Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 209
April 27, 2015
Thirty years ago ...
Eli's Uncle Sam. (See next post for context.) Different hair colour, better eye-sight, same enterprise.
love is
Here's happiness. (He loves his new blue "hemoot" and doesn't often take it off.) We played football and lined up all the toys; he made a tower of blocks with Wayson and got a dinosaur calendar from Carol and a hug from neighbour Monique; got his presents from Glamma - a pair of toy "nocklears" - binoculars - from Monoprix, a French t-shirt, a bell for his strider bike which he dinged as we went to the farm to see the baby lambs, kids and piglets. And best of all, a chocolate bunny, because I was not here at Easter.I cannot imagine a love greater than the force in my soul for this boy. And soon there will be another one; my heart will need to stretch even bigger.
In the picture above, however, I look just like my father. This is not a compliment. But it is life.
Life.
thoughts on home
It's 7.30 a.m. Last night, keeping busy (including scanning the weekend papers and watching "Call the Midwife" at 8) I managed to stay up till 9.30 - 3.30 a.m. my time - then took a sleeping pill, woke at 5 and 6 but managed to get back to sleep till 7. Perfect. Despite the glorious sun yesterday, I can see now it's barely spring here - a hesitant bit of yellow on my forsythia, the barest sprinkling of green on the willow, otherwise still brown. The big worry is the massive ivy that covers an entire wall of the garden, that seems to be dead. There are no leaves, just a vast intricate tangle of stem. That has never happened before.
I opened the front door this morning and there was the Star, just where it should be, but then I wondered if I should have left it outside. Terrible news of aftershocks from Nepal, child porn in Canada, attacks in the Middle East. It's a blessing it's such a lightweight paper - not that much international news to digest first thing.
Here is the joy: routine. Ritual. Familiarity. For the first time in five weeks, my own coffee in my own mug - and every mug in that cupboard has a story, this one I bought at Marks and Spenser ten years ago and gave to my mother because it has a rooster on it, my father's symbol.
And space. For five weeks, I've lived in tiny hotel rooms or in bedrooms at my friends' houses, or, at Christopher's, on the living room floor. Here are rooms, one after the other, big room with high ceilings to walk through, each arranged the way I like it, because they're my rooms. Everything has its place. Including me.
Distraction. I realize just how much is in the way here of concentrated work - newspapers, limitless internet (which I now realize is a privilege, a tool to use properly and wisely, not a right), the phone, TV and radio, neighbours family, friends, and countless household chores, not to mention teaching and editing work. No wonder I don't get enough writing done. Got to figure out a new way.
But first - a visit from Booboo.
9.30. Eating a slightly stale croissant from my favourite bakery in Paris - with peanut butter. Talk about the best of both worlds. And ... I can do laundry ANY TIME I WANT!
10. I can pee ANY TIME I WANT! And eat and sit down and go out and come in and ... rake leaves. Any time.
I opened the front door this morning and there was the Star, just where it should be, but then I wondered if I should have left it outside. Terrible news of aftershocks from Nepal, child porn in Canada, attacks in the Middle East. It's a blessing it's such a lightweight paper - not that much international news to digest first thing.
Here is the joy: routine. Ritual. Familiarity. For the first time in five weeks, my own coffee in my own mug - and every mug in that cupboard has a story, this one I bought at Marks and Spenser ten years ago and gave to my mother because it has a rooster on it, my father's symbol.
And space. For five weeks, I've lived in tiny hotel rooms or in bedrooms at my friends' houses, or, at Christopher's, on the living room floor. Here are rooms, one after the other, big room with high ceilings to walk through, each arranged the way I like it, because they're my rooms. Everything has its place. Including me.
Distraction. I realize just how much is in the way here of concentrated work - newspapers, limitless internet (which I now realize is a privilege, a tool to use properly and wisely, not a right), the phone, TV and radio, neighbours family, friends, and countless household chores, not to mention teaching and editing work. No wonder I don't get enough writing done. Got to figure out a new way.
But first - a visit from Booboo.
9.30. Eating a slightly stale croissant from my favourite bakery in Paris - with peanut butter. Talk about the best of both worlds. And ... I can do laundry ANY TIME I WANT!
10. I can pee ANY TIME I WANT! And eat and sit down and go out and come in and ... rake leaves. Any time.
April 26, 2015
there to here
This morning in Paris - poor suitcase.
This evening in Toronto - new Provencale tablecloth from Nice.
chez moi
Home. Sitting in the Toronto sun on my own deck IN DIFFERENT CLEAN CLOTHES with a glass of wine. Hear those birds? MY birds. Well, not exactly, but they’re in my trees and eating my birdseed. See that gigantic mess of dead leaves and brush in the garden? MY mess. Hmmm. Everywhere I look, work to be done. And that’s okay.
