stopping by the woods

I'm in beautiful downtown Ogdensburg. Actually no, I'm at the Quality Inn just outside of Ogdensburg, but I just toured the town with my first cousins once removed Ted and Susan and their spouses Henry and Peter. We went to the Frederick Remington Museum which is the only thing to do in Ogdensburg - well laid out and interesting - and we drove around looking at the big old houses and the falling down houses and the seaway, on the other side of which is my fine country. We asked a local where downtown was, and she said, there isn't one.

So that's Ogdensburg. Still, it was entertaining being with these two long-term couples as they bickered through town. Turn THAT way! THAT WAY! They went together to Tibet. It boggles the mind.

Lots of lovely Tiffany stuff in the Remington museum

A painting entitled Canada. Yup, that looks like Toronto to me.

A local restaurant.

It's nearly noon. At 1 p.m., Ted and Susan's younger sister Debbie is marrying Dan, a man she first knew as a teenager. Debbie is 65 and has never married. Dan has three grown sons from his previous marriage, big big young men. I met them last night at the restaurant where the two sides assembled, at least 25 of us. It was terrific - what families do and are, people who have absolutely nothing in common coming together to celebrate love and marriage. I am glad to be part of it. Especially as there is almost no family left on my mother's British side, so the New Yorkers are it for me. And what a voluble bunch they are. When I arrived at breakfast this morning, they were avidly discussing what they pay their handymen.

There are dark clouds. The ceremony is taking place outside, on the parched lawn here. I pray it does not rain, which would put a serious damper on things, as there does not seem to be an awning or any kind of shelter. Or shade, for that matter.

An adventure.

The train from Toronto to Brockville, where I rented a car - a bright red Fiat - and drove to Ogdensburg, was an adventure too. Opposite me in the car was a family of four who did not look up from their phones for the first two hours of our trip. All four of them, faces plastered to the screens, as Ontario went by outside the windows. The boys were fraternal twins, I think, of about 11 - beautiful boys, locked into their games. They will soon be teenagers and lost forever. I wondered if their parents might one day regret not being a bit more present with them, instead of lost in their own worlds. But then I remembered how I hated playing I Spy and Spot the Licence Plate and all those tedious games to keep my kids busy on long trips. So maybe arriving refreshed, after being lost in your own private digital world, is a good idea.

Most of my family here are Democrats, except for Peter and Susan, who are very rich and so Republican. But we don't talk politics much. Here's something wonderful for all you Dems out there:

STOPPING BY THE WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING – By Donald J Trump

BY ROTTINGPOST ON MARCH 25, 2016 • ( 99 COMMENTS )

I have a pretty good idea whose woods these are, believe me.
And let me tell you something, my people say he’s a complete nobody.
This guy lives in the village.   So what if he sees me stopping here?
I dare him to sue me!   I dare him!

And by the way, this snow is pathetic.
These are by far, the least downy flakes ever!
I hear they had to import them from Canada.
I don’t know.  Maybe they did.  Maybe they didn’t.  We’re looking into it.

My horse – he’s the most incredible horse, seriously,
I have the greatest, the classiest horses –
My horse doesn’t even know what the hell we’re doing here.
The horses love me though.  They do.
They’re always shaking their bells at me, it’s very loving.
It’s a beautiful thing.

Let me tell you something, these woods are an embarrassment.
They’re not dark.  They’re not deep.  They’re nothing.  They’re for losers.
And I cannot wait to sue this guy.
I cannot wait to sue this guy.

Mel Hurtig, great Canadian, R.I.P.

What joy - I'm listening to the CBC 6 o'clock news, we're 15 minutes in, and they have not said the name Trump once. I'm sure it'll come, but still - he's on a slide. Let us pray it deposits him at the bottom of a lake. It's funny - as people who have read this blog for some time know, there are three politicians I despise: Mike Harris, Stephen Harper, and George Bush, particularly the first two. I cannot loathe Trump the way I do Harris and Harper, because he's so completely ridiculously absurd, so utterly beyond belief as a serious candidate, I can't believe he'll get much further. I know, he's disgusting and terrifying - but also so appalling as to be almost funny. Whereas there was nothing funny about the two men who did their best to destroy my city, my province, and my country.
From Twitter:

Trump somehow makes Romney look good. Romney somehow made McCain look good. In 4 years the GOP will nominate a sentient radioactive chainsaw.

Tomorrow, a new adventure - I'm off to a family wedding in Ogdensburg, and then to Ottawa to visit Auntie Do. My son will keep the home fires burning. I'm enjoying my new rooms, though there's some adjusting to be done.

It's 6.20, and they're talking about Mel Hurtig, one of my heroes, who died last night. A wonderful Canadian, noble and inspiring. He was a friend of my father's, when Dad was at the U of A in Edmonton. I wish I'd met him.

