Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 75
July 31, 2020
last post in my sixties
I am 69 right now, at 9 p.m. on Friday July 31, but tomorrow, Saturday August 1, I will be 70. Each decade has been like this; it sounds impossibly old until one is in it, and then it just feels like - like Saturday.
Just back from two days at Monique's cottage. We are so incredibly lucky in this country to have wilderness, or relative wilderness, with gorgeous lakes and dense woods an easy drive from our cities. I understand why people flee to these places, and I regret that my children did not have that experience growing up; I didn't have a cottage as a child in Nova Scotia, and neither did my then husband in B.C., and with his demanding job and our lack of money, buying a cottage was a non-starter. But I see what huge value for kids - getting away, even from the internet, to a place where all there is to do is to swim and play in the woods and play board games and read and be together.
My friend and I had a great time; she has a floating dock that at 5 we loaded up with our aperitif drinks and snacks and then pushed out, like Venetian gondoliers, and sat floating in the lake, jabbering in French and drinking rosé, while the loon family, parents and two babies, dove and sang their quavering song not far away. It was glorious. O Canada. This morning, Monique took her coffee and phone to the dock while I stayed ashore with my camera. And then later took the next shot. The sky!
Now, home. Robin kept the garden alive though there's work to be done. It feels crowded and so narrow out there after the cottage, but still, it's beautiful, and there is rosé, and there is HBO: Monique is coming over at 10 to watch Bill Maher with me.
Birthday wishes are coming in from dear friends by email, mail, e-cards, and a package from Lani I get to open tomorrow. There's much to say about life and work and love and time and - But all I'll say right now is: I'm grateful that I'm alive and you're alive and there is so very much to celebrate on this magnificent, flawed, crazy planet.
Just back from two days at Monique's cottage. We are so incredibly lucky in this country to have wilderness, or relative wilderness, with gorgeous lakes and dense woods an easy drive from our cities. I understand why people flee to these places, and I regret that my children did not have that experience growing up; I didn't have a cottage as a child in Nova Scotia, and neither did my then husband in B.C., and with his demanding job and our lack of money, buying a cottage was a non-starter. But I see what huge value for kids - getting away, even from the internet, to a place where all there is to do is to swim and play in the woods and play board games and read and be together.
My friend and I had a great time; she has a floating dock that at 5 we loaded up with our aperitif drinks and snacks and then pushed out, like Venetian gondoliers, and sat floating in the lake, jabbering in French and drinking rosé, while the loon family, parents and two babies, dove and sang their quavering song not far away. It was glorious. O Canada. This morning, Monique took her coffee and phone to the dock while I stayed ashore with my camera. And then later took the next shot. The sky!
Now, home. Robin kept the garden alive though there's work to be done. It feels crowded and so narrow out there after the cottage, but still, it's beautiful, and there is rosé, and there is HBO: Monique is coming over at 10 to watch Bill Maher with me.Birthday wishes are coming in from dear friends by email, mail, e-cards, and a package from Lani I get to open tomorrow. There's much to say about life and work and love and time and - But all I'll say right now is: I'm grateful that I'm alive and you're alive and there is so very much to celebrate on this magnificent, flawed, crazy planet.
July 28, 2020
Cottage time
Your faithful correspondent will be offline for a few days - going to Monique's cottage tomorrow till Friday night. She doesn't have the internet, and I don't post from my phone. Can't believe I'm actually getting out of town - the first time I've gone more than a few blocks from my house, except across town to Anna's, since March 13. Soon driving three hours north.
Speaking of Anna's - today I went to swim in Sunnyside pool with her and the boys. There's all kinds of protocol now, of course, including time-limited 45 minute swims; they have to leave and line up again, so she goes usually for two sessions. Her boys are like seals, like fish, like marine mammals, Ben especially, at just five, doing a powerful breast stroke underwater with no goggles. A marvel. And then - our annual tradition - I took them and their friend Imani to the restaurant on the boardwalk by the beach. They're driving to Nova Scotia next week and I won't see them for a month!
Last night I watched a doc about Maria Montessori and her ground-breaking innovations in the education of children - an amazing woman. They showed her at seventy, and I thought, that's the way seventy used to look - thick solid body, grey bun, glasses, classic grandma. But that is not, I repeat not, what seventy looks like any more. It looks like a grey-haired grandma in Sunnyside pool, laughing as her grandsons cavort.
It's a wonderful time. The book is at last on its way into the world; I posted a pic of the cover on the Creative Nonfiction FB page - on Mondays we are allowed to do a bit of hustling - and 70 people have liked it so far. I find the speed of that astonishing. My attempt at zucchini sex, plunging the male pistils into the female flowers, has produced two big zucchinis. And on Saturday morning, my son is arriving with everything for a very small garden party to celebrate this old bag's 70th.
Got to go pack - flipflops, sundress, b'suit. Rosé and cucumber salad made with my garden cukes. Robin upstairs will be holding the fort. My shoulders are lifting. A bientôt, mes amis.
