Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 83

a good Good Friday

Just had my huge Good Friday lunch -  a heap of my creamy veg gratin with asparagus and sausage, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and the newspaper. I may start having a glass of vino at midday. Why not? Except that it makes me sleepy. Well, why not nap? What is stopping me except my sense that I have to GET THINGS DONE? A sense that has so far not done much good, I can tell you.

Today I began work, yes, a MailChimp newsletter to former students started, not finished. Did Gina's line dancing and went to Riverdale Hill to walk down and up. It's sunny but windy and cold today. And then a very big lunch, followed by an excessive quantity of superb dark chocolate.

Last night, another episode about Inspector Jane Tennison, such marvellous television. As I said, I'm sure I've seen them all but I don't remember and am happy to watch them again. She's spectacular, Helen Mirren, one tough broad, but so is the supporting cast.

Today's daring plan was to get to the LCBO, but I have enough wine to tide me over till Tuesday, and I think everywhere will be crazy because of the long weekend. Long weekend - what a joke. Our lives are now one long weekend.

My doorbell just rang - it was John and his daughter Emilie delivering more jam, a cake, and the pack of leaf bags I'd requested. Angels!

It's so warm and quiet in here, and I'm so very full. I think I will have that nap. Is your life more exciting than mine? Do tell.

peanut butter crisis

I don't know about you, but I'm overloaded with things to do. People's creativity and generosity is overflowing my inbox - so much to read, watch, listen to, absorb! It would take a solid week of 8 hour days to go through it all, let alone all the rest pouring in, the radio, TV, magazines, newspapers, and of course the not-so-trusty websites. Not to mention, buried in there somewhere, books. Jane Eyre on National Theatre Live! The documentary Babies on Rogers On Demand! The NYT, Guardian, WashPost, endless articles, music, films, all on my list. Amazing, wonderful, overwhelming.

At some point, hard choices need to be made.  I find myself deleting far more quickly than I used to, just to try to keep on top of it all.

Crisis today: peanut butter almost gone, and not just any pb, my special kind, only available at the big Loblaws, plus other luxurious necessities - ginger cookies, almonds, and Tangelos. So I bravely rode there in the sun today, to find a very long lineup. Turned around and rode home. Later, I put on mask and gloves and walked to Lenny's, the healthfood store, for a pot of their good, just not quite as good Nuts to You pb. So I'm safe pb wise. And then the emergency chocolate was delivered from Stratford. My cup runneth etc. Must check my wine stash. Another crisis looms.
At Lenny's, there was a tall plexiglass shield in front of the cash register. I in my mask and gloves faced the cashier behind glass who didn't touch any of my things, just asked me to turn them so she could see the prices. Then I tapped and was gone, steering my way home as far from other humans as possible. It goes against everything I hold dear, this rigid avoidance of my fellows. But here we are.

It's Easter weekend, not that that ever meant much to me. We did celebrate as a family with a big meal, but that's because we loved any opportunity to gather and feast, nothing to do with the death and resurrection of Jesus. But to those of you out there who celebrate Easter, or Passover, my love and best wishes to you for what will surely be the strangest celebration yet. My cousin and his husband in NYC, who usually host 20 or more, ordered a take-out seder dinner; the company would only deliver an order for 8, so Ted and Henry will celebrate Passover for the next week.

Last night, two fabulous women: Inspector Jane Tennison in reruns - I'm sure I saw them all, but Helen Mirren and all the actors are so good, I love to watch them work. And then Sam Bee, still broadcasting from a field somewhere. All the comedians, such good sports, keeping the flame of comedy and outrage alive.

May this experience show us how little we actually need: health, food, a roof, family and friends. And really, not much more. Okay, some of us - well, I - also need dark chocolate, peanut butter, wine, and some good reading material and entertainment. And a computer and internet, so I can write to you.

Zoom wrestling

It was a glorious day, the best yet, though tomorrow rain and it may yet snow again, who knows? But recently we've had some gorgeous weather.

Covid controversy continues: A friend told me I shouldn't socialize even outside six feet apart with my own glass because the dreaded droplets could be carried by the wind. Ye gods, truly, it's a horror movie with an invisible monster lurking everywhere.

