Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 215
March 23, 2015
Paris pix 2.
Click to enlarge
The hat man at the puces
Parc Montsouris, much like a tiny Central Park
The market in Gif - we took one of those giant long breads and nearly finished it in a day
The first white asparagus of the season! A big deal.
The fishmonger.
Les fromages. Be still etc.
The view from Michele and Daniel's balcony - beautiful countryside as far as you can see, and spring flowers just beginning
Daniel le fou qui joue du violoncelle
The cheese for dinner.
Le couple prepare les asperges blanches - you have to peel them, and then they're so tender
At the bottom of their garden - a field of horses. Magical. Great to get out of the city that's roaring by right now.
Now it's five o'clock and I can go back to the apartment because the workmen are leaving. I will see if I can stand it - going out every day asap because of the noise, then back at 5 when it's quiet and there's no internet and I can work. I must work, because there's nothing else to do except watch dreadful French TV. Or - well, yes - explore more of Paris. That will come.
Incidentally, my train trip to Gif was entirely free there and back - all trains free all weekend and Sunday too because of pollution.
The hat man at the pucesParc Montsouris, much like a tiny Central Park
The market in Gif - we took one of those giant long breads and nearly finished it in a day
The first white asparagus of the season! A big deal.
The fishmonger.
Les fromages. Be still etc.
The view from Michele and Daniel's balcony - beautiful countryside as far as you can see, and spring flowers just beginning
Daniel le fou qui joue du violoncelle
The cheese for dinner.
Le couple prepare les asperges blanches - you have to peel them, and then they're so tender
At the bottom of their garden - a field of horses. Magical. Great to get out of the city that's roaring by right now.Now it's five o'clock and I can go back to the apartment because the workmen are leaving. I will see if I can stand it - going out every day asap because of the noise, then back at 5 when it's quiet and there's no internet and I can work. I must work, because there's nothing else to do except watch dreadful French TV. Or - well, yes - explore more of Paris. That will come.
Incidentally, my train trip to Gif was entirely free there and back - all trains free all weekend and Sunday too because of pollution.
Paris pix, 1.
Click to enlarge
Last view of Canada - Pearson airport
First view of Paris - sorry, sideways.
The internet with lunch - croque monsieur with additional bread. MMMMM.
The communal sink outside the bathrooms at this very old cafe Au Bouquet d'Alesia, where apparently Henry Miller liked to drink in the 30's. A lovely place with a strong wifi signal.
Specialty - petit fours!
The local fire station.
Best baguette in Paris. Be still my beating heart.
The puces - amazing lace and vintage stuff. I mean, real vintage - many decades old.
Last view of Canada - Pearson airport
First view of Paris - sorry, sideways.
The internet with lunch - croque monsieur with additional bread. MMMMM. 
The communal sink outside the bathrooms at this very old cafe Au Bouquet d'Alesia, where apparently Henry Miller liked to drink in the 30's. A lovely place with a strong wifi signal.
Specialty - petit fours! 
The local fire station.
Best baguette in Paris. Be still my beating heart.
The puces - amazing lace and vintage stuff. I mean, real vintage - many decades old.
lundi
I'm at the café to get you caught up, on a warm Monday later afternoon - the air full of cigarette smoke and French talk, everyone outside enjoying an aperitif, as I will now. I have kept a blog diary, starting ... Saturday.
Out to discover my new ‘hood – the 14th. I was a flanêur – no agenda, just wandering. Noticed, as I checked a large map on a billboard, that I was near the pucesde Vanves, the biggest flea market in Paris. So I made my way there; it was 2.30 and all the vendors were shutting down, “Come early next weekend,” they said, and I just may. A few were still open, a woman selling beautiful lace and very old clothes, a hat man.
Then I hopped on the first tram I’ve taken in Paris – very modern and free, today, I was told, “because of pollution” – what a great idea, Toronto. And there are bike paths carved into roads and sidewalks everywhere, even in a city as flooded with traffic as this. Got off at Parc Montsouris – so named, apparently, because at one time this ‘hood was overrun with mice. A beautiful park – like a small Central Park, with fields, hills, and a large lake on which floated exotic black swans with red beaks and many, too many, Canadian geese. The daffodils, forsythia, cherry and apple blossoms are out and the magnolia is swelling, ready to emerge; tiny buds on the trees.
