good times

Just in from my third social event of the week - I've been out every night, I who rarely go out. Monday night, to a snazzy party with my old friend Ron. I had to search in my closet for pantyhose, it has been so long since I've worn them. But with my extensive second-hand wardrobe, I was able to cobble together a fancy look, all of it originally owned by someone else, including the sparkling garnet bracelet and jet necklace which belonged to my American grandmother. The party was at Planta, a trendy new vegetarian restaurant at Bay and Bloor, and though the party was not particularly brilliant, the wine was very good and the food was terrific, including a memorable hot dog made from carrots. Delicious. Seriously.

Yesterday, a meeting of the Canadian Creative Non-Fiction Collective about our conference, and then we retired to Hemingway's bar on Cumberland to meet with other members of our tribe. We are hoping to establish an on-going CNF group, even after the conference is over. We drank and ate and talked work - getting published, how we do what we do. Heartening. 

Though there was something that seriously depressed me for a while. I'd sent my memoir manuscript to an acquaintance at a publisher's, and in two and a half months had heard nothing. One of the other women who's on the conference committee confessed shyly that she'd sent a query to the same woman and had heard back that she wants to see the full manuscript. "How long did that take?" I asked, thinking, perhaps it takes this woman months to respond to everyone. "Two weeks," she beamed, and I knew that my chances were over. And today, finally, my acquaintance wrote to say about the ms., "It's good," but that for various reasons she can't take it on. 

I struggled with - what's the point? - for awhile today, particularly as it's November. Though I have to say, the weather has been wondrous for the past few days, warm for the season and sunny, biking weather. But rejection is always hard, no matter how many times it has happened before. And it has happened a lot. But then they REJECTED J.K. ROWLING TOO! I will keep reminding myself of that. 

Tonight, a fundraiser at CRC, the gorgeous new building in Regent Park where we hold our conversation group. The latest was this morning; a staff person guided us through aromatherapy - making our own moisturizing cream out of lavender and bergamot. We smelled eucalyptus too, and Negisti, who's from Eritrea, told us they boil the leaves there often. And then she told us that the prophet of her Pentecostal church has flown in and tomorrow, 7000 people, including she herself, are going to hear him speak in Tigrinya, their language. How would we ever know these things otherwise?

The fundraiser, to which I was invited as a volunteer rather than paying $65 for a ticket, was spectacular - they transformed the main room with food stations every ten paces, many kinds of ethnic food and oysters, wine and beer, and rock music. I got to drink, eat, and dance, which means I was a very happy camper. 

But now - reality. Tomorrow I'm flying to Ottawa to visit my dear Aunt Do, who at 97 still lives alone. I'm spending till Sunday with her, to take her shopping and to dinner and to keep her company. I never want to go to Ottawa - it's freezing cold and boring and I stay in a small Airbnb room and miss my life - but I'm always happy to see my oldest remaining relative, who has stories to tell. 

Today, Matt Lauer and Garrison Keillor - what the hell? Some of this is going too far, small stupid missteps long ago. Some of these events should not cause these men to lose their jobs while an insane abusive cretin still works in the White House. What a crazy time we live in. Ah well - for the next few days, I will be out of touch in a very hot living room, moving slowly.

Just to depress you ... from a British newspaper in 1930.

plugged-in shoes

My daughter is getting her Christmas tree today - it's November! I usually get mine, reluctantly, a week before the big day. There's a lot of Bah, Humbug around here, as there is not across town, where two small boys are waiting to begin opening their Advent calendars. I went to the mall a few days ago - before Black Friday, of course, when the place went insane - to buy what Eli wants for Christmas - shoes. Not just any shoes, of course - shoes that have a course of lights around the sole that light up in different colours. They cost $89 and you have to charge them with a charger, like a cellphone. I came home and plugged my grandson's shoes into my computer.

How to explain THAT to my father, who died in 1988?

However, just read a great article on how the western world is returning to analog, as opposed to digital. Books made of paper, records made of vinyl, typewriters - hooray! One year I'll get Eli a record player for Christmas. But not quite yet. I'm going over this afternoon to help decorate the tree, and then I'll go home before they get immersed in the Grey Cup. Lots of football fans in that house. And yet some of them are related closely to me.

Had lunch Thursday with three dear friends from the Y - Paul, friend since I started there in 1990, Carole, the gazelle who teaches my fave class, and Godana, just-retired Y employee, an Ethiopian who once coached an Olympic marathon runner. Carole, Paul and I wanted to touch base with this beautiful man, to be sure he doesn't disappear from our lives. We ate at Shalom, a new Ethiopian restaurant on Parliament Street - a big platter of food in the centre of the table that we ate with injera - a pancake-like bread full of holes. Godana showed us just how to do it. It was wonderful.

