Another glorious day, the birds yammering at the feeder, the scarlet of the Japanese maples as deep and dark as blood. I'm about to go for my piano lesson, and here's the great thing about being a grown-up: I have been too busy to practice since my last class, and he can't yell at me or tell my mother. I'm sorry, but sometimes there's just too much going on. The good stuff - yes, it's real Dorothy, this is a brand new Canada. Watching PM Trudeau on the news last night was mind-boggling, as he chatted with Peter Mansbridge about being raised to be responsible and thoughtful and thankful for privilege. Is he real or did I imagine him? Yes yes yes, he's real. My friend Richard says all the damage Harper did on myriad fronts has not even begun to be revealed. We escaped in the nick of time.
And other stuff, not so good. Such as - today, finding out that I need extensive roof repairs to fix the leak that had water pouring into my dining room last week. Woo hoo.
Such as - finding out that the vintage dealer Cynthia Findlay is going to charge me $100 for changing my mind and getting my jewellery back from her. That's what it cost, apparently, to send my pieces out by courier to be assessed and repaired and to bring them back. So not only did I not sell all that stuff, the transaction will end up costing me. I'll say this: her store is chock full and amazing, but she is a very hard-nosed businesswoman. Deal with her only if you know what you are doing. Which I most certainly did not. I'll be very glad to get my stuff back, at only the cost of $100 and a lot of wasted time.
First world etc.
Here's a quote from a great article on editing by the essayist John McPhee in the Sept. 14 New Yorker:
Writing is selection. Just to start a piece of writing you have to choose one word and only one from more than a million in the language. Now keep going. What is your next word? Your next sentence, paragraph, section, chapter? Your next ball of fact. You select what goes in and you select what stays out. At base you have only one criterion: If something interests you, it goes in - if not, it stays out. That's a crude way to assess things, but it's all you've got ... Write on subjects in which you have enough interest on your own to see you through all the stops, starts, hesitations, and other impediments along the way.
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
truly madly deeply
I was in the lounge at the Y at noon and the TV was on; I stopped, staring, open-mouthed, as our new prime minister held a press conference seven minutes after being sworn in. After announcing his cabinet which is HALF WOMEN as promised. When he was asked why, he answered, "Because it's 2015." I nearly wept.
He was asked if he'd thought of his father on this day, and he replied of course, he was sure his father was pleased to see that Canadians had chosen to celebrate diversity, something like that. But then he said, "Sorry Dad, but I'm really thinking more of my children and all the children of Canada, whose lives we are going to work to make better."
"There is a god," I said out loud, and people in the room nodded. The new government was led in by a Cree drummer and entertained by very young Inuit throat singers; the speaker acknowledged that they were all standing on First Nation lands, and there, in the front row, Margaret Trudeau, who has waged such public battles of her own. Respect, thoughtfulness, kindness, generosity: this is what I want my country to be. I did weep. As someone wrote on FB: "Sugith Varughese Defense minister is a badass who saw combat. Science minister actually is a scientist. Former refugee who escaped the Taliban in cabinet. Transport minister is a fricken' astronaut. I could go on and on. And the capper was "Because it's 2015." Boom.
It was the most heavenly day ever, soft and warm, the trees golden and scarlet, everyone in this city blissful in the sun, because we know this will not last. I thought of a student who read an incredibly moving piece yesterday about being diagnosed with terminal leukaemia at the age of 30, then given an experimental treatment with a 12% chance of success - and here she was, many years later, perfectly healthy. She'd been given the gift, she said, of being alive each day. Today was like that in Canada. Even the weather was celebrating the rebirth of our nation.
We know winter is coming, and we know Justin Trudeau will have to disappoint us as political realities set in - but for now, he is like the sun itself. I am sure every other country on earth envies us. And I can only imagine how deep is the despair in the NDP party these days, because there's not a word Justin Trudeau spoke today that could not have been spoken by an NDP prime minister. Where's the place for a party that's further to the left or the right or wherever it tries to land?
On the other hand, yesterday, I went out of my way to show what an idiot I still am. For some time, I've been preoccupied with getting rid of a bunch of jewellery I was given through the years - some by my grandfather after my grandmother's death many years ago - that I'll never wear. A heavy ornate garnet bracelet, my mother's cameo brooches, chunky rings - get rid of them, I thought, and I found Cynthia Findlay Antiques on line. After much back and forth, I brought a bunch of stuff in yesterday for her to see.
