Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal, pecking at my feeder along with the plain brown sparrows. What an extraordinary flaming colour he is – a bird that glows. She keeps her colours hidden.
I’m back from a trip to Ottawa to visit my family. My mother, 87, and aunt, 90, are lively and well, and my daughter spent an entire day there cooking for the ladies and my brother and family – buckets of soup and chicken pot pies for them all to take home, and a massive dinner one night. But to tell the truth, it was not an easy or happy trip. I can only say that there are times when being with family feels like home, and there are times when it does not.
Last night, back in Toronto, I welcomed most of my Thursday home writing class at a potluck Xmas dinner, ten of my favourite people along with our esteemed guest W*yson, and I thought, this is what’s so wonderful about friends: I’ve chosen them, and they have chosen me.
So yesterday was spent cleaning and cooking for the big party, at which we feasted first on a grand repast and then on words. A gathering of fine storytellers, full of turkey, cakes and wine on a snowy night – what pleasure. Today, my student Sarah King has an essay in “Facts and Arguments” in the “Globe;” she brought it to class a few weeks ago, we all agreed it was ready to go and she should send it in, and here it is, a funny, wise piece about bedbugs. Her first publication, the first of many, I’m sure.
This morning, in a private coaching session, student Arlene told me that she enjoys my blog and the blog book because “I feel I’m walking along beside you, and I’m seeing what you’re seeing.” I was grateful to hear that – because I guess that’s the most we can ask as writers, that when we embark on our journey, you agree to come with us.
Right now, Arlene, what I’m seeing are a few soft white flakes spiralling down, and the flash of a scarlet bird.
