I’ve been receiving lectures about my blogging lag. Sorry! Sometimes I think nothing has happened, and there’s nothing to say — and then I realize that yes, there is. So here goes.
I just learned there’s an organization called The Association of Accidental Americans, for people who were born in the U.S. but have no connection to it as a motherland — e.g. I lived in New York not even three months before my family moved to Canada. In 2024, it cost me $2350 USD to rid myself of that citizenship, not to mention a great deal of time. Now apparently, because of a lawsuit by the aforementioned organization, it costs $450 USD.
Ah well. I would have liked to save that well over $3000 CAD, but not at the cost of carrying an American passport through this administration. Although most of my family is American, I was/am overjoyed to be rid of it.
I just watched a documentary about Bella Abzug, the best of America, congresswoman and lifelong fighter for human rights of all kinds. A reminder of how much there was to fight for, how much there is still, as our society hurtles backwards thanks mostly to the paranoia of white men. The doc reminded me of why I want to write about my parents, specifically my father, who fought all his life for many of the same causes as Bella — peace, nuclear disarmament, education, civil rights. Unlike Bella, he did not fight for gay rights and was a late comer to feminism. But there’s a story to be told. Brava, Bella, and thanks for all you did. And thanks also to your husband, a rare man far ahead of his time, who stood beside you every step of the way.
The treat of a lifetime a few days ago — to the TSO, to hear the Spanish cellist Pablo Ferrandez play Dvorak’s Cello Concerto. Perhaps I will never again hear something so moving and gorgeous, played with such sensitivity and passion. It has always been one of my favourite pieces of music, but I’ve never heard it played live. Absolutely stunning. Toward the end, my heart felt swollen, as if it would burst through my chest, and for a minute or two I had trouble breathing. It hurt.
It helps to remember there is, and always has been, so much beauty and creativity in the world. I had been feeling a cold coming on, sore throat, a bit of aching, but after the concert, all symptoms were gone. Dvorak and Pablo banished my cold.
Where the magic happened, and the magician.
Other good things: this week, my Y class instructor Carole said, “You’re a fast runner,” and my boss at U of T, Lee, said, “You’re a great teacher.” Two comments that mean a GREAT DEAL! At the risk of sounding vain, I allow myself to agree with one of them, but the other is a very big stretch. You can guess which.
I watched the Oscars while deleting old files from Documents — for years during the Oscars I used to rewrite my address book. An actual address book, made of paper, that went the way of the dodo. I enjoyed the show — it moved along, just the right number of big musical numbers, Conan funny; there was not quite enough politicking but enough, and some great moments. I liked the results. Though when Jessie Buckley won and pretended to be astonished and overwhelmed, I thought, Oh for God’s sake, you’ve won every award until now, this was a foregone conclusion, give it a rest. I was glad Hamnet didn’t win more.
There was a beautiful obituary of Yanar Mohammed in the NYT.
I am trying to make a bit of time for the piano, neglected for months. I used to be able to play the first, relatively easy movement of the Moonlight Sonata, and during those off months, completely forgot it — my memory not what it was, not remotely — and have had to relearn it note by note. I now associate it with Ilya’s Russian monologue in Heated Rivalry, one of the best moments in this marvellous series, his deeply moving speech in some tunnel, supposedly in Moscow but actually in Hamilton, with the Moonlight softly in the background. I’m still worried about those boys, the insanity of their lives now. A video of Hudson in a hotel room before the Oscars with someone fiddling with his hair, saying he’s contractually not allowed to touch his face or hair, this woman has to do it for him. He was seat at the ceremony really close to the front. From being a waiter at the Old Spaghetti Factory to the forefront of the Oscars in only a few months, surely a record. Not easy to navigate.
I want Sam to see the show so invited him over for a watch party. We started; he was a bit uncomfortable watching with me but lasted for 2 episodes while also cooking. We fast-forwarded through the sex. But it’s manly men learning to love — important. Even if some manly men don’t get Crave and have to watch it with their mothers. Hope he’ll return for the rest which is even better.
On the down side, I received a royalty statement for the year for Midlife. The publisher sold around 130 books, and my royalty statement was for $163. Ah well. It’s a good thing I didn’t become a writer for the wealth and fame. Maybe if I’d stayed in acting, I too could have been at the Oscars. Wearing my Balenciaga. And dealing with my own face and hair. Sheesh.
There’s more, but enough for today. Thanks for being out there, checking in. There’s a rumour it’ll be spring soon. Won’t it? Please?
