Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 224
December 31, 2014
Lady Luck in 2015
Yesterday, I went to one of my least favourite places on earth, the vast Eaton's Centre mall, where I returned the sweet gift of diamond stud earrings from my son, which I don't need, and bought instead a pair of comfortable black walking shoes, which I do. Ready for the next trip to Paris. Thank you, Sam.
Last night, PBS showed the Kennedy Centre Honours, a yearly event in which the President honours great American and world artists: last night Al Greene, a ballerina, Lily Tomlin, Sting, Tom Hanks. I was watching the wonderful film "The Wind in the Willows," with the usual great British actors as Toad, Rat, Mole - Bob Hoskins as Badger, hilarious - when the show started from Washington and I thought I'd watch a bit. But I couldn't switch back - it was beautiful, well-written with unforgettable performances, the incredible Jennifer Hudson singing Al Greene and Lady Gaga belting out Sting, who had tears in his eyes.
And in the middle of the honorees, the President of the United States and his wife, looking more relaxed and open than they have for years. If you didn't read the newspapers and instead watched that show, you'd believe that the U.S. has no race problem, so seamless was the mixing of the races, performers black and white honouring each other. Too bad that's only true in certain places and on stage.
New Year's Eve has been a meaningless day to me for years - even back in the dark ages when I received party invitations, I was not big on New Year's Eve festivities, and now I don't receive any invitations at all. I'm planning to go to the Y - it's Wednesday - and read and work. Maybe I'll watch "A hard day's night" which is being shown on TCM, though I've seen it forty times already.
Usually I don't read horoscopes, but I did read my horoscope for the year, printed in the Star, which couldn't be much better.
Leo: Lady Luck rides with you into 2015. As of late, you have been very lucky (no kidding!) and that magic continues through August 2015. You have entered one of life's peaks, which means you can manifest what you desire. You are entering a 12-year luck cycle, and the first year is one of the most fortunate. (Woo hoo!) Decide what you want to add to your life, as you will be very much in control of your destiny. (A healthy babe in July - that'll do.) You will have a great time creating more of what you want.
Come late August, or any time in the following months, you could hit the lottery or get a pay raise. (Maybe we'll finally sell Mum's condo.) By mid-2016, you will be witnessing an upward swing in your finances. (Well, they couldn't go downward very far, so upward is the only way. Maybe the memoir will sell more than 74 copies. Be still my beating heart.) Travel and foreigners will be fortunate for you all year long, because it will drive you to learn about other customs and ways. (How to cut French cheese - I'll practice again next year. Maybe one day I'll get it right.) This knowledge could play into your life later, if not this year.
A twelve year luck cycle! Surely I'm in the middle of it already.
Happy New Year to you all, and a joyful, productive and healthy 2015. Thank you for following me on my journey. Onward.
PS. Got the Globe horoscope: It tells me "You've spent enough time thinking and planning, now you must get on and actually create something that brings lasting fame and fortune."
Time to write the next memoir. Lasting fame and fortune for moi!
Last night, PBS showed the Kennedy Centre Honours, a yearly event in which the President honours great American and world artists: last night Al Greene, a ballerina, Lily Tomlin, Sting, Tom Hanks. I was watching the wonderful film "The Wind in the Willows," with the usual great British actors as Toad, Rat, Mole - Bob Hoskins as Badger, hilarious - when the show started from Washington and I thought I'd watch a bit. But I couldn't switch back - it was beautiful, well-written with unforgettable performances, the incredible Jennifer Hudson singing Al Greene and Lady Gaga belting out Sting, who had tears in his eyes.
And in the middle of the honorees, the President of the United States and his wife, looking more relaxed and open than they have for years. If you didn't read the newspapers and instead watched that show, you'd believe that the U.S. has no race problem, so seamless was the mixing of the races, performers black and white honouring each other. Too bad that's only true in certain places and on stage.
New Year's Eve has been a meaningless day to me for years - even back in the dark ages when I received party invitations, I was not big on New Year's Eve festivities, and now I don't receive any invitations at all. I'm planning to go to the Y - it's Wednesday - and read and work. Maybe I'll watch "A hard day's night" which is being shown on TCM, though I've seen it forty times already.