I know I’m in France because everywhere there are natty little men in scarves. And bakeries. If ever North Americans want to confront the insanity of their obsession with the fattening properties of bread, just consider France, a country with every two steps a bakery full of delicious things, a basket of bread on every dining table, and yet people are not fat. Though things are certainly changing; on TV last night, I saw lots of ads for junk food, including a Kellogg’s breakfast bar covered with chocolate, and a billboard advertising a hamburger: "No dishes tonight". Unthinkable a decade ago.
The general attitude to me, as I blunder my way around like a tourist and yet, confusingly, speak French, is of amused condescension. Is there a people on earth as condescending as the French, even if some condescend in a nice way? The not-nice ones are just impatient and rude. Enquiring in an Orange store about the internet, I was treated with barely concealed disdain. The concept of obligatory happy service is still pretty rare here, though plenty of service people are very nice. Anyway, the internet clé is way too expensive, I’ll just have to make do with cafés. And – I discovered last night, sitting at work in a silent apartment with no internet – that’s a good way to get work done. Something learned. I am addicted to the 'net. Have to learn to live without. Hard!
Sunday morning, I made myself two cups of coffee in the tiny electric espresso machine here and some oatmeal on the stove; there was no construction, all was quiet, and I felt at home. Blessings.Then off, walked to the Cité Universitaire, an amazing assembly of buildings housing students from around the world, where my dad lived in 1946 when he went to the Sorbonne after the war. I’ve heard stories about what great fun it was there, all those international young people who’d survived the war. Took the suburban train into the country to Gif, where old friends Michele and Daniel live – in Gif there’s a laboratory Dad and Michele worked at – where they met in 1964, and Dad invited Michele to come work with him in Canada, which she did in the late sixties, bringing her new husband. Who promptly had a passionate affair with my mother but that’s an old story now. Though I do discuss it with Michele, trying to forgive Mum for causing such pain. And Daniel too, of course, though that’s who he is – my mother was just the first.
Very French, a marriage that has accommodated many things a North American marriage would not. They have a lovely little house in the country with a fantastic chunk of land, a view of trees, hills, a river, birds singing, a mountain covered with trees behind and trails for walking. I’m sitting on their balcony now, Monday morning, in the hot sun, listening to many birds and a distant airplane. Will stay for lunch of tapas and white asparagus that Michele and I bought at the Gif market yesterday, before going back to the noisy city. Last night, I felt the joy of being in real France, sitting in their kitchen at 9 p.m. for a simple supper of vast quantities of cheese, also bought at the market, and salad and wine, listening to the election results on the radio and to my hosts snort when Sarko or Marine Le Pen spoke.
No agenda today either.
Out to discover my new ‘hood – the 14th. I was a flanêur – no agenda, just wandering. Noticed, as I checked a large map on a billboard, that I was near the pucesde Vanves, the biggest flea market in Paris. So I made my way there; it was 2.30 and all the vendors were shutting down, “Come early next weekend,” they said, and I just may. A few were still open, a woman selling beautiful lace and very old clothes, a hat man.
Then I hopped on the first tram I’ve taken in Paris – very modern and free, today, I was told, “because of pollution” – what a great idea, Toronto. And there are bike paths carved into roads and sidewalks everywhere, even in a city as flooded with traffic as this. Got off at Parc Montsouris – so named, apparently, because at one time this ‘hood was overrun with mice. A beautiful park – like a small Central Park, with fields, hills, and a large lake on which floated exotic black swans with red beaks and many, too many, Canadian geese. The daffodils, forsythia, cherry and apple blossoms are out and the magnolia is swelling, ready to emerge; tiny buds on the trees.
