in which Beth feels sorry for herself

It's early morning, I was up at 6.45, and I'm going to complain today, for no reason other than sometimes I need to mewl. Sometimes life feels overwhelming. There's the stuff going on out there - the election, which fills me with fear. I have an NDP sign, but after Singh's performance in the debate, his relentless hounding of Trudeau without presenting viable alternatives, I'm ordering a Liberal one too. Brian Chang is a good candidate, but so is the Liberal Marci Ien, and yet again, I want to make sure the Cons do not get in and destroy the country. 

Okay, so there's that. There's the increasing fear of the 4th wave of the pandemic, the heartrending memorials for 9/11, the disgusting Republican party eviscerating democracy, the climate inferno we have unleashed on our planet.

Okay, that too, and so much more.

And then there's my little life. I'm overwhelmed by all I have to do and do not get done. The list of what I've not read or watched or listened to - or travelled to - is endless. What am I doing wrong? 

Sometimes I think: the garden is nearly a full time job; I could spend the day doing nothing but that. I'm looking out right now and seeing everything that needs to be done. Keeping fit and healthy is nearly a full time job, one I've fallen behind in due to the pandemic, though in fact, gardening does help with that; two birds etc. The house, maintaining an old four-story house, keeping the fridge filled and food on the table, is nearly a full time job. Teaching is my actual job. Reading is my job. Being a landlady is my job. Tending my personal life - family and friends - is another vital job. 

But now, I am also spending time working with my dear champion Ron on a marketing campaign for my memoir, fighting my own instincts all the way. Because I hate all that "Buy this!" stuff. I'm trying to post regularly on Instagram and FB. I write here. 

What is last on this list? My own writing. Sitting at my desk thinking and delving and working. Where to fit that in? And ... really, why bother? So few people have read my books. Why do I keep going? 

Because I have no choice. It's what I do. 

I'm 71. How much time do I have left? How can I do all these jobs and still write? There was an essay by Ann Patchett in the NYT yesterday, in which she mentions that she never wanted to have children; she knew she couldn't have a family and write. Unthinkable to me. Some writers do manage families and great success as writers; Carol Shields did. Time management, that must be the key. Being rigorous about how to apportion the hours. 

Rigour is not, has never been, my strong point.

All right, enough mewling, pull back, girl. You've managed to write a few books and articles and keep the bank account steady and the house running. And yourself too, you're in pretty good shape so far for 71, don't forget that. Your daughter wrote from Nova Scotia; she and her kids are in heaven and she thanked you for helping make their joyful voyage possible. People email about the books; not many, but appreciative readers are out there. Your words matter. And your students too seem to enjoy what you offer. 

So it's time to eat some breakfast and make a list of what to get done today. Celebrate what is rather than what isn't. Do what you can. Get on with it. 

You understand that if I had a spouse, I'd be telling all this to him or her. So today you are my spouse. Thank you for listening. Moving right along. 

Brava Leyla Fernandez!

First, a reader sent nice words about the memoir. I had a chance to read Loose Woman via the Toronto Public on ebook - and would like to buy a copy, please. I really enjoyed the book. I think you captured elements of growing up as a woman that really spoke to me and I will be glad to have the book in my hands as a record of a certain time and place, and people/mindsets ... I am so happy I read it.

Thank you, dear reader! 

Second, the dentist yesterday had nice words about my gums. "You have great oral hygiene," he said, after poking about, "your gums are tender and pink. No blood. Amazing."

Good gums! What a triumph. My secrets are: Soft-Picks, every night in bed while I read. And I keep floss in a nice box near the TV and when something long is on, I floss. Never do just one thing when you can do two. 

Thanks, Beth, I hear you say, for sharing your fascinating oral hygiene secrets with us.

Meanwhile, the gut doctor called; he says the CT scan shows the inflammation/ infection has cleared up and his advice is to leave well enough alone. He says, if I lived or were going somewhere isolated, he'd suggest taking the appendix out pre-emptively, but since I live in a city and usually travel to them, if it recurred, I'd be able to get help fast enough. But he does not think it'll recur.

Famous last words?

I went to Toronto Lynn's again for another glorious swim and dinner and got stung on the arm by a wasp. It has lingered for days, swollen and itchy. Those nasty buggers mean business.

Teaching has started on Zoom, so summer is officially over. I don't know where the hot season has gone, but I'm glad to be back at work.

And last night, as if to counter all the dreadful things going on in the world, like this ill-timed and ill-conceived election that threatens to give us O'Toole, a wolf in sheep's clothing, CANADIANS REMEMBER HARPER AND BEWARE! Plus Afghanistan, wildfires, floods, Americans hurtling into Fascism and the 19th century, and of course a tiny virus that is wreaking havoc everywhere - as if to make us forget all that for a few minutes, there's Leyla Fernandez. 

I used to watch tennis only with my mother and Do, who were avid tennis fans as most Brits are, but last night, I had to watch the US Open. That young woman is phenomenal! A sliver of a girl who looks twelve faced an opponent 5 foot 11 with huge arms - and beat her. It was incredible. It was heart-lifting. And afterwards, immediately after playing for nearly two and a half hours, she was interviewed centre court and spoke with generosity and genuine warmth. 

How I wished Mum and Do were watching. Maybe they were. 

I turned to the leaders' debate for seven seconds. No. Watching those guys piling on to each other with blame and angry recrimination - no. I gather Annamie did well, but hers is a lost cause. It's so depressing and scary. 

Here's a fantasy - this is a theatre set I saw in a magazine. I'd like it to be built at the end of my very long backyard and maybe I'd live there one day. 

