Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 201
July 29, 2015
the better Bell battle
It will be fun to share with all of you the details of my battle with Bell - fun for me, that is, if not for you - and of course, good to let Bell know that many are along for the ride. Because otherwise, I just might spend too much time screaming at the wall.
There are hideous telephone lines running right across my backyard - the phone lines for this entire block start in my garden, for some reason, and then Rogers Cable piggybacked on them, so there's a thick wad of wires anchored by a big metal junction not far from my house. From the house, the ugly sight is partially hidden by an old lilac branch that will soon have to go - so I now want the wires moved. Bell has no legal rights here, no easement on my property. I just want the wires moved further down the yard, away from the house.
Called, got cut off twice, called again, got through to someone. After much talk, they arranged for someone to come and take a look. On the appointed day, I waited for the 3 hour window. No one came. The next day, I called back. Oh, the call must have got lost; I explain it all again. Someone else will come. A few days later, someone did - a nice young man who had no idea what to do with the wires. After standing and looking for some time, and agreeing that yes, they're very ugly, he said he'd get in touch with the engineering department, who would call. Later that day, another young man appeared, answering the same service call by mistake. He had no idea what to do either.
That was two weeks ago. In the meantime, my daughter had a baby, so I let it slide. Now I'm trying again. Yesterday, another long call to a nice woman who was very concerned. So so sorry! She would get in touch with the right department and get right back to me. That was yesterday morning.
I know, this is what Anna calls "a first world problem." I am also arguing with U of T, because I discovered, to my shock and surprise, that the marketing department has rewritten the creative writing course descriptions in the course catalogue on-line and in print. They want all the blurbs to sound the same, apparently, so have cheerfully changed the copy. I don't know about the others, but my course descriptions are not only badly written, they're both completely wrong. I have asked my boss for them to be changed, and he's not sure they can.
My hackles rise. This morning, I went to to an eye appointment, my file got lost in the shuffle, and several people with appointments after mine were taken first. Hackles. I know, first world problems. And - they affirmed, once I finally got in, that unlike my father and grandmother, I do not have glaucoma, which is the good news. However, the terrible blurbs and the hideous wires are still there. Somehow my Buddhist serenity is failing me this morning. Maybe it's the heat.
Any advice, O serene readers?
There are hideous telephone lines running right across my backyard - the phone lines for this entire block start in my garden, for some reason, and then Rogers Cable piggybacked on them, so there's a thick wad of wires anchored by a big metal junction not far from my house. From the house, the ugly sight is partially hidden by an old lilac branch that will soon have to go - so I now want the wires moved. Bell has no legal rights here, no easement on my property. I just want the wires moved further down the yard, away from the house.
Called, got cut off twice, called again, got through to someone. After much talk, they arranged for someone to come and take a look. On the appointed day, I waited for the 3 hour window. No one came. The next day, I called back. Oh, the call must have got lost; I explain it all again. Someone else will come. A few days later, someone did - a nice young man who had no idea what to do with the wires. After standing and looking for some time, and agreeing that yes, they're very ugly, he said he'd get in touch with the engineering department, who would call. Later that day, another young man appeared, answering the same service call by mistake. He had no idea what to do either.
That was two weeks ago. In the meantime, my daughter had a baby, so I let it slide. Now I'm trying again. Yesterday, another long call to a nice woman who was very concerned. So so sorry! She would get in touch with the right department and get right back to me. That was yesterday morning.
I know, this is what Anna calls "a first world problem." I am also arguing with U of T, because I discovered, to my shock and surprise, that the marketing department has rewritten the creative writing course descriptions in the course catalogue on-line and in print. They want all the blurbs to sound the same, apparently, so have cheerfully changed the copy. I don't know about the others, but my course descriptions are not only badly written, they're both completely wrong. I have asked my boss for them to be changed, and he's not sure they can.
