Ann Patchett, Lucy Grealy, Truth and Beauty

Very beautiful out there - fresh snowfall. Happily, I can enjoy the view from my kitchen chair - a bluejay at the feeder - as I have nowhere to go. And even if I did, I would not go, because I'm still not sure of my health status. My friend the public health nurse pointed out that Omicron can take up to 7 days to manifest, so this cold may still turn out to be the dreaded thing. I'm a bit better today, though, so there's hope. I'll test again on Wednesday. Whatever this is, I don't understand how I got it, with all the distancing, masking, hand-washing. How insistent and strong these viruses are. Powerful enough to cripple the entire world. 9400 new cases in Ontario today. Scary! 

In the meantime, I just had some of my turkey soup for lunch; it was so good I stood up and headed to the fridge saying, "Maw soup!" which is what my son used to say as he sat in his highchair pounding his spoon. Maw soup! The fridge is full of food, the house is warm, soon I'll put on the fire. There'll be a nice warm Netflix and many mags and books to keep me stimulated. Sam says I must watch Station Eleven, so I will.

Last night, as I tossed in bed with a stuffed nose, something came to me: the first paragraph of an essay I've been struggling to write for years. It must have been inspired by the Ann Patchett book I'm reading in bed: Truth and Beauty, about her friendship with the writer Lucy Grealy. It's so good, so vividly written, I felt energized and inspired. This morning I wrote out my idea and think it's a good beginning. Now to write all the rest. That's all. Just write all the rest. 

I want to be Ann Patchett when I grow up. Though I've just discovered the controversy she endured after the publication of the book; Grealy's sister wrote a long article in the Guardian accusing her of being less good a writer than Lucy, using the friendship for her own gain, a "grief thief." The problem for all writers of memoir: real live people who don't want their stories out in the world. Well, too bad, I say, at least about this one. Patchett brings Lucy, disfigured, egotistical, voracious, and brilliant, vividly to life. 

Here, yesterday, before the snow, is Lady Cardinal on my deck. Wish you could see her flashes of red - her red beak - her perky crest. She's my favourite.