How I started the day: Googling “rose leaves turning yellow.” Might be “chlorosis” – iron deficiency. Oh no!
How I spent last night: watching the Tony awards, which were as always thrilling, except more so than usual – extremely diverse and hosted by a young woman of astounding confidence, beauty, and talent, Ariana deBose. Made me want to go to NYC and see some shows. “Broadway’s back, baby!” was the rallying cry.
What hit me yesterday: I got out the silver polish to polish a little necklace of my mother’s, silver and I think lapis, and suddenly realized, I’m turning into her. She loved silver and was always polishing something. And she loved this necklace. I’m wearing it now. I polished, however, dancing in my kitchen with Nicky’s Zoom dance party, something my mother most definitely did not do. And she used Silvo.
A packed weekend, first Word on the Street back at last on the actual street – rode to Queen’s Park to take it in, booth after booth of books, writers, publishers, editors, aka heaven. It was supposed to rain, torrentially on Sunday, but happily it did not, it was beautiful all weekend. I hope those poor battered book people did well.
A brave young writer taking marketing into her own hands. And cart.
Then the Creative Nonfiction annual conference, on Zoom from Edmonton, a series of gripping panels, talks, webinars. So good to meet friendly nonfiction faces from around the country. At one talk, on research, I was dumbfounded, the young presenter zipping around apps and programs, showing me just how very old I am. At one point, he said, “And then plug in your pen.”
All good.
Today, out in the garden, of course, admiring, marvelling. The wisteria was planted by my friend Dorothy in the mid-nineties and took many years to bloom, but eventually, bloom it did. Its beauty means more, knowing how long it took.
The raspberries grew from a cutting taken before my mother left Edmonton in about 2000, and also took many years to do well. In fact, they haven’t yet, but it looks like this year will be the one. I hired someone to come and advise me about their unhappiness; she prescribed worm casings, so I dumped some on and they obviously like it. Maybe I’ll give some to the roses.
This morning: back to the Jan. 6 hearings. Talk about riveting television, saving the world, or at least, we hope, that benighted country. Later today, the termite inspectors come, cross your fingers. I wonder if they know about yellow leaves? And mice?
Below, the story of my current life:
