Forgive me, please, if I ramble incoherently; I’ve had one hour of sleep in the past 30 hours. The goal, as with jet lag, is to make myself stay up as late as possible and then crash, and all will be well tmw. (Right after writing that, I had to go take another nap. So, two hours of sleep.)
First things first – my God, you have to be tough to be Canadian. Toronto is a snowscape, mountains of the stuff everywhere, uncleared sidewalks nearly impassable. Jean-Marc came over and we dug a tunnel to my back gate. And now it’s milder so it will turn to slush and muck. Mexico it ain’t. However, as promised, I am not complaining, because I am so very happy to be here.
Tuesday was a long day. I awoke in my hotel room, turned on my computer, and discovered my emails were not downloading on either computer or phone. No idea why; the hotel tech guy said it was my problem, not the hotel’s internet. Why suddenly would that happen? I thought I’d go crazy, but Anna texted, “Think of it as a retreat.” And I thought, I can survive without email for a day, for God’s sake. But it was hard, especially as I had to cancel my Tuesday U of T class and was corresponding with students.
At noon, I checked out and moved into a corner of John’s room. He was still feeling poorly, coughing a lot, poor man. After lunch I went to the Air Canada office in the airport to check the reality of the story we’d been told, that after a further delay we’d leave, now, at 2.45 a.m. The official, who spoke little English, assured me that was the case. So we both slept on and off through the day, or at least John did, and I tried to on the sofa. We read, and talked, and had dinner, and waited for time to pass.
Way too early in my estimation, but John was nervous, we checked out of the hotel and went to the airport check-in counter, then through security, then to crowded noisy waiting lounges to wait for four hours. It was long, but we got through, and at last, Air Canada personnel arrived at the gate, and the plane arrived, my God, it looks like we’re really going to take off! Many sleepy people boarded at 2.15 a.m. I said goodbye to John, because he’d be in Business Class and I would not, and at the other end, in Toronto, we would no longer be joined at the hip. As we sat in the lounge, I asked him about the movies of his books, and he told fascinating stories about Harvey (Weinstein), Charlize (Theron), Clint (Eastwood), and more. He told me what it’s like backstage after winning an Oscar – you can’t get back to your seat so you mill about with all the famous people. When will I ever get to hear again about backstage at the Oscars?
We were loaded onto the massive Boeing 747 and sat for a long time. I had of course a nightmare image of them telling us there was an engine problem, we’d have to wait another day or two. I think we all would have gone crazy. But after a long delay we did take off and had a smooth flight to the frozen north, landing just after 7 our time, 8 here. I took the UP express to Union; John had a driver waiting and is home, I hope resting, eating soup, and recovering from his bronchitis. He had the copy-edit of his new book Queen Esther to approve immediately and the French translation of a previous book. Several people who know this story have told me he’s their favourite writer; my U of T boss Lee Gowan wrote that he decided to become a writer after reading Garp. Imagine being that inspirational. What a gift.
I had to laugh; one of the things that had worried me about the trip was that I’d be returning on the last day of the Family Day weekend, so the airport would be jam-packed. Instead, at 8 a.m. midweek, the airport was nearly empty. Win!
The giant machines were scooping up the snow on Sackville St. when I arrived. Carol had kept plants and cat alive. And as always, the joy of my own things, my own kitchen. I relished a piece of sourdough toast with Adams peanut butter. Later, plowed through the snow to No Frills to buy fruit and veg – one avocado, $1.99, expensive little tomatoes, both from Mexico. What a difference in every way this winter country is to that vibrant, exotic country with its smells, sounds, colours. But this is home.
Luckily my dear tech helper Patrick came over, looked at the email situation and said, Let’s call Rogers. He spent an hour on the phone with them — something about Apple Mail, which I used, no longer being compatible with Rogers Yahoo and also needing second-factor authentication — issues they just dumped on me in the middle of my trip, with the only solution a very lengthy phone-call. If I’d still been away, it’d have been a long distance call. And if Patrick hadn’t been available, I’d have been my woozy, half-asleep self struggling with complicated tech. Infuriating.
More anon about the conference, especially Margaret Atwood’s hilarious and insightful interview with Wayne Grady. Peggy, as she is to my new friend John.
Below: the view from the plane; my garden and the trench to the door in my front yard; a shot posted on FB. Welcome home!
