NEW DAYTIME WRITING CLASS

Dear any of my former students who follow this blog:

I've held an evening writing class in my home for at least a decade, strictly for people who've taken one of my courses at Ryerson or U of T. Some have been coming for years and are like family by now. There's a special joy to a home class, more informal and comfortable than one in a classroom, with the possibility of beverages, snacks and soft cushions, and in the mild weather, sitting in the garden.

I've decided to set up a day class for this term, to see what the demand is. 3 writers are already registered. It will run Tuesdays from 12.30 to 3, starting this coming Tuesday, October 5th, and continuing for 8 weeks, in my home in Cabbagetown.

This is a class that I hope to open to students who cannot, because of travel or work commitments, make a full eight week term, and yet want the structure and feedback of a class. Once I have enough people who are registered for the full term, I'll leave space for those who want to come when they can and pay as they go.

Please let me know if you'd like more information.

evening rhapsody, early fall

It's dusk - the sun is fading, the air is filled with birdsong, and I am eating cheese, drinking wine and looking out at the garden, still valiantly blooming, the gardenia like a white cream-puff stuck to a bush, the Rose of Sharon, impatiens and cosmos, the little pink roses and buddleia still going strong, and the geraniums (gerania? Bruce?) sturdy and bright. Some of the hostas are yellow and withered, and the maple trees in the city are turning, some now half blazing scarlet and half green. But the weather, now the rain has passed, is mild and sweet, and my ginger-gold apples are the best ever. What a glorious time of year.

I just left the house for my jogette - literally, five minutes around the block - and there, right at my gate, was a couple walking home with groceries, he with the little round cap and long top favoured by Muslim men, and she shrouded head to toe in black with dark eyes barely showing. I stood there in my sneakers, tank top and Spandex bottoms looking at her, she looking back at me from the 17th century. The wonders of our city.

I was going to go to a mayoral debate on the arts at the Art Gallery yesterday, mostly to have something fun to report to you. My guess is that I would have said that Smitherman knew more or less what he was talking about and Ford did not, and as for the others, who cares? But I stayed in and worked instead. And then watched Jon at 10, and simultaneously, the new "Law and Order - L.A." Phooey is what I say. I loved the old one with those weather-beaten New York cops and sets. Who wants to see more L.A.? Boring.

Another report from Ottawa, where my mother is still wrestling with her conflicts - on the one hand, the many advantages and safety of a residence, on the other, the misery of having to make decisions about and pack up five thousand pounds of stuff. We are no nearer a resolution, and so I continue to worry, long-distance, as she continues to live alone and not eat well.

The great thing about this crisis is that it's bringing me closer to my brother. He and I have never been close, for reasons having to do with our childhoods and temperaments and physical distance. But these days, we are talking often about our mother, and thus are also getting to know each other. Today he said that Mum recently showed him a huge packet of letters from a lover she'd had in the Fifties; she'd left my father for a while to live with the other man, and my brother and I stayed with Dad. I remember that horrible family crisis, as I was 6; he was only 3, a playful little boy with blonde curls. I told him that once, during that difficult, sad time, he set out to cheer me up, and he did so, making me laugh, over and over again. I've never forgotten the tears of laughter on my cheeks, thanks to my little brother.

That was one of the first times he and I have ever talked about our past. It was a joy to paint such a glad picture for him.

And there, overhead - the honking of a flock of Canada geese, going south.

a juicy reward

Another urgent petition against the special concessions demanded by Fox News North: please sign!

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An exciting day: when I checked my sad little bank balance on line, what a nice surprise; the government of Canada has deposited $185.82 in there, as a reward simply for staying alive. I've spent it already, but no matter - there'll be another juicy $185.82 next month. Ah, the advantages of old age.

And another happy number: on the website for Jon Stewart's October rally in Washington, it says that so far, 167,981 people have confirmed that they'll attend. Oh how I wish I could join them. Last night, nasty Bill O'Reilly came on Jon's show to promote his new so-called book. I've seen him strutting onto the program before, like the arrogant blowhard that he is - but last night, the balance of power had shifted. Jon, completely relaxed and chuckling, just let the man be his horrible self. Jon Stewart has status now, huge status. Imagine.

And it looks like Smitherman just might snatch us from the jaws of Ford. At least there's hope.

Last night, after class, I watched the last half of "Away from her," Sarah Polley's directorial debut. How sorry I am that I hadn't seen this stunning movie before. How wonderful to watch Julie Christie again, with an aging and beautifully real face.

My arm still itches. But on the deck, there's a gardenia blooming that's just about the loveliest thing on earth.

Word on the Street

A most satisfactory day, and it's not over yet. Yes, there is still a big red itchy lump on my arm thanks to my waspy friend. It's there to remind me that even the best days have their pains.

This morning, I listened to my friend Laurel's speech over the phone. Laurel is a former student who won the City of Boston Award for her first children's book, "I know here," which came out of an exercise for my class. I'm so very proud of her and the book, which is set in northern Saskatchewan and amazed everyone by winning a prestigious American prize. Next week, after the ceremony, this first-time author will be sitting on a panel with several of the best-known children's book writers in the world. But first, she has to deliver a speech.

