The day so far: the roofer arrived at dawn, or what felt like dawn, climbing up his big ladder to the roof to begin hammering and soldering, followed by the Aetna poison guys who were disappointed that the concrete for the deck has already been laid because they were supposed to spread a layer of termite poison on the ground beforehand. So they had to drill holes in the concrete to inject their stuff. Followed by the deck guys, who've filled my yard with lumber and equipment and are hammering in the sun. Followed by the garden guys whose number I found on a lamppost yesterday, who did a tour with me and will come soon to help me prune and plant. (The lilac is old and most of it has to go; the Japanese maple is dying of thirst.) The neighbour pointed out the two dead trees between our properties and suggested we take them down.
My mother's accountant wrote that something was sent out with the wrong SIN number, and her tax guy sent various forms to be signed; we are still having problems with the IRS demanding money that we think we don't owe, so many emails are flying back and forth and much money is being spent on experts. Plus yesterday I realized that instead of my usual Tuesday afternoon class at U of T starting today, my boss had suggested we try it in the evening and had made the change, which I'd completely forgotten and had scheduled a Tuesday home class. So much panicked emailing and calling to head off people coming over here tonight, since I'll be at U of T. The home class changed to Monday. Many emails.
My bank manager and I need to meet but cannot find a time; various social invitations need responses; and I spent time with Airbnb trying to book a room in Ottawa for my July visit to visit my aunt and Paul McCartney, as I cannot stay with my mother any more. Because she has died. As I will die one day myself.
At which point, time to jump on the bike to head to Mt. Sinai Hospital for my annual eye exam for glaucoma and general disintegration. Just before rushing out, took a call from my son. Last month his new bike, specially fashioned for his six foot eight frame, was stolen. He bought a new one, and the front tire was stolen. He bought a new front tire and an inviolable lock, and this morning found the back tire gone. He has been having a very hard spring, and all this did not cheer him up. His mother tried.
And then it was noon.
Last night, finally caught "Bletchley Circle," the final episode, so I'll have to find the first three. How very sad that my mother did not live to see this, as it's not just about what the people at Bletchley did, secretly, to win the war, but about their lives afterwards, especially the lives of women who went from exciting and challenging work to homemaking. I do not think my mother minded that, however. She would have loved to see the show. And after that, watched Simon Schama about Shakespeare's England, with a long treatise on Falstaff. I'll check the Stratford program to see if any of the history plays are on this year, and make sure to see them. The night before, the wonderful "Shakespeare Uncovered" series, with a program on "Hamlet." TV at its best.
I hate this chaos in my home and feel I'm about to be blown away in a high wind. But this too shall pass. The weather is sublime, and we are all healthy. My eyes are fine. Onward.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
news about writing classes
Monday morning, all systems go - the guys are preparing to make concrete for the deck, the roofer is hammering the shingles, my usually quiet yard is full of men, ladders, equipment. A concrete mixer. Life is so exciting.
And I'm at work too, preparing for my teaching term which starts tomorrow, with the U of T class "Life Stories," at 12.30. Then there's my evening home class tomorrow evening at 6, for students who've worked with me at least once before.
The Wednesday Ryerson class at 6.30, "True to Life," is full or very nearly. Any former students who are thinking of registering, contact me directly instead - perhaps you'll fit with the Tuesday bunch. There's room in that class.
When she was about 9, my daughter made a sign for my mother's art room - trees, flowers, and the words, "Come on in - it's art time!"
This is my message to you: Come on in - it's writing time!
And I'm at work too, preparing for my teaching term which starts tomorrow, with the U of T class "Life Stories," at 12.30. Then there's my evening home class tomorrow evening at 6, for students who've worked with me at least once before.
The Wednesday Ryerson class at 6.30, "True to Life," is full or very nearly. Any former students who are thinking of registering, contact me directly instead - perhaps you'll fit with the Tuesday bunch. There's room in that class.
When she was about 9, my daughter made a sign for my mother's art room - trees, flowers, and the words, "Come on in - it's art time!"
This is my message to you: Come on in - it's writing time!
Sunday, May 5, 2013
*** Vital - save the CBC! ***
The new Harper budget bill is going to do something crazy -- take hold of our public media and turn the CBC into a place where Harper's cronies could control the newsroom.
This is how tyrannical governments behave -- they try to silence and control independent media. But the bill goes into committee in days and we can get this small collection of MPs to amend the bill and take their hands off our CBC before it's too late.
