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So very True

A glorious Sunday evening, mild and quiet – no sounds but birds and scattered neighbour voices, and the background rush of the city, of course. I’m feeling my shoulders start to lower from around my ears and my stomach to unclench. So True is a small event, but it’s my event, my baby and responsibility; I care for every writer who’s reading, whom I’ve edited and tried to guide through the process, and then I have my own talk and reading to do. So, a tiny bit of stress, small as it all may be.

In fact, this time I was really concerned about the size of the audience. Our last event was seven months ago instead of three or four, and as we know, I am the worst marketer in the world. It was due to start at 2, and by 1.45 there were not many there. And then they streamed in, so by the end we had a respectable 55 or so – not as many as we have had, but a great crowd.

And it was fabulous, eight beautiful well read true stories, including two that, even after all this time, brought me to tears. The crowd was happy, the readers were happy, and I the producer was happy it was over and I could go home and sit in my garden and veg.

While looking at the million things I have to do out there. Ah well. Manana.

Yesterday, a day of intermittent thunderstorms and hot sun, Anna was desperate to get the kids out of the house, so we met midtown, discovered a great playground where my grandsons’ antics made the elderly Chinese couple sitting nearby laugh out loud. We went to Open Doors, an event where for a weekend, many usually closed buildings are open to the public. So we opened the doors to the Native Child and Family Services building on College, where there’s a long house for meetings and smudge ceremonies on the ground floor and an actual sweat lodge on the green roof along with traditional plantings of sweetgrass, sage, tobacco. Amazing – in the heart of downtown Toronto. Very glad to know it’s there.

My grandsons are what you call a handful. Ben is a climber and a talker, never stops moving his body or his jaws, and Eli is stubborn and ferociously determined. Adorable, both of them, but I do feel for their mother. Luckily, despite annoyances and arguments, they love each other a lot.

The ride home on the streetcar:

On Friday, a great treat – I’d been offered a facial at Sweetgrass Spa by my friends John and Sylvie; Sylvie works there. I arrived early and had a swim in the lovely pool and a soak in the hot tub, and then Natasha worked on my face until it glowed. Much needed after renovation and winter. Too bad about all the wrinkles, but a little glow goes a long way.

I’m reading an article in the New Yorker about the mortal dangers of noise pollution, so feel doubly grateful for this tranquil garden. Even though it keeps reminding me there is so much, so very much, to do.

Oh – and in my peripheral vision, I understand there was a big basketball event in this town yesterday. Go Raptors go. I guess. Sorry, it’s just not of much interest, tall millionaires bouncing basketballs. Now the success of Toronto writers and storytellers – there’s something that matters.

And now I’m going to go cut my very small lawn.

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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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