Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 183
January 29, 2016
today's favourite things
Vancouver, where soon I'm going to spend a month - you can practically see Bruce's apartment, which he'd lending me, right on the inlet in the lower left. Lived there 8 1/2 years, from 1975 to 1983, want to revisit old friends and haunts, and my younger self. And drink in sea and mountains and a little bit of rain. Lucky me.
An avuncular Seinfeld on the Daily Show. Trevor Noah is hitting his stride; I'm back to watching when I can. A much-needed voice of sanity.
Speaking of which ... Still deeply deeply missed, our Jon.
Hilarious! For writers and English majors, at least.
January 28, 2016
blessings
Here's a gorgeous small girl who learned to dance from the internet - amazing.
https://www.facebook.com/fusionmedianetwork/videos/1313808838645091/
And here's a gorgeous woman who visited today with her two children and a very welcome Wayson:
Love that t-shirt: #HUNK. All fourteen pounds of him.
https://www.facebook.com/fusionmedianetwork/videos/1313808838645091/
And here's a gorgeous woman who visited today with her two children and a very welcome Wayson:
Love that t-shirt: #HUNK. All fourteen pounds of him.
January 27, 2016
So True Sunday Feb. 28
All art is autobiographical; the pearl is the oyster's autobiography. -Federico Fellini, film director, and writer (20 Jan 1920-1993)
This is a month away. Mon dieu, I have a lot of work to do! Mark your calendars now. Check our website sotrue.ca for previous stories and information. Many pearls and a good time guaranteed.
This is a month away. Mon dieu, I have a lot of work to do! Mark your calendars now. Check our website sotrue.ca for previous stories and information. Many pearls and a good time guaranteed.
January 26, 2016
Tuesday, January, keeping warm, onward
These are a few of my favourite things:
This handsome bartender is a close relative.
The adorable James Norton, who plays Prince Andrey in the BBC's "War and Peace," is unfortunately not a close relative but I'd love to change that. It's a beautiful series, though showing on AandE and so crammed with commercials as to be virtually unwatchable. But so well done, I'm sticking with it. That Tolstoy guy sure could write. Thrilling. They sing a lot in Russian, haunting minor-key melodies which make me shiver. I guess it's my Russian blood. But not as much as Mr. Norton makes Natasha and me shiver.
Two cute guys. Talk about yin and yang - even more than John and Paul are Keef and Paul.
Yikes! The ghastly stories about these two never stop.
And this, which make me shriek with laughter because it's me: I spent an hour yesterday on the phone with Hewlett-Packard when my two-year old printer suddenly, out of the blue, for no @## reason, stopped working:
https://www.facebook.com/ToMakeYouLaugh/videos/4863677081725/
Went with friend Gretchen to "Big Mouth" on Sunday at the Panasonic - what fascinating stuff Mr. Mirvish is bringing in for our delectation. This is a Belgian actor's one man show, spouting speeches from Pericles to Ann Coulter to show how orators through the millennia have used words to move us. Flawed but always interesting.
And then Downton. Perfection! Wonderful to see my friend Dame Harriet Walter back on as Lady Shackleton, sparring with Dame Maggie. (I wonder if the actors who played Matthew and Sybil and who left this series have come to regret what seems a rash decision. Where are they now?)
Yesterday, Monday, a meeting with the brand new Ontario chapter of the Creative Non-fiction Collective, a small, select group. Much discussion of how little money there is in our profession, but also laughs and encouragement. Good to meet other crazy people.
Heard from a former student today, a beautiful note that meant a great deal.
Every step of this journey has taught me so much; but I found the most valuable thing of all in your classes, readings, and summer writing workshop — my voice!
You helped give me the courage to dig deep and to write ‘true’. Without your support and encouragement, I’d likely still be looking at a blank piece of paper instead of over 200 garbled, incoherent pages that I now hope to wrestle into some kind of readable form.
Keep on teaching and writing — you have a passion and a gift for both
Thank you, dear friend. I don't know about the gift but I do know, for sure, about the passion.
This handsome bartender is a close relative.
