Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 185
January 5, 2016
correct dates of Beth's upcoming writing courses
The next term is nearly ready to begin - exciting! I've just realized, however, that I had the starting dates of both courses wrong in my own calendar, or perhaps both schools changed the dates, because I am sure I wrote down exactly what I was told. In any case, I hope this won't confuse or inconvenience any of you.
At U of T, my advanced course, Life Stories II (2288-008), starts Tuesday January 19 from 12.30 to 3 in Room 108 of the Continuing Studies building at 158 St. George St., and continues for eight weeks. This is a course for writers who have taken at least one course from me in the past, or who have sent samples of their work and received an okay from me personally.
At Ryerson, True to Life CWWR 336-IJO (4935) starts Monday January 18, from 6.30 to 9.15 p.m. and runs in Room 209 of the Victoria building right next to the Chang Centre on Victoria Street every Monday, except for Family Day, for nine weeks until Monday March 21.
Both courses are a definite go; neither is full yet, though the Ryerson course is filling fast.
I've thought for months that I start work next Monday and Tuesday, and now discover there's a whole extra week to tend to my own garden, before I start working with what others are planting. Kill that metaphor! I spent the morning beginning to go through stacks of my writing from the 70's and early 80's - fascinating. How grateful I am, once more, to the crazy woman who kept so many scraps of paper. I'd forgotten a great deal about her, but with her help, I see so much more clearly now who she was then. And, definitely, who she is no longer.
Though still sometimes, it seems, confused.
At U of T, my advanced course, Life Stories II (2288-008), starts Tuesday January 19 from 12.30 to 3 in Room 108 of the Continuing Studies building at 158 St. George St., and continues for eight weeks. This is a course for writers who have taken at least one course from me in the past, or who have sent samples of their work and received an okay from me personally.
At Ryerson, True to Life CWWR 336-IJO (4935) starts Monday January 18, from 6.30 to 9.15 p.m. and runs in Room 209 of the Victoria building right next to the Chang Centre on Victoria Street every Monday, except for Family Day, for nine weeks until Monday March 21.
Both courses are a definite go; neither is full yet, though the Ryerson course is filling fast.
I've thought for months that I start work next Monday and Tuesday, and now discover there's a whole extra week to tend to my own garden, before I start working with what others are planting. Kill that metaphor! I spent the morning beginning to go through stacks of my writing from the 70's and early 80's - fascinating. How grateful I am, once more, to the crazy woman who kept so many scraps of paper. I'd forgotten a great deal about her, but with her help, I see so much more clearly now who she was then. And, definitely, who she is no longer.
Though still sometimes, it seems, confused.
January 4, 2016
favourite male persons
First day of preschool - three mornings a week! With his best friend Marcus.
January 3, 2016
"Room" - another must see
More treats - I'll have to stop seeing things or I'll burst with pleasure. Just went to see "Room." I'd avoided it - I read Emma Donohue's book quickly with the breath squeezed in my chest, the thought of seeing the story played out on the big screen was unbearable. But I've heard over and over how wonderful it is - and it is, absolutely beautiful, first rate. The story of a young woman imprisoned for seven years in a garden shed, who gives birth to a son and raises him there - and then what happens to them next - is told with restraint and honesty, as was "Spotlight." Great acting - the child, played by Jacob Tremblay, is hauntingly good - and direction, great script by Donohue, all of it unforgettable. And shot in Toronto, with a small but important role for the great Tom McCamus and his kind, rumpled face.
As I rode my bike home, I felt as never before the fresh cold wind in my face, saw the bright sky above my head. Walking in my door - my home, safe and warm. What people survive is a miracle. I want to go across town and hug my daughter and her children and never let them go.
But they're busy. And so am I. Last night, "Adaptation" on television, the hilarious torture of being a writer - and tonight, a Downton party. Jean-Marc has cooked a feast from my favourite cookbook "Jerusalem" by Yotam Ottolenghi and his Palestinian partner; we'll dine there and then come here to watch Maggie Smith tear up the carpet.
Now, an hour or two to do some work. Oh yes - work. Time to get in gear. Onward.
As I rode my bike home, I felt as never before the fresh cold wind in my face, saw the bright sky above my head. Walking in my door - my home, safe and warm. What people survive is a miracle. I want to go across town and hug my daughter and her children and never let them go.
But they're busy. And so am I. Last night, "Adaptation" on television, the hilarious torture of being a writer - and tonight, a Downton party. Jean-Marc has cooked a feast from my favourite cookbook "Jerusalem" by Yotam Ottolenghi and his Palestinian partner; we'll dine there and then come here to watch Maggie Smith tear up the carpet.