Teaching is over for the term. Six weeks off, which also means six weeks with no teaching income. But already, the calendar is pretty full. I emailed a personal essay to a magazine this week, which I haven't done for years. Time for work, time for fitness, time to sort out the chaos in the office and the basement - and time to sit around staring at the garden as it shuts itself down. For now.

Life is full of such promise, isn't it?

inspired by Suzuki

"I've been waiting for a new post, Miss Lazypants," wrote my friend Chris. Jeez! Take a few days off from blogging and they're on your case.

Chugging along here. Keeping busy. Went to the symphony Saturday night to hear Canadian pianist Angela Hewitt play Bach and Mozart piano concertos, conducting the symphony at the same time. My parents used to go see her in Ottawa in the seventies and admired her enormously, and so do I. She's lithe and graceful with hands that move at lightning speed; she effortlessly commanded that vast beautiful room. The music was a banquet. (Photo below before it started.)

On Sunday I took Sam, his girlfriend Amy and Wayson to dinner at the Pearl Court, the Gerrard street restaurant that's Wayson's mainstay. They know him like family there and chatter in Cantonese which he speaks haltingly but impressively nonetheless. And then back for "The Durrells in Corfu" which Sam had taught me how to PVR - save on the TV. Barely understood how but managed to find and replay it, to the delight of my older friend and me. The young ones had gone by then. The Durrells in Corfu definitely not their kind of show.

On Monday, a huge treat: I went to hear David Suzuki speak as a guest of Ryerson's Chang School, the school of continuing studies where I teach. He's an extraordinary speaker, fiery, funny, his speech apocalyptic yet warm with personal asides and details about his own life. He showed that we have known since the seventies about the perils of climate change and yet our western world has done nothing. Harper is his great villain - "He should be in jail," he said, and I agree. He spoke of how happy he was when Trudeau was elected, immediately dealing with gender parity in cabinet and setting off for the Paris climate accord. But, unfortunately, "He gets a big fat zero for action."

The problem, he said, is that the changes needed to save our species from extinction are longterm, and politicians simply want to be re-elected and are unwilling to take the courageous risk of making them. Also, they're in thrall to corporations. He said: Where is the place for the sacred in our society? We value all the wrong things. We value the economy, the market – created by human beings. We do not value the things that keep us alive: air, water, the good soil and sunlight that produce our food. Earth air fire and water – sacred to First Nations people, meaningless to us.

We must be warriors for the coming generations. No fossil fuels, he said. Eat locally and seasonally. Change the electoral system. We need to get involved in the electoral process and elect responsible politicians. And STAY PUT, he said. Put down roots. 

I lined up to buy his new book, but more, to have a few moments to chat. It's a great thrill that because he and my father were best friends, that friendship continues with me today. I left inspired and moved, thinking about my footprint on the earth. I've tried to be a good ecological citizen, only had two children, no car, not wasting food, buying second hand, staying put and putting down roots. But - I travel a lot. 

Monday night and this afternoon, the end of my teaching term at the universities. Both were spectacular this term. Have I said that before? The Ryerson class was enormous and yet fabulous; the U of T class was much smaller and also fabulous. At the last class, nice words were said and gifts were given to Teach - flowers and wine, two of my fave things. I hope you don't mind if I reprint a few of the nice things. A friend noted that I "post a lot of self-congratulatory stuff" on my blog. And it's true. I wrote back that it's because I'm advertising my wares - showing people what my teaching means, in the hopes of attracting more customers. But perhaps it's also because I'm really conceited.

I do not think a class (group of total strangers) comes together like that sharing their most vulnerable selves unless they feel safe and respected and considered -- and you as the teacher and fearless leader did that for all of us. I looked forward to your class every week and I shall miss it dearly. I am hopeful that the journey has just begun and that writing will become an important part of my life going forward.

My friends and family commented  that it was obvious my writing course was doing me good. A lighter, more content version of myself. Managing better with my peaks and valleys.............. (mostly valleys). I'm on to something with the writing and think it will keep me in the sane category of life, so I'll continue.

Best of all, in one class was a doctor whose brother recently died of cancer, leaving her so bereft, she was unable to do her job and had to take time off. She told us the class had renewed her love for humanity, and she was going back to work. And a woman in her eighties read us a story today about having a personal article published in the newspaper a long time ago when she was 18; her father flew into a rage when he read it, telling her to keep her "lunatic rantings" to herself. Which she has done all her life, writing in diaries, many letters, in local newspapers, but never committing to writing until now. And now, she said, her face bright with joy, I want to start and hope it is not too late. I told her about Diana Athill with her first best-seller at 92 and her next book out at 98. Never too late, I said, but don't delay. The same for all of us - don't delay.