Speaking of Anna's - today I went to swim in Sunnyside pool with her and the boys. There's all kinds of protocol now, of course, including time-limited 45 minute swims; they have to leave and line up again, so she goes usually for two sessions. Her boys are like seals, like fish, like marine mammals, Ben especially, at just five, doing a powerful breast stroke underwater with no goggles. A marvel. And then - our annual tradition - I took them and their friend Imani to the restaurant on the boardwalk by the beach. They're driving to Nova Scotia next week and I won't see them for a month!
Last night I watched a doc about Maria Montessori and her ground-breaking innovations in the education of children - an amazing woman. They showed her at seventy, and I thought, that's the way seventy used to look - thick solid body, grey bun, glasses, classic grandma. But that is not, I repeat not, what seventy looks like any more. It looks like a grey-haired grandma in Sunnyside pool, laughing as her grandsons cavort.It's a wonderful time. The book is at last on its way into the world; I posted a pic of the cover on the Creative Nonfiction FB page - on Mondays we are allowed to do a bit of hustling - and 70 people have liked it so far. I find the speed of that astonishing. My attempt at zucchini sex, plunging the male pistils into the female flowers, has produced two big zucchinis. And on Saturday morning, my son is arriving with everything for a very small garden party to celebrate this old bag's 70th.
Got to go pack - flipflops, sundress, b'suit. Rosé and cucumber salad made with my garden cukes. Robin upstairs will be holding the fort. My shoulders are lifting. A bientôt, mes amis.
July 26, 2020
Wayson comes to visit
The loveliest thing just happened. This morning I sent off the last notes on the galley proofs, am waiting to review those changes and the cover copy, and then that's it: the book is ready to go to the printers. I started writing this story in 2014. I know, it's faster than my first book, which took 25 years from start to finish, but still, my slowness is remarkable. Got to speed up; times a'wasting, you old fart!
But after sending off, I realized that I'd repeated myself. At the end, I write a summary of various characters in the book, including my parents, of whom I write that they are much missed. And then in the Acknowledgements, I mention various friends, including "the much-missed Wayson Choy." Must not repeat.
So I changed it to "the inimitable Wayson Choy." He is much missed, but he was also inimitable. As I was sending the change off, I noticed a magnificent, huge swallowtail butterfly outside my screen door. It hovered, swooped, landed on the dill, on the gardenia - the gardenia that was a present from Wayson; it flew off and came back, only a foot from the house, over and over, for more than ten minutes. If the screen had been open, I think it would have flown inside. That has never happened before, that a butterfly stayed so long and persistently.
It fluttered so on the other side of the window, I couldn't get a good shot.
Wayson's symbol was the butterfly. I have no doubt that was my friend, come back to let me know how glad he is the book, the slow progress of which he followed, is finally finished, that he's proud of me and happy to be part of it.
I'm a sceptical atheist, but I know that my beloved inimitable friend Wayson visited me today.
This says 'female.' Wayson wouldn't mind.
But after sending off, I realized that I'd repeated myself. At the end, I write a summary of various characters in the book, including my parents, of whom I write that they are much missed. And then in the Acknowledgements, I mention various friends, including "the much-missed Wayson Choy." Must not repeat.
So I changed it to "the inimitable Wayson Choy." He is much missed, but he was also inimitable. As I was sending the change off, I noticed a magnificent, huge swallowtail butterfly outside my screen door. It hovered, swooped, landed on the dill, on the gardenia - the gardenia that was a present from Wayson; it flew off and came back, only a foot from the house, over and over, for more than ten minutes. If the screen had been open, I think it would have flown inside. That has never happened before, that a butterfly stayed so long and persistently.
It fluttered so on the other side of the window, I couldn't get a good shot.Wayson's symbol was the butterfly. I have no doubt that was my friend, come back to let me know how glad he is the book, the slow progress of which he followed, is finally finished, that he's proud of me and happy to be part of it.
I'm a sceptical atheist, but I know that my beloved inimitable friend Wayson visited me today.
This says 'female.' Wayson wouldn't mind.
July 25, 2020
"Loose Woman" galley proofs
This is the experience, surreal, exciting, scary, that every writer lives for: seeing their words in the form of a book. I'm reading the galley proofs of Loose Woman, trying to see my words as strangers will see them. But also, for a memoir writer, there's the realization that strangers will be delving into the intimate details of your life and mind, your very soul.
Luckily, no one is around and I can sit on the deck. Yesterday my neighbour and her bellowing boyfriend were out, so I had to sit inside with my noise-cancelling headphones. Tonight, blessed silence on all sides. Just the computer with its precious cargo - MY 79,000 WORDS! - and the notebook for jotting mistakes or changes - a few, not many so far - and beyond, the great beauty of the garden. It's a great moment, my friends, and a week before my 70th birthday. This book celebrates my 30th, when my life as a wife and mother and writer began.
I was awake at 5.30, got up at 6, tried to nap later but could not, so I'm not sure how long I'll last. It's 6.30 pm, I've had dinner and two glasses of rosé, and I'm on Page 103. Not quite half way through. Have to say - it has made me laugh out loud three times, and cry twice. And I know the story. Though maybe I know it a little too well. It made my eyes well up just to see it, professionally laid out, my child all gussied up and ready for her close-up.
Maybe I'll go for a walk to stir my pooling blood and keep myself awake. More than 100 lovely delicious pages to go.