I know I’m in France because everywhere there are natty little men in scarves. And bakeries. If ever North Americans want to confront the insanity of their obsession with the fattening properties of bread, just consider France, a country with every two steps a bakery full of delicious things, a basket of bread on every dining table, and yet people are not fat. Though things are certainly changing; on TV last night, I saw lots of ads for junk food, including a Kellogg’s breakfast bar covered with chocolate, and a billboard advertising a hamburger: "No dishes tonight". Unthinkable a decade ago.
The general attitude to me, as I blunder my way around like a tourist and yet, confusingly, speak French, is of amused condescension. Is there a people on earth as condescending as the French, even if some condescend in a nice way? The not-nice ones are just impatient and rude. Enquiring in an Orange store about the internet, I was treated with barely concealed disdain. The concept of obligatory happy service is still pretty rare here, though plenty of service people are very nice. Anyway, the internet clé is way too expensive, I’ll just have to make do with cafés. And – I discovered last night, sitting at work in a silent apartment with no internet – that’s a good way to get work done. Something learned. I am addicted to the 'net. Have to learn to live without. Hard!
Sunday morning, I made myself two cups of coffee in the tiny electric espresso machine here and some oatmeal on the stove; there was no construction, all was quiet, and I felt at home. Blessings.Then off, walked to the Cité Universitaire, an amazing assembly of buildings housing students from around the world, where my dad lived in 1946 when he went to the Sorbonne after the war. I’ve heard stories about what great fun it was there, all those international young people who’d survived the war. Took the suburban train into the country to Gif, where old friends Michele and Daniel live – in Gif there’s a laboratory Dad and Michele worked at – where they met in 1964, and Dad invited Michele to come work with him in Canada, which she did in the late sixties, bringing her new husband. Who promptly had a passionate affair with my mother but that’s an old story now. Though I do discuss it with Michele, trying to forgive Mum for causing such pain. And Daniel too, of course, though that’s who he is – my mother was just the first.
Very French, a marriage that has accommodated many things a North American marriage would not. They have a lovely little house in the country with a fantastic chunk of land, a view of trees, hills, a river, birds singing, a mountain covered with trees behind and trails for walking. I’m sitting on their balcony now, Monday morning, in the hot sun, listening to many birds and a distant airplane. Will stay for lunch of tapas and white asparagus that Michele and I bought at the Gif market yesterday, before going back to the noisy city. Last night, I felt the joy of being in real France, sitting in their kitchen at 9 p.m. for a simple supper of vast quantities of cheese, also bought at the market, and salad and wine, listening to the election results on the radio and to my hosts snort when Sarko or Marine Le Pen spoke.
No agenda today either.
March 21, 2015
Ca va mieux
My friend Lynn just wrote that when she took her French grade school students on lengthy class trips, she'd tell them she wouldn't listen to a single complaint until they'd had a good night's sleep and a full day at their destination. So this whiny schoolgirl has beaten the clock - I haven't been here a full day but I've regained my equilibre - after a very good night's sleep, helped by a large sleeping pill, and now a huge creamy delicious croque monsieur and two large café crèmes where I sit right now at a beautiful cafe nearby, Au Bouquet d'Alesia. The chatter of French on all sides "Au revoir monsieur dame merci!" - the place full of singles like me - the elderly woman next to me just had a steak/frites, a large slab of meat and fries - couples, two men or women chatting, and surprisingly, lots of families with small children.
And as you have gathered, it has wifi. There's wifi all over the place now, in Paris, so I'll just take my computer wherever I go and check in.
Yesterday was not only about exhaustion after a truly horrible flight, and the shock of not being in the beautiful place where I used to be and wanted to be, and even hunger as I didn't have a meal all day - it was about withdrawal from my daily life. Nothing helps you realize how full your life is until suddenly it's not full any more. Here I was in a stark ugly noisy apartment, alone, without the internet to which, I now know, I am as addicted as a crack addict. If I could have had the tremens, I would have. So it was all a nasty shock to the system.
And now - my computer and I will finish this superb rich coffee and set out into the day. No plan today except to get to know my new district, the 14th, which is not the beautiful 5th, the Latin Quarter full of monuments and tourists. This is real Paris. The only tourist attraction in the 14th are the Paris Catacombs, full of old bones. But I have the feeling I'll find lots of interesting stuff.
