Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 77
June 27, 2020
hooray for the Nova Scotia Department of Tourism
Busy days, Zooming: Wednesday a CNFC board meeting, uniting us from Nova Scotia to Vancouver, including our new West Coast board members originally from Eritrea and Bangladesh. CNFC is really picking up steam, I'm thrilled to report. Taught a Zoom class on Thursday, had the usual Friday talk with Judy in Vancouver - many writers writing.
Speaking of which - I woke up at 5 a.m. the other morning with a word in my head, and I think that word is the title of the book. It's a bit cryptic, as one word titles can be, so a good subtitle in needed; that's what was preoccupying me at 5 a.m. this morning. I had to get up, go downstairs, lie down on the little daybed in the kitchen, fall asleep again. Still nothing. Stay tuned.
Speaking of which - former student Margaret Lynch goes from strength to strength; in conjunction with Kings College where she did the MFA in nonfiction, she has won the Random House Best Book Proposal award. Brava!
Speaking of triumphs - Anna just helped organize a march against racism in Swansea, on the west side of Toronto. She told me they were hoping for 50 people; the estimates were 300-400. Just saw my grandsons' backs on CP24 news. Another brava! She just sent this, Ben's first sentence:
Last night's thrill: Monique and I have a friend, Jacqueline Swartz, a travel writer - such a great gig! - who won a prize from the Nova Scotia Department of Tourism: a food package of two cooked lobsters, a lot of mussels and tender smoked salmon, plus bib and nutcracker. Monique ripped apart the lobster and cooked the mussels in garlic, parsley, and white wine, and we feasted. What lucky women are we!
Today's thrill: the first GREEN BEANS! There's been lettuce, too much, I'm having to chomp on lots of salads, but now, 8 perfect green beans, the first of many to come. How I wish my mother and aunt the champion British gardeners were alive to celebrate my urban garden.
Speaking of which - I woke up at 5 a.m. the other morning with a word in my head, and I think that word is the title of the book. It's a bit cryptic, as one word titles can be, so a good subtitle in needed; that's what was preoccupying me at 5 a.m. this morning. I had to get up, go downstairs, lie down on the little daybed in the kitchen, fall asleep again. Still nothing. Stay tuned.
Speaking of which - former student Margaret Lynch goes from strength to strength; in conjunction with Kings College where she did the MFA in nonfiction, she has won the Random House Best Book Proposal award. Brava!
Speaking of triumphs - Anna just helped organize a march against racism in Swansea, on the west side of Toronto. She told me they were hoping for 50 people; the estimates were 300-400. Just saw my grandsons' backs on CP24 news. Another brava! She just sent this, Ben's first sentence:
Last night's thrill: Monique and I have a friend, Jacqueline Swartz, a travel writer - such a great gig! - who won a prize from the Nova Scotia Department of Tourism: a food package of two cooked lobsters, a lot of mussels and tender smoked salmon, plus bib and nutcracker. Monique ripped apart the lobster and cooked the mussels in garlic, parsley, and white wine, and we feasted. What lucky women are we!
Today's thrill: the first GREEN BEANS! There's been lettuce, too much, I'm having to chomp on lots of salads, but now, 8 perfect green beans, the first of many to come. How I wish my mother and aunt the champion British gardeners were alive to celebrate my urban garden.
June 25, 2020
Toni Morrison
Another heavenly day, mild, sweet. Here's my list for today: 11.15, walk with Ruth. Plant astilbe. Fertilize. Fill bird feeder. Tidy chaos in office. Call about new day-timer. Listen to Toni Morrison radio interview. Cook something with the tomatoes. Cook the red cabbage. Check in with Monique about her important doctor's appointment and for aperitif. Catch last night's Sam Bee and Colbert with Jon Stewart that I actually PVR'd.
(PS, added later - I completely forgot I'm teaching a Zoom class at 6.30! This is why I need a new daytimer. See below.)
Exciting, no? In between, many emails, blogging, stuff. Endless stuff. It's nearly the end of June! Most of the year so far has been a fog.
But the fog is lifting; was just on Parliament Street, which was bustling, though with lots of masks. Still blessedly quiet, though not as blessed as it was in April, when nothing was moving. Sam started work yesterday, am waiting to hear how it went; he texted, "It's a weird new world," at 10.
Before our Father's Day feast, incidentally, Sam and I had the following text exchange:
Me: I’m not doing anything to the steak or chicken or salmon, assuming we can put something on after barbecuing?
