Summer ending? Pas possible! And the Paralympics.
If you need cheering up about the state of the world, turn on your TV and watch the Paralympics. I watched some of the opening ceremonies yesterday — those French, again, what a spectacular celebration, with dance, music, fireworks, and a parade of paralympians. The fact that these extraordinary athletes are not shoved out of sight, as they used to be, but have their own games with brilliant new devices to help them — those curving metal prosthetic legs, for example — is a testament to how some things get better, like gay marriage, legalized weed, MAID, and other improvements in our society that take years to push for and then finally happen. Bravo to you all. Go Team Canada!
In other news: Go Team Kamala!
The last week of summer; next week, things heat up quickly. The Cabbagetown Festival is a busy time, and two friends are coming to stay at the house throughout. My U of T class Life Stories I starts on Zoom Tuesday Sept. 10 — almost full already — and I go to Stratford Thursday to Saturday. The following week I do a solo webinar on memoir writing for Word on the Street, and the International Festival of Writers starts. And then my home class starts too.
So this week — nothing. Today, going across town to be with the boys, who are back from a great time in Nova Scotia and gearing up, perhaps reluctantly, for school. The weather has turned; it got very hot again and now is grey and not hot at all. I’m consuming the last of the peaches and corn — some are still delicious and some are already woody. What I did for this entire summer, I’ve no idea. On Tuesday I had the first piano lesson in months and managed to stagger through, although I’ve hardly played. Peter pointed out that I’ve been coming to him for ten years. That means, I said, I should be a hell of a lot better than I am. However, I’m there, which is what I think about the Y, too. I should be better, after all this time, but at least I’m there.
Cabbagetown creatures: the other day there was a magnificent female Black Swallowtail on my buddleia, which has quadrupled in size this summer. There’s a story in Midlife Solo about Dorothy, who taught me to garden and loved buddleias, so I always have one in the garden in her honour. This one has grown huge, attracting to my joy not just butterflies but a host of fat, happy bees.
The other day a fearless young raccoon appeared at my screen door and scrabbled to get in, in the exact spot where Tiggy scrabbles to get out. I need a stronger screen.
And finally, there’s this creature; I took a selfie in the mirror to show Lynn in France the wonderful fuchsia (buddleia-coloured) linen pants she bought at Monoprix for my birthday, and the t-shirt I already had to go with it, on which is written Little Miss Chatterbox. As you can see, I am well stocked with wine, and the cat is never far away.
Little Miss Chatterbox, over and out for the summer of 2024.
The post Summer ending? Pas possible! And the Paralympics. appeared first on Beth Kaplan.