Onward.
Luckily, no one is around and I can sit on the deck. Yesterday my neighbour and her bellowing boyfriend were out, so I had to sit inside with my noise-cancelling headphones. Tonight, blessed silence on all sides. Just the computer with its precious cargo - MY 79,000 WORDS! - and the notebook for jotting mistakes or changes - a few, not many so far - and beyond, the great beauty of the garden. It's a great moment, my friends, and a week before my 70th birthday. This book celebrates my 30th, when my life as a wife and mother and writer began.
I was awake at 5.30, got up at 6, tried to nap later but could not, so I'm not sure how long I'll last. It's 6.30 pm, I've had dinner and two glasses of rosé, and I'm on Page 103. Not quite half way through. Have to say - it has made me laugh out loud three times, and cry twice. And I know the story. Though maybe I know it a little too well. It made my eyes well up just to see it, professionally laid out, my child all gussied up and ready for her close-up.
Maybe I'll go for a walk to stir my pooling blood and keep myself awake. More than 100 lovely delicious pages to go.
Onward.
July 24, 2020
We have a winning cover.
Have done almost nothing for the past few days but sit on my bum and email, emails flying back and forth except when we're telephoning. Nothing happened to this book for months, and now, suddenly, everything has to happen this weekend. Two days ago the designer Meghan and I talked about conveying movement, dancing, joy, colour. So she sent a cover:
which Jason, my trusty assistant and taste monitor, and many others didn't like. Back and forth - what did we want, what was possible within timing and budget (including free stock images like this) - what colours, images, fonts, upper or lower case, centred or not. The designer sent another one that was very stark and dark, looked like an earnest poetry collection. Back and forth - let's open up the font, the size, the colour palette. More back, more forth.
And we ended up with a winner:
Hooray!
I spent yesterday and this morning going over the proofs, accepting or rejecting edits - deleting a bunch of fiddly commas, arguing with the publisher about paragraphing. "Not negotiable!" he wrote, so he won. Had to write cover copy, author bio, and dedication, and edit the blurbs. All have gone to Meghan. Managed to fit in a walkabout with Debra, who'd made me a beautiful new mask, and a chat on the deck later with Carole, my dear Y companion.
Tomorrow I hope to have the document back for one final pass, however long it takes, and then, if all is well, it goes to the printer Monday. Hope to be holding a book by the end of August. We'll make plans for some kind of Zoom launch in early September. And then, of course, vast wealth and fame will at last be mine. Mwa ha ha!
And then it will be time to start something new.
PS Channelling the very stable genius who is President of the United States, my friend and student Brad just wrote, "Person. Loose Woman. Man. Camera. TV."
LOL!
which Jason, my trusty assistant and taste monitor, and many others didn't like. Back and forth - what did we want, what was possible within timing and budget (including free stock images like this) - what colours, images, fonts, upper or lower case, centred or not. The designer sent another one that was very stark and dark, looked like an earnest poetry collection. Back and forth - let's open up the font, the size, the colour palette. More back, more forth.And we ended up with a winner:
Hooray!I spent yesterday and this morning going over the proofs, accepting or rejecting edits - deleting a bunch of fiddly commas, arguing with the publisher about paragraphing. "Not negotiable!" he wrote, so he won. Had to write cover copy, author bio, and dedication, and edit the blurbs. All have gone to Meghan. Managed to fit in a walkabout with Debra, who'd made me a beautiful new mask, and a chat on the deck later with Carole, my dear Y companion.
Tomorrow I hope to have the document back for one final pass, however long it takes, and then, if all is well, it goes to the printer Monday. Hope to be holding a book by the end of August. We'll make plans for some kind of Zoom launch in early September. And then, of course, vast wealth and fame will at last be mine. Mwa ha ha!
And then it will be time to start something new.
PS Channelling the very stable genius who is President of the United States, my friend and student Brad just wrote, "Person. Loose Woman. Man. Camera. TV."
LOL!
July 23, 2020
a prisoner of comfort
I'm so excited - today's home class is going to be a hybrid, some students on Zoom and some HERE AT THE HOUSE! We are planning to be outside or inside distanced if it's raining; so far the weather is perfect, cool and grey but not wet, though that could change. I've not seen these people in person since March - they were here the evening of the last day, Thursday March 12, before everything shut down.
My hands tingle all the time now - I guess because of all the hand washing. I have hand cream scattered about the place to try to keep them from shrivelling into desiccated claws. A fresh pandemic joy. Recently, I was going through old notebooks and found one from the years I was trying to find places to live or at-home help for my mother and her sister Do - lists of residences and what they offered, names of government people to contact ... Just seeing it brought a wave of nausea. It was an anxious time. I'm just so grateful, as I've said before, that those two strong old women did not have to go through lockdown and that I don't have elderly residents to worry about.
However, more excitement: a chunk of time yesterday was spent deciding on the cover for the memoir. Yes - the cover! I had a Zoom call with Meghan the designer and Jason my friend and trusty assistant, who knows all about design and fonts and colour; it was amazing, she shared her screen and worked her magic, changing fonts and colours and sizes and shapes in front of us. In the end we had the concept, just a few details - colour mostly - to work out; I hope to get some prototypes today.
