hot Sunday

A gorgeous bike ride on the Don Valley Trail this morning - the Parkway was closed, all was silent, except for the sound of summer closing down.

Later: Word on the Street, this year at Harbourfront. Hot hot hot. Marc Cote of Cormorant Books said his sales are way down in the new venue - not sure why. It's always overwhelming, so many books and writers. Usually I have a tinge of sadness that I'm not an official part of the day; at one point I worked at the PEN table and the Ryerson Creative Writing table, and I always dreamed that one day, one of my books would be on sale somewhere. Not yet. Much to celebrate in the work of others.

On the way home, parked the bike at Sugar Beach and started to read one of the books I'd bought - "Waking Up" by Sam Harris, "a guide to spirituality without religion". Just what I need: more books. Most of the ones I bought, luckily, were for Eli. Many people liked my anti-Harper button, and I gave a bunch away.

Now listening to Eleanor Wachtel talk to a Mexican writer, and then - what else is a writer to do on a beautiful Sunday afternoon? Time to get some work done.

Here's my daughter's Sunday: I bought a shed in a box for her at the Cabbagetown Festival, but looking inside at the incredibly complicated instructions and hundreds of bits of metal, I thought we should just shut the box and sell it again or give it away - which is what the guys we bought it from had done. But Thomas, Eli's Dad, read the instructions carefully and began, spent all yesterday afternoon, and today with a friend, putting it together, with Eli playing at his feet. I can't imagine what it would be like to have a father who can do practical things. Mine knew many things but could do few things with his hands, besides play the violin. Wonderful to have a skilled man in the family.