"Hyperfocus" on Hallowe'en.

It's Hallowe'en. I used to put on other people's clothes for a living, so there's not much fun in it for me and others of my kind. Plus we get 800 or more kids here on my street, pouring north from Regent Park and south from St. Jamestown, an endless stream for hours. It's marvellous and a treat and I did it for 20 years and don't any more. Will cower in the darkness until it's time to go to JM and Richard's for their annual post-Hallowe'en block party.

But we were encouraged to dress up for Carole's class at the Y today. I wore something easy - my plastic Viking Walkure helmet with horns, which was not easy to run in. Carole was a tough biker chick and Margot was a bag of McDonald's fries, very funny. There were some other great costumes among the staff.

That's me in orange and helmet, Margot on the left as fries, Carole below. Some of the others had gone before the pic was taken, including Liam who was inside a hilarious costume that made him look like he was a little guy riding a fat green horse. LOL.

Luckily, there are some who LOVE Hallowe'en. Here they are before going to school this morning. The costumes - ninja, scary skeleton - will be more elaborate tonight.

I've been corresponding with my very right wing friend, though why I don't know, since he will not change his support for Trump and I my loathing. He wrote today: Here’s my prediction. Republicans gain 4 in the Senate and hold the House by 5.

Makes me want to shoot myself. Plus it's gloomy and wet, and dear Bruce just left for New York after a week here. He's incredible, considering that he had a devastating stroke only a year and a half ago. Wonderful to see him trucking around the city visiting theatre friends and colleagues, and now off to NYC to see shows and go to the Met and the Frick to worship at the altar of Renaissance art, as he does everywhere he goes. We are talking about being in Italy together again next year. We'll see.

My left eyeball is no longer neon red. An ophthalmologist said I must have rubbed it and burst blood vessels, it will clear up. And finally it did, now a soft pink. And my hair grew out a tiny bit and looks better, so I am no longer a walking freakish Hallowe'en costume, even without the horns.

Am finishing the book "Hyperfocus" to return it to the library tomorrow. It's about how to get rid of distractions so you can focus on what you need to get done, and also when to employ what he calls "scatterfocus," which means mulling, musing, daydreaming. It's written more for kids who are glued to cellphones than for someone like me, and unfortunately, I was so often distracted that it took me a long time to read it and I can hardly remember what I read. So perhaps not a great success.

PS. 7 p.m.

Love will win

A dark, wet, cold day. A woman said as we were leaving the funeral event this afternoon, "The sky is weeping too."

So, another shooting, another lunatic, another savage, horrendous waste of human life, this one anti-Semitic but no different than the ones destroying black children in church or people celebrating music and life anywhere. Forces of racism, hatred, and death have been unleashed in the United States and the world. We thought, with Obama's election, that the world had fundamentally changed. Now we've turned over the rock and there it is, crawling out - the worst of humanity. Trump and his team, which includes Ontario's current premier and the leader of the PC's in Ottawa, beginning to attack the media in the same way. Dark dark dark.

And then I went to a memorial event for Ann Ireland, who was the writer/coordinator for the creative writing department at Ryerson. I worked with Ann for twenty years and received my last personal email from her at the end of July, about contracts. On August 8th, she wrote to us all that she was resigning because of a health crisis and would not reply to any emails or phone calls. She died less than three weeks later. Today, we heard that Ann chose assisted death; knowing her end was nigh due to terminal liver cancer, she arranged her final day with ten of her loved ones around her, and apparently said, "Wherever I'm going, I hope it's not boring."

According to one of her best friends, she also said, "Please tell people - in the end, work doesn't matter. I've shredded two partial novels. What matters is love and family and friends and kindness."

Thank you, Ann. I wish I'd known you better, but then, I always say that at funerals.

