real walls!

Your faithful correspondent was not in good shape today but not actually sick - fighting the good fight. Had to go out to the library and the bank but otherwise, keeping warm and not moving much. Today's treats: THREE library books I'd ordered came in at once, and then the Globe brought by JM, and in the mail, a new New Yorker with spring on the cover and a royalty cheque from my publisher for a big fat $95! How great is that?

JM rented a car, and we were supposed to go to the nether reaches of the city in search of job lots of hardwood; I wasn't well enough to go so he went on his own, and now we're debating the dark versus the light. In the meantime the team of electricians were still here battling the knob and tube - poor guys, I think they've lost a fortune on this contract which is taking far, far longer than they'd thought. That's my house for you. Kevin and Ed have all the drywall up and are taping. Thrilling.

my bedroom south wall

my bedroom east wall - new walk-in closet illuminated

the spare room

Hard to photograph and looks dull - but the excitement is real rooms with walls! Tomorrow the plywood for the new floors goes in, then mid-next week, finishing starts - trim, doors, light fixtures. We're now figuring out paint colours. Miles to go. Have to say - I don't mind so much the chaos, teams of skilful men marching through making mess and noise. A girl can get used to that.

I'm also wrestling with an essay about my dad's thick file with the FBI; my editor pointed out that it's unfocussed. It's true - I don't really know where it's going or what it's about. Need to stand back and figure that out.

Brutal and bitter out there but very sunny, which helps. We're all in survival mode. A roof and a furnace help. Books to read and friends to write to help. Lying on a beach in the sun would also help, but - another time. For now, decisions - the dark or the light? A major consideration: the light is Chinese, the darker is Canadian, so my nationalist loyalties are in play. What do you think?

surviving the polar vortex

Surreal days. It's the polar vortex out there, freezing, bitter winds, tons of snow, Torontonians huddled together at the streetcar stop trying to survive. You've gotta be tough to be Canadian, as I reminded my young friend Karim, who's from Jordan, today at the Y. He has been in Toronto for a few years but has never encountered cold like this. But - this is Canada, Karim, I said. For better or worse.

In the meantime, I am not feeling well, just generally dragged down and achey, sat in the sauna at the Y and came home. The house is full but not full enough - though Ed is still faithfully putting up drywall, Kevin has vanished once again to his other job, driving a snow plow. JM is upstairs measuring something meticulously, as he often does, and the electricians are all back because they discovered more old knob and tube wiring which needs to be removed at additional expense - so they are upstairs cutting into the freshly installed drywall. LOL.

Somebody is drilling or sawing with some loud instrument of pain. Between the weather and the renovation, the world is too much with me today. Definitely.

Here's a picture the electrician drew of what he's doing with the wires.

As you can imagine, I understand it perfectly.

But - despite the foot of snow on top of the bird feeder, the sparrows are clustered there. Last night's documentary on two famous American journalists was fascinating. I sent an essay yesterday to my new editor who sent it back today with lots of valuable comments - what a gift that is. I have two books waiting at the library and may venture out to get them, though God knows, there's plenty to read around here. And last night my dear friends Jason and Luis came for dinner and to give paint colour advice; two men with great taste, they brought sample books, and we went around looking at swatches. What do you think about a soft, pale, warm grey for the front hall and stairs? I think we have a winter. I mean winner.

And I got to the liquor store and bought four bottles of red; there's food in the fridge, the furnace works, Kevin just came back, and I have four bottles of wine and an essay to work on. Not to mention Netflix and tonight "Notes from the Inside", a documentary about a musician who takes his grand piano into a mental hospital. No complaints. I'm set.

despite the storm, your inspiration for today

Major snowstorm today - blowing snow, high winds, bitter cold. I was complaining to Ed, a man of few words who was putting up drywall upstairs. "This is Canada," he replied. Nothing more need be said. But how glad I am - usually I teach Monday nights so would be gearing up to plow through to Ryerson. But not tonight, I'm gearing up to pour a glass of wine and practice the piano, which has been sadly neglected for weeks. Months.

But truly, a little snow doesn't bother Canadians. One year I was teaching Tuesday nights at Ryerson and there was a snowstorm worse than this. When I got there, I expected to find almost no one, and instead, the class was almost full, including a woman who drove in from Kleinburg. Hardy souls.

