May 29, 2006
Good morning good morning
This morning, we awoke to jackhammers in the sidewalk outside our house, fragile things we love dearly falling off the wall and smashing into pieces and a city-wide transit strike. How exciting!
May 28, 2006
Weekend was
Weekend is pizza night and wine and celebratory cake on the front porch and getting to bed eventually but not remembering the details as to how and helping Jennie move at 9:00 the next morning and feeling gross and shopping without financial woes and clearing out the herbal tea department because we’re just that wild and crazy and biking to buy new capris which are now just called “cropped pants” and then to St. Lawrence market and asparagus and blackberries and Nicholas Hoare and bbq and finishing the wonderful Two Solitudes and reading newspapers and magazines and sleeping well and brunch with wonderful funny friends and then along Queen to Type Books where we bought Spacings and then biking through Trinity Bellwoods to home and my dad comes for tea with groceries in tow and when he goes we read the paper on the porch and eat more celebratory cake and alas the weekend now is over was but my goodness, it was marvelous.
Here for Coupland in The Guardian. On what prizes and festivals have done to fiction. Go here for some thoughts on the confessional anthology, which is apparently “the new memoir”. Vanessa Redgrave and Joan Didion talk about the stage version of The Year of Magical Thinking.
In personal book news, I am reading nothing at the mo. Tonight I’ll start Missing Sarah by Maggie De Vries, the story of a woman whose sister was one of the sx workers missing in Vancouver. It was nominated for a Governor General’s Award in 2003 and the author’s aunt is Jean Little, which I thought was interesting. It will be my 70th book of the year, and the last book I read before The Grest Summer Re-Reading Project begins on June 1st.
May 25, 2006
First stage of approval
When Stu called immigration this morning to ask a question about getting his Japanese criminal records check, they informed him they already had it. And in fact they had everythng. Because they had found his application and processed it yesterday, granting first stage of approval. The letter was posted to us yesterday. Which is annoying for multiple reasons, but wonderful for way more reasons. Yea! This weekend we’re going to celebrate by throwing frugality out the window in an elaborate ceremony.
May 24, 2006
Ah now; what now?
Sitting here with a cup of tea bigger than my head. There’s an article in The Guardian today, in defense of Nottingham by Jon McGregor. It’s a good piece, and Nottingham is a good place. The crime capital of England it might be, and it’s an outhouse compared to London, but I lived there for almost two years some moons ago, and that city was good to me. I arrived there completely deranged for a variety of reasons, and the time I spent getting over it was so fundamental. I had my first full time job there, and my little terrace house; I made wonderful friends and spent some brilliant days, and heard the songs, read the books, watched the films; passions began, for Mitfords, Miffy, EastEnders, weekend papers, bad europop and tea. And chips and cheese. (I also got really fat there). Where Stuart and I fell in love, and we rode double decker busses for kicks. That spring day three years ago, when as a surprise, Stu bought me the wonderfulIf Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things by Jon McGregor, Nottingham’s defender. McGregor has a new book coming out this year, and I can’t wait to read it, just to see how far we’ve come.
The latest installment of The Penpal Project arrived yesterday from Bronwyn. I received a postcard of The Queen and a map of Hay-on-Wye, as well as a lovely epistle. Having a penpal is the most wonderful thing. The lack of immediacy provides a real different dimension to communication from what I’m accustomed to. Writing to her last month, not knowing whether she had got her new job, but knowing that she would know by the time she read the letter. There are things you write in that situation that you wouldn’t otherwise. (And she did get the job, by the way). I will have her letter in the post within one week.
And a note of thanks to everyone who has been so wonderful and supportive about immigration. Our fax got a reply and there does appear to be light at the end of the long long tunnel. We’re resubmitting our application tomorrow and it will be bumped to the top of the queue. Oh, and there was “catch” at lunch today, so all is really really well. Especially since The Blue Jays won last night. And we were there, way up in the 500s. It was my first baseball game in years and Stuart’s first ever, and it is indeed a very strange sport. But we had fun, and we had an excellent time with Jennie and Deep, who live across the street from the Skydome.
Now reading Two Solitudes by Hugh McLennan. He’s terribly outdated, but I am a fan. The Watch That Ends the Night has been a favourite of mine for years. First, I love the way writers like McLennan wrote about Canada before we all got cool and accustomed to the idea of our nationhood (ha ha). It’s a good story though; alright, the characters are a wee bit wooden, the men are chauvinists and McLennan is entirely too obsessed with breasts and drippy females. But it’s Canadiana and we people like to eat it with a spoon.
May 21, 2006
Book Kismet
Immigration hits the all time crap low. Application is confirmed lost. We receive a phone message which we must reply to by fax, as you do. But at least we know which end is up (even if its the wrong one) and all of this will be ok eventually. Which is certainly not to say that I’ve got a positive attitude, but we’re just trying not to think about it.
Friday night was spent delightfully at Revival, where the fabulous KC Roberts and the Raw Blue were performing, with a new friend and co-worker of mine on bass. They were amazing and we had a lot of fun. And yesterday was pretty much passed on the porch with Curtis, the front porch until it got too cold and then out back where the sun still shone, and we had a bbq. Lately I have been craving hotdogs like they’re lifeblood. Miraculously, this weekend stretches out long and we’ve still got two days left. A trip to High Park is planned, although probably not today because the sky is black.
Picador Shots, a wonderful new way to market the short story. On why the fabulous Lionel Shriver is planning to bequeath her estate to the Belfast Libraries. Camilla Gibb in The Globe. The CBC reports on Eurovision. (Daz Sampson came 19th, for all you curious).
I just finished reading The Golden Apples by Eudora Welty, and it was pretty wonderful. But most amazingly, my comrade in bookishness o’er London way, Ms. Bronwyn, happened to be reading it at the exact same time. Which is odd, because the book was published sixty years ago, so it’s not like we’re both reading the latest bestseller. And we’ve never mentioned Eudora Welty, or The Golden Apples, in my recollection. Of all the millions of books we could have been reading, that was it. Shivers delightedly. I just plucked Sarah Bastard’s Notebook by Marian Engel off my shelf, apparently the first unabashedly feminist Canadian Novel. I loved Engel’s The Lunatic Villas. I have never read Bear and I never, ever, want to.
May 19, 2006
Daz Sampson
Eurovision is SO weird. Check out the UK entry here. The video is chavicious.
May 18, 2006
Wave Riding
Have removed my histrionic entry, as it was a bit much. With no goat references. Things remain decidedly crappy on the immi front but we’ll ride out that wave, and count our blessings in the meantime that we have all the support we do. Perpetual rainfall and constant fretting do an exhausted girl make. I read Love in a Cold Climate by Nancy Mitford, and now I am reading The Golden Apples by Eudora Welty. The Great Summer Re-Reading project is just around the corner, so I am reading up the unread corners of my bookshelf in the meantime.
Zoe Williams on the you never saw it coming McCartney split. On the best books about music. Stuart is existentially traumatised about recent developments in the world of lactic acid.
May 15, 2006
Umbrella Update
Oh, and for all of you who were curious. It was Virginia Woolf who lost her umbrella, and in real life no less. In