7 p.m. I posted what's below earlier in the day. Since then, 49 Muslims have been massacred in New Zealand by a man praising Donald Trump. And I just watched a devastating video on child refugees.
I'm embarrassed by the pettiness of my complaints. I won't delete the post. But I will try to rise above it.
2 p.m. Another former Ryerson student, Paula Turner, has a piece in the Globe today. One of her classmates wrote to point out that she's the fourth person from that class to be published in the Globe. He wrote, Thanks to Beth Kaplan for her influence on our belief in ourselves, technique and stubborn commitment.
https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/first-person/article-this-overstuffed-old-house-is-my-last-link-to-my-parents/
For an impatient person, this last bit of the renovation is in some ways the hardest. My room is finished but uninhabitable, filled with paint and equipment. The painting is taking forever, there are myriad details to be remembered and finished, and in the meantime, I can't get into my office for the scaffolding, can't figure out where most things are in the house, am turning in frustrated circles, my stomach in knots, my shoulders rigid, sleeping badly, making lists at 4 a.m. I know it's silly, but that's how it is.
This too shall etc. But I am showing the stress. The other day, leaping out of a cab to connect with the King streetcar (which I missed), I left my favourite canvas bag behind, filled with clothing for the boys, a letter I'd just written to Eli, my leather gloves, the latest New Yorker. No one turned it in. Yesterday I got up early after a dreadful night to be ready at 8 for the window guys, returning with one more window. When they weren't here by 11, I sent a furious email to the contact person, who wrote back to point out that the appointment was in fact for this afternoon. Things like that, happening a lot. And friends calling with serious, upsetting stories to tell - a husband with Alzheimer's, another with a brain tumour, two - two! - with daughters who want to leave their husbands, a mother who died suddenly but peacefully. We're in the zone.
But on the other hand, today it's 7 degrees; I went in rubber boots into my frozen, slush-and-snow-covered backyard to prune the shrivelled brown clematis. I don't ever remember my garden so icy and buried in mid-March. That's the kind of winter it's been.
Yes, first world problems etc. And we're getting there, spring, my house, and I. Maybe.
Friday, March 15, 2019
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
miles to go before I ...
Still hanging onto my hat in the hurricane here, if you'll forgive the alliteration: today, two painters and three carpenters getting in each other's way on the second floor, and me trying to direct traffic. There's a huge scaffold up there now so Joe can paint the high ceilings. Painting takes a long time, and I want it to be over. I want it all to be over, to unpack my life and enjoy my new space, but not yet. "Miles to go before I sleep — in my own bedroom," as Mr. Frost might have said had he ever lived through a renovation.
Somehow in the midst of all this, yesterday, I contacted and then emailed the manuscript to yet another editor. The one I sent it to at the end of December, whom I'd met socially and who responded with warmth to my query about seeing the manuscript, has not responded, even to a request simply to let me know she received it. So after two months I started again, and this time, the editor replied immediately and with great politeness. I know this is almost certainly leading to a no, but having the door opened politely, even if my offering gets handed back to me and the door slammed shut again, means a lot.
And then across town, to have dinner with Anna and family. Before I left, Kevin was up high installing a window.
Time with Ben the gymnast, the mountaineer, climbing and jumping and whacking. I'm thrilled to say I learned how to play Beyblades, the spinning fad, though more at Ben's level than Eli's. At one point, they both appeared wielding their nerf guns, Eli with bullets strapped across his chest like a Sandinista, to protect us from bad guys. And then we collapsed in a heap on the bed to read a book. A heap of grandsons - there's nowhere I'd rather be. And had better enjoy it now, because they're growing up fast, and neither is a cuddler in any case. At least for me. Lots of cuddling for Mama.
When I got home, the house was empty of workmen, and this was in place:
So much light on the second floor.
At the Y today, I was the last in line. This winter has been something of an ordeal for both body and soul, and I am slower than ever in all ways.
My office.
My bedroom. Sweet dreams!