My hackles rise. This morning, I went to to an eye appointment, my file got lost in the shuffle, and several people with appointments after mine were taken first. Hackles. I know, first world problems. And - they affirmed, once I finally got in, that unlike my father and grandmother, I do not have glaucoma, which is the good news. However, the terrible blurbs and the hideous wires are still there. Somehow my Buddhist serenity is failing me this morning. Maybe it's the heat.
Any advice, O serene readers?
July 28, 2015
joy in human beings
A student just wrote to ask if I'd work with her privately on her writing. She concluded:
I would very much love to work with you as I admire not just your teaching ability but how you savour life and find joy in human beings.
How nice is that? Speaking of savouring life - on this boiling hot day, I'm meeting dear friends Jean-Marc and Richard to cycle down to the ferry terminal and take the ferry over to the island beach for an evening picnic and a swim. Mmmm.
Another student sent me a blog post about writing, that I think expresses beautifully what we're trying to do in our work:
No doubt you’ve all heard the expression, often attributed to Hemingway:“Writing is easy. You just open a vein and bleed.” The first time I read this quotation it resonated with me, but I didn’t realize that what I’ve been talking about – translating both the happiest and most painful experiences in life into one’s work – is how we bleed. At least, that’s my take on it.
This kind of writing – writing with a kind of brutal emotional honesty – is uncomfortable because we feel a bit like we’re undressing in public. It’s a bit like living out one of those stress dreams we’ve all had where we walk into a crowded room, stark naked. But, in a way, that’s what we’re doing. We’re revealing our essence, exposing our soul.
Yes, yes we are. I sent the manuscript of my exposed soul, aka the current draft of my new memoir - a mere 49,000 words - to two readers yesterday. Writing a book, for me, is like climbing a mountain; periodically I need to stop on a plateau, rest and take in the view, which means getting some feedback, assessing where I am before continuing the climb. So we'll see what they say and what I decide about the next draft.
In the meantime - it's majorly summer. Time for a swim.
I would very much love to work with you as I admire not just your teaching ability but how you savour life and find joy in human beings.
How nice is that? Speaking of savouring life - on this boiling hot day, I'm meeting dear friends Jean-Marc and Richard to cycle down to the ferry terminal and take the ferry over to the island beach for an evening picnic and a swim. Mmmm.
Another student sent me a blog post about writing, that I think expresses beautifully what we're trying to do in our work:
No doubt you’ve all heard the expression, often attributed to Hemingway:“Writing is easy. You just open a vein and bleed.” The first time I read this quotation it resonated with me, but I didn’t realize that what I’ve been talking about – translating both the happiest and most painful experiences in life into one’s work – is how we bleed. At least, that’s my take on it.
This kind of writing – writing with a kind of brutal emotional honesty – is uncomfortable because we feel a bit like we’re undressing in public. It’s a bit like living out one of those stress dreams we’ve all had where we walk into a crowded room, stark naked. But, in a way, that’s what we’re doing. We’re revealing our essence, exposing our soul.
Yes, yes we are. I sent the manuscript of my exposed soul, aka the current draft of my new memoir - a mere 49,000 words - to two readers yesterday. Writing a book, for me, is like climbing a mountain; periodically I need to stop on a plateau, rest and take in the view, which means getting some feedback, assessing where I am before continuing the climb. So we'll see what they say and what I decide about the next draft.
In the meantime - it's majorly summer. Time for a swim.
July 27, 2015
Robin Phillips, R.I.P.
While he was here this past weekend, Edgar my ex learned that Robin Phillips, one of his best friends and colleagues, former Stratford Artistic Director, had died on Saturday July 25. Almost 30 years ago, Ed was pushing through the merger of two Toronto theatre companies to become Canadian Stage when he met Robin. Eventually, he produced the "Macbeth" that Robin directed with Glenda Jackson and Christopher Plummer, which should have been a huge hit but which fizzled on Broadway. He and Robin worked together several more times as director and producer, and were close friends for years afterwards.
