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Good For Her – yes and no

This evening, the
world is too much with me. Old complaineypants here.

An hour ago, the police were at my door, after another
altercation with the insane man up the street who regularly steals all the
books from my Little Free Library. I saw him carrying off a stack of books, shouted for him to put them back, and will not tell you what he
replied. The police can’t do anything – the books are free, so he’s not really
stealing. But two handsome courteous cops came to listen to me. They said I
could call the fire department because he’s got books everywhere in the rooming
house, or else to take down the library, for now. Will probably have to do so. 
Before that, I came
home to find the internet gone, spent the better part of an hour on the phone with Rogers
running up and down turning modem and router on and off. It looks like the
router just decided to die. WHY O LORD? she cried to the heavens.
Before that, I rode
across town to the Fringe Festival. I’m
interested to see how it works, because maybe one day I’ll consider taking my
Beatles’ talk on the road. I saw Kander/Ebb, a young man who idolizes these Broadway writers in a fanboy show; he sang
with chutzpah but a bit flat. After, in the same venue, BikeFace, a solo show about a young woman who has loved bikes all
her life and eventually cycled across the country. I was hit with nostalgia – first because I myself had performed in the theatre, which is in an old church; Cruel Tears played there in 1977. And in the break between shows,
I walked a block over to Markham Street and there found the house I lived in in
1973-74 – I rented the front room on the second floor, friends
rented the other two bedrooms, and we shared the kitchen and bathroom. It was a
joyful commune. British John made Guinness in a garbage can in the bathroom; if
you went in there at night, you had to turn on the bathroom light and wait until
the cockroaches ran away before entering.
Ah youth. I was sad to
see what they’ve done to Mirvish Village up the street, rows of lovely old
houses with shops, restaurants, bookstores and galleries – all being smashed
for more condos. The city is a madhouse of construction, scores of massive
skyscraping condos going up everywhere, noise, drilling, smashing, trucks. Hateful.
My aunt is still
in hospital. It breaks my heart to talk to her every day, to know she’s stuck
in there. I’m going in a few weeks but wish I lived closer. And children still stuck in a cave in Thailand, and in detention in the States – I can’t bear to think about it. 
Okay, the positive – I
stopped at Harbord Bakery on the way home for the first time in years – I used
to come here regularly when I had a car. Everything everywhere is changing, but
not this place – exactly the same for decades, with the same people running it
and serving. Very reassuring. And nearby Good For Her, a sex shop for women; I popped in to take a look – so startling, it made me laugh, rows of different sizes of rubber penises in interesting colours. A unique experience. 
The terrible heat
has broken – it’s much milder and breezy, beautiful. My son was over for a
bit, my dear friend Isabel Huggan came for dinner, the little guys are coming tomorrow. All is well. I just need to let it go. Let it go. Kander and Ebb should write a song. 

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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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