And I just heard from the proofreader, who has nearly finished. It's happening, folks. The slowest book in creation is finally emerging from its shell.
Last night I watched a documentary about Giacometti, explaining his power, his place among the greatest 20th century artists - his figures are stripped bare, nothing extra, just the essence of what it is to be alive. He lived as he worked - even once his art was commanding huge prices, he lived in the same squalid Paris apartment, caring nothing for money. When asked why he didn't find a decent place to live, he replied, "I don't want to be a prisoner of comfort."
I looked around. Yes, Alberto, I sighed. I am definitely a prisoner of comfort.
I also watched part of a doc about phenomenal shapes in nature, which included icebergs, sand dunes, mountains, and the manatee, which is a relative of the elephant and has the vestiges of toenails on its fins. How I love PBS and TVO!
Today I had a Zoom consultation with Tova who works at Artbooks, a company that does taxes and finances for artists. She was a writing student of mine years ago, and today she told me her mother later took the class and loved it. I wanted advice about the complexities of my finances - part self-employed writer and teacher, part landlady, part teacher employed by the universities. What can I claim? Etc. At the end of our talk, it almost made sense, though not quite. She wouldn't take payment from me, so I urged her to write something that I'll edit. "Explain money," I said. "Explain what it is about finances and taxes that you find so satisfying." I hope she does, because I think a lot of people would like to know. At least, I would.
Have hardly been outside my door for days so no photos except, as always, the garden. I know, you've seen it before and you'll see it again, but it's so lovely, I have to keep sharing it with you. The Rose of Sharon - what a showoff! You'll be happy to know that after my efforts at pollination, there is one, count it, one zucchini growing. But as always, cucumbers dropping from the sky.
Time to tidy. The garden and I are expecting guests.
My hands tingle all the time now - I guess because of all the hand washing. I have hand cream scattered about the place to try to keep them from shrivelling into desiccated claws. A fresh pandemic joy. Recently, I was going through old notebooks and found one from the years I was trying to find places to live or at-home help for my mother and her sister Do - lists of residences and what they offered, names of government people to contact ... Just seeing it brought a wave of nausea. It was an anxious time. I'm just so grateful, as I've said before, that those two strong old women did not have to go through lockdown and that I don't have elderly residents to worry about.
However, more excitement: a chunk of time yesterday was spent deciding on the cover for the memoir. Yes - the cover! I had a Zoom call with Meghan the designer and Jason my friend and trusty assistant, who knows all about design and fonts and colour; it was amazing, she shared her screen and worked her magic, changing fonts and colours and sizes and shapes in front of us. In the end we had the concept, just a few details - colour mostly - to work out; I hope to get some prototypes today.
And I just heard from the proofreader, who has nearly finished. It's happening, folks. The slowest book in creation is finally emerging from its shell.
Last night I watched a documentary about Giacometti, explaining his power, his place among the greatest 20th century artists - his figures are stripped bare, nothing extra, just the essence of what it is to be alive. He lived as he worked - even once his art was commanding huge prices, he lived in the same squalid Paris apartment, caring nothing for money. When asked why he didn't find a decent place to live, he replied, "I don't want to be a prisoner of comfort."
I looked around. Yes, Alberto, I sighed. I am definitely a prisoner of comfort.
I also watched part of a doc about phenomenal shapes in nature, which included icebergs, sand dunes, mountains, and the manatee, which is a relative of the elephant and has the vestiges of toenails on its fins. How I love PBS and TVO!
Today I had a Zoom consultation with Tova who works at Artbooks, a company that does taxes and finances for artists. She was a writing student of mine years ago, and today she told me her mother later took the class and loved it. I wanted advice about the complexities of my finances - part self-employed writer and teacher, part landlady, part teacher employed by the universities. What can I claim? Etc. At the end of our talk, it almost made sense, though not quite. She wouldn't take payment from me, so I urged her to write something that I'll edit. "Explain money," I said. "Explain what it is about finances and taxes that you find so satisfying." I hope she does, because I think a lot of people would like to know. At least, I would.
Have hardly been outside my door for days so no photos except, as always, the garden. I know, you've seen it before and you'll see it again, but it's so lovely, I have to keep sharing it with you. The Rose of Sharon - what a showoff! You'll be happy to know that after my efforts at pollination, there is one, count it, one zucchini growing. But as always, cucumbers dropping from the sky.
Time to tidy. The garden and I are expecting guests.
July 20, 2020
zucchini sex
What a difference a day makes! Full steam ahead today. Most importantly - I HAD FORCED SEX WITH MY ZUCCHINI.
Yes, this morning I saw, at last, an open female flower. Immediately I seized a male flower, ripped off the petals and stabbed the stamen with its pollen into the female's opening. Graphic and satisfying. Let's hope out of that mass of foliage there emerges at least one edible vegetable. In the meantime, the cherry tomatoes are coming, the beans are nearly over, the cukes are delish, and all without parental intervention. What is wrong with you, zucchini?