The adorable James Norton, who plays Prince Andrey in the BBC's "War and Peace," is unfortunately not a close relative but I'd love to change that. It's a beautiful series, though showing on AandE and so crammed with commercials as to be virtually unwatchable. But so well done, I'm sticking with it. That Tolstoy guy sure could write. Thrilling. They sing a lot in Russian, haunting minor-key melodies which make me shiver. I guess it's my Russian blood. But not as much as Mr. Norton makes Natasha and me shiver.
Two cute guys. Talk about yin and yang - even more than John and Paul are Keef and Paul.
Yikes! The ghastly stories about these two never stop.And this, which make me shriek with laughter because it's me: I spent an hour yesterday on the phone with Hewlett-Packard when my two-year old printer suddenly, out of the blue, for no @## reason, stopped working:
https://www.facebook.com/ToMakeYouLaugh/videos/4863677081725/
Went with friend Gretchen to "Big Mouth" on Sunday at the Panasonic - what fascinating stuff Mr. Mirvish is bringing in for our delectation. This is a Belgian actor's one man show, spouting speeches from Pericles to Ann Coulter to show how orators through the millennia have used words to move us. Flawed but always interesting.
And then Downton. Perfection! Wonderful to see my friend Dame Harriet Walter back on as Lady Shackleton, sparring with Dame Maggie. (I wonder if the actors who played Matthew and Sybil and who left this series have come to regret what seems a rash decision. Where are they now?)
Yesterday, Monday, a meeting with the brand new Ontario chapter of the Creative Non-fiction Collective, a small, select group. Much discussion of how little money there is in our profession, but also laughs and encouragement. Good to meet other crazy people.
Heard from a former student today, a beautiful note that meant a great deal.
Every step of this journey has taught me so much; but I found the most valuable thing of all in your classes, readings, and summer writing workshop — my voice!
You helped give me the courage to dig deep and to write ‘true’. Without your support and encouragement, I’d likely still be looking at a blank piece of paper instead of over 200 garbled, incoherent pages that I now hope to wrestle into some kind of readable form.
Keep on teaching and writing — you have a passion and a gift for both
Thank you, dear friend. I don't know about the gift but I do know, for sure, about the passion.
January 23, 2016
"Pierre Trudeau made me cry again today"
I did find Mozart's Requiem and will listen at some point, but as I listen to Randy Bachman, I've been going through my Documents file on the Mac, starting when it does, in 2001. How much I wrote, how many good pieces polished and sent out to one place, at most two, and then, when they were not accepted, just abandoned. It seems unfair that to succeed at this business, we have to be good not just at writing and editing, which is hard enough, but at accepting inevitable rejection and getting stuff out into the world. Which can be harder.
I found this short piece which never found a home and thought, in light of recent events in Canada, that you might enjoy it. I wrote it in 2004.
Pierre Trudeau made me cry again today. Like many Canadians I was surprised at the time of his death, and many days after, by how moved I was; how much I missed him. I cried a lot. My friends out west did not feel the same way and were disgusted by all the emotion. But I’ve never felt as Canadian as I did watching Trudeau’s funeral, when Sacha and Justin, the boys we’d watched grow from infancy to manhood, spoke before an illustrious audience in perfect French and English, and in poetry, about their extraordinary father.
But today came another hit of grief – a picture of Margaret Trudeau, looking haggard, above an article about an interview she did on TVO. She apparently talked openly, with her usual alarming candour, about the last days of her ex-husband. I was heartened to hear that Pierre Trudeau accepted death unafraid and head-on, as he seemed to deal with everything in life; that, she said, he was ‘resigned.’ It was painful to read that on the morning of his death, he woke with tears rolling down his face: Trudeau the Don Juan, the twirler, wealthy, brilliant and sleek, weeping, at death’s door. But I burst into tears when she spoke of his main concern about dying - that he would be unable to watch his nine-year old daughter grow up.