Usually I don't read horoscopes, but I did read my horoscope for the year, printed in the Star, which couldn't be much better.
Leo: Lady Luck rides with you into 2015. As of late, you have been very lucky (no kidding!) and that magic continues through August 2015. You have entered one of life's peaks, which means you can manifest what you desire. You are entering a 12-year luck cycle, and the first year is one of the most fortunate. (Woo hoo!) Decide what you want to add to your life, as you will be very much in control of your destiny. (A healthy babe in July - that'll do.) You will have a great time creating more of what you want.
Come late August, or any time in the following months, you could hit the lottery or get a pay raise. (Maybe we'll finally sell Mum's condo.) By mid-2016, you will be witnessing an upward swing in your finances. (Well, they couldn't go downward very far, so upward is the only way. Maybe the memoir will sell more than 74 copies. Be still my beating heart.) Travel and foreigners will be fortunate for you all year long, because it will drive you to learn about other customs and ways. (How to cut French cheese - I'll practice again next year. Maybe one day I'll get it right.) This knowledge could play into your life later, if not this year.
A twelve year luck cycle! Surely I'm in the middle of it already.
Happy New Year to you all, and a joyful, productive and healthy 2015. Thank you for following me on my journey. Onward.
PS. Got the Globe horoscope: It tells me "You've spent enough time thinking and planning, now you must get on and actually create something that brings lasting fame and fortune."
Time to write the next memoir. Lasting fame and fortune for moi!
December 30, 2014
next year's news
Gifts. Yesterday, I received a small package from Zurich; on the custom's form was written "Music for a kindred spirit." Inside a CD entitled "Blue Suburban Skies" - a compilation of songs appreciating the Beatles, sent by a Canadian living in Switzerland who has ordered my memoir. He and two Vancouver friends, musicians and fellow Beatlemaniacs, have made the CD. It's wonderful - sweet music by lifelong fans. If only I could have sung backup.
Today, longterm student Helen, whose memoir about exile from and return to Czechoslovakia will be finished next year, brought me a gift - a giant, very, very soft polar bear stuffie. It's ostensibly for Eli, but I have the feeling that squishy bear and I will be exchanging hugs on long winter nights.
One more day of 2014. What a fantastic year for my family if not for the planet: for me, two books out and another with a publisher, and my kids expanding richly into their respective universes and especially their work.
Next year - well, it's time to talk about what happens next summer. Yesterday I took Eli to the Royal Ontario Museum and back home for dinner while my daughter had an ultrasound and then went to the funeral of a young acquaintance who died by his own hand. Eli and I loved the dinosaur skeletons, the bugs, the teepee, the stuffed creatures - though those were hard for him to understand. "De woof not moving," he said, looking puzzled at a stuffed wolf, and I tried to explain that this was a non-living but once alive wolf preserved for our edification. Try talking about taxidermy to a bright toddler. Dead? Stuffed? He is already preoccupied with death. He's two.
Anna brought back an ultrasound picture - yes, a baby. There is a baby due July 14th, Bastille Day. Great, I said to her, a revolutionary! It's early days yet, but she's fine. No, there is no husband. Eli's dad is very much in Eli's life, and hopefully this new baby's dad will be very much in his or hers. My daughter will do her damnedest to make sure that's so, and her damnedest is something powerful. One of the great lessons of my old age: my kids do not live my life, they live their own in their own way, and a most interesting way at that.
So, all being well, next July there will be a baby, and then on August 1st, I turn 65 and have decided to have a party. I believe in celebrating everything possible. Big party Aug. 1 to celebrate getting my pension, as good a reason as any. But more importantly, to celebrate a brand new life and a curious and compassionate three year old, and their 30 year old uncle, and their brave and beautiful mother.
In the meantime, I am starting the official Left-wing Atheists Who Love Pope Francis fan club. I'll be secretary.
http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/dec/27/pope-francis-edict-climate-change-us-rightwing?CMP=EMCNEWEML6619I2
And ... think I'll take up the drums. I have the other two covered.
Today, longterm student Helen, whose memoir about exile from and return to Czechoslovakia will be finished next year, brought me a gift - a giant, very, very soft polar bear stuffie. It's ostensibly for Eli, but I have the feeling that squishy bear and I will be exchanging hugs on long winter nights.
