vaccine article in today's Globe

What a joyful start to the new year: my article in the Globe about my father's polio, the Salk vaccine, and the issue of vaccine hesitancy, with a plea to anti-vaxxers. Hope it makes a difference. I'm happy it appeared on a Saturday with other vaccine articles. Just sorry they did not print the photograph to go with it. So I'll share it here.

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/article-my-father-was-thrilled-when-the-polio-vaccine-was-discovered-hed-be/

People have been sending messages since early morning, via email and text and on FB and Twitter. Thanks to you all! As Chris said, There is nothing like scientific experience to gainsay the opinions of those who think they know better through rumour and prejudice. 

I think everyone knows someone who is embracing ignorance and darkness these days. It's a wonderful thing to light candles.

Yes to candles. And as Jason texted, "Great work. Now do more." Yes sir!

Watched a wonderful documentary on NYEve: My Octopus Teacher. How to fall in love with an octopus - turns out it's easy, we viewers do too. Loved it. Highly recommended.

Today, my first piano lesson since March. There will be pain. 

May 2021 bring you health and fulfillment and many steps forward. Much love.

2020, a reflection

New Year's Eve. To celebrate, I just opened a fine bottle of Spanish cab sauv and took some of my sauce out of the freezer, for a favourite feast of spaghetti and wine - carbs forever! Maybe I'll watch Soul or one of the many other films I haven't seen yet - Bridgerton, Crip Camp, My Octopus Teacher. And I'll read some of the three books I have on the go - "Braiding Sweetgrass," "150 Glimpses of the Beatles," and a library book, procured yesterday, "Writing after dark: envy, fear, distraction, and other dilemmas in the writer's life."

Gosh. Wonder why she's reading THAT?

Good news: my vaccine essay will be in the Globe on Saturday, and the pay is handsome. It means so much! A big yes to my writing and thought after a long series of no's. Though not from readers, who continue to say nice things about "Loose Woman." Like Lori on Goodreads, who gave it five stars:

A fantastic journey of self discovery that all can relate to. Well written, funny, sad, heart warming. I couldn’t put it down!

And Barbara, an actress:

I ordered the audiobook (my first!) thinking it would be nice to hear your voice reading your own words, and I was right! I enjoyed it so much, for many reasons. There was a lovely flow to the narrative - Big congratulations!

Thank you both!

What a year, overshadowed by two shitshow disasters, Covid and Trump. American politics in general, the endless lead up to the election, the endless rollout of the results, ye gods, this speedy nation is so @$#@ slow at some things! The omnipresent Zoom making so much possible in isolation - the National Theatre Live, Hamilton, board meetings, classes, webinars, exercise classes, friendship - Zoom kept us going. Neighbourhood - all spring, banging pots at 7 for frontline workers. A certain blogger turning 70, yes 70, no, simply not possible, yet it's true. The birth, at last, of "Loose Woman" in its various forms. 

Anna feeding Indigenous elders, heroically keeping two hyperactive boys busy at home almost all year; Sam, the Second Best Bartender in all Toronto. The fact that so far, despite isolation, risk, and paranoia, my loved ones and I are not only alive but relatively sane. And obviously you are too. Congratulations!!

I feel guilty saying it, because countless people have suffered so grievously this year, loss of loved ones, work, security. But for me, I confess, it was not that hard. I missed a lot - travel with Bruce, gathering with family and friends, the Y, movies, plays, shopping. But I'm a single woman and a writer; solitude is in my DNA. The loss of all those things made me focus, hunker down with fewer possibilities for distraction, though of course there's always the long dark rabbit hole of social media, which I fall down on a regular basis. But no question, it's going to be a long winter. I'm sick of it already, and it's barely begun.

I've continued the excavation of the mountains of paper left by my mother and my own lifetime of scribbles; yesterday, I unearthed the bill for my birth from the Polyclinic on West 50th in NYC - $135-$80=$55, a steal! Of course, that's US. 

And more treasures, including this, a portrait  of me by one of my children, who did not like to be awakened in the morning and accused me of torture by cheerfulness. 

 Guilty as charged. 

