It’s Anne Frank’s birthday today. She would have been 91. She should have been 91. Imagine, with her wisdom and sensitivity and drive, what she would have written during her lifetime, if she’d been given the chance.
Makes me weep.
Okay, let’s not, there’s too much to weep about out there. So, the good news: Greg, the publisher at Iguana Press, came over today. We sat distanced enough on the deck, talked shop, discussed the cover and photos, liked each other a lot – and SIGNED THE CONTRACT. We’re moving ahead, folks. Incredible. I first began to pitch this book in the fall of 2017, and that was after a few years of writing and editing, which continue still. Endless.
BTW, however, Greg says there’s a problem with We Are All Broken. It’s the inspirational bon mot on the cover of many journals sold on Amazon, and so, he says, when those words are Googled, that’s what comes up; my book would be way down the page. Not good; people don’t want to scroll down the page. So, believe it or not, we’re rethinking.
Today my neighbour power-washed something extremely dirty for hours, on what had been a gorgeous tranquil afternoon. In case the noise wasn’t deafening enough, they had the radio on too. First world etc. But God, I do treasure, relish, need, and adore quiet. Chris says I should buy a second-hand accordion, and the next time the neighbours are dining outside, I should go out and teach myself to play it. LOL.
Yesterday, I went across town to the anti-racism demonstration at Queen Victoria school, to protest a scandal involving a racist letter that was not handled well by the principal or the TDSB. At least 75 people marched with signs, ending in the playground for a press conference. Among those who spoke was Anna, representing the parent council; she spoke with clarity and force. I was very proud of her. And I remembered going to rallies against the Vietnam war through the sixties, listening to my activist dad speak with clarity and force. He would have been very proud of her too.
Later, I found a photo of her at 16, when we were visiting family in Vernon. My in-laws had a son with cerebral palsy and were involved in issues for the local handicapped community. And, during that visit, so was Anna.
This rare and beautiful soul is named for my great-grandmother Anna Gordin, but as well for one of my heroes, Anne Frank, also sometimes called Anna.
And finally, speaking of rare and beautiful: the first rose came out this morning.