Through the years, I came to admire Pierre Trudeau not so much as a politician but as a man. I was lucky enough, once, to be dazzled in person by his wit and physical prowess; through the evening at a big party at the National Arts Centre, I felt every female in the room, old and young, including me, pointed in his direction, like compasses to the Magnetic North. But what really appealed to me about him was the fact that this famous world leader had become, more than anything else, a single father. A single parent too, I was aware that despite his spectacular affairs, Pierre Trudeau lived alone for almost all of his divorced years, focussed on raising his sons. Raising engaged, open-hearted young men more or less by himself, because Margaret was with her own new family, in another city. How connected he was to his sons was visible at the funeral of his youngest, Michel. The blind devastation on his face was unbearable. I wasn’t surprised to hear, not long after, of his own mortal illness.
And at the end, he died, accompanied not only by his two surviving sons, but with his still-adoring ex-wife at his bedside. Margaret, once his nemesis, was there to care for him when it mattered most. Those are his greatest successes, as far as I’m concerned: that despite his very busy life he was a generous, available, committed father; that he made peace with the one person it might have been most difficult to forgive; and that he gave the greatest of gifts to his little girl - he left her knowing how greatly, how deeply she was loved.
I found this short piece which never found a home and thought, in light of recent events in Canada, that you might enjoy it. I wrote it in 2004.
Pierre Trudeau made me cry again today. Like many Canadians I was surprised at the time of his death, and many days after, by how moved I was; how much I missed him. I cried a lot. My friends out west did not feel the same way and were disgusted by all the emotion. But I’ve never felt as Canadian as I did watching Trudeau’s funeral, when Sacha and Justin, the boys we’d watched grow from infancy to manhood, spoke before an illustrious audience in perfect French and English, and in poetry, about their extraordinary father.
But today came another hit of grief – a picture of Margaret Trudeau, looking haggard, above an article about an interview she did on TVO. She apparently talked openly, with her usual alarming candour, about the last days of her ex-husband. I was heartened to hear that Pierre Trudeau accepted death unafraid and head-on, as he seemed to deal with everything in life; that, she said, he was ‘resigned.’ It was painful to read that on the morning of his death, he woke with tears rolling down his face: Trudeau the Don Juan, the twirler, wealthy, brilliant and sleek, weeping, at death’s door. But I burst into tears when she spoke of his main concern about dying - that he would be unable to watch his nine-year old daughter grow up.
Through the years, I came to admire Pierre Trudeau not so much as a politician but as a man. I was lucky enough, once, to be dazzled in person by his wit and physical prowess; through the evening at a big party at the National Arts Centre, I felt every female in the room, old and young, including me, pointed in his direction, like compasses to the Magnetic North. But what really appealed to me about him was the fact that this famous world leader had become, more than anything else, a single father. A single parent too, I was aware that despite his spectacular affairs, Pierre Trudeau lived alone for almost all of his divorced years, focussed on raising his sons. Raising engaged, open-hearted young men more or less by himself, because Margaret was with her own new family, in another city. How connected he was to his sons was visible at the funeral of his youngest, Michel. The blind devastation on his face was unbearable. I wasn’t surprised to hear, not long after, of his own mortal illness.
And at the end, he died, accompanied not only by his two surviving sons, but with his still-adoring ex-wife at his bedside. Margaret, once his nemesis, was there to care for him when it mattered most. Those are his greatest successes, as far as I’m concerned: that despite his very busy life he was a generous, available, committed father; that he made peace with the one person it might have been most difficult to forgive; and that he gave the greatest of gifts to his little girl - he left her knowing how greatly, how deeply she was loved.
Happy National Handwriting Day
It's NationalHandwritingDay! Hooray, any excuse for a celebration. Check out the Twitter hashtag #NationalHandwritingDay and see what people have posted, wonderful stuff. Though it's very cold, it was a beautiful sunny bright day here in Trawna, as opposed to NYC and Washington which have been slammed with a huge storm. I wrote to my New York cousin, who said he and his partner are holed up in their country place with enough food for a week, hoping the power doesn't go out, eighteen inches of snow so far.
And here - not one snowflake. And we have Justin and they have Sarah Palin and Donald Trump. I told him if he and Henry want to come to Canada as refugees, I'd sponsor them.