One more day of 2014. What a fantastic year for my family if not for the planet: for me, two books out and another with a publisher, and my kids expanding richly into their respective universes and especially their work.
Next year - well, it's time to talk about what happens next summer. Yesterday I took Eli to the Royal Ontario Museum and back home for dinner while my daughter had an ultrasound and then went to the funeral of a young acquaintance who died by his own hand. Eli and I loved the dinosaur skeletons, the bugs, the teepee, the stuffed creatures - though those were hard for him to understand. "De woof not moving," he said, looking puzzled at a stuffed wolf, and I tried to explain that this was a non-living but once alive wolf preserved for our edification. Try talking about taxidermy to a bright toddler. Dead? Stuffed? He is already preoccupied with death. He's two.
Anna brought back an ultrasound picture - yes, a baby. There is a baby due July 14th, Bastille Day. Great, I said to her, a revolutionary! It's early days yet, but she's fine. No, there is no husband. Eli's dad is very much in Eli's life, and hopefully this new baby's dad will be very much in his or hers. My daughter will do her damnedest to make sure that's so, and her damnedest is something powerful. One of the great lessons of my old age: my kids do not live my life, they live their own in their own way, and a most interesting way at that.
So, all being well, next July there will be a baby, and then on August 1st, I turn 65 and have decided to have a party. I believe in celebrating everything possible. Big party Aug. 1 to celebrate getting my pension, as good a reason as any. But more importantly, to celebrate a brand new life and a curious and compassionate three year old, and their 30 year old uncle, and their brave and beautiful mother.
In the meantime, I am starting the official Left-wing Atheists Who Love Pope Francis fan club. I'll be secretary.
http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/dec/27/pope-francis-edict-climate-change-us-rightwing?CMP=EMCNEWEML6619I2
And ... think I'll take up the drums. I have the other two covered.
December 29, 2014
Gerry Caplan nails the CRA
A superb article by the always superb Gerry Caplan that has my heart pounding with rage. He's writing about the environmental and social justice organizations perceived to be on the opposite side to Stephen Harper that are being viciously audited by the CRA, while their right-wing equivalents are not.
Sometimes the serenity gained by meditation doesn't cut it. Sometimes teeth-grinding fury is the only response.
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/as-cra-audits-charities-theres-a-scandal-within-a-scandal/article21599291/
Yesterday, Wayson and I went to see the extraordinary "National Gallery" - a three-hour documentary about one of the world's great art institutions. Mesmerizing. We go inside staff meetings about budget, marketing, charity requests; inside the unbelievably finicky work of the restorers and refinishers, the people hand-carving new bits of frame and covering them in gold leaf. And mostly, we follow docents and professionals as they explain specific paintings to the crowds. They are very learned and I learned so much. Most moving - a class for the visually impaired and blind, in which they are given paper with a raised surface equivalent to the outlines of a painting by Pissarro, which is then described and explained to them as their fingers move over the page.
The camera lingers on the faces in the gallery of those looking at paintings, and then on the faces in the paintings themselves. So very beautiful - to see how alike we modern folk are to those in very different dress three, four, five hundred years ago. Underneath, just the same.
Highly recommended. Pee first. It's long, maybe a tiny bit too long. But maybe not.
Sometimes the serenity gained by meditation doesn't cut it. Sometimes teeth-grinding fury is the only response.
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/as-cra-audits-charities-theres-a-scandal-within-a-scandal/article21599291/
Yesterday, Wayson and I went to see the extraordinary "National Gallery" - a three-hour documentary about one of the world's great art institutions. Mesmerizing. We go inside staff meetings about budget, marketing, charity requests; inside the unbelievably finicky work of the restorers and refinishers, the people hand-carving new bits of frame and covering them in gold leaf. And mostly, we follow docents and professionals as they explain specific paintings to the crowds. They are very learned and I learned so much. Most moving - a class for the visually impaired and blind, in which they are given paper with a raised surface equivalent to the outlines of a painting by Pissarro, which is then described and explained to them as their fingers move over the page.