And though the morning was dark and chilly, the sun is now trying to come out. Out there, and in my tiny heart too.
And for today's laugh - because I can read and share FB even in Paris.
Just got the bill - 22 euros - $30 - for two coffees and a hot sandwich. Oh well. I could sit here all day if I wanted. And there's no tip. Now - Paris!
And as you have gathered, it has wifi. There's wifi all over the place now, in Paris, so I'll just take my computer wherever I go and check in.
Yesterday was not only about exhaustion after a truly horrible flight, and the shock of not being in the beautiful place where I used to be and wanted to be, and even hunger as I didn't have a meal all day - it was about withdrawal from my daily life. Nothing helps you realize how full your life is until suddenly it's not full any more. Here I was in a stark ugly noisy apartment, alone, without the internet to which, I now know, I am as addicted as a crack addict. If I could have had the tremens, I would have. So it was all a nasty shock to the system.
And now - my computer and I will finish this superb rich coffee and set out into the day. No plan today except to get to know my new district, the 14th, which is not the beautiful 5th, the Latin Quarter full of monuments and tourists. This is real Paris. The only tourist attraction in the 14th are the Paris Catacombs, full of old bones. But I have the feeling I'll find lots of interesting stuff.
And though the morning was dark and chilly, the sun is now trying to come out. Out there, and in my tiny heart too.
And for today's laugh - because I can read and share FB even in Paris.
Just got the bill - 22 euros - $30 - for two coffees and a hot sandwich. Oh well. I could sit here all day if I wanted. And there's no tip. Now - Paris!
March 20, 2015
not so hot
I'll keep this short because if I don't, I'll regret it tomorrow. I'm in mourning for my past Paris life. This new one ain't so good. The beautiful apartment in the 5th I used to stay in has been sold, and acquaintances offered me the apartment of a friend of theirs, which is wonderfully reasonable. It turns out to be utterly charmless and right beside a major construction site which operates from 8 a.m. till 5 p.m. Monday to Friday - hence today. After the worst night on an airplane I've ever had - Air Canada should be grounded instantly, it was heinous, sardines is too fine a concept - noisy, incredibly uncomfortable, so sleepless, I arrived to find Paris shrouded in chilly dark cloud, and then the apartment. Tried to take a nap but couldn't because of the noise. Am now woozy in a cafe because there's no wifi, and of course, because this is France, getting it is complicated.
This may be my last trip to Paris for awhile. On the other hand, after some sleep and food, I may feel a great deal better.
This may be my last trip to Paris for awhile. On the other hand, after some sleep and food, I may feel a great deal better.
March 19, 2015
much love, beth
Not much to say except - I leave in a few hours for the airport (at rush hour - crowded subways, many Canadians to warm me as I journey.) I just read today's Star and am very glad I can leave behind and try to forget briefly about Stephen Harper and his twin Netanyahu, cynical exploitive terror-mongers both. Now I can learn about another country's problems which don't matter so much.
My grandson went skating for the first time today, wish I could have seen that. In meditation this morning, Judy mentioned that perhaps, as we walked the path she was guiding us along, we might be holding someone's hand. And I was, I was holding Eli's hand. How I will miss him and his beloved mother and his wonderful uncle. I've come through a very long whirlwind with my kids, I now realize - so many years as a single mother, years of worry continuing to very recently. Because neither of my kids has chosen anything like a traditional path - steady job, steady relationship, hell no, that's much too conventional.
They are beautiful human beings, loving, kind, generous, loyal and funny. And I can only hope that my staying home with them, impatient, scattered and inconsistent as I was as a mother, has something to do with that. Anna showed me a picture recently of a storytime session at a local drop in; there are ten kids on the floor, surrounded mostly by Filipina nannies, and the one kid riveted on the storyteller is Eli. His mother's patient focus and attention shows so clearly in him. I am so very proud of her.
Her brother Mr Tall, Tattooed and Handsome is blazing his own path - he is in a cocktail making competition at the extremely trendy Drake Hotel next week so is practicing his cocktails. He helped a friend who has just opened a new bar by working there on St. Patrick's Day, in the drunken frenzy, from 11 a.m. till 4 in the morning, and then they discovered a problem with the Visa receipts and stayed till 6 a.m. working it out. I could not be more proud of him either.
