A happy exhaustion: the day-long writing in the garden workshop just ended. For the first time – I’ve been running these since 2011 – the day dawned wet and cold. Sudden shift, clearing rooms in the house for people to meet in the living room, not on the deck, and to write inside, not scattered through the garden.
But it went beautifully; after lunch the sun actually came out, I sponged off chairs and tables with a towel, and we spent the rest of the day, till 5.30, outside with the birds and the scent of lavender and gardenia. You would not believe how extremely good the stories we heard were, how powerful and moving and funny – and of course, true.
I love my job.
Some were recent students, some students from years ago, and one a neighbour who has never done any creative writing and read about the workshop in the Cabbagetown news. Everyone came through magnificently. And lunch, I have to say, was pretty good too – two different quiches and four salads: tabbouleh, pasta, cucumber, and kale, featuring my very own tomatoes, kale, cukes, and beans, as promised. Coffee, dessert, wine and cheese – and through it all, stories stories stories.
I love my job.
Now for a month, except for editing work for private students and compiling a playlist for the dance evening in September, the only work I have to do is keeping myself and the house and tenant and the upcoming renovation going, clearing out the excess here, and trying to finish my memoir. And getting to Ottawa and back with Anna and the boys in one piece, and celebrating my 68th birthday with family and friends. That’s all.
I got this lovely email this morning from a stranger. An early birthday gift. Thank you.
Greetings from Africa. (I’m on my honeymoon). I just devoured “True to Life” in about two hours and found it to be compassionate, encouraging, clear, funny and very helpful.
Music to my tired ears.