Cabbagetown Festival

What a weekend. I see that Angelina Jolie is in town at the film festival with all her beautiful children, the wonderful Helen Mirren too and George Clooney and all kinds of other stars. Somewhere over there.

Here, it was the Cabbagetown Festival on the most gorgeous weekend for it I can remember - hot with a touch of chill. The streets were packed with garage sales, music, street food, thousands of people ... today, walking down Parliament Street marvelling at the diversity of the huge crowds, I ran into a firetruck with, sitting on the back bumper, five firemen in a row, relaxing in the sun. What a wonderful day, I said, they concurred, and we talked about the peaceful mixing of people from around the world in this blessed neighbourhood. Need I say these firemen were handsome? A great moment, surpassed only by a moment not long before, sitting outside Riverdale Farm listening to a big band play my favourite song in the world, Macca's "When I'm 64." Hot sun, great music, all around booths with a curated show of artisanal products, jewelry, painting, weaving, food ...

 Fresh oysters on Parliament Street.

A transgender stiltwalker, very popular. Where else, O lord, would there be a transgender stilt walker in sexy frontier clothing walking down the middle of the high street?

So yes, it was a good weekend. At the garage sales I found exactly what I was looking for: a red bicycle for Eli for when he visits here, rubber boots and Crocs also for him when he comes, a giant bag of Fisher Price animals for $10, a set of Paw Patrol sheets, and a glow in the dark skeleton Hallowe'en costume for Ben. (I consulted with their mother, who's in Nova Scotia, before all these purchases by text. "@#$# yeah!" she'd write back.)

Some artisanal dark chocolate with almonds and a notebook, of course, for me, and some pretty cards painted by a local artist. And then I discovered a woman on Gerrard Street selling her own shoes - a big-footed woman who runs drumming classes and whose husband lives in Africa - and bought just what I need for fall, two pairs of boots, for $20 each. Hardly worn. In my enormous size. @#$# yeah!

Just one glitch - I registered, as always, for the fundraising mini-marathon on Sunday morning, a gruelling two kilometre run through the 'hood. Sunday morning, I got ready, stretched, and headed out at 9.40 to run at 10. Couldn't understand why a big crowd was gathered and prizes were being given out beforehand. The race, I discovered, starts at 9. As it has for the last 25 years that I've done it. Oh oh, the brain is toast already. So I missed the run, which meant that my legs didn't hurt for the rest of the day. What a shame. Otherwise, fun.

I know, the rest of the world is in such dire straights, it beggars belief - hurricanes, floods, the Rohingya, North Korea. Here in a little corner of the planet, a weekend of bargains, street food - my fridge full of pad thai, tacos, Chinese noodles, Afghani leek and lentil patties - and fun. Thank you.

My friend Gretchen just came over - she'd read the manuscript and had a few pages of thoughtful commentary, nothing too drastic, places where the timeline or the structure were confusing. After we'd talked about the book, we talked about our young lives, where she was and what she was doing in 1979 when I was having the adventures described in the book. Another great thing about being a writer - when what you write triggers memories in a reader, a need to delve into, explore, and understand his or her own past.

@#$% yeah.

gearing up for fall

Last night the police closed down the block outside my house and were patrolling the street with guns and dogs. There's a rumour of someone doing random shootings in Regent Park, and it's possible they thought he - presumably a he - was hiding on this block. Or something else. Anyway, it was pretty exciting and even scary for a bit. So much for tranquil little Cabbagetown.

Which this weekend hosts the Cabbagetown Festival - the streets flooded, not with hurricanes, but with garage sales, street food, shoppers and strollers. I will be shopping the street sales for a bike for Eli and Christmas presents. There's a curated artisanal sale outside Riverdale Farm, and the run on Sunday morning, the mini-marathon, one mile or so, that I never miss. Eating, running, shopping: I excel at two of these.

On Wednesday morning our Regent Park English conversation group started for the fall, and there were nine women, the most ever - almost all as usual from Bangladesh, sitting with us to chat about "What I did on my summer vacation." They mostly visited family in other cities, though one went camping - imagine a family of recent arrivals from Bangladesh in the Ontario woods. About half the women are veiled, though all wear traditional headscarves and draped long robes. But when they come in, they flip up the scarf and there are our friends. I don't understand the niqab, I don't like it, but I do like the women who wear it, at least the ones I've met.