So I am the luckiest of women. Paris is the icing, but the cake - no, the bread, the core, the raison d'être - is family.
I need to find my new place in the 14th arrondissement and then find an Orange shop and get something called a clé that will give me the internet before I can chat from France. I'll be in touch.
P.S. As a final going-away present, just got this email from a former student:
This is a quick note from a voice from the past. I have just finished watching the final round of the Canada Reads debates and decided to write you a note to say a heartfelt "Thank You". Today was the first time, ever I believe, that I have not felt like an outsider watching the literary debates around choosing this year's Canada Reads book. I was moved to tears by the thoughtful discussions - on both the books' literary merits and their social relevance, the respectful and yet passionate arguments put forward; and the presenters' pride, without exception, at being Canadian. For today's experience (and many others like it), I am grateful to you and your patient coaching. You were top of my mind today as the show signed off.
Thank you, I'm so glad.
Signing off, b.
My grandson went skating for the first time today, wish I could have seen that. In meditation this morning, Judy mentioned that perhaps, as we walked the path she was guiding us along, we might be holding someone's hand. And I was, I was holding Eli's hand. How I will miss him and his beloved mother and his wonderful uncle. I've come through a very long whirlwind with my kids, I now realize - so many years as a single mother, years of worry continuing to very recently. Because neither of my kids has chosen anything like a traditional path - steady job, steady relationship, hell no, that's much too conventional.
They are beautiful human beings, loving, kind, generous, loyal and funny. And I can only hope that my staying home with them, impatient, scattered and inconsistent as I was as a mother, has something to do with that. Anna showed me a picture recently of a storytime session at a local drop in; there are ten kids on the floor, surrounded mostly by Filipina nannies, and the one kid riveted on the storyteller is Eli. His mother's patient focus and attention shows so clearly in him. I am so very proud of her.
Her brother Mr Tall, Tattooed and Handsome is blazing his own path - he is in a cocktail making competition at the extremely trendy Drake Hotel next week so is practicing his cocktails. He helped a friend who has just opened a new bar by working there on St. Patrick's Day, in the drunken frenzy, from 11 a.m. till 4 in the morning, and then they discovered a problem with the Visa receipts and stayed till 6 a.m. working it out. I could not be more proud of him either.
So I am the luckiest of women. Paris is the icing, but the cake - no, the bread, the core, the raison d'être - is family.
I need to find my new place in the 14th arrondissement and then find an Orange shop and get something called a clé that will give me the internet before I can chat from France. I'll be in touch.
P.S. As a final going-away present, just got this email from a former student:
This is a quick note from a voice from the past. I have just finished watching the final round of the Canada Reads debates and decided to write you a note to say a heartfelt "Thank You". Today was the first time, ever I believe, that I have not felt like an outsider watching the literary debates around choosing this year's Canada Reads book. I was moved to tears by the thoughtful discussions - on both the books' literary merits and their social relevance, the respectful and yet passionate arguments put forward; and the presenters' pride, without exception, at being Canadian. For today's experience (and many others like it), I am grateful to you and your patient coaching. You were top of my mind today as the show signed off.
Thank you, I'm so glad.
Signing off, b.
March 18, 2015
I've gotta get out of this place
The endless departure - I'm still here, but barely. Tomorrow night at this time - 9.15 p.m., I hope to be on the plane, though it doesn't take off till 9.35. And at 10 a.m. Friday morning, we land in Paris.
That's the plan, anyway.
As I try to extricate myself from my full life here, I'm overwhelmed by how much there is to do and wonder why I am leaving (not to mention the lack of a certain Booboo for five whole weeks. By the time I come back, he'll be skateboarding and going steady). There's a long TO DO list in my day-timer starting the day I get back. But then I realize - that's why I'm going. I need to spend a few weeks without my full life - just my very small self, my mind and heart and tourist eyes and a suitcase that's not too bad though probably still more full than it should be. But really, for 5 weeks, not bad.