Sam: I don’t know! It’s never been done before, but by god we’ll try. We shall be at the forefront of food exploration. Drizzling sauces on cooked food for the first time, laughing in the face of traditional marinade. Laughing I say!
What a smartass. A bit of respect for your lazy old mum, I say.
Have to confess, I'm grappling a serious new addiction - the garden. I now know how people turn into those boring gardening fanatics, droning on. I go out every morning to inspect, tie up, prune. Smell the roses. Tie up raspberries. And then water, weed, spray bugs, worry. Admire. Fuss.
Watched to the end of Normal People last night, largely because of the young star Paul Mescal, who turned in a phenomenal performance as confused, loving, honest, infuriatingly tongue-tied Conner. The show left me depressed, as did the book, which eventually I skimmed rather than reading. If Maryann and Conner, so obviously soulmates who adore each other and are meant to be together, cannot make it work, what chance is there for the planet? No wonder there will never be peace in the Middle East; human beings are so blind and damaged, they can't see fellowship when it's blooming right under their noses.
But it's the writing that's at fault, and it's what drives me crazy about fiction - the author torturing her characters. So many of the plot turns, driving the two apart, were not credible, were in fact absurd. Oh give them a break, I kept thinking. Two people who love each other that much would break up in ten seconds over a tiny misunderstanding? Really? I don't think so. S and M: the writer put her female character into bondage, but also made us all suffer.
The filmmaking was superb, though, and as I said, talented young Paul reminded me of what it's like to be young and in love. Sigh.
Also saw a fine PBS documentary about Toni Morrison. What an extraordinarily powerful, self-determined woman, from poverty to a Nobel Prize. At one point, she had a full-time job as a New York editor while also teaching at a university and raising two sons as a single mother. Oh yes - and writing a few little books. Now that's a woman who knows how to use her time wisely. Inspiring in every way. Oh yes - and doing all this as an African-American woman, the lowest on the totem pole in those days. Not any more!
She talked about teaching writing, how she'd say to her students, But where are you in this? What were you feeling? Go deeper. Hmmm, I thought. Sounds familiar.
Another confession: I have never read her. On my list.
It's nearly 1. Time's wingèd chariot. Etc.
PS Laywine's, the wonderful pen and paper store, is open, and they have the Quo Vadis Academic Daytimer for 2020-21 in a choice of five colours! I can't live without my daytimer, and the current one is nearly done. Hopping on the bike. My day is made.
(PS, added later - I completely forgot I'm teaching a Zoom class at 6.30! This is why I need a new daytimer. See below.)
Exciting, no? In between, many emails, blogging, stuff. Endless stuff. It's nearly the end of June! Most of the year so far has been a fog.
But the fog is lifting; was just on Parliament Street, which was bustling, though with lots of masks. Still blessedly quiet, though not as blessed as it was in April, when nothing was moving. Sam started work yesterday, am waiting to hear how it went; he texted, "It's a weird new world," at 10.
Before our Father's Day feast, incidentally, Sam and I had the following text exchange:
Me: I’m not doing anything to the steak or chicken or salmon, assuming we can put something on after barbecuing?
Sam: I don’t know! It’s never been done before, but by god we’ll try. We shall be at the forefront of food exploration. Drizzling sauces on cooked food for the first time, laughing in the face of traditional marinade. Laughing I say!
What a smartass. A bit of respect for your lazy old mum, I say.
Have to confess, I'm grappling a serious new addiction - the garden. I now know how people turn into those boring gardening fanatics, droning on. I go out every morning to inspect, tie up, prune. Smell the roses. Tie up raspberries. And then water, weed, spray bugs, worry. Admire. Fuss.
Watched to the end of Normal People last night, largely because of the young star Paul Mescal, who turned in a phenomenal performance as confused, loving, honest, infuriatingly tongue-tied Conner. The show left me depressed, as did the book, which eventually I skimmed rather than reading. If Maryann and Conner, so obviously soulmates who adore each other and are meant to be together, cannot make it work, what chance is there for the planet? No wonder there will never be peace in the Middle East; human beings are so blind and damaged, they can't see fellowship when it's blooming right under their noses.
But it's the writing that's at fault, and it's what drives me crazy about fiction - the author torturing her characters. So many of the plot turns, driving the two apart, were not credible, were in fact absurd. Oh give them a break, I kept thinking. Two people who love each other that much would break up in ten seconds over a tiny misunderstanding? Really? I don't think so. S and M: the writer put her female character into bondage, but also made us all suffer.
The filmmaking was superb, though, and as I said, talented young Paul reminded me of what it's like to be young and in love. Sigh.