And then I tackled the lists - made important but boring calls and fertilized the flowering plants by watering can which is heavy work. I did not do Gina's line dancing so as not to distract myself from the task at hand. At 2.30, a Zoom piano lesson. At 4, my first official meeting with Jason, my -- assistant? Consultant? Sounding board? Someone who cares if I'm writing and what I'm writing and where I'm going as a writer. At last. He and I talked about the next book but also a podcast, an audiobook, tech issues I could not figure out, and other vital matters.
I told Monique he might be right for her too, as she works to develop her teaching-French-to-anglos website, so he went next door afterwards, and she came immediately to me to say - he's perfect. A new career is born.
In the meantime, the work on the book is getting there - I hope to have both the proofread copy and the cover design, or at least a beginning toward it, by mid-week. Tomorrow, a Zoom call with the designer.
And then after another glass of rosé - it was a 3-glass evening for me, in celebration - Monique and I went into the garden and picked and ate raspberries. Sixteen degrees tonight! Life, for this one brief moment in the chaos, is perfect.
Yes, this morning I saw, at last, an open female flower. Immediately I seized a male flower, ripped off the petals and stabbed the stamen with its pollen into the female's opening. Graphic and satisfying. Let's hope out of that mass of foliage there emerges at least one edible vegetable. In the meantime, the cherry tomatoes are coming, the beans are nearly over, the cukes are delish, and all without parental intervention. What is wrong with you, zucchini?
And then I tackled the lists - made important but boring calls and fertilized the flowering plants by watering can which is heavy work. I did not do Gina's line dancing so as not to distract myself from the task at hand. At 2.30, a Zoom piano lesson. At 4, my first official meeting with Jason, my -- assistant? Consultant? Sounding board? Someone who cares if I'm writing and what I'm writing and where I'm going as a writer. At last. He and I talked about the next book but also a podcast, an audiobook, tech issues I could not figure out, and other vital matters.
I told Monique he might be right for her too, as she works to develop her teaching-French-to-anglos website, so he went next door afterwards, and she came immediately to me to say - he's perfect. A new career is born.
In the meantime, the work on the book is getting there - I hope to have both the proofread copy and the cover design, or at least a beginning toward it, by mid-week. Tomorrow, a Zoom call with the designer.
And then after another glass of rosé - it was a 3-glass evening for me, in celebration - Monique and I went into the garden and picked and ate raspberries. Sixteen degrees tonight! Life, for this one brief moment in the chaos, is perfect.
July 19, 2020
Sunday doldrums
Was lying on the kitchen floor this afternoon at the start of Jane Ellison's Zoom class when the storm began - an instant flood of rain, a crack of thunder, violent and loud. Ran around shutting all the windows and worrying about the downspouts. Now the air is sweet and fresh, and everything is watered. Hooray.
On Friday, across town by TTC - people mostly masked but some defiantly not - to Ben's fifth birthday party with just a few of his friends. Usually Anna has invited half the planet; it's amazing how much easier it is with 4 from one family. There was, however, as always, a delicious meal and then chocolate ice cream cake. I gave Ben a blue ukulele.
That night, I started to watch Amadeus from the National Theatre but didn't like it much, too much busy melodramatic talking through the divine music. I have very fond memories of the play, which I, pregnant with Anna, saw in New York on New Year's Eve of 1981 with her father. She started to kick for the first time during the show; I thought that meant she'd love classical music. That turned out not to be the case.
Instead of Amadeus, I watched another episode about Macca. Yes I did. Music also divine. "Frank Sinatra's party" - another toe-tapping Macca earworm, I cannot get it out.
https://www.google.com/searchq=frank+sinatra%27s+party&oq=fran&aqs=chrome.0.69i59j0j69i57j46l2j69i60l3.1467j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
Yesterday, Saturday, I have no idea what happened. Oh yes, Jean-Marc came over with fresh scones and we had coffee on the deck, and later Monique invited me for dinner on her porch with an old friend of hers. And in between I sat in my office, where now the door can be wide open because of John's screen. And I did something there, though what is a mystery. Sorted. Moved paper around.
Oh, also, I had a long talk on the phone with my son about an issue that arose between us. How grateful I am that he's a man who TALKS. Who's honest and brings thing up, which allows the air to be cleared.
I had a long list of things to do today and did almost none of them. Truly, I have no idea what happens during the hours between rising and going to bed. I make lists and ignore them. There are newspapers and New Yorkers and books to read, and food prep and cleanup and gardening, of course, watering and pruning, and ... A bit of piano, perhaps a walk or a bike ride, emailing and FB, and then it's bedtime. Really? You're soon going to be 70 and that's all you accomplish in a day? How much longer do you think you have on this earth, to diddle around this way?
Mary Trump has done the planet a great service. Her uncle is disintegrating. Imagine, at last, the virus is something he can't lie or buy away. Though God knows, he's going to try.
It's so quiet out now, at dusk, under a pewter sky tinged with pink. Barely a sound, a blessing. The air smells of summer after a storm.
Tomorrow is Monday. Tomorrow I'll tackle the list and get things done. Yes I will.
A recent Zoom screenshot selfie. Look at the depth of that line between the eyes; how I wish I could erase it. What I fear most, however, is wattles. Alzheimer's, and wattles. In that order.
