Sunday doldrums

Was lying on the kitchen floor this afternoon at the start of Jane Ellison's Zoom class when the storm began - an instant flood of rain, a crack of thunder, violent and loud. Ran around shutting all the windows and worrying about the downspouts. Now the air is sweet and fresh, and everything is watered. Hooray.

On Friday, across town by TTC - people mostly masked but some defiantly not - to Ben's fifth birthday party with just a few of his friends. Usually Anna has invited half the planet; it's amazing how much easier it is with 4 from one family. There was, however, as always, a delicious meal and then chocolate ice cream cake. I gave Ben a blue ukulele.

That night, I started to watch Amadeus from the National Theatre but didn't like it much, too much busy melodramatic talking through the divine music. I have very fond memories of the play, which I, pregnant with Anna, saw in New York on New Year's Eve of 1981 with her father. She started to kick for the first time during the show; I thought that meant she'd love classical music. That turned out not to be the case.

Instead of Amadeus, I watched another episode about Macca. Yes I did. Music also divine. "Frank Sinatra's party" - another toe-tapping Macca earworm, I cannot get it out.
https://www.google.com/searchq=frank+sinatra%27s+party&oq=fran&aqs=chrome.0.69i59j0j69i57j46l2j69i60l3.1467j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8

Yesterday, Saturday,  I have no idea what happened. Oh yes, Jean-Marc came over with fresh scones and we had coffee on the deck, and later Monique invited me for dinner on her porch with an old friend of hers. And in between I sat in my office, where now the door can be wide open because of John's screen. And I did something there, though what is a mystery. Sorted. Moved paper around.

Oh, also, I had a long talk on the phone with my son about an issue that arose between us. How grateful I am that he's a man who TALKS. Who's honest and brings thing up, which allows the air to be cleared.

I had a long list of things to do today and did almost none of them. Truly, I have no idea what happens during the hours between rising and going to bed. I make lists and ignore them. There are newspapers and New Yorkers and books to read, and food prep and cleanup and gardening, of course, watering and pruning, and ... A bit of piano, perhaps a walk or a bike ride, emailing and FB, and then it's bedtime. Really? You're soon going to be 70 and that's all you accomplish in a day? How much longer do you think you have on this earth, to diddle around this way?

Mary Trump has done the planet a great service. Her uncle is disintegrating. Imagine, at last, the virus is something he can't lie or buy away. Though God knows, he's going to try.

It's so quiet out now, at dusk, under a pewter sky tinged with pink. Barely a sound, a blessing. The air smells of summer after a storm.

Tomorrow is Monday. Tomorrow I'll tackle the list and get things done. Yes I will.

A recent Zoom screenshot selfie. Look at the depth of that line between the eyes; how I wish I could erase it. What I fear most, however, is wattles. Alzheimer's, and wattles. In that order.

A better selfie:

the deep water test

Before everything, the best news: Ben wanted to take the deep water test, almost exclusively for older kids, at the public open air pool where they swim. That's 50 metres of uninterrupted swimming. Ben is small for his age which, until tomorrow, is four. He passed. They are forces of nature, both of them. Bravo, young man.

Showing their pool armbands, with a mouth full of Goldfish. Would you want to take on this level of tough determination? Good thing their mother is tougher.

A blessedly gloomy day with sprinklings of rain, just what the doctor ordered. The air smells of everything good in the cool damp. Gratitude.

On Tuesday, I Zoom taught the group of last term's U of T students who've continued to meet and want my feedback. And then to the farmer's market at Riverdale Farm, opening for the first time this summer with new rules: line up to enter, walk only one way, wear masks, squirt hands. Lots of lovely stuff including a middle Eastern couple selling hummus and spicy flatbreads. Very glad to be there again.

Two huge treats on Wednesday - first, out to the Beach, carrying my bike on the TTC, to visit my beloved Annie and her husband Jim, who've just moved to a rental house near the boardwalk. It's the perfect place for them, a charming house with tons of light and a huge deck filled already with Annie's plantings. She and I rode our bikes to Ashbridge's Bay, to the secret beach she knows of there, for a swim in the cool waters of Lake Ontario, and then back to the house for lunch on the deck. A dear friend happily settled; a lovely time together. A swim.

Home again on the TTC, where almost everyone is in a mask but there are a few die-hards without, including a marginalized women shouting about a grave injustice from 1974. She should write a memoir, I thought, as I moved far away.

And then Jason came at 5 for both a personal and a professional visit. Anyone who's been to my reading series So True knows Jason, the cheerful M.C. He was my student more than a decade ago and has been a dear friend ever since, and now, I've hired him as my media/tech/future projects consultant, to help guide me through the social media/online maze. Jason is in his early forties, so the ideal in-between age - not as old as I so savvy about these things, but not as young as my previous assistants, in their twenties, who couldn't understand why I didn't understand. Jason didn't grow up with social media but he's comfortable with it, so he's half way between me and the kids. Ideal.