Somehow in the midst of all this, yesterday, I contacted and then emailed the manuscript to yet another editor. The one I sent it to at the end of December, whom I'd met socially and who responded with warmth to my query about seeing the manuscript, has not responded, even to a request simply to let me know she received it. So after two months I started again, and this time, the editor replied immediately and with great politeness. I know this is almost certainly leading to a no, but having the door opened politely, even if my offering gets handed back to me and the door slammed shut again, means a lot.
And then across town, to have dinner with Anna and family. Before I left, Kevin was up high installing a window.
When I got home, the house was empty of workmen, and this was in place:
At the Y today, I was the last in line. This winter has been something of an ordeal for both body and soul, and I am slower than ever in all ways.
Monday, March 11, 2019
onward and upward: basement suite rented
Good news all round today, though the sun is not shining. First, the basement suite is rented, wonderfully, to Anna's best friend since kindergarten who grew up around the corner. Shani is now the single mother of a teenager who lives with his dad and a 6-year old who lives with her and has big health problems, so she's thrilled not just to find a safe place to land but one near Sick Kids, where she spends a good deal of time. I reduced the rent in return for getting a bit of help on occasion watering or other stuff. She's a beautiful woman and we've known each other for more than 30 years. Moving in May 1. We're all thrilled.
And when Anna comes to visit, she and her oldest friend will catch up while their sons play in the garden. Heaven.
The closet is almost finished and I'm moving stuff in. Love it.
And the big door to the third floor, a major project that was causing huge headaches yesterday since it didn't quite fit, was rehung by Ed this morning - and it closes! A door that closes. We're on a roll.
After all this pleasure, more: I received a letter in the mail from my older grandson, aged six. Dear Glama, how are you are you having a nice day. Has Sam been there recently? Thank you for helping to sending me and Ben to camp this summer. Love Elijah and Ben.
Be still my beating heart. Yes, his mother already has both her sons organized for camp through the summer. I will be writing back immediately, in nice big print.
Watched some good movies on TV - not feeling much like going out as it's slippery and disgusting out there. The woman who loves giraffes - important to us as a family because my very tall son's totem animal is the giraffe - and what a surprising story this is. Who knew that the first white woman to go alone to Africa to study animal behaviour was not Jane Goodall but Anne Innis Dagg, a Canadian zoologist? She fell in love with a giraffe at a zoo when she was three and has spent the rest of her life concerned with this extraordinary animal. The doc takes an infuriating turn in the middle, when she's teaching at the U. of Guelph. As one article says, Despite her impressive record of academic publications and student attestations as to the quality of her teaching, Dr. Dagg was denied tenure. By multiple accounts in the film, she did not conform to the college leadership’s idea of a tenured professor. There was no place for a groundbreaking woman scientist studying the behaviour and biology of animals in the wild.
She's furious and nearly defeated but eventually is brought out of obscurity and acknowledged by the giraffe community - yes, there is such a thing - as their mentor and leader. She goes back to Africa even now, in her mid-eighties. Inspiring and marvellous, the best sort of documentary.
On Sunday Wayson and I watched The Darkest Hour, about Winston Churchill in 1940, before Dunkirk, as France falls. Again, I didn't know Churchill was urged to capitulate and make peace with Hitler, and how hard he had to fight not to. Gary Oldman is a spectacular Churchill, and it brought tears, of course, to hear him thunder his famous, "We will fight them on the beaches!" speech. His enemy, Lord Halifax, listens glumly and mutters, "He has mobilized the English language and sent it into battle," as the House of Commons erupts into patriotic cheers. I thought of my British mother, her sisters, my grandparents, listening on the wireless in their village Potterspury, my mother shortly thereafter quitting the grammar school she was attending on a scholarship to join the Land Army and do her bit.
Here's to writers everywhere, mobilizing their own language and sending it into battle - though usually, thank God, for more peaceful purposes.
And when Anna comes to visit, she and her oldest friend will catch up while their sons play in the garden. Heaven.
The closet is almost finished and I'm moving stuff in. Love it.
