Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 175
April 20, 2016
4/20 Vancouver - the smoke wafts in
It's 8.35 p.m. and right now, in the Rogers Arena, that band of four of the best musicians in the world are coming on stage to back up the magnificent Macca music machine. Three hours of pure delight awaits those lucky 19,000 people. And I am glad to be here, in Bruce's aerie, not there, even though I am surrounded by thousands of people too. Outside, on the beach.
It's the pot festival in Vancouver, 4/20, as it's called, a celebration and protest that's illegal, right now, though the government of Canada has just announced pot will be legal by next year. But in any case, the police ignore the illegality. The event has been going on for years, but this year the venue was changed to Sunset Beach, just down from Bruce's. When I walked to the little ferry this morning, already there were hundreds of people - and scores of little stalls selling various kinds of dope in little bags and in cookies, brownies, candies, everything - plus assorted paraphernalia and tie-dye t-shirts. Every kid seemed to have dreads and tattoos and piercings and large holes in their ears and ripped jeans. It looked just like Woodstock, only with legal pot advertised and openly sold in stalls, like a craft fair, and with loud rap music. I thought, Capitalism is alive and well! This started as an event to protest the pot laws and has ended up as a shopping mall.
The view from the ferry - all those umbrellas are little pot shops. Buy your Kush here! The ferry driver told me the police had concerns the drivers would be impaired by all the smoke. He laughed.
This evening I walked back through it - it was officially over at 7 so many were drifting away, leaving giant piles of garbage behind. But still, it was amazing to see hoards of very stoned kids, lying on the grass, gazing blankly around, eating - many cases of the munchies. Took me back. Did not want to be taken back, not to those particular times. But they all looked happy. It was a stunning day - 24 degrees, like July.
But as my friend David Diamond points out on FB, we should not be saying, What a beautiful day. We should be saying, it should not be 24 degrees in mid-April. It was truly weird, the downtown beaches jammed, the sun burning. In April.
I had lunch with dear friend Tara and her friend Perri, outside in Tara's garden surrounded by bluebells and birds at her feeders. Then Chris came to get me in his new car. Yes, in the middle of his nervous breakdown which is fast fading, he decided he does not want to deal with crowds and city sidewalks and the way to avoid that is in a car. So he simply went out and bought one - a red Fiat convertible. And there it was, like a gorgeous little cherry, waiting for me.
Wind in our hair, we drove out to Spanish Banks and had a fantastic walk along the water.
Can you see the city in the distance? What a setting.
Tonight Chris and I met for dinner on Davie St. one last time, his favourite Indonesian restaurant. I teased him that for months before I came, he was madly cooking recipes from Ottolenghi, also my favourite chef, and promising me home-made goodies - and that as soon as I arrived, he stopped cooking. Almost - I did have some delicious treats including a lemon meringue tart I will never forget. Chris is so much better, far more relaxed, able to talk almost normally most of the time. On the mend. A cherry red Fiat convertible will certainly help.
And I'm on the road early tomorrow - to Banff. See you there.
It's the pot festival in Vancouver, 4/20, as it's called, a celebration and protest that's illegal, right now, though the government of Canada has just announced pot will be legal by next year. But in any case, the police ignore the illegality. The event has been going on for years, but this year the venue was changed to Sunset Beach, just down from Bruce's. When I walked to the little ferry this morning, already there were hundreds of people - and scores of little stalls selling various kinds of dope in little bags and in cookies, brownies, candies, everything - plus assorted paraphernalia and tie-dye t-shirts. Every kid seemed to have dreads and tattoos and piercings and large holes in their ears and ripped jeans. It looked just like Woodstock, only with legal pot advertised and openly sold in stalls, like a craft fair, and with loud rap music. I thought, Capitalism is alive and well! This started as an event to protest the pot laws and has ended up as a shopping mall.
