The assembled multitudes.Our nation's capital -
makes your heart swell, no? No?
Much beauty - Mum, flowers.
Four writers writing.
Three more writers in the garden.
taking (or making) stock
1 day ago
Monday, August 15, 2011
images of Montreal
Vieux Montreal, very pretty and very old - by Canadian standardsJean-Paul Gaultier's idea of a wedding dress
The extraordinary, a bit creepy
hologram models
Our home near Parc Lafontaine - we were
on the second floor, entered via one of Montreal's ubiquitous winding staircases
Our host Glenn and his deluxe swimming pool
Friday, August 12, 2011
making and renewing friends
Brain back, briefly, as the others watch the Roger's Cup, Serena Williams and Jokovic winning ... my aunt and mother lifelong tennis players and fans. I, less so. So here's a bit about the last few days.
Penny and I arrived at Toronto's Union Station on Monday morning - a long line waiting, and behind us, a man with a friendly face and an English accent. So I began chatting with him and his wife; when we boarded the train, we sat together, and by the time we arrived in Montreal five hours later, A. and C. were our best friends. We'd heard all about their three sons, especially the middle son who hasn't spoken to them for ten years and the successful youngest son who lives in Toronto; we'd discussed C.'s cold mother and alcoholic father, A.'s appalling parents with their multiple marriages - and they'd heard, of course, all about us. We discussed British politics and various bits of Canadiana, and at the end, before vanishing into Montreal, we exchanged email addresses. I do think this is a travel encounter that will endure. Fine people.
We stayed with Glen, a friend of my friend Louise, who has an apartment on the ground floor and a whole apartment above which he lets to visitors and gives to visiting friends including us - a spacious quiet place, with access to Glen's tiny swimming pool, perfect for a refreshing dunk on a stifling day. I remembered, as we walked around, how much I love Montreal, its unique neighbourhoods and casual, open vibe and street life, the streets crowded with balconies and winding exterior staircases that don't exist, I think, anywhere else in the world - a city where neighbourly relationships are built on balconies and staircases. As my friend Keith said, only one small problem - there's only good weather for 2 months of the year, and the rest of the time, you're slogging groceries up steep winding stairs coated by ice and snow.
Speaking of Keith - we went to his place for dinner. In 1970, when I was 19 and he was 25, I fell desperately in love with Keith at the Neptune Theatre, where I was working backstage and he was a director. We have not seen each other since that summer. And now, his voice and energy and passion are just the same, just as mesmerizing, only his body is not - he has been battered by a neurological condition the doctors have been unable to name and can hardly walk - and yet he is still a gourmet cook with a huge appetite for life, art, food, travel. His work - directing new opera - takes him all over the world; in the months upcoming, to an island off the coast of Newfoundland and to Wales and Sweden. I can't imagine how he travels, but he does. We sat in his beautiful garden - he also does the gardening - catching up, and then we helped him finish the cooking of a superb gourmet meal; he has arranged his kitchen so everything is within reach, even when he's sitting on his walker.
He's an extraordinary, rare man. I'm thrilled to find him again.
That's all for now - it's much later, tennis ended, and we all watched a 2-hour PBS special on Carol Burnett, very funny and moving, and now it's late and the brain has seized up again. A great way to end the day, with that rubber face.
Penny and I arrived at Toronto's Union Station on Monday morning - a long line waiting, and behind us, a man with a friendly face and an English accent. So I began chatting with him and his wife; when we boarded the train, we sat together, and by the time we arrived in Montreal five hours later, A. and C. were our best friends. We'd heard all about their three sons, especially the middle son who hasn't spoken to them for ten years and the successful youngest son who lives in Toronto; we'd discussed C.'s cold mother and alcoholic father, A.'s appalling parents with their multiple marriages - and they'd heard, of course, all about us. We discussed British politics and various bits of Canadiana, and at the end, before vanishing into Montreal, we exchanged email addresses. I do think this is a travel encounter that will endure. Fine people.