I worked with Robin once myself, not as an actress, but as his assistant for a weekend on a new play workshop. It was an eye-opener. The man was such a fierce perfectionist, so hardworking, coiled and intense, always brilliant but sometimes unbearable, it's amazing he lived as long as he did. He used what I came to call "the theatre of abuse" - he pummelled actors into working the way he wanted them to work, and often, his methods worked incredibly well and drew out emotions and skills actors didn't even know they possessed. Sometimes, however, they were defeated instead, and I fear that other directors, far less brilliant, learned his methods without the incandescent genius behind them.
When we visited as a family, he was lively, warm and open, he and Joe in their beautiful farmhouse in the Ontario countryside - interested even in our children, in my thoughts and career, in everything. The kids loved him. I know that many in Canadian theatre did not; he came here at a time of intense nationalism in the arts as elsewhere, and his very Britishness, not to mention that he was a supremely visionary and talented and yet difficult man, led many to dislike him. But most of the time, he was so very good. I remember a production - "King John"? - in the Patterson Theatre he'd designed himself at Stratford, clean, spare, profoundly moving. He brought a new expertise and pride to the theatre artists of this country, and left behind a generation who'd been transformed.
Thank you, Robin. I hope you received as much pleasure as you gave.
I worked with Robin once myself, not as an actress, but as his assistant for a weekend on a new play workshop. It was an eye-opener. The man was such a fierce perfectionist, so hardworking, coiled and intense, always brilliant but sometimes unbearable, it's amazing he lived as long as he did. He used what I came to call "the theatre of abuse" - he pummelled actors into working the way he wanted them to work, and often, his methods worked incredibly well and drew out emotions and skills actors didn't even know they possessed. Sometimes, however, they were defeated instead, and I fear that other directors, far less brilliant, learned his methods without the incandescent genius behind them.
When we visited as a family, he was lively, warm and open, he and Joe in their beautiful farmhouse in the Ontario countryside - interested even in our children, in my thoughts and career, in everything. The kids loved him. I know that many in Canadian theatre did not; he came here at a time of intense nationalism in the arts as elsewhere, and his very Britishness, not to mention that he was a supremely visionary and talented and yet difficult man, led many to dislike him. But most of the time, he was so very good. I remember a production - "King John"? - in the Patterson Theatre he'd designed himself at Stratford, clean, spare, profoundly moving. He brought a new expertise and pride to the theatre artists of this country, and left behind a generation who'd been transformed.
Thank you, Robin. I hope you received as much pleasure as you gave.
July 26, 2015
all you need
8.30 a.m. Sunday morning, quiet and fragrant and blessed. The garden is moving into its mauve period - phlox, rose of Sharon, lavender - with a pop of yellow rudbeckia, the white balloons of hydrangea and the giant toppling golden glow behind. I thank you god for most this amazing day ...
We are gathering here for bagels and smoked salmon this morning. We are a cliché of togetherness. How I love being a cliché, for once.
With all this going on, I've still managed to carve out a bit time for work on the new memoir, working title "1979". As usual, all I can think is - who cares? Who wants to read about a confused 29-year old woman who doesn't know what she wants in life? This one isn't even funny, it just rambles on and on. I'm sure it's terrible. But I also think there's a kernel of something that will work, if I can just figure out what it is. So next week, this draft will go to two trusted readers, to get a sense of where I am and where I have to go.
In the meantime, I have to go get dressed and prepare for brunch.
There's a wonderful website, Pop Sonnets, that does Shakespearean versions of well-known pop songs - very clever and skilful. Your morning smile.
(There's nothing you can do that can't be done
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game
It's easyThere's nothing you can make that can't be made
No one you can save that can't be saved
Nothing you can do but you can learn to be you in time
It's easyAll you need is love)
We are gathering here for bagels and smoked salmon this morning. We are a cliché of togetherness. How I love being a cliché, for once.With all this going on, I've still managed to carve out a bit time for work on the new memoir, working title "1979". As usual, all I can think is - who cares? Who wants to read about a confused 29-year old woman who doesn't know what she wants in life? This one isn't even funny, it just rambles on and on. I'm sure it's terrible. But I also think there's a kernel of something that will work, if I can just figure out what it is. So next week, this draft will go to two trusted readers, to get a sense of where I am and where I have to go.
