Still typing with one finger on my phone. Jeff from RiverdaleMac, my new guru, called. Part needs to be ordered from California and that’s just to log in so he can see if there’s another problem. Waaah! My fingers twitch, so much I need and want to do and cannot. Plus today the electrician came to fix what I thought was a simple problem- of course not! A full day job which involves cutting a trench through my office ceiling. Plus my hose developed a leak and is now spraying in all directions. Plus my neighbor’s roofers were hammering and shouting all day. No food in the fridge.
More wine.
Went with Ken to see “Yesterday. “ silly and fanciful, yes. Sweet, tender, joyful, yes. An acknowledgement of how very much that music means. And one small scene, aching with the sorrow that John Lennon is no longer on the earth. The movie, the music, made me sob, of course.
More wine.
This too shall pass. Off to pick some chard and improvise a meal. With, of course, more wine.
Wednesday, July 10, 2019
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
City life
Home. Was at RiverdaleMac with my dark-screened computer as it opened this morning, hope to hear diagnosis by end of day tomorrow. It’s only a year and a half old! I feel lost without it. Have to write longhand. Can’t send group emails or e-transfers. Doing everything slowly on my phone. I know kids live on their phones but not me.
Glad to be home though there seems not to be a cool refreshing lake in my yard. But the garden is gorgeous. Was awakened at 3 a.m. by police questioning someone outside in the street- that did not happen on Ruth’s island. My neighbor is having her roof repaired and they started at 7.20- that also. A bit discombobulated. Luckily going to see Yesterday with Ken this afternoon. Sad that I missed Macca in Vancouver on Saturday. But it’s a beautiful July day and the air smells of roses.
Glad to be home though there seems not to be a cool refreshing lake in my yard. But the garden is gorgeous. Was awakened at 3 a.m. by police questioning someone outside in the street- that did not happen on Ruth’s island. My neighbor is having her roof repaired and they started at 7.20- that also. A bit discombobulated. Luckily going to see Yesterday with Ken this afternoon. Sad that I missed Macca in Vancouver on Saturday. But it’s a beautiful July day and the air smells of roses.
Monday, July 8, 2019
broken Mac
Leaving the cottage in a few hours after days of heaven. But my computer broke. Like breaking an arm. Will head to Mac repair asap tmw. Hope to post pix and details for you soon.
Friday, July 5, 2019
Muskoka
A surreal moment yesterday - sitting with my friend Ruth on an island in a lake in the Muskokas, right by the water, sand in our toes, the glorious landscape around us - rocks, trees, water. And she is on her cellphone, chatting face to face with one of her sons, who's in Jerusalem.
What a world.
Lucky me, I've been invited to spend four days at Ruth's heavenly cottage. My teaching term ended Wednesday night, just the garden workshop coming up and a bit of editing, but otherwise, the summer begins. We left at 12.30 yesterday, crawled up the Don Valley, and by 3.45 were in the water.
Ruth came to my Ryerson class years ago and has since continued to work with me and become a dear friend. She's a fabulous writer, a star of the So True reading series. Eleven years older than I, she was recently widowed after 57 years of marriage. Her energy and drive make me feel lazy. She's a reader, piles of fascinating books everywhere, and last night, after a day of pressing conversation, swimming, and a delicious dinner on the deck with lots of rosé, she suggested we watch the latest Ricky Gervais show on Netflix. So there, on an island in the middle of the woods, we did. "After Life" has been described as his darkest show yet, and it is, but here, in the sweet air, far from the news, nothing seems dark.
This morning - dragonflies, chipmunks, hummingbirds, the waves of Kahshe Lake slapping the shore. A huge heron just glided serenely past. Today, we will perhaps walk around the island; we will read and talk a lot and do some cooking and some swimming, though it may rain. I feel the pressure falling away. Yes, a noisy motorboat or six. But mostly - birdsong and dragonflies, so many of them.
My phone isn't downloading the pictures - have to figure that out - so here's yesterday morning instead. Yes, it's the inner city, very few dragonflies, no waves, but can't complain. My friends Carol and I hope Karen are there right now - their own cottage get-away, sort of. If only I could offer a lake.
