Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 221
January 27, 2015
Are you gay?
I've been mad busy - no time to write. Nothing spectacular to tell you, just life rolling on. I'll be back soon. In the meantime, here's your daily smile:
January 26, 2015
Ira Glass cheers us up
Ira Glass, host of This American Life on American Public Radio, explains the discouragement that comes with creativity and how to view it. Wonderful.
http://omeleto.com/188186/
http://omeleto.com/188186/
No Jets T.O. meeting tonight
For anyone in Toronto who cares about the waterfront, PLEASE attend this meeting! I teach Monday nights so cannot be there. It's vital that we be heard. Our lake is already subject to a constant stream of airplanes, and now they're begging for more. Grotesque.
View this email in your browser
Hi Beth,The Port Authority is forging ahead with its study of the airport expansion – and what we saw at Saturday’s presentations was worrying to say the least. That’s why you should speak out at tonight’s TPA feedback session.
Monday, January 26, 6:30 - 9:00 p.m.
Metro Toronto Convention Centre - North Building, Room 106
255 Front Street West
Tons of unanswered questions, misleading slides and most troubling a study scope that’s too narrow marked Saturday’s TPA event - check out the TPA-hired consultants' presentations here.
Tonight is your chance to stand up for our waterfront.
Let us know you are coming and invite your friends via Facebook.
If you need more reasons to come: the TPA still hasn’t granted any participant funding for the community to hire independent experts. And Porter is mobilizing their list to attend tonight's event.
See you at the convention centre,
Tim Ehlich
NoJetsTO Vice-Chair
PS: if you can’t come tonight, see the TPA study website, review the documents and fill out the “EA scope worksheet” that is posted there and send to the facilitator team via aheath@swerhun.com by Friday, January 30th.
View this email in your browser
Hi Beth,The Port Authority is forging ahead with its study of the airport expansion – and what we saw at Saturday’s presentations was worrying to say the least. That’s why you should speak out at tonight’s TPA feedback session.Monday, January 26, 6:30 - 9:00 p.m.
Metro Toronto Convention Centre - North Building, Room 106
255 Front Street West
Tons of unanswered questions, misleading slides and most troubling a study scope that’s too narrow marked Saturday’s TPA event - check out the TPA-hired consultants' presentations here.
Tonight is your chance to stand up for our waterfront.
Let us know you are coming and invite your friends via Facebook.
If you need more reasons to come: the TPA still hasn’t granted any participant funding for the community to hire independent experts. And Porter is mobilizing their list to attend tonight's event.
See you at the convention centre,
Tim Ehlich
NoJetsTO Vice-Chair
PS: if you can’t come tonight, see the TPA study website, review the documents and fill out the “EA scope worksheet” that is posted there and send to the facilitator team via aheath@swerhun.com by Friday, January 30th.
January 24, 2015
There's a sucker born every minute
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stories about stories
Health! The greatest blessing. Thank you, universe. I'm SPUNKY!
Yesterday, beloved friend Ken came over and we walked to Daniel's Spectrum on Dundas East. He'd heard an interview on CBC that morning about a Regent Park storytelling event on immigrant life in Canada; it said on-line it would start at 5, so we got there at 4.55. I'm all for storytelling of all kinds. There was a nice warm room in that fabulous building full of chairs and empty cups for tea, but nothing happening. Oh, said someone, the stories won't actually start till 5.45.
Ken and I went home and had tea (him) and wine (guess who) and congratulated ourselves on not waiting around for 45 minutes. I'm furious at people who assume audiences have all the time in the world. If the website says an event starts at 5, then start by 5.10 or have a pretty good excuse, or I'm outta there. It won't surprise you that I did tell someone that before we left. She agreed and said she would pass it on.
Ken and I told our own stories. He told me about quitting his job as a teacher and going to L'Arche in France in 1970, and I told him about my own experience at L'Arche in 1979. In fact, our talk changed profoundly the way I see the memoir I'm writing, which involves L'Arche. So - a very valuable walk out.
The other night I invited Wayson over to watch a film I'd taken out of the library, Woody's "To Rome with Love." It hasn't had rave reviews, but how can you go wrong with Colin Firth and Rome?! But I couldn't get my DVD player to work, infuriating, enraging, my technological incompetence. Luckily, between Bruce in Vancouver, who told me to try switching the TV to channel 3, and my son Sam, who reminded me the DVD remote was on the bookshelf - the DVD remote I'd completely forgotten existed - it works perfectly. So now I'm going to make popcorn and Carol and I are going to watch.