It's beautifully written, thoughtful and very moving, as you'd expect from a writer of Laurel's caliber. She just has to relax, breathe, slow down - and enjoy speaking it, enjoy being there on a stage, sharing herself with the audience. "They've given you the gift of the award," I said to her, "now your gift back to them is this speech." Easier said than done - hard for a shy writer, usually alone with thoughts and words, to stand and deliver in front of a large crowd. She'll be wonderful.

Then, off on my bike to Word on the Street, one of my favourite Toronto events of the year - Queen's Park packed with readers and writers, publishers and editors, magazines and booksellers and crazy people. I who am drowning in more reading material I can get through in this lifetime brought home a backpack loaded with more - Canadian literary magazines Brick, the New Quarterly and Prism, several children's books for my nephew, Toronto bicycle magazine Dandyhorse, "Grammar to Go: a portable A-Zed guide to Canadian usage," by Rob Colter, for my students, a magnificent blank notebook, two pairs of reading glasses (for $5) and several paperbacks. Not to mention a stack of flyers and bookmarks. I listened to Linda McQuaig speak about her new book on Canada's billionaires, I went to say hello to Wayson just before his talk on memoir, though I didn't stay as I think I know it all by heart, I ran into several old friends including former students Pearl and Irene, and Catherine, a children's book publisher. ("I don't need to ask what you're doing these days," said Pearl. "I follow your blog.") I brought home information on how to get a writer's grant from the Canada Council, how to join the Periodical Writer's Association of Canada, and other stuff that was thrust at me from Buddhists, Mensa etc. Happily swamped in words.

Home with a heavy load, to spend a busy literary hour cooking while listening to Eleanor Wachtel on her "Writers and Company" interview a Norwegian novelist. Now there's some grilled chicken, a pot of ratatouille and a big potato salad in the fridge, and this jotted note from the program: "When you make art, always move towards the pain. That's what makes art meaningful."

That's what I tell my students, though they look at me as if I'm trying to torture them when I ask for their pieces to go deeper. That's what I have to learn myself, in my own work. How brave it is, to be involved in this business which demands so much and pays so little. I salute every one of the hundreds working there today, including lawyer Clayton Ruby, volunteering in the PEN booth. Though he's the sensible one, with a day job.

Later: To cap this fine day, the 22nd season of "The Simpsons" was launched tonight with a show about the importance of the arts - Lisa going to Performing Arts Camp and meeting those two wacky Kiwi guitarist guys, who end up singing, "Artists are the most useless people on earth; don't become an artist." Only it was funny when they did it. And after that, a program on Bravo about the importance of the arts - Robert Lepage performing with his troupe in Moscow, where they were the toast of the town. The only sour note was when Lepage said that he felt a powerful bond between the nations of Quebec and Russia.

Nyet, Robert. Quebec is not a nation.

And then I read the article in "New York" magazine with "The decade of Jon Stewart" on the cover, and plunged into my new grammar book, finally learning the right name for "dangling modifiers." Does life get better than this?

My arm itches.

sunny Saturday, with sting

The word is out: the people who lost their homes in the big fire yesterday are in need, and neighbourhood fundraising has already begun. That's the neighbourhood I know and love. And it will continue to be, even if Ford wins.

Yesterday was not just hot, it was record-breaking hot, the hottest Sept. 24 on record; Toronto was the hottest place in all of Canada. And there I was, at the new beach, getting stung. The arm, by the way, blew up and is still puffy, red, painful and itching like crazy. That was quite the bee.

Yesterday on YouTube, I watched Jon Stewart's recent turn on Oprah - so graceful and funny, that dear, dear man. His wife was in the front row, and at one point, he said he had to get his own TV show even to have the courage to approach her, because she's so far out of his league. What big star could say something like that without sounding nauseatingly sucky or insincere? But he (sounded like he) meant it.

He talked about his Bring Back Sanity rally on Oct. 30. The political discourse is in the hands of extremists, he said, because the rest of us are too busy and tired to get involved. This rally is for the busy and tired - those who, for example, don't particularly like paying taxes but really appreciate having sewers.

Well put, my friend. I love how Jon is always subtly, sweetly reminding us that he's Jewish. It's as if he has made one of his causes, as well as all the others, to be the public face of moderate but proud American Jewishness. Well, I decided I MUST go to Washington for the rally. My tired, busy cousin Barbara who lives there is going with her husband and invited me to join them. But then I called first cousin once-removed George, my other Washington relative who's in his mid-eighties - and he'll be in Shanghai on Oct. 30. He travels non-stop, so I'm not surprised he won't be there. But I don't want to go all the way to Washington, D.C. and not see George. So I won't go.

A disappointment, yes, but a relief too, because I'll be heading to Ottawa again around then. Much to do there - the ladies are getting more confused and indecisive about retirement homes. A huge decision is getting more onerous by the day.

This morning, with friend Annie at the St. Lawrence Market, I didn't have to make any decisions - I just bought everything in sight. The cauliflower - so vast that Annie and I bought one and divided it - a big basket of tomatoes for $5, my new favourite apples - ginger golds, sublime - leeks, zucchini, Bartlett pears, still luscious strawberries, broccoli, peppers, flowers ... oh be still my heart. The market was packed; we all know, it's sunny now and not for long, stock up, stock up! Lots of cooking to do, this next while.

Listening to Randy Bachman's oldies show on CBC show as I write. Must get up and dance.