A better selfie:
On Friday, across town by TTC - people mostly masked but some defiantly not - to Ben's fifth birthday party with just a few of his friends. Usually Anna has invited half the planet; it's amazing how much easier it is with 4 from one family. There was, however, as always, a delicious meal and then chocolate ice cream cake. I gave Ben a blue ukulele.
That night, I started to watch Amadeus from the National Theatre but didn't like it much, too much busy melodramatic talking through the divine music. I have very fond memories of the play, which I, pregnant with Anna, saw in New York on New Year's Eve of 1981 with her father. She started to kick for the first time during the show; I thought that meant she'd love classical music. That turned out not to be the case.Instead of Amadeus, I watched another episode about Macca. Yes I did. Music also divine. "Frank Sinatra's party" - another toe-tapping Macca earworm, I cannot get it out.
https://www.google.com/searchq=frank+sinatra%27s+party&oq=fran&aqs=chrome.0.69i59j0j69i57j46l2j69i60l3.1467j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
Yesterday, Saturday, I have no idea what happened. Oh yes, Jean-Marc came over with fresh scones and we had coffee on the deck, and later Monique invited me for dinner on her porch with an old friend of hers. And in between I sat in my office, where now the door can be wide open because of John's screen. And I did something there, though what is a mystery. Sorted. Moved paper around.
Oh, also, I had a long talk on the phone with my son about an issue that arose between us. How grateful I am that he's a man who TALKS. Who's honest and brings thing up, which allows the air to be cleared.
I had a long list of things to do today and did almost none of them. Truly, I have no idea what happens during the hours between rising and going to bed. I make lists and ignore them. There are newspapers and New Yorkers and books to read, and food prep and cleanup and gardening, of course, watering and pruning, and ... A bit of piano, perhaps a walk or a bike ride, emailing and FB, and then it's bedtime. Really? You're soon going to be 70 and that's all you accomplish in a day? How much longer do you think you have on this earth, to diddle around this way?
Mary Trump has done the planet a great service. Her uncle is disintegrating. Imagine, at last, the virus is something he can't lie or buy away. Though God knows, he's going to try.
It's so quiet out now, at dusk, under a pewter sky tinged with pink. Barely a sound, a blessing. The air smells of summer after a storm.
Tomorrow is Monday. Tomorrow I'll tackle the list and get things done. Yes I will.
A recent Zoom screenshot selfie. Look at the depth of that line between the eyes; how I wish I could erase it. What I fear most, however, is wattles. Alzheimer's, and wattles. In that order.
A better selfie:
July 16, 2020
the deep water test
Before everything, the best news: Ben wanted to take the deep water test, almost exclusively for older kids, at the public open air pool where they swim. That's 50 metres of uninterrupted swimming. Ben is small for his age which, until tomorrow, is four. He passed. They are forces of nature, both of them. Bravo, young man.
Showing their pool armbands, with a mouth full of Goldfish. Would you want to take on this level of tough determination? Good thing their mother is tougher.
A blessedly gloomy day with sprinklings of rain, just what the doctor ordered. The air smells of everything good in the cool damp. Gratitude.
On Tuesday, I Zoom taught the group of last term's U of T students who've continued to meet and want my feedback. And then to the farmer's market at Riverdale Farm, opening for the first time this summer with new rules: line up to enter, walk only one way, wear masks, squirt hands. Lots of lovely stuff including a middle Eastern couple selling hummus and spicy flatbreads. Very glad to be there again.
Two huge treats on Wednesday - first, out to the Beach, carrying my bike on the TTC, to visit my beloved Annie and her husband Jim, who've just moved to a rental house near the boardwalk. It's the perfect place for them, a charming house with tons of light and a huge deck filled already with Annie's plantings. She and I rode our bikes to Ashbridge's Bay, to the secret beach she knows of there, for a swim in the cool waters of Lake Ontario, and then back to the house for lunch on the deck. A dear friend happily settled; a lovely time together. A swim.
Home again on the TTC, where almost everyone is in a mask but there are a few die-hards without, including a marginalized women shouting about a grave injustice from 1974. She should write a memoir, I thought, as I moved far away.
And then Jason came at 5 for both a personal and a professional visit. Anyone who's been to my reading series So True knows Jason, the cheerful M.C. He was my student more than a decade ago and has been a dear friend ever since, and now, I've hired him as my media/tech/future projects consultant, to help guide me through the social media/online maze. Jason is in his early forties, so the ideal in-between age - not as old as I so savvy about these things, but not as young as my previous assistants, in their twenties, who couldn't understand why I didn't understand. Jason didn't grow up with social media but he's comfortable with it, so he's half way between me and the kids. Ideal.
But yesterday, there was also something horrible. I got embroiled against my better judgement in a battle on FB, once more writing in support of J.K. Rowling, and was slapped in the face by the way issues are handled there. I realized finally - I'm out of my league. I am not used to ranting battles taking place publicly and with such unbridled vitriol. Devastating. I withdrew and deleted what I'd said, which was me trying to be reasonable, urging people to look at both sides - that's not how things are done there. I felt physically assaulted. Never again.
