Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 84
March 31, 2020
My Brilliant Friend and the new reality
Last night, sheer joy: My Brilliant Friend on HBO. Breathtakingly good, superb Italian actors, detailed period shots of Naples in the fifties and early sixties. In one short scene, the clever, defensive Lila, who has quit school and married a man with money, has bought new textbooks as a gift for her clever friend Elena, who's doing well in school. Elena brings the 3 bags of books home to the small apartment where she lives with her parents, who have very little money, and siblings. Her mother looks at the books in awe, picks one up and smells it, and bursts into sobs. "They're new!" she cries, grabbing our hearts with the depth of her lifelong poverty and despair.
A feast of artistry.
Today I finally realized - this is it, this is going to be life for weeks. At least another month. I've been planning to go to NoFrills, even to the big Loblaws, which sells my greatest necessity, Adam's peanut butter - I only have half a pot left! But every article is urging people over 70 to remain at home and depend on others. I know, I'm only 69 1/2. But still.
So today, Anna is coming across town with a huge load of groceries she's bought for me. This is a woman looking after her own family, which includes, as you know, two hyperactive boys and various children from other families. But she is going to shop and deliver for her perfectly healthy, active mother who's champing at the bit to get outside.
Insane. Our new reality. And, to boot, today is the bleakest yet - grey and cold. No desire even to go for my customary short slow run to the Riverdale Hill stairs, up and down and home. I'll do the NYT Seven Minute Workout, which is all I can bear right now. If that.
BUT - my house is full of books, seven million of them to be exact. Not to mention what floods in via this little machine. Tons of work to do. I'd like to volunteer to help, somewhere, or to do what others are doing, making useful videos, putting stuff online - Lynn, making up stories for her far-flung grandchildren, filming and sending - what's wrong with me, slug that I am? Well, today I am interviewing a nonfiction writer with a book coming out and will write it up for our CNFC website, so I am doing something useful. A tiny something, but something.
This morning I went through the fashion magazine that arrived free with the Star, put out by the luxury store Holt Renfrew, and if ever there was a tone deaf document, it's this, written as if we're all without a care in the world. Here is one of the fashions, an attractive ensemble I will definitely be wearing this spring:
The puffy shorts, below the knee socks and delightfully shiny mid-brown will perfectly complement my figure and colouring, don't you think?
And here's what wealthy Toronto socialite Suzanne Rogers says on the last page:
As soon as winter starts to subside, my thoughts - and my heart - turn toward London. It has long remained my favourite city to visit, and is more glorious in springtime. Over the years, I've established some essentials: the wonderful Mayfair Suite at the Dorchester, with its impeccable butler service (starts at $2700 a night); lunches at 5 Hertford Street and Loulou's; and a visit to the Wallace Collection at Hertford House... I will be packing a few new wardrobe must-haves. I adore young British designer Richard Quinn, who extends his love of florals this season, including a gorgeously dramatic coat ($1,945.) I'll pair it with boots from Paris Texas (though made in Italy) in my favourite shade of pink ($930, with 3-inch heels.) To finish off, I'll add a delightful floral bag from Dolce and Gabbana ($4,620.) It seems an ideal ensemble for lovely spring days spent rediscovering the magic of Mayfair.
An ideal ensemble indeed, though I think a pair of those lovely shorts would look great with all those flowers, Suzanne. Get the butler to pick you up a pair.
A feast of artistry.
Today I finally realized - this is it, this is going to be life for weeks. At least another month. I've been planning to go to NoFrills, even to the big Loblaws, which sells my greatest necessity, Adam's peanut butter - I only have half a pot left! But every article is urging people over 70 to remain at home and depend on others. I know, I'm only 69 1/2. But still.
So today, Anna is coming across town with a huge load of groceries she's bought for me. This is a woman looking after her own family, which includes, as you know, two hyperactive boys and various children from other families. But she is going to shop and deliver for her perfectly healthy, active mother who's champing at the bit to get outside.
Insane. Our new reality. And, to boot, today is the bleakest yet - grey and cold. No desire even to go for my customary short slow run to the Riverdale Hill stairs, up and down and home. I'll do the NYT Seven Minute Workout, which is all I can bear right now. If that.
BUT - my house is full of books, seven million of them to be exact. Not to mention what floods in via this little machine. Tons of work to do. I'd like to volunteer to help, somewhere, or to do what others are doing, making useful videos, putting stuff online - Lynn, making up stories for her far-flung grandchildren, filming and sending - what's wrong with me, slug that I am? Well, today I am interviewing a nonfiction writer with a book coming out and will write it up for our CNFC website, so I am doing something useful. A tiny something, but something.
This morning I went through the fashion magazine that arrived free with the Star, put out by the luxury store Holt Renfrew, and if ever there was a tone deaf document, it's this, written as if we're all without a care in the world. Here is one of the fashions, an attractive ensemble I will definitely be wearing this spring:
The puffy shorts, below the knee socks and delightfully shiny mid-brown will perfectly complement my figure and colouring, don't you think?And here's what wealthy Toronto socialite Suzanne Rogers says on the last page:
As soon as winter starts to subside, my thoughts - and my heart - turn toward London. It has long remained my favourite city to visit, and is more glorious in springtime. Over the years, I've established some essentials: the wonderful Mayfair Suite at the Dorchester, with its impeccable butler service (starts at $2700 a night); lunches at 5 Hertford Street and Loulou's; and a visit to the Wallace Collection at Hertford House... I will be packing a few new wardrobe must-haves. I adore young British designer Richard Quinn, who extends his love of florals this season, including a gorgeously dramatic coat ($1,945.) I'll pair it with boots from Paris Texas (though made in Italy) in my favourite shade of pink ($930, with 3-inch heels.) To finish off, I'll add a delightful floral bag from Dolce and Gabbana ($4,620.) It seems an ideal ensemble for lovely spring days spent rediscovering the magic of Mayfair.
An ideal ensemble indeed, though I think a pair of those lovely shorts would look great with all those flowers, Suzanne. Get the butler to pick you up a pair.