I just pulled a suitcase from under my bed, containing a pile of journals from decades past - talk about handwriting, enough already. Today, riding my bike around town - yes, a bit chilly, but refreshing in the sun, doing errands, including going to Roy Thomson Hall to try to get one tiny ticket to tonight's Mozart Requiem - completely sold out, sadly, just as I'd feared and as the computer had indicated. Well, it was worth trying. So tonight, I'll be watching an episode of Borgen on the computer, listening to Randy Bachman, more work, and perhaps I'll find a CD or record of the Requiem, I'm sure I have it somewhere, and put it on.
Yesterday my neighbour Monique and I had dinner and went to watch the Peggy Baker Dance Project; I'm a longtime fan of this amazing solo dancer with the longest, loosest limbs in the world - even her fingers are long and loose, I know because she used to work out at the Y. This wasn't her, it was her troupe, dancing ... just like Peggy.
Last week Trevor Noah featured a young British singer called Jess Glynne singing her hit Don't be so hard on yourself. I LOVE IT! My new anthem! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THeLVhU53ow And a beautiful video to go with it.
And another treat a friend just sent me, a young Japanese group singing "All My Loving." Very funny. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gTK1_ijwgo. Spotify reports that since the Beatles catalogue was put online at Xmas, their music has been downloaded 250 million times. Yes. And that most of the fans are young. Isn't that fantastic?
Why don't those young people buy a certain MEMOIR about the early days of the Beatles, hmmm? Just a thought.
And here - not one snowflake. And we have Justin and they have Sarah Palin and Donald Trump. I told him if he and Henry want to come to Canada as refugees, I'd sponsor them.
I just pulled a suitcase from under my bed, containing a pile of journals from decades past - talk about handwriting, enough already. Today, riding my bike around town - yes, a bit chilly, but refreshing in the sun, doing errands, including going to Roy Thomson Hall to try to get one tiny ticket to tonight's Mozart Requiem - completely sold out, sadly, just as I'd feared and as the computer had indicated. Well, it was worth trying. So tonight, I'll be watching an episode of Borgen on the computer, listening to Randy Bachman, more work, and perhaps I'll find a CD or record of the Requiem, I'm sure I have it somewhere, and put it on.
Yesterday my neighbour Monique and I had dinner and went to watch the Peggy Baker Dance Project; I'm a longtime fan of this amazing solo dancer with the longest, loosest limbs in the world - even her fingers are long and loose, I know because she used to work out at the Y. This wasn't her, it was her troupe, dancing ... just like Peggy.
Last week Trevor Noah featured a young British singer called Jess Glynne singing her hit Don't be so hard on yourself. I LOVE IT! My new anthem! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THeLVhU53ow And a beautiful video to go with it.
And another treat a friend just sent me, a young Japanese group singing "All My Loving." Very funny. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gTK1_ijwgo. Spotify reports that since the Beatles catalogue was put online at Xmas, their music has been downloaded 250 million times. Yes. And that most of the fans are young. Isn't that fantastic?
Why don't those young people buy a certain MEMOIR about the early days of the Beatles, hmmm? Just a thought.
January 21, 2016
Lady Braindead Looselips
Just when we thought the bar could not be set lower on the Republican side of the Presidential race, along comes the queen of mangled thought and grammar, Mrs. Malaprop herself. Trevor Noah did a wonderful deconstruction last night of her garbled, hideously embarrassing endorsement of Trump, pointing out that for years, North Americans have made condescending fun of African speech and manners; now Africans can enjoy this spectacle.
It's a really fascinating spectacle, for sure, watching a crypto-Fascist blowhard know-nothing on one side and Bernie Sanders, an impractical, honest man of enormous heart, on the other. Talk about two solitudes, a nation divided in twain, the red and the blue, and never the two shall meet. Fascinating, but also terrifying. Especially after the re-appearance of Lady Braindead Looselips.
Nobody has died so far this week. At least, nobody who matters to moi. That's the good news.
And in more good news, my U of T and Ryerson classes are launched and I love them - the first level at Ry, leading beginning writers into the thicket of their own lives and past and present stories, and the advanced at U of T, digging deeper. Tonight is my home class, people who've been working with me for years, and, on-going, I'm receiving essays former and current students are submitting for the So True reading Feb. 28. I'm buried in stories, and that's exactly how I like it.