The flight was much better going than coming, for sure – the movies were much better, for a start, so I got to see two films I’ve wanted to see for ages, Keep on keepin’ on, a documentary about a brilliant old jazz trumpet player mentoring a young blind pianist. Very moving – not just about music but about the power of a great teacher, very inspiring. And then Selma, ditto. Riveting. So, trying not to weep for the first few hours of flight. And then squirming and dozing and feeling sorry for the young couples with babies and little kids – except for the couple with a two-year old who had their Filipina nanny with them - in first class. Four tickets in first class.
My kids and I were texting before we’d reached the gate.
Carol my friend and tenant was out but had left a welcoming note, half a bottle of red wine, some dinner in the fridge, and a neatly towering stack of mail. Five New Yorkers, groan, the weekend newspapers, bills, stuff to do. Responsibilities. Real life. I unpacked and sorted and inspected, got out my daytimer and made lists. So good to get everything out of the suitcase and put it away – I do not want to see a @#$# suitcase for a long time. Had a long hot shower – MY shower, my shampoo, when I opened a drawer, there were my hairbrush and facecream, just where I left them. What a blessing.
The oleander is covered with scale; I need an oleander whisperer.
Went to the corner to buy a pot of pansies and daffs, some colour for the deck, then got out a bike and took a tour around the neighbourhood, saying hello to neighbours - someone knows me! - checking out the farm, Riverdale Park – families playing ball and having picnics, idyllic. My heart was bursting. Yes, Harper is still here, there’s an election, I’m going to have to get up to scratch and be depressed. I gather that Obama made a funny speech. Devastation in Kathmandu, but Lynn’s Sarah and her family are okay, if without power and many other things. The world is staggering along, the world is vast, the world is magnificent, and I am home.
Behind me – Paris, London, Florence, Cortona, Lucca, Cinque Terre, Nice, Gordes, Villeneuve, Montpellier. Behind me – friends Lynn and Denis, Michele and Daniel, Annie and Paolo, the Daudier family, Christopher, Cristina and Marina, the other Christina, Penny and Lizzie, and, always and forever, Bruce.
My next-door neighbour is arguing with another neighbour, right now, about their dogs. It’s hilarious, all last year the dogs were trying to kill each other through the fences, and they still are. What makes me happy is that if she’s fighting with him about the dogs, perhaps she’ll be too tired to fight with me about the trees. Neighbours. Haven’t had real neighbours for five weeks. And there they are, still arguing. What bliss. Can hardly hear them over the birds. And someone's barbecuing burgers. Mmm.
It’s 6 p.m. here, midnight my time. Was hoping to stay up for Wolf Hall at ten, but there’s no way. If I last two more hours, I’ll be lucky.
I am reunited with house, garden, kids, bicycles, plants, friends, piano. But most importantly, tomorrow I see my boy.
P.S. Randy Bachman on the CBC! Dancing around the kitchen! Does life get better than this?
The flight was much better going than coming, for sure – the movies were much better, for a start, so I got to see two films I’ve wanted to see for ages, Keep on keepin’ on, a documentary about a brilliant old jazz trumpet player mentoring a young blind pianist. Very moving – not just about music but about the power of a great teacher, very inspiring. And then Selma, ditto. Riveting. So, trying not to weep for the first few hours of flight. And then squirming and dozing and feeling sorry for the young couples with babies and little kids – except for the couple with a two-year old who had their Filipina nanny with them - in first class. Four tickets in first class.
My kids and I were texting before we’d reached the gate.
Carol my friend and tenant was out but had left a welcoming note, half a bottle of red wine, some dinner in the fridge, and a neatly towering stack of mail. Five New Yorkers, groan, the weekend newspapers, bills, stuff to do. Responsibilities. Real life. I unpacked and sorted and inspected, got out my daytimer and made lists. So good to get everything out of the suitcase and put it away – I do not want to see a @#$# suitcase for a long time. Had a long hot shower – MY shower, my shampoo, when I opened a drawer, there were my hairbrush and facecream, just where I left them. What a blessing.
The oleander is covered with scale; I need an oleander whisperer.
Went to the corner to buy a pot of pansies and daffs, some colour for the deck, then got out a bike and took a tour around the neighbourhood, saying hello to neighbours - someone knows me! - checking out the farm, Riverdale Park – families playing ball and having picnics, idyllic. My heart was bursting. Yes, Harper is still here, there’s an election, I’m going to have to get up to scratch and be depressed. I gather that Obama made a funny speech. Devastation in Kathmandu, but Lynn’s Sarah and her family are okay, if without power and many other things. The world is staggering along, the world is vast, the world is magnificent, and I am home.
Behind me – Paris, London, Florence, Cortona, Lucca, Cinque Terre, Nice, Gordes, Villeneuve, Montpellier. Behind me – friends Lynn and Denis, Michele and Daniel, Annie and Paolo, the Daudier family, Christopher, Cristina and Marina, the other Christina, Penny and Lizzie, and, always and forever, Bruce.