Happy chilly Friday night, everyone.
TWO HOURS LATER: Well, as Theresa pointed out below, I had the wrong film! It's "Magic in the Moonlight" that's got Colin Firth and is set not in Rome but in the south of France. That said, Carol and I did enjoy it - some hilarious stuff and beautiful Rome - except that nearly the entire film is in Italian with subtitles, which were below the frame of my TV screen. So we were struggling to translate and figure out the plot. But otherwise ... well, it was Rome.
And I'm healthy. So no complaints about NUTHIN.
Yesterday, beloved friend Ken came over and we walked to Daniel's Spectrum on Dundas East. He'd heard an interview on CBC that morning about a Regent Park storytelling event on immigrant life in Canada; it said on-line it would start at 5, so we got there at 4.55. I'm all for storytelling of all kinds. There was a nice warm room in that fabulous building full of chairs and empty cups for tea, but nothing happening. Oh, said someone, the stories won't actually start till 5.45.
Ken and I went home and had tea (him) and wine (guess who) and congratulated ourselves on not waiting around for 45 minutes. I'm furious at people who assume audiences have all the time in the world. If the website says an event starts at 5, then start by 5.10 or have a pretty good excuse, or I'm outta there. It won't surprise you that I did tell someone that before we left. She agreed and said she would pass it on.
Ken and I told our own stories. He told me about quitting his job as a teacher and going to L'Arche in France in 1970, and I told him about my own experience at L'Arche in 1979. In fact, our talk changed profoundly the way I see the memoir I'm writing, which involves L'Arche. So - a very valuable walk out.
The other night I invited Wayson over to watch a film I'd taken out of the library, Woody's "To Rome with Love." It hasn't had rave reviews, but how can you go wrong with Colin Firth and Rome?! But I couldn't get my DVD player to work, infuriating, enraging, my technological incompetence. Luckily, between Bruce in Vancouver, who told me to try switching the TV to channel 3, and my son Sam, who reminded me the DVD remote was on the bookshelf - the DVD remote I'd completely forgotten existed - it works perfectly. So now I'm going to make popcorn and Carol and I are going to watch.
Happy chilly Friday night, everyone.
TWO HOURS LATER: Well, as Theresa pointed out below, I had the wrong film! It's "Magic in the Moonlight" that's got Colin Firth and is set not in Rome but in the south of France. That said, Carol and I did enjoy it - some hilarious stuff and beautiful Rome - except that nearly the entire film is in Italian with subtitles, which were below the frame of my TV screen. So we were struggling to translate and figure out the plot. But otherwise ... well, it was Rome.
And I'm healthy. So no complaints about NUTHIN.
January 20, 2015
the miracle cure
This week reminded me why I'm glad no longer to be an actress - when you're sick in show biz, you still have to do the show. Sick schmick, on you go. Once I had the worst flu, had to go onstage and merrily sing and dance and then lie down just offstage, shivering with fever. Teaching - not so much.
On Sunday evening, I thought I was going to have to cancel my upcoming classes. I had a heaving stomach and a band of pain behind my eyes that left me unable to read. My friends JM and Richard came over to watch Downton, took one look at me and turned around to go home.
When Downton came on, I almost couldn't watch. But also couldn't miss it. So I lay on the sofa under many blankets and turned it on. Became completely absorbed - the Russian revolution, that annoying Bolshie teacher again, the tedious Bates story, poor frantic Anna, the nice new ladies' maid, poor sad Edith, racy Mary, stuffy Lord Grantham and his wife the naughty Cora, O the seductive power of Italian art ... Laughed out loud at the last scene, Mrs. Crawley and the Dowager, those two superb actresses - and turning it off, realized that my head and stomach felt fine.
Was I cured by fine British drama? Or was it the 2 aspirin I took before the show? Whatever, it was a miracle.
So I got through the big class Monday night and the smaller advanced class this afternoon with no problem, because I love my job and was happy to see all those faces and get on with the work. But now that teaching is over for now, I have collapsed in bed. It's rest time.
Here's the link to a wonderful article in the NYT that proves writing about your life makes you happier - something I've known since starting my first diary at the age of nine.
