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A conference hangover - moving very slowly today. Luckily it's a stunning day so I can move slowly outside, listening to birds. Wayson is here. He has been asking to take me to dinner to repay the meals he's eaten here, and I called him and said, Today's the day.

People have been sending me ecstatic emails about the conference and there are lots of postings on FB. Best of all, we had a fantastic farewell event here last night, a dinner with champagne and lots of toasting and rehashing of key moments. We like each other really a lot; they are just fine fine people, a great group, a pleasure to be with. And we created something powerful and fine for more than a hundred others; that means a lot.

I spent the morning transcribing my notes and will write more about specifics; I'd like to share some of the best thoughts and moments with you. But I'm still digging out after four intense days, and a nice man is waiting to take me to dinner. And then I have to get ready to teach Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. So, for now, some pictures and an email from Mary, who wrote, today, "I so enjoyed it all! It was exhilarating and it was a special bonus to spend more time with you, sharing stories and our craft. Beth, thank you so much for all the work you put into this weekend and mentoring your many students (this one in particular). The confidence to celebrate my efforts by sharing them with others last night was wholly due to the encouragement and guidance you have provided. Grazie mille."

You could not be more welcome, dear friend.

Patty, who took my course years ago, with Margaret and Mary, who are working with me still. This is in the great Hogwarts-like hall where we had dinner and the Saturday cabaret.

The old bag introducing Dinty Moore.

When I got home Friday, completely spent, there was a letter in the mailbox addressed to Glamma. It was from Eli, hoping I'd had a good weekend and asking when he could come over to play. "I love you," it ended. I showed it to my colleagues at dinner here last night, saying, "I just spent four days with some of the most gifted authors in the country, and this is the best piece of writing I've ever read."

Not a sentimental bone in my body.

PS A post on the CNFC website just came in: "Great conference. Exceeded my expectations. Fabulous presenters. Came away thinking about writing, and life, in a very different and inspired way. Thanks everyone!"

U of T and Ryerson courses are both a go.

I will write more about the CNFC conference when I've had time to ponder and process. So very much to process. The main thing for today is that not one single thing went wrong. It all worked and was magical.

But more importantly, right now, I'd like to trumpet this: BOTH COURSES ARE A GO. And there is still room in both.

Life Stories I at U of T starts tomorrow at 12.30 in the OISE building, and True to Life starts Wednesday at 6.30 p.m. in the VIC building at Ryerson. Please get in touch if you have questions. I will be bubbling with excitement because of all I learned this weekend. A good time guaranteed. Hard work, but good.

conference high

10.15 Saturday night and I feel as if I'm emerging from a long tunnel. A long beautiful stimulating life-changing fabulous exhausting tunnel.

The 14th Annual Canadian Creative Nonfiction Collective's conference is nearly over - my bit IS over, ended an hour ago. Tomorrow morning there's the AGM, then a literary walk around the Annex, and then I've invited the conference committee and board members to my house to decompress - and to drink the bottle of Veuve Cliquot Kirsten kindly bought for us.

It was a triumph. It was fantastic, all of it, the presenters, the venue, the down time, the food - but mostly, what was discussed and the people who discussed it. I don't know how we did it, but the most fascinating warm clever knowledgeable writers, one after the other, came to speak to us. My notebook is so full, I don't know how I'll ever transcribe all I have in there. But I'll try.

Cannot write more or my head will explode. Here's something the wonderful Elizabeth Renzetti said to us today: "The voice is your head is an asshole."

And other words of wisdom.

I connected with loads of former and current students, including Hyacinth, who took my course at least 20 years ago and told me I changed her life. This beautiful woman is a grandmother many times over, believe it or not, and she wrote a story, at least 20 years ago, about making love in an elevator, that is with me still.

On my bucket list.

And now to bed. More anon. It was so so so so so so so so so worth it.

onward!

 A post from a summery Toronto before I vanish into Conferenceland in a few hours:

It's my daughter's 37th birthday today, and I won't see her until next week. I'd considered various presents for this kind, generous woman, but what she wants, especially this birthday, is money. Since getting her driver's license in January she has been happily renting cars on the weekends and scooting about town, so last weekend, when the only vehicle left was a truck, she took it and chauffeured her family to the country. At one point there, she backed up using only the truck's internal camera rather than also looking out the back window. Mistake - there was a storage container behind the truck the camera couldn't see - big crunch. Big big crunch. And it turns out her credit card company "does not cover luxury vehicles or trucks."