We stayed with Glen, a friend of my friend Louise, who has an apartment on the ground floor and a whole apartment above which he lets to visitors and gives to visiting friends including us - a spacious quiet place, with access to Glen's tiny swimming pool, perfect for a refreshing dunk on a stifling day. I remembered, as we walked around, how much I love Montreal, its unique neighbourhoods and casual, open vibe and street life, the streets crowded with balconies and winding exterior staircases that don't exist, I think, anywhere else in the world - a city where neighbourly relationships are built on balconies and staircases. As my friend Keith said, only one small problem - there's only good weather for 2 months of the year, and the rest of the time, you're slogging groceries up steep winding stairs coated by ice and snow.
Speaking of Keith - we went to his place for dinner. In 1970, when I was 19 and he was 25, I fell desperately in love with Keith at the Neptune Theatre, where I was working backstage and he was a director. We have not seen each other since that summer. And now, his voice and energy and passion are just the same, just as mesmerizing, only his body is not - he has been battered by a neurological condition the doctors have been unable to name and can hardly walk - and yet he is still a gourmet cook with a huge appetite for life, art, food, travel. His work - directing new opera - takes him all over the world; in the months upcoming, to an island off the coast of Newfoundland and to Wales and Sweden. I can't imagine how he travels, but he does. We sat in his beautiful garden - he also does the gardening - catching up, and then we helped him finish the cooking of a superb gourmet meal; he has arranged his kitchen so everything is within reach, even when he's sitting on his walker.
He's an extraordinary, rare man. I'm thrilled to find him again.
That's all for now - it's much later, tennis ended, and we all watched a 2-hour PBS special on Carol Burnett, very funny and moving, and now it's late and the brain has seized up again. A great way to end the day, with that rubber face.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
copping out
Really sorry. It's Thursday night so this is Ottawa, and I'm brain dead. Montreal was great. Ottawa is great. I think what I'm saying is that whether I want to or not, I have to take a little respite from blogging, because I'm just not capable.
Your faithful correspondent will soon return, with pictures and stories to delight. But not for a few days. Do not adjust your set. I hope you'll bear with me.
Your faithful correspondent will soon return, with pictures and stories to delight. But not for a few days. Do not adjust your set. I hope you'll bear with me.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Stratford hooray
Sorry - I'm behind, and it's 10 p.m. on Sunday night, and we leave tomorrow early for Montreal. Madness - a bit too much going on for us both, but there you go, it's done, that's the way I planned it. We got back this afternoon from Stratford, barely time to do laundry and sit down for a bit and check the garden and write notes for my house-sitting son, and we're off again.
Stratford was wonderful - too much to talk about briefly, I'll recap later, but here's the overview: "Jesus Chris, Superstar" - fantastic, and after Penny gave me a long lecture about the genesis of Christianity, about which I know very little; "Grapes of Wrath" - moving, beautiful production, especially the performance of old friend Janet Wright, whom Lani and I visited after the show; Penny said it was the best show she'd ever seen; "Titus Andronicus" which my friend enjoyed and I abandoned at intermission, just was not up for such evil and gore; and a lecture by an extraordinary hero, Palestinian doctor and peace activist Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish, who preaches love and tolerance despite losing 3 daughters and a niece to Israeli tanks.
More anon, if possible, but not now. Much to think about.
Also, a luxe barbecue put on by our hosts Lani and Maurice, and a steak dinner out with them, and much merry talk and walking about near the Avon River, and buying of souvenirs by Penny and of dark chocolate by me. We had a great time, and now would like to sit still for a while and digest it all. Instead - off again.
Montreal Monday and Tuesday, and Ottawa - my family - Wednesday to Saturday evening, then back here and ... Sunday, a writing workshop for 12 people in the garden, with food. Wonderful. Can't wait.
The really good thing about all this is that I haven't a single minute to think about my next mammogram, which is the Tuesday after next. And then everything settles down. I hope.
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