Today, spent hour after frustrating hour getting up to speed on Zoom Pro, which I bought yesterday. Sent a friend a meeting request but it didn't work. Wrestled with the app, getting more tense by the minute, because technology hates me and wants to drive me mad, like the horses I rode the one summer I went to camp who knew how afraid of them I was and would refuse to move. I even took a half hour webinar, along with, the perky teacher told us, 700 other people.

If only we'd all bought shares in Zoom 3 weeks ago!

Finally, with Matt's help and that of my tenant Robin, it's figured out. We are going to Zoom the home class next Thursday. And if that works, I hope to get more teaching, coaching, and editing work via Zoom. And during a long talk with writer friend Isabel Huggan today, she suggested that, since isolated millions have started to keep journals and write stories, now would be a good time to try to get my cheerful, concise writing textbook into their hands. How to do that? Marketing, my great great skill. LOL.

The New Rituals: Did Gina's line dancing class, which has gone from 18 participants to 3. Went for a 10-minute jogette, slower than ever; ran into director Ron Singer and his wife Yvonne, who live nearby. Have known Ron since he adjudicated a play I was in in 1969. He cast me in my second professional acting job in 1970. It's amazing to run into your past as you wander the 'hood. For him, perhaps, also.

Had aperitif with Monique. This is her view, poor soul. Please don't look at the arm flap.
Last night, made a gratin of leeks, broccoli, and spinach in a very rich cheese sauce - comfort food of the best sort. Covid casserole!
Then an excellent Ken Burns/PBS documentary on genes. My dad the geneticist told me that in 1953 he read an article by Watson and Crick about their discovery of the double helix, but he had no idea how important that discovery was. The show pointed out the dangers of genetic engineering, but also that they're coming up with cures for terrible genetic diseases because of gene research.

Improving the mind, Covid style.

Somewhere, I have to admit - I hesitate to even say this in light of so much appalling suffering world wide - but I do not mind this new life in my silent house. There's pleasure in the fact that I don't have to go anywhere or do anything, that the day stretches out filled with silent possibility and no expectation. Though I'm embarrassed to say so, from my perch of privilege and comfort and luck.

heated Covid controversy, and One Man, Two Guvnors

Two more things to report today: I just had a phone call from Jean-Marc following up on our recent conversation on the street; he wanted to tell me how irresponsible he thinks I am to go out as much as I do, like having a drink once on Monique's deck, even six feet apart and bringing my own glass. "You're touching things, bringing that back to the house - what about your tenant?" he said. "The rule is: you stay home alone in your house and you do not go out."

But we have to survive this longterm, I said. We can't go through the day seeing nothing but disease everywhere. I wash my hands all the time, wear gloves, am careful what I touch, keep apart from others. As for the 'rule', there's nary a rule I don't look at to see how far it can be stretched.

But this is different, he said. This is life and death. He think I'm encouraging my blog readers to go out and do irresponsible things. Is that so, dear readers?

I appreciate his call. He and I have clashed before about obeying versus breaking rules, but I would have made a similar call if I felt a friend were putting herself or others at risk. I happen not to think I am, but it's true that I could be more careful. So my message to all of you is: DO NOT DO ANYTHING IRRESPONSIBLE! And don't listen to me!

Okay?

Yesterday, I watched the National Theatre Live's presentation of the comedy One Man, Two Guvnors, which was the breakout role for James Corden. I saw it on stage in London just after he left and enjoyed it a lot. Well, it must have shrunk in the transition to my computer, because I found it exhausting, forced, and silly. Even Corden. Tiresome British jokes and mugging, and you know that British stuff generally sends me into ecstasy. Not this.

Tonight, Monique and I are meeting at our usual time, 5.30, from our two far apart decks. This is acceptable. As for the 'rule' - I'll have to figure out how far I will follow and when I will not.

PS Just heard from a friend: Jean-Marc’s rule doesn’t exist. The rule is stay in and, when you must go out, keep the 6 foot rule. I believe what he refers to is applied to those who have been in known contact with or are themselves symptomatic or sick with CoVid and/or returning travellers.