It's high summer - hot hot hot. My cucumbers are stunning. Now that's something I never thought I'd say.

6.23, giant rats in Africa that can sense TB. 6.26, the Olympics. A whole news cycle without Trump - the world just might be saved, my friends.

moving day

This will be a long day - I was awake at 3.30 a.m. and got up at 6. I've been mulling my workspace and realized in the middle of the night that I need to change things around. About ten years ago, for various reasons that made sense then, I moved my bedroom from the front of the house to the small cosy space at the back. So the big front room holds all my clothes still, because there's no closet at the back, and also has a long desk and many boxes of research materials. I have tried to work there for years. But it faces east and after the early morning, there's not a lot of light. So I started to work in my bedroom, which faces south and has tons of light, but is small. And then I worked in the kitchen at the back of the house, facing the garden, which is lovely and light but where I can't spread out because it's a much-used public space.

It's been this way for years, me wandering from space to space, keeping my current work materials in boxes in one room or another. For the last few days, at last, it's been bothering me, so the day before yesterday, I swung my bed sideways to have more space in the bedroom to write. But that's not going to work.

I am now waiting for Bill, the quasi-homeless guy who does odd jobs, to come over, to help me transfer furniture and mountains of paper from one end of the second floor to the other. I will go back to sleeping at the front and working at the back.

Is this just another excuse not to actually write? I don't think so, I think this is me finally coming to terms with my needs as a writer. It will be a hell of a lot of work to shift things around, not something to undertake on a whim. But I am pretty sure it's the right thing to do.

An hour later: it's done! Bill, with his long straggly grey hair and toothless smile, is invaluable - and though he looks about 102, he is in fact younger than I am. We hauled file cabinets, a massive desk top, mattress and frame, chest of drawers and four hundreds boxes from one end of the house to the other. Now there's chaos. But I have my office.

Does inspiration lurk just around the corner, in my bright new workspace? Stay tuned. But first, at some point very soon, a nap.

Soixante-six

Tattoos! Done by himself except for a name drawn by his mama.

Wayson and his buddy.

A hurricane blew in and suddenly everything was upside down. Two small people were rampaging through the house, one on all fours, one on his extremely swift feet. I turned away for a second and when I turned around, Ben was about to hurtle off a cliff. Eli distributed all the toys all over the floor. Ben threw all the food from his highchair. The kids splashed madly in the wading pool and soaked everyone. Wayson sat serenely taking in the chaos. Sam was late getting back from a cottage.

But at last, by some miracle, we sat down to dinner, Eli discovering the joys of mashed potatoes, Ben gnawing on a corn cob, the rest of us managing a full plate. Sam cleaned it all up and they all went off to their lives.

It's 8, it's quiet, I am now well and truly 66. Not sure how that happened - not that long ago, I was 23. My skin, back and eyes were better, but nothing else was. I'll take 66, with gratitude.

I'm going to have some of my birthday chocolate now. Onward.

birthday girl

It's cup runneth over time. Nice that the whole country celebrates my birthday with a holiday, isn't it? So quiet out there. Below is what greeted me this morning. The garden made me cry.

Rose of Sharon exploding, ridiculous hydrangeas, rudbeckia, echinacea, golden glow, mint, clematis and more. Plus fresh-picked cherry tomatoes, cukes, lettuce and beans for dinner. The bounty of the generous earth. I have just ordered as my birthday present a book called "The Hidden Life of Trees."

My family are arriving at some point soon - the wading pool is filled and ready, there are steaks in the fridge for a special barbecue, and fresh corn from the Stratford farmer's market. My other huge treats already today:
1. Facebook, how I love Facebook, almost everyone I know in the world is writing to wish me a good day. I love you all! So grateful to be in your thoughts.
2. Boot camp at the Y at 9 this morning, led by Carole, my inspiration, grandmother of 3 grown women and lean and muscly like a greyhound. I hurt now, but what a good pain.
3. Practicing the piano - able (clumsily) to play the first of the Goldberg Variations, which was also played by Glenn Gould. You would not mistake my version for his, but still, my fingers are playing what he played. It's hard, because the minute I learn something, I forget it. Motto, for those of you who are under 60: learn it now!
4. Skyping just now with Lynn in Provence, meeting her grandchildren over the internet, saying hello to her daughter Myriam, whom I knew as a toddler, now the beautiful mother of two Muslim sons.
And, more generally ...
5. Justin Trudeau and Canada.
6. My health.
7. My work, both writing and teaching.
8. My home.
And most of all ...
9. Family and friends.

Cup overfloweth.

Losses this year: my father's cousin George, one of the last of Jacob Gordin's grandsons, a dear friend, in Washington D. C. Much missed.

Otherwise - onward, grateful for every minute. My father died at 65; he did not have a 66th birthday. From now on, every minute is a bonus.