In the meantime, I have to go get dressed and prepare for brunch.
There's a wonderful website, Pop Sonnets, that does Shakespearean versions of well-known pop songs - very clever and skilful. Your morning smile.
(There's nothing you can do that can't be doneNothing you can sing that can't be sung
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game
It's easyThere's nothing you can make that can't be made
No one you can save that can't be saved
Nothing you can do but you can learn to be you in time
It's easyAll you need is love)
July 25, 2015
famdamly
Friend Suzette just sent this great quote:
From the NY Times Sunday Book Review interview with novelist Etgar Keret:"I...try to avoid...memoirs, since I tend to distrust people who are telling a story they have such a great stake in. As someone who has just released a memoir I must add that unlike others, I'm totally trustworthy when it comes to telling my story."
Me too, Edgar, totally trustworthy - and all my students too!
Suzette also wrote "More baby pictures, not less." How can I deny her? But baby right now is across town.
Yesterday, the team came to Glamma's - babycakes, big brother, Grampa and Mama. Baby slept and the rest of us ate take out sushi in the garden. And then Mama and babe went home, and Eli stayed for a sleepover with his grandparents.
Grandpa, who had spent the day in the sun, went to bed before Eli, who was bouncing until - yes, it was unfortunately true - 11.15 p.m. His weary grandmother just let him bounce, until he was finally still.
This morning at 7 a.m., there he was, bouncing. "I woke up and dere was Mr. Sun!" But he got into bed with me - looking out the window, "We're so HIGH and dere's birds," - and went back to sleep for a bit. The morning with us,
listening to a CD, doing numbers with Grandpa, and a tour of Parliament Street looking for a hat to protect his grandfather's head. Now, off to meet his mother and brother at a First Nations powwow, part of Panamania. Tonight, a barbecue at his mama's with his father and hers, and tomorrow, everyone to Glamma's again for brunch. A busy social life for someone who has just turned 3.
I count my infinite blessings yet again, that this man and I, who loved each other profoundly once and lost that feeling along the way, have found it again. And here he is, a wonderful grandfather, father and friend, staying in the house we bought together in 1986, where our children grew up. Something has come full circle, something has been healed, we are family.
Speaking of family, there's an unusual obituary from the Toronto Star making the rounds. Here's an excerpt:
Pat Stocks, 94, passed away peacefully at her home in bed July 1, 2015... She left behind a hell of a lot of stuff to her daughter and sons who have no idea what to do with it. So if you're looking for 2 extremely large TV's from the 90s, a large ceramic stork (we think) umbrella/cane stand, a toaster oven (slightly used) or even a 2001 Oldsmobile with a spoiler (she loved putting the pedal to the metal), with only 71,000 kilometers and 1,000 tools that we aren't sure what they're used for. You should wait the appropriate amount of time and get in touch. Tomorrow would be fine.
From the NY Times Sunday Book Review interview with novelist Etgar Keret:"I...try to avoid...memoirs, since I tend to distrust people who are telling a story they have such a great stake in. As someone who has just released a memoir I must add that unlike others, I'm totally trustworthy when it comes to telling my story."
Me too, Edgar, totally trustworthy - and all my students too!
Suzette also wrote "More baby pictures, not less." How can I deny her? But baby right now is across town.
Yesterday, the team came to Glamma's - babycakes, big brother, Grampa and Mama. Baby slept and the rest of us ate take out sushi in the garden. And then Mama and babe went home, and Eli stayed for a sleepover with his grandparents.