The camera lingers on the faces in the gallery of those looking at paintings, and then on the faces in the paintings themselves. So very beautiful - to see how alike we modern folk are to those in very different dress three, four, five hundred years ago. Underneath, just the same.
Highly recommended. Pee first. It's long, maybe a tiny bit too long. But maybe not.
December 27, 2014
Matisse and Robin Hood
Two treats to tell you about: yesterday a documentary called Matisse: The Cut Outs, about one of my all-time favourite artists, and today a play called The Heart of Robin Hood. Very different, both wonderful.
Between the ages of 74 and 84, when he died, Matisse opened up an entire new frontier for himself. Ill, mostly bed-ridden, he began to work with scissors and paper. He'd paint or instruct his assistants to paint large pieces of paper with Matisse-y colours - yellows, greens and especially blues - and then he'd cut bits out with big scissors and create magnificent art. He said he was creating gardens and swimming pools because he couldn't walk or swim any more. There was a defiance of death - "a final fireworks," someone called it - in this phenomenal creativity at the end of his life. Sick and old, he not only continued creating, he invented something so new and spectacular, it inspired countless artists after him.
"Composition with masks."
He's like a child with his scissors and his paper, said Picasso with a touch of jealousy.
When the film compared Matisse and Picasso, I thought, They're like the Lennon and McCartney of 20th century art. Both brilliant beyond compare, but one is wild, crazy, selfish and domineering, the other self-contained, family-oriented, disciplined, making beauty. One of the great souls of the earth. Highly recommended.
Every December, I take my dear friend John, the handyman who keeps this house going, and his wife and daughter to the theatre, so I look for a show we'll all enjoy. One year War Horse made John cry; last year the new Riverdance show. The Heart of Robin Hood worked wonderfully for all of us, from Emilie at 9 to John at ... 70? From the Royal Shakespeare Company originally, it was mind-bogglingly energetic - actors descending upside down on ropes, clambering up or hurtling down the nearly perpendicular green wall that was the set, all kinds of comedy, tons of blue-grass music - fast-moving and very entertaining.
"The Snail."
Finally, I just read an interview with Karl Ove Knausgaard, with an interesting quote, with which I'll leave you.
KK: Creativity is located somewhere other than in the thoughts, which all musicians and painters know, so you need to neutralize the thinking while writing, to get to a place where they don’t matter, and one way to do that is to outrun them, just write as fast as possible. To make a piece of art, says Lawrence Durrell somewhere in The Alexandria Quartet, you need to set yourself a goal, and then go there in your sleep. The sleepwalking is essential. The difficult thing for me has always been to get there – I could easily work on a novel for five years with no result, but then, all of a sudden, something opens up, and it’s always the same.
I saw an interview with Ian McEwan once where he talked about the selfless state of writing, and that’s what it is – you write exactly the way you read, with no awareness of the self, you disappear completely, and that’s why I’m writing: this place, with no self, is just so desirable.
Between the ages of 74 and 84, when he died, Matisse opened up an entire new frontier for himself. Ill, mostly bed-ridden, he began to work with scissors and paper. He'd paint or instruct his assistants to paint large pieces of paper with Matisse-y colours - yellows, greens and especially blues - and then he'd cut bits out with big scissors and create magnificent art. He said he was creating gardens and swimming pools because he couldn't walk or swim any more. There was a defiance of death - "a final fireworks," someone called it - in this phenomenal creativity at the end of his life. Sick and old, he not only continued creating, he invented something so new and spectacular, it inspired countless artists after him.
"Composition with masks."
He's like a child with his scissors and his paper, said Picasso with a touch of jealousy.
When the film compared Matisse and Picasso, I thought, They're like the Lennon and McCartney of 20th century art. Both brilliant beyond compare, but one is wild, crazy, selfish and domineering, the other self-contained, family-oriented, disciplined, making beauty. One of the great souls of the earth. Highly recommended.
Every December, I take my dear friend John, the handyman who keeps this house going, and his wife and daughter to the theatre, so I look for a show we'll all enjoy. One year War Horse made John cry; last year the new Riverdance show. The Heart of Robin Hood worked wonderfully for all of us, from Emilie at 9 to John at ... 70? From the Royal Shakespeare Company originally, it was mind-bogglingly energetic - actors descending upside down on ropes, clambering up or hurtling down the nearly perpendicular green wall that was the set, all kinds of comedy, tons of blue-grass music - fast-moving and very entertaining.
