. (Incidentally, that little boy above was born with a club foot, and thanks to Sick Kids and the dedication of his mother, look at those perfect little footies.)Paul Krugman writes in the NYT today that Donald Trump will not win. I'm going with that.
May 28, 2016
Bernie maybe and Storycorps
Beautiful beautiful weather - though not really, because it's May and it feels like July. So what July will be like ... Fort McMurray, anyone? Though of course July may be snow, too, who knows these days? Speaking of global warming, I watched Bernie Sanders on Bill Maher last night, and you know, I may make the shift from Hillary, not that I can vote or anything - but he's amazing, full of energy and speaking such incredible sense. I know, he's a bit one note and it's very hard to imagine him as a president, so it's frightening. I'm still with Hillary. But - imagine if it's Bernie versus the giant orange blowhole - what a matchup!
The So True reading event tomorrow - exciting as always. We had a rehearsal last week, a chance for the eight readers, especially those who haven't done this before, to stand up and read their most private stories aloud, get a final edit on the writing and tips on the performance. It gives me such joy to hear their efforts come to fruition - even more so tomorrow, when they'll go public. Thrilling work. And this time, I'm not going to tell a story, I'm going to read one too, an excerpt from the memoir. Nerve-wracking. I'd much rather not put myself on the line, preferring to watch my students go through that torment. But it's important that I do.
Happy beautiful too-hot May 28th to you all.
P.S. My students Michelle and Christie sent me a link to something I'd never heard of, and should have, called Storycorps. Fascinating - kind of like what we do, collecting stories, except that these are oral stories and not sculpted in any way. We sculpt.https://storycorps.org/
The So True reading event tomorrow - exciting as always. We had a rehearsal last week, a chance for the eight readers, especially those who haven't done this before, to stand up and read their most private stories aloud, get a final edit on the writing and tips on the performance. It gives me such joy to hear their efforts come to fruition - even more so tomorrow, when they'll go public. Thrilling work. And this time, I'm not going to tell a story, I'm going to read one too, an excerpt from the memoir. Nerve-wracking. I'd much rather not put myself on the line, preferring to watch my students go through that torment. But it's important that I do.
Happy beautiful too-hot May 28th to you all.
P.S. My students Michelle and Christie sent me a link to something I'd never heard of, and should have, called Storycorps. Fascinating - kind of like what we do, collecting stories, except that these are oral stories and not sculpted in any way. We sculpt.https://storycorps.org/
May 25, 2016
check your passport!
OMG! My tenant and friend Carol, who lives on my top floor part of the year, makes her permanent home in Banos, Ecuador. Her mother, aged 103, is in a nursing home here and Carol and her sister, who lives in Toronto, share caregiving duties. Now Carol's sister is back from travels, so Carol left this morning to go home to Ecuador - a very long journey, many hours of travel including a long stopover in Miami before flying on to Quito, with three heavy suitcases which have required days of preparation to pack, as she brings back gifts of shoes and clothing from Doubletake for the families of friends there.
She left early this morning after many goodbyes, and a few hours later, she was back. It turned out that her passport will expire in five months. She was going to get it renewed in Ecuador, where there's no lineup, but apparently, she is not allowed into the United States, even for a stopover, with a passport that will expire in less than six months.
Poor Carol! She'll expedite matters and try to be off again within a few days. But in the meantime, I rushed upstairs to look at my passport. It expires in November. I fly to NYC in July. The same thing would have happened to me - I would have arrived at the airport ready for my trip and been sent home.
Be warned, my friends. I am printing the renewal forms as we speak.
She left early this morning after many goodbyes, and a few hours later, she was back. It turned out that her passport will expire in five months. She was going to get it renewed in Ecuador, where there's no lineup, but apparently, she is not allowed into the United States, even for a stopover, with a passport that will expire in less than six months.
Poor Carol! She'll expedite matters and try to be off again within a few days. But in the meantime, I rushed upstairs to look at my passport. It expires in November. I fly to NYC in July. The same thing would have happened to me - I would have arrived at the airport ready for my trip and been sent home.
Be warned, my friends. I am printing the renewal forms as we speak.
May 23, 2016
the perfect holiday
Much popping and banging - it's 10 p.m. and the Victoria Day fireworks are going off. There used to be a lovely neighbourhood ritual - many families would gather in the Sprucecourt schoolyard, we'd pool all our fireworks, the dads would let them off in the centre of the field and we'd sit and ooh and aah for at least half an hour - our own personal fireworks extravaganza, perfect for small people who were excited to be up so late. I don't know if it continues to this day. The small people in my life were camping this weekend at a friend's place in the country with not even a toilet, brave Anna with two little kids - and apparently it was wonderful.
And I - on this holiday, quiet except for the chatter of my neighbours, so incessant that I put in earplugs - I did nothing but work. I went out once for a brief walk, and the rest of the day, I sat on the deck, editing a piece for So True, sending it back and forth 3 or 4 times, and two pieces by students. But more importantly, I wrote a new chapter, rewrote it twelve times, and edited bits of the rest. My bottom is asleep because I have hardly moved from this chair all day. Unhealthy. But wonderful, a writer's idea of heaven - a stock of food and wine, a stunning warm day, a quiet garden (once the earplugs were in) and nothing to do except fiddle with words. And fiddle I did.