There's also my own, somewhere in there - still reading my diaries and letters from the Seventies, wishing I could jump back and take that young woman's hand and tell her everything will be all right. It'll take a few decades, honey, I'd say, but things will sort themselves out and you'll end up just where you want to be - in a big old house in downtown Toronto, with two children and two grandchildren and work you love and friends you love and a blog.
And she'd say, she in 1977 with her long glossy brown hair and smooth unlined face, who thinks she's ugly because she's ten pounds overweight, "What's a blog?!" she'd say. Unimaginable, then, what is to come, the interconnectedness of us all via our glowing, tapping machines. Just heard from a former student who's down south for the winter. I am very much enjoying keeping up with you through your blogs, which are informative, amusing, provocative and engaging. I am always disappointed to go to your blog page and discover that you haven’t written anything since last I checked - which is twice a day. And of course, I am always delighted when you have written.
So here I am again, for the 2637th time, my blog info informs me. More good news: "All My Loving's" FB page received a 1000% bump! Yes! 11 people went to the page last week, as opposed to 1 the week before! And my Likes have gone WAAY up, from 67 to 68! Can fame and vast wealth be far behind?
It's January, very cold and snowy, but the sun is shining. I'm going out for fresh air on a hunting expedition to Doubletake, which, unlike our local Goodwills which have all - sadly and suspiciously - been shut down, is still open and full of interesting things. A piano lesson at 3. I'm reading a very entertaining book by David Shields: "The thing about life is that one day you'll be dead," and the excellent Elena Ferrante at night. Trying to squeeze in more work time - not enough, never never enough, because I am so easily distracted. By blogging, for example. Eating chocolate drinking wine dinner last night with a dear friend from my teen years. Living, in other words.
BUT the incredible Diana Athill just published another book at the age of 98. Yes, 98. So what's my rush? There's lots of time.
Not.
One last thing - just watched a beautiful short clip on FB - David Bowie at the 9/11 concert, singing the Simon and Garfunkle song about America. Brought tears to my eyes, not just because his interpretation is so haunting, but because it's about an America that was a beacon to the world for many years, an America that seems to be vanishing.
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8s3su_david-bowie-simon-and-garfunkel-ame_music
It's a really fascinating spectacle, for sure, watching a crypto-Fascist blowhard know-nothing on one side and Bernie Sanders, an impractical, honest man of enormous heart, on the other. Talk about two solitudes, a nation divided in twain, the red and the blue, and never the two shall meet. Fascinating, but also terrifying. Especially after the re-appearance of Lady Braindead Looselips.
Nobody has died so far this week. At least, nobody who matters to moi. That's the good news.
And in more good news, my U of T and Ryerson classes are launched and I love them - the first level at Ry, leading beginning writers into the thicket of their own lives and past and present stories, and the advanced at U of T, digging deeper. Tonight is my home class, people who've been working with me for years, and, on-going, I'm receiving essays former and current students are submitting for the So True reading Feb. 28. I'm buried in stories, and that's exactly how I like it.
There's also my own, somewhere in there - still reading my diaries and letters from the Seventies, wishing I could jump back and take that young woman's hand and tell her everything will be all right. It'll take a few decades, honey, I'd say, but things will sort themselves out and you'll end up just where you want to be - in a big old house in downtown Toronto, with two children and two grandchildren and work you love and friends you love and a blog.
And she'd say, she in 1977 with her long glossy brown hair and smooth unlined face, who thinks she's ugly because she's ten pounds overweight, "What's a blog?!" she'd say. Unimaginable, then, what is to come, the interconnectedness of us all via our glowing, tapping machines. Just heard from a former student who's down south for the winter. I am very much enjoying keeping up with you through your blogs, which are informative, amusing, provocative and engaging. I am always disappointed to go to your blog page and discover that you haven’t written anything since last I checked - which is twice a day. And of course, I am always delighted when you have written.
So here I am again, for the 2637th time, my blog info informs me. More good news: "All My Loving's" FB page received a 1000% bump! Yes! 11 people went to the page last week, as opposed to 1 the week before! And my Likes have gone WAAY up, from 67 to 68! Can fame and vast wealth be far behind?
