The world is trying to kill us. Apparently the air quality in Toronto is the worst in the world today, with rampant wildfires from the north turning our sky yellow and destroying communities. Our fine and noble premier in his infinite wisdom decimated the firefighting budget, but has many millions of dollars for ads touting his policies to “Protect Ontario.” Ha.
And the paper has articles about “Zara death pants,” wide flowing pants that cause women to trip and injure themselves. Which is exactly what happened to me a year ago, running for the streetcar in wide, flowy pants from Monoprix which caused me to trip and fall, smash, on my lovely face. I still have the scar on my knee. 
This is an exchange I had with my daughter this morning. Before I knew what was happening, I texted both kids, “It’s so weird outside today, heavy and dark.”
Anna replied, “This sky is terrifying. Thankful our leaders aren’t too scared to build more resource extraction infrastructure to keep our economy growing.”
Sometimes I wonder how she gets out of bed in the morning. She’s right about so much, but she carries such weight. She was talking about Israel as a rape colony long before the reports came out about rape and torture in Israeli prisons. I have to tune out all the bad news; there’s so much. She takes it all in and churns with rage at injustice and cruelty. And yet she’s a positive person in her daily life. I don’t know how she does it.
In any case, the air may be bad but at least it’s not as hot today as it was yesterday, when it was truly unbearable, a record-breaking 37.3.
An unusual dose of theatre recently because of the Toronto Fringe Festival, and thank heavens for it, the whole city buzzing with theatre. Ruth and I saw a dreadful show which shall remain nameless, lousy script, actors, direction. Ruth and I laughed all the way home. Then Dads, an interesting one-woman show in which a young actress told us about her father and asked the audience provocative questions about theirs. And happily, thanks to my friend Charles, I saw Evie and Alfie, written and performed by Alex Dallas and Jimmy Hogg. I loved every minute of it; it’s hilarious and at the same time powerfully moving, the best combination. I went because I thought this short play about an aging British couple would remind me of my British grandparents, but it didn’t; it reminded me of myself, my friends, my family, life. It’s is the real heart-expanding deal, superb and true, especially because it portrays two wonderful people: a strong wife with a sense of humour and a loving, kind husband. Where else have we seen that recently?
The unauthorized musical parody of Heated Rivalry had the audience in stitches but eventually I found it disappointing — the real thing is so much wiser and deeper. I know, the show is a parody, but it was so shallow and silly. The best part for me was chatting beforehand with an elderly gay couple who’ve been together for 61 years. How the western world has changed for them since 1965! They told me what the worldwide success of HR meant to them. I hope they enjoyed the parody, with its endless nonsensical jokes about the size of Ilya’s ass, a lot more than I did.
On Sunday I saw my friend Jody’s show Six Trees, which was gentle and idealistic — about how if every person on earth planted six trees in their lifetime, we’d beat climate change. “Who is speaking for the trees?” Jody asked. Have to say – I’ve planted at least six big trees in my garden, so doing my bit. I was cooking that morning with pasta on the boil, thinking the show started at 12.30, when I decided to check, and saw to my horror that it started at noon, and my watch said 11.37. I turned off the stove, put on a bra, jumped on my bike, and made it to Soulpepper with eight minutes to spare. The joys of living downtown.
Watched a documentary about JFK – had never really learned the details of his heroism on his gunboat in WWII, or the horrendous back pain he endured most of his life, or that he had Addison’s disease, a rare condition, and was diagnosed at one point with a year to live. A story of grit, relentless hard work and self-confidence (and womanizing), backed and buoyed, of course, by his huge supportive family and his father’s great wealth. What would our world be like now if he hadn’t been murdered?
Yesterday, I was passing my spare room when I noticed water dripping from the ceiling. Yes, a big bubble on the ceiling and a puddle on the floor. Doug came to the rescue but he couldn’t figure it out; luckily his plumber came late that day. It wasn’t a broken pipe in my third floor tenant’s bathroom, as I’d feared, it was water dripping from her air conditioner seeping through the floor. Today it took Doug and an assistant 45 minutes to try to straighten the thing. We hope the dripping has stopped.
It’s always @#$#@$ something!
Have been organizing my trip out west in early August, to visit beloved west coast friends I see too rarely, especially my Chrissie on Gabriola Island. Right now am gearing up for my Write in the Garden workshop on Sunday — lots to do, food for thirteen people to cook, prompts to prepare, the house to clean and the garden to fix up. It’ll take me the rest of the week.
The most fun was going out in the early morning to have sex with my cucumbers. I take a little brush, get pollen from the female flowers and brush it inside the male ones that have tentative little cukes growing. If the pollinators don’t do their job, I will do it for them. And three baby raccoons have decided they want to live with me; they come every evening and try to get in to the kitchen. Tiggy hisses from her safe spot inside, but they’re undeterred. Well, I admit, it is pretty nice in here.
But no, they’re not welcome, cute as they are.