March 30, 2020
today's excitement
Guess what happened today? A new New Yorker arrived in my mail box! Also, I received a lot of emails, including many links to articles and funny memes and music and grotesque pictures of Trump. My friends know me well. Also IT STOPPED RAINING and I went for a jogette! 15 minutes around the 'hood. And guess what else, there was a big raccoon lumbering around the yard at 4 p.m. He or she must be really hungry to be out foraging so early.
More excitement - the next 20 pages of valuable editorial comments arrived from Sam. Anna went to Costco for her family, her brother, and me; she had to line up to get in, to find - no tp, no paper towels, no chicken breasts, no bleach.
What more breathtaking events can I share with you? Yesterday there was rain till mid-afternoon and then the sun came out hot and bright, and the whole neighourhood, I swear, sprang outside for a walk. The air smelled delicious - warm and wet and springy, and I did a bit of pruning when I got home, so good to work in the garden. My friends Curtis and David arrived safely back from Mexico, straight into quarantine. I made a stir fry while listening to the fascinating, funny Masha Gessen on Eleanor Wachtel's Writers and Company - highly recommended. And then I actually did the dishes! Had a long talk with both my children. 60 Minutes interviewed Brené Brown, who's an interesting woman, and then, heaven, the new season of Call the Midwife began, one of the best shows ever that without fail makes me cry every single time. I stayed up till 11 to watch John Oliver, broadcasting from his house, as full of good sense and grit and humour as anyone on earth.
So life is full of thrills and pleasure. Yes, today was bleak the whole @#$# day, a pewter sky and drizzle, but it wasn't cold. My daffodils and croci are almost ready to burst open. And I have a roof and a kitchen and a family, out there somewhere, staying strong. What more do we need? Well, a hug from someone, the touch of a hand, would be nice. Maybe in June. July?
As Ken texted today, "How much I took for granted!" I'm sure we can all say the same.
Here are yesterday's shots:
I always walk in the Necropolis, amongst the old stones, which these days are filled with a chartreuse pollen that makes the usually hard to read wording stand out.
This tranquil spot is where we scattered my parents' ashes and later Uncle Edgar's as well. I visit them regularly and keep them up to date.
The entry to the Necropolis, with a notice about Covid that's on fences and doors everywhere.
People are posting charming, encouraging pictures and sayings on lampposts and in windows. My neighbour's kids have made a big colourful sign: WE CAN DO THIS! And we can.
More excitement - the next 20 pages of valuable editorial comments arrived from Sam. Anna went to Costco for her family, her brother, and me; she had to line up to get in, to find - no tp, no paper towels, no chicken breasts, no bleach.
What more breathtaking events can I share with you? Yesterday there was rain till mid-afternoon and then the sun came out hot and bright, and the whole neighourhood, I swear, sprang outside for a walk. The air smelled delicious - warm and wet and springy, and I did a bit of pruning when I got home, so good to work in the garden. My friends Curtis and David arrived safely back from Mexico, straight into quarantine. I made a stir fry while listening to the fascinating, funny Masha Gessen on Eleanor Wachtel's Writers and Company - highly recommended. And then I actually did the dishes! Had a long talk with both my children. 60 Minutes interviewed Brené Brown, who's an interesting woman, and then, heaven, the new season of Call the Midwife began, one of the best shows ever that without fail makes me cry every single time. I stayed up till 11 to watch John Oliver, broadcasting from his house, as full of good sense and grit and humour as anyone on earth.
So life is full of thrills and pleasure. Yes, today was bleak the whole @#$# day, a pewter sky and drizzle, but it wasn't cold. My daffodils and croci are almost ready to burst open. And I have a roof and a kitchen and a family, out there somewhere, staying strong. What more do we need? Well, a hug from someone, the touch of a hand, would be nice. Maybe in June. July?
As Ken texted today, "How much I took for granted!" I'm sure we can all say the same.
Here are yesterday's shots:
I always walk in the Necropolis, amongst the old stones, which these days are filled with a chartreuse pollen that makes the usually hard to read wording stand out.
This tranquil spot is where we scattered my parents' ashes and later Uncle Edgar's as well. I visit them regularly and keep them up to date.
The entry to the Necropolis, with a notice about Covid that's on fences and doors everywhere.
People are posting charming, encouraging pictures and sayings on lampposts and in windows. My neighbour's kids have made a big colourful sign: WE CAN DO THIS! And we can.
March 29, 2020
the wise old woman
It occurred to me that people pay a lot of money to find the kind of quiet isolation we're getting now. I paid, twice, to fly to the Banff Centre to sit alone in a cabin in the woods to finish the Jewish Shakespeare book. People pay to go on yoga retreats and not speak for a week. Now we have all that quiet solitude for free! Hooray!
Here's my daytimer usually, and my daytimer next week. Hoping for line dancing at 11 on Monday. My sole destination.
I don't have any idea what happened the night before last; my body was electrically charged, as if I'd drunk two cups of coffee before bed, which I most assuredly did not. Anxiety? Perhaps. I was just reading in the NYT about the work of an Australian doctor called Claire Weekes, who specialized in anxiety disorders. She has some interesting techniques. If your body starts to be electrically charged, check her out.
I was up early today and was going to go to the big Loblaws, their early opening for the elderly, to get supplies. But it was pouring. When I told Anna my plan, she shouted at me via text: Do NOT grocery shop. She's going to do a run to Costco next week and will pick me up stuff. I'd just sent her an article about how we can shop and receive packages as long as we wash our hands a lot.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2020/03/26/dont-panic-about-shopping-getting-delivery-or-accepting-packages/?utm_campaign=wp_week_in_ideas&utm_medium=email&utm_source=newsletter&wpisrc=nl_ideas
But when I imagined being in the ER and a doctor looking at my chart and saying, "69 1/2... To the trash heap with the old bag!" I decided to stay in.