Right now I love this book, I love moving the words around, I love the stories and the voice. I know, how vain. But it's good to love it sometimes, because other times, I think it's a big stinking pile of hooey.
P.S. Here's a beautiful article in the NYT about "Call the Midwife," one of the best shows on television, the only program I've ever watched that unfailingly brings a tear to my eye, in the best way, with its warmth and truth. This article heaps praise, says it's better, in some ways, than "Downton." And I agree.
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/05/24/arts/television/call-the-midwife-deserves-more-respect-for-its-depth-and-daring.html?_r=0
And I - on this holiday, quiet except for the chatter of my neighbours, so incessant that I put in earplugs - I did nothing but work. I went out once for a brief walk, and the rest of the day, I sat on the deck, editing a piece for So True, sending it back and forth 3 or 4 times, and two pieces by students. But more importantly, I wrote a new chapter, rewrote it twelve times, and edited bits of the rest. My bottom is asleep because I have hardly moved from this chair all day. Unhealthy. But wonderful, a writer's idea of heaven - a stock of food and wine, a stunning warm day, a quiet garden (once the earplugs were in) and nothing to do except fiddle with words. And fiddle I did.Right now I love this book, I love moving the words around, I love the stories and the voice. I know, how vain. But it's good to love it sometimes, because other times, I think it's a big stinking pile of hooey.
P.S. Here's a beautiful article in the NYT about "Call the Midwife," one of the best shows on television, the only program I've ever watched that unfailingly brings a tear to my eye, in the best way, with its warmth and truth. This article heaps praise, says it's better, in some ways, than "Downton." And I agree.
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/05/24/arts/television/call-the-midwife-deserves-more-respect-for-its-depth-and-daring.html?_r=0
May 22, 2016
Bryan Cranston as LBJ - brilliant
That's it - yesterday was spring, today is summer. It's hot, the garden is exploding into green before my eyes, where's the sunscreen? At 8 a.m. this morning, before the crowds, I bought $80 worth of vegetables from Jay's garden centre down the road - a bit of lettuce, a few peppers and cukes, strawberries, parsley, lavender, eggplant, cherry tomatoes and two kinds of basil. Planted some, will wait to plant the rest till I've made a garden plan. Then I cleaned out the garden shed, getting out spades, fertilizer, chair cushions. Summer!
Two hours this afternoon doing the season switch - moving the wool to cupboards and drawers, getting out tank tops and sandals. (And getting rid of stuff that's too small - finally accepting that those pants, those shorts, now that I have no waistline, will never fit me again. OUT!)
Now I'm in paradise - the quiet city, the lush garden, baby sparrows learning to fly perched on the lilac or the fence under the worried eyes of their parents. Just gardened while listening to Eleanor Wachtel interview one of my favourite writers in all the world - Alan Bennett - and laughed out loud. It is a fine world.
Last night, JM and Richard came over to watch "All the Way" about LBJ's first months, the extraordinary backstage machinations it took to pass the Civil Rights Act - convincing both Martin Luther King and the impatient leaders of the black community, and the racist old boys of the white Democratic south, to toe the line. The show paid warm tribute to Lady Bird, who was a political force herself as well as a loving wife and mother. A fascinating drama beautifully produced, particularly the phenomenal performance of Breaking Bad's Bryan Cranston as LBJ - the actor vanishes into the role, a tour de force.
And then we watched the last hour of the Peggy Guggenheim documentary - TV at its best and an evening with two of my dearest friends. I got HBO because Jon Stewart announced he'd do shows there - which have yet to appear. My son watches Game of Thrones when he comes over; I can't, it's too gruesome. But last night was wonderful.
Grow, little basil, grow.
P.S. I hate to even mention it but feel I must because everyone else has. Justin Trudeau - understandably, in my eyes - grew impatient with the slowness of proceedings in the House of Commons and tried to move things along. I would have done the same. But unfortunately for the most visible man in the country, things did not go as planned, and now every pundit, including, predictably, the gloating Margaret Wente, feels the need to weigh in. Look, I'm a bit worried too about the many photo ops, wondering who's running the shop while Justin does - yes - important things like hug Syrian immigrants and beam at Obama. It's all eye candy for us Canadians after the nuclear winter we endured with the Man with the Frozen Eyes and Helmet Hair. There are certainly things to worry about. But the fuss about this event is ludicrous.
And speaking of worrying - there's a piece in the Washington Post about Trump signalling the rise of fascism in the U.S. Now that's worth writing about.
And now, back to focussing on my tomatoes.
Two hours this afternoon doing the season switch - moving the wool to cupboards and drawers, getting out tank tops and sandals. (And getting rid of stuff that's too small - finally accepting that those pants, those shorts, now that I have no waistline, will never fit me again. OUT!)