"The Snail."Finally, I just read an interview with Karl Ove Knausgaard, with an interesting quote, with which I'll leave you.
KK: Creativity is located somewhere other than in the thoughts, which all musicians and painters know, so you need to neutralize the thinking while writing, to get to a place where they don’t matter, and one way to do that is to outrun them, just write as fast as possible. To make a piece of art, says Lawrence Durrell somewhere in The Alexandria Quartet, you need to set yourself a goal, and then go there in your sleep. The sleepwalking is essential. The difficult thing for me has always been to get there – I could easily work on a novel for five years with no result, but then, all of a sudden, something opens up, and it’s always the same.
I saw an interview with Ian McEwan once where he talked about the selfless state of writing, and that’s what it is – you write exactly the way you read, with no awareness of the self, you disappear completely, and that’s why I’m writing: this place, with no self, is just so desirable.
December 26, 2014
Eleanor Wachtel: Officer of the Order of Canada
When I visited Eleanor earlier this month, she told me this great news, but in secrecy as it hadn't been announced yet. But now it has. With all that the poor old CBC had endured this last while, how glorious that one of its most stalwart employees, recognized worldwide as a master at her craft - seeking out and pinning down the recalcitrant writer bird - has received such public acclaim.
Brava, Eleanor! Well-deserved.
CBC Books @cbcbooks 6h6 hours agoCongratulations to our beloved Writers & Company host @EleanorWachtel. She was elevated to Officer of the #OrderOfCanada!0 replies22 retweets26 favorites Reply Retweet22 Favorite26More
Brava, Eleanor! Well-deserved.
CBC Books @cbcbooks 6h6 hours agoCongratulations to our beloved Writers & Company host @EleanorWachtel. She was elevated to Officer of the #OrderOfCanada!0 replies22 retweets26 favorites Reply Retweet22 Favorite26More
Chrystia Freeland in the NYTimes
Terrific article in the NYT by Chrystia Freeland, a journalist and Liberal politician who is my MP. Maybe, as some of the sour comments afterward point out, she's a little dewy-eyed about Canadian multiculturalism - more power to her. We need a bit of dewy-eyed right about now.
Bilingual Nationhood, Canadian-Style - The New York Time
It's 5 p.m. Boxing Day, and it's over. The minute my son went home at 4, I started to take down the tree. By 5, it was outside, the wreath off the door, the Xmas books and CD's stacked by the stairs ready to be put away for another year. I don't know why I'm so anxious to get past Xmas - a friend wonders whether it's my Jewish half. To me, it's a wonderful but exhausting yearly event and I am relieved when it's over.
Life resumes.
Bilingual Nationhood, Canadian-Style - The New York Time
It's 5 p.m. Boxing Day, and it's over. The minute my son went home at 4, I started to take down the tree. By 5, it was outside, the wreath off the door, the Xmas books and CD's stacked by the stairs ready to be put away for another year. I don't know why I'm so anxious to get past Xmas - a friend wonders whether it's my Jewish half. To me, it's a wonderful but exhausting yearly event and I am relieved when it's over.
Life resumes.
Jenny Offill and Colum McCann
I'm looking at my daytimer - and today's blank, except for "Carole boot camp Y 9 a.m." Dear Carole is teaching a tough class at the Y in half an hour. I will not be there. At one point, I must have imagined wistfully that I might be. No.
Because you also probably have time on your hands today - just sweeping up paper and pine needles, perhaps, doing the rest of the dishes, eating leftovers - Christmas hangover - I present you with this: a beautiful very short story, a true story of course, from the New Yorker by Colum McCann, about family and writing and legacy and truth.
http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/12/22/word-shed
I finished a superb book last night: Jenny Offill's "Dept. of Speculation," which is on many top ten lists. Excerpt below, to give you a tiny taste. It's intense, distilled to the essence, and so profoundly, soul-searingly honest about a woman's life - a writer and writing teacher who marries, has a child, whose marriage barely survives the affair of her husband - that it's hard to believe it's fiction. Either she's an extremely skilled, talented and imaginative writer, or else ... she is all those things and also her marriage barely survived the affair of her husband. Highly recommended.