Also saw a fine PBS documentary about Toni Morrison. What an extraordinarily powerful, self-determined woman, from poverty to a Nobel Prize. At one point, she had a full-time job as a New York editor while also teaching at a university and raising two sons as a single mother. Oh yes - and writing a few little books. Now that's a woman who knows how to use her time wisely. Inspiring in every way. Oh yes - and doing all this as an African-American woman, the lowest on the totem pole in those days. Not any more!She talked about teaching writing, how she'd say to her students, But where are you in this? What were you feeling? Go deeper. Hmmm, I thought. Sounds familiar.
Another confession: I have never read her. On my list.
It's nearly 1. Time's wingèd chariot. Etc.
PS Laywine's, the wonderful pen and paper store, is open, and they have the Quo Vadis Academic Daytimer for 2020-21 in a choice of five colours! I can't live without my daytimer, and the current one is nearly done. Hopping on the bike. My day is made.
June 22, 2020
Father's Day feast
Yesterday late afternoon I thought, in my melodramatic way, if I die now, I'll die happy.
Did Jane Ellison's marvellous class on Zoom at 1, and by 3.30 my family arrived, Thomas and Eli by bicycle right across town - he's just 8, and at the end of the day he rode back with his dad, whereas I would never make it both ways! - and the others by Uber, bearing gifts. I'd asked Thomas for any leftovers from his garden to replace my chewed up Swiss chard, and they brought two big baskets with lettuce, tomatoes, marigolds, peppers, and other things he wasn't sure about that I'll need to look up - maybe a turnip and maybe a watermelon?
There was merriment and two boys wrestling like puppies on the grass and then Sam barbecued steak, chicken, salmon on a plank, Portobello mushrooms, and mixed vegetables. I made pomegranate/cucumber salad, green salad with garden lettuce, baked potatoes - a big fave of the boys and their father - and asparagus.
We FaceTimed for ages with their dad in Washington, who is suffering - after a heroic years-long successful struggle to get his massive theatre out of debt, now everything's shut down until there's a vaccine. And now his and other theatres are being attacked by BLM as "white theatres." I feel for him.
Thomas rode back here today to help put my upstairs tenant's heavy air conditioning unit in. I told him, If there's one thing I'll say to myself on my deathbed, it's that I helped create a family of people who like each other and get along.
And he said, laughing, Even during a Covid-19 lockdown.
Yes, even then.
After they left, I had work to do - final decisions on the photos going into the book, as the ms. had to go to the publisher this morning, though I took a break for Grantchester, which is not as good without the hunky James Norton, but good nonetheless.
So it has gone, beginning the next stage of its journey.
Did Jane Ellison's marvellous class on Zoom at 1, and by 3.30 my family arrived, Thomas and Eli by bicycle right across town - he's just 8, and at the end of the day he rode back with his dad, whereas I would never make it both ways! - and the others by Uber, bearing gifts. I'd asked Thomas for any leftovers from his garden to replace my chewed up Swiss chard, and they brought two big baskets with lettuce, tomatoes, marigolds, peppers, and other things he wasn't sure about that I'll need to look up - maybe a turnip and maybe a watermelon?
There was merriment and two boys wrestling like puppies on the grass and then Sam barbecued steak, chicken, salmon on a plank, Portobello mushrooms, and mixed vegetables. I made pomegranate/cucumber salad, green salad with garden lettuce, baked potatoes - a big fave of the boys and their father - and asparagus.
We FaceTimed for ages with their dad in Washington, who is suffering - after a heroic years-long successful struggle to get his massive theatre out of debt, now everything's shut down until there's a vaccine. And now his and other theatres are being attacked by BLM as "white theatres." I feel for him.Thomas rode back here today to help put my upstairs tenant's heavy air conditioning unit in. I told him, If there's one thing I'll say to myself on my deathbed, it's that I helped create a family of people who like each other and get along.
And he said, laughing, Even during a Covid-19 lockdown.
Yes, even then.
After they left, I had work to do - final decisions on the photos going into the book, as the ms. had to go to the publisher this morning, though I took a break for Grantchester, which is not as good without the hunky James Norton, but good nonetheless.
So it has gone, beginning the next stage of its journey.
June 21, 2020
The Merb'ys of Newfoundland - Happy Father's Day
For Father's Day, here is a beautiful short film about what it is to be a man: the Merb'ys of Newfoundland.
DESCRIPTIONThe creation of the 3rd annual Merb'ys photography project - a cultural phenomenon in Newfoundland featuring male people in sparkly custom mermaid outfits all in the name of charity and breaking down barriers.