PPS. Lots of comments are flooding in via email and Anonymous writing below, some siding with me, and some with JM. As we sat on different levels chatting tonight, I told Monique about it. "What about people with dogs? They're out all the time. No one is telling them to stay home," she said. I think my dear friend JM exaggerates my level of irresponsibility. Sitting once six feet apart on a friend's deck is not a mad flouting of rules. But he still thinks I'm wild and crazy and leading you all astray.

Please do not be led astray.

Penny just wrote beautifully from Liverpool: Time is a strange deep river. It seems slow moving and bottomless yet it also passes too quickly to do anything useful. All those tasks I brought with me to Liverpool and suddenly they seem unimportant yet I know when life cranks up again I will wish I had used my down time more usefully.

I think we all feel that way, Penny. And now, back to Facebook.

chocolate will save the day

Sitting on the deck in the hot sun - a heavenly day. And I'm wearing jeans, aka hard pants, and underneath my t-shirt an actual brassiere, because I'm a respectable grownup woman. Occasionally. Earlier this morning, I ordered $130 worth of dark chocolate to be delivered from two local chocolatiers - Soul, a tiny place just down the street on Gerrard, and Rheo Thompson in Stratford. If I were forced to choose between dark chocolate, peanut butter, and red wine - I'd have to shoot myself before deciding.

That much chocolate should keep me going for a few days.

Today's adventure: riding my bike to University Avenue, in the heart of the financial district, to leave my tax forms for my friend John, one of the nicest guys I know, Vice President of a big finance firm who years ago offered to do my taxes for free. He has done so every year, and then Sam's as well. I'm not sure why we deserve this kindness; I know he does the taxes for his extended family, but us too? Of course, Sam did create a special cocktail for him called the Taxman, and offered to create another, the Rebate.

Downtown is a desert, a ghost town - almost no cars, air clean, quiet, John's 14-story office building empty except for a cleaner and a receptionist. I've never had such an easy time on the bike, never been more grateful for my trusty steed, the best way to get around. Never more grateful for my garden, my house and friends. That my family is healthy on the other side of town.

A superb article by the invaluable Bruce Arthur in the Star today, about "America's radioactive instability" - "And above it all, above the 40 years of anti-government, anti-science, anti-working-class, anti-poor, anti-public state - it is obvious to anybody who watches Donald Trump for 5 minutes that he is essentially a wicked, lying child who bluffed his way into being in charge of an aircraft carrier and has no idea what to do now." It ends, "We all know it's going to get worse, south of us. We remain locked in a cage with a feverish gorilla, and it's getting sicker by the day."

Much discussion among friends - will we learn anything from this? Will our new appreciation not just of clean air and water, but strong government intervention, carry over when this ends? Or will we just go right back to where we were, heedless of the planet and each other?

Last night, My Brilliant Friend. It's slow, an intricate deconstruction of these two young women and their world. Fascinating, extraordinary actors, and Italy. A healthy Italy.

How I would like a haircut. How I miss visiting my family, the Y, Doubletake. But now I'm going down the street to buy a pot of tulips. Just had a talk with Jean-Marc, I on the sidewalk, he on his steps. He thinks I'm far too careless, even to go to Monique's deck for a six foot apart aperitif. He hardly touches anything. I understand. But I think I'm careful without being overly fearful. Will I regret this?

Was just looking back at last month, how fast things changed - one advantage of a blog. This is March 1. Move apart! I want to shout. Danger! Danger!
People are leaving helpful messages all over the place.

The Windermere Children

Just Googled "artisanal chocolate near me" hoping to find a place that delivers - I'm feeling a powerful need for good chocolate. The thrill of this moment is that Mrs. Cardinal, with her orange beak and soft brown feathers, is perched on the clematis just outside. I keep a ceramic plant base filled with water on the fence, in which the birds drink and bathe. Hope she will try it. So far, no luck with chocolate. The dark chocolate bikkies will have to keep me going. Can I get some Easter treats somehow?

Here's what a very nice rejection looks like:
Thanks for your submission. Unfortunately, we are unable to accept it for consideration as Invisible Publishing’s non-fiction list has a rather narrow focus and we do not currently publish memoirs. 