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/01/19/writing-your-way-to-happiness/?emc=eta1
And a link to an exciting announcement: the Moth storytelling event is finally coming to Toronto. I've managed to catch it twice in NYC and am thrilled it's going to be here. Except - two big caveats: the host is one of their American regulars, not a local person - I sure hope the storytellers will be from here. And it's expensive - $45 if you're not a member of the Bloor Cinema. In the States it's ten bucks. Why are we paying far more? Phooey.
http://boxoffice.hotdocs.ca/WebSales/pages/info.aspx?evtinfo=33729~fff311b7-cdad-4e14-9ae4-a9905e1b9cb0&
The Moth is a great addition to the city. Hope they find a local host and drop the price, then my excitement will be unmitigated.
More soup.
On Sunday evening, I thought I was going to have to cancel my upcoming classes. I had a heaving stomach and a band of pain behind my eyes that left me unable to read. My friends JM and Richard came over to watch Downton, took one look at me and turned around to go home.
When Downton came on, I almost couldn't watch. But also couldn't miss it. So I lay on the sofa under many blankets and turned it on. Became completely absorbed - the Russian revolution, that annoying Bolshie teacher again, the tedious Bates story, poor frantic Anna, the nice new ladies' maid, poor sad Edith, racy Mary, stuffy Lord Grantham and his wife the naughty Cora, O the seductive power of Italian art ... Laughed out loud at the last scene, Mrs. Crawley and the Dowager, those two superb actresses - and turning it off, realized that my head and stomach felt fine.
Was I cured by fine British drama? Or was it the 2 aspirin I took before the show? Whatever, it was a miracle.
So I got through the big class Monday night and the smaller advanced class this afternoon with no problem, because I love my job and was happy to see all those faces and get on with the work. But now that teaching is over for now, I have collapsed in bed. It's rest time.
Here's the link to a wonderful article in the NYT that proves writing about your life makes you happier - something I've known since starting my first diary at the age of nine.
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/01/19/writing-your-way-to-happiness/?emc=eta1
And a link to an exciting announcement: the Moth storytelling event is finally coming to Toronto. I've managed to catch it twice in NYC and am thrilled it's going to be here. Except - two big caveats: the host is one of their American regulars, not a local person - I sure hope the storytellers will be from here. And it's expensive - $45 if you're not a member of the Bloor Cinema. In the States it's ten bucks. Why are we paying far more? Phooey.
http://boxoffice.hotdocs.ca/WebSales/pages/info.aspx?evtinfo=33729~fff311b7-cdad-4e14-9ae4-a9905e1b9cb0&
The Moth is a great addition to the city. Hope they find a local host and drop the price, then my excitement will be unmitigated.
More soup.
January 18, 2015
Where are the editors?
Not perky, but human - I actually got dressed this afternoon for a meeting here, a review of the Babe in the Barn pageant with suggestions for next year. But I will take it very easy until class tomorrow evening, with only Downton on tap for tonight. It's a flu bug, I think, fended off before it dug itself in too deeply. Ah, the power and glory of chicken soup and rest.
Spent last evening in bed reading Plum Johnson's memoir "They Left Us Everything," which I was happy to learn has been nominated for the Charles Taylor Non-fiction Prize, the biggest non-fiction prize in the country. Happy - because it's a personal-type memoir as opposed to the fact-heavy non-fiction books about politics or history that have dominated the list other years. This year there are several memoirs on the list. THERE'S HOPE FOR US YET.
But I had problems with the book. Mostly - as so often - I was left asking, "Where was the editor?" The book is a fun, lively and often moving saga about the last years and deaths of her very strong elderly parents, and the herculean task of clearing out the family home, a lake-side Oakville mansion packed to the rafters with stuff. The writing was fluid and vivid, the story entertaining, at least for those of us who've been there and done something like that - and she has a fascinating family to boot.
But the book was much too long, lengthy descriptions of the lake, many many family gatherings, many openings of boxes and meanderings off into other issues which are touched on lightly and then vanish. Wayson was here recently with a book written by the daughter of a very famous Canadian author, a novel that has achieved great reviews and international distribution, but which he said was greatly over-written. He showed me - from the first page, sentences sagging under the weight of adjectives, often five in a row, viz, "Her expression was calm, unruffled, serene, placid, unemotional ..." Etc.
The writers I edit for know the wrath of my red pen. CUT! PICK ONE! LESS IS MORE! I repeat. But no one did for this novelist, and no one did for Plum Johnson.
