not a bomb

The McCartney mavens are on the move - writers in the U of T program who heard my reading on Monday keep coming up to tell me their Paul stories. One woman named her son after him! To think - I didn't.

The week is going wonderfully - but exhausting. I'm just not used to long regular hours, like a normal person with a normal job, and in any case, the work itself is extremely intense. Plus today, there were two fire alarms in our U of T building, much milling about and firetrucks. Nothing like yesterday, mind you, on Parliament Street when I was out for a walk - a whole section of the street blocked off with police cars, about seven firetrucks and ambulances and news trucks, uniformed personnel milling about, crowds gaping, and 3 or 4 people in full bomb-defusing gear fiddling on the street with something. Wow, what a show! "A suspicious package," said a handsome policeman.

It says in the paper today that someone left an envelope filled with white powder in Bob Rae's office on Parliament, and people inside started sneezing with watering eyes. So, obviously, the only thing to do is to call out the entire Toronto Emergency Task Force. Who will eventually deliver a report on what the powder was. Bob Rae, that major threat to the world.

Sigh.

Back to contemplating the garden. The tiger lilies are out and the black-eyed susans and echinacea will be next. Thank you, O creator of flowers and green.