Now, an hour or two to do some work. Oh yes - work. Time to get in gear. Onward.
new review of "All My Loving"
Wonderful review of the memoir on Goodreads from a Canadian writer living in Rome - thank you, Veronica Bell. Let's have a cappuccino next time I'm there.
Veronica Bell's Reviews > All My Loving: Coming of Age with Paul McCartney in Paris
Want to ReadRate this book1 of 5 stars2 of 5 stars3 of 5 stars4 of 5 stars5 of 5 starsAll My Loving: Coming of Age with Paul McCartney in Paris
by Beth Kaplan (Goodreads Author)
Veronica Bell's review
Jan 03, 16
it was amazingRead in January, 2016
Lovely memoir! Anyone who was ever a teenage girl would enjoy this (and the author is a fellow Canadian). Being a Beatles fan might help, but it isn't necessary for one to be able to relate to this charming and honest look back. Like ∙ flag
Veronica Bell's Reviews > All My Loving: Coming of Age with Paul McCartney in Paris
Want to ReadRate this book1 of 5 stars2 of 5 stars3 of 5 stars4 of 5 stars5 of 5 starsAll My Loving: Coming of Age with Paul McCartney in Paris
by Beth Kaplan (Goodreads Author)
Veronica Bell's review
Jan 03, 16
it was amazingRead in January, 2016
Lovely memoir! Anyone who was ever a teenage girl would enjoy this (and the author is a fellow Canadian). Being a Beatles fan might help, but it isn't necessary for one to be able to relate to this charming and honest look back. Like ∙ flag
January 2, 2016
"Traces"
Nothing but treats so far in 2016. Every year my Xmas present to my handyman and dear friend John and his wife Sylvie and young daughter Emilie is to take them to a show; today we went to Traces, at the Panasonic. It's spectacular, non-stop action, seven incredible young performers who all can bend in two backwards, play the piano, skateboard, throw basketballs, throw themselves through flimsy hoops and suspend themselves upside-down in midair. What's different is that they're in street clothes, not in fanciful Cirque du Soleil gear - so they look like ordinary people, only they're athletes-acrobats-dancers made of rubber and steel. A wonderful show, funny too. We all loved it.
They each tell us their name and weight and later there are even baby pictures, so we come to know them individually. One is Chinese, two Australian, one American and one French; the other two are Quebecois, as is the troupe itself. No Anglo-Canadians. Why are the Quebecois so good at circus acts and feats of acrobatics? An article in the Globe today about Canadian directors making good in Hollywood - Denis Villeneuve, Xavier Dolan (who directed the evocative video for Adele's Hello), Jean-Marc Vallee - French-Canadians working at the highest level. Makes me want to move to Montreal. I salute our Quebecois countrymen, so uniquely talented.
I went afterwards to the Y and tried to move my ancient limbs in an approximation ... no go. Ah well. It was great to watch. It's cold out there - but luckily there's art to keep us warm.
They each tell us their name and weight and later there are even baby pictures, so we come to know them individually. One is Chinese, two Australian, one American and one French; the other two are Quebecois, as is the troupe itself. No Anglo-Canadians. Why are the Quebecois so good at circus acts and feats of acrobatics? An article in the Globe today about Canadian directors making good in Hollywood - Denis Villeneuve, Xavier Dolan (who directed the evocative video for Adele's Hello), Jean-Marc Vallee - French-Canadians working at the highest level. Makes me want to move to Montreal. I salute our Quebecois countrymen, so uniquely talented.
I went afterwards to the Y and tried to move my ancient limbs in an approximation ... no go. Ah well. It was great to watch. It's cold out there - but luckily there's art to keep us warm.
Sherlock
Sherlock! What heaven - a new show last night. Rave review today in the Guardian."Sherlock's back and it's fast, fun, flashy, fantastic." Such good writing, acting, production - funny, too, with lots of insider references, particularly to the fact that Conan Doyle wrote very little for women and the writers of this series have had to swell the female parts.
"I’m telling you – 2016 television is downhill from here on." Said the Guardian, and I agree. How can it get better than this? Except - Downton on Sunday! Viewing party planned with Jean-Marc and Richard. When TV is good, it's so good. The episode airs again on PBS, Sunday Jan. 10 at 10.
Here's the Sherlock review: http://gu.com/p/4ff2a/sbl
"I’m telling you – 2016 television is downhill from here on." Said the Guardian, and I agree. How can it get better than this? Except - Downton on Sunday! Viewing party planned with Jean-Marc and Richard. When TV is good, it's so good. The episode airs again on PBS, Sunday Jan. 10 at 10.