The place is unbelievable - miles of gorgeous vintage jewellery, yes, but tons of other stuff - china, silver, vintage clothing, books and old wooden boxes, which are my own weakness. Overwhelming.
She looked at what I had to sell, noted how dated it is, and finally made an offer which, though I thought it was much too low, I accepted. For about ten seconds, it was a relief to have got rid of the stuff. And then the second thoughts began. In bed that night, I was awake for hours, tossing, trying to still my mind - it's only stuff, it doesn't matter, you've got rid of it hooray. But my mother's gold Victorian brooch, my grandmother's bracelet, for so little - no! It felt wrong. Finally, at 3.30 a.m., I did the only thing I could think to do besides take a sleeping pill, which I also did - I got up, called Cynthia's office and left a message - I was sorry but I'd made a mistake and please could I return her money and have my jewellery back.
First world problems.
What a waste of her time and mine. What a fool I am. I will never NEVER try to sell something ever again. I take the first offer that's made without negotiating and then torture myself because it was too low. I've done it many times before in my feeble, failed attempts at selling vintage clothing. Poor Cynthia will have to find and return all that stuff, and then I will find a way to sell the pieces I really don't want and keep the rest. Including my mother's brooch. I am convinced her appalled ghost appeared and kept me awake until I made that call.
After that debacle, I went down the street to TIFF to attend the latest in Scott Freiman's wonderful series Deconstructing the Beatles. I've attended two others, but this was the best yet - an exploration of the making of 1965's Rubber Soul, showing in detail their influences, how these geniuses walked into the studio with not a single song written and four weeks later had not only an album but two other hit songs for a single. The big TIFF theatre was, again, sold out, all ages, older people like me learning more about an iconic album from their youth, and young people learning how these incredible musicians did what they did. What a treat.
I gave Scott Freiman my memoir during his last visit, and today he told me it was, "A really sweet story and well written." Thanks, Scott - that means a lot from one of the great Beatles experts of the planet.
At lunch today I watched Trevor Noah on my computer - a wonderful interview with Gloria Steinem. He was interested that she has written a book about travel but doesn't drive. "When you don't drive," she said, "your adventure begins as soon as you leave the house." Drivers, she said, are "in little tin cans all by themselves", whereas taxi drivers are fascinating company. I concur. Whether it's struggling to survive on my bicycle or chatting with the taxi drivers from Pakistan, I love it all.
In February, not so much. But we have more sun to celebrate first.
PS As if there weren't enough joy today, just read an announcement that Jon Stewart is going to land on HBO in 2016. I need to call Rogers and change my package to get HBO. I had a feeling cuddling pigs on his wife's abused animals farm, while important work, wouldn't be quite enough for this great man. Welcome back, my dear Jon. Can't wait to see you again.
He was asked if he'd thought of his father on this day, and he replied of course, he was sure his father was pleased to see that Canadians had chosen to celebrate diversity, something like that. But then he said, "Sorry Dad, but I'm really thinking more of my children and all the children of Canada, whose lives we are going to work to make better."
"There is a god," I said out loud, and people in the room nodded. The new government was led in by a Cree drummer and entertained by very young Inuit throat singers; the speaker acknowledged that they were all standing on First Nation lands, and there, in the front row, Margaret Trudeau, who has waged such public battles of her own. Respect, thoughtfulness, kindness, generosity: this is what I want my country to be. I did weep. As someone wrote on FB: "Sugith Varughese Defense minister is a badass who saw combat. Science minister actually is a scientist. Former refugee who escaped the Taliban in cabinet. Transport minister is a fricken' astronaut. I could go on and on. And the capper was "Because it's 2015." Boom.
It was the most heavenly day ever, soft and warm, the trees golden and scarlet, everyone in this city blissful in the sun, because we know this will not last. I thought of a student who read an incredibly moving piece yesterday about being diagnosed with terminal leukaemia at the age of 30, then given an experimental treatment with a 12% chance of success - and here she was, many years later, perfectly healthy. She'd been given the gift, she said, of being alive each day. Today was like that in Canada. Even the weather was celebrating the rebirth of our nation.
We know winter is coming, and we know Justin Trudeau will have to disappoint us as political realities set in - but for now, he is like the sun itself. I am sure every other country on earth envies us. And I can only imagine how deep is the despair in the NDP party these days, because there's not a word Justin Trudeau spoke today that could not have been spoken by an NDP prime minister. Where's the place for a party that's further to the left or the right or wherever it tries to land?