That night was the Cabbagetown Short Film Festival, a fantastic event my neighbour Gina Dineen has curated and organized for 26 years. At the start it was in a pub; now it's held in swanky splendour of the Daniels Arts Centre on Dundas, about 16 films from 2 to 18 minutes long, from around the world - animated, documentaries, dramas, all fantastic, and some of the filmmakers and actors were there. Thrilling, hilarious, a tour of the world without leaving your seat.

Yesterday afternoon, Anna and the boys came to visit. Amazing what two very small people can do to rip the house apart in only a few hours.

The sofa: both fort and trampoline

As you can see - Ben is small for two and Eli is tall for five, but there's a fine brotherhood there.

Last night, as I hosted one of my oldest friends Margaret from Vancouver - we met when pregnant with our older children - we watched a NFB film called "Window Horses" on the movie channel. An odd title for a superb, truly gorgeous film, animated, about a young poet from Vancouver who goes to a poetry festival in Iran and finds herself and her past. Highly recommended; seek it out.

And finally, on the home front - sigh. Sigh. I received a no from the literary agent I wrote to about the memoir, which is just as well, as I also received another book report from a former student and very perceptive reader who nailed the problems - still there - with the first 40 pages or so. Once again, the France stuff is great, getting there not so much. I thought I was nearly done, but I'm not.

So, the autumn to do list:
1. finish the book.
2. find a way to get the book into the world, the worst part of the job as far as I'm concerned
3. teaching: Ryerson, U of T, home class
4. October: prepare a talk for the 20th anniversary of my son's high school Rosedale Heights about the parents' arts council which I helped found
5. prepare a talk with Powerpoint for the Fairfax, Virginia JCC about my great-grandfather book
6. November: the next So True - eight essays to find, edit, finalize, plus my own
7. December: the Babe in the Barn pageant Xmas Eve - meetings about finding babies and cast members etc.
8. End of October: my basement tenant moves out and a new one moves in, much cleaning to do
9. ditto with the attic - Carol is going back to Ecuador for six months and a young Frenchwoman is moving in
10. got to get to Ottawa to visit Do
11. online and in person meetings about the Canadian Creative Non-fiction conference next May that I'm on the conference committee for
Also: food clothing housing exercise health reading friends family and writing this blog.

Otherwise, nothing to do.

Did I mention finish the book? No question, the above list is one reason I've produced so few books. Not just that I was an actress for ten years and a stay at home mother for another ten, but that I get involved in so many things and can't imagine not getting involved. So - the output is slow, but the life is pretty damn interesting. Though it's true, last night I couldn't sleep, thinking of all I have to do. What I did on my summer vacation: worry.

labour day podcasts

There could be not a nicer Labour Day - hot with a breeze, after yesterday's chilly late afternoon rain. And the city is still, except for the air show, blasting around in the sky every so often. And then, still again.

Amazing even myself, I went to Carol's Boot Camp at the Y at 9 a.m. this morning. Carol is my spectacular Wednesday teacher, a woman nearly 70 who looks 50 at most, is off to run a marathon soon - where did she say? Singapore? Dublin? Rio? She has run all over the world. Anyway, I have never made one of her holiday boot camp classes because they start at 9 a.m. and because of the words "boot camp." However, today's was on the green roof of the Y, so I went. And it was wonderful - the Y's roof is planted with wild grasses, and we ran around in the morning sun, most of the participants fast, some of us slowly, and did other boot campy things, some with a great deal of energy and commitment, and some, not so much. I was one of the slowest and weakest. But I was there, exercising on the roof of the Y at 9.15 a.m. on Labour Day. It felt great.

And then, continuing my virtuous streak, I cooked for hours in the afternoon, listening to podcasts while using my own basil and garlic to make pesto and my own tomatoes, garlic and basil to make pasta sauce. I picked one of the biggest cucumbers I've ever seen and made a cucumber avocado lemon salad with my own parsley. For the next few days, I will eat well, little grasshopper. Come on over and join me.

And while I worked, these fabulous podcasts. The Anne Lamott one I've heard before but it bears hearing again, perhaps regularly - she's so funny and wise. And the other - not so funny but very wise. Happy labour day to you all.
https://www.ted.com/talks/anne_lamott_12_truths_i_learned_from_life_and_writing

https://www.ted.com/talks/kelly_mcgonigal_how_to_make_stress_your_friend

Tomorrow, Eli goes to Senior Kindergarten. He's a senior already.