Tonight's treat - a documentary about hard-bitten New York reporters Jimmy Breslin and Pete Hamill on HBO. Maybe another episode of Harriet's drama on Netflix. Soup. Looking out at the snow and not having to be in it. A roof and a furnace.

Here's a big treat for you: a hilarious piece about memoir from the New Yorker.
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/09/24/dear-publisher 

And a joke my friend Lani sent.

And finally, something Harriet sent from Australia. She is shooting a series that also features Eileen Kramer, an actress and a dancer who just wrote and illustrated a book. Oh yes - she's 104.

And if that's not inspiring, I don't know what is. Onward indeed!

Black Earth Rising - and snow

A perfect winter day - bright sun, fresh snow. Went for a walk to the Necropolis, to commune with Toronto's dead and with my own - a few years ago, I scattered most of the ashes of my parents there, though took a bit of Dad to Paris and of Mum to London. Today, I took the rest of my uncle Edgar, most of whose ashes I scattered in Central Park just after his death, to the Necropolis and scattered him near my parents. I told them all how much I love and honour them and that we are fine but the world is insane right now. It was very beautiful there.

This couple Alexander and Jane lost four of their children in infancy and two before the age of thirty. So much to be grateful for, my friends, healthy children and grandchildren more than anything.

Last night, watched the first episode of the British drama Black Earth Rising on Netflix - starring my magnificent friend Dame Harriet Walter as a Louise Arbour-type international prosecutor, with a daughter she adopted after the genocide in Rwanda. A complex drama about war crimes and ethnic identity, beautifully acted of course. I wrote to Harriet to congratulate her; she's in hot Australia filming a six-part series. The interesting life of a very talented woman.

Before that, I finally got to my friend Wendy's book club, Bourbon and Books, to discuss Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders, a book I loved, in a chic downtown restaurant. A fascinating discussion - Wendy is a professor of philosophy so brought in Hegel and Kierkegaard, about whom I know almost nothing. We had delicious French fries to keep us going, some of us drinking martinis and some cappucinos. A wonderful time.

And before THAT, a minor trauma  - another fierce argument with my friend and project manager cum designer Jean-Marc. My worries about this reno bring out the worst in me; I think of myself as a nice person, so the person he blew up at, whom he accused of being petty and nasty, is someone I'd prefer not to acknowledge. My friend Chris helped me gain perspective, and I wrote JM later to apologize; the cost of this reno freaks me out, money pouring out, my line of credit swelling, plus the timeline, the constant decisions. So we battle.

But we have made up; our friendship matters more than anything, more than the money or our disagreements about how to get through this experience. We'll get there. And let's hope Mean and Nasty Beth never has to appear again. Onward.

student success story, Russell Baker, Diana Athill

I just had a welcome call from a student who took my course about ten years ago. She phoned to say how much the course meant to her - that it helped her find her voice. She also took my garden workshop where she met Wayson who influenced her greatly. She entered a short story she wrote for class in the Writer’s Union of Canada competition and was a finalist, and eventually received a big Ontario Arts Council grant for a work in progress. 

Her book Philipovna: Daughter of Sorrow, about her mother’s survival of the Ukrainian famine, is being published by Guernica Editions and will be out in a few months. One more thing: Valentina accomplished all this despite being blind.

How nice of her to call so I can celebrate her success. Brava! Heartening news for a frozen day.

Last night was heartening too - my home class, seven superb writers reading, listening, supporting, helping. So fine. And more great news: the shutdown has ended in the U.S. with the defeat of the giant orange blowhole and another arrest of an associate. It's as if he's trembling inside the shelter of a stockade, while gradually the enemy, circling outside with flaming arrows, is poking holes big enough to enter. Have at him, gentlemen. And Nancy. And Alexandra. 

Had a welcome lunch with friend and neighbour Gretchen, whose house is also being rehabilitated, albeit for a more sinister reason too long to go into here. Much commiseration. Drywall still going up, still many decisions to be made and many, many disagreements to be had. 

I've just spent twenty minutes trying to get wonderful quotes from writers Russell Baker and Diana Athill, who both died recently, he at 93 and she at 101, to fit in the blog, which for some reason did not work. So I can't share them with you. Suffice to say that both were marvellous, witty writers who left a grand legacy and will be missed.

As Baker so wisely said once, "Writing a book is quite different from telling amusing anecdotes over the second bottle of Bordeaux, as I discovered."

Unfortunately.

Last bit of heartening news for today: Non-fiction seems to be good for longevity.