Here's the Sherlock review: http://gu.com/p/4ff2a/sbl
January 1, 2016
"Al Purdy was here"
My tenant and friend Carol asked me, this morning, if I'd missed blogging, and I stared blankly at her. She had read my resolution to stop for two weeks, believed it and stopped reading! Ah well. I did try.
Today's treat: a thoughtful, moving, funny, beautifully made documentary at the Bloor, "Al Purdy was here," about one of Canada's great poets, and about a time in our young country when Can lit was beginning to bloom and poetry mattered. A time when there were great hairy priapic poets like Irving Layton, Leonard Cohen and the young Michael Ondaatje, and wild-haired eccentrics like Milton Acorn and Purdy - and a few courageous women like Margaret Atwood, who appears often in the film showing off her very dry wit (telling a story about Purdy peeing on her car, among other tales). The doc shows how Purdy nurtured young male poets in a way he could not care for his own two sons, one by his long-suffering, heroic wife with the magnificent name Eurithe, the living star of this film, and the other by a woman he left Eurithe for and married briefly. In a telling moment, Steve Heighton, a poet, tells of bringing his baby to visit Purdy and trying to put the babe in Purdy's arms. "Get that thing away from me!" was his response. Not a good dad, no, or husband, I'm sure, in many ways. But a cultural icon, a hard-working, brave and crazy man of words at a time when writers could easily starve. As, hard-working, brave and crazy as ever, they still can.
There's lots of music in the film, weaving in the story of how Purdy's life and work continues to inspire young musicians and writers. Part of the tale is about his famous A-frame house on a lake in Prince Edward Country, and the successful effort to turn it into a writer's retreat. And a wonderful on-going bit: there's a bronze statue of Purdy in Queen's Park that has a mysterious Twitter handle - @statueofalpurdy - and tweets regularly, though the doc does not tell us who the posts come from.
I had thought, when I arrived at the Hot Docs Cinema, that a 2 p.m. New Year's day documentary about a dead Canadian poet would have an audience of seven people. But there was a huge crowd, many of them writers and artists - I saw playwrights, a biographer, an essayist and a novelist - though no poets, perhaps because I know very few and wouldn't recognize them. It made me proud to be a small part of that world, Canlit today in its many forms. In one of the last moments of the film, Purdy asks why people waste time building skyscrapers when they could be writing poetry. And at the end of this powerful documentary, we understand what he means. All I wanted to do, as I left, was to go home and write a poem. Instead, here I am, blogging to you.
If you're interested in writing, in Canada, in a fascinating life well lived, see this film.
Here's an excerpt of the poem by Milton Acorn, Al Purdy's good friend, that appears in the frontispiece of my book about writing, True to Life:
Nevertheless I'm a gift
Offered with no conditions
To you. Since I damn well exist
You do too.
Before I leave you - the last night for Christmas leftovers, and then a PBS special showing of Sherlock, what joy, set in the 1890's - I'd like to go on a bit about last year. About what, in the spirit of Oliver Sacks, I'm grateful for. So much. So much.
Family: busy healthy children, busy healthy older grandson, a new grandson who's healthy - yes, a wonky foot, soon fixed by our free health care system. I could not be more grateful for this.
Health: finding out I do not have osteoporosis any more. Amazing. More cheese please.
Friends: visiting all my nearest and dearest this year, not just the dear ones in Toronto, but Lynn and Denis in France, Penny in England and Hawaii, Patsy and Shari visiting here from B.C., Margaret and Chris in Vancouver, Bruce in Vancouver and Italy - thank you, brilliant fellow traveller - Lani here for my birthday. Wonderful friends.
Travel - Europe, Vancouver, Hawaii. Next year Vancouver, maybe New York, who knows?
Politics - in the madness that is our world, the election of a decent, sane, kind-hearted man. It seems a miracle and I know difficult times will come. But for now, my country beams.
Art - film, painting, dance, music - and words. Words words words. For all I've absorbed this year of the inspiring and beautiful work of my fellow artists, especially writers - thank you.
Thank you. And now this non-blogger is going to have a glass of wine and put her feet up for the night.
Today's treat: a thoughtful, moving, funny, beautifully made documentary at the Bloor, "Al Purdy was here," about one of Canada's great poets, and about a time in our young country when Can lit was beginning to bloom and poetry mattered. A time when there were great hairy priapic poets like Irving Layton, Leonard Cohen and the young Michael Ondaatje, and wild-haired eccentrics like Milton Acorn and Purdy - and a few courageous women like Margaret Atwood, who appears often in the film showing off her very dry wit (telling a story about Purdy peeing on her car, among other tales). The doc shows how Purdy nurtured young male poets in a way he could not care for his own two sons, one by his long-suffering, heroic wife with the magnificent name Eurithe, the living star of this film, and the other by a woman he left Eurithe for and married briefly. In a telling moment, Steve Heighton, a poet, tells of bringing his baby to visit Purdy and trying to put the babe in Purdy's arms. "Get that thing away from me!" was his response. Not a good dad, no, or husband, I'm sure, in many ways. But a cultural icon, a hard-working, brave and crazy man of words at a time when writers could easily starve. As, hard-working, brave and crazy as ever, they still can.