This made me cry. Please enjoy.
https://gem.cbc.ca/media/short-docs/episode-119/38e815a-012ce84fe58
DESCRIPTIONThe creation of the 3rd annual Merb'ys photography project - a cultural phenomenon in Newfoundland featuring male people in sparkly custom mermaid outfits all in the name of charity and breaking down barriers.
This made me cry. Please enjoy.
https://gem.cbc.ca/media/short-docs/episode-119/38e815a-012ce84fe58
June 20, 2020
Normal People
Watched some of the summer solstice live from Stonehenge. No crazies, no druids, just a camera and a hundred thousand people from around the world. What an amazing thing, another unforeseen benefit of this pandemic. Here's a screenshot:
Though to tell the truth, it was a bit dull, just watching the light dim very slowly behind these magnificent structures. The first time I saw them, with my family in 1964, we wandered around touching them, and even at thirteen, I was moved. The most recent visit, in 2009, no touching, but they're still formidable and haunting. What must it have been like, thousands of years ago in prehistoric times, to see them loom above?
A very hot Saturday - what I wouldn't give for a little swimming pool!
Yesterday, the window guys arrived, two Ukrainian men who had a very tough job removing the old windows from the swollen old wood around them. It took them hours longer than they'd imagined. But now I have two, count them, two bedroom windows that open wide, with screens, and Robin upstairs has a lovely new window too. It is VERY hot in the attic room.
Last night I watched three episodes of Normal People. Sally Rooney is one of those writers who took off to the stratosphere instantly. I liked her first book, was unmoved by this one, her second. But the series is fabulous - two superb young actors, so committed to the work it's painful, almost intrusive to watch them. OH my God the agonies of adolescent love, its unbearable urgencies and insecurities and lusts and fears. They are bringing it all back, back to when I was 15 and 16 and a bit older and wasting my energy on one impossible boy after another, writhing in pain. Does he like me? Where is he right now? Is he looking at HER? Thank GOD for being old and calm and wise. I wouldn't go back there for anything. I'm looking forward to the rest of the series, bit by bit.
We are still in this surreal world, my friends, where we can sort of go out and sort of not, where the United States is disintegrating in excruciating slowmo before our eyes, where the world is coming to us through the little boxes we hold in our hands or on our desks. But - roses. Wisteria. Hydrangea. Lettuce. Butterflies and bees and birds. The world carries on, ignoring us to the best of its ability. Wise move, world.
Though to tell the truth, it was a bit dull, just watching the light dim very slowly behind these magnificent structures. The first time I saw them, with my family in 1964, we wandered around touching them, and even at thirteen, I was moved. The most recent visit, in 2009, no touching, but they're still formidable and haunting. What must it have been like, thousands of years ago in prehistoric times, to see them loom above?A very hot Saturday - what I wouldn't give for a little swimming pool!
Yesterday, the window guys arrived, two Ukrainian men who had a very tough job removing the old windows from the swollen old wood around them. It took them hours longer than they'd imagined. But now I have two, count them, two bedroom windows that open wide, with screens, and Robin upstairs has a lovely new window too. It is VERY hot in the attic room.
Last night I watched three episodes of Normal People. Sally Rooney is one of those writers who took off to the stratosphere instantly. I liked her first book, was unmoved by this one, her second. But the series is fabulous - two superb young actors, so committed to the work it's painful, almost intrusive to watch them. OH my God the agonies of adolescent love, its unbearable urgencies and insecurities and lusts and fears. They are bringing it all back, back to when I was 15 and 16 and a bit older and wasting my energy on one impossible boy after another, writhing in pain. Does he like me? Where is he right now? Is he looking at HER? Thank GOD for being old and calm and wise. I wouldn't go back there for anything. I'm looking forward to the rest of the series, bit by bit.
We are still in this surreal world, my friends, where we can sort of go out and sort of not, where the United States is disintegrating in excruciating slowmo before our eyes, where the world is coming to us through the little boxes we hold in our hands or on our desks. But - roses. Wisteria. Hydrangea. Lettuce. Butterflies and bees and birds. The world carries on, ignoring us to the best of its ability. Wise move, world.
June 18, 2020
Macca's birthday, and Radical Acts of Love
A quick word, have to write today, because IT'S MACCA'S 78th BIRTHDAY! Thank you, dear man, for all you've given to our world, and to this one Canadian in particular, who has loved you faithfully since February 1964. 56 years. Ye gods. Here he is singing his fabulous birthday song on the Plains of Abraham in 2008. I was there, renewing my vows, along with hundreds of thousands of others. Can you see me? I'm the one dancing.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MYCPB7a8ks
And ... I have discovered the name of my rosebush! I Googled "peach-coloured double rose" and what came up: the William Morris heritage English rose. I could not be happier, as a huge fan of Mr. Morris and of English heritage roses, of whom my mother was one.