On the other hand, yesterday, I went out of my way to show what an idiot I still am. For some time, I've been preoccupied with getting rid of a bunch of jewellery I was given through the years - some by my grandfather after my grandmother's death many years ago - that I'll never wear. A heavy ornate garnet bracelet, my mother's cameo brooches, chunky rings - get rid of them, I thought, and I found Cynthia Findlay Antiques on line. After much back and forth, I brought a bunch of stuff in yesterday for her to see.
The place is unbelievable - miles of gorgeous vintage jewellery, yes, but tons of other stuff - china, silver, vintage clothing, books and old wooden boxes, which are my own weakness. Overwhelming.
First world problems.
What a waste of her time and mine. What a fool I am. I will never NEVER try to sell something ever again. I take the first offer that's made without negotiating and then torture myself because it was too low. I've done it many times before in my feeble, failed attempts at selling vintage clothing. Poor Cynthia will have to find and return all that stuff, and then I will find a way to sell the pieces I really don't want and keep the rest. Including my mother's brooch. I am convinced her appalled ghost appeared and kept me awake until I made that call.
After that debacle, I went down the street to TIFF to attend the latest in Scott Freiman's wonderful series Deconstructing the Beatles. I've attended two others, but this was the best yet - an exploration of the making of 1965's Rubber Soul, showing in detail their influences, how these geniuses walked into the studio with not a single song written and four weeks later had not only an album but two other hit songs for a single. The big TIFF theatre was, again, sold out, all ages, older people like me learning more about an iconic album from their youth, and young people learning how these incredible musicians did what they did. What a treat.
I gave Scott Freiman my memoir during his last visit, and today he told me it was, "A really sweet story and well written." Thanks, Scott - that means a lot from one of the great Beatles experts of the planet.
At lunch today I watched Trevor Noah on my computer - a wonderful interview with Gloria Steinem. He was interested that she has written a book about travel but doesn't drive. "When you don't drive," she said, "your adventure begins as soon as you leave the house." Drivers, she said, are "in little tin cans all by themselves", whereas taxi drivers are fascinating company. I concur. Whether it's struggling to survive on my bicycle or chatting with the taxi drivers from Pakistan, I love it all.
In February, not so much. But we have more sun to celebrate first.
PS As if there weren't enough joy today, just read an announcement that Jon Stewart is going to land on HBO in 2016. I need to call Rogers and change my package to get HBO. I had a feeling cuddling pigs on his wife's abused animals farm, while important work, wouldn't be quite enough for this great man. Welcome back, my dear Jon. Can't wait to see you again.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
new day
A big day for Canada tomorrow - our new PM Justin Trudeau is sworn in. Friend Richard sent me this picture of another famous swearing-in that Justin attended. How odd it must be, as you try to lead a country, to have cute boyhood pictures of yourself circulating on the web! And did you see the pictures of his family at Hallowe'en? We have a human being as our leader.
The sub-zero timber wolf who used to lead this country has moved back to Calgary, to a soulless subdivision of huge brand new homes. The subdivision is called "Tuscany". Stephen Harper now lives in a subdivision called Tuscany. That's all you need to know.
Oh stop. He has gone and you can forget him. Just look out at this glorious day - it's going to be 18 degrees under a hot sun! - the leaves scarlet and yellow, the sky bright blue - and thank the gods for this new day for my country, my family and friends, my own tiny self.
Time is scrambling by - hard to believe it's November. Where did September go, let alone October? No idea. I have never been so busy; life is very full. Work - not so much. The memoir has been on the backest of back burners for weeks now. Time to move it forward, try to get it into shape before I go away at the end of November and then Xmas madness hits. Okay, so upstairs to work. DO NOT CHECK FACEBOOK FIRST.
Not even a tiny peek.
No.
The sub-zero timber wolf who used to lead this country has moved back to Calgary, to a soulless subdivision of huge brand new homes. The subdivision is called "Tuscany". Stephen Harper now lives in a subdivision called Tuscany. That's all you need to know.
Oh stop. He has gone and you can forget him. Just look out at this glorious day - it's going to be 18 degrees under a hot sun! - the leaves scarlet and yellow, the sky bright blue - and thank the gods for this new day for my country, my family and friends, my own tiny self.
Time is scrambling by - hard to believe it's November. Where did September go, let alone October? No idea. I have never been so busy; life is very full. Work - not so much. The memoir has been on the backest of back burners for weeks now. Time to move it forward, try to get it into shape before I go away at the end of November and then Xmas madness hits. Okay, so upstairs to work. DO NOT CHECK FACEBOOK FIRST.