So what she's getting this birthday is money.

My son, too, had an accident - playing baseball with his new team on Sunday, he twisted his ankle, which is swollen, black and blue. It's only a sprain but he won't be able to work for a week. Luckily, the last time this happened, about a decade ago, he was given a special crutch for someone 6'8", and I kept it. So his special tall crutch is here waiting for him. The trouble with Swedish death cleaning: it means you probably shouldn't keep your son's special tall crutch for ten years in case he needs it again.

And then, something happened to me. I met with a former student yesterday, who's a successful editor now retired and learning, with trepidation, how to become a writer. I asked if she'd read my memoir and comment, and if she liked it, possibly mention it to a publisher. My fantasy: she'd say, I adore this book, don't touch a word, I have contacted all my friends in publishing and said, you MUST publish this.

You know where this is going, don't you? That is not what she said. She had many things to say, but none of them were about getting the book in its current form published. I have to digest what happened, which will take awhile, because I'm always ready to hear negative things about my work. So now I don't know if she's right and I need to start the book all over again, throwing away two years of work, or if I need to ignore her. Or something else. No idea.

Yesterday, my friend Judy, now Acting President of the Canadian Creative Nonfiction Collective, arrived from Vancouver and came for dinner. We sat outside on the deck, still hot at 7 p.m., and while we ate, I watched a pair of sparrows mating on my neighbour's roof. Every day the garden is more green, more full of life exploding.

We're a bit battered today, here in this corner of the world, but full of life too.

PS I just sent Anna a text: Happy Birthday you wonderful glorious woman.

And she wrote back, "Thank you to the wonderful glorious woman who brought me into the world and survived raising me! I am eternally grateful to you for always being my biggest supporter in literally every way. I love you so much Mum." Heart emoji.

I think I'll make it through the day.

U of T course Life Stories I is a go!

Good news, students: my U of T course is a go. A small but valiant band will start meeting Tuesday May 8 at 12.30. Please get in touch if you want more information. So far, my Ryerson class is still capped at 12, but I'm hoping they will find us a larger room. If not - if you really want to take my course this term - there's room at U of T! Come on over.

It's incredible outside. As usual, we went from winter to summer in seven and a half minutes. It's 28 degrees out there, stunning, very hot. I just went to the basement to try to find some sandals, and the great wardrobe transfer has begun - woolies out, sleeveless tops in. But it'll get cold again, and then we'll be confused, not knowing what to wear. But then it'll be hot for good.

Right now I'm waiting for my soup to be delivered. This is something new - a Cabbagetown restaurant is experimenting with making two different kinds of soup a week and, for $9, delivering them to your door on Tuesdays and Saturdays. I'm going to try today only and see how it feels. I think it will probably feel pretty damn good to have soup appear magically on my doorstep. Even if 28 degrees is warm for soup.

Yesterday, I took the gentle art of Swedish death cleaning to heart and started. Anna's friend Nicole came to help. She's invaluable - I talk to myself, I pick things up and question whether I need them, and then if I hand them to her, they vanish. If she puts them outside, they disappear in seconds, it's magic. I tidied one small section of the living room, that's all, but it's a start. My GOD there's a lot of stuff in this house. Horrifying. But then, it's not just my lifetime's accumulation, it's my parents' and grandparents' and even a great-aunt or two.

Mostly, these days are about preparing for the conference, which will hit with a vengeance on Thursday and take over until Sunday night - total immersion in creative non-fiction. Many emails are flowing. Much planning is happening. And in the middle of it all, my daughter turns 37. I will not be celebrating with her this year, at least, not on the day. Another day, to honour her 37 years on this earth and my 37 years as her mother.

There's a New Yorker cartoon I love - a woman is watering a couple of little plants and a man is saying, "Do you think we'll ever regret having two plants and a bowl of pebbles instead of children?"

Yes. The answer is yes.

P.S. Curried zucchini soup. To eat outside on the deck in the sun with some fresh Blackbird Bakery sourdough and a salad. The air is full of birdsong and the trees of buds. Yes yes yes.