One of my William Morris roses, this morning.
I am reading a vitally important book given to me by Isabel Huggan, who's a friend of the author: Radical Acts of Love: how we find hope at the end of life, by Janie Brown, a nurse who started a kind of hospice in Vancouver that provides counselling and support to those who are dying and their loved ones. The book shows that facing death with calm acceptance is the greatest gift we can give not only ourselves but our loved ones. It's not an easy read but it's a very important one. It makes me sorry that when my family and I were dealing with my dying father in Edmonton in 1988, we had not a clue what to do. We didn't ask him what he wanted, we didn't once use the word 'dying'. But we were there, and we surrounded him with love as best we could. At the end, he'd had enough; he went upstairs alone and took the morphine he'd been stockpiling. I honour his courage, and I urge you, particularly if you are facing your own ill health or that of someone you care about, and even if you're not, to read this book.
Before that I skimmed a nonfiction library book - When Time Stopped. An interesting premise destroyed, in my opinion, by being far, far too long. Where are the editors? she cries.
Cooling down after a hot one, it's 7 pm and another day has passed when I've not a clue what I did. Well, I went for our usual Thursday walk with Ruth; I went to the LCBO and bought 7, count them, 7 different kinds of rosé; I fertilized the garden and will now water; I read the Star and many websites and emails and of course had aperitif with Monique and breakfast, lunch, and dinner. What else, during the eleven hours since 8 when I got up? I have no idea. Oh - a tiny nap. And I found out the name of my roses.
So - not nothing. Not a new book started, not a vigorous exercise regime begun, but not nothing. Still alive. That's something.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MYCPB7a8ks
And ... I have discovered the name of my rosebush! I Googled "peach-coloured double rose" and what came up: the William Morris heritage English rose. I could not be happier, as a huge fan of Mr. Morris and of English heritage roses, of whom my mother was one.
One of my William Morris roses, this morning.
I am reading a vitally important book given to me by Isabel Huggan, who's a friend of the author: Radical Acts of Love: how we find hope at the end of life, by Janie Brown, a nurse who started a kind of hospice in Vancouver that provides counselling and support to those who are dying and their loved ones. The book shows that facing death with calm acceptance is the greatest gift we can give not only ourselves but our loved ones. It's not an easy read but it's a very important one. It makes me sorry that when my family and I were dealing with my dying father in Edmonton in 1988, we had not a clue what to do. We didn't ask him what he wanted, we didn't once use the word 'dying'. But we were there, and we surrounded him with love as best we could. At the end, he'd had enough; he went upstairs alone and took the morphine he'd been stockpiling. I honour his courage, and I urge you, particularly if you are facing your own ill health or that of someone you care about, and even if you're not, to read this book.
Before that I skimmed a nonfiction library book - When Time Stopped. An interesting premise destroyed, in my opinion, by being far, far too long. Where are the editors? she cries.
Cooling down after a hot one, it's 7 pm and another day has passed when I've not a clue what I did. Well, I went for our usual Thursday walk with Ruth; I went to the LCBO and bought 7, count them, 7 different kinds of rosé; I fertilized the garden and will now water; I read the Star and many websites and emails and of course had aperitif with Monique and breakfast, lunch, and dinner. What else, during the eleven hours since 8 when I got up? I have no idea. Oh - a tiny nap. And I found out the name of my roses.
So - not nothing. Not a new book started, not a vigorous exercise regime begun, but not nothing. Still alive. That's something.
June 17, 2020
listing the garden and missing the Kinks
PlantNet has changed my life. It reminds me of that fantastic scene in The Miracle Worker, as Annie Sullivan desperately tries to get Helen Keller to understand: "It has a NAME!" And at last the girl's face lights up. I am that girl. Now I know the names of almost all the plants in the garden, because the app told me so. Though not my beautiful roses.
So I made a list from one end of the garden to the other and counted. There are at least 47 different kinds of plants and flowers in the garden, including several different varieties of the same genus (that are only counted once.) There are 11 kinds of trees, including 12 cedars. 15 kinds of vegetables and spices, and 2 kinds of fruit.
And I know almost all their names! Come over and I'll introduce you to spiderwort, mandevilla, bugbane, comfrey, allium, goutweed, coreopsis. Aren't those beautiful names?