But yes, Juliet, I am still on FB. It's an addiction, like cocaine, and I love it. I can follow the lives of many of my friends in real time, read various newspapers, follow many writers' websites, learn stuff I didn't know. It's just important not to engage with the mob of woke banshees. I hardly ever post my own stuff, though I repost a lot. But I love to read.
Today's interest was a FaceTime consultation with Arlene who runs the Backyard Urban Farm Co. I held my phone up in the veg garden to show her the squash and the raspberries. She suggested cutting back the many big leaves of the squash so the pollinators can find their way in and improving my soil all round. Compost! Micro-organisms! I felt like a schoolgirl faced with her expertise - but then, in the garden, I am.
And then John arrived with a screen. There's a door in my office that for decades has had to be kept closed because it doesn't have a screen and I don't want birds and bugs flying in. I asked John about a solution, and a day later there he was with a Bugs-Out screen with a magnetized opening that he stapled to the door frame. A $50 solution, giving me much more air and light. Hooray!
May you all be safe, wherever you are. May you be well and find air and light. May a good friend come over to help you figure out where you are now and where you want to go. May you have a cool refreshing swim and even, best of all, may you pass the deep water test.
Showing their pool armbands, with a mouth full of Goldfish. Would you want to take on this level of tough determination? Good thing their mother is tougher.A blessedly gloomy day with sprinklings of rain, just what the doctor ordered. The air smells of everything good in the cool damp. Gratitude.
On Tuesday, I Zoom taught the group of last term's U of T students who've continued to meet and want my feedback. And then to the farmer's market at Riverdale Farm, opening for the first time this summer with new rules: line up to enter, walk only one way, wear masks, squirt hands. Lots of lovely stuff including a middle Eastern couple selling hummus and spicy flatbreads. Very glad to be there again.
Two huge treats on Wednesday - first, out to the Beach, carrying my bike on the TTC, to visit my beloved Annie and her husband Jim, who've just moved to a rental house near the boardwalk. It's the perfect place for them, a charming house with tons of light and a huge deck filled already with Annie's plantings. She and I rode our bikes to Ashbridge's Bay, to the secret beach she knows of there, for a swim in the cool waters of Lake Ontario, and then back to the house for lunch on the deck. A dear friend happily settled; a lovely time together. A swim.
Home again on the TTC, where almost everyone is in a mask but there are a few die-hards without, including a marginalized women shouting about a grave injustice from 1974. She should write a memoir, I thought, as I moved far away.
And then Jason came at 5 for both a personal and a professional visit. Anyone who's been to my reading series So True knows Jason, the cheerful M.C. He was my student more than a decade ago and has been a dear friend ever since, and now, I've hired him as my media/tech/future projects consultant, to help guide me through the social media/online maze. Jason is in his early forties, so the ideal in-between age - not as old as I so savvy about these things, but not as young as my previous assistants, in their twenties, who couldn't understand why I didn't understand. Jason didn't grow up with social media but he's comfortable with it, so he's half way between me and the kids. Ideal.
But yesterday, there was also something horrible. I got embroiled against my better judgement in a battle on FB, once more writing in support of J.K. Rowling, and was slapped in the face by the way issues are handled there. I realized finally - I'm out of my league. I am not used to ranting battles taking place publicly and with such unbridled vitriol. Devastating. I withdrew and deleted what I'd said, which was me trying to be reasonable, urging people to look at both sides - that's not how things are done there. I felt physically assaulted. Never again.
But yes, Juliet, I am still on FB. It's an addiction, like cocaine, and I love it. I can follow the lives of many of my friends in real time, read various newspapers, follow many writers' websites, learn stuff I didn't know. It's just important not to engage with the mob of woke banshees. I hardly ever post my own stuff, though I repost a lot. But I love to read.
Today's interest was a FaceTime consultation with Arlene who runs the Backyard Urban Farm Co. I held my phone up in the veg garden to show her the squash and the raspberries. She suggested cutting back the many big leaves of the squash so the pollinators can find their way in and improving my soil all round. Compost! Micro-organisms! I felt like a schoolgirl faced with her expertise - but then, in the garden, I am.
And then John arrived with a screen. There's a door in my office that for decades has had to be kept closed because it doesn't have a screen and I don't want birds and bugs flying in. I asked John about a solution, and a day later there he was with a Bugs-Out screen with a magnetized opening that he stapled to the door frame. A $50 solution, giving me much more air and light. Hooray!
May you all be safe, wherever you are. May you be well and find air and light. May a good friend come over to help you figure out where you are now and where you want to go. May you have a cool refreshing swim and even, best of all, may you pass the deep water test.
July 13, 2020
"Jesus Christ, now what?"
How I love my friends and blog readers. Thank you all! After my last post, I got such lovely replies. Isobel's note made me laugh out loud.
Thinking of your latest blog post when I saw this: “I don't know about other people, but when I wake up in the morning and put my shoes on, I think, Jesus Christ, now what?”
― Charles Bukowski
He kind of nails it eh?
He certainly does. Me too, Charles, me too. (Met him when he came to Vancouver, fascinating reprobate that he was. He put the make on me, told me I reminded him of a young Lauren Bacall. I was having none of it.)