I wish you all the best in finding a good home for your work.
Very grateful, as I wrote to them, to have received their no so fast. Yesterday, I heard the publisher of the small press Biblioasis being interviewed on CBC, saying he feared the press would go under, but also that he still hoped to find new voices. Though I'd sent a submission to them late last year, I sent another on the spot, saying New voices? Here I am. But am going ahead speedily with self-publishing. Want to get this book out by my birthday in August. What a present that will be.

Another great gift: Sol Hermolin, who produces the Yiddish event I spoke at a few months ago, sent me a link to God, Man and Devil, the movie of my great-grandfather's play. When writing my book, I spent a year tracking down a video copy, and now here it is on my computer. Sol told me his family will be celebrating Passover this year in their separate houses, by Zoom. Not quite the same, but wonderful nonetheless.

Last night, Call the Midwife, then a drama about the Second World War I didn't like very much so left to read, though one of its points was particularly relevant right now - that just before the war, in 1939, ignoring the warnings of journalists, Europeans west and east were determined to pay no attention to the advance of the Nazis and danced on as usual, until their lives were smashed to bits.

And then The Windermere Children, a harrowing drama about 300 orphaned Jewish children rescued from the camps and sent to be housed in England, in an attempt to rehabilitate and heal them. Again, like Unorthodox which was largely in Yiddish, this was mainly in Polish with talented young Polish actors. It was heart-wrenching and deeply moving, especially at the end when it showed a few of the boys whose stories had been dramatized returning to the same place as old men and telling us what they'd achieved in their lives - one had been knighted. We saw that despite the kind efforts of the adults around them, what made the children better was the lush green beauty of the Lake District where they were housed, and the support and love they gave each other.

surreal planet, Day 6,713: The Museum of My Clothes

This morning I went into what I call The Museum of My Clothes - my walk-in closet - and laughed. There they are, lined up neatly on their hangers, jackets and skirts and shirts and dresses. And every morning I put on the same sweatpants, t-shirt, and sweater, and occasionally, if I'm going to be seeing someone respectable, a bra. Or not even. And then it's farewell to the Museum of My Clothes. Yet another surreal element of this alternate universe we are all inhabiting.

But you know who's happy about all this? Animals and birds. On my walk yesterday with Ruth - six feet apart of course - we saw six big robins in a small patch of grass near Riverdale Farm. The birds in my garden are loud with song. Perhaps the clean air, the lack of much auto noise, the fact that humans aren't tramping about getting in the way will be a huge boon to our avian neighbours, and the animal ones too. Silver Lining Department. I've heard that pets are appreciating the extra contact with owners stuck at home.

Today I will write a letter to my grandsons and mail it. Maybe do that regularly through this shutdown, just to keep in touch, though of course FaceTime does it better. And today, I really must do my taxes. Have been saying that for quite some time.

Last night, the last two episodes of Unorthodox, a very fine Netflix drama. It presents a fairly balanced view of the extreme orthodox Hasidic sect the heroine Esty has to flee; a rabbi tells of all the massacres Jews have had to survive, intimating that the strict isolation and endless rules of this group are their way to survive. We get it. But it's marvellous that the city providing liberation, escape, and a future to Esty is Berlin. That was then, this is now, the film says. The world has changed, and certainly Germany has changed. Let's move on.

Today's treat, besides my taxes: the woman who leads the fabulous dance movement class I take in Vancouver whenever I'm there is offering it on Zoom. She's a trained dancer and leads a warmup, then puts on 3 or 4 fantastic songs and we dance, and then she does a cool down. Hard, again, to imagine this alone in my kitchen, but I'll be there.

Another long silent day. So much to do - my email inbox is overflowing, not to mention the Sunday papers, the New Yorkers, the books and music and films and TV, my own work, and a year's worth of sorting and culling I could start any time. So - onward.

FYI, just getting to the March 9 New Yorker, with the hideous pic of Trump on the front with the mask over his eyes. There is ONE short article inside about the virus, a few paragraphs wondering how serious it was going to be. March 9! Ye gods, that fast. By the time the magazine came out, the situation could not have been more different.