I hope wherever you are, whatever you're doing, there is joy, and peace, and comfort, and perhaps even a cheerful face smiling at you, with, however, better teeth. My love to you. Happy New Year!

remembering Jeffrey Dallas in the silence

Still exploring my new CD player, have started to organize the CDs, just went from Pergolesi's Stabat Mater, a huge favourite, to the Neville Brothers, to Beethoven cello sonatas. I thought at one point, all these Neville Brothers songs sound the same, and then I realized I had inadvertently pressed Repeat. I WAS listening to the same song. 

Yesterday, I did not talk to a single soul. Texts and emails, music and work, Jane's class and tons of leftovers; I did not feel lonely. But it was a quiet day. Today Gina's back and there was line dancing. I am figuring out what to write next. Have not been outside once, but have spent more time in my office in the last few days than for months before. Exploring old files, seeing again how very much I wrote and did nothing with, never sent out essays about divorce and single parenting, poems about AIDS, dated now. If only I'd had more confidence. Regret.

The day before yesterday, I read a snarky, condescending review of Macca's latest album in the New Yorker; furious, I found the critic's Twitter page and discovered a link, posted by another angry reader, to a terrific article about how Macca is still underestimated, why he is, why he should not be. A kindred spirit! I found the writer Ian Leslie's email address and wrote him a letter of appreciation and a few hours later, he wrote back. The miracles of modern technology.

https://ianleslie.substack.com/p/64-reasons-to-celebrate-paul-mccartney?utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=email&utm_source=email 

Newly inspired, I spent yesterday morning writing a letter to editor of the New Yorker complaining about the review. It's fun to send something to the New Yorker, even if there's no chance in hell of it seeing the light of day. In a few weeks, I'll share it with you. 

Those sonatas were just too much Beethoven for me. Now listening to a lovely Canadian group of women: "Quartette." 

New Year's wishes and kind words from a former student, an engineer originally from Iran and a fine, sensitive writer. 

Thanks for all your guidance and support over the last couple of years. I will always have a special appreciation for you, who gave me the courage, direction and the support I needed to step into an unknown and somewhat scary world of writing. You are a very good teacher, an understanding and open minded person, and above all a kind and caring human being.

My thanks to him. Good to read. Teaching starts in two weeks - three different Zoom classes, all different. A new challenge. 

And that's it for today: music, leftovers - Christmas dinner for lunch, turkey soup for supper - melting snow, a neat stack of CDs behind me. A bluegrass banjo. 

Here's my poem from long ago about my friend Jeffrey Dallas, who died of AIDS. What a nightmare time that was - the last truly murderous plague, before this one.

Boxing Day recap: lovely but moving right along

It's a grey Boxing Day and I'm in my office, listening to one of my favourite pieces of music, Borodin's exquisite string quartet No. 2 in D. I'm able to listen here because yesterday my son gave me a portable CD player for my office. He also gave me a small portable Bluetooth speaker that's now remotely connected to my computer, so I can carry music with me wherever I go. AND he gave me Macca's new album, now top of the charts everywhere, which is available on Spotify but nice to have in physical form. 

One of my great regrets, for years, is that I haven't listened to enough music except what's on CBC. Somehow the CDs were always in one room and the player was in another, or I was; the only CD player is also a radio in the kitchen, where CBC is almost always on. And I'm new to Spotify, it just doesn't occur to me to log in and have a selection of anything I want and to cart my computer about the house. But now I will be able go through my many CDs as I work here and then cart a little speaker around the house. 

One thing I learned from my brilliant uncle Edgar in New York is that music is company. Especially after he was widowed, his great, beloved, constant companion was Johann Sebastian Bach. And that may be the case for me also; right now, in my house, it's just me and Borodin. My tastes are more eclectic than my uncle's and include the Everly Brothers who I just listened to while trying to move my body. 

Which is a necessity because of the feast of yesterday and the giant pile of leftovers I just had for lunch. Massive. The brussels, a new recipe with pistachios, were hard and bitter, and the turkey was a bit overcooked, but the gravy was delicious so no one cared. Leftovers went home with the gang and I'll be eating them for days.

It was the best Xmas yet for our merry crew. Perhaps because of lowered expectations, perhaps because we were so aware of how lucky we were to be together, to be well and housed and fed, and also because I the hostess was relaxed, I'd had time to get everything ready, so there was no last minute rush. It snowed overnight so the garden was stunning, with the icy hush of a thick new snowfall. 