It's January, very cold and snowy, but the sun is shining. I'm going out for fresh air on a hunting expedition to Doubletake, which, unlike our local Goodwills which have all - sadly and suspiciously - been shut down, is still open and full of interesting things. A piano lesson at 3. I'm reading a very entertaining book by David Shields: "The thing about life is that one day you'll be dead," and the excellent Elena Ferrante at night. Trying to squeeze in more work time - not enough, never never enough, because I am so easily distracted. By blogging, for example. Eating chocolate drinking wine dinner last night with a dear friend from my teen years. Living, in other words.
BUT the incredible Diana Athill just published another book at the age of 98. Yes, 98. So what's my rush? There's lots of time.
Not.
One last thing - just watched a beautiful short clip on FB - David Bowie at the 9/11 concert, singing the Simon and Garfunkle song about America. Brought tears to my eyes, not just because his interpretation is so haunting, but because it's about an America that was a beacon to the world for many years, an America that seems to be vanishing.
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8s3su_david-bowie-simon-and-garfunkel-ame_music
January 18, 2016
Branson is back!
Downton! So delicious. I would go on and on about it, but a NYT writer has done it much better, in a laugh out loud article:
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/17/arts/television/downton-abbey-season-6-episode-3-recap-so-nice-to-see-him-again.html?emc=eta1
He's right, the scene with the decaying aristocrat in his crumbling house, sniffing about playing host to royalty as he sits in chaos before Barrow's incredulous eyes, was worth the price of admission, let alone Mrs. Hughes standing her ground, the wonderful wedding scene (though cut too short), Edith perhaps finding not just a beau but a man who understands publishing (!) and admires an ambitious woman, and more. Sinfully luscious, like thick clotted cream.
After that, I watched a bit of the new series Billions, with the phenomenal Damien Lewis, and regretted that this fine actor is wasting his time with such stuff. You could see the gears of plot grinding clumsily. A series about horrible people doing appalling things - if I want that, I'll watch Game of Thrones.
And then, from the ridiculous to the sublime, I watched the last half hour of the Democratic debate. First, as several pundits have said, even the weakest of the three, the governor, is mountains above the strongest Republican candidate. So much substance, so much sense. And second, couldn't we have both Bernie and Hilary? A one-two punch? I didn't see her attack him, as apparently she did, but I did see him explain why he doesn't attack her. Imagine, a decent human being in politics! We Canucks have one or two of those too.
Spent yesterday alone with my thoughts. I was going to go to the Y and/or the movies and tried to get a ticket for a Mozart concert which was sold out - so I stayed home and mulled, did some work, listened to Eleanor Wachtel interview a fascinating writer - David Constantine, whose short story is the basis for the movie "45 years" coming out soon, a wonderful interview, check it out in the Writers and Company podcast - while making ribollita, which is delicious. A long day watching snow fall and talking to nobody, ending with good soup and stimulating television - la vie est belle.
And tonight, teaching starts at Ryerson - my course almost full - tomorrow the advanced course at U of T, and Thursday my home class. My cup runneth etc.
From my daughter:
I couldn't agree more.
And as your final treat, here's my grandson on Saturday, eating hot chocolate with a spoon. Love is.
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/17/arts/television/downton-abbey-season-6-episode-3-recap-so-nice-to-see-him-again.html?emc=eta1
He's right, the scene with the decaying aristocrat in his crumbling house, sniffing about playing host to royalty as he sits in chaos before Barrow's incredulous eyes, was worth the price of admission, let alone Mrs. Hughes standing her ground, the wonderful wedding scene (though cut too short), Edith perhaps finding not just a beau but a man who understands publishing (!) and admires an ambitious woman, and more. Sinfully luscious, like thick clotted cream.After that, I watched a bit of the new series Billions, with the phenomenal Damien Lewis, and regretted that this fine actor is wasting his time with such stuff. You could see the gears of plot grinding clumsily. A series about horrible people doing appalling things - if I want that, I'll watch Game of Thrones.
And then, from the ridiculous to the sublime, I watched the last half hour of the Democratic debate. First, as several pundits have said, even the weakest of the three, the governor, is mountains above the strongest Republican candidate. So much substance, so much sense. And second, couldn't we have both Bernie and Hilary? A one-two punch? I didn't see her attack him, as apparently she did, but I did see him explain why he doesn't attack her. Imagine, a decent human being in politics! We Canucks have one or two of those too.
