listen to the rhythm of the falling ...

I've said it before and I'll say it again - there are days when being a self-employed pauper are so worth it. Like today. It poured all day, the classic glowering skies and endless sleet of the desolate Bronte moors, only this is downtown Toronto. Not a day for tramping around.

So luckily, I had an editing session with a student and a new afternoon class, both right here. People came here through the inclemency. We had a grand new class, inspiring and stimulating, and then they went back out into the wet. I had an errand or two which I squeezed into a brief dry moment, and then back inside to hide. Now it's 11 p.m., pouring still. There's nothing wrong with rain, says my daughter. She loves all weather. So do I - but sometimes, just through my kitchen window.

Tonight, I confess, I watched "Glee." As you know if you follow this blog, my TV viewing is limited - Jon Stewart, some movies and an occasional masterpiece on PBS. But Chris in Vancouver loves "Glee," so I watched. And found myself weeping, twice. It was an episode about belief in God, yes and no, which of course was just an excuse to have those lovely kids sing fantastic songs. They did a version of the Beatles' "I want to hold your hand" which was breathtaking - not the silly old-fashioned version, of a boy to a girl, but this time, of a boy to his dying father. And similarly, an Aretha Franklin song sung in a gospel church. What fun.

I don't know if I'll watch it again. Usually those shows are so formulaic. Even this time, I was embarrassed to allow my buttons to be so easily pushed. But ... that's what those writers and directors make the big bucks for. They're good at it. Definitely worth watching, once in a while.

In the middle, my son called. "Mum, what's the name of the boat that goes over the river Styx?" I have no idea, I said. In the old days, you'd say, Ask your dad. Now you say, Google it. I just did, but this time, maybe Google doesn't know either. Do any of you? Perhaps the boat does not have a name. Why did he want to know? I won't ask.

Bed will be especially cosy tonight.

sure feels like fall

A confession: I'm a slug and should be ashamed of myself. I missed Nuit Blanche this year. All that artistic activity raging on the city streets, and I sat at home. No excuse - yes, I was tired and it was cold, bla bla bla. I should have been out there, supporting the artistic troops. Troupes, more like it.

Next year, I promise I will participate. And next year, if you weren't there either on Saturday night, I hope you will too.

On Sunday, set off for a class at the Y but it was so lovely a day, and so near the end of this time of lovely days, that I went for a bike ride instead - to various bookstores, among other places. I spent the rest of the day reading - finished Diana Athill's "Somewhere toward the end," a marvellous book about aging and life written by a 90-something woman who knows a lot about both. And nearly finished "Reality Hunger: A Manifesto" which is a fascinating read for a creative non-fiction supporter like myself.

I also listened to Eleanor Wachtel talk to an Italian physicist/writer, while cooking a stir fry and a curry. (Badly stated - Eleanor wasn't cooking while interviewing, I was cooking while listening.) I had a long Skype chat with Lynn in the south of France - what a joyous miracle Skype is. She took me on a tour of their new apartment and showed me her new pretty grey jacket from Monoprix - and I showed her one of my purchases, a big fat French "Elle." And then my son came over, to cook potatoes and eat curry. We watched "The Simpsons" at 8, as we have for 15 years. It's still really good, and so is he.

Today - cold and rainy, brrr. It's fall. The leaves are dropping, and this afternoon, after the first U of T class of term - wonderful as always, a stimulating assortment of lives packed into a small subterranean space - I brought in all the plants that summered outside. Now the house is full of greenery, and the deck looks bare. And just a minute ago, I turned on the furnace. The cold weather hunkering begins. Maybe it actually began on Saturday night, when I stayed inside and missed Nuit Blanche.

Soon off to Ryerson to meet another great assortment of lives. Have I said before that I love my work?

the disgusting Liberal Party of Canada

Okay, now a huge dilemma - I do not like the Conservative Party and its frozen-hearted leader, as perhaps I might have mentioned once or twice. Now the Liberals have shown, once again, how spineless and unprincipled they are. This past week, Liberal M.P. Gerard Kennedy brought forward a bill to protect war resistors who flee to this country - specifying entry only for those protesting wars not sanctioned by the U.N., such as the war in Iraq.

And when the bill, which is endorsed by Canada's faith groups, came forward for its second reading, a large group of Liberals, led by Michael Ignatieff, walked out of the house, thus avoiding the vote and defeating the bill. God forbid they should demonstrate anything feeble and girly, like compassion. Imagine what he-man Harper would do with that!

I just wrote a letter to to Gerard Kennedy, to thank him for being one of the few politicians of heart, courage and principle. He has posted a blog about the bill on, of all places, the "National Post" website. Read it, and then the responses, most of them enraged Conservatives spewing invective.

And I sent the following to the Liberal Party of Canada.

I just read about the Liberals walking out of the House before Gerard Kennedy's bill to protect war resistors was read. And that is the end of my support for the Liberal Party of Canada and Michael Ignatieff.

I loathe the Conservatives and know the NDP can't make a government, so have been doing my best to support the Liberals. But with that one move, my allegiance is over. The party, once more, shows its cowardice, hypocrisy and lack of principles. A disgusting display. I cannot tell you strongly enough how appalled and angry I am.

I know, they're shaking in their boots.

"I love arts," he said.

A few days ago, I mentioned the mayoral debate on the arts. What a surprise - Rob Ford made a fool of himself. "I love arts," he said. "I took dramatic arts in Grade 13."

Here's an excerpt of Martin Knelman's report in the "Star."

... Front-runner Rob Ford quickly got himself into trouble, confirming his image as a dangerous Philistine almost every time he opened his mouth ... Ford seemed almost ludicrously ill-prepared to address hundreds of dedicated arts lovers, and with each blunder, he became more and more the buffoon the crowd loved to hate.

I'm glad I didn't go. There's no need for more rage in my life. My daughter said yesterday, "Don't worry, Mum. He won't get in." And I believe her. But the other day, a friend from the Y with whom I've chatted for years but never in depth, amazed me by launching into a rant about immigrants. "Here we are responsible about population growth but they're not, their numbers are exploding," he seethed, "and then they feel the need to come over here, and we take them in! I'm going to get myself 100 acres and a shotgun." This, from a mild-mannered, British-born, career civil servant. That's the anger they're all talking about, fuelling Ford and Sarah Palin. People disappointed, unhappy with their lives, finding scapegoats, a highly visible target - immigrants; easy answers to extremely complex questions; and an unscrupulous politician who'll stir their fears and appeal to their basest natures. "I guess you're going to vote for Rob Ford," I said. "I sure am," he replied.

Let us pray.

Here's the brand-new "Globe," how spiffy is the new design! How jazzy and snazzy and up-to-the-minute, with all that colour and shiny paper. Apparently this renovation cost many millions. I wonder if they're paying their writers any better. For example, "Facts and Arguments," still occupying most of one entire page - payment to contributors, $0.00.

Biked off to the market this morning, and by the time I was half-way there, my hands were frozen. Came home and dug out my hats and gloves. This is the first real fall day. The great bundling has begun.

September gone

A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:

Thank everyone who calls out your faults, your anger, your impatience, your egotism; do this consciously, voluntarily. -Jean Toomer, poet and novelist (1894-1967)

I who suffer from anger and impatience - but absolutely no egotism, no, I'm the most selfless of women - find this a difficult but important concept.

And ... the plural of geranium, for those of you who want to know, is geraniums. Thanks to Bruce and, of course, the infinite wisdom of Google.

A stunning day here, fresh and warm. I don't want to die. I want to enjoy Septembers forever.