But yesterday, there was also something horrible. I got embroiled against my better judgement in a battle on FB, once more writing in support of J.K. Rowling, and was slapped in the face by the way issues are handled there. I realized finally - I'm out of my league. I am not used to ranting battles taking place publicly and with such unbridled vitriol. Devastating. I withdrew and deleted what I'd said, which was me trying to be reasonable, urging people to look at both sides - that's not how things are done there. I felt physically assaulted. Never again.

But yes, Juliet, I am still on FB. It's an addiction, like cocaine, and I love it. I can follow the lives of many of my friends in real time, read various newspapers, follow many writers' websites, learn stuff I didn't know. It's just important not to engage with the mob of woke banshees. I hardly ever post my own stuff, though I repost a lot. But I love to read.

Today's interest was a FaceTime consultation with Arlene who runs the Backyard Urban Farm Co. I held my phone up in the veg garden to show her the squash and the raspberries. She suggested cutting back the many big leaves of the squash so the pollinators can find their way in and improving my soil all round. Compost! Micro-organisms! I felt like a schoolgirl faced with her expertise - but then, in the garden, I am.

And then John arrived with a screen. There's a door in my office that for decades has had to be kept closed because it doesn't have a screen and I don't want birds and bugs flying in. I asked John about a solution, and a day later there he was with a Bugs-Out screen with a magnetized opening that he stapled to the door frame. A $50 solution, giving me much more air and light. Hooray!

May you all be safe, wherever you are. May you be well and find air and light. May a good friend come over to help you figure out where you are now and where you want to go. May you have a cool refreshing swim and even, best of all, may you pass the deep water test.

"Jesus Christ, now what?"

How I love my friends and blog readers. Thank you all! After my last post, I got such lovely replies. Isobel's note made me laugh out loud.

Thinking of your latest blog post when I saw this: 

“I don't know about other people, but when I wake up in the morning and put my shoes on, I think, Jesus Christ, now what?” 
― Charles Bukowski 

He kind of nails it eh?

He certainly does. Me too, Charles, me too. (Met him when he came to Vancouver, fascinating reprobate that he was. He put the make on me, told me I reminded him of a young Lauren Bacall. Good line, buddy. I was having none of it.)

Carol wrote from Ecuador:

Take all those essays and make them into a book! You are a writer, a teacher, a thinker - a person who embraces life! There needs to be a record of all that - a collection of your essays - part of a lifelong endeavor in your craft, needs to be out there with your other works. Think of it as creating a healthy reading list for the future generations who will be studying your work once you are long gone.

I wrote back, Sure, an essay collection, just what the world is waiting for! But ... it's a good idea.

And Lani wrote from Ingersoll, Ontario:
Your blog today certainly coincided with my mood lately. I did NOTHING much for the past few weeks except berate myself for doing nothing. I blame the heat but I'm sure a lot of it is this isolation. You, on the other hand, are still doing tons of stuff - teaching, being a Glamma, a mom, a landlady, a friend, a writer and a musician. So relax, my Bethes. You are fine.

Thank you, dearly beloveds; it did me much good to hear from you today.

Other wonderful things that lifted my heart: I saw the goldfinch again! A few days ago he flashed by with his lemon yellow feathers and I thought he was just passing through, but he came back. And I think I saw his mate too. Lynn sent me a picture of what Mrs. Goldfinch looks like. Could she be more beautiful? Is it not a miracle that so many such creatures exist in this world? We must do everything we can to protect them. How can we protect them?

Speaking of beauty to protect, more pleasure today: a Zoom coaching session with a former Ryerson student, aged 27, a keen reader and writer raring to go. Love is.

This morning, a visit with old friends Anna and Tom, in for the day from Stratford. And tonight - be still my beating heart - I watched part of a five hour documentary about Macca. FIVE HOURS! I just watched the first two. It starts at the end of the Beatles and goes from there. Hard to believe how vicious the critics were about his first solo albums; Rolling Stone editor Jann Venner, a huge John fan, the villain here. They dismissed everything he did. And yet he persisted. The two conclusions of the doc: 1. He is a very nice man. 2. He is a musical genius.