People are charging through Netflix series. I don't know what's wrong with me; somehow the day vanishes without Netflix, though I do watch a bit of what's called 'destination television'. Because I'm old, the kind of old that will get me denied the ventilator. The kind of old, however, that will keep me calm during this pandemic. And now, time to do some exercise with the internet.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNEMYupin1o
Here's my daytimer usually, and my daytimer next week. Hoping for line dancing at 11 on Monday. My sole destination.
I don't have any idea what happened the night before last; my body was electrically charged, as if I'd drunk two cups of coffee before bed, which I most assuredly did not. Anxiety? Perhaps. I was just reading in the NYT about the work of an Australian doctor called Claire Weekes, who specialized in anxiety disorders. She has some interesting techniques. If your body starts to be electrically charged, check her out.I was up early today and was going to go to the big Loblaws, their early opening for the elderly, to get supplies. But it was pouring. When I told Anna my plan, she shouted at me via text: Do NOT grocery shop. She's going to do a run to Costco next week and will pick me up stuff. I'd just sent her an article about how we can shop and receive packages as long as we wash our hands a lot.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2020/03/26/dont-panic-about-shopping-getting-delivery-or-accepting-packages/?utm_campaign=wp_week_in_ideas&utm_medium=email&utm_source=newsletter&wpisrc=nl_ideas
But when I imagined being in the ER and a doctor looking at my chart and saying, "69 1/2... To the trash heap with the old bag!" I decided to stay in.
People are charging through Netflix series. I don't know what's wrong with me; somehow the day vanishes without Netflix, though I do watch a bit of what's called 'destination television'. Because I'm old, the kind of old that will get me denied the ventilator. The kind of old, however, that will keep me calm during this pandemic. And now, time to do some exercise with the internet.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNEMYupin1o
March 28, 2020
a frightening wake-up call
Last night, a wake-up call, both literal and metaphoric: after my last perky post here, after a bit of TV - Steve Paikin interviewing fascinating experts on the future of our world after this crisis passes - and reading, I went to bed at 11.15 and realized I felt strange, wide awake, my body tingling and speedy, no possibility of sleep. And then - OMG, my throat felt sore. No, not possible. Fear. Lay for ages worrying, finally got up to make a hot drink, which I've heard we should take because it washes the virus from the throat to the stomach; chewed a zinc table though it's not the chewable kind and tasted vile, and went back to bed. They're saying that those over 70 are most at risk; I'm 69 1/2. Speedy, tingling, sore throat.
My first concern was that if I had the virus, I might have infected my friend Mary and her husband Malcolm, whom I'd visited that afternoon. Yes, we sat six feet apart outside, but I took them some of the cake John had brought by the house that afternoon along with a bag of birdseed. I'd washed my hands with soap before cutting the cake, but still...
And then I thought about death. Yes, I know, a big jump from a tingly body at midnight to death, but that's the world we're living in now. I was glad I have a will and thought I'll get it out of the file drawer so it can be easily found, in case. I thought about the things I'm proudest of: Anna and Sam and Anna's sons, my dearest friends - I made a list, thought of each one, the people I turn to and would turn to for advice, help, companionship in a crisis - the house and garden, my many hundreds of students, and - yes - my slender output of books and essays. I thought, even if I'm sick, I will at least finish the memoir and get it out. What about the books I've been meaning to write, the stories I want to tell but have not yet because of distraction and busyness, and now would never be able to?
But I hoped I would not die, that should this actually be the murderous virus invading my body, my relative fitness and positivity would work in my favour.
I sat up and read more of Parisian Lives by Deirdre Bair, that I'm enjoying immensely. And then, at 2.30 a.m., I took a sleeping pill, finally fell asleep, woke at 11.
I think I'll live - at least a few more years. No cough this morning, no sore throat, not feeling 100% but not actually sick. But yes, a wake up call. I will not be cavalier about this bug any more. I will take isolation seriously. Anna is going to rent a car for a few days and offered to buy me groceries, and I said heavens no, I'm fine, I can go to NoFrills. I was planning to ride my bike to the market this morning. No. There's lots in the freezer, and I will ask my daughter to get fresh stuff next week and leave it on the front steps. Line dancing will start again next week and if I'm feeling better I will go but will stand rigorously far from the others.
As everyone is now realizing, this is the new normal and may be for months to come. People have compared this to 9/11, but it's completely different because it's affecting every person on earth. Most are struggling to survive financial and personal disaster; I have the luxury, the incredible gift of relative security to use this event to contemplate what I hope to achieve in whatever time I have left.
This is what John brought yesterday: a freshly-baked cake, a jar of his wife Sylvie's pineapple jam with "May you find hope and joy this Easter season" printed on top, a handmade card with images of Paris, and an Eiffel Tower keychain made by his daughter Emilie. Also in the shot, a spring bouquet of rubber gloves I found under the sink, and my mother's battered
measuring cup, unearthed when looking for the gloves, that brings back countless times watching her bake. Treasure. Thank you.
My first concern was that if I had the virus, I might have infected my friend Mary and her husband Malcolm, whom I'd visited that afternoon. Yes, we sat six feet apart outside, but I took them some of the cake John had brought by the house that afternoon along with a bag of birdseed. I'd washed my hands with soap before cutting the cake, but still...
And then I thought about death. Yes, I know, a big jump from a tingly body at midnight to death, but that's the world we're living in now. I was glad I have a will and thought I'll get it out of the file drawer so it can be easily found, in case. I thought about the things I'm proudest of: Anna and Sam and Anna's sons, my dearest friends - I made a list, thought of each one, the people I turn to and would turn to for advice, help, companionship in a crisis - the house and garden, my many hundreds of students, and - yes - my slender output of books and essays. I thought, even if I'm sick, I will at least finish the memoir and get it out. What about the books I've been meaning to write, the stories I want to tell but have not yet because of distraction and busyness, and now would never be able to?
But I hoped I would not die, that should this actually be the murderous virus invading my body, my relative fitness and positivity would work in my favour.