Spent yesterday alone with my thoughts. I was going to go to the Y and/or the movies and tried to get a ticket for a Mozart concert which was sold out - so I stayed home and mulled, did some work, listened to Eleanor Wachtel interview a fascinating writer - David Constantine, whose short story is the basis for the movie "45 years" coming out soon, a wonderful interview, check it out in the Writers and Company podcast - while making ribollita, which is delicious. A long day watching snow fall and talking to nobody, ending with good soup and stimulating television - la vie est belle.
And tonight, teaching starts at Ryerson - my course almost full - tomorrow the advanced course at U of T, and Thursday my home class. My cup runneth etc.
From my daughter:
I couldn't agree more.And as your final treat, here's my grandson on Saturday, eating hot chocolate with a spoon. Love is.
January 16, 2016
Cousin George Gordin
This dreadful January continues to cut a cruel swath through the world. I found out earlier today about the death of an old friend, Jerry Franken - and I've just received a phone call to tell me that my first cousin once removed, George Gordin, has died in Washington D. C. I had not seen Jerry in some time, but I remember vividly the summer of 1970 when we met in Halifax, he a talented, fiercely idealistic young American actor and I, 19, working backstage at Neptune Theatre. Though the subsequent years were hard on Jerry, the last years particularly, he had many friends and admirers, including some of my closest friends, who loved him deeply, always.
I am devastated at the loss of George, even though he was in his late eighties; he was in great shape until recently, and his twin sister Caryl, who called me, is still going strong. As far as I know, Caryl and George were the last remaining grandchildren of Jacob Gordin, my great-grandfather the "Jewish Shakespeare," the subject of my first book. George was a lawyer, a man of erudition and taste with a beautifully decorated apartment full of great art, including a small sculpture by Rodin. He travelled extensively and once a year took his sister on a trip or a cruise somewhere in the world. I visited him twice in Washington, when he took me to several museums and good restaurants, and was going to try to get down there again. It comforted me to know that such a gentleman, an old man wise in the ways of the world, was somewhere out there and cared about me. He avidly followed my travels and read all my articles and books with succinct comments on each; but he was not a fan of his grandfather, and when I spoke in Washington about my book on our mutual relative, he did not attend. We became true friends with great mutual respect - at least, my respect for him was enormous. A huge loss for Caryl, for his extended American family and his friends, and for me.
George in September 2008, taking me and two of his nephews for dinner in Washington. This is as wide a smile as he ever gave.
Just in time, as I'm contemplating all the losses of this brutal month - and my friend Wayson, mourning one of his dearest friends - and my friend Lynn, whose daughter just moved to Burkina Faso to work, having to wait hours to learn that she was not harmed in the terrorist attacks that just took place there - a world spiralling out of control, it seems, and it's January, forlorn and bitterly cold - I found this moving film on Facebook, an interview with Maurice Sendak. "I'm in love with the world," he says. "It's a blessing to get old, to find the time to read books and listen to music. I cry a lot because I miss people. They leave me and I love them more. There are so many beautiful things in the world I'll have to leave when I die. Live your life. Live your life. Live your life."
http://www.purpleclover.com/video/2700-we-can-watch-over-and-over-again-and-it-makes-us-cry-each-and-every-time/
I will try, Maurice. Today, talking to Eli about one of his friends, Finn, who's a bit rough, which upsets my grandson. "But Finn is already four," I said, "older than you, so maybe that's why he's a bit stronger," and we discussed how age makes a difference. "And how old am I, Eli?" I asked.
"Four and a half," he said.
Fine by me.