The view from the ferry - all those umbrellas are little pot shops. Buy your Kush here! The ferry driver told me the police had concerns the drivers would be impaired by all the smoke. He laughed.This evening I walked back through it - it was officially over at 7 so many were drifting away, leaving giant piles of garbage behind. But still, it was amazing to see hoards of very stoned kids, lying on the grass, gazing blankly around, eating - many cases of the munchies. Took me back. Did not want to be taken back, not to those particular times. But they all looked happy. It was a stunning day - 24 degrees, like July.
But as my friend David Diamond points out on FB, we should not be saying, What a beautiful day. We should be saying, it should not be 24 degrees in mid-April. It was truly weird, the downtown beaches jammed, the sun burning. In April.
I had lunch with dear friend Tara and her friend Perri, outside in Tara's garden surrounded by bluebells and birds at her feeders. Then Chris came to get me in his new car. Yes, in the middle of his nervous breakdown which is fast fading, he decided he does not want to deal with crowds and city sidewalks and the way to avoid that is in a car. So he simply went out and bought one - a red Fiat convertible. And there it was, like a gorgeous little cherry, waiting for me.
Wind in our hair, we drove out to Spanish Banks and had a fantastic walk along the water.
Can you see the city in the distance? What a setting.Tonight Chris and I met for dinner on Davie St. one last time, his favourite Indonesian restaurant. I teased him that for months before I came, he was madly cooking recipes from Ottolenghi, also my favourite chef, and promising me home-made goodies - and that as soon as I arrived, he stopped cooking. Almost - I did have some delicious treats including a lemon meringue tart I will never forget. Chris is so much better, far more relaxed, able to talk almost normally most of the time. On the mend. A cherry red Fiat convertible will certainly help.
And I'm on the road early tomorrow - to Banff. See you there.
Macca rocks Vancouver.
Sir Paul, YOU ROCK. Both figuratively and literally.
Incredible, non-stop charm, charisma, phenomenal music - the best rock band ever, no question, so tight and skilled, the music unrelenting, one hit after another with such an extraordinary range - soft ballads, old rock'n'roll, loud screamers, the weird electronic "Temporary Secretary," he can do them all, and he WROTE THEM ALL. Yes, his voice is rough, no question, but the man is a performer like no other. The show is the best yet - at one point, there was a projection on the stage that looked like an old house, the band gathered close around Paul, Abe played on a small drum kit, and it was like an intimate house concert as they played their first recorded song from about 1962. Then an explosion of psychedelic colour, then a parade of glorious shots of women behind "Lady Madonna," then the flaming flashpots of "Live and let die" - what a show. What a showman. Oh, and Diana Krall popped in to play the piano at one point.
Those of us at the front were on our feet for the entire show, dancing - at least, moving slightly in the tight space - and singing along. The sound of 19,000 people singing at the top of their lungs - wondrous.
Here's the Vancouver Sun review. Drink it in.
http://vancouversun.com/entertainment/music/review-vintage-paul-mccartney-gets-intimate-at-rogers-arena
The sound check was thrilling, as it was in Toronto - we were kept well back from the stage, but still, it was a private one hour long concert of songs he doesn't do in the show while testing all the instruments in the vast space - the Hofner violin bass, surely the most iconic guitar ever, the red Les Paul, the two pianos, the ukelele, the acoustic guitar. When he sang All My Loving, the security guard nearby sang along, beaming. Paul was wearing baggy black jeans and a blue shirt, chatted, was friendly but looked pale and tired. He sang 13 or 14 songs and then we were dismissed to go to our delicious vegetarian dinner with free-flowing wine and beer, while - those of us who lingered in the hall heard - he rehearsed with the Delta Police Force Pipe Band on "Mull of Kintyre" for half an hour.
I had dinner with Laura from Seattle and Steve from Edmonton, both superfans who make me look like the merest amateur. And Paul had a short break before doing a 3 hour show which he'll repeat, with sound check, tomorrow. And then on to a score of other concerts.
What drives him? He's the richest musician in the world, it's not money. It's just his life - you can see how he drinks it in, the adulation of thousands of people, the waves of applause, the shouts of joy. It doesn't bore him. It's his music and he wants us to share it with him. It's his life.