A quiet morning listening to the Messiah as I prepared. The gang arrived in the early afternoon, we opened presents, we ate a huge meal...

they had a snowball fight, 

and we lay around in a stupor except of course the boys who rocketed through the house with the walkie-talkies I'd given them, chased by Uncle Sam; we had a long FaceTime talk with my ex their dad in the States and his family, and then they packed a vast amount of stuff into Anna's rented car and went home. I finished the cleanup, though the wonderful Holly had done all the dishes, and watched Call the Midwife's Xmas special, which was sublime as always and made me - as always - cry. One big plot point, beautifully handled, was the grief of miscarriages - how women were encouraged just to move on briskly and never think about that vanished human life again, but that women do. I am grateful to have had a miscarriage in November 1983, because otherwise my Sam, conceived in January 1984, would not be. But those losses do haunt us.

Weeping happily on the sofa - the perfect end to the day. 

Anna gave me framed family portraits that will go up on the wall. Friends had delivered home baked goodies and cards. My cousin and other friends emailed, my brother texted. 

Now I am back in the kitchen late afternoon as it grows dark, drinking the rest of the nice bottle of Amarone from last night, a gift from my tenant Robin, and being kept company by the Bach violin partitas played by Itzhak on the little speaker at my ear. I will read "Braiding Sweetgrass," which I bought to give to Anna and will do so just as soon as I've finished reading it myself. It's a superb and important book, bringing Indigenous wisdom and scientific knowledge together in an evaluation of how we live in the world. 

Onward to the next pile-up of merriment, NYEve, and then into the new year with its new president, thank Christ, and its vaccine, ditto. They both can't come soon enough. 

Merry Everything

A quiet Xmas Eve, talking to no one - Monique is busy, Sam is resting, Anna is no doubt going mad preparing for her own Xmas after helping to prepare for 80 others. She and Holly came back yesterday morning to do the packing - we filled 80 containers with the cabbage casserole, she sliced two enormous hams, and somehow, along with 80 gift bags and two pans of mashed potatoes, we got it all into her small rental car. 

You know what I'm going to say: blessings. 

Got the last groceries and our 14-pound turkey from Mark the butcher. Annie came over with my Xmas present: an apron on which is written

As Sam said, "She gets you!" Yes, though there's more - I also run on coffee, peanut butter, bread, and cheese. The essentials. 

Today, still mild but grey and rainy, turning to snow overnight, they say. Did my one final errand, riding to Ben McNally Books for the gifts he brought in for me - the new David Sedaris anthology for Sam, two for Anna: "Braiding Sweetgrass" and the children's book "This is your time" by Ruby Bridges, and for the boys, "The Ickabog," by J.K. Rowling, which just came in this morning. What pleasure not just to give these delicious books, but to buy them from dear Ben, who is such a friend to writers and has managed to keep his bookstore alive. 

Made the stuffing and finished wrapping, and now, 3 p.m., a long quiet day. No Xmas pageant at the Farm tonight. When I think back, I cannot imagine how I did it for years - the whole Xmas thing here, buying and decorating the tree, buying and wrapping the presents, filling the stockings, buying and preparing the feast - and producing the pageant on Xmas Eve as well. Well, I was younger then. 

Had the edits from the Globe, including one scientific fact that was completely wrong - thank the lord for editors! Three audiobooks sold - it's a (very small) start, I worry about that, the fate of my book. More kind words from readers: from Lori, "Your book touched my heart and soul. I loved it. My book club is discussing 'Gilead' and I thought your book with 'Gilead' made a perfect combo for reflecting on one's life." 

Wow - to be linked in any way with Marilynne Robinson is a huge honour. And from Jessica, "I devoured it, honest and courageous, and of course, funny." Thanks to you both.

On my way back from Ben's I rode up Sherbourne, where there are several shelters, homeless encampments, and safe injection sites. And then passed the centre in Regent's Park which distributes food - a long silent lineup. It was a confrontation with human misery at a time of celebration. My friends, this year has been brutal for so many. Some of us have evaded the danger so far; many of us have not. And many of us are so very wounded, pandemic or not. Let us be aware of everything we have to be grateful for - so very much - and think of the needs of our neighbours. 

For the rest of today, I will read as much of "Braiding Sweetgrass" as I can before wrapping it - perhaps watch something later. Solitude is also a gift, particularly as tomorrow there will be noise and paper and much food. Much wine and chocolate. 

Merry Everything to you all.