Watched some good movies on TV - not feeling much like going out as it's slippery and disgusting out there. The woman who loves giraffes - important to us as a family because my very tall son's totem animal is the giraffe - and what a surprising story this is. Who knew that the first white woman to go alone to Africa to study animal behaviour was not Jane Goodall but Anne Innis Dagg, a Canadian zoologist? She fell in love with a giraffe at a zoo when she was three and has spent the rest of her life concerned with this extraordinary animal. The doc takes an infuriating turn in the middle, when she's teaching at the U. of Guelph. As one article says, Despite her impressive record of academic publications and student attestations as to the quality of her teaching, Dr. Dagg was denied tenure. By multiple accounts in the film, she did not conform to the college leadership’s idea of a tenured professor. There was no place for a groundbreaking woman scientist studying the behaviour and biology of animals in the wild.
She's furious and nearly defeated but eventually is brought out of obscurity and acknowledged by the giraffe community - yes, there is such a thing - as their mentor and leader. She goes back to Africa even now, in her mid-eighties. Inspiring and marvellous, the best sort of documentary.
On Sunday Wayson and I watched The Darkest Hour, about Winston Churchill in 1940, before Dunkirk, as France falls. Again, I didn't know Churchill was urged to capitulate and make peace with Hitler, and how hard he had to fight not to. Gary Oldman is a spectacular Churchill, and it brought tears, of course, to hear him thunder his famous, "We will fight them on the beaches!" speech. His enemy, Lord Halifax, listens glumly and mutters, "He has mobilized the English language and sent it into battle," as the House of Commons erupts into patriotic cheers. I thought of my British mother, her sisters, my grandparents, listening on the wireless in their village Potterspury, my mother shortly thereafter quitting the grammar school she was attending on a scholarship to join the Land Army and do her bit.
Here's to writers everywhere, mobilizing their own language and sending it into battle - though usually, thank God, for more peaceful purposes.
Saturday, March 9, 2019
Why Quebecers are unimpressed by the "scandal"
Hooray! Blog-reader Anne has just sent me an article I think is the most balanced overview of this whole tempest, saying beautifully and with humour what I've been feeling from the start: WTF? I am now proud to deem myself an honourary Quebecer. If there's little traffic, I NEVER wait for the light to change before crossing.
https://montrealgazette.com/opinion/columnists/josh-freed-why-quebecers-are-unimpressed-by-the-snc-blahvalin-scandal
And now time to move on.
It's a gorgeous day - warm sun on the melting snow. There's hope for spring; tomorrow will be even warmer. I went out in sneakers! Sun is pouring into my second floor, which is still rubble and sawdust and giant pieces of sawing equipment, but there's hope there too. Today I am moving my clothes, which have been scattered and crammed into corners all over the house, into my closet, the only new room that's finished, so I can free other other spaces for the guys. In 18 or so days, I fly off to Europe, and two women will be living here. We need to finish, and we have a long way to go.
JM is flying off tomorrow, so came to take a last look at his creation. I have so much to be grateful to him for. We had our issues, we certainly did, but came through it as friends who know a great deal more about each other now.
It's Saturday. Time to sit in the sun and breathe in the hyacinths.
https://montrealgazette.com/opinion/columnists/josh-freed-why-quebecers-are-unimpressed-by-the-snc-blahvalin-scandal
And now time to move on.
It's a gorgeous day - warm sun on the melting snow. There's hope for spring; tomorrow will be even warmer. I went out in sneakers! Sun is pouring into my second floor, which is still rubble and sawdust and giant pieces of sawing equipment, but there's hope there too. Today I am moving my clothes, which have been scattered and crammed into corners all over the house, into my closet, the only new room that's finished, so I can free other other spaces for the guys. In 18 or so days, I fly off to Europe, and two women will be living here. We need to finish, and we have a long way to go.
JM is flying off tomorrow, so came to take a last look at his creation. I have so much to be grateful to him for. We had our issues, we certainly did, but came through it as friends who know a great deal more about each other now.
Friday, March 8, 2019
celebrating my men
How to be inappropriate on International Women's Day - I'd like to talk about MEN. The men working here, my heroes - problem-solving heavy-lifters, dealing with my infuriatingly eccentric house where there isn't a straight line or square corner anywhere, and my eccentric taste and JM's details.