I sat up and read more of Parisian Lives by Deirdre Bair, that I'm enjoying immensely. And then, at 2.30 a.m., I took a sleeping pill, finally fell asleep, woke at 11.
I think I'll live - at least a few more years. No cough this morning, no sore throat, not feeling 100% but not actually sick. But yes, a wake up call. I will not be cavalier about this bug any more. I will take isolation seriously. Anna is going to rent a car for a few days and offered to buy me groceries, and I said heavens no, I'm fine, I can go to NoFrills. I was planning to ride my bike to the market this morning. No. There's lots in the freezer, and I will ask my daughter to get fresh stuff next week and leave it on the front steps. Line dancing will start again next week and if I'm feeling better I will go but will stand rigorously far from the others.
As everyone is now realizing, this is the new normal and may be for months to come. People have compared this to 9/11, but it's completely different because it's affecting every person on earth. Most are struggling to survive financial and personal disaster; I have the luxury, the incredible gift of relative security to use this event to contemplate what I hope to achieve in whatever time I have left.
This is what John brought yesterday: a freshly-baked cake, a jar of his wife Sylvie's pineapple jam with "May you find hope and joy this Easter season" printed on top, a handmade card with images of Paris, and an Eiffel Tower keychain made by his daughter Emilie. Also in the shot, a spring bouquet of rubber gloves I found under the sink, and my mother's battered
measuring cup, unearthed when looking for the gloves, that brings back countless times watching her bake. Treasure. Thank you.March 27, 2020
finding family
No line dancing today, but we will start it up again Monday, after learning that you're allowed to use playground spaces but not the equipment - maintaining distance, of course. The sun was heaven today; I sat outside in a t-shirt for awhile and was hot. Talked at length to various friends including Judy in Vancouver. Went to neighbour Mary's for a distanced chat in her garden, and sat on my second floor deck having aperitif with Monique below, on her deck. We'll get through.
A friend who's reading the manuscript emailed: I've got 3 chapters to go to finish your wonderful memoir! I'm absolutely loving it! I've taken a few tiny notes... But basically - it's soooo good!!
While life as we knew it is screeching to a halt, that is good to hear.
Life: who knows what curveballs will come hurtling through your window? Hmm, where did that lame metaphor come from?
Anyway, I was sitting here minding my own business, clicking and scrolling, as usual, when Geni came up in my inbox, a genealogy site relatives on Dad's side signed me up for. Messages come through regularly about distant cousins I've never met in distant American cities celebrating anniversaries of various kinds. Today, what came up was my great-grandfather Jacob Gordin, about whom, because of researching my book, I thought I knew almost everything. On the site is an extremely long post I've never seen before, with bits and pieces of information I didn't know, including the fact that his mother's name was Ida. We know his father's name was Michael because HIS name was Jacob Mikhailovich - son of Michael. But in all these years, I have never known his mother's name and none of the relatives I interviewed knew either.
I checked more closely and found the post was edited by someone called Eilat Gordin Levitan. So I wrote to her, to ask how she came by this information. Checking the site again, I learned that she is the wife of Dr. Daniel Levitan. A month ago or so - in that previous lifetime we all vaguely remember - I watched Dr. Levitan interviewed on Steve Paikin's TVO show and was so impressed I went out immediately and bought his book about aging successfully. He's an engaging, intense, attractive man; in fact, he reminded me a bit of my dad. And now I find out - he's a close relative of mine! Isn't that amazing? I wonder if Eilat will write back. Maybe one day I can go visit.
Also, I did write to the distant relative in South Carolina tracked down by the young researcher in London, whom I will visit on my next trip to England. Fascinating!
Well, okay, not that close.
Dr. Daniel Levitan is your second cousin once removed's wife's great niece's ex-husband's great uncle's wife's great nephew.
A friend who's reading the manuscript emailed: I've got 3 chapters to go to finish your wonderful memoir! I'm absolutely loving it! I've taken a few tiny notes... But basically - it's soooo good!!
While life as we knew it is screeching to a halt, that is good to hear.
Life: who knows what curveballs will come hurtling through your window? Hmm, where did that lame metaphor come from?
Anyway, I was sitting here minding my own business, clicking and scrolling, as usual, when Geni came up in my inbox, a genealogy site relatives on Dad's side signed me up for. Messages come through regularly about distant cousins I've never met in distant American cities celebrating anniversaries of various kinds. Today, what came up was my great-grandfather Jacob Gordin, about whom, because of researching my book, I thought I knew almost everything. On the site is an extremely long post I've never seen before, with bits and pieces of information I didn't know, including the fact that his mother's name was Ida. We know his father's name was Michael because HIS name was Jacob Mikhailovich - son of Michael. But in all these years, I have never known his mother's name and none of the relatives I interviewed knew either.
I checked more closely and found the post was edited by someone called Eilat Gordin Levitan. So I wrote to her, to ask how she came by this information. Checking the site again, I learned that she is the wife of Dr. Daniel Levitan. A month ago or so - in that previous lifetime we all vaguely remember - I watched Dr. Levitan interviewed on Steve Paikin's TVO show and was so impressed I went out immediately and bought his book about aging successfully. He's an engaging, intense, attractive man; in fact, he reminded me a bit of my dad. And now I find out - he's a close relative of mine! Isn't that amazing? I wonder if Eilat will write back. Maybe one day I can go visit.
Also, I did write to the distant relative in South Carolina tracked down by the young researcher in London, whom I will visit on my next trip to England. Fascinating!
Well, okay, not that close.
Dr. Daniel Levitan is your second cousin once removed's wife's great niece's ex-husband's great uncle's wife's great nephew.
March 26, 2020
the arts to the rescue!