PS. Tears in my eyes. Rosemary, who's read my first 40 pages, just emailed that she will send them soon. I make the occasional small suggestion, but generally I think you’ve nailed it this time – it moves along, without any dragging at all. 

Nailed it! No dragging at all! Can a writer ask for more? 

"working very well"

Looking at photos of the flooding in Texas, of the far worse disaster in Bangadesh, feeling so very safe and dry - at least today - in Cabbagetown. How lucky are we, with our relatively stable government, our health care... wait, there are brutal forest fires out west, there's flooding in this country too, there's racism everywhere. But the key word is relatively - we're relatively safe. On Saturday I was riding my bike through Regent Park; suddenly I thought I was in Mecca. There were many hundreds of Muslims gathered in a field south of here, the men in long white robes and little round hats, the women in hijab or niqab. It was Eid, the end of the great celebration, and they were gathered to pray and feast. Extraordinary. My city, open to all.

Today, brunch with the best neighbours on the planet, Jean-Marc and Richard, in their beautiful garden, with other neighbours, such interesting people. I've lived across the street from Susan and David for 20 years, only found out today what fascinating lives they lead, she a cancer researcher and triathlete.  The other couple, two handsome young men, one from Lima and the other from New Delhi, met on Church Street. I love this place. We had a discussion, not just about politics and travel, but about Cabbagetown wildlife - opossum, raccoons, ferocious squirrels - not far away, deer, beaver, coyotes, and one very large cat who terrorizes the whole street. The wilderness of Toronto.

But I'm not much fun these days, still sitting sitting sitting, poking at the manuscript, wanting to finish it and get it out. I emailed the rewrite of the first 40 pages today to Rosemary, uber editor, who has seen previous drafts. After reading a few pages, she emailed, So far I think the revisions are working very well. Much smoother and good momentum.

May I scream? Cheer? WOOHOOOOO!!! Of course, that's after only a few pages. But still, encouraging words. Smoother! Momentum! I'll take it.

Ryerson doesn't start for two more weeks. What a gift. It's almost full already, so it's going to be one of the big big classes. I'll be up for it.

Kathy Dawn Lang

A heavenly heavenly day. It has been colder than usual, to the point that riding home from a concert a few days ago in a wool jacket and beret, I wished I had gloves. Gloves, in August! But today there's heat with a cool breeze, and the garden is in full bloom, especially the fall-blooming clematis, like little white stars, bursting out all over. I went to the market this morning to get apples, but there aren't many yet, so I had to make do - sigh - with peaches, peppers, and blueberries. And multi-seed sourdough. And - of course - corn.

In the early eighties, when my parents were living in Edmonton, a colleague of Dad's invited them out one night to hear a friend's daughter sing in a bar. The young singer's name was Kathy Dawn, and my parents were bemused but impressed. She was wearing strange cowgirl clothes and was very funny, they said, but with a magnificent voice. That voice took her places, and the other night, Kathy Dawn, now known as K.D. Lang, was at the Sony Centre where I went to see her.

I have to say - the concert was not my favourite, didn't hold a candle to Bonnie Raitt for warmth. It turned out the tour was to celebrate the 25th anniversary of her album "Ingenue," which is full of moody young woman songs. It took an hour before she warmed up and began to sing something lively. She was barefoot, wearing a most unflattering square suit, looking like Wayne Newton. (When I told Carol that, she exclaimed, "I saw her a few years ago and thought exactly the same thing - K.D. is turning into Wayne Newton!")

Many people in the audience were ecstatic, however. Canadian audiences are starting to become an embarrassment, I have to say. If an actor actually remembers his lines - if a singer like K.D. holds a note longer than normal - people explode into rapturous applause and even standing ovations. Phooey.

Okay, enough, crabby old lady, on this stunning day. Yesterday I went with Anna and the boys to the beach near Sunnyside - we ate at the restaurant on the boardwalk, our summer ritual, and played in the sand. Oh little boys and water and sand, nothing better to watch. Now there's the chip chip chip of the cardinal - time to fill the bird feeder. Wayson is having a little nap on the deck, the willow is swaying in the breeze, and life does not get much better than this.