My next-door neighbour is arguing with another neighbour, right now, about their dogs. It’s hilarious, all last year the dogs were trying to kill each other through the fences, and they still are. What makes me happy is that if she’s fighting with him about the dogs, perhaps she’ll be too tired to fight with me about the trees. Neighbours. Haven’t had real neighbours for five weeks. And there they are, still arguing. What bliss. Can hardly hear them over the birds. And someone's barbecuing burgers. Mmm.
It’s 6 p.m. here, midnight my time. Was hoping to stay up for Wolf Hall at ten, but there’s no way. If I last two more hours, I’ll be lucky.
I am reunited with house, garden, kids, bicycles, plants, friends, piano. But most importantly, tomorrow I see my boy.
P.S. Randy Bachman on the CBC! Dancing around the kitchen! Does life get better than this?
April 25, 2015
Kathmandu
Paris, 7.30 a.m.:Those who know me know that my friend Lynn's oldest daughter lives in Kathmandu with her three children. She's the head of Handicap International for the region. I'm happy to tell you that she and her kids and her entire team were unhurt in yesterday's devastating earthquake.
And now I have a plane to catch.
And now I have a plane to catch.
les copines
Got this from Denis: another view of our evening eating warm cheese with bread on sticks. Lynn and I met in 1967, and though she moved to France in 1970 and never came back to live in Canada, our friendship has flourished for nearly 50 years.
la fin
Done and done. My adventure is nearly over - early tomorrow, I drag the suitcase to CDG (it's so full, I bought string today to wrap it up, in case it bursts open) and the very long flight home. A final day of pleasure - this morning in Montpellier, Lynn went out early for fresh croissants for breakfast and fresh bread to make us ham sandwiches for the train to Paris. Denis was going to Versailles to visit his mother who has Alzheimer's, and I for one night at my little hotel before going home. A last farewell to my dear friend, who was looking forward to getting back to work, and her husband and I boarded the superb speedy TGV; we'd bought 1st class tickets as they were barely more expensive than the regular ones, so we rode in wide reclining seats watching the beauties of France whizz by. Denis pointed out parts that had not changed in almost a thousand years - fields, farms, villages, chateaux, churches. As green as Ireland, very tidy and beautiful.
At the Gare de Lyon, he set off to see his mother and I to the hotel, and then to wander the city for the last time. It rained on and off today, as it did my whole first two weeks here, but it was mostly sunny and warm. I bought gifts, even though there's no room in my bag - macarons, croissants and pains au chocolat, little things for Eli. Visited Dad's tree in the Jardin des Plantes and then the Jardin du Luxembourg, both glorious in the spring sunlight. Walked until 7.15, when it wouldn't be too gauche to eat an early meal, and sat on the rue Mouffetard to dine outside, watching the French go home from work with their baguettes.
Any country built on the twin pillars of bread and cheese has my full devotion. And as for Italy - any country built on the twin pillars of tomatoes and noodles, ditto.
I feel perfectly at ease in this city. Hard to leave, though I can't wait to get home. There's such grace here, such a grand old civilization that I love. When I bought my 10 euro ticket for CDG tomorrow, I decide to buy one for the return. There's always a huge line-up at CDG to get a ticket for the metro into the city, and now when I come back, I'll already have my ticket. "Il ne faut pas le perdre," said the ticket seller, when I told him I might not use it for some time. Don't lose it, he said. I won't.
At the Gare de Lyon, he set off to see his mother and I to the hotel, and then to wander the city for the last time. It rained on and off today, as it did my whole first two weeks here, but it was mostly sunny and warm. I bought gifts, even though there's no room in my bag - macarons, croissants and pains au chocolat, little things for Eli. Visited Dad's tree in the Jardin des Plantes and then the Jardin du Luxembourg, both glorious in the spring sunlight. Walked until 7.15, when it wouldn't be too gauche to eat an early meal, and sat on the rue Mouffetard to dine outside, watching the French go home from work with their baguettes.
Any country built on the twin pillars of bread and cheese has my full devotion. And as for Italy - any country built on the twin pillars of tomatoes and noodles, ditto.
I feel perfectly at ease in this city. Hard to leave, though I can't wait to get home. There's such grace here, such a grand old civilization that I love. When I bought my 10 euro ticket for CDG tomorrow, I decide to buy one for the return. There's always a huge line-up at CDG to get a ticket for the metro into the city, and now when I come back, I'll already have my ticket. "Il ne faut pas le perdre," said the ticket seller, when I told him I might not use it for some time. Don't lose it, he said. I won't.