The floodgates have opened - it's overwhelming. Museums, theatres, film series, concerts, poetry readings, talks pouring online - we could spend the next six years doing nothing but sitting in our houses digesting it all. The National Theatre will broadcast free plays, including The Servant of Two Masters, the show that made James Corden a star, which I saw in London just after he left. It was hilarious without him, I can only imagine how funny with his rare gift. Thursday April 2.
https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2020/mar/26/national-theatre-to-broadcast-shows-online-on-thursdays
https://globeplayer.tv/
http://www.theguardian.com/culture/2020/mar/26/smartify-makes-all-museum-audio-tours-free-for-rest-of-2020?utm_source=Breakfast+with+ARTnews&utm_campaign=e98c38795b-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2020_03_25_10_26&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_c5d7f10ceb-e98c38795b-293475605
Once more, the arts step up to save the day. How proud I am to be part of this coterie of lunatics who barely make a living and yet make such a difference.
Today's thrill, besides a CNFC board meeting via Zoom - love you all! - a researcher has been looking into my great-grandfather Jacob Gordin's life and just wrote that he tracked down his sister Masha in Russia and found a son who emigrated to the U.S. His grandson is still there. A distant relative in South Carolina. Should I get in touch?
Another grey, chilly day. No exercise yet, at all - must go out for a walk. Anna's friend Mitsuko came to help disinfect surfaces and door handles. I triumphantly unearthed a big bottle of bleach from the basement, and we used that, until I read online that bleach has a best before date. Who knew? This bottle is at least ten years old, so - useless. Most of my cleaning products are gentle and organic - useless. We started again. The window man came, the contract is signed, there will be two new windows by June.
Anna has finished her will. It rips my heart out.
I wrote to a friend who'd complained about coughing two weeks ago and then vanished. Was very concerned, but she's okay, just holed up. Suddenly, our concern for our friends and loved ones is more acute than normal.
Someone wrote on a FB Beatles site that there are 162 'nahs' in Hey Jude. You needed to know that.
https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2020/mar/26/national-theatre-to-broadcast-shows-online-on-thursdays
https://globeplayer.tv/
http://www.theguardian.com/culture/2020/mar/26/smartify-makes-all-museum-audio-tours-free-for-rest-of-2020?utm_source=Breakfast+with+ARTnews&utm_campaign=e98c38795b-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2020_03_25_10_26&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_c5d7f10ceb-e98c38795b-293475605
Once more, the arts step up to save the day. How proud I am to be part of this coterie of lunatics who barely make a living and yet make such a difference.
Today's thrill, besides a CNFC board meeting via Zoom - love you all! - a researcher has been looking into my great-grandfather Jacob Gordin's life and just wrote that he tracked down his sister Masha in Russia and found a son who emigrated to the U.S. His grandson is still there. A distant relative in South Carolina. Should I get in touch?
Another grey, chilly day. No exercise yet, at all - must go out for a walk. Anna's friend Mitsuko came to help disinfect surfaces and door handles. I triumphantly unearthed a big bottle of bleach from the basement, and we used that, until I read online that bleach has a best before date. Who knew? This bottle is at least ten years old, so - useless. Most of my cleaning products are gentle and organic - useless. We started again. The window man came, the contract is signed, there will be two new windows by June.
Anna has finished her will. It rips my heart out.
I wrote to a friend who'd complained about coughing two weeks ago and then vanished. Was very concerned, but she's okay, just holed up. Suddenly, our concern for our friends and loved ones is more acute than normal.
Someone wrote on a FB Beatles site that there are 162 'nahs' in Hey Jude. You needed to know that.
March 25, 2020
distancing day 463
The Canucks are getting tough now, weeks after many other countries have put in place necessary draconian laws: mandatory 14-day quarantine when you come back from somewhere or fines or arrest, and all playgrounds in Toronto closed. This might mean the end of our small local pleasure - today, in the bright sun with a bunch of women six feet apart, figuring out where to put our feet in line dancing. Such fun. Perhaps gone as of now, though we'll see. We're not using the equipment, just there, and careful. Surely they're not going to arrest a group of local (older) women line dancing. But who knows.
It's like a squeeze around the neck, getting steadily tighter, the list of things vanishing from our lives, like hugs and city amenities. Lynn wrote that Mauritius, where one of her daughters lives, suddenly closed all grocery stores. Anna wrote today that we should all have a good supply of Tylenol - not Advil - and cough medicine in case we, like Prince Charles, get it. So I went straight to the drugstore, where there was still some Tylenol left, though supplies were low. Lots of cough medicine however. Bought hand cream for my well-washed hands and Lindt chocolate bars, because.
Tomorrow, a very busy day: at 11 Judy's cardio session on the playground, I hope, then at 1 Anna's friend, a single mother who needs work, comes to help me scrub surfaces; at 1.30 Jemal the window guy comes to check out the two windows that need to be replaced - might as well order them now since they take months to arrive - and at 4, a CNFC board meeting on Zoom. At 7, a choral fest online, if I feel like joining. And in between, as this funny guy says on Twitter,
Shawn Micallef
@shawnmicallef·5hWell I have completed my morning's clicking and scrolling. Time for lunch and then I will get started on the afternoon's clicking and scrolling.
Exhausting!
Read a review in the NYT of a book about the evil power of FB. Resolved to be even more vigilant in controlling the time I spend clicking and scrolling. It's addictive - and Zuckerberg knows that.
It was a lovely day and is going to get warmer this week, a blessing - daffodils coming up in the garden. Thomas says he's going to start planting soon. Planting - doesn't that sound normal and good?
Oh, and how can I forget the very welcome news I got today from the University of Syracuse Press, publisher of the Jewish Shakespeare book - that a royalty of $59 will be deposited in my US account. That's $59 U.S.! But - where can I go nuts with this vast influx of cash, except No Frills?
Here's the other music session from Ben Zander. Hope you enjoyed yesterday's. Sending you love.
Fauré Elegyhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YfqECFejaN0
It's like a squeeze around the neck, getting steadily tighter, the list of things vanishing from our lives, like hugs and city amenities. Lynn wrote that Mauritius, where one of her daughters lives, suddenly closed all grocery stores. Anna wrote today that we should all have a good supply of Tylenol - not Advil - and cough medicine in case we, like Prince Charles, get it. So I went straight to the drugstore, where there was still some Tylenol left, though supplies were low. Lots of cough medicine however. Bought hand cream for my well-washed hands and Lindt chocolate bars, because.