Now I'm in paradise - the quiet city, the lush garden, baby sparrows learning to fly perched on the lilac or the fence under the worried eyes of their parents. Just gardened while listening to Eleanor Wachtel interview one of my favourite writers in all the world - Alan Bennett - and laughed out loud. It is a fine world.
Last night, JM and Richard came over to watch "All the Way" about LBJ's first months, the extraordinary backstage machinations it took to pass the Civil Rights Act - convincing both Martin Luther King and the impatient leaders of the black community, and the racist old boys of the white Democratic south, to toe the line. The show paid warm tribute to Lady Bird, who was a political force herself as well as a loving wife and mother. A fascinating drama beautifully produced, particularly the phenomenal performance of Breaking Bad's Bryan Cranston as LBJ - the actor vanishes into the role, a tour de force.
And then we watched the last hour of the Peggy Guggenheim documentary - TV at its best and an evening with two of my dearest friends. I got HBO because Jon Stewart announced he'd do shows there - which have yet to appear. My son watches Game of Thrones when he comes over; I can't, it's too gruesome. But last night was wonderful.
Grow, little basil, grow.
P.S. I hate to even mention it but feel I must because everyone else has. Justin Trudeau - understandably, in my eyes - grew impatient with the slowness of proceedings in the House of Commons and tried to move things along. I would have done the same. But unfortunately for the most visible man in the country, things did not go as planned, and now every pundit, including, predictably, the gloating Margaret Wente, feels the need to weigh in. Look, I'm a bit worried too about the many photo ops, wondering who's running the shop while Justin does - yes - important things like hug Syrian immigrants and beam at Obama. It's all eye candy for us Canadians after the nuclear winter we endured with the Man with the Frozen Eyes and Helmet Hair. There are certainly things to worry about. But the fuss about this event is ludicrous.
And speaking of worrying - there's a piece in the Washington Post about Trump signalling the rise of fascism in the U.S. Now that's worth writing about.
And now, back to focussing on my tomatoes.
May 21, 2016
long weekend - and "Hangmen"
Beautiful - a long weekend, a sweet day of sun and cloud, and the garden exploding with green and bloom. Lucky me - the family came to visit yesterday to celebrate Eli's 4th birthday with his favourite treats - sushi, Duplo and cupcakes. And time in the garden, Eli and I watering, his favourite activity, and Ben crawling on the grass and eating some nice dirt. Here's a shot Anna sent me, Glamma and grandson with their watering cans, Eli's his fave colour - lello. Hard to believe that willow tree above us was five feet high in a flower pot when it was given to me by a neighbour who'd sold her condo to Jian Ghomeshi and was moving away.
This afternoon I went to National Theatre Live at Cineplex, "Hangmen" by Martin McDonagh, well-known for "In Bruges." This is another kind of "In Bruges," about violent, loud, racist, silly, sometimes mysterious men - also about the end of the death penalty in England and the daily life of a pub. As the nice lady next to me said, When I see something in which I don't like a single one of the characters, I wonder why I'm there. It was entertaining, a powerful production, well-acted with great sets and dialogue very reminiscent, in its menace, British class system awareness and rhythms, of Harold Pinter. But not my fave.
Now a quiet evening - it's wonderful when almost everyone in T.O. is at the cottage. Here's what I have in store:
Also Randy Bachman at 7, the HBO drama about Lyndon Johnson at 8 and maybe a documentary about Peggy Guggenheim on TVO at 9. There is just too much to do in this world, or in this city specifically! Yet it doesn't overwhelm me, as it once did. I woke this morning to the dawn chorus of happy birds, the sweetest sound, so glad to be in my own bed. This is the first time since I got home from out west, 3 1/2 weeks ago, that life has settled back into order and normalcy. I'm not struggling to keep up, I'm feeling almost in control of the chaos. A welcome relief.
Happy Victoria Day weekend to you all. Hope you too are getting through the chaos. And may you too be swamped with too much to do.
This afternoon I went to National Theatre Live at Cineplex, "Hangmen" by Martin McDonagh, well-known for "In Bruges." This is another kind of "In Bruges," about violent, loud, racist, silly, sometimes mysterious men - also about the end of the death penalty in England and the daily life of a pub. As the nice lady next to me said, When I see something in which I don't like a single one of the characters, I wonder why I'm there. It was entertaining, a powerful production, well-acted with great sets and dialogue very reminiscent, in its menace, British class system awareness and rhythms, of Harold Pinter. But not my fave.Now a quiet evening - it's wonderful when almost everyone in T.O. is at the cottage. Here's what I have in store:
Also Randy Bachman at 7, the HBO drama about Lyndon Johnson at 8 and maybe a documentary about Peggy Guggenheim on TVO at 9. There is just too much to do in this world, or in this city specifically! Yet it doesn't overwhelm me, as it once did. I woke this morning to the dawn chorus of happy birds, the sweetest sound, so glad to be in my own bed. This is the first time since I got home from out west, 3 1/2 weeks ago, that life has settled back into order and normalcy. I'm not struggling to keep up, I'm feeling almost in control of the chaos. A welcome relief.Happy Victoria Day weekend to you all. Hope you too are getting through the chaos. And may you too be swamped with too much to do.