I did bring a sign and waved it a few times; he reads the ones that amuse him, and chooses someone from the audience to come on stage and meet him, and he signs their sign or their arm. As I said, it's so not me, but I made myself do it, tried to figure out something amusing. Finally, I wrote, "52 YEARS A PAUL GIRL. TIME FOR A HUG." I thought that was cheeky enough. But a family - parents, grandmother and six kids - all in shiny Sgt. Pepper costumes, made the cut. (They introduced themselves; all the kids had hippy names. One of the girls was named Ocean. "Atlantic or Pacific?" asked Paul.) Thank God. The thought that I might actually be brought on stage in front of 19 thousand people was terrifying. I was going to give him my book and say that he has been singing to me all my life and that, speaking for everyone in the room, he is a gift to the planet and we thank him and we love him. I didn't get to say that. But he knows it.
And now I'm done. That book is done, it's over, I'm putting it aside and moving right along. Thank you, my dear friend, for a lifetime of glorious music. And now I have work to do, and so do you.
Coming in for the sound check...
and for the concert.
A fellow fan
None of my shots are any better than this. He's incandescent. (And I'm a lousy photographer.)
Incredible, non-stop charm, charisma, phenomenal music - the best rock band ever, no question, so tight and skilled, the music unrelenting, one hit after another with such an extraordinary range - soft ballads, old rock'n'roll, loud screamers, the weird electronic "Temporary Secretary," he can do them all, and he WROTE THEM ALL. Yes, his voice is rough, no question, but the man is a performer like no other. The show is the best yet - at one point, there was a projection on the stage that looked like an old house, the band gathered close around Paul, Abe played on a small drum kit, and it was like an intimate house concert as they played their first recorded song from about 1962. Then an explosion of psychedelic colour, then a parade of glorious shots of women behind "Lady Madonna," then the flaming flashpots of "Live and let die" - what a show. What a showman. Oh, and Diana Krall popped in to play the piano at one point.
Those of us at the front were on our feet for the entire show, dancing - at least, moving slightly in the tight space - and singing along. The sound of 19,000 people singing at the top of their lungs - wondrous.
Here's the Vancouver Sun review. Drink it in.
http://vancouversun.com/entertainment/music/review-vintage-paul-mccartney-gets-intimate-at-rogers-arena
The sound check was thrilling, as it was in Toronto - we were kept well back from the stage, but still, it was a private one hour long concert of songs he doesn't do in the show while testing all the instruments in the vast space - the Hofner violin bass, surely the most iconic guitar ever, the red Les Paul, the two pianos, the ukelele, the acoustic guitar. When he sang All My Loving, the security guard nearby sang along, beaming. Paul was wearing baggy black jeans and a blue shirt, chatted, was friendly but looked pale and tired. He sang 13 or 14 songs and then we were dismissed to go to our delicious vegetarian dinner with free-flowing wine and beer, while - those of us who lingered in the hall heard - he rehearsed with the Delta Police Force Pipe Band on "Mull of Kintyre" for half an hour.
I had dinner with Laura from Seattle and Steve from Edmonton, both superfans who make me look like the merest amateur. And Paul had a short break before doing a 3 hour show which he'll repeat, with sound check, tomorrow. And then on to a score of other concerts.
What drives him? He's the richest musician in the world, it's not money. It's just his life - you can see how he drinks it in, the adulation of thousands of people, the waves of applause, the shouts of joy. It doesn't bore him. It's his music and he wants us to share it with him. It's his life.
I did bring a sign and waved it a few times; he reads the ones that amuse him, and chooses someone from the audience to come on stage and meet him, and he signs their sign or their arm. As I said, it's so not me, but I made myself do it, tried to figure out something amusing. Finally, I wrote, "52 YEARS A PAUL GIRL. TIME FOR A HUG." I thought that was cheeky enough. But a family - parents, grandmother and six kids - all in shiny Sgt. Pepper costumes, made the cut. (They introduced themselves; all the kids had hippy names. One of the girls was named Ocean. "Atlantic or Pacific?" asked Paul.) Thank God. The thought that I might actually be brought on stage in front of 19 thousand people was terrifying. I was going to give him my book and say that he has been singing to me all my life and that, speaking for everyone in the room, he is a gift to the planet and we thank him and we love him. I didn't get to say that. But he knows it.
