the mystery of the Tuesday storms

This is the most difficult packing job I've ever had - what to put in the suitcase when it's freezing rain in Toronto, fresh snow, howling winds, and in Washington where I'm going it will be 70 degrees by Friday.  I will be just in time for the cherry blossom festival.  Cherry blossoms, whereas here we have piles of garbage on the snowbanks blossoms.  My cousin told me, "Pack your spring clothes," and I wrote back, "What is this spring of which you speak?"

The talk at the Y, by the way, looks assured; the 92nd Street Y posted an entry of mine on their blog, which we hope will attract attention and interest.  My friend Bruce is flying in from Vancouver especially for the talk.  Well, also the Met and several other galleries, theatre and musical events, shopping, sightseeing, and visiting New York friends - but mostly to hear a lecture on the Jewish Shakespeare.  That's what dear friends are for. 

My U of T Personal Narrative class ended tonight.  I knew it was the day for that class because in the afternoon it started to snow fiercely.  The rest of you probably did not notice, but every single snowstorm we have had for the last two months has been on a Tuesday.  And yet almost everyone slogged through - like the U.S. Post, as one of them pointed out tonight - to be there with their stories.  Not only brave Canadians, but brave writers too.  Bravo to all of you, a wonderful bunch.

I've just had an email from Adina, a recent Ryerson student, young and beautiful.  "Hi Beth," she wrote, "I left your class saying, 'Of course I am going to write.  Every night I will sit in bed with my music and write piece after piece.  And send them out and flourish at a freelance writing career.' 

Now, two weeks after the fact, I have yet to sit in bed with my pen poised and the music floating.  I have written nothing, and I feel terrible about it.  Luckily, my father is very encouraging of my skills, and he convinced me to sign up for your home classes.  You are right about what you said in the first class: if you know that people will be there waiting to hear what you have to say, you will be forced to write.  My dad supplements that with his new favourite Stephen King quote: 'Writers write.'  And since he has branded me a writer, I must attend your home classes."

Give that man his fathership badge.  And Adina - come on in.  Soon it will be spring, and you won't even have to climb a snowbank to get here.  But the writing ... still hard.