Grandpa, who had spent the day in the sun, went to bed before Eli, who was bouncing until - yes, it was unfortunately true - 11.15 p.m. His weary grandmother just let him bounce, until he was finally still.This morning at 7 a.m., there he was, bouncing. "I woke up and dere was Mr. Sun!" But he got into bed with me - looking out the window, "We're so HIGH and dere's birds," - and went back to sleep for a bit. The morning with us,
listening to a CD, doing numbers with Grandpa, and a tour of Parliament Street looking for a hat to protect his grandfather's head. Now, off to meet his mother and brother at a First Nations powwow, part of Panamania. Tonight, a barbecue at his mama's with his father and hers, and tomorrow, everyone to Glamma's again for brunch. A busy social life for someone who has just turned 3.I count my infinite blessings yet again, that this man and I, who loved each other profoundly once and lost that feeling along the way, have found it again. And here he is, a wonderful grandfather, father and friend, staying in the house we bought together in 1986, where our children grew up. Something has come full circle, something has been healed, we are family.
Speaking of family, there's an unusual obituary from the Toronto Star making the rounds. Here's an excerpt:
Pat Stocks, 94, passed away peacefully at her home in bed July 1, 2015... She left behind a hell of a lot of stuff to her daughter and sons who have no idea what to do with it. So if you're looking for 2 extremely large TV's from the 90s, a large ceramic stork (we think) umbrella/cane stand, a toaster oven (slightly used) or even a 2001 Oldsmobile with a spoiler (she loved putting the pedal to the metal), with only 71,000 kilometers and 1,000 tools that we aren't sure what they're used for. You should wait the appropriate amount of time and get in touch. Tomorrow would be fine.
July 23, 2015
Grampa's here
Dear readers, I promise this plethora of baby pictures will end soon; my brain will return and life will go on. But for now - here are some more. My dear ex came to town today, is staying here at the house till Sunday. He went directly from the airport to Anna's to visit his new grandson, one week old today, and his old one, who has just learned to ride a two-wheeler without training wheels, fast, up and down the alley. Spectacular. Uncle Sam, aka Stinkbutt, came over too. We may not be an ordinary family - after all, he and I have been divorced for 25 years - but we sure felt like one today.
July 21, 2015
brothers
O joy - Jon Stewart is back. He seems exhausted and even admitted that he's relying on Donald Trump to provide him with lightweight loony material so he doesn't have to delve into the heavy stuff. Which, luckily, the cretinous Mr. Trump is happy to do. Paul Rudd, at the end of a very sweet interview last night, said, "I love you, Jon Stewart." Which is what we all feel. Bereft in 3 weeks.
It seems that President Obama will be Jon's guest tonight. How's that for clout?
I am dealing with sensitive neighbour issues - nothing serious, just misunderstandings. Things like this always remind me of a favourite quote from my dear friend JP Sartre: "Hell is other people." And no matter where you go, there they are.
On the other hand, heaven, also, is other people.
It seems that President Obama will be Jon's guest tonight. How's that for clout?
I am dealing with sensitive neighbour issues - nothing serious, just misunderstandings. Things like this always remind me of a favourite quote from my dear friend JP Sartre: "Hell is other people." And no matter where you go, there they are.
On the other hand, heaven, also, is other people.
July 19, 2015
tonight's lessons
It's great to spend time with smart, informed people, who have history and geography and current events at their fingertips, whereas I flounder in idealistic generalities with only the vaguest sense of where and why. At Monique's usual delicious and fascinating francophone dinner tonight, we talked a lot about Greece, what the Germans have done to the Greeks and what it means. But also many other things. Here are a few of the things I learned, while drinking and eating vast quantities:
Stalin did not believe the Nazis would invade Russia because he had signed a pact with Hitler. When he realized they'd begun to cross the border, he had a kind of nervous breakdown and vanished for ten days. So for the first days of the German invasion, Russia was essentially leaderless.