There's lots of music in the film, weaving in the story of how Purdy's life and work continues to inspire young musicians and writers. Part of the tale is about his famous A-frame house on a lake in Prince Edward Country, and the successful effort to turn it into a writer's retreat. And a wonderful on-going bit: there's a bronze statue of Purdy in Queen's Park that has a mysterious Twitter handle - @statueofalpurdy - and tweets regularly, though the doc does not tell us who the posts come from.
I had thought, when I arrived at the Hot Docs Cinema, that a 2 p.m. New Year's day documentary about a dead Canadian poet would have an audience of seven people. But there was a huge crowd, many of them writers and artists - I saw playwrights, a biographer, an essayist and a novelist - though no poets, perhaps because I know very few and wouldn't recognize them. It made me proud to be a small part of that world, Canlit today in its many forms. In one of the last moments of the film, Purdy asks why people waste time building skyscrapers when they could be writing poetry. And at the end of this powerful documentary, we understand what he means. All I wanted to do, as I left, was to go home and write a poem. Instead, here I am, blogging to you.
If you're interested in writing, in Canada, in a fascinating life well lived, see this film.
Here's an excerpt of the poem by Milton Acorn, Al Purdy's good friend, that appears in the frontispiece of my book about writing, True to Life:
Nevertheless I'm a gift
Offered with no conditions
To you. Since I damn well exist
You do too.
Before I leave you - the last night for Christmas leftovers, and then a PBS special showing of Sherlock, what joy, set in the 1890's - I'd like to go on a bit about last year. About what, in the spirit of Oliver Sacks, I'm grateful for. So much. So much.
Family: busy healthy children, busy healthy older grandson, a new grandson who's healthy - yes, a wonky foot, soon fixed by our free health care system. I could not be more grateful for this.
Health: finding out I do not have osteoporosis any more. Amazing. More cheese please.
Friends: visiting all my nearest and dearest this year, not just the dear ones in Toronto, but Lynn and Denis in France, Penny in England and Hawaii, Patsy and Shari visiting here from B.C., Margaret and Chris in Vancouver, Bruce in Vancouver and Italy - thank you, brilliant fellow traveller - Lani here for my birthday. Wonderful friends.
Travel - Europe, Vancouver, Hawaii. Next year Vancouver, maybe New York, who knows?
Politics - in the madness that is our world, the election of a decent, sane, kind-hearted man. It seems a miracle and I know difficult times will come. But for now, my country beams.
Art - film, painting, dance, music - and words. Words words words. For all I've absorbed this year of the inspiring and beautiful work of my fellow artists, especially writers - thank you.
Thank you. And now this non-blogger is going to have a glass of wine and put her feet up for the night.
the wisdom of Oliver Sacks
A book of essays by the beautiful doctor Oliver Sacks, "Gratitude," has recently been published. He's contemplating his life in light of his terminal cancer diagnosis. Here's an excerpt, as your New Year's day present. My sentiments exactly, Dr. Sacks. Thank you for everything you were and gave.
I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and travelled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.
Above all I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.
The special intercourse of writers and readers - how well put. And here we are, you and I. Onward into 2016, my dear friends.
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/19/opinion/oliver-sacks-on-learning-he-has-terminal-cancer.html?_r=0
I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and travelled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.
Above all I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.
The special intercourse of writers and readers - how well put. And here we are, you and I. Onward into 2016, my dear friends.
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/19/opinion/oliver-sacks-on-learning-he-has-terminal-cancer.html?_r=0
December 31, 2015
Being three
Just thinking of yesterday, when after all the chaos - getting late out of the airbnb house, saying goodbye to Do, my brother and sister in law, getting to the airport through the frozen streets and snowbanks, arguing with Eli who kept wanting to open his car window despite the freezing air, returning the rental car, trying to get the masses of stuff we had, including a baby in a carseat, to the check-in counter and then through security - all of our stuff carry-on, of course, just to make life more complicated - and then waiting for the flight which was delayed and then finally getting on board, Anna breastfeeding throughout and coping with her fierce, single-minded older son - finally we were seated on the small Porter plane and had crammed our stuff into the overhead bins and the rest beneath the seats and were trying to take a breath - and then the plane took off into the dark frozen Ottawa sky, and as we flew up, Eli said, in an imperious tone, "How do you open the window? I want to open the window."