Of course, good advice for Teach too, who is dallying as always. A student asked me, with all I do, how do I have time to write, and the correct answer is, really, I don't.

the King streetcar miracle

Went across town at rush hour yesterday on the King streetcar, which whizzed along like a miracle. Amazing - an enlightened new policy in this town, to make it illegal to drive for more than one block on King Street between Jarvis and Bathurst. Imagine, inconveniencing cars to prioritize streetcars. In Toronto, where our last idiot mayor trumpeted "The war on the car is over!"

I was so happy with my ride, both there and back, that I wrote to congratulate the mayor this morning, telling him I'm warming to him. Not too much, but some.

I was on my way to Eli's school in Parkdale; it's parent-teacher interview time, so I was to keep Eli busy while Anna talked to his teacher. It's a most wonderful school with a huge percentage of immigrant children particularly from Tibet, a warm, warm feeling, and the most gorgeous school library I've ever seen. Just fabulous. There was a book fair going on, so before my family got there, I bought some books, including "Tell me about sex, Grandma." Yes. It's a wonderful book which isn't about the birds and the bees but about feeling good about being who you are and not allowing anyone to do anything you don't want. Very important to have lying around for a discussion one day. Not quite yet.

Anyway, I loved the school and with the teacher's permission, copied down the names of Eli's classmates. Here they are:

Andraya, Amara, Akkeim, Adam, Arianna, Abdulrahman, Dasel, Drugmo, Keira, Ethan, Emily, Jigme, Julian, Karma Tashi, Karma Rapten, Matthew, Marloes, Principe, Stacy, Serwoe, Phensem, Dolkar, Choezin, Veronica, Zaira, Zahra.

How's that for multicultural?

And then at Anna's, I played hide and go seek with the boys. Now that's pleasure, standing behind a door waiting, and then they fling it back and I roar and they shriek and we all laugh and Ben says, "Again, Glamma, again." 

Had a crisis in the night - besides back pain, I realized I can't go on living in this vast house forever. Am starting again to think about alternatives. The problem is that I want to live forever in Cabbagetown, but there just aren't many houses in Cabbagetown. I will check out what's happening in Regent Park, which may be crowded and noisy. Or I could renovate this house to make another apartment upstairs. Suggestions welcome.

SponsorLand

The days are grey, slate grey and cool, my huge maple tree at the front showering yellow leaves, the front path thick with them. It's still warm enough to ride the bike, but I miss the sun.

To warm my day and my heart, I just received this from a student at Ryerson who cannot make the last class of term next week:

I just wanted to thank you for the truly wonderful experience of your writing class. I signed up last minute and on a lark, not really sure what I was doing or why. It was the very best thing I did this fall.

I loved every minute of it. I felt connected to my classmates. I loved hearing their stories and listening to their styles. I learned so much from you and from them. I learned a lot about myself, too. Thank you again for a wonderful class and experience.

As I just wrote to her, during the last class, she read such a well-written and moving piece of work, the air in the room changed. We always know when someone is sharing a vital truth. 

Speaking of vital truths, there was a moment in the English conversation group yesterday morning, when one of the women, who's usually quiet and shy, began to speak. She told us in her hesitant English that she had gone to the Gerrard mall with two of her sons to buy them winter clothes - and then at their insistence had taken them to the McDonalds in the mall "for fries." We all laughed. Kids, even Bengali kids who at home are fed pakoras, samosas, biryani, and coconut rice - the cooking of which we discussed at such length yesterday that I was hungry - love fries. I was proud of my new friend who wanted to share that moment of normalcy and had the courage to utter a bunch of English sentences in a row, out loud. 

I was thinking of the group when I watched a documentary on TVO last night, "SponsorLand"; one of the producers is Noah Bingham, the son of my neighbours and good friends Jack and Gretchen. It's about a group of people in the small town of Picton in Prince Edward County who sponsor a Syrian family with 11 children - what happens when they arrive, how they integrate, or not, into small town Canadian life. Beautifully shot, intimate, thoughtful - and I have to say, how open, decent and kind they all are, both the sponsors and the immigrants. If only bigots could be forced to see it. It's available online; please take a look. 

And now - into this grey day. Incidentally, the back pain went away and came back, again so fierce that I took two Advils in the night. I guess it's the flaw in my carpet, that and the lack of sun, and the political situation, the vicious morons loose in the world. It's good to be reminded of human kindness.