Visual escape for today: fields of tulips in Holland.

defying death at the St. Lawrence Market

Sam texted that the friend of a friend in the know warns that our premier is going to shut down the entire province for 2 weeks, everything. Not sure if that's so. But - I'm ready.

Because I took my life in my hands this morning. Something amazing happened that never happens - I went to bed at 11:15 and woke up at 6:45. Unbelievable. No waking in the middle of the night to make lists on the notepad always by my bed. No flailing about from 3:00 to 5:30 and then sleeping in till 10. No, real efficiency, to bed, to sleep, wake up early. Thank you, body and mind. For once.

So I jumped on my bike and went to the St. Lawrence farmer's market, as I usually do on Saturday mornings, though never remotely this early - 7:30 a.m. Everyone advised against this daring venture. I may regret taking the risk. It feels like we have to juggle living life versus safety, and sometimes, life wins. I was overjoyed to be on the bike early on a mild morning, the city mostly asleep and stuck inside in any case.

At the market, there were crosses on the sidewalk six feet apart as we waited to get in. That was new. Inside, some vendors were missing, like the marvellous Polish nut lady. But the Mennonite butchers, the Merchants of Green Coffee guy, the sourdough bread people, the Empire apple guy, the leeks and asparagus people - all there. I was happy to support our local farmers and stock up. Wore gloves as much as possible, tried not to touch my face, was in and out quickly, washed my hands as soon as I got home. Imagine - a death-defying, life on the edge trip to the market.
 Waiting to get in - a first
My booty and bounty, the spoils of my raid.

Last night, after sending off the manuscript - and today I regret that I bothered as a complete waste of time and energy, like all the other submissions, but what the hell - I watched two episodes of Unorthodox on my TV rather than my computer for the first time. Thanks, Brad, for hooking me up to the 21st century. What a terrific show - showing us the (absurdly) ritualistic lifestyle of the ultra-Orthodox Hasids of Williamsburg, a "lunatic fringe" of Judaism as one character says, while keeping our hearts pounding for the safety and future of the heroine. Can't wait to watch the rest, and then James Corden at the National Theatre, and then so much more. Just listened while making a huge spaghetti sauce to a podcast via the NYT, Cheryl Strayed - Dear Sugar - chatting with the superb George Saunders about this particularly difficult era of life on earth.

I wrote an article about a writing colleague for the CNFC newsletter, and later, today's excitement - taxes! Time flies when you're having fun. The sun is coming out, the croci are dark mauve and the daffs are nearly here, Mrs. Cardinal has twigs in her beak for her nest somewhere above. I know, the cost of this pandemic is incalculable. All we can do is cherish each good moment as it arises. Time now for a fresh cup of coffee and another slab of sourdough bread: this is mine.

falling down, standing up

For your joy, today: Anna and the boys made these and put them in front of their building, where they can be seen by passersby on foot, in cars, in streetcars. So beautiful.

An hour ago I noticed that the forsythia in the front yard was in bud, ready to bloom, so got my secateurs and stepped onto my front porch. My neighbour's little girl was just coming home with their dog Harley, whom I adore, so I greeted Harley and fell over. Simply toppled onto the porch, I guess tripping over my own feet. And thought, as I went down, NOT NOW YOU IDIOT!

Not hurt. Was concerned I might have sprained wrist or ankle - a bit sore but no, perhaps because I'm pretty spry for an old bird. Thank God. Can you imagine going to Emerg right now with a sprained ankle? You'd sit there for two days and end up not just with Covid but everything else that's going. Be careful out there, folks.

I was feeling especially spry because I did Gina's line dancing online, again. On the one hand, it's absurd; it's called LINE dancing because you're in a line, not alone in your kitchen with your computer. On the other hand, why not? It's dancing, there's music, and I'm getting better, not totally two left feet any more. It's an appointment in my calendar - 11 a.m. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Something to hang onto.

