a cold but good Friday

This is the worst spring I can remember. But then, I guess it's especially difficult to feel that sting of wind, to look at my shabby brown and grey backyard, and think of the garden in Giverny, and of Paris, the paulownia trees and wisteria in full massive bloom under the hot sun.

However. There seems to be not only the hope of warmth in the air, but also some stirrings of change in this wretched election. Imagine, the NDP possibly overtaking the Bloc in Quebec - is it possible? I am very glad Jack Layton is getting his due. He's an extraordinary man, devoted and very smart, who's been doing the thankless job of representing the left-wing conscience of this nation all his life; it's great that the nation has at last noticed.

In this riding, however, I will be voting for another extraordinarily fine man and politician, the estimable Bob Rae.

I'm seriously pissed off at the Greens. It's wrong at this crucial time to siphon votes from and further splinter the left. David Suzuki made an important comment in a recent interview - that the Greens have ghettoized the environment as an issue. It should be an important platform for all parties, he said, instead of the main arena for only one.

Work began again yesterday, that is, paid work, unlike my writing work which is like tossing words into the wind. We met at U of T to consider the "thesis" of a certificate student who did her final project with me as editor and advisor. This was a writer who had divided her stories into two categories - the easy tales about family that she wrote as non-fiction, and the hard ones about family secrets that she had fictionalized. Of course, her trusty editor advisor, always on the hunt for truth, made her combine the two and tell the full truth about her fascinating and difficult life. The jury at U of T concurred: very good work, riveting, beautifully written and with great potential. Onward!

W*yson just called - he's back in town too and we're going to meet. Love blooms in cold, grey spring.

Later: Another of the great joys of my life here: the hot tub at the Y. After an hour-long holiday class today - taught by wonderful Margot, whose 3-year old did pushups beside her, better than most of us - I sank into the hot tub in the Health Club, to be joined by my friend Gretchen and various other women. And there we floated, a circle of naked women immersed in very hot water, discussing travel and many other things. Bliss.

And now I'm off to next door, where my French neighbour Monique is hosting one of her regular Friday 'cinq à sept' talk-fests in French. There was sun this afternoon, and on my walk, I saw the citizens of Toronto, like mole people, slowly emerge; the schoolyard was full of children on bicycles, playing soccer and baseball, on the jungle jim - yes, Toronto, there will be spring. I'm glad I'll be here for every glorious moment.