Sign the petition and when we reach 100,000 voices to free the CBC, Avaaz will deliver our call directly to the finance committee before the hearings begin!
http://www.avaaz.org/en/save_the_cbc_2013_b/?thYzccb
This is how tyrannical governments behave -- they try to silence and control independent media. But the bill goes into committee in days and we can get this small collection of MPs to amend the bill and take their hands off our CBC before it's too late.
Sign the petition and when we reach 100,000 voices to free the CBC, Avaaz will deliver our call directly to the finance committee before the hearings begin!
http://www.avaaz.org/en/save_the_cbc_2013_b/?thYzccb
"Good ol' Freda"
It's one of those days when you cannot believe the good luck of being alive: 23 degrees on a spring/summer Sunday with the city in bloom. After experiencing spring across America and on the west coast, now I get to enjoy it all over again - and the word for today is forsythia.
This is outside my front door - a wall of gold. It was also the 42nd annual Forsythia Festival in Cabbagetown today; I went up the street to watch the parade, remembering when my kids were in it, all dressed up, riding their bikes. It's amazing how many kids live in this neighborhood. I think because my own have left, they've all left. But obviously not.
The parade on Sackville Street
Festivities continued in Wellesley Park, including a great new addition - a beer tent for grownups. See the delicate green on the trees - ready to burst forth.
Yesterday, another great celebration, Anna's 32nd birthday barbecue and gardening work party. You'll be happy to hear that I forgot my phone, otherwise you would be inundated with photos. I went early, we rented an Autoshare car and went to buy fertilizer and plants, including herbs, a lilac and a rosebush. My daughter rents a ground floor apartment with a yard, which was an ugly wasteland until recently, full of debris. Now, it's a green and growing garden and play-space for her son and friends.
Last night, to Hot Docs, one of my favourite festivals which I've missed this year due to travel and cold. But could not miss this one, luckily pointed out by my friend Leslie, who met me there - "Good ol' Freda," a documentary about Freda Kelly, who was secretary to Brian Epstein and who ran the Beatles Fan Club until the band broke up in 1970. Of course for a nutty fan like myself, it was a fabulous exploration of that time and place, the personalities and events that affected millions of us. But surprisingly, it's more - because Freda herself is so genuine, warm and honest, a loyal woman who has never betrayed secrets or sold her story for money, it becomes the portrait of a truly good human being. She's talking now only because she has a grandson and wants him to know about her life.
She was like a member of the Beatles' families through those years, and the film shows again what ordinary working-class stock the boys came from, how solid were their values of hard work, decency and humour. Thrilling.
PS I know I'm truly home. Spent Sunday afternoon, as I love to do, listening to CBC radio while doing chores - today, effecting the great wardrobe switchover, winter stuff into boxes, summer stuff out. Because it's full on summer today, baby. No nambypamby spring for us.
Yesterday, another great celebration, Anna's 32nd birthday barbecue and gardening work party. You'll be happy to hear that I forgot my phone, otherwise you would be inundated with photos. I went early, we rented an Autoshare car and went to buy fertilizer and plants, including herbs, a lilac and a rosebush. My daughter rents a ground floor apartment with a yard, which was an ugly wasteland until recently, full of debris. Now, it's a green and growing garden and play-space for her son and friends.
Last night, to Hot Docs, one of my favourite festivals which I've missed this year due to travel and cold. But could not miss this one, luckily pointed out by my friend Leslie, who met me there - "Good ol' Freda," a documentary about Freda Kelly, who was secretary to Brian Epstein and who ran the Beatles Fan Club until the band broke up in 1970. Of course for a nutty fan like myself, it was a fabulous exploration of that time and place, the personalities and events that affected millions of us. But surprisingly, it's more - because Freda herself is so genuine, warm and honest, a loyal woman who has never betrayed secrets or sold her story for money, it becomes the portrait of a truly good human being. She's talking now only because she has a grandson and wants him to know about her life.
She was like a member of the Beatles' families through those years, and the film shows again what ordinary working-class stock the boys came from, how solid were their values of hard work, decency and humour. Thrilling.
PS I know I'm truly home. Spent Sunday afternoon, as I love to do, listening to CBC radio while doing chores - today, effecting the great wardrobe switchover, winter stuff into boxes, summer stuff out. Because it's full on summer today, baby. No nambypamby spring for us.