Montpellier - Paris
Click to enlarge
Monsieur et Madame sur la Place de la Comedie, the central piazza of Montpellier. Lynn very proud of her boots from Austin, Texas, where she did a stage and I visited her last year.
I took my hosts to a gourmet dinner in an old courtyard - this was Lynn's risotto with shrimps
Montpellier at night is bursting with life, most of it under 30
This morning, the view from the TGV to Paris - hard to shoot as the train reaches a speed of 300 kmh
Paris! My favourite street - la rue Mouffetard. Spring most definitely here.
Bought a slice of tarte tatin at my favourite bakery on Mouffetard and ate it in the Jardin des Plantes.
Dad's cherry tree - when I was here 5 weeks ago, there were no flowers, and now they've almost gone
La manege - as in almost every park in France
They sure know how to carve their plane trees.
Jardin du Luxembourg on a sunny Saturday - heaven.
The band playing in the park bandstand to a huge appreciative crowd turned out to be from Victoriaville, Quebec. YAY! I later chatted with a ticket seller when I went to buy my ticket for CDG tomorrow. He asked where I was from, I said Canada, and he said, Canada ou Quebec? Grrr. Then he launched into a diatribe about how everyone in France hates the government, both Sarko and Hollande, all the French people are leaving and the only ones left are Arabs, blacks and Jews. I wanted to say, you're black and I'm half-Jewish, what's the problem? But I didn't.
An exhibition of the mountain ranges of France on the gates of the park had this map of French mountains.
Jews. They're still here.
Dinner on the rue Mouffetard - grilled scallops with rice and bread and two glasses of wine, with a fantastic street view in the fading sun, for under $30.
Monsieur et Madame sur la Place de la Comedie, the central piazza of Montpellier. Lynn very proud of her boots from Austin, Texas, where she did a stage and I visited her last year.
I took my hosts to a gourmet dinner in an old courtyard - this was Lynn's risotto with shrimps
Montpellier at night is bursting with life, most of it under 30
This morning, the view from the TGV to Paris - hard to shoot as the train reaches a speed of 300 kmh
Paris! My favourite street - la rue Mouffetard. Spring most definitely here.
Bought a slice of tarte tatin at my favourite bakery on Mouffetard and ate it in the Jardin des Plantes. 
Dad's cherry tree - when I was here 5 weeks ago, there were no flowers, and now they've almost gone
La manege - as in almost every park in France
They sure know how to carve their plane trees.
Jardin du Luxembourg on a sunny Saturday - heaven.
The band playing in the park bandstand to a huge appreciative crowd turned out to be from Victoriaville, Quebec. YAY! I later chatted with a ticket seller when I went to buy my ticket for CDG tomorrow. He asked where I was from, I said Canada, and he said, Canada ou Quebec? Grrr. Then he launched into a diatribe about how everyone in France hates the government, both Sarko and Hollande, all the French people are leaving and the only ones left are Arabs, blacks and Jews. I wanted to say, you're black and I'm half-Jewish, what's the problem? But I didn't.
An exhibition of the mountain ranges of France on the gates of the park had this map of French mountains.
Jews. They're still here.
Dinner on the rue Mouffetard - grilled scallops with rice and bread and two glasses of wine, with a fantastic street view in the fading sun, for under $30.
to the Alps for fondue
Click to enlarge
Vallouise, scene of my misery at age 14
The grocery store in the small ski town of Villeneuve was closing down for the season. This is their tiny selection of wine and fine Champagne. Jealous.
On our walk through an alpine meadow, M. Blin took his office with him.
My kind of church.
Both Lynn and Denis took their offices with them.
Back at the chalet in the hot sun, improvising sun hats.
Until we found the real thing. Lynn and I called him Jose, the Mexican handyman. As soon as we got there, the toilet broke and he fixed it, then got rid of the dead salamander in the living room and the live bee that could not get out. Men are invaluable.
Beautiful downtown Briancon, which has a medieval gutter running down its main street.
Not Tibet, Briancon.
At last - after waiting since 1964, I had real Savoyarde fondue, made with 3 cheeses and wine. Superb. Worth the wait.
Vallouise, scene of my misery at age 14
The grocery store in the small ski town of Villeneuve was closing down for the season. This is their tiny selection of wine and fine Champagne. Jealous.
On our walk through an alpine meadow, M. Blin took his office with him.
My kind of church.
Both Lynn and Denis took their offices with them.
Back at the chalet in the hot sun, improvising sun hats.
Until we found the real thing. Lynn and I called him Jose, the Mexican handyman. As soon as we got there, the toilet broke and he fixed it, then got rid of the dead salamander in the living room and the live bee that could not get out. Men are invaluable.
Beautiful downtown Briancon, which has a medieval gutter running down its main street.
Not Tibet, Briancon. 
At last - after waiting since 1964, I had real Savoyarde fondue, made with 3 cheeses and wine. Superb. Worth the wait.
