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Regent’s Park’s new green space

If I don’t unglue my bum from this chair, I may never walk again. I’ve had it. The manuscript is just about ready to go – my dream was to send it off tonight. But it’s 10.30 p.m., I’ve been at it for days, and still there are things to do. So, tomorrow morning. But it will go off asap, because I can’t see it any more.

Did get out a few times, though – to a party on Friday at a very snazzy house where the flower arrangements alone probably cost more than my month’s grocery bill. And what was of most interest there? The six baby raccoons trying to climb down the back wall to get to the plates of potato chips on the deck. O Canada.

Monique’s Francophone dinner last night, where we discussed the intricacies of the Muslim faith, Jack trying to explain just how many factions there are just in Iraq and why they fight each other. He pointed out that Jewish history is full of stories of people refuting authority figures – that even the great scholars, when they’re studying the Talmud, make a point of arguing about its meaning. “Of course they argue,” I said. “They’re JEWS!” Whereas there is no history in Islam, he said, of argument. There is one final authority, and that’s it, it must be obeyed, which is why it’s authoritarian. I don’t know if this is true or not, but Jack knows an incredible amount about almost everything and says it, of course, in good French.

Best of all, I went for a bit to the opening of the new Regent’s Park common green space on Saturday afternoon. Toronto at its best – the most extraordinary assortment of humanity spread out over the brand new grass – women wearing hijab and saris and almost nothing, transgender and gay citizens getting ready for World Pride, First Nations citizens, challenged people of all kinds, people of every size and colour and age.

The Toronto Symphony in the shade under the swimming pool awning playing “American in Paris” – fabulous. I bet most of the crowd gathered around could not have ever imagined the Toronto Symphony playing in their backyard. And that includes me.

 Many marching bands, even very small ones.

I bought a glass of sweet Jamaican sorrel tea from her. Delicious.

 A circle dance under a glorious sky.

The drumming circle.

Before, there were crumbling buildings; now a green space for everyone. A beautiful thing in my ‘hood.



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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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