Well, duh.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjjqUCvHNIs&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR1MGX0gkXAuYmh1SWDMw3LVDBNl689PuzR40O12fmq6wNJUlS4jIu1cxGg

Dusk, cool, quiet, the pale mauve phlox and orange lilies and white jasmine and purple clematis glowing in the fading light. A sole bird chirping. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, but - tomorrow I will wake up in the morning and come downstairs without shoes and drink coffee and say, "Jesus Chris, now what?" And something will happen.

moaning on Sunday

A lovely lovely day. And yet - what did I do? How is it now 6.30 p.m.? How is it now mid-July 2020? I do not understand time.

Okay, so I'm still alive and so are my family and friends, that's a big win. What should I have accomplished? Well - starting a new book, that's the big thing. Or a series of essays, or even one essay. Instead I've been reviewing the number of essays I've already written and wondering what should happen to them. I have no idea. So why write something new? No idea. I bought a year's subscription to Medium, an online magazine that accepts submissions, and have no idea how to proceed.

However, good news. Someone has rented the apartment downstairs for August, and now someone else for October on, at least for a few months, possibly for longer — a couple who sold their Cabbagetown house to move to the country and now miss the neighbourhood and the city so want a pied à terre in town. Could not be more perfect. Let's hope it actually happens.

So that's a huge relief.

Here I sit writing to you - I who have barely been outside these walls for weeks, no, months. An occasional sortie to the grocery store, that's about it. I did go to the veg garden first thing this morning with Q tip in hand, ready to pollinate my female squash plants, only - they're all male! I found one female flower and she had been devoured by something. It's a fraternity back there. I wrote to Backyard Urban Farm Co. and will book an online consult with them about squash and raspberries.

And while I'm at it, the birds have refused to eat the seed from my feeder for weeks. I cleaned it out and put in fresh seed - nope, they would not come back. It's like the Little Free Library - you attempt to do something for your neighbours but it costs. The Library, incidentally, is fine - the guy who used to steal all the books has moved on. But the missing birds - why, I ask, WHY?

Okay, so I've kept myself fed, and the house more or less clean, and I do exercise every so often, and the house runs, and the piano gets practiced a bit, and emails get answered, and yes, I'm teaching two courses via Zoom and working now with three editing clients. Picked my first perfect cucumber today, and many beans. But still - it's a whole day, 12 hours or so. What happens? I read articles about productivity all the time. But I am not productive.

I do, however, check FB and Twitter regularly, and the papers and the New Yorker. I am up to date with what's going on in the world. I think.

Oh, and yesterday I took a webinar from the Writer's Union of Canada about taxes for writers, which turned out to be taught by Tova Epp, a writing student from long ago, a lovely woman whom I remember fondly and who had lots of good advice about taxes.

In a few weeks I will be seventy. Is it time to roll the bottom of my trousers? Will the mermaids sing to me? I think being more productive involves lifting my bum out of this comfortable swivel kitchen chair with its view of the garden and going upstairs to my office. Aye, there's the rub.

sexing the squash

Again, today, blessed rain. After Wednesday's storm we went back to extreme heat, but there's relief today for both people and plants.

Nope - it's an hour later and it's hot sun again. Sun sun go away! More rain please.

Just talked to my son the bartender, who's back at work in a tense environment - they're very busy, distanced outside; he wears a mask (in the heat which feels with the humidity like 40 degrees), washes hands constantly, no menus, people order from their phones - they're doing their best. But a neighbour place just had a bunch of cases and had to shut down again. I've invited him for dinner, but if he comes, we will be sitting far apart.

On Thursday, spent the afternoon in my friend Lynn's sublime swimming pool that's like a little lake, sheltered by overhanging trees. On the crowded bus back, though, did not enjoy the company of so many of my fellow Torontonians, masks and all.

I've been enjoying online theatre -  the Apple family from the States, monologues from Britain - clever clever stuff being done by creative people using what tools they have, like YouTube and Zoom. Much admiration.

My daughter and I are battling about political correctness, the Harper's letter, and J.K. Rowling, on FB. We adore each other, but on FB, we are polar opposites duking it out in this public forum. An interesting modern dynamic.

Oh, and about the garden: my squash plants are enormous but there are no baby squash appearing. I went to Dr. Google - apparently I have to pollinate them myself. Using a Q-tip, I have to take pollen from the male plant and pollinate the female. Mon dieu - my squash are binary and cisgender. I want squash that can pollinate themselves!

I have no wise words today about pandemics, isolation, creativity, focus, social media, cancel culture, our poor neighbours to the south, our foolish PM's carelessness. On today's list: have sexual relations with squash, pray for rain. Busy busy busy.

PS Who knew these plants had such rigidly defined gender roles? I was just out sexing them, but I'll need to pollinate early in the morning; all the flowers are shut up tight. I'll harvest a few flowers to eat as well. Farmer Beth. Amazing.

Today's treat: Macca with two kittens and Martha my dear. He became a farmer too. I heart.