However, tonight's outcome matters deeply to people I love and to the city I love.
So, I will say it, loud and clear: GO LEAFS GO!
Monday, May 13, 2013
celebrating the Leafs
However, tonight's outcome matters deeply to people I love and to the city I love.
So, I will say it, loud and clear: GO LEAFS GO!
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Happy Mother's Day to you all
A bizarre Mother's Day - freezing cold, rain, hail, hot sun, and right now, a burst of sleet followed by more sun. I just hope Anna and Eli were not out in the downpour. I'm preparing to go over there soon, with a basket of goodies - a bunch of lilies of the valley, lilac and forsythia from the garden, potted lilac and spices for her garden, some foodstuffs from Daniel and Daniel, a hanging basket of flowers, a bottle of wine (for me.) Sam will meet us there briefly, as he's working later, and we'll celebrate all mothers everywhere, and those who are not mothers but who have a mother, too.
Poor Richard the roofer (to be differentiated from Richard the termite hunter and Richard my dear neighbour the royalty expert) is out there in this ghastly weather pulling away at my neighbour's wall - well, my wall. The termites have gone deep and they've gone high, and there are ants too. Everything has to be ripped off, killer Richard will come to spray, roofer Richard, who is impervious to weather, will replace it all. The new wall will cost a fortune, and I will never see it.
Ah well - it's not ill health, it's not unhappiness, it's just money. The only thing that matters now, as I call a cab to get me and my heavy goodies across town, is to celebrate life and love with family and friends on this, my 32nd Mother's Day, my first without my own mother, and my daughter's first with her boy. Last year, on Mother's Day, I called Mum, and we all talked to her. Anna did not have a son, only a bulge, a very active, kicking bulge we could not wait to meet.
Today, what matters is to eat and drink and toast, and hold a little boy close.
Just heard Eleanor Wachtel's interview with Kate Atkinson, who says because she was an only child and only had one child herself, a daughter, she had no understanding of the male psyche until getting to know her grandson. Now, she says, as a result of this young boy, she understands much more about men. Eli will do that for me too.
Understanding men: priceless.
Poor Richard the roofer (to be differentiated from Richard the termite hunter and Richard my dear neighbour the royalty expert) is out there in this ghastly weather pulling away at my neighbour's wall - well, my wall. The termites have gone deep and they've gone high, and there are ants too. Everything has to be ripped off, killer Richard will come to spray, roofer Richard, who is impervious to weather, will replace it all. The new wall will cost a fortune, and I will never see it.
Ah well - it's not ill health, it's not unhappiness, it's just money. The only thing that matters now, as I call a cab to get me and my heavy goodies across town, is to celebrate life and love with family and friends on this, my 32nd Mother's Day, my first without my own mother, and my daughter's first with her boy. Last year, on Mother's Day, I called Mum, and we all talked to her. Anna did not have a son, only a bulge, a very active, kicking bulge we could not wait to meet.
Today, what matters is to eat and drink and toast, and hold a little boy close.
Just heard Eleanor Wachtel's interview with Kate Atkinson, who says because she was an only child and only had one child herself, a daughter, she had no understanding of the male psyche until getting to know her grandson. Now, she says, as a result of this young boy, she understands much more about men. Eli will do that for me too.
Understanding men: priceless.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
"This is water" - David Foster Wallace
This is a very beautiful video made with the audio of a commencement speech - an excerpt of a commencement speech - made by David Foster Wallace to a graduating class. It's about being conscious and aware; it's a treat, and wise and valuable too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmpYnxlEh0c
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmpYnxlEh0c
springing
Saturday supper-time. Last night a torrential downpour, today dark grey skies alternating with sun, and tonight chilly but bright. I am inside with the backdoor open, smelling the woody tang of freshly cut cedar. My new deck. We're getting there, folks. But not quite. As in the "Beyond the Fringe" quip Mum and I loved to quote: "News of fresh disasters."
Because my kitchen extension juts out from my attached neighbour to the north, she has an outside south wall that is, it turns out, officially mine, though I cannot see it. It has been covered with thick ivy for years, and though I've begged her to allow me to remove it, as it has damaged my roof and provided a cosy home for raccoons, she has always refused, because "it's pretty." Well, so much for pretty - now we know that it is full of termites, and so is all the siding beneath it. And all of that, it turns out, the removal of damaged materials and the replacement of undercoat and siding, is my financial responsibility.
The irony is that my ivy-loving neighbour has had hardly any termite damage, whereas I have had a great deal. We're at nearly $40,000 worth. Absolutely devastating.
But I have a new cedar deck. I didn't realize that the wood needs to be stained and cannot be stained until we've had at least four days of hot sun. Until then, we have to walk on it in slippers. I do have eavestroughs now, though, and a finished roof. Praise the lord.
To cheer me up in the middle of all this, my dear friend Eleanor Wachtel, whom I've known since the mid-seventies in Vancouver, invited me to be her guest at the Canadian Opera Company's production of "Lucia di Lammermore." Those of you who follow here know that I ranted a few months ago about a supremely offensive director, Christopher Alden, who did his best to ruin not one but two wonderful classic operas. I did take a quick look before going this time, to see that this one was directed not by Christopher Alden but by a David something.
Wonderful seats and an amazingly knowledgeable date, who whispered as the curtain went down that she had heard it was a bit strange. Well. A classic tragedy by Puccini, it tells of a love between the son and daughter of two rival Scottish clans, forbidden by the bullying brother of the heroine, who turns their love into a bloodbath. In this production, Lucia is not a passionate young girl but a child dressed like Alice in Wonderland, or a midget, since she spends most of the play singing and moving about on her knees. Her brother the Scottish lord, in this production, spends time playing dazedly with his childhood toys and staggering around with his mouth agape. He is madly, incestuously in love with his sister and gropes her, at one point tying her to the bed, reaching under her skirt and grabbing her genitals just as she hits a high note.