What a world.
Lucky me, I've been invited to spend four days at Ruth's heavenly cottage. My teaching term ended Wednesday night, just the garden workshop coming up and a bit of editing, but otherwise, the summer begins. We left at 12.30 yesterday, crawled up the Don Valley, and by 3.45 were in the water.
Ruth came to my Ryerson class years ago and has since continued to work with me and become a dear friend. She's a fabulous writer, a star of the So True reading series. Eleven years older than I, she was recently widowed after 57 years of marriage. Her energy and drive make me feel lazy. She's a reader, piles of fascinating books everywhere, and last night, after a day of pressing conversation, swimming, and a delicious dinner on the deck with lots of rosé, she suggested we watch the latest Ricky Gervais show on Netflix. So there, on an island in the middle of the woods, we did. "After Life" has been described as his darkest show yet, and it is, but here, in the sweet air, far from the news, nothing seems dark.
This morning - dragonflies, chipmunks, hummingbirds, the waves of Kahshe Lake slapping the shore. A huge heron just glided serenely past. Today, we will perhaps walk around the island; we will read and talk a lot and do some cooking and some swimming, though it may rain. I feel the pressure falling away. Yes, a noisy motorboat or six. But mostly - birdsong and dragonflies, so many of them.
My phone isn't downloading the pictures - have to figure that out - so here's yesterday morning instead. Yes, it's the inner city, very few dragonflies, no waves, but can't complain. My friends Carol and I hope Karen are there right now - their own cottage get-away, sort of. If only I could offer a lake.
Monday, July 1, 2019
arguing wth love
One of life's great pleasures - being insulted by your grandchildren. At the playground with Eli and his new basketball - that I bought him - and our frisbee, he said, "We're here to play frisbee and basketball, and you're bad at BOTH OF THEM."
Then he showed me how to shoot baskets - hold the ball this way, shoot out from the chest. I got better, but nearly not as good at this boy. Who is seven.
A sleepover with Glamma. We went to Loblaws on the way home to get supplies. What did he want for supper? The usual - salmon, rice, and avocado. This young man is very fussy, but he can eat an incredible amount of salmon, rice, and avocado. Followed by his favourite ice cream - and, coincidentally, mine - mint chocolate chip, only he has his with crushed up Oreo cookies. We'd already played basketball in the Sprucecourt playground and watered the garden thoroughly. After dinner he wanted to watch a movie and eat junk food which we'd also bought according to his specifications: Cheetos and ketchup potato chips. His knowledge of junk food is encyclopedic. I told him it's possible to watch a movie without eating junk food, but he did not believe me. We watched some of the new Spiderman with a bowl of that stuff, and I have to say the crispy neon orange Cheetos were going down well for us both.
But then that was enough, time for bed and reading. I read the last six chapters of Charlotte's Web and wept. One of the great endings in literature. "It's not often someone is both a good writer and a good friend. Charlotte was both." When I'd finished, Eli said, "Which one is this, 1, 2, 3, or 4?" He was, in his way, requesting a sequel. "This is the only one," I had to say. And then finally, he slept, while my upstairs tenant and her father moved her out.
At one point, we were talking about age, and Eli said, "I know how old you are. You're tired."
This morning I was having a wonderful dream - I was talking to a receptive group about, strangely, dialectical materialism (about which I know nothing) when my dream was interrupted by a soft knocking. Someone was knocking in my dream, and then in my bedroom. It was my grandson at 6.15, wide awake and ready to party. I had to get up, and by 6.30 he had eaten the leftover salmon, rice, and avocado. "Can we go play basketball now?" he asked. "NO!" said his grandmother. But I didn't want to be "tired," so by 9 a.m. - 9 a.m. on a holiday Monday - we were back at Sprucecourt where I proved my incompetence once again. But I tried. "This is why I go to the Y," I thought, as I tried to block the young man who was dribbling and sinking with great skill. "I'm going to play for the Raptors," he said, echoing surely 85% of the youthful population of this city.