Out into the cold rain and home to more news about the dead in the synagogue. And then a text from my beloved daughter:
I'm so thankful today, Mum. I took this morning's terrorist attack hard. But then we went to a double birthday party for some of Elijah's friends. A Cameroonian couple and an Italian couple celebrating their beautiful daughters with our Tibetan, Cuban, Japanese, and Canadian friends. Grandparents, parents, kids of all colours playing together and having fun. Love will win. But we're going to have to work for it.

Love will win. But we're going to have to work for it.

her bloody eye

I tell people it's part of an early Hallowe'en costume, but of course it's not - my left eye is neon red, floating in blood, ghastly, vampirish. It exploded Monday night. I've had this before - a broken blood vessel in the eye - but always fairly small and fast to disappear. Not this; it's getting worse, and there's nothing to be done. I just have to be grateful I'm not in the middle of a film shoot.

Dr. Google says it has nothing to do with stress, could be caused by a sneeze or laughing - !! But I think it's stress; when I'm tense my neck and face tighten and get rigid, surely this affects the eyes. Sunday was so insanely busy from morning to night without a moment's pause, and then - I'm just generally overwhelmed these days, with teaching and editing work, the renovation plans which consume time, energy - and money, family events, my aunt's estate, and winter coming which is a job in itself. "Lucky you have a lot of energy," a friend said recently, and I do, but sometimes not so much. Not enough.

We're all falling apart. Carole at the Y had bronchitis for three weeks. My longterm hairdresser - we go back decades - had a liver attack, went to Emerg and took 3 weeks off; the other day she had little strength, and so somehow cut my hair extremely short. I won't say it's TOO short because I adore her, but it's short. So now, very short hair and a neon eye. Lovely. Luckily I'm 68 and absolutely no one looks at me.

And just to really cheer me up, there's this:

Author Incomes in Steep Decline

A 27% drop in last three years suggests educational copying is devastating writers’ livelihoods

LOL! Let's make merry!

An old friend from high school in 1965-66 got in touch on Wednesday - in town from Halifax for a meeting - so he came over for a glass of wine and eventually supper. He was nice 53 years ago, and he's nice now; it was great to see him. And he didn't say anything about my eye. Or my hair.

Grateful to my son who made the usual vast mountain of dinner on Sunday and then forgot to take leftovers home in containers, as he usually does - because I've been feeding the world with that dinner. Jean-Marc and Richard had the whole meal again with me, then my handyman John, then Jean-Marc alone, then my old friend, and twice, my beloved friend Bruce, who has come from Vancouver to stay for a week. And still there's more - large vessels of mashed potatoes, gravy, Brussels. That's the way to host - make one vast meal and eat it for weeks.

I'm reminded again what an exciting city we live in. A section of the Thursday Star tells us what events are recommended for the week ahead, and I read with anticipation the names of some of the bands I could go to see at local clubs: Dying Fetus is one that sounds particularly enticing, but there's also Genocide Pact, Wage War, Suicideyear, The Dose, Leprous, Gatecreeper, Knuckle Puck, Shotty Horroh, and My Coma. And also, Schumann's Piano Quintet. Hmmm. I wonder which I, invisible old fart that I am, should choose.

In which Kristyn wins and I have an unrelated bad dream

Kristyn won with a huge majority, as did other terrific leftwing councillors - Joe Cressy, Gord Perks in Anna's ward, Josh Matlow. But the right wingers from the suburbs still outnumber our guys. As we have been since hideous Harris created the megacity, we are at the mercy of suburban councillors whose priority is fresh new highways for commuters. And we have again safe, dull Mayor Tory. No wonder this city struggles to keep up with the times, with almost no housing for the homeless, skyrocketing rents, limitless development, appalling gridlock, absurdly underfunded public transit, a pathetic number of bicycle lanes. 

However. Our guys will fight the good fight, and luckily, despite Ford's best attempts to wipe them out, what a great team of fighters we still have.

