kvetch no more

Later that same day: shut up, whiny woman! First, I just heard from a very dear friend who was waiting to hear about a biopsy - no cancer. NO CANCER. Could any two words be dearer?

And then I turned on TVO to find a show I thought was on, which wasn't, but was intrigued by what was there. I'd missed the beginning, but it was obviously an Australian documentary about a young woman severely handicapped with cerebral palsy, being beautifully treated by a sheep farmer; I thought she was his daughter.

As this extraordinary story unfolded, I learned that she was his wife, that she'd had a terrible stroke while pregnant with their first child that had left her quadriplegic and unable to speak, able to communicate only with her eyes. And yet they still made a rich family life, with the child she was carrying and another baby they had later. She was teased and loved, carried to and fro to be included in every family event and every decision, including one made by her husband to try to supplement the farm income by opening a legal brothel.

The doc is called "A Good Man" and this man certainly is. A beautiful, extremely moving film.

High on life in twenty eleven.

bitch bitch bitch

Home in the wind and snow. The house still standing, the crabby cat still alive and briefly affectionate. Could she actually be glad to see the hand that feeds her? Impossible.

Those of you who've travelled with me in the past know what a great victory it is, that I went away for a week with a small carry-on bag. I am a very different packer now. But on the way back, my carry-on was pulled over by the security people. They started rooting and ... aha! found the guilty materials - two tiny bottles of champagne and half a pot of Smuckers natural peanut butter. I'd eaten half the jar in a few days and liked the stuff so much, I decided to bring it home. But no, it was confiscated, because obviously a middle-class Caucasian woman flying from Tampa to Toronto is up to no good with champagne and peanut butter in her carry-on. Sigh.

Immigration at Pearson was beyond belief - there must have been five jumbo jets from around the world just before mine. Still, the endless queue moved briskly; I read a dystopian "New Yorker" story by the brilliant George Saunders in line, until the perky young couple in front of me confided that they'd just got engaged. Heartwarming stuff as we shuffled along.

There was indeed a massive pile of laundry waiting for me at home; the people staying here used every towel in the place. That's fine. What's not fine is that they readjusted my thermostat to read 72 degrees night and day, and left it set at that when they departed on Sunday, which means an empty house was roaring hot for 2 full days and nights. That kind of energy waste is shocking to me, the woman who barely uses her clothes dryer and doesn't own a car. In winter, I keep the house at 65 degrees at night and 67-68 during the day. 72 feels like a sauna.

Being a landlady is great when the cheques come in, not so great when there's an aftermath to be dealt with, as there almost always is. But sometimes, too, I overreact. As now.

You're hearing the mood dip that happens on arriving home. Yesterday, even on a cloudy day, I was picking up shells on the beach and sitting under palm trees, musing on life. Today, a list of fifteen urgent things to do running through my head while walking home from No Frills trying not to slip on the ice.

I'm very happy to be here. Just need to kvetch a bit. Hope you don't mind.

re: CLASSES

REAL LIFE returns: It's time to bang the drum for my classes, particularly LIFE STORIES II at U of T, running Monday afternoons, starting soon, which needs a few more to make sure it runs. This is a smaller class than the first level, allowing much more individual time and longer stories, more in depth exploration of your narratives and your talent. An enlightening time guaranteed.

Ryerson is running True to Life I on Monday evenings, as usual, which is almost full already. What are you waiting for? Good writing begins HERE.

I'm at the Tampa Airport as I send these exhortations. It has been a great visit. I brought 7 "New Yorkers" and read 5, plus of course the sublime "Pride and Prejudice." I read a 90 page manuscript for a student and edited two short chapters for my friend Chris, did some of my own writing work, ran barefoot on the beach, drank a lot of fresh orange juice, ate an entire carton of chocolate/peanut butter ice cream, swam nearly every day. There is a tiny bit of colour in my cheeks which will vanish instantly.

I've just made a list of what awaits at home, including the laundry for the 6 people who rented the house, preparing classes which start Thursday evening, and several more big manuscripts. Hooray! I'm carrying that sunshine glow inside. And it's 2011, an exciting new year.

Rarin' to go.

cool but not that cool

Sitting outside the ice cream store in the Walgreen stripmall, 9 a.m. Monday morning - cool, gloomy, misty - not a glimmer of sun. But it's still milder than Toronto, even if it rains, as it did yesterday. I swam in the rain; the pool was 85 degrees. What's wonderful about this weather is that everyone disappears except the hardiest or those who are leaving soon. On the endless beach yesterday, there were maybe a dozen people as far as the eye could see. Nobody by the pool. Paradise.

My solitary idyll is drawing to a close - today I see the lawyer and try to sort out business matters for my mother, and tomorrow evening I'm back in cold reality. This is enough sand for me; I have loved the quiet, the reading and work, the mild damp air, the sea smell. It's been great, reading the actual "New York Times" every day. I have loved especially the new ice cream I discovered - Haagen-Dazs peanut butter and chocolate. Can you imagine the bliss of my two favourite substances, combined with a great deal of cream?

But the lack of internet access drives me mad, and I want my real life back.

One thing I cannot help but notice, as I excoriate these Floridians for their vile politics and their abominable eating habits - how friendly everyone is. Everyone smiles, says hello and is ready to chat. It would be easy to make friends, if I ever stayed longer than a few days.

Which is unlikely. Because I just can't stand this much pleasure.

happy

Friday night. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m alone on beautiful Anna Maria Island, on the west coast of Florida. Outside, I can hear crickets and the cars bouncing over nearby Cortez bridge. There was a bit of sun today, and my skin feels warm. My cold has nearly gone. There is space here, silence and sky, and there’s the vital sound of the tides, washing over the shells and sand. I grew up by the sea and need to hear that sound; twice today I sat on the beach with my eyes closed, listening. And picked up shells, which I swore not to do – we have enough shells here already. But they’re so delicately perfect; we need a few more.

Instead of one big bottle I wouldn’t be able to finish, I bought four small bottles of champagne today, and had one with lunch. Soon I’ll have my pizza dinner and more champagne and continue editing work – I’ve got a ton to do here – and my own work too, and watch a bit of the ball falling in New York.

This is bliss.

Today I went to a bathing suit store with a sale on, and tried on a two-piece that did not make me want to scream aloud on viewing myself. In fact, I marched up and down in front of that mirror, and said to myself, honey, it ain’t that bad. Reader, I bought it. To celebrate the year I turned 60, I bought a two-piece bathing suit in many splashy colours, and a black sunhat too. As soon as I got back, I went down to the pool in my sexy new suit, but it was so cold I lay bundled in cover-up and towel. This morning, though, I swam – in my old suit, from which my bottom would soon have been hanging out. It is good to swim on December 31^st, even in an old suit with a saggy bottom. (It’s the chlorine that rots the suits, said the saleslady. ALWAYS RINSE YOUR SUITS. Baby shampoo is good. Your first how-to tip of 2011.)

It’s also good to deal with one of my addictions, as I am doing now. No, not wine or second-hand stores, but the Internet. I do not have the Internet, have to drive out once or twice a day to check email, and as I work, I can’t Google! Hard to survive without Google. I can’t dip into Facebook to see how friends are doing, or read the “Globe,” or send a quick message to my family for New Year’s Eve. I can’t send a message to you either – I’ll go out tomorrow morning and post this. It’s good to stretch every once in a while. But not for too long.

And so, my dear friends, wherever you are, I am about to embark on my peaceful New Year’s Eve, as you are on yours. I hope yours is joyful, and that 2011 is good to you. With love from an aging woman who owns and may actually wear, occasionally, a colourful two-piece bathing suit.