Tomorrow, a very busy day: at 11 Judy's cardio session on the playground, I hope, then at 1 Anna's friend, a single mother who needs work, comes to help me scrub surfaces; at 1.30 Jemal the window guy comes to check out the two windows that need to be replaced - might as well order them now since they take months to arrive - and at 4, a CNFC board meeting on Zoom. At 7, a choral fest online, if I feel like joining. And in between, as this funny guy says on Twitter,
Shawn Micallef
@shawnmicallef·5hWell I have completed my morning's clicking and scrolling. Time for lunch and then I will get started on the afternoon's clicking and scrolling.
Exhausting!
Read a review in the NYT of a book about the evil power of FB. Resolved to be even more vigilant in controlling the time I spend clicking and scrolling. It's addictive - and Zuckerberg knows that.
It was a lovely day and is going to get warmer this week, a blessing - daffodils coming up in the garden. Thomas says he's going to start planting soon. Planting - doesn't that sound normal and good?
Oh, and how can I forget the very welcome news I got today from the University of Syracuse Press, publisher of the Jewish Shakespeare book - that a royalty of $59 will be deposited in my US account. That's $59 U.S.! But - where can I go nuts with this vast influx of cash, except No Frills?
Here's the other music session from Ben Zander. Hope you enjoyed yesterday's. Sending you love.
Fauré Elegyhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YfqECFejaN0
March 24, 2020
"I have it yet about my heart..."
I've been up since 7.30 a.m., now it's 8.30 p.m. and another day in isolation has somehow passed. Only not that isolated. But what filled those hours? I hardly know.
Judy Steed offered to teach a cardio class in the Sprucecourt playground on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, the days Gina is not leading us in line dancing. So 3 of us met there today and improvised a short workout, lunges, stretches, marching around the running track. Once again a toddler stood open-mouthed as the biddies did their thing. But we were together, laughing and moving.
Then Monique suggested a walk, so we meandered about the 'hood a few feet apart, jabbering in French, and later she came for l'aperitif on my deck, bringing her own wine and sitting six feet away on the other side of my table.
Had a nap b/c of waking so early. Talked to various friends and family, including hearing from Kevin Ball, a family friend from Halifax in the 50's who was featured twice in the Star and on As It Happens because he and his wife were stuck for awhile in Spain, now safely home quarantined in Nova Scotia. Received more edits from friend Sam - she is working 20 pages at a time, reading so carefully, a real treat, but at the end of each email I'm anxious to read what she'll say about the next bit. I listened obsessively to the radio and trolled FB, Twitter, the NYTimes.
Anna is writing her will. Practical and wise, but just thinking about it hurts.
So rightwing Americans have decided that grandparents should sacrifice their lives for the economy, have they? A stark example of foul Republican logic. But we fight back: #WontDieForWallStreet.
I'm determined tomorrow to get it together, stop wallowing in news, get stuff done. God knows, there are a million things that need doing. And knowing what lunacy is emerging from down below doesn't help me get through the day. So - as our Prime Minister said yesterday - That's Enough!
These grey days, I've not been photographing. But my friend Stella asked on FB, What's the oldest thing in your house? Send a picture. I was going to send a selfie, but someone else had that idea, so I sent this sampler, made by my British great-great grandmother Eliza Branson in 1846. One of my treasures. Hope you can read the poem.
Today's joy: a friend from high school, Louise, a cellist from Ottawa, sent two master class videos from a musician and teacher called Ben Zander. The young musicians are marvellous, and then Zander takes them in hand and turns them into something sublime, and delivers life lessons while he does so. For me, a lesson not only in music theory and expression but in teaching skills. I'll send one today and the other tmw. They both - what a surprise - made me cry. Thank you, Louise.
Bach 1st prelude
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b2S-OjTb4nU
Judy Steed offered to teach a cardio class in the Sprucecourt playground on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, the days Gina is not leading us in line dancing. So 3 of us met there today and improvised a short workout, lunges, stretches, marching around the running track. Once again a toddler stood open-mouthed as the biddies did their thing. But we were together, laughing and moving.
Then Monique suggested a walk, so we meandered about the 'hood a few feet apart, jabbering in French, and later she came for l'aperitif on my deck, bringing her own wine and sitting six feet away on the other side of my table.
Had a nap b/c of waking so early. Talked to various friends and family, including hearing from Kevin Ball, a family friend from Halifax in the 50's who was featured twice in the Star and on As It Happens because he and his wife were stuck for awhile in Spain, now safely home quarantined in Nova Scotia. Received more edits from friend Sam - she is working 20 pages at a time, reading so carefully, a real treat, but at the end of each email I'm anxious to read what she'll say about the next bit. I listened obsessively to the radio and trolled FB, Twitter, the NYTimes.
Anna is writing her will. Practical and wise, but just thinking about it hurts.
So rightwing Americans have decided that grandparents should sacrifice their lives for the economy, have they? A stark example of foul Republican logic. But we fight back: #WontDieForWallStreet.
I'm determined tomorrow to get it together, stop wallowing in news, get stuff done. God knows, there are a million things that need doing. And knowing what lunacy is emerging from down below doesn't help me get through the day. So - as our Prime Minister said yesterday - That's Enough!
These grey days, I've not been photographing. But my friend Stella asked on FB, What's the oldest thing in your house? Send a picture. I was going to send a selfie, but someone else had that idea, so I sent this sampler, made by my British great-great grandmother Eliza Branson in 1846. One of my treasures. Hope you can read the poem.
Today's joy: a friend from high school, Louise, a cellist from Ottawa, sent two master class videos from a musician and teacher called Ben Zander. The young musicians are marvellous, and then Zander takes them in hand and turns them into something sublime, and delivers life lessons while he does so. For me, a lesson not only in music theory and expression but in teaching skills. I'll send one today and the other tmw. They both - what a surprise - made me cry. Thank you, Louise.