(As you click on the Paris Review, below, please note that on the right side of the page they offer you Fiction, Interview, Poetry and Portfolio. Something is missing, no? Also, under the interviews, there's "The art of fiction, no. 222," and "The art of non-fiction, No. 6." That means, presumably, 222 interviews about fiction, and 6 about non. Welcome to the real world, Paris Review!)
http://www.theparisreview.org/fiction/6270/magic-and-dread-jenny-offill
Offill quotes famous writers and thinkers throughout, to great effect, including these two, my faves:
What Rilke said: Surely all art is the result of one's having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, to where no one can go any further.
The Zen master Ikkyu was once asked to write a distillation of the highest wisdom. He wrote only one word: Attention.
The visitor was displeased. "Is that all?" So Okkyu obliged him. Two words now.
Attention. Attention.
May you keep busy doing the best possible thing on Boxing Day: Read your socks off, friends.
P.S. Not to mention the many great films that have now hit the cinemas. Here's my list, which I'll try to cross off this week: Mr. Turner, The Imitation Game, Wild, and the Globe Theatre's Midsummer Night's Dream. Also two documentaries: the National Gallery and Matisse. And tomorrow, I'm taking my dearest friend and handyman John and his family to the theatre to see "The Heart of Robin Hood." So little time, so much to do!
Not to mention, yes, the glories of television. Last night, I watched the Christmas special of "Call the Midwife," one of the best TV shows ever. Wept. Of course.
Onward.
Because you also probably have time on your hands today - just sweeping up paper and pine needles, perhaps, doing the rest of the dishes, eating leftovers - Christmas hangover - I present you with this: a beautiful very short story, a true story of course, from the New Yorker by Colum McCann, about family and writing and legacy and truth.
http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/12/22/word-shed
I finished a superb book last night: Jenny Offill's "Dept. of Speculation," which is on many top ten lists. Excerpt below, to give you a tiny taste. It's intense, distilled to the essence, and so profoundly, soul-searingly honest about a woman's life - a writer and writing teacher who marries, has a child, whose marriage barely survives the affair of her husband - that it's hard to believe it's fiction. Either she's an extremely skilled, talented and imaginative writer, or else ... she is all those things and also her marriage barely survived the affair of her husband. Highly recommended.
(As you click on the Paris Review, below, please note that on the right side of the page they offer you Fiction, Interview, Poetry and Portfolio. Something is missing, no? Also, under the interviews, there's "The art of fiction, no. 222," and "The art of non-fiction, No. 6." That means, presumably, 222 interviews about fiction, and 6 about non. Welcome to the real world, Paris Review!)
http://www.theparisreview.org/fiction/6270/magic-and-dread-jenny-offill
Offill quotes famous writers and thinkers throughout, to great effect, including these two, my faves:
What Rilke said: Surely all art is the result of one's having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, to where no one can go any further.
The Zen master Ikkyu was once asked to write a distillation of the highest wisdom. He wrote only one word: Attention.
The visitor was displeased. "Is that all?" So Okkyu obliged him. Two words now.
Attention. Attention.
May you keep busy doing the best possible thing on Boxing Day: Read your socks off, friends.
P.S. Not to mention the many great films that have now hit the cinemas. Here's my list, which I'll try to cross off this week: Mr. Turner, The Imitation Game, Wild, and the Globe Theatre's Midsummer Night's Dream. Also two documentaries: the National Gallery and Matisse. And tomorrow, I'm taking my dearest friend and handyman John and his family to the theatre to see "The Heart of Robin Hood." So little time, so much to do!
Not to mention, yes, the glories of television. Last night, I watched the Christmas special of "Call the Midwife," one of the best TV shows ever. Wept. Of course.
Onward.
December 25, 2014
Been there, done that.
Of course it's overload. Christmas is exhausting and fraught at the best of times, let alone that I am commemorating the second anniversary of my mother's death this day. So - some tears, especially when Johann Sebastian Bach was on the radio. I burned a candle for Mum all day and went in the afternoon to the Necropolis, where we scattered her and Dad's ashes last Christmas day. Said hello to them. I heard that they're very proud of their grandchildren and great-grandson. I knew they would be.