And then to the Regent Park playground to hang upside down and scrabble in the filthy sand. And then home, for the great treat of pancakes.
At midday we joined his mother at Queen's Park. Since the disgusting Doug Ford cancelled Canada Day there so he would not have to listen to the province booing him, many groups arranged to meet and picnic there. Eli and I went to meet his mama, who'd had the night off. She had warned me but I did not understand - she was there not for the main Canada Day celebrations but with an Indigenous group on one side, who were protesting colonialism. She had brought a lot of food to contribute to their potluck; they held a smudging ceremony, and Anna wrote a sign.
Then he showed me how to shoot baskets - hold the ball this way, shoot out from the chest. I got better, but nearly not as good at this boy. Who is seven.
A sleepover with Glamma. We went to Loblaws on the way home to get supplies. What did he want for supper? The usual - salmon, rice, and avocado. This young man is very fussy, but he can eat an incredible amount of salmon, rice, and avocado. Followed by his favourite ice cream - and, coincidentally, mine - mint chocolate chip, only he has his with crushed up Oreo cookies. We'd already played basketball in the Sprucecourt playground and watered the garden thoroughly. After dinner he wanted to watch a movie and eat junk food which we'd also bought according to his specifications: Cheetos and ketchup potato chips. His knowledge of junk food is encyclopedic. I told him it's possible to watch a movie without eating junk food, but he did not believe me. We watched some of the new Spiderman with a bowl of that stuff, and I have to say the crispy neon orange Cheetos were going down well for us both.
But then that was enough, time for bed and reading. I read the last six chapters of Charlotte's Web and wept. One of the great endings in literature. "It's not often someone is both a good writer and a good friend. Charlotte was both." When I'd finished, Eli said, "Which one is this, 1, 2, 3, or 4?" He was, in his way, requesting a sequel. "This is the only one," I had to say. And then finally, he slept, while my upstairs tenant and her father moved her out.
At one point, we were talking about age, and Eli said, "I know how old you are. You're tired."
This morning I was having a wonderful dream - I was talking to a receptive group about, strangely, dialectical materialism (about which I know nothing) when my dream was interrupted by a soft knocking. Someone was knocking in my dream, and then in my bedroom. It was my grandson at 6.15, wide awake and ready to party. I had to get up, and by 6.30 he had eaten the leftover salmon, rice, and avocado. "Can we go play basketball now?" he asked. "NO!" said his grandmother. But I didn't want to be "tired," so by 9 a.m. - 9 a.m. on a holiday Monday - we were back at Sprucecourt where I proved my incompetence once again. But I tried. "This is why I go to the Y," I thought, as I tried to block the young man who was dribbling and sinking with great skill. "I'm going to play for the Raptors," he said, echoing surely 85% of the youthful population of this city.
And then to the Regent Park playground to hang upside down and scrabble in the filthy sand. And then home, for the great treat of pancakes.
At midday we joined his mother at Queen's Park. Since the disgusting Doug Ford cancelled Canada Day there so he would not have to listen to the province booing him, many groups arranged to meet and picnic there. Eli and I went to meet his mama, who'd had the night off. She had warned me but I did not understand - she was there not for the main Canada Day celebrations but with an Indigenous group on one side, who were protesting colonialism. She had brought a lot of food to contribute to their potluck; they held a smudging ceremony, and Anna wrote a sign.
I want to celebrate this magnificent country, which has made terrible mistakes, as have all countries, but which does so much right. But my daughter is determined to hold up a mirror to our flaws. I see this as a recipe for eternal anger about an 150-year-old injustice. I think she sees me as a complacent dreamer.
I have to get used to the fact that I think of myself as a progressive empathetic leftwing person unless I'm with my daughter, when I'm a white middle-class stick-in-the-mud.
Nicole came, and we cleaned the top floor. The tenant who left yesterday, a young playwright, was - let's be frank - a complete slob. It hurt to go up there when I had to and see the squalor. It was sheer joy to clean and dust and wash and tidy. It's now transformed, ready for the next tenant, who I hope will understand the word 'clean.' The word 'recycle.'
It's an interesting life.
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