The Dig, Lupin, Call My Agent: Netflix keeping us alive

Got a lovely note today from a current student: Hi Beth, I will break any unwritten contacting the teacher rules to let you know that I ordered a copy of Loose Woman from Book City in Bloor West Village some time ago. They just phoned to say it is ready for curbside pick up. When I asked when I could pick it up, the clerk said, "As soon as I finish reading it.  It looks really interesting." We laughed and I told him to feel free as I can't pick it up today. He laughed and said, "I just have a few pages left!"

Does my battered writer's heart good.

Each day bleeds into the next, with a few highlights - Monday teaching, Tuesday teaching, every other Thursday teaching, an occasional piano lesson or Skype call to France or Zoom with Judy in Vancouver - dates and times to fill the vast blank space in my daytimer. It's cold, and I've barely been out for days. Monique is freaked by the virus mutations and will only meet outside, not distanced by my fire, as before. But when it's really cold, I do not want to sit on her porch, no matter how many blankets she provides. So even our aperitif is off, for now.

My son came over today, though, bringing company and joy. He's in fine form, a happy man despite the chaos of the world. He's growing his hair for the first time in decades - it's nice hair, and I'm glad to see it again. There's a lot of it, though his father teases that might not last. 

So that's it. Somehow the days vanish - eating and sleeping, we lay waste our powers, to paraphrase Wordsworth. I try to move my body, to get to my desk or practice the piano, do some cooking, read something good, and sometimes succeed. I waste far too much time, still, on social media, though the orange blowhole is no longer a horrifying distraction, instead - it's a bird it's a plane no it's SuperBiden! I watch Netflix - The Dig, a lovely British film, reminding me of a visit to the Sutton Hoo treasure at the British Museum; a bit more of the French series Call My Agent and tonight with Sam one episode of another French series, Lupin, terrific but too much tension for me; watched a documentary about Pauline Kael, another about Spielberg, Sunday night PBS dramas. Welcome distractions. It all flows by.

Pandemic Winter, a poem by Beth Kaplan. I'll write it as soon as I stop eating this piece of peanut butter toast and watching the otter pond live streamed from the Vancouver Aquarium. CUTE. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxYribbndTM&feature=emb_title&fbclid=IwAR00l_1YK83N7mt3sxKiXNn1wNshc-9HdlY6bqGgVBUtUhOcJ3ksKCu80r4

Finally, as a special treat for you, a particularly beautiful picture of someone I often overlook. They were all spectacular. Even, I am forced to admit, in his own special and goofy way, Ringo.