letters

Boasting: today I received not one but two actual in-the-mail letters: from John Sugden, nicknamed Sugdoon, writing from his home in Shropshire, and Nick Rice, nicknamed Nickynicknick, from his supply teaching post in Scarborough. Sugdoon, a red-bearded Brit and friend since 1973 when we shared a communal house on Markham Street, visited TO recently. Nick, friend since 1975 - we were in my first Vancouver show together, and afterward several more - writes regularly; he's a faithful blog reader so always knows exactly what's going on in my life. Well, not exactly, but close. Good to hear from you, guys. 

Going back a bit, Sunday night's TV was full of ridiculous cliff-hangers, including from the marvellous Call the Midwife - are they killing off those nuns? And Sanditon, a disappointment, come on, get the sweet heroine hitched to that absurdly self-pitying and misguided man and let's finish up. No, another silly season on the way. 

On Monday over to Anna's for supper with the boys, Sam, and of course Bandit. What joy to watch three puppies, two with two legs and one with four, chasing each other about the place. My son and his huge new responsibility are getting on fine. But now I remember why I never let us have a puppy. 

Today I'm as always in pain from Carole's bootcamp class at the Y. Carole is nearly 74 and looks 50, as lithe as a gazelle. I myself prefer not to move for the rest of the day. 

In the Blowing Own Horn department: From Daniel: I was so moved by your piece in the Queen’s Quarterly! You tell a story we have all, in one way or another, experienced, and there is a valuable lesson to be shared. Too often l have procrastinated, and you help illuminate the effect. Gutsy stuff. 

And from Curtis: I finished reading “Solo Woman” last evening, and I wanted to tell you again I think the book is a magnificent work and a true pinnacle in your impressive career. You write about a huge diversity of experiences and situations with such intelligence and compassion, for yourself and others, that the specific becomes universal and the reader responds with genuine empathy - and sometimes humour. You’ve ended several of the essays with phrases of such profundity and power that the words stay with us long after the essay has been read. 

So kind of both, although what and where is this "impressive career" to which you refer? Unfortunately, neither sent a publishing contract, but that's okay, I'll take nice words any day. 

At Indigo on Monday, buying The Art of Training a Puppy by the Monks of New Skete for a dear friend of mine, I saw these by the cash. And they wonder why there are so many alcoholics. Really?!