Carol wrote from Ecuador:
Take all those essays and make them into a book! You are a writer, a teacher, a thinker - a person who embraces life! There needs to be a record of all that - a collection of your essays - part of a lifelong endeavor in your craft, needs to be out there with your other works. Think of it as creating a healthy reading list for the future generations who will be studying your work once you are long gone.
I wrote back, Sure, an essay collection, just what the world is waiting for! But ... it's a good idea.
And Lani wrote from Ingersoll, Ontario:
Your blog today certainly coincided with my mood lately. I did NOTHING much for the past few weeks except berate myself for doing nothing. I blame the heat but I'm sure a lot of it is this isolation. You, on the other hand, are still doing tons of stuff - teaching, being a Glamma, a mom, a landlady, a friend, a writer and a musician. So relax, my Bethes. You are fine.
Thank you, dearly beloveds; it did me much good to hear from you today.
Other wonderful things that lifted my heart: I saw the goldfinch again! A few days ago he flashed by with his lemon yellow feathers and I thought he was just passing through, but he came back. And I think I saw his mate too. Lynn sent me a picture of what Mrs. Goldfinch looks like. Could she be more beautiful? Is it not a miracle that so many such creatures exist in this world? Should we not do everything we can to protect them? How can we protect them?
Speaking of beautiful, more pleasure today: a Zoom coaching session with a former Ryerson student, aged 27, a keen reader and writer raring to go. Love is.
This morning, a visit with old friends Anna and Tom, in for the day from Stratford. And tonight - be still my beating heart - I watched part of a five hour documentary about Macca. FIVE HOURS! I just watched the first two. It starts at the end of the Beatles and goes from there. Hard to believe how vicious the critics were about his first solo albums; Rolling Stone editor Jann Venner, a huge John fan, the villain here. They dismissed everything he did. And yet he persisted. The two conclusions of the doc: 1. He is a very nice man. 2. He is a musical genius.
Well, duh.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjjqUCvHNIs&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR1MGX0gkXAuYmh1SWDMw3LVDBNl689PuzR40O12fmq6wNJUlS4jIu1cxGg
Dusk, cool, quiet, the pale mauve phlox and orange lilies and white jasmine and purple clematis glowing in the fading light. A sole bird chirping. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, but - tomorrow I will wake up in the morning and come downstairs without shoes and drink coffee and say, "Jesus Chris, now what?" And something will happen.
Thinking of your latest blog post when I saw this: “I don't know about other people, but when I wake up in the morning and put my shoes on, I think, Jesus Christ, now what?”
― Charles Bukowski
He kind of nails it eh?
He certainly does. Me too, Charles, me too. (Met him when he came to Vancouver, fascinating reprobate that he was. He put the make on me, told me I reminded him of a young Lauren Bacall. I was having none of it.)
Carol wrote from Ecuador:
Take all those essays and make them into a book! You are a writer, a teacher, a thinker - a person who embraces life! There needs to be a record of all that - a collection of your essays - part of a lifelong endeavor in your craft, needs to be out there with your other works. Think of it as creating a healthy reading list for the future generations who will be studying your work once you are long gone.
I wrote back, Sure, an essay collection, just what the world is waiting for! But ... it's a good idea.
And Lani wrote from Ingersoll, Ontario:
Your blog today certainly coincided with my mood lately. I did NOTHING much for the past few weeks except berate myself for doing nothing. I blame the heat but I'm sure a lot of it is this isolation. You, on the other hand, are still doing tons of stuff - teaching, being a Glamma, a mom, a landlady, a friend, a writer and a musician. So relax, my Bethes. You are fine.
Thank you, dearly beloveds; it did me much good to hear from you today.
Other wonderful things that lifted my heart: I saw the goldfinch again! A few days ago he flashed by with his lemon yellow feathers and I thought he was just passing through, but he came back. And I think I saw his mate too. Lynn sent me a picture of what Mrs. Goldfinch looks like. Could she be more beautiful? Is it not a miracle that so many such creatures exist in this world? Should we not do everything we can to protect them? How can we protect them?
Speaking of beautiful, more pleasure today: a Zoom coaching session with a former Ryerson student, aged 27, a keen reader and writer raring to go. Love is.
This morning, a visit with old friends Anna and Tom, in for the day from Stratford. And tonight - be still my beating heart - I watched part of a five hour documentary about Macca. FIVE HOURS! I just watched the first two. It starts at the end of the Beatles and goes from there. Hard to believe how vicious the critics were about his first solo albums; Rolling Stone editor Jann Venner, a huge John fan, the villain here. They dismissed everything he did. And yet he persisted. The two conclusions of the doc: 1. He is a very nice man. 2. He is a musical genius.
Well, duh.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjjqUCvHNIs&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR1MGX0gkXAuYmh1SWDMw3LVDBNl689PuzR40O12fmq6wNJUlS4jIu1cxGg
Dusk, cool, quiet, the pale mauve phlox and orange lilies and white jasmine and purple clematis glowing in the fading light. A sole bird chirping. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, but - tomorrow I will wake up in the morning and come downstairs without shoes and drink coffee and say, "Jesus Chris, now what?" And something will happen.