Friday, May 3, 2013
cedar
Just out in the garden with the secateurs, chopping off the old dead stuff from last year, trying not to harm the new buds, the green new growth just below it. Another perfect day, and I'm enjoying it despite still-stuffed up head and general droopiness from 3 sleepless, stuffed up nights. Last night at 4 a.m. I wondered if I was being punished for my holiday. I'm way behind in house chores - my 9-foot high oleander is so afflicted with sticky scale that I spend a great deal of time hovering beneath it, scraping the stuff off with my fingernails. If I hadn't gone away for a month, I'd have kept it healthy. All my fault. As usual.
Especially out in the garden, I think of my mother. She was a great gardener - in her healthy days, she'd leap out into my garden on her visits, pruning and adjusting. Sometimes the hole in my life that was filled by my mother hurts. Most of the time, though, I'm just glad she's not deteriorating any more. Auntie Do, at 93, is going strong.
John and John came today to consult about the deck - because of the on-going threat of termites, they'd proposed the replacement deck be made of plastic wood; though practical, undoubtedly, the stuff has one great drawback - it looks like plastic wood. So now my guys have figured out how to put in a solid concrete base so there can be real cedar on top. After my time in B.C., the thought of anything but cedar is out of the question. And Richard the roofer will appear this evening and start tomorrow. So there will be many men hammering madly for the next week or so.
And then, perhaps, peace. No more big projects, house? Please?
Today, my daughter is 32. Her party is tomorrow; she has invited close friends over to help her transform the industrial wasteland behind her rented apartment into a garden, and then she'll provide a barbecue. I'm going early with rented car to help buy soil and plants. I'm sure there will be a miniature plot for Booboo. She is spending today just with her boy, told me he took her to lunch at her favourite little café. Not bad for a son who's not quite one.
Ran into an old friend on the street nearby. She opened her arms to hug me. "Beware, I have a cold," I said.
"Oh I know," she said, "and what a wonderful trip you've just had!"
A blog saves so much time.
P.S. Two quotes for you: on YouTube yesterday, I watched Colbert interview President Clinton. At one point, Colbert said, I'm younger than you and I'm exhausted just reading the list of what you're doing right now. How do you do it?
And Clinton replied, "When you get older, you have more time to work."
YAY.
And David Steinberg the comedian on Jian this morning, talking about comedians: It doesn't matter if they're African-American, Asian, gay, he said, the more personal and honest they are, the more the audience will connect with them.
That's how it is with memoir too. As my classes at Ryerson and U of T will begin to learn next Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday evening. Looking forward to meeting you all.
Especially out in the garden, I think of my mother. She was a great gardener - in her healthy days, she'd leap out into my garden on her visits, pruning and adjusting. Sometimes the hole in my life that was filled by my mother hurts. Most of the time, though, I'm just glad she's not deteriorating any more. Auntie Do, at 93, is going strong.
John and John came today to consult about the deck - because of the on-going threat of termites, they'd proposed the replacement deck be made of plastic wood; though practical, undoubtedly, the stuff has one great drawback - it looks like plastic wood. So now my guys have figured out how to put in a solid concrete base so there can be real cedar on top. After my time in B.C., the thought of anything but cedar is out of the question. And Richard the roofer will appear this evening and start tomorrow. So there will be many men hammering madly for the next week or so.
And then, perhaps, peace. No more big projects, house? Please?
Today, my daughter is 32. Her party is tomorrow; she has invited close friends over to help her transform the industrial wasteland behind her rented apartment into a garden, and then she'll provide a barbecue. I'm going early with rented car to help buy soil and plants. I'm sure there will be a miniature plot for Booboo. She is spending today just with her boy, told me he took her to lunch at her favourite little café. Not bad for a son who's not quite one.
Ran into an old friend on the street nearby. She opened her arms to hug me. "Beware, I have a cold," I said.
"Oh I know," she said, "and what a wonderful trip you've just had!"
A blog saves so much time.
P.S. Two quotes for you: on YouTube yesterday, I watched Colbert interview President Clinton. At one point, Colbert said, I'm younger than you and I'm exhausted just reading the list of what you're doing right now. How do you do it?
And Clinton replied, "When you get older, you have more time to work."
YAY.
And David Steinberg the comedian on Jian this morning, talking about comedians: It doesn't matter if they're African-American, Asian, gay, he said, the more personal and honest they are, the more the audience will connect with them.
That's how it is with memoir too. As my classes at Ryerson and U of T will begin to learn next Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday evening. Looking forward to meeting you all.
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