Montfort cheese, Zoom, and the Moth

Sometimes it's hard not to feel overwhelmed by our current circumstances. Because of the cruelty of the asymptomatic time lag - we can be infected with the virus for days before manifesting symptoms - we profoundly social animals now need to look on everyone we meet as possible carriers of death.

Horrendous. But we are making our way through nonetheless, some of us with greater openness than others. It's hard not to cower at home, avoiding all contact, but at the same time, we have to live our lives. So - the uneasy balance between calculated risk and the safety of isolation.

Last night, a Zoom version of The Moth, the foremost storytelling event in the States and perhaps the world. 3000 people bought tickets for last night, including moi. I have to say - and yes, I'm a tiny bit prejudiced - our So True event is much better. Their stories are good, yes, though certainly no better than ours, not in the slightest. But they are told, not read, meaning that sometimes the speakers flounder for the next word. The host was annoying, storytelling on and on herself; she has often hosted, and it felt as if she'd told all her good stories and was scraping the barrel for these ones. And the boring music - I've never understood why they feel the need for music. We're there for stories.

So True for the win!

Today, a walkabout with Ruth, who stood under a magnificent magnolia and pointed out, when she saw the picture, that she is leaning one way and the tree the other. (click to enlarge)

My Mother's Day present from Anna arrived - a box of superb gourmet cheeses from the Montfort Dairy in Stratford. Oh she knows me well, my girl.

A calculated risk trip to the LCBO for more wine before aperitif with Monique and Cathy, to share my cheese treasure with them. It was raining and Monique did not want to come inside, so we sat on the deck under umbrellas. I drank tea, because I was teaching later.

Cathy's dog Finn sheltered inside.

Class tonight - it's miraculous that one by one, just as they walk in the door here, my student friends enter the Zoom space. We chat, just as we do here, and then we start reading, commenting, critiquing. It's rich and warm and magical and means the world to me and I hope to them. Something is continuing in its own way, bringing us together despite the fear, the uncertainty and chaos,

Onward, my friends.