A Real Pain, a must-see, and Angela Hewitt, sublime.
It’s been a gloomy if mild week here in the centre of the universe, and crazy times in the world. Chaos on Parliament Hill, Trudeau sealing his own fate at last, like Biden — could he not have learned from that disaster, a leader not realizing when it’s time to get out and condemning his country to four years of a sociopath? Sheesh. (That’s unfair — probably Trump would have won anyway, that’s just the way the country is right now. But Biden hanging in there for so long against the odds didn’t help, and Trudeau the same.) And then there’s Trump nominating a trucking executive relative to be his Middle East envoy, on top of the disastrous others. The opening of nightmare prisons in Syria. And so very much more.
It would all be less devastating if we occasionally caught a glimpse of the sun.
However, yours truly powers on. There are days — last Saturday, for one — when it seems I do absolutely nothing and talk to no one, sitting around in a stupor. Well no, reading a lot online and on paper. And then the next day is very busy. On Sunday Ruthie and I went to see the film A Real Pain and both loved it, really loved it, a thoughtful funny moving film, now nominated as one of the NYT’s best films of 2024. Jesse Eisenberg wrote, directed, and stars. Exceptional.
Then Toronto Lynn came for dinner, and we went to Hugh’s Room nearby, to hear the sublime pianist Angela Hewitt play Bach, Mozart, and Brahms. My parents were huge fans of hers in Ottawa when she was just a teenager; she’s been performing since childhood, and is now 66. Her skill is beyond compare, fingers flying at impossible speed. For me, the speed and virtuosity made it all a bit show-stoppy and so less moving, but that’s okay — still a spectacular talent to see in such an intimate venue. She was just in Seoul playing for 1700 people. Hugh’s sold out Room seats 200.
Angela in her sparkly dress speaking about the music:
I spent Monday in a frenzy about furnaces. My furnace is 18 years old and not a fine specimen to start with, so, as Brian the furnace guy said, “You’re on borrowed time.” I had two experts come to give me estimates for either a high efficiency furnace or a heat pump. The heat pump is better for the planet but also way more expensive, so … decisions decisions. In the end, I read in the Star that Olivia Chow hopes the city will have incentives for heat pumps next year, so I’m delaying, praying we get through the winter with Old Faithful downstairs.
When I have to make a decision about something so expensive and important is when I miss a sensible life partner at my side. Instead I turn to my panel of experts: Jean-Marc, Doug the handyman, Anna — who might have to deal with my decision down the line, when I’m gone — and Anne-Marie. Who all had different opinions. So delaying is a relief.
Brian exclaimed, as he came in, “What a beautiful typewriter!” There’s an old Royal in the living-room. “I collect typewriters. And beautiful boxes, like those,” he said, pointing to the gorgeous wooden boxes left me by my mother. I told him my kids aren’t interested in this stuff, and he said, “I’ll take them!” A kindred spirit. He’ll be doing the furnace, when I finally make up my mind. But he’s not getting the stuff.
The good news is that I keep getting fat royalty cheques for various projects, including this one from Findaway Voices, an alternative to Audible, which has my audiobook for Loose Woman:
Yes, it comes to $2.50, but that’s in American dollars! Gold.
Finally, here’s an example of why I feel overwhelmed sometimes. Last year. I started a notebook to list things I’d heard about to see, read, watch, listen to, do. But there’ve been so many, I don’t have time to stick them inside the book, where usually they remain ignored in any case. On the cover now, lists of children’s movies, children’s books, films, health statistics (how much calcium I need and from where?) and places to find cheap flights. The inside of the book is crammed. I guess once I hear about something I must take note of, and take note of it, I relax. It’s in the book. And then I can pay no attention because I don’t have time for it anyway.
Does this ring a bell, dear readers?
FYI, there’s a new hour-long interview with me about Finding the Jewish Shakespeare on the About page here, under Media. I’m sure you’re intrigued. Watched the terrific Ken Burns doc about Leonardo da Vinci, surely one of the greatest geniuses the world has ever known, if not THE greatest. I’m reading The World She Edited by Amy Reading (what a name for a writer) about Katherine S. White, for decades the most powerful editor at the New Yorker. Her husband E.B. White – Andy – is one of my writer heroes, but now I learn he was neurotic and needy and selfish. Ah well. He’s a fabulous writer.
500 pages plus about an editor — I’m nerding out right now, as they say. The fire is going, the house is silent, the naughty cat is asleep. The multicoloured lights swathing the forsythia in the front yard are lovely. We’re heading into the holiday maelstrom, folks. Strap in!
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