Monday in the sun

My last day above ground for awhile - and a gloriously sunny day, if cold. Listening to a Bach mass and looking forward to two classes today. I'm more or less packed for 5 weeks in France and England, for times ranging from country walks in England to a formal dinner in Paris - the solution, of course, a sea of black, black jeans and skirt, black tops and sweaters. Easy peasey. Lots of colourful scarves and a bright pink jacket and one indulgence, a pair of comfortable high-heeled shoes, because if it works out, my friend Jaime is coming to Paris to take me to lunch and dinner, my guess in establishments I do not usually frequent. So one pair of elegant shoes is allowed, no?

Otherwise, what I've packed, I'm proud to say, is so multipurpose and practical, it bears no resemblance to the hundred pounds I hauled 3 years ago. Yes, that was for 5 months not 5 weeks, but still, I had no idea how to pack light. Now I do. Not as lightly as my friend Lynn, who can take two outfits in a backpack for six months in Siberia - but much better than before.

Excuse me, Johann, I hate to write about such petty things while you send those voices soaring to heaven. Talk about reminding us of what really matters - every note resounding with beauty, love, commitment, faith. Faith in something or other, not necessarily what Bach had faith in.

breaking news, pig style

A great little film about our brave new world of social media:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/video/2012/feb/29/open-journalism-three-little-pigs-advert

Guardian open journalism: Three Little Pigs advert - video

www.guardian.co.uk

upstairs

Bliss! My dear Belgian tenants are away until Monday night, up north skiing in a high wind, and I am in my kitchen as I like to be on Saturday nights, dancing to Randy Bachman. He's paying tribute to dead musicians, and I've just had a little weep listening to John Lennon, "If I fell" and "Day in the Life," then a great dance to a bunch of Elvis, and now it's Marvin Gaye and "Let's Get it On." What a sublime classic. Imagine - shot by his own father.

And all of this above ground.

A crazy day, with winds 100 mph plus, trees downed and transit interrupted. But all calm over here. It was "Megathon" fundraising day at the Y, so I paid $50 to take a zumba class with my favourite teacher, Edgar. Edgar, who's Mexican, is the most joyful dance instructor. As the world beat music plays, he flings his body around with a huge grin, and a roomful of clumsy Torontonians - well, many not as clumsy as THIS Torontonian, that's for sure - try to follow. Great fun. After an hour, I was ready to collapse, especially as I'd had a tough half hour class with multiple lunges and squats the day before. God, I love that place. On the way out, I swung into the Health Room they'd set up for the day, where they gave me a big zucchini muffin, and I put on all the calories I'd just lost.

And then, when I got home, I got to put my own key into my own front door and walk in. As if I owned the place. Which I sort of do, I and the Royal Bank of Canada. And then found out that the furnace isn't working properly. Luckily I have a space heater, which is right beside me as I write. Hopefully the repair guy will reply to my message. Luckily this happened now, while the tenants are away.

El gato crabbo is curled up nearby. She is following me around this house, up and down. It does make me feel needed and loved, even if this bad-tempered creature knows nothing about love. Maybe she does, a tiny bit. That's enough.

Whitney. "I wanna dance with somebody." RIP. And now Sam Cooke. "You send me." Thank you so much, Randy Bachman. I really feel like I'm home.

"Mr. Lazhar"

Just checking my Facebook page, which gives me, among many other things, updates from the Daily Show. Noticed this on the latest update:

The Daily Show TV show 3,311,048 like this.

A lot of friends, Jon has.

Saw "Mr. Lazhar" with my friend Eleanor last night. The story of an Algerian refugee who becomes a teacher in Montreal, it's not a big film, slow and deliberate, but it's profoundly moving all the same - tender, true, haunting. The children are extraordinary, particularly one small girl with a magical face, and so is the lead actor, Felag; the final moment between them is breathtaking. Highly recommended - the sort of film that stays in your heart.

Before the film, my Thursday home class came down the stairs, five people, me and the crabby cat gathered below ground. It was wonderful. Chris suggested that when my book is a best-seller, I can turn this space into a writing studio. Good plan. Let's work on the first part, and then the second.

And ... on our visit to New York in July 1964, my grandfather took us to see the season's big hit, "Oliver!" starring a young singer called Davy Jones. Big crush. I wrote in my diary, "He'd be fine as a date on the nights that Paul McCartney is busy." Lost track after that, never a Monkees fan, though "I'm a Believer" is a great song. Hope you had a good life, and thanks for the music, Davy.

Me too

"I am astonished, disappointed, pleased with myself. I am distressed, depressed, rapturous. I am all these things at once, and cannot add up the sum. I am incapable of determining ultimate worth or worthlessness; I have no judgment about myself and my life. There is nothing I am quite sure about. I have no definite convictions - not about anything, really. I know only that I was born and exist, and it seems to me that I have been carried along. I exist on the foundation of something I do not know."

— C.G. Jung, near the end of his life, from his book published with associate Aniela Jaffé: "Memories, Dreams, Reflections," (New York: Random House), 1965

A friend just emailed this thought-provoking quote. I agree with Jung, except, well, I'm not depressed, and I'm quite, quite sure of my love for my children, and I do have some definite convictions - about our Prime Minister being a sleazebag and our Mayor an idiot, for example. But now I'm remembering that line from Yeats's "The Second Coming":

"The best lack all conviction, while the worst/are filled with passionate intensity."

Hmmm. Just Googled the poem and learned that it paraphrases these wise lines from Shelley's "Prometheus Unbound," which Yeats loved:

"The good want power, but to weep barren tears.

The powerful goodness want: worse need for them.

The wise want love, and those who love want wisdom;

And all best things are thus confused to ill."

The wise want love, and those who love want wisdom. And all the best things are thus confused to ill. Only 8.30 a.m., and already an English lesson, a life lesson. How I love the Internet, by B. Kaplan.