Last night's class at Ryerson had one of the most difficult moments I've ever encountered as a teacher; a pretty young student presented her piece, a light, amusing piece about something small bothering her, and another student countered with her own story of horrendous, unimaginable tragedy around more or less the same issue. I hope we got through with grace and with no one being harmed, always my main goal in this sensitive work. Another student read a piece about the guilt she felt at her inadequate response to her daughter's serious health crisis.

Last night I had a powerful dream that swamped me, that seemed to incorporate elements of what happened in class. I rarely remember my dreams, so it seems important when I do, and the details and emotion of this one will stay with me forever.

I was looking after three children, my grandson and a brother and sister, a pretty blonde girl of about 7. We were exploring a town I didn’t know, and we stopped at a building that housed a film studio. The girl was anxious to go inside and the boys were not, so they stayed outside and she and I went in. Something was being filmed in a big bright room with sets and costumes all around, and she was thrilled, slipping quickly away from me toward the action. I was whispering desperately, trying to catch and pull her back, but she was already far into where the cameras were. I didn’t want to follow her, interrupt filming and make the situation worse, and was concerned about the boys outside, so I decided to go find them and wait for her to come out. But when I got out, the boys weren’t there, so I set out to look for them and kept going far through the town, looking.

Eventually, panic struck. I realized a little girl was alone on a movie set, and I had to find her and make sure she was safe. But I couldn’t remember where the studio building was. After trying one door after another, I was exhausted and realized it might be far away. I decided, strangely, to call my mother to come help, and because walking would take too long, I should get a cab to take me around. But then I realized – my purse with my phone and my money was gone. Lost children and no way to call for help or pay for help.

I woke up frantic.

After my psychoanalysis, I learned to analyze my dreams. But I'm going to leave this dream of child abandonment and poor choices for now. 

Go Kristyn Wong Tam and Keesmat!

Election day in Toronto - go Kristyn! Go Jennifer Keesmat! I know John Tory will be re-elected mayor, but I hope he gets the message that Toronto deserves far better than his cautious, please-everybody, let's-not-rock-the-boat ways. We deserve better than someone who is merely a decent person, merely unlike his predecessor Rob Ford, whose brother is now doing his best to destroy our city.

Yesterday, one of the most exhausting days of my entire adult life. Morning, stuffing a turkey and getting it into the oven for our late Thanksgiving celebration, also Sam and Thomas's birthday feast, and preparing the house for many guests. At 11.30, eight writers appeared at my door for the rehearsal for So True, and then at 1, all of us over to the Black Swan for the event. Because it was at a new time, the tech guy forgot and didn't show up, so one man had to man the bar and do the lights and sound, until backup arrived. Despite this, it was one of the best yet - one fabulous, riveting story after another. And then mine.

Here's what one participant sent yesterday: I thought yesterday was one of the strongest groups I’ve ever heard at a So True. I liked them all so much it’s hard to pick a favourite. It is a wonderful thing you do, giving us a venue to read our work.

And another: So happy to have been a part of So True again, Beth. It was, in my view, spectacular. I always feel so euphoric after having read. 

Straight back here afterwards to find everything happening - Sam had cooked all afternoon, the turkey was just coming out, Anna and family were here and the house was already being ripped apart by small boys, more guests arrived, wine and beer flowed, a ton of food was served and eaten, and the house cleared by about 10.30, with the fridge full of leftovers and most dishes done. It always feels like a marathon, a big family meal.

Today, vote, recuperate, and winterize with John - we put away the summer stuff. The cold is coming.

On Saturday, which was a beautiful day, after Wayson kindly drove me around to pick up a nearly 17 pound turkey and a large cake, I went to Theatre Passe-Muraille to see a good production of the absurd yet moving Krapp's Last Tape. I try to see a Beckett play at least once a year; he's good for the soul. I marvel always at how far ahead of his time he was.

Jean-Marc was just here; he's talking about beginning our reno as soon as next week. I'm not ready! Even though what we're doing is much more to my liking, still, I hate the thought of the disruption and mess. Definitely getting old and crabby.