Yesterday afternoon at 3.30, my living room was a dump, with 8 and 10 foot-long pieces of leftover moulding and trim stacked along the middle tripping us, and 3 apartment-sized appliances, a washer, a dryer, and a fridge, taking up all one corner, plus various pieces of construction equipment and the hall crowded with seven old doors we were not using or had cannibalized for handles. John came to take the trim away, Bill came to help carry extremely heavy appliances upstairs, Kevin, Ed, and Evan heaved and strained, 8 huge plastic boxes overflowing with rubble plus the doors were carried out to go to the dump, and by 4.30, my living room was respectable again, ready for the vacuum cleaner and my home class at 6.30.
Today, Ed and Evan, plus Dan the painter who was painting my closet, heaved a giant heavy window box thingie into place on the third floor, all 3 hoisting, then Evan holding it up with his shoulders until Ed got it screwed into place.
Hooray for men! Thank you to my guys here for strength, expertise, sense of humour. Gettin' 'er done. However, in case you think I'm relaxing, we have a long way to go:
My bathroom
My bedroom
The guest bedroom
The hall.
Onward!
Of course I celebrate women too, every single day of my life, including in my classes, which are 85% female. Last night's class, as always, one beautiful story after another. Lucky moi. And speaking of writing and women and lucky, my daughter just sent me a tribute she wrote today about her grandmother, her dad's mother Connie who died last fall. It finishes, "I am fiercely proud to be her granddaughter, and I think I speak for all my cousins when I say that. To me, she proves, when a woman is allowed to reach her potential, she nourishes the world for generations to come. I love you grandma, and I will carry you in my heart forever."
Tears in the eyes - another writer in the family. Be still my beating heart.
It's still really cold and snowy - I don't remember a winter this tough, not for a long time. But there's blessed sun, and it's supposed to go up to 6 on Sunday. We'll take it.
So - the painters back next week, the electricians back the week after, Kevin and the boys finishing a ton of details - we're on a deadline here. It'll be close, but we're moving right along. Right now, there's a cardinal at my bird feeder, the sun is hot on my face, and the hyacinths Annie brought me last week are perfuming the air with springy scent. Two good men are pounding away upstairs. Life is good.
Yesterday afternoon at 3.30, my living room was a dump, with 8 and 10 foot-long pieces of leftover moulding and trim stacked along the middle tripping us, and 3 apartment-sized appliances, a washer, a dryer, and a fridge, taking up all one corner, plus various pieces of construction equipment and the hall crowded with seven old doors we were not using or had cannibalized for handles. John came to take the trim away, Bill came to help carry extremely heavy appliances upstairs, Kevin, Ed, and Evan heaved and strained, 8 huge plastic boxes overflowing with rubble plus the doors were carried out to go to the dump, and by 4.30, my living room was respectable again, ready for the vacuum cleaner and my home class at 6.30.
Today, Ed and Evan, plus Dan the painter who was painting my closet, heaved a giant heavy window box thingie into place on the third floor, all 3 hoisting, then Evan holding it up with his shoulders until Ed got it screwed into place.
Onward!
Of course I celebrate women too, every single day of my life, including in my classes, which are 85% female. Last night's class, as always, one beautiful story after another. Lucky moi. And speaking of writing and women and lucky, my daughter just sent me a tribute she wrote today about her grandmother, her dad's mother Connie who died last fall. It finishes, "I am fiercely proud to be her granddaughter, and I think I speak for all my cousins when I say that. To me, she proves, when a woman is allowed to reach her potential, she nourishes the world for generations to come. I love you grandma, and I will carry you in my heart forever."
Tears in the eyes - another writer in the family. Be still my beating heart.
It's still really cold and snowy - I don't remember a winter this tough, not for a long time. But there's blessed sun, and it's supposed to go up to 6 on Sunday. We'll take it.
So - the painters back next week, the electricians back the week after, Kevin and the boys finishing a ton of details - we're on a deadline here. It'll be close, but we're moving right along. Right now, there's a cardinal at my bird feeder, the sun is hot on my face, and the hyacinths Annie brought me last week are perfuming the air with springy scent. Two good men are pounding away upstairs. Life is good.
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