I am devastated at the loss of George, even though he was in his late eighties; he was in great shape until recently, and his twin sister Caryl, who called me, is still going strong. As far as I know, Caryl and George were the last remaining grandchildren of Jacob Gordin, my great-grandfather the "Jewish Shakespeare," the subject of my first book. George was a lawyer, a man of erudition and taste with a beautifully decorated apartment full of great art, including a small sculpture by Rodin. He travelled extensively and once a year took his sister on a trip or a cruise somewhere in the world. I visited him twice in Washington, when he took me to several museums and good restaurants, and was going to try to get down there again. It comforted me to know that such a gentleman, an old man wise in the ways of the world, was somewhere out there and cared about me. He avidly followed my travels and read all my articles and books with succinct comments on each; but he was not a fan of his grandfather, and when I spoke in Washington about my book on our mutual relative, he did not attend. We became true friends with great mutual respect - at least, my respect for him was enormous. A huge loss for Caryl, for his extended American family and his friends, and for me.
George in September 2008, taking me and two of his nephews for dinner in Washington. This is as wide a smile as he ever gave.Just in time, as I'm contemplating all the losses of this brutal month - and my friend Wayson, mourning one of his dearest friends - and my friend Lynn, whose daughter just moved to Burkina Faso to work, having to wait hours to learn that she was not harmed in the terrorist attacks that just took place there - a world spiralling out of control, it seems, and it's January, forlorn and bitterly cold - I found this moving film on Facebook, an interview with Maurice Sendak. "I'm in love with the world," he says. "It's a blessing to get old, to find the time to read books and listen to music. I cry a lot because I miss people. They leave me and I love them more. There are so many beautiful things in the world I'll have to leave when I die. Live your life. Live your life. Live your life."
http://www.purpleclover.com/video/2700-we-can-watch-over-and-over-again-and-it-makes-us-cry-each-and-every-time/
I will try, Maurice. Today, talking to Eli about one of his friends, Finn, who's a bit rough, which upsets my grandson. "But Finn is already four," I said, "older than you, so maybe that's why he's a bit stronger," and we discussed how age makes a difference. "And how old am I, Eli?" I asked.
"Four and a half," he said.
Fine by me.
January 15, 2016
Bowie gets it
Now I am feeling profound regret that I didn't appreciate this fine man earlier. Here's an interview David Bowie did with a British journalist in 1999 - brilliant! He understands the internet in a way the man he's talking to obviously does not. "It's just a delivery system," says the guy. "It's an alien life form," says Bowie, going on to say we haven't even begun to understand the changes it will bring to our society. He's funny, clever, thoughtful - wonderful. Stay till the end when he talks about meeting Tony Blair.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FiK7s_0tGsg
My grandson is here, asleep upstairs. His baby brother was sick yesterday, his mama and his dad were dealing with a lot, so Eli is welcome here. My house is upside down and my heart is full. We spent a good deal of time, after his bath, playing with Giraffey and Hippo in bed; Giraffey likes bananas and Hippo likes grass. We played with the double-decker bus and the London taxi; the big car and the big backhoe he'd taken into the bathtub with him were wrapped in a towel by the bed. I told him that his Uncle Sam used to sleep in this very same room when he was only three; Eli's eyes widened. "Were you an adult then too?" he asked. "Barely," I wanted to reply, but didn't.
Speaking about people who are barely adult, my friend Gretchen just sent an article from a website called Rightwing Watch in which the loathsome Ann Coulter is quoted as saying that God has sent Donald Trump to save America and therefore the world. I'm sure it's just a joke. LOL, as they say. LOL, Ann Coulter. LMFAO.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FiK7s_0tGsg
My grandson is here, asleep upstairs. His baby brother was sick yesterday, his mama and his dad were dealing with a lot, so Eli is welcome here. My house is upside down and my heart is full. We spent a good deal of time, after his bath, playing with Giraffey and Hippo in bed; Giraffey likes bananas and Hippo likes grass. We played with the double-decker bus and the London taxi; the big car and the big backhoe he'd taken into the bathtub with him were wrapped in a towel by the bed. I told him that his Uncle Sam used to sleep in this very same room when he was only three; Eli's eyes widened. "Were you an adult then too?" he asked. "Barely," I wanted to reply, but didn't.
Speaking about people who are barely adult, my friend Gretchen just sent an article from a website called Rightwing Watch in which the loathsome Ann Coulter is quoted as saying that God has sent Donald Trump to save America and therefore the world. I'm sure it's just a joke. LOL, as they say. LOL, Ann Coulter. LMFAO.