But one name eludes me, infuriatingly, and that's the title for my book. More searching today. Too bad there isn't an app for book titles. Ah well - something will come.
I make lists every day. For days now, my list has included finishing the course, Marketing for Creatives, that I started weeks ago and abandoned. It includes clearing out the fridge and cooking what needs to be cooked. Spraying the plants that have bugs or are at risk and fertilizing them all. Not to mention cleaning and clearing and laundry.
Did I do a single one of those things today? Nyet. I did however list all the plants in my garden and do Jane Ellison's exercise class and have aperitif with Monique, and I did spend an hour rooting through a vast box of family photos looking for a shot of my parents in the seventies to use in the book. And I found one - not good quality, a Polaroid, but wonderful nonetheless.
They were at a cottage they'd rented; my mother had not yet quit the cello. She found it too hard but she played piano and recorder beautifully. And Dad, as you can see, the violin.
And I found one of my favourite shots of me, my 18th birthday.
That summer, I was working as a waitress at the New Parkway Motor Hotel in Cornwall, Ontario, which was run by my uncle Loris. But the weekend of my birthday, I'd come home to celebrate with my parents in Ottawa. THAT VERY WEEKEND, The Kinks - THE KINKS - came through Cornwall and stayed overnight at the New Parkway Motor Hotel. They ate in the restaurant. When I got back, all the waitresses were giggling, and stories were told. I missed it all.
Perhaps just as well.
PS I forgot to count the wisteria! 48!
So I made a list from one end of the garden to the other and counted. There are at least 47 different kinds of plants and flowers in the garden, including several different varieties of the same genus (that are only counted once.) There are 11 kinds of trees, including 12 cedars. 15 kinds of vegetables and spices, and 2 kinds of fruit.
And I know almost all their names! Come over and I'll introduce you to spiderwort, mandevilla, bugbane, comfrey, allium, goutweed, coreopsis. Aren't those beautiful names?
But one name eludes me, infuriatingly, and that's the title for my book. More searching today. Too bad there isn't an app for book titles. Ah well - something will come.
I make lists every day. For days now, my list has included finishing the course, Marketing for Creatives, that I started weeks ago and abandoned. It includes clearing out the fridge and cooking what needs to be cooked. Spraying the plants that have bugs or are at risk and fertilizing them all. Not to mention cleaning and clearing and laundry.
Did I do a single one of those things today? Nyet. I did however list all the plants in my garden and do Jane Ellison's exercise class and have aperitif with Monique, and I did spend an hour rooting through a vast box of family photos looking for a shot of my parents in the seventies to use in the book. And I found one - not good quality, a Polaroid, but wonderful nonetheless.
They were at a cottage they'd rented; my mother had not yet quit the cello. She found it too hard but she played piano and recorder beautifully. And Dad, as you can see, the violin.And I found one of my favourite shots of me, my 18th birthday.
That summer, I was working as a waitress at the New Parkway Motor Hotel in Cornwall, Ontario, which was run by my uncle Loris. But the weekend of my birthday, I'd come home to celebrate with my parents in Ottawa. THAT VERY WEEKEND, The Kinks - THE KINKS - came through Cornwall and stayed overnight at the New Parkway Motor Hotel. They ate in the restaurant. When I got back, all the waitresses were giggling, and stories were told. I missed it all.Perhaps just as well.
PS I forgot to count the wisteria! 48!
June 16, 2020
lovely friends
Last night Cathy's Dom Perignon 2000 was a tiny bit old, so Monique suggested we add a touch of her favourite liqueur, cassis. Delicious. A lovely time on her deck, the champagne followed by Chateauneuf du Pape - this woman does not fool around with wine. For the last few months, as we weathered isolation with each other over aperitifs, Cathy, who's known Monique for decades, has become a good friend to me too. She's off to Newfoundland tomorrow and will be missed.
This morning, a long walk down the Don Valley Trail with Lynn, who's very fit and has an app which not only told her how many steps we took and kms. we walked - about 7 - but also how much of the time we walked briskly. Answer: quite a bit. Talking all the way.
She also showed me an app, PlantNet, that I've since downloaded for myself. It's like facial recognition technology for plants and flowers; she took a shot of a wildflower on our walk and looked up its name and provenance. She did the same for a few mysterious things in my garden. But to my disappointment, the app was not able to identify this gorgeous beauty. Too many roses. Any ideas out there? This rose bush has been in my garden for at least 15 years, and it's sheer joy every year. I counted 100 buds. What did human beings do to deserve roses?