Etc. You get the picture, I won't bore you with all the ridiculous, offensive details. Once again, the music and the singing are gorgeous, sublime, the production horrible. And guess what? At intermission, I learned from Eleanor about the Alden brothers. Yes. "Lucia" is directed by David Alden, who is none other than the brother of the dreadful Christopher Alden.
What are the odds? Two untalented brothers who direct to shock and be noticed, who put their sexual and emotional neuroses on stage, make a mockery of fine art and are rewarded by extended contracts with the COC.
I wrote to the company, as you can imagine, and this time they actually wrote back. Dismissively.
In other news: teaching started last week, a good-sized class at U of T and a completely full class at Ryerson. Good to see you all, students. And also - I haven't told you this yet, but now I will - I have started seeing my old psychiatrist again. As my marriage was falling apart and then divorce hit in the nineties, I began seeing Dr. O'Neil, who saved my life, literally as well as figuratively. Eventually I was in full psychoanalysis, four times a week, for four or five years. As I tell my students, "You see this serene and smiling face? It's thanks to lots of therapy and Dr. O'Neil."
As we were winding down our work, Dr. O'Neil moved to Montreal, and I'd call her once a year. Now, more than 20 years after we started, she has moved back to the city, and I asked to see her again. Not for myself, but to discuss difficult family issues and how to handle them. Because she is wise and sensible, and she knows me better than anyone on earth. What a gift.
Randy Bachman's show just started on CBC. Time for dancing. My tomato plants are out there ready to be planted - risk of frost tonight, they said, so I'll wait till the middle of next week. But it's spring spring spring. Out there, and in here too.
Because my kitchen extension juts out from my attached neighbour to the north, she has an outside south wall that is, it turns out, officially mine, though I cannot see it. It has been covered with thick ivy for years, and though I've begged her to allow me to remove it, as it has damaged my roof and provided a cosy home for raccoons, she has always refused, because "it's pretty." Well, so much for pretty - now we know that it is full of termites, and so is all the siding beneath it. And all of that, it turns out, the removal of damaged materials and the replacement of undercoat and siding, is my financial responsibility.
The irony is that my ivy-loving neighbour has had hardly any termite damage, whereas I have had a great deal. We're at nearly $40,000 worth. Absolutely devastating.
But I have a new cedar deck. I didn't realize that the wood needs to be stained and cannot be stained until we've had at least four days of hot sun. Until then, we have to walk on it in slippers. I do have eavestroughs now, though, and a finished roof. Praise the lord.
To cheer me up in the middle of all this, my dear friend Eleanor Wachtel, whom I've known since the mid-seventies in Vancouver, invited me to be her guest at the Canadian Opera Company's production of "Lucia di Lammermore." Those of you who follow here know that I ranted a few months ago about a supremely offensive director, Christopher Alden, who did his best to ruin not one but two wonderful classic operas. I did take a quick look before going this time, to see that this one was directed not by Christopher Alden but by a David something.
Wonderful seats and an amazingly knowledgeable date, who whispered as the curtain went down that she had heard it was a bit strange. Well. A classic tragedy by Puccini, it tells of a love between the son and daughter of two rival Scottish clans, forbidden by the bullying brother of the heroine, who turns their love into a bloodbath. In this production, Lucia is not a passionate young girl but a child dressed like Alice in Wonderland, or a midget, since she spends most of the play singing and moving about on her knees. Her brother the Scottish lord, in this production, spends time playing dazedly with his childhood toys and staggering around with his mouth agape. He is madly, incestuously in love with his sister and gropes her, at one point tying her to the bed, reaching under her skirt and grabbing her genitals just as she hits a high note.
Etc. You get the picture, I won't bore you with all the ridiculous, offensive details. Once again, the music and the singing are gorgeous, sublime, the production horrible. And guess what? At intermission, I learned from Eleanor about the Alden brothers. Yes. "Lucia" is directed by David Alden, who is none other than the brother of the dreadful Christopher Alden.
What are the odds? Two untalented brothers who direct to shock and be noticed, who put their sexual and emotional neuroses on stage, make a mockery of fine art and are rewarded by extended contracts with the COC.
I wrote to the company, as you can imagine, and this time they actually wrote back. Dismissively.
In other news: teaching started last week, a good-sized class at U of T and a completely full class at Ryerson. Good to see you all, students. And also - I haven't told you this yet, but now I will - I have started seeing my old psychiatrist again. As my marriage was falling apart and then divorce hit in the nineties, I began seeing Dr. O'Neil, who saved my life, literally as well as figuratively. Eventually I was in full psychoanalysis, four times a week, for four or five years. As I tell my students, "You see this serene and smiling face? It's thanks to lots of therapy and Dr. O'Neil."
As we were winding down our work, Dr. O'Neil moved to Montreal, and I'd call her once a year. Now, more than 20 years after we started, she has moved back to the city, and I asked to see her again. Not for myself, but to discuss difficult family issues and how to handle them. Because she is wise and sensible, and she knows me better than anyone on earth. What a gift.
Randy Bachman's show just started on CBC. Time for dancing. My tomato plants are out there ready to be planted - risk of frost tonight, they said, so I'll wait till the middle of next week. But it's spring spring spring. Out there, and in here too.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Enough said
Good question.
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