Of course, I know how it happens. It happened to me during the last So True event - I'd decided to talk about being an actress, I'd practiced my riveting talk which, it turned out, was way too long. Tedious. I will try not to make that mistake again. It's our job to come up with a lot of stuff, then to try to see what doesn't work ourselves and take it out, and then to turn it over to someone who will help us cut a great deal more. As I say to my students, there are two important parts of a memoir: what you put in, and what you leave out. Which is just as important.
While we're on the topic of self-editing ... a New Yorker article on Beethoven quotes his negativity about his own life and work. "Everything I do apart from music is badly done and stupid," he once wrote, and later, about his late string quartets which many feel are the pinnacle of Western civilization's creative achievements, he wrote only, "Thank God, there is less lack of imagination than ever before."
That was as much self-praise as he could muster. Let's remember, when we get discouraged, just what Beethoven means in the world today.
Spent last evening in bed reading Plum Johnson's memoir "They Left Us Everything," which I was happy to learn has been nominated for the Charles Taylor Non-fiction Prize, the biggest non-fiction prize in the country. Happy - because it's a personal-type memoir as opposed to the fact-heavy non-fiction books about politics or history that have dominated the list other years. This year there are several memoirs on the list. THERE'S HOPE FOR US YET.
But I had problems with the book. Mostly - as so often - I was left asking, "Where was the editor?" The book is a fun, lively and often moving saga about the last years and deaths of her very strong elderly parents, and the herculean task of clearing out the family home, a lake-side Oakville mansion packed to the rafters with stuff. The writing was fluid and vivid, the story entertaining, at least for those of us who've been there and done something like that - and she has a fascinating family to boot.
But the book was much too long, lengthy descriptions of the lake, many many family gatherings, many openings of boxes and meanderings off into other issues which are touched on lightly and then vanish. Wayson was here recently with a book written by the daughter of a very famous Canadian author, a novel that has achieved great reviews and international distribution, but which he said was greatly over-written. He showed me - from the first page, sentences sagging under the weight of adjectives, often five in a row, viz, "Her expression was calm, unruffled, serene, placid, unemotional ..." Etc.
The writers I edit for know the wrath of my red pen. CUT! PICK ONE! LESS IS MORE! I repeat. But no one did for this novelist, and no one did for Plum Johnson.
Of course, I know how it happens. It happened to me during the last So True event - I'd decided to talk about being an actress, I'd practiced my riveting talk which, it turned out, was way too long. Tedious. I will try not to make that mistake again. It's our job to come up with a lot of stuff, then to try to see what doesn't work ourselves and take it out, and then to turn it over to someone who will help us cut a great deal more. As I say to my students, there are two important parts of a memoir: what you put in, and what you leave out. Which is just as important.
While we're on the topic of self-editing ... a New Yorker article on Beethoven quotes his negativity about his own life and work. "Everything I do apart from music is badly done and stupid," he once wrote, and later, about his late string quartets which many feel are the pinnacle of Western civilization's creative achievements, he wrote only, "Thank God, there is less lack of imagination than ever before."
That was as much self-praise as he could muster. Let's remember, when we get discouraged, just what Beethoven means in the world today.
January 17, 2015
a student story
I heard recently from a longterm student, a woman I admire deeply. She's a busy professional with a family and a painful background - an abusive father, a passive, ill mother. Her stories are often funny, about her job and day to day activities, but sometimes she has written about her despair at being helpless to protect her sick mother from her dad; how she was excluded from all family activities and had not seen them for a long time.
She found out recently that her parents had decided to move to assisted living, and the staff at the residence saw immediately that her father was a bullying abuser and separated them. Her mother and father now live in separate rooms, and their time together is strictly regulated. For the first time in years, last week my student was able to visit her mother, spend time with her and not have to deal with her father. It's a new life for them both. She wrote a stunning essay about it. And then she sent this to me:
Thank you for giving our writing, and me, a safe haven in which to grow.
Beth, do you remember when ... wrote (in your day class at U of T years ago) a piece that closed with the image of him walking down a corridor with his back to us, holding the hand of his child self, and promising to look after him? You wrote to me afterward that we all need to do that. I have thought of that image so many times this week. I can see my hand reaching out to the little girl who has felt abandoned and hurt her whole life, by the "blood family" she tried very hard to please and love. I write about my mom's freedom. But Beth, "What the story is really about" is, I think, the dawning of my own freedom, and being able to reach out to that little girl and save myself.