And now I'm done. That book is done, it's over, I'm putting it aside and moving right along. Thank you, my dear friend, for a lifetime of glorious music. And now I have work to do, and so do you.
Coming in for the sound check...
and for the concert.
A fellow fan
None of my shots are any better than this. He's incandescent. (And I'm a lousy photographer.)
April 19, 2016
going to meet my Macca
The huge communal garden at Davie and Burrard, already in full swing. It'll be another month before we in Ontario can even begin~
A profusion of clematis, in mid-April. Incredible. But what I'm really in love with are the azalea and rhodo trees. Yes, thick trees of these exotic flowers; chez nous, we're lucky if a little bush survives.I walked to the Y, more for a long shower and sauna than a workout, and then back down Robson Street, window-shopping.
Today is my Aunt Do's 96th birthday. An inspiration to us all - living alone, in full possession of her faculties, still winning, sometimes, at Scrabble. Long may she reign. And may I have those genes, please.
Soon, Macca. Who has pretty great genes himself.
April 18, 2016
English Bay, sunset and orca
Just back from a sunset walk along English Bay - just me and forty-five thousand other people
including a passle of Tibetan monks, who were as preoccupied with taking selfies and videos with their fancy cameras and talking on their phones as anyone else.
The greatest thrill - the whale. I've heard about the whale seen every so often in English Bay, and suddenly there he was, the orca, on the other side of the bay but clearly visible, his giant fin slicing through the water and then submerging again. And then he vanished once more.
And so did our sun.A blessing on you and all you love.
Stanley Park summer
Ye gods, it's full on summer here today - 22, 23 degrees. I was cursing my stupidity in bringing summer clothes, and now, a few days before departure, I need them. Hot and glorious.
Spent time in the morning reading Norman Doidge's book "The brain that changes itself" - it was Chris's copy and I will definitely buy my own, riveting - about how our whole concept of the brain has recently changed, how much we can influence our functioning and health ourselves, by consciously rewiring the circuitry in our own brains.
Chris and I walked in Stanley Park - not the seawall this time, but through the middle of this huge fantastic park with its giant cedars, its oases of entertainment - Planetarium, theatre etc. - and lakes and ponds and flowerbeds and rose gardens.
On the way to the park - a bed of tulips - what colour is this? Maroon? Blood red?
Overheating by the flowerbeds. It's too bad this woman has such a tiny receding chin.
Then we had Indonesian food on Denman and now it's a quiet evening getting myself together and working. Tomorrow - Macca. I am there, in the bowels of the Rogers Centre, from 4 p.m. on what will be the most beautiful day of the year, but I won't mind. I have even made a sign. I won't tell you yet what it says, but believe me, it has been a trial to figure out what to say. People hold up signs for him, and that is SO NOT ME. And yet I want to say something warm and funny to him, so I have.
Too much beauty, heat and excitement for one little old lady from Toronto.
P.S. The Sun newspaper published a picture of the elite men runners of the Sun Run race - five Africans and two white guys. I'm amazed to report that a Canadian male won and female too. Eric Gillis of Guelph beat Christopher Cheruiyot of Nairobi, and Lanni Marchant from Ontario beat Risper Gesabwa also of Kenya. This takes some doing; Africans win races for good reason, extraordinary endurance and focussed training. So - good on ya, Canucks.
Spent time in the morning reading Norman Doidge's book "The brain that changes itself" - it was Chris's copy and I will definitely buy my own, riveting - about how our whole concept of the brain has recently changed, how much we can influence our functioning and health ourselves, by consciously rewiring the circuitry in our own brains.
Chris and I walked in Stanley Park - not the seawall this time, but through the middle of this huge fantastic park with its giant cedars, its oases of entertainment - Planetarium, theatre etc. - and lakes and ponds and flowerbeds and rose gardens.