Bach 1st prelude
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b2S-OjTb4nU
March 23, 2020
music and spaghetti - life is good
Grey and rainy today; no line dancing. Music was needed. I listened to Jacqueline du Pré play the Dvorak cello concerto and wept, for the glory of the music and of that frail, lovely young woman playing with such power and depth, surrounded by an orchestra entirely of men. To know that only a few years later her incandescent talent would be felled by multiple sclerosis - it's one of the cruelest fates I know; after those zillion hours of practicing and entrancing the world with her skill and talent, her body shut her down.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_yxtaeFuEQ&feature=share&fbclid=IwAR22wHlO5NsEiobVzsevWMQooLAEv7Cy_BkI0vvq-uF0YceP7QdOgNTvSVQ
On the same page is Pergolesi's Stabat Mater, another exquisite piece of music.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzOmPUu-F_M
And Robbie Robertson somehow brought together a world of musicians, including Ringo, to play The Weight.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ph1GU1qQ1zQ&feature=share&fbclid=IwAR2PYSfVFP7Hl1jNeJslkjs4-qxsNcjAEqjdg9gGEKoSVDWPvR_iXnKiDL0
I've spent all day sitting in my kitchen or my office, listening to music, as you can see. More edits from my friend Sam, but mostly emailing, reading online, trying to learn what is going on out there. Where does the day go? Talking to no one except a few words from my tenants downstairs and up; Robin upstairs has to work from home so has turned the spare room into his office. So now he walks downstairs to go to work.
People are emailing wonderful links or posting them on FB. Our Prime Minister is getting stern with us; today he said, "That's enough!" to people still meeting in groups, in the same tone I used to say it to my kids and Anna says it now.
Tonight I am looking forward to the next instalment of My Brilliant Friend.
My contribution to your wellbeing, besides all that music: this wonderful NYT recipe. Made it for dinner, with a salad - easy and delicious. Highly recommended.
Spaghetti with cherry tomatoes and kale1 pound spaghetti1 pound cherry tomatoes, halved (about 2 pints)2 lemons, zested¼ cup plus 3 tablespoons olive oil2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus more to taste1 bunch kale or spinach, washed and choppedPepperParmesan for serving
1. Bring just over a quart of water to a boil. Meanwhile place spaghetti, tomatoes, lemon zest, oil and salt in a large, dry, shallow pan. (The pan should be large enough that the dry spaghetti can lie flat.) [I broke the ends off to make it fit.]2. Carefully add the boiling water to the pan with the spaghetti. Cover pan and bring up to a boil. Remove lid and simmer for about 6 minutes, using tongs to move the spaghetti around now and then so it doesn’t stick. Add kale or spinach and continue cooking until remaining liquid has reduced to a sauce and the pasta is cooked through. Taste, season with salt and pepper, and top with Parmesan.
While you make this, listen to the Pergolesi. Weep salty tears into the pot. Enjoy.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_yxtaeFuEQ&feature=share&fbclid=IwAR22wHlO5NsEiobVzsevWMQooLAEv7Cy_BkI0vvq-uF0YceP7QdOgNTvSVQ
On the same page is Pergolesi's Stabat Mater, another exquisite piece of music.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzOmPUu-F_M
And Robbie Robertson somehow brought together a world of musicians, including Ringo, to play The Weight.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ph1GU1qQ1zQ&feature=share&fbclid=IwAR2PYSfVFP7Hl1jNeJslkjs4-qxsNcjAEqjdg9gGEKoSVDWPvR_iXnKiDL0
I've spent all day sitting in my kitchen or my office, listening to music, as you can see. More edits from my friend Sam, but mostly emailing, reading online, trying to learn what is going on out there. Where does the day go? Talking to no one except a few words from my tenants downstairs and up; Robin upstairs has to work from home so has turned the spare room into his office. So now he walks downstairs to go to work.
People are emailing wonderful links or posting them on FB. Our Prime Minister is getting stern with us; today he said, "That's enough!" to people still meeting in groups, in the same tone I used to say it to my kids and Anna says it now.
Tonight I am looking forward to the next instalment of My Brilliant Friend.
My contribution to your wellbeing, besides all that music: this wonderful NYT recipe. Made it for dinner, with a salad - easy and delicious. Highly recommended.
Spaghetti with cherry tomatoes and kale1 pound spaghetti1 pound cherry tomatoes, halved (about 2 pints)2 lemons, zested¼ cup plus 3 tablespoons olive oil2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus more to taste1 bunch kale or spinach, washed and choppedPepperParmesan for serving
1. Bring just over a quart of water to a boil. Meanwhile place spaghetti, tomatoes, lemon zest, oil and salt in a large, dry, shallow pan. (The pan should be large enough that the dry spaghetti can lie flat.) [I broke the ends off to make it fit.]2. Carefully add the boiling water to the pan with the spaghetti. Cover pan and bring up to a boil. Remove lid and simmer for about 6 minutes, using tongs to move the spaghetti around now and then so it doesn’t stick. Add kale or spinach and continue cooking until remaining liquid has reduced to a sauce and the pasta is cooked through. Taste, season with salt and pepper, and top with Parmesan.
While you make this, listen to the Pergolesi. Weep salty tears into the pot. Enjoy.
March 22, 2020
All Covid all the time around here
What did we used to talk and read about, do you have any idea? There were other crises, remember - the Indigenous blockade, pipelines, refugees in Greece and Turkey, war in Syria, the gilets jaunes protests in France - what is happening, has all that shut down too? Just pandemic pandemonium. Thank God for the CBC - those steady familiar voices talking us through. Thank God for Trudeau and his sensible, calm cabinet.
Yesterday was rough because my son came to visit. He's a big guy with lots of friends, and though he assured me he's washing his hands religiously, his idea of sanitation and mine are different. He needed to get out of his small apartment for a bit, and I was very happy to see him, but also not. He's my son, my blood, and I was a bit ... frightened. I'm not sure I want to see my grandsons. This is appalling.
