A cup runneth over day. Though rainy and grey, yet again, and the world still a dumpster fire, lots of good things happening around here.
In response to my last post, Ruth wrote, You may be a loner but one who has more friends than anyone, all over the world and of all ages.
Including you, dear friend.
I wrote to several former students to ask if I could use what they'd said about their class with me on my new website. Ali, an IT consultant, wrote back, I have always been thinking about you and the wonderful experience I had with your classes. It is my honour if you put that note in your web site. It was very honest and from the bottom of my heart. Once you told me “You are a man with a big heart”. That was one of the best and most encouraging feedback I ever had, not just because of the words and the sentence, rather because of its connection to my inner layers instead of usual compliments that stay on the surface.
I meant it, Ali. You are.
And another student, a former sportswriter, replied, For sure, use my quote. Happy to help you, since you've helped me so much! He sent me the title of his book, to be published next year by McClelland & Stewart, that he credits me with helping him begin.
Happy to be contributing something, however small, to this sorry world.
Speaking of which, U of T term began last night, a smaller class than usual which means each student gets more individual time. A fascinating bunch, as always.
And I went back to the Y today for the first time in nearly two weeks. I'm still not back to health and have been more or less motionless with this bug, so expected Carole's class to be disaster. But it was not, I got through. I owe so much to the Y and to Carole, who works to make every class different, different routines and music, just superb.
I'm back, baby! Sort of. More or less. Life returns.
Yesterday, went to a free Hot Docs screening for seniors of The Last Relic, about the difficulties and dangers of trying to protest in Russia — idealistic, extremely brave people arrested for holding a sign at a rally, going through a Kafka-esque trial, time in jail, much time arguing with each other, in Yekaterinburg, a city where many are yearning to go back to Stalin's Soviets or even the Tsars. We in Canada have no idea how lucky we are. My daughter — even Ruth and I, probably, incorrigible lefties like those in the film — would last ten minutes in Putin's fascistic Russia. But — God, I love documentaries; yesterday I spent two hours in Yekaterinburg! This fabulous festival is 30 years old. Bravo.
Someone left a Vanity Fair in the Little Free Library; it's just a series of articles and ads about phenomenally expensive clothing and watches and everything else. I sent this to Sam with a note: found your look for spring.
I mean. Really? I won't look at the Met Gala pictures, have no interest in the criminally absurd 1%.
And - the whole country mourns. Got out my records, thinking of young BK with her long hair and her Goya nylon string guitar, trying to learn "Early Morning Rain." Canadians musicians rule.
He was a difficult man in youth, if you really listen to songs like "That's what you get for loving me" or "Sundown" ("Sundown, you'd better take care/If I find you've been creeping down my back stairs" - as awful as John Lennon's menacing "Run for your life"). But mostly — melancholy sweetness, stunning music, and later, a fine man supporting many good causes. Thanks for all you gave us, Gord. You made us proud.
No comments:
Post a Comment