Tonight I drank red wine, not rosé, and am wearing a fleece. It's getting colder. The garden is beginning to close down, in its gentle way. But still, the sun shines, and we've got a long way to go before it's cold. 

I heart Nova Scotia

Today is the yahrzeit, the anniversary of the death of my beloved uncle Edgar Kaplan. Always missed.

More old people stuff: just talked to my bank manager Dave, an old friend, about the necessity of turning my RRSP into a RIF. B/c old. Also, put the skin tag stuff on. It's like wart remover. Hope it works.

Oh, the indignities of 71. But, as they say, far, far better than the alternative.

What joy this fine morning, a picture of the 2 boys in their home for this month, setting off to find shells. They came running back, their mother wrote me, because they saw a shark. Lots of sharks in the Northumberland Straight! When I found out exactly where they are, my heart constricted; by chance Anna has rented a cabin very near Toney River, where my parents rented a cabin for us every summer when I was very young. The name is mythic to me. It's as if my daughter has been drawn home. Is love of Nova Scotia genetic? Perhaps. 

Labour Day and Canadian tennis stars

Labour Day - brisk no nonsense weather, warm with an undertone of warning = perfect. Friends and family are on the road. Anna spent Saturday packing while the boys and Holly came here to play. I rode to the Eaton Centre to get 9-year old Eli a warm jacket; he's so tall, I bought size 11-12, which only just fits. Ben is interested in money. "How much money do you have, Glamma?" he asked. "Enough to live on, Ben," I said. "You mean, like, $400?" he gasped. It reminded me of when 4-year old Eli told me he was going to marry a girl in his class and I asked him how old he thought he'd be. He considered. "8," he replied.

If only we could hang onto that sweet vagueness about numbers, the world would be a better place.

Anna left extremely early Sunday morning with the boys loaded up in the back and made it by 4 p.m to New Brunswick, to a motel with a pool. For dinner, she found an Indigenous-owned restaurant that served lobster rolls and poutine, and today she made it to Nova Scotia. So we know Anna is in heaven.

My friends Kevin and Donna arrived from Nova Scotia in the midst of all this to spend the weekend; they'd driven the other way to visit one of their sons and his family in Toronto. Kevin's mother became one of my mother's dearest friends in the fifties, so Kevin and I have known each other for decades, though we lost touch for some time as he lives in rural Nova Scotia. We did a lot of talking all weekend. And eating. And drinking. Last night we watched the US Open tennis, the amazing young Canuck Felix Auger Aliassime in a titanic battle with an American. Our boy won, and so did another even younger Canadian girl. Woo hoo! My mother and her sister Do loved tennis and were glued to the set during Wimbledon and every other series. Federer forever.

K and D left this afternoon, and I went to the drugstore for old people stuff - anti-aging serum and skin tag remover. The L'Oréal serum promises that instantly "skin feels more plump, supple, and looks smoother," and in 1 week, "Youthful, bouncy feel returns, skin is visibly refreshed, looks well-rested and glowing with moisture." Stay tuned, my friends. Soon I'll be as youthful and bouncy as Eli and Ben. 

On another front, this from an American magazine to which I'd sent an essay: Thanks for sending us 'Secret.' We're sorry to say this submission isn't right for us. This isn't a reflection on your writing. The selection process is highly subjective, something of a mystery even to us. There's no telling what we'll fall in love with, what we'll let get away.

Writing is hard work, and writers merit some acknowledgment. This note doesn't speak to that need. Please know, however, that we've read your work and appreciate your interest in the magazine.

We wish you the best in placing your writing elsewhere.

Isn't that sweet - "let get away"? Where shall I send it next? 

Here, two iterations of a photo taken on Friday, Beth with one of her great loves - which do you prefer?

Picture a Scientist

I keep saying things like, "He'll back back in September," and people reply, "It IS September." How did it get to be September? I have no idea. But it certainly feels like fall already - the minute the month changed, the weather cooled. It's going to be 8 degrees tonight!

Busy. Today, hours with Rose Napoli, my new social media assistant, taking photographs of yours truly, trying to get a good shot, and then a little film of me talking about the book. Not sure what for, but we'll see.

A bouquet of books.

Last night, watched Picture a Scientist, a fascinating doc about the shocking sexism facing women in science. I thought of my dad, who late in life became a feminist. I Googled and this came up: 

WISEST (Women in Scholarship, Engineering, Science & Technology) began in 1982, when Dr. Gordin Kaplan, then University of Alberta Vice-President (Research), noted that of the 150 attendees at a seminar on microprocessors, only one of the participants was a woman. With the help of fellow engineers, educators and academics, Dr. Kaplan formed what is now known as WISEST. And, for more than 35 years, we have continued our commitment to empowering women who are interested or want to seek out opportunities in underrepresented fields, specifically in science, engineering, and technology (STEM).

Bravo Dad! But before that, though he had huge respect for colleagues and friends like Dr. Ursula Franklin, it's possible he was as sexist as all the rest.

Last night, the season finale of The Good Fight. I'm not one for American network series, but this show is provocative and quirky, very enjoyable. I'm reading Leaving is not the hardest thing but may abandon. It's pretty rough going. Many many books on my list.

I'm ready for the long weekend, in that I rode to the LCBO yesterday and bought five bottles of rosé and a white; lots of red already in stock for the colder weather. Anna is leaving at 4 a.m. Sunday to drive to Nova Scotia in a rented car, the boys loaded up in the backseat with headphones, devices, and snacks. So my grandsons are coming over tomorrow to give their mum time to pack. Funny, friends who've driven here from Nova Scotia are coming to stay in the basement suite for the weekend. So it'll be busy. 

Right now, silence. Just me and my rose.