Not feeling great, but not actually sick. Victory. A last guided meditation with Judy and the group tomorrow morning, last minute errands, last minute phone calls, a last lunch with Wayson, and then - get me out of here.
To keep everything in perspective, to remember just how insignificant we are, here's a breathtaking film made by NASA.
http://www.collective-evolution.com/2015/01/20/nasa-has-released-the-largest-picture-ever-taken-it-will-rock-your-universe/
That's the plan, anyway.
As I try to extricate myself from my full life here, I'm overwhelmed by how much there is to do and wonder why I am leaving (not to mention the lack of a certain Booboo for five whole weeks. By the time I come back, he'll be skateboarding and going steady). There's a long TO DO list in my day-timer starting the day I get back. But then I realize - that's why I'm going. I need to spend a few weeks without my full life - just my very small self, my mind and heart and tourist eyes and a suitcase that's not too bad though probably still more full than it should be. But really, for 5 weeks, not bad.
Not feeling great, but not actually sick. Victory. A last guided meditation with Judy and the group tomorrow morning, last minute errands, last minute phone calls, a last lunch with Wayson, and then - get me out of here.
To keep everything in perspective, to remember just how insignificant we are, here's a breathtaking film made by NASA.
http://www.collective-evolution.com/2015/01/20/nasa-has-released-the-largest-picture-ever-taken-it-will-rock-your-universe/
March 16, 2015
Wolf Hall is coming
One of my sorrows about going away is that I will miss, not just my grandson, but the first episodes of "Wolf Hall," the new BBC series based on the brilliant Booker-winning novels about Cromwell and Henry VIII, and starring my favourite actor on the planet, Mark Rylance. It starts on PBS in early April and my British friends say it's incredible. According to the Guardian today, this series has at last made Mark an international star. About time. He is such an odd duck in life, no question, and yet magnificent on stage and screen, magical, the most committed and brave actor I've ever seen.
My dear friend Richard is going to tape the first episodes for me. So - I guess I'll go after all.
Am fighting - of course - a cold! Met a friend at the Y who had a cold and I said, Keep away, I cannot get a cold. An hour later, I started to sneeze. Three hours later, I felt the bug moving in. But am taking French homeopathic medicine thanks to Monique, and much Vitamin C and zinc. Will NOT allow this to take root. Do not want to take a trans-Atlantic flight with the sniffles.
Monique had her francophone dinner last night - a marvel of conversation, as always. Jack has read Bill C51 and thinks it's perfectly fair and balanced, but then Jack is considerably to the right of the rest of us. We discussed why "Fifty Shades of Grey" has had such success, the state of Israel today (Jacqueline had just come back from a junket there), and many other things. Food, friendship, great talk - and I only drank 2 1/2 glasses of wine. Okay, big glasses, but still. I am discovering abstemiousness. At this late stage. Hope it doesn't last.
Last class at Ryerson tonight - goodbye, dear students, it was a wonderful term. And now, my time is mine. Once I cross these forty-seven things off my list and get onto that plane. Without a cold.
My dear friend Richard is going to tape the first episodes for me. So - I guess I'll go after all.
Am fighting - of course - a cold! Met a friend at the Y who had a cold and I said, Keep away, I cannot get a cold. An hour later, I started to sneeze. Three hours later, I felt the bug moving in. But am taking French homeopathic medicine thanks to Monique, and much Vitamin C and zinc. Will NOT allow this to take root. Do not want to take a trans-Atlantic flight with the sniffles.
Monique had her francophone dinner last night - a marvel of conversation, as always. Jack has read Bill C51 and thinks it's perfectly fair and balanced, but then Jack is considerably to the right of the rest of us. We discussed why "Fifty Shades of Grey" has had such success, the state of Israel today (Jacqueline had just come back from a junket there), and many other things. Food, friendship, great talk - and I only drank 2 1/2 glasses of wine. Okay, big glasses, but still. I am discovering abstemiousness. At this late stage. Hope it doesn't last.
Last class at Ryerson tonight - goodbye, dear students, it was a wonderful term. And now, my time is mine. Once I cross these forty-seven things off my list and get onto that plane. Without a cold.
March 15, 2015
See him run at 95
As I sit here eating breakfast and drinking coffee, I turn to FB to waste some time, as if other ways to waste time aren't piled all around me. And then I see a film of a 95-year old man breaking a world speed record for his age, and now feel like the laziest slug on earth. UP AND AT 'EM!
http://bbc.in/1Bql8BL (video courtesy of BBC Radio 5 live)
I'm packing. And it looks like this:
And, for your very great listening pleasure, here are some talented white Canucks with a fabulous sound, in a tribute to Shad, the new host of Q:Arkells – Tracks of my Tears https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkJKr3JZlkE
http://bbc.in/1Bql8BL (video courtesy of BBC Radio 5 live)
I'm packing. And it looks like this:
And, for your very great listening pleasure, here are some talented white Canucks with a fabulous sound, in a tribute to Shad, the new host of Q:Arkells – Tracks of my Tears https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkJKr3JZlkE
March 14, 2015
60 Shades of Grey
Wendy VanReisen is a multi-talented woman - an actress, artist, writer and designer who now lives on Haida Gwaii on Canada's west coast. I was lucky enough to work with her in a play in 1996 and she reminded me what theatre is really about, imbuing our scenes together with her skill, big-hearted generosity and love. She sends out a blog periodically and here's an especially beautiful piece that came today:
60 Shades of Grey: My Year in MassetWhen I was a young girl, I lived with my aunt and grandma. My grandma Lila had grey hair. I loved her. Sometimes her hair was blue-grey and sometimes purple-grey, depending on the number of washes since her bluing ‘rinse’ at the hairdressers. But if you asked me what colour her hair was I would have simply said “grey”.
March is my birthday month (since one day will no longer suffice). On the 21st I will be 60 years old and it is abundantly clear to me that, rinse or no rinse, grey is not one colour. Nor is it simply colour-less as a scientist might quip. In the art world, adding grey to any colour is said to ‘sadden’ the colour. I say AGEISM!!!! Grey, rather than lacking the colour of the freshly blossomed bud, is the ash left from the glorious burning of every petal. My abundant 60 shades of grey float not only through my hair but, like Mt. St. Helen’s, blanket the wider world and drift deep into my bones. I am more compassionate, empathetic, kind, arthritic, forgiving, loving, gracious, fat, fearless, outspoken, wrinkled, creative, giving, free, passionate, near-sighted, accepting, inviting, generous, old, helpful, humble, inviting and grey then I ever thought possible. I am very thankful for my rich life. I am very thankful for all the connections I have made with others. I am very thankful to be alive.
Thank you, Wendy, from one grey bird to another. Me too. Happy 60th birthday.
60 Shades of Grey: My Year in MassetWhen I was a young girl, I lived with my aunt and grandma. My grandma Lila had grey hair. I loved her. Sometimes her hair was blue-grey and sometimes purple-grey, depending on the number of washes since her bluing ‘rinse’ at the hairdressers. But if you asked me what colour her hair was I would have simply said “grey”.
March is my birthday month (since one day will no longer suffice). On the 21st I will be 60 years old and it is abundantly clear to me that, rinse or no rinse, grey is not one colour. Nor is it simply colour-less as a scientist might quip. In the art world, adding grey to any colour is said to ‘sadden’ the colour. I say AGEISM!!!! Grey, rather than lacking the colour of the freshly blossomed bud, is the ash left from the glorious burning of every petal. My abundant 60 shades of grey float not only through my hair but, like Mt. St. Helen’s, blanket the wider world and drift deep into my bones. I am more compassionate, empathetic, kind, arthritic, forgiving, loving, gracious, fat, fearless, outspoken, wrinkled, creative, giving, free, passionate, near-sighted, accepting, inviting, generous, old, helpful, humble, inviting and grey then I ever thought possible. I am very thankful for my rich life. I am very thankful for all the connections I have made with others. I am very thankful to be alive.Thank you, Wendy, from one grey bird to another. Me too. Happy 60th birthday.