On the way to the park - a bed of tulips - what colour is this? Maroon? Blood red?
Overheating by the flowerbeds. It's too bad this woman has such a tiny receding chin.Then we had Indonesian food on Denman and now it's a quiet evening getting myself together and working. Tomorrow - Macca. I am there, in the bowels of the Rogers Centre, from 4 p.m. on what will be the most beautiful day of the year, but I won't mind. I have even made a sign. I won't tell you yet what it says, but believe me, it has been a trial to figure out what to say. People hold up signs for him, and that is SO NOT ME. And yet I want to say something warm and funny to him, so I have.
Too much beauty, heat and excitement for one little old lady from Toronto.
P.S. The Sun newspaper published a picture of the elite men runners of the Sun Run race - five Africans and two white guys. I'm amazed to report that a Canadian male won and female too. Eric Gillis of Guelph beat Christopher Cheruiyot of Nairobi, and Lanni Marchant from Ontario beat Risper Gesabwa also of Kenya. This takes some doing; Africans win races for good reason, extraordinary endurance and focussed training. So - good on ya, Canucks.
April 17, 2016
the Sun Run
A moment of such sublime happiness this morning that I was overcome. The most perfect day - sunny and mild with a breeze. The Sun Run started just before 9 a.m., a 10 k. done by 65,000 people - yes, 65,000 - and they all go right by Bruce's front door. The elite women start early and went by first, then the superhuman, the Africans and one white guy keeping up somehow, lean running machines, all muscle and sinew, stunning, like human cheetahs. Then the elite men, then the fast men and the fast people and then wave after wave of normal people running their hearts out, including little kids, Sikhs, someone dressed as a big pile of moss. The two man band across the street was at one point playing "Dear Prudence" - "It's a brand new day ay ay" - groups of dragon boat rowers skimmed over the water, the music, the mountains, the ocean, the runners, I'm dancing and singing and weeping for the joy of being alive on this beautiful amazing planet. Click to enlarge
The Africans and one white man - grace and strength
the elite men
from Bruce's balcony going ...
... and coming
.
And coming some more. These are the normal runners. Multiply this by many thousands. Fantastic.
Chris and I went for a long walk. He wanted to avoid the runners so we went the other direction and of course ran into them everywhere - we passed B.C. Place, the huge stadium where the race finished, an enormous pile-up of people outside and loud cheering and music from inside.
Chris admires a garden full of colour; he smells every flower we go by and greets every dog. It's spring!
B.C. place and the dragon boat parking lot.
We walked all around False Creek in the hot sun and ended on Granville Island where he bought himself a beautiful huge glass vase at Circle Crafts to celebrate the fact that he's getting through his crisis, talking almost normally and learning a lot about himself. I celebrate that too, with all my heart. We got the ferry back to his place where he fed me divine Ottolenghi Waldorf salad made with his homemade mayonnaise, and another piece of the lemon meringue pie that I would crawl across broken glass for - his own lemon curd and Italian meringue - OMG. And while we ate lunch, I was doing my laundry at Chris's. Laundry is a big deal when you're on the road.
Now my clothes are clean, Bruce's NYTimes awaits, the sailboats are crowding English Bay, the mountains are purple in the distance, and in a week and a bit, I'll be home where there are none of these things. And yet I'll be overjoyed there too. Aren't human beings miraculous?
The Africans and one white man - grace and strength
the elite men
from Bruce's balcony going ...
... and coming.
And coming some more. These are the normal runners. Multiply this by many thousands. Fantastic.Chris and I went for a long walk. He wanted to avoid the runners so we went the other direction and of course ran into them everywhere - we passed B.C. Place, the huge stadium where the race finished, an enormous pile-up of people outside and loud cheering and music from inside.
Chris admires a garden full of colour; he smells every flower we go by and greets every dog. It's spring!