A wonderful Christmas despite its fraughtness. (Is that a word? Well, it is now.) The young man slept late, giving the grown-ups a chance for a quiet cup of coffee and talk - a great moment, as this rarely happens these days, with their busy schedules and social lives. For a brief moment, they both put down their phones and we chatted.
My favourite gifts were the original oil painting I got from Eli - showing a mature abstract style and sense of colour; the Paul McCartney tribute CD (of course) - and from my son, both for me and his sister, a pair of diamond stud earrings. I kid you not. And for me, a box of handmade chocolate truffles as well. He loves us.
Mr. Eli liked all his toys - Thomas the Tank Engine is a beautifully designed toy that he played with for hours, attaching and taking apart the various bits and watching it go round and round on its track. My gift to him, besides books, was a Playmobil firetruck that has to be assembled, and it defeated us - it stayed in the box until Eli's dad can put it together.
Wayson and Carol had breakfast with us - my brother's smoked salmon with bagels and cream cheese - and we spent all afternoon preparing the feast. After our dear friend Holly arrived, we sat down to an enormous meal, everything was delicious, and then it was over. We cleaned up, we did our best to wear out the boy who does not stop, and they went home. And now I want to put every bit of Christmas away and get on with life.
Anna and Eli slept in the spare room, and last night before sleep, Anna said, "You know Santa is coming tomorrow with his elves and his presents." And Eli said, "Me not want elfs. Me want Santa and presents."
All right, no goddamn elfs allowed around here.
Last Florida shot. A distant dream.
Back to reality - this morning. That's the tree I found lying on the sidewalk. This is the before shot.
After.
He got great books, including "Baby Bear" and "Sam and Dave dig a hole."
Clean-up.
I hope your day was fraught in the best way too - with memory and emotion and closeness and love.
A wonderful Christmas despite its fraughtness. (Is that a word? Well, it is now.) The young man slept late, giving the grown-ups a chance for a quiet cup of coffee and talk - a great moment, as this rarely happens these days, with their busy schedules and social lives. For a brief moment, they both put down their phones and we chatted.
My favourite gifts were the original oil painting I got from Eli - showing a mature abstract style and sense of colour; the Paul McCartney tribute CD (of course) - and from my son, both for me and his sister, a pair of diamond stud earrings. I kid you not. And for me, a box of handmade chocolate truffles as well. He loves us.
Mr. Eli liked all his toys - Thomas the Tank Engine is a beautifully designed toy that he played with for hours, attaching and taking apart the various bits and watching it go round and round on its track. My gift to him, besides books, was a Playmobil firetruck that has to be assembled, and it defeated us - it stayed in the box until Eli's dad can put it together.
Wayson and Carol had breakfast with us - my brother's smoked salmon with bagels and cream cheese - and we spent all afternoon preparing the feast. After our dear friend Holly arrived, we sat down to an enormous meal, everything was delicious, and then it was over. We cleaned up, we did our best to wear out the boy who does not stop, and they went home. And now I want to put every bit of Christmas away and get on with life.
Anna and Eli slept in the spare room, and last night before sleep, Anna said, "You know Santa is coming tomorrow with his elves and his presents." And Eli said, "Me not want elfs. Me want Santa and presents."
All right, no goddamn elfs allowed around here.
Last Florida shot. A distant dream.
Back to reality - this morning. That's the tree I found lying on the sidewalk. This is the before shot.
After. 
He got great books, including "Baby Bear" and "Sam and Dave dig a hole." 
Clean-up.I hope your day was fraught in the best way too - with memory and emotion and closeness and love.
December 24, 2014
Merry Everything
Dear friends, it's nearly midnight Xmas Eve and a wild rain is lashing the windows. The pageant at Riverdale Farm was its lovely friendly hokey self - and we were very lucky, the weather was the best it's ever been, amazingly mild and clear. Baby and family did drop out at the last minute, so for the final pageant in Francey Barn, a lovely couple sitting in the straw, surrounded by wise men, shepherds and angels, were holding a small bundle of rags in the vague shape of a baby. Not quite the same thing, but what can you do? The show must go on.