Blessings.
She found out recently that her parents had decided to move to assisted living, and the staff at the residence saw immediately that her father was a bullying abuser and separated them. Her mother and father now live in separate rooms, and their time together is strictly regulated. For the first time in years, last week my student was able to visit her mother, spend time with her and not have to deal with her father. It's a new life for them both. She wrote a stunning essay about it. And then she sent this to me:
Thank you for giving our writing, and me, a safe haven in which to grow.
Beth, do you remember when ... wrote (in your day class at U of T years ago) a piece that closed with the image of him walking down a corridor with his back to us, holding the hand of his child self, and promising to look after him? You wrote to me afterward that we all need to do that. I have thought of that image so many times this week. I can see my hand reaching out to the little girl who has felt abandoned and hurt her whole life, by the "blood family" she tried very hard to please and love. I write about my mom's freedom. But Beth, "What the story is really about" is, I think, the dawning of my own freedom, and being able to reach out to that little girl and save myself.
Blessings.
my turn
Oh dear it's a hard life. I'm in bed with a bit of a bug, as well as my computer, the Saturday Globe and Star, my writing notebook and my cell phone. The fridge is full of leftovers from Thursday's student potluck, and there's a chicken soup simmering on the stove. It's supposed to go up to plus one today or tomorrow, but I will not be out revelling in the balmy breezes. I need to make sure I don't get really sick, as I've a very full class to teach on Monday evening and an almost full one on Tuesday midday.
Cannot get sicker. Not possible. So - soup, rest, zinc, vitamin C. Oh - and watching the few sparrows who've returned to the feeder. Perhaps the seed they've been avoiding all week might pass muster after all.
How grateful I am that my calendar lists exactly nothing for today. If I were well, I might go to the market, to the Y, for a walk, to visit friends or family, to a movie - Wild! Selma! Two days one night! Citizenfour! I'm falling behind. (And furious that Mr. Turner was not nominated for best pic, director or actor... ridiculous. My guess is that it's because Mike Leigh will not suck up to Hollywood. Ridiculous that Selma's director and lead actor were not nominated. I know, nothing new here. It'll be an interesting night that I'll do my best to avoid and probably not succeed. But - Keira Knightley in Imitation Game? She's sweet, but Best Supporting Actress? Come on!)
Instead of catching up on my movies, I'm lying here with my butt starting to fall asleep and snacks nearby. I don't believe in starving a fever, but I very much believe in feeding a cold.
Just spent an hour in 1979, working on the memoir. Yesterday - as happens often - I lost heart. What's the point? I thought. No one will want to read this boring self-centred drivel. Today I re-read the draft, all its tentative 18,000 words in 50 pages, and I can see there's something there. What, I'm not sure yet, but something. Have to push through to some kind of ending and then go back and figure it out.
That's what I tell all my students all the time. Not so easy, though, when it's my turn. Just got this from Bruce the professional pianist - it explains a lot about us all.
Cannot get sicker. Not possible. So - soup, rest, zinc, vitamin C. Oh - and watching the few sparrows who've returned to the feeder. Perhaps the seed they've been avoiding all week might pass muster after all.
How grateful I am that my calendar lists exactly nothing for today. If I were well, I might go to the market, to the Y, for a walk, to visit friends or family, to a movie - Wild! Selma! Two days one night! Citizenfour! I'm falling behind. (And furious that Mr. Turner was not nominated for best pic, director or actor... ridiculous. My guess is that it's because Mike Leigh will not suck up to Hollywood. Ridiculous that Selma's director and lead actor were not nominated. I know, nothing new here. It'll be an interesting night that I'll do my best to avoid and probably not succeed. But - Keira Knightley in Imitation Game? She's sweet, but Best Supporting Actress? Come on!)
Instead of catching up on my movies, I'm lying here with my butt starting to fall asleep and snacks nearby. I don't believe in starving a fever, but I very much believe in feeding a cold.
Just spent an hour in 1979, working on the memoir. Yesterday - as happens often - I lost heart. What's the point? I thought. No one will want to read this boring self-centred drivel. Today I re-read the draft, all its tentative 18,000 words in 50 pages, and I can see there's something there. What, I'm not sure yet, but something. Have to push through to some kind of ending and then go back and figure it out.
That's what I tell all my students all the time. Not so easy, though, when it's my turn. Just got this from Bruce the professional pianist - it explains a lot about us all.