Kruschev was the commander in charge of Ukraine, and not long after the Russians began their onslaught, he told Stalin the war was over; he was going to surrender. Stalin’s commander in chief told his boss to inform Kruschev this was unacceptable. Stalin told Kruschev that if he surrendered, Stalin would take his mother, wife and children, who were nearby, and kill them. Kruschev did not surrender.
Germany has always wanted to annex Ukraine, one way or another. Hitler wanted it for “lebensraum” – more space for Germans.
Saudi Arabia and Iran are waging a kind of proxy war in Syria.
Greece has been eviscerated by punitive Germany and may never recover. The euro was a mistake – to tie the currencies of large prosperous nations to smaller southern ones with much further to go, was disastrous. The ideal was good. But the reality should have been to attempt to bring the southern nations further up the economic scale before liason.
Francois Hollande is a feeble disaster. The smartest economist in Europe is Dominique Strauss-Kahn. If he'd been able to keep it in his pants, the world would be in much better shape.
According to Jack, the Iran nuclear accord is a mistake because too many dangers have been ignored. Iran, for example, he says, still has huge military and espionage presence in Cuba, Venezuela and Argentina. But then, Jack is 1000% pro Israel. He is not a fan of Obama.
There’s a great restaurant on Wellington St. called Pravda, that serves many kinds of vodka and has a big ironic picture of Lenin. Lenin, however, did not drink. He had a very soft voice, and so at Soviet congresses, with no mikes, could not be heard. That’s where the famous banging a shoe on the table came from – started by Lenin, continued by Kruschev.
How's that for a bunch of interesting stuff? There was more, but I'd drunk a great deal - Prosecco, rose, beaujolais nouveau - by then and can't remember. And a happy Sunday to you too.
Stalin did not believe the Nazis would invade Russia because he had signed a pact with Hitler. When he realized they'd begun to cross the border, he had a kind of nervous breakdown and vanished for ten days. So for the first days of the German invasion, Russia was essentially leaderless.
Kruschev was the commander in charge of Ukraine, and not long after the Russians began their onslaught, he told Stalin the war was over; he was going to surrender. Stalin’s commander in chief told his boss to inform Kruschev this was unacceptable. Stalin told Kruschev that if he surrendered, Stalin would take his mother, wife and children, who were nearby, and kill them. Kruschev did not surrender.
Germany has always wanted to annex Ukraine, one way or another. Hitler wanted it for “lebensraum” – more space for Germans.
Saudi Arabia and Iran are waging a kind of proxy war in Syria.
Greece has been eviscerated by punitive Germany and may never recover. The euro was a mistake – to tie the currencies of large prosperous nations to smaller southern ones with much further to go, was disastrous. The ideal was good. But the reality should have been to attempt to bring the southern nations further up the economic scale before liason.
Francois Hollande is a feeble disaster. The smartest economist in Europe is Dominique Strauss-Kahn. If he'd been able to keep it in his pants, the world would be in much better shape.
According to Jack, the Iran nuclear accord is a mistake because too many dangers have been ignored. Iran, for example, he says, still has huge military and espionage presence in Cuba, Venezuela and Argentina. But then, Jack is 1000% pro Israel. He is not a fan of Obama.
There’s a great restaurant on Wellington St. called Pravda, that serves many kinds of vodka and has a big ironic picture of Lenin. Lenin, however, did not drink. He had a very soft voice, and so at Soviet congresses, with no mikes, could not be heard. That’s where the famous banging a shoe on the table came from – started by Lenin, continued by Kruschev.
How's that for a bunch of interesting stuff? There was more, but I'd drunk a great deal - Prosecco, rose, beaujolais nouveau - by then and can't remember. And a happy Sunday to you too.
baby brother Day Two
Went across town to visit the little family, to find everything miraculously tranquil and organized. Holly had taken Eli to Sunnyside pool and Ben was sleeping.
You can see his funny little sideways right foot. It's a perfect foot, it's just sideways. It will be easily fixed.The midwives came to check everything and brought an old-fashioned scale.
Just over six pounds - a little more than a bag of sugar. Then big brother came home sleepy from his swim and had a nap in the arms of his grandmother and then his mother.