B.C. place and the dragon boat parking lot.We walked all around False Creek in the hot sun and ended on Granville Island where he bought himself a beautiful huge glass vase at Circle Crafts to celebrate the fact that he's getting through his crisis, talking almost normally and learning a lot about himself. I celebrate that too, with all my heart. We got the ferry back to his place where he fed me divine Ottolenghi Waldorf salad made with his homemade mayonnaise, and another piece of the lemon meringue pie that I would crawl across broken glass for - his own lemon curd and Italian meringue - OMG. And while we ate lunch, I was doing my laundry at Chris's. Laundry is a big deal when you're on the road.
Now my clothes are clean, Bruce's NYTimes awaits, the sailboats are crowding English Bay, the mountains are purple in the distance, and in a week and a bit, I'll be home where there are none of these things. And yet I'll be overjoyed there too. Aren't human beings miraculous?
April 16, 2016
space and time
It's 8.30 p.m. and there are not enough words to describe the blues of the sky right now - indigo, pale grey, French blue, Dutch blue, powder blue, a touch of pink, dark glowering clouds, all reflected in the sea. Earlier, I went for a walk.Click to enlarge
Woman sketching, paddle boarders - and you can't see the herons, stalking from the rocks, waiting.
The usual pile-up of B.C. cedar on the beaches
Sigh. Could I please bring a bit of this back home, please?
Just want to clarify something - we did nearly an hour of the 3 hour meditation today as a walking meditation, back and forth silently and slowly. And for the sitting part, I and one other person sat in chairs while the others sat on the floor. But I did not feel uncomfortable - just relished that space deep inside. And this evening, the space outside. Lots of space here in Vancouver.
But I got 5 hours sleep last night and will soon topple over.
Woman sketching, paddle boarders - and you can't see the herons, stalking from the rocks, waiting.
The usual pile-up of B.C. cedar on the beaches
Sigh. Could I please bring a bit of this back home, please?Just want to clarify something - we did nearly an hour of the 3 hour meditation today as a walking meditation, back and forth silently and slowly. And for the sitting part, I and one other person sat in chairs while the others sat on the floor. But I did not feel uncomfortable - just relished that space deep inside. And this evening, the space outside. Lots of space here in Vancouver.
But I got 5 hours sleep last night and will soon topple over.
sky
What I miss in Toronto - sky. Yes of course, I miss the ocean, but you can't have that when you live in the centre of the country. But sky - the big wide open blue grey white cloudy sunny vast take a deep breath sky that I'm looking at right now - that we don't get, and we should. I will try to seek out some approximation when I get home.
As I've written, in 1980 I was one of the founders, with among others Suzie Payne, Nettie Wild and David Diamond, of Headlines Theatre, which is still going strong. Last night, David invited me, Suzie, Nettie and Colin Thomas, who came on board slightly later, to dinner. A more interesting and lively group you could not summon anywhere - Nettie a documentary filmmaker who has shot in some of the world's danger zones and has just finished her latest, KONELINE, about Canada's north, to be aired at Hot Docs in Toronto in a few weeks; David, who has gone on running the company and working all over the country and the world since 1980; Colin, once an actor and for many years the theatre critic of the Georgia Straight, and Suzie, one of Vancouver's most popular actresses, in semi-retirement with her husband Steve Miller, also an actor and now a very successful novelist. Wow!
We started talking at 6.30, ordered take out Thai at 8, and at 1.15 a.m. had to pry ourselves out the door. Suzie drove me home and at 1.30 a.m. we were sitting in her Prius, still talking outside my door. That's my idea of a successful dinner party! Ideally I'd like to check in with each of those people monthly, at least. A salon. Meaning I'd have to fly back to Vancouver twelve times a year. Perhaps we'll have to figure out some other way. But it was a huge pleasure, such a far-ranging convo.
Today I went to a THREE HOUR guided meditation with Jane Ellison at the Western Front. I've never done something like that for so long and was expecting to bail early - and instead, loved every minute. Breathe in, breathe out, be here now. Loved it.