Eli was more interested in the sheep in the stall next to that final pageant scene - "There's a mummy sheep and a daddy sheep and a baby sheep" - and the goat and the new young horse the Farm has just brought in to replace the two beloved Clydesdales who both died recently.
We all went to Mary's Xmas Eve party with great food in her beautiful house. And then home in the pouring rain to try to get Eli to bed so we could finish Xmas - putting all the prezzies under the tree, putting the stockings out, putting the dishwasher on, making beds for the guests, cleaning up the snacks, toys, books and detritus of a two-year old's afternoon.
We have only snapped at each other a few times, we the assembled family. Ah family. If it weren't for family, there would be no theatre. Praise be.
Merry Christmas to all of you, or Merry Whatever You Celebrate. I wish you a most joyful day tomorrow, alone, with loved ones, with difficult people you try to cheer up - however you're doing it, I hope it's great. Much love to you all. Over and out.
Oh, just before I go - the cast of Downton Abbey has made a spoof of It's a Wonderful Life - two short videos - with George Clooney as Cora's new husband Lord Hollywood. It's funny and charming. A Christmas treat, from me to you.
Downton Abbey for Text Santa - part one - YouTubeDownton Abbey for Text Santa - part two - YouTube
Eli was more interested in the sheep in the stall next to that final pageant scene - "There's a mummy sheep and a daddy sheep and a baby sheep" - and the goat and the new young horse the Farm has just brought in to replace the two beloved Clydesdales who both died recently.
We all went to Mary's Xmas Eve party with great food in her beautiful house. And then home in the pouring rain to try to get Eli to bed so we could finish Xmas - putting all the prezzies under the tree, putting the stockings out, putting the dishwasher on, making beds for the guests, cleaning up the snacks, toys, books and detritus of a two-year old's afternoon.
We have only snapped at each other a few times, we the assembled family. Ah family. If it weren't for family, there would be no theatre. Praise be.
Merry Christmas to all of you, or Merry Whatever You Celebrate. I wish you a most joyful day tomorrow, alone, with loved ones, with difficult people you try to cheer up - however you're doing it, I hope it's great. Much love to you all. Over and out.
Oh, just before I go - the cast of Downton Abbey has made a spoof of It's a Wonderful Life - two short videos - with George Clooney as Cora's new husband Lord Hollywood. It's funny and charming. A Christmas treat, from me to you.
Downton Abbey for Text Santa - part one - YouTubeDownton Abbey for Text Santa - part two - YouTube
December 23, 2014
Who is this Pope guy anyway?
Never did I think I would be reposting a quote from the Pope. But here you go. This guy is something else.I saw what he's talking about up close today - made the mistake of going to Bloor Street to look for a small gift, some Body Shop cream that works on Eli's very dry skin. Walked up and down, only to discover the shop isn't there any more, it has vanished. Looked at various stores as I walked - jammed. Went into Indigo to buy a last minute book - they were lined up 20 deep at the cash. At least they're buying books. But I went home. Insane, it's insane out there.
My son is home, his first days off in months - he'll spend most of the next two days lying on the sofa watching TV, eating or sleeping, anything not to have to smile and be nice to people, since he does that for a living. Don't get me wrong, he's nice to us, but he's mostly flaked out. It is very good to see him, flaked out or not.
I have ended up - how did this happen? - being one of the producers of the annual Christmas pageant at Riverdale Farm yet again this year. My friends and I produced it for nine years and handed it over in exhaustion to others. This year I offered to help a bit, and the woman who took over from me called today to say her back has gone out and she can't make it, could I do it? Now I have lists and calls to make - cast, timing, scripts. At 7 tomorrow, hundreds of people - maybe 400 - will be at the farm to sing Christmas carols and watch shepherds, innkeeper and wife, wise men and angels lead us to the couple sitting in the straw in the barn with their baby, surrounded by the Farm's sheep, goats, cows and horses. Every year, it's a crapshoot, all over the map, but so charming and hokey, so completely community that it works. I hope it does this year too.
It'll be Eli's first pageant.