Anna said he came into her room this morning and said, Good morning Mummy. Good morning, baby brother.
There are still complications of various kinds, but Mummy is on top of everything right now, particularly because she'd had some sleep and the AC was on. She made me a BLT with avocado, delicious, and then I went home. Tonight, the Francophone gathering next door at Monique's. I think my brain will work enough to speak a bit of French. Or perhaps not, but I can eat. I can always eat.
You can see his funny little sideways right foot. It's a perfect foot, it's just sideways. It will be easily fixed.The midwives came to check everything and brought an old-fashioned scale.
Just over six pounds - a little more than a bag of sugar. Then big brother came home sleepy from his swim and had a nap in the arms of his grandmother and then his mother.
Anna said he came into her room this morning and said, Good morning Mummy. Good morning, baby brother. There are still complications of various kinds, but Mummy is on top of everything right now, particularly because she'd had some sleep and the AC was on. She made me a BLT with avocado, delicious, and then I went home. Tonight, the Francophone gathering next door at Monique's. I think my brain will work enough to speak a bit of French. Or perhaps not, but I can eat. I can always eat.
July 18, 2015
recovery
Recovery time, at least, for me - I've been in a stupor all day in 30 + degree heat, getting over the stress and exhaustion of the 24 hours before. So I can hardly imagine what it's like to be Anna, on much less sleep, with her body recuperating and her throat still burning, dealing with a tiny newborn, a bouncy 3-year old who doesn't want to let her out of his sight, many friends, her household, and other complicating factors. Plus a heat wave.
She had a bit of a meltdown this morning, in fact, understandably, but by afternoon was fine. Very cheerful, in fact. She said she'd tell her friends that when the time comes to bring forth their babies, they will not want their husband in the delivery room, but their mother.
And I said, wait a minute, it depends on the mother. For example, I would not have wanted my own mother in the delivery room. Oh my god, no. Afterwards, yes - when I got home with Anna, she was waiting in our apartment with freshly made scones and a bouquet of sweetheart roses. Wonderful. Not earlier. But I am glad I was useful to my daughter. C'est mon job.
Can't believe how little I accomplished today - it felt like I was swimming underwater. Got my hair cut. Did a lot of emailing, letting people know about the baby. Talked and texted to the family across town. Got myself all worked up. Got myself calmed down. Sat. Should have tried harder to look at pictures of Pluto. Just watched a ridiculous Masterpiece Mystery featuring Hercule Poirot and bits of two Ryan Gosling movies. He is so adorably Canadian.
My hairdresser, who's a dear friend, told me that several of her clients are Harper supporters. Terrifying. Thank you, John Kenneth Galbraith, one of my heroes, for nailing the issue for once and for all.
She had a bit of a meltdown this morning, in fact, understandably, but by afternoon was fine. Very cheerful, in fact. She said she'd tell her friends that when the time comes to bring forth their babies, they will not want their husband in the delivery room, but their mother.
And I said, wait a minute, it depends on the mother. For example, I would not have wanted my own mother in the delivery room. Oh my god, no. Afterwards, yes - when I got home with Anna, she was waiting in our apartment with freshly made scones and a bouquet of sweetheart roses. Wonderful. Not earlier. But I am glad I was useful to my daughter. C'est mon job.
Can't believe how little I accomplished today - it felt like I was swimming underwater. Got my hair cut. Did a lot of emailing, letting people know about the baby. Talked and texted to the family across town. Got myself all worked up. Got myself calmed down. Sat. Should have tried harder to look at pictures of Pluto. Just watched a ridiculous Masterpiece Mystery featuring Hercule Poirot and bits of two Ryan Gosling movies. He is so adorably Canadian.
My hairdresser, who's a dear friend, told me that several of her clients are Harper supporters. Terrifying. Thank you, John Kenneth Galbraith, one of my heroes, for nailing the issue for once and for all.