Watched a documentary this evening about Mae West. What fabulous lines she had, often written by herself. When Cary Grant tries to take her hand and she pulls it away, he says, "Don't you want me to hold your hand?" "It's not heavy," she says. "I can hold it myself."
I think this is a Mae West rose, don't you? There. Named.
This morning, a long walk down the Don Valley Trail with Lynn, who's very fit and has an app which not only told her how many steps we took and kms. we walked - about 7 - but also how much of the time we walked briskly. Answer: quite a bit. Talking all the way.
She also showed me an app, PlantNet, that I've since downloaded for myself. It's like facial recognition technology for plants and flowers; she took a shot of a wildflower on our walk and looked up its name and provenance. She did the same for a few mysterious things in my garden. But to my disappointment, the app was not able to identify this gorgeous beauty. Too many roses. Any ideas out there? This rose bush has been in my garden for at least 15 years, and it's sheer joy every year. I counted 100 buds. What did human beings do to deserve roses?
Watched a documentary this evening about Mae West. What fabulous lines she had, often written by herself. When Cary Grant tries to take her hand and she pulls it away, he says, "Don't you want me to hold your hand?" "It's not heavy," she says. "I can hold it myself." I think this is a Mae West rose, don't you? There. Named.
June 15, 2020
sweet peace
Blessings, blessings, gifts, these days. The weather is perfect, 20 degrees with a light wind. My neighbours went away and there was silence here and in the 'hood, such extraordinary silence for downtown. When it's quiet and sunny with a breeze, there is nowhere on the planet I'd rather be than in my garden - on my deck in the shade with a glass of rosé and a book or this computer. And thou.
Have been gardening - trying to keep on top of the ferocious growth, not just of the good things, but of weeds and plant-destroying bugs. But the roses, the wisteria, the hydrangea - and this year an explosion of honeysuckle. The bleeding heart, the beans and squash, the lettuce. The only sad story is the ... almost completely devoured.
My brain is going. I am forgetting names. It's scary. People's names, the names of things. The name of the devoured veg - it came! Swiss chard.
Why is it Swiss? In any case, a bug has destroyed it.
No idea how the days have passed, but they have. Today, errands, going to pick up another library book, FaceTiming with Lynn in France, tonight a big dinner with Monique and Cathy, who is leaving for Newfoundland on Wednesday, to our sorrow. She has brought a bottle of Dom Perignon for tonight's celebration of how we three supported each other almost daily through this strange time.
Lynn said how much she has enjoyed it, being stuck in Provence with books and the internet, cooking, doing her exercise classes, reading, walking. Now France is opening up, and her daughter Sarah and 3 grandchildren have arrived from Kathmandu because Sarah, a single mother, needs help with the kids. So Lynn's vacation is over.
Canada is opening up too, though more slowly. Just picking up a library book - the library isn't open but holds are coming through - you stand in the parking lot while they spray the table, then put your library card on the table and stand way back, then they bring the book in a brown paper bag and spray again. Definitely overkill. But they want people to feel safe.
Time to sit on the deck with my new library book - When Time Stopped - and drink in the peace. Too early still for rosé. Or Dom Perignon. But time - some days, it sure does feel as if time has stopped.
The boys and their friend Amani at the march.
This is the entrance path to the basement suite through my garden. Please pass on the word. Ready for renting! Fully furnished, wonderful location, absolutely fabulous landlady!
Have been gardening - trying to keep on top of the ferocious growth, not just of the good things, but of weeds and plant-destroying bugs. But the roses, the wisteria, the hydrangea - and this year an explosion of honeysuckle. The bleeding heart, the beans and squash, the lettuce. The only sad story is the ... almost completely devoured.
My brain is going. I am forgetting names. It's scary. People's names, the names of things. The name of the devoured veg - it came! Swiss chard.
Why is it Swiss? In any case, a bug has destroyed it.
No idea how the days have passed, but they have. Today, errands, going to pick up another library book, FaceTiming with Lynn in France, tonight a big dinner with Monique and Cathy, who is leaving for Newfoundland on Wednesday, to our sorrow. She has brought a bottle of Dom Perignon for tonight's celebration of how we three supported each other almost daily through this strange time.
Lynn said how much she has enjoyed it, being stuck in Provence with books and the internet, cooking, doing her exercise classes, reading, walking. Now France is opening up, and her daughter Sarah and 3 grandchildren have arrived from Kathmandu because Sarah, a single mother, needs help with the kids. So Lynn's vacation is over.