Sam did wash his hands, but Chris FaceTimed us while he was here, and my son put his arm around my shoulders while we talked to Chris. I shuddered. My son is a hugger, a toucher. But now, he's learning that has to stop.
Everything has to stop. How frightening it is, how vulnerable we feel. We are at war with an unseen enemy that could be lurking anywhere, on anyone. It's a horror movie. I know, most people who get it recover. But none of us wants to be a statistic.
Sam watched TV; I sat in the kitchen watching the first 2 episodes of BBC's recent adaptation of Agatha Christie's And then there were none on my computer. So good! What skill she had. After Sam left, I went around washing what he'd touched, but of course did not get everything. How obsessive is this? And yet - it's what we have to do. I have other friends who are simply not going anywhere or seeing anyone. But I'd go insane with no socializing at all, and going insane is not good either.
Heard from friend Carol in Ecuador - the same, everyone in masks, distancing, isolation, concern. Again, today, I saw a man walking by bent double under his load of toilet paper. The absurdity of it. But what the hell.
It was sunny but cold again today. Come on, we want to say to the weather gods, give us a break here. But I did my jogette anyway, ran into Ruth with her sons, then Monique next door, who earlier had entertained her nephew; she brought him a chair so he could sit in the parking lot while she sat on her deck, and they talked through her fence.
A brief Zoom meeting with my social media assistant Sophie today. But my head is just not there. Though friend and student Sam has been sending me her invaluable comments on my manuscript, what she likes and what she doesn't. So I'll get to work soon, when I stop listening to CBC and checking social media and washing my hands.
Tonight I'll watch 60 Minutes which will be about - let me guess. Then a panoply of choices. Bruce, who FaceTimed today, says the Met in NYC is showing free operas every night; he has watched six - Eugene Onegin tonight. Antoinette wrote from Edmonton that the Berlin Philharmonic is airing free concerts. There's so much marvellous stuff online, humorous too, beautiful little films, uplifting articles and commentary.
Today would have been my first full day in Paris, walking around with Lynn, finding a restaurant for a superb lunch, popping into a shop or two, wandering by Notre Dame to see how she's doing. But I'm in my kitchen instead and overjoyed to be so.
We'll get through, friends. But it'll be quite the ride.
If you start feeling sorry for yourself, give this doc that aired this morning on the Sunday Edition a listen and be inspired by a great unsung hero. Just try to imagine what she's doing through - it's almost impossible.
All in the family: Justine Kennedy is a very busy young Indigenous woman. At 23 years old, she is the eldest of 14 children. She's married, and a full-time university student. And now she is raising her seven young brothers — all under the age of 10. Fiercely protective of her siblings, Justine Kennedy is hellbent on keeping the boys together and out of the foster care system — the system in which her sisters grew up. Alisa Siegel's documentary is called "What's One More?”
Yesterday was rough because my son came to visit. He's a big guy with lots of friends, and though he assured me he's washing his hands religiously, his idea of sanitation and mine are different. He needed to get out of his small apartment for a bit, and I was very happy to see him, but also not. He's my son, my blood, and I was a bit ... frightened. I'm not sure I want to see my grandsons. This is appalling.
Sam did wash his hands, but Chris FaceTimed us while he was here, and my son put his arm around my shoulders while we talked to Chris. I shuddered. My son is a hugger, a toucher. But now, he's learning that has to stop.
Everything has to stop. How frightening it is, how vulnerable we feel. We are at war with an unseen enemy that could be lurking anywhere, on anyone. It's a horror movie. I know, most people who get it recover. But none of us wants to be a statistic.
Sam watched TV; I sat in the kitchen watching the first 2 episodes of BBC's recent adaptation of Agatha Christie's And then there were none on my computer. So good! What skill she had. After Sam left, I went around washing what he'd touched, but of course did not get everything. How obsessive is this? And yet - it's what we have to do. I have other friends who are simply not going anywhere or seeing anyone. But I'd go insane with no socializing at all, and going insane is not good either.
Heard from friend Carol in Ecuador - the same, everyone in masks, distancing, isolation, concern. Again, today, I saw a man walking by bent double under his load of toilet paper. The absurdity of it. But what the hell.
It was sunny but cold again today. Come on, we want to say to the weather gods, give us a break here. But I did my jogette anyway, ran into Ruth with her sons, then Monique next door, who earlier had entertained her nephew; she brought him a chair so he could sit in the parking lot while she sat on her deck, and they talked through her fence.
A brief Zoom meeting with my social media assistant Sophie today. But my head is just not there. Though friend and student Sam has been sending me her invaluable comments on my manuscript, what she likes and what she doesn't. So I'll get to work soon, when I stop listening to CBC and checking social media and washing my hands.
Tonight I'll watch 60 Minutes which will be about - let me guess. Then a panoply of choices. Bruce, who FaceTimed today, says the Met in NYC is showing free operas every night; he has watched six - Eugene Onegin tonight. Antoinette wrote from Edmonton that the Berlin Philharmonic is airing free concerts. There's so much marvellous stuff online, humorous too, beautiful little films, uplifting articles and commentary.
Today would have been my first full day in Paris, walking around with Lynn, finding a restaurant for a superb lunch, popping into a shop or two, wandering by Notre Dame to see how she's doing. But I'm in my kitchen instead and overjoyed to be so.
We'll get through, friends. But it'll be quite the ride.
If you start feeling sorry for yourself, give this doc that aired this morning on the Sunday Edition a listen and be inspired by a great unsung hero. Just try to imagine what she's doing through - it's almost impossible.
All in the family: Justine Kennedy is a very busy young Indigenous woman. At 23 years old, she is the eldest of 14 children. She's married, and a full-time university student. And now she is raising her seven young brothers — all under the age of 10. Fiercely protective of her siblings, Justine Kennedy is hellbent on keeping the boys together and out of the foster care system — the system in which her sisters grew up. Alisa Siegel's documentary is called "What's One More?”