Not even a tiny peek.
No.
Saturday, October 31, 2015
playing dress up
Unbelievable, the excitement of Halloween. Earlier tonight, I went past Church Street, where all the straight people go in costume to be able to let loose and have a good time - thank you, gay people, for releasing us from ourselves, at least for a night. I saw Long John Silver hand in hand with the Pope, I saw the Joker with Little Red Riding Hood, and I saw many tourists with cameras, come to take in the fun.
Surely Cabbagetown must be one of the most crowded Halloweens on the continent - which is why, exhausted after two decades, I don't give out candy any more. This night was one of the worst as a single mother - getting two kids made up and in costume and filled with at least a little bit of protein before they went out the door safely accompanied by friends or someone, while I manned the door for hundreds of other people's children. I did not enjoy it, though seeing the immigrant children with wonder on their faces was always wonderful. Anyone who has been in the theatre does not appreciate the pleasure of dressing up as someone else - that was how I made a living. So this fest is a bit of a bust for me.
But not for my neighbours. Richard had 700 little candy bars and was nearly out by 7.20.
Susan across the street at the helm of her pirate ship, above, and below, Rob with an entire graveyard behind him and a bottle of Cab Sauv for the grown ups.
Surely Cabbagetown must be one of the most crowded Halloweens on the continent - which is why, exhausted after two decades, I don't give out candy any more. This night was one of the worst as a single mother - getting two kids made up and in costume and filled with at least a little bit of protein before they went out the door safely accompanied by friends or someone, while I manned the door for hundreds of other people's children. I did not enjoy it, though seeing the immigrant children with wonder on their faces was always wonderful. Anyone who has been in the theatre does not appreciate the pleasure of dressing up as someone else - that was how I made a living. So this fest is a bit of a bust for me.
But not for my neighbours. Richard had 700 little candy bars and was nearly out by 7.20.
 |
| And then there's the aftermath - sugar high. Good luck, mama! |
gifts
Click to enlarge
HAPPY HALLOWEEN from my little pumpkins to yours.
And while we're showing photos, here are a few from the past few days:
More gifts: notes from students. This is from Curtis Barlow, arts professional extraordinaire, who read a beautiful essay at So True on Sunday. How articulate can you get?
I want to add my belated but sincere voice to the chorus of accolades congratulating and thanking you for a superb So True event yesterday afternoon. These productions require a great deal of work and passion to succeed, and you should take great pride in having produced an outstanding event. It was well-organized, well-attended, energetically and eloquently emceed by Jason, and powerfully concluded with your beautiful, funny and moving presentation. And not to be forgotten, as I listened to the wonderfully-presented stories, I felt very proud to have been included in this outstanding group of committed and gifted writers. Thank you for your leadership, hard work and inspiration.
And this from Mary diFrancesco, who read a stunning piece about 9/11:
Thank you Beth for helping us to tell the best version of our stories, to speak the truth out loud and with courage and to dig deeply to the place where we see our truest reflections.
My family was moved to much laughter, tears and gratitude along with great discussion after being privy to your stories, and I was so proud to be connected with you all. Jason, your warmth is such a gift, and I appreciate you representing us so beautifully.
My family was moved to much laughter, tears and gratitude along with great discussion after being privy to your stories, and I was so proud to be connected with you all. Jason, your warmth is such a gift, and I appreciate you representing us so beautifully.
Lynn told me she was extremely dubious about So True - an afternoon of people yammering about their personal woes sounded dreadful to her. But afterwards, the word she used was "perfect." "It was perfect," she said, "the stories themselves, the way they were told, the diversity, the pace - everything." My friend may have been born in Canada, but she has lived in hyper-critical France since 1970 and she's an academic; the word 'perfect' does not often cross her lips. I am honoured.
And on that note, dear friends, I'm going to hide until Halloween is over.
And finally, from a current student who sent this out to everyone after class last week:
Hello all -- I'll write this now, while my heart and soul feel filled to overflowing, and not wait till later in the week when crap may possibly happen and the mood will sink lower and lower.
Thank you all for your inspiring stories today! Shit - you are all one wonderful group of strong women! Am so glad to have met all of you and grateful to share all your stories. Your memories, EVERY one of them, moved me in lots of different ways. I left just feeling --- well, inspired. Thank you for that, it's been ages since I've felt so positive and you all helped me feel that way.
And on that note, dear friends, I'm going to hide until Halloween is over.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