Canada is opening up too, though more slowly. Just picking up a library book - the library isn't open but holds are coming through - you stand in the parking lot while they spray the table, then put your library card on the table and stand way back, then they bring the book in a brown paper bag and spray again. Definitely overkill. But they want people to feel safe.
Time to sit on the deck with my new library book - When Time Stopped - and drink in the peace. Too early still for rosé. Or Dom Perignon. But time - some days, it sure does feel as if time has stopped.
The boys and their friend Amani at the march.
This is the entrance path to the basement suite through my garden. Please pass on the word. Ready for renting! Fully furnished, wonderful location, absolutely fabulous landlady!
June 12, 2020
Anne Frank's birthday
It's Anne Frank's birthday today. She would have been 91. She should have been 91. Imagine, with her wisdom and sensitivity and drive, what she would have written during her lifetime, if she'd been given the chance.
Makes me weep.
Okay, let's not, there's too much to weep about out there. So, the good news: Greg, the publisher at Iguana Press, came over today. We sat distanced enough on the deck, talked shop, discussed the cover and photos, liked each other a lot - and SIGNED THE CONTRACT. We're moving ahead, folks. Incredible. I first began to pitch this book in the fall of 2017, and that was after a few years of writing and editing, which continue still. Endless.
BTW, however, Greg says there's a problem with We Are All Broken. It's the inspirational bon mot on the cover of many journals sold on Amazon, and so, he says, when those words are Googled, that's what comes up; my book would be way down the page. Not good; people don't want to scroll down the page. So, believe it or not, we're rethinking.
Today my neighbour power-washed something extremely dirty for hours, on what had been a gorgeous tranquil afternoon. In case the noise wasn't deafening enough, they had the radio on too. First world etc. But God, I do treasure, relish, need, and adore quiet. Lani says I should buy a second-hand accordion, and the next time the neighbours are dining outside, I should go out and teach myself to play it. LOL.
Yesterday, I went across town to the anti-racism demonstration at Queen Victoria school, to protest a scandal involving a racist letter that was not handled well by the principal or the TDSB. At least 75 people marched with signs, ending in the playground for a press conference. Among those who spoke was Anna, representing the parent council; she spoke with clarity and force. I was very proud of her. And I remembered going to rallies against the Vietnam war through the sixties, listening to my activist dad speak with clarity and force. He would have been very proud of her too.
Later, I found a photo of her at 16, when we were visiting family in Vernon. My in-laws had a son with cerebral palsy and were involved in issues for the local handicapped community. And, during that visit, so was Anna.
This rare and beautiful soul is named for my great-grandmother Anna Gordin, but as well for one of my heroes, Anne Frank, also sometimes called Anna.
And finally, speaking of rare and beautiful: the first rose came out this morning.
Makes me weep.
Okay, let's not, there's too much to weep about out there. So, the good news: Greg, the publisher at Iguana Press, came over today. We sat distanced enough on the deck, talked shop, discussed the cover and photos, liked each other a lot - and SIGNED THE CONTRACT. We're moving ahead, folks. Incredible. I first began to pitch this book in the fall of 2017, and that was after a few years of writing and editing, which continue still. Endless.
BTW, however, Greg says there's a problem with We Are All Broken. It's the inspirational bon mot on the cover of many journals sold on Amazon, and so, he says, when those words are Googled, that's what comes up; my book would be way down the page. Not good; people don't want to scroll down the page. So, believe it or not, we're rethinking.
Today my neighbour power-washed something extremely dirty for hours, on what had been a gorgeous tranquil afternoon. In case the noise wasn't deafening enough, they had the radio on too. First world etc. But God, I do treasure, relish, need, and adore quiet. Lani says I should buy a second-hand accordion, and the next time the neighbours are dining outside, I should go out and teach myself to play it. LOL.
Yesterday, I went across town to the anti-racism demonstration at Queen Victoria school, to protest a scandal involving a racist letter that was not handled well by the principal or the TDSB. At least 75 people marched with signs, ending in the playground for a press conference. Among those who spoke was Anna, representing the parent council; she spoke with clarity and force. I was very proud of her. And I remembered going to rallies against the Vietnam war through the sixties, listening to my activist dad speak with clarity and force. He would have been very proud of her too.
Later, I found a photo of her at 16, when we were visiting family in Vernon. My in-laws had a son with cerebral palsy and were involved in issues for the local handicapped community. And, during that visit, so was Anna.
This rare and beautiful soul is named for my great-grandmother Anna Gordin, but as well for one of my heroes, Anne Frank, also sometimes called Anna.And finally, speaking of rare and beautiful: the first rose came out this morning.
