feasts of various kinds
So dark in the mornings – today, when I woke, it felt like 4 a.m. but it was 7. Winter. Last night, minus 17 with the wind chill, the fire was going and the chickens were roasting when the guests arrived for our annual Xmas potluck – six members of my home class, plus Peg from B.C. on Zoom, who’ve been gathering here to read their writing for years. Dear friends, family, partners in the creative struggle.
We feasted, they read, and then, as a final treat, I read them “Mr. Kringsberg’s Christmas,” a beautiful story by former student Margaret Norquay. Margaret was in her mid-eighties when she took my Ryerson class; she was subsequently in my first home class and such a good writer, I persuaded her to compile her stories into a book. Broad is the way was published when she was eighty-eight, just before she lost her memory. Kringsberg is a Canadian classic, should be read on CBC every year. It always makes me cry. Ruth had to finish reading.
I can’t post it, but if you want to read a moving Xmas story, please respond here with an email address and I will send it to you.
More great treats: on Tuesday to nearby Winchester School, where Anna went for several early years, to watch their volleyball team play Eli’s school from Parkdale. Eli is not a keen volleyball player, he was recruited by the coach because he’s tall and they needed another player. The valiant Parkdale boys lost. I had brought two bags of cookies for them, hope that helped ease the sting.
#9 – the Beatles would approve – standing beside the coach. As Lani wrote, “That boy sure is a tall drink of water.” The slightly too big skates I gave him last Xmas are too small.
The night before, the best moment. At twelve, Elijah is the opposite of effusive; he’s cautious, shrewd, has kept his cards close to his chest since early boyhood. He expresses enthusiasm for very little, and, breaking my heart, he doesn’t like reading. But that night, after I’d read over the phone at bedtime a few more chapters of the thrilling Impossible Creatures and said, “That’s all for tonight,” I heard him say, “Can we have one more chapter please?” And I thought, “He’s engrossed! My life is worthwhile!”
That night, I went to the City Choir Christmas concert. It’s a huge choir, un-auditioned with a big span of ages and types, directed by professional musicians. It was a joyous evening of song. I went to join this choir last year but realized I do not have the time. One day.
Wednesday, appearing at a book club on Zoom. They said the nicest things about Midlife Solo, their first venture into nonfiction. One woman said when she heard it was about a divorced single mother, she thought, Oh no, boring! — but she loved it. “It brought back so many of my own memories,” she said. I told them that’s what memoir is supposed to do – illuminate what we all share, the universal beneath the specific. I was especially pleased they were most moved by the tales of my childhood friends Penny and Babs, because those are perhaps the most meaningful pieces to me. One of the main reasons I wanted to publish the book was to make sure those girls were honoured and remembered.
The New York Times asked us to email them our list of five favourite things from 2024. So I did, and am compiling a list to share with you next time. Impossible Creatures is one of them. The main reason to have grandchildren? To relish films and books intended for kids but delightful for people like me, pretending to be grownup.
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