I forgot to mention a few other cultural experiences: Chris and I a few days ago went to see Francofonia, by the Russian director Sokurov, an eccentric documentary about the Louvre during the war and what museums mean to us all. And last week I saw the first performance of Joan McLeod's The Valley, about mental illness and the stressed-out police, among many other things. I've enjoyed everything.
Only four more days in Vancouver. Breathe in, breathe out. I'm right here, right now, looking at that sky.
A tree around the corner, with a filled in space near the roots where a gnome lives.
After getting off the little ferry last night on the way to David's, looking back at the West End.
Today I walked by the old house where I lived in an attic apartment from 1978 to 1981 and peered in the front door window - the linoleum is THE SAME.
And across the street, posters welcoming Paul McCartney to Vancouver next week. Be still my beating heart. My bus driver today was singing along to Help on his sound system, and when I started to sing too, he told me he had a ticket for Macca's show. A great discussion with another huge fan, born a few decades after the Sixties. I gave him a flyer for my book, so he'll know what it was like back then, in olden times.
Vancouver - a homeless person, not shown, who camps on the ground in front of a boarded-up storefront - but with a high quality MEC sleeping bag and a nice overnight bag. Surreal.
For your listening pleasure, a knock out performance by Canada's K. D. Lang with some guy:
KD Lang & Roy Orbison - CryingYOUTUBE.COM
As I've written, in 1980 I was one of the founders, with among others Suzie Payne, Nettie Wild and David Diamond, of Headlines Theatre, which is still going strong. Last night, David invited me, Suzie, Nettie and Colin Thomas, who came on board slightly later, to dinner. A more interesting and lively group you could not summon anywhere - Nettie a documentary filmmaker who has shot in some of the world's danger zones and has just finished her latest, KONELINE, about Canada's north, to be aired at Hot Docs in Toronto in a few weeks; David, who has gone on running the company and working all over the country and the world since 1980; Colin, once an actor and for many years the theatre critic of the Georgia Straight, and Suzie, one of Vancouver's most popular actresses, in semi-retirement with her husband Steve Miller, also an actor and now a very successful novelist. Wow!
We started talking at 6.30, ordered take out Thai at 8, and at 1.15 a.m. had to pry ourselves out the door. Suzie drove me home and at 1.30 a.m. we were sitting in her Prius, still talking outside my door. That's my idea of a successful dinner party! Ideally I'd like to check in with each of those people monthly, at least. A salon. Meaning I'd have to fly back to Vancouver twelve times a year. Perhaps we'll have to figure out some other way. But it was a huge pleasure, such a far-ranging convo.
Today I went to a THREE HOUR guided meditation with Jane Ellison at the Western Front. I've never done something like that for so long and was expecting to bail early - and instead, loved every minute. Breathe in, breathe out, be here now. Loved it.
I forgot to mention a few other cultural experiences: Chris and I a few days ago went to see Francofonia, by the Russian director Sokurov, an eccentric documentary about the Louvre during the war and what museums mean to us all. And last week I saw the first performance of Joan McLeod's The Valley, about mental illness and the stressed-out police, among many other things. I've enjoyed everything.
Only four more days in Vancouver. Breathe in, breathe out. I'm right here, right now, looking at that sky.
A tree around the corner, with a filled in space near the roots where a gnome lives.
After getting off the little ferry last night on the way to David's, looking back at the West End.
Today I walked by the old house where I lived in an attic apartment from 1978 to 1981 and peered in the front door window - the linoleum is THE SAME.
And across the street, posters welcoming Paul McCartney to Vancouver next week. Be still my beating heart. My bus driver today was singing along to Help on his sound system, and when I started to sing too, he told me he had a ticket for Macca's show. A great discussion with another huge fan, born a few decades after the Sixties. I gave him a flyer for my book, so he'll know what it was like back then, in olden times.
Vancouver - a homeless person, not shown, who camps on the ground in front of a boarded-up storefront - but with a high quality MEC sleeping bag and a nice overnight bag. Surreal.For your listening pleasure, a knock out performance by Canada's K. D. Lang with some guy:
KD Lang & Roy Orbison - CryingYOUTUBE.COM
April 14, 2016
azalea heaven
Grocery shopping in Vancouver: I walk along the seawall, listening to the slapping of waves and joggers' feet, take the adorable $2 ferry over to Granville Island, have lunch - stirfried veggies with noodles, tofu and egg while sitting outside by the boats with the seagulls, and then an espresso doppio (NOT Starbucks) with an apricot-ginger scone; buy some postcards and sit writing them in the sun, chatting to a man who trains guide dogs and has a beautiful Lab pup with him; buy bags of fresh soup for suppers at home and some multigrain sourdough, take the ferry back, back along the seawall, the ocean and rocks and waves, the sand, the wind.
I don't understand why people walk or run by the water wearing headphones. How can they not want to listen to the waves? The sound of life, to me.
It's been a hard few days, watching one of my dearest friends go through a major crisis, cataclysmic revelations, after years of denial, about the effect on his health of his childhood family. Tough stuff. Now he has decided he needs to be alone for some time, so our dinner is off and perhaps I will not see him for days. Ah well. Yesterday I spent completely silent and alone, except for texts from my kids (Ben, eating scrambled eggs with leeks and peppers!), a call from Chris and many emails. I edited memoir excerpts for a client and then the rest of the day, except for my jogette, sat in Brucie's chair by the balcony and worked. I deleted scores of old bits from my Documents file, renamed things to make them easier to find, added and subtracted from the ms. Sat looking out the window. Definitely felt like a writer yesterday.
As I wrote to Chris, I am here to be with him, sorry we won't be together. But I'm also here to be alone. So I'll just get on with work. And soon - a drink at the Sylvia Hotel with old friend Cathy.
Last night, walking by the water at dusk.
Today, one of the trees nearly bent over with the weight of blossoms.
And speaking of blossoms - this is just outside the door of Brucie's house, a big azalea bush.
I am sad today for us all, for the weight of being alive on the earth - it hurts sometimes, as I think a song or two might have mentioned. But the ocean doesn't care.
Was going to post a fabulous video here I saw on FB - it starts with a woman lying on the grass, pulls back, back, back, to the city, the planet, the solar system, the universe, then goes back down down down, back to her and in through her eyeball to her DNA strands, molecules, atoms. Really gives a sense of perspective. See if you can find it, because I can't go on FB any more, my cursor keeps freezing. Now THAT'S scary.
I don't understand why people walk or run by the water wearing headphones. How can they not want to listen to the waves? The sound of life, to me.
It's been a hard few days, watching one of my dearest friends go through a major crisis, cataclysmic revelations, after years of denial, about the effect on his health of his childhood family. Tough stuff. Now he has decided he needs to be alone for some time, so our dinner is off and perhaps I will not see him for days. Ah well. Yesterday I spent completely silent and alone, except for texts from my kids (Ben, eating scrambled eggs with leeks and peppers!), a call from Chris and many emails. I edited memoir excerpts for a client and then the rest of the day, except for my jogette, sat in Brucie's chair by the balcony and worked. I deleted scores of old bits from my Documents file, renamed things to make them easier to find, added and subtracted from the ms. Sat looking out the window. Definitely felt like a writer yesterday.
As I wrote to Chris, I am here to be with him, sorry we won't be together. But I'm also here to be alone. So I'll just get on with work. And soon - a drink at the Sylvia Hotel with old friend Cathy.
Last night, walking by the water at dusk.
Today, one of the trees nearly bent over with the weight of blossoms.
And speaking of blossoms - this is just outside the door of Brucie's house, a big azalea bush.I am sad today for us all, for the weight of being alive on the earth - it hurts sometimes, as I think a song or two might have mentioned. But the ocean doesn't care.
Was going to post a fabulous video here I saw on FB - it starts with a woman lying on the grass, pulls back, back, back, to the city, the planet, the solar system, the universe, then goes back down down down, back to her and in through her eyeball to her DNA strands, molecules, atoms. Really gives a sense of perspective. See if you can find it, because I can't go on FB any more, my cursor keeps freezing. Now THAT'S scary.