Otherwise, I have no idea where the time goes. There's a long list of things to watch - yes, I know, many have written to tell me about Unorthodox, I promise to watch soon, but first, James Corden at the National Theatre, when I can get there. What else am I doing? Had a session with a coaching client on Skype yesterday, a former student wanting advice on her writing. Went for a jogette and met several people, including a father from Anna's high school days who works in sustainability - a very interesting discussion about how to change society, six feet apart, on the stairs at Riverdale Hill. I've bought a new printer and, with the help of my tech guy Matt on the phone, got it working. (I was furious my old one stopped working - "It's only two years old!" I told Matt, remembering the trip to Staples with Wayson to buy it. And then found the bill. I bought it in 2013. Thus, time, when you're my age.)

Celebrated neighbour Monique's birthday with crémeux, apart on her deck in the chilly sun. Tonight, we'll meet for aperitif as usual, my deck above hers.
Read Ben a bedtime story. God, it's not the same through a cellphone, but then, nothing is the same, is it? Watched Sam Bee, broadcasting her show from a field somewhere. Watched something else that I don't remember.

Mostly - a friend mentioned a small press in her neck of the woods, rural Ontario, she admires a lot, and I decided - to use a cliché - one last kick at the can. No, at the football - like the hapless Charley Brown, I'm going to try again and fall on my ass, once more, when the football is whisked away. So I've spent the last two days getting the ms. ready to submit for the last time, incorporating the edits friends have sent. Hope to send it out tonight and will continue in any case to prepare to self-publish.

I need things I usually buy at the farmer's market - nuts, apples, eggs, coffee, bread. It opens tomorrow at 5. How early can I get there? Anna has forbidden me to go out; Doug Ford says the death toll in Ontario could reach between 3000 and 15,000 deaths. "Stay at home, woman!" she says. But I'm not 70 yet, and we're allowed out once a week to get food, so I want to go. My daughter will not be pleased.

Have our roles switched already? Isn't it a bit soon?

Here's a slender vase of hope.

my "break-through" book

Today the sun was shining. Let's just stop right there. What a difference!

The other night I called one of my oldest friends, who lives in B.C. She was diagnosed last year with a degenerative disease, but talking to her, all I heard was her energy and humour, her vital attention to the world. We laughed and laughed. At one point, I asked if she could get outside for a walk, and she said, "Beth, I can't walk." That was the only mention of what is happening to her body. Otherwise, just laughter and intense talk and discussion of her favourite cat memes on the internet; she is a crazy cat lady. We have been friends since 1970. I could not admire her more.

And yesterday, I interviewed a writer who suffered the worst blow imaginable, the death, by an extremely rare disease, of her only child, her 16-year old daughter.

What human beings endure, with courage and grace and understandable rage, stuns me. My writer friend said that she is now on one side of the river, and those without a terrible loss are on the other.

I write to you from my side of the river.

Last night, I watched a doc on polio, which pointed out that this hideous disease struck mostly children. The only blessing of Covid is that it leaves children alone. My father nearly died of polio in 1951; my mother thought my one-year old self had it but got over it. Think of what might have been, before Jonas Salk saved the world.

Today, I pruned the roses and hydrangeas in the sunshine. From the outside, it might have looked like I was someone who knew what she was doing. I didn't, but did it anyway. Before that, Gina taught line-dancing on Zoom. Not quite the same, but it was fun to be dancing with the 14 other women onscreen, still stumbling around.

The best thing about today is that my longterm students and friends who've been reading the memoir manuscript have been telling me what they think. For example, from one who's a university professor:
What a pleasure this was - so clever, funny, engaging, moving. I was astonished by your descriptions of landscapes—you have a particular gift there. They are transcendent. Such lovely, lovely descriptions that immerse us in the scene. I just can’t get over how you deftly describe complex people and complicated relationships with such a light touch. And, BTW, I am JUST shaking my head over why no publisher is picking this up. It reads to me like your “break-through” book. 

Thank you so much. Unfortunately, publishers do not agree.
The best thing about yesterday was that Anna arrived with four bags of groceries, a pot of her homemade seafood soup, and a face mask someone had made. We even hugged, though we were not supposed to. But I couldn't stop myself, thinking of my writer friend. My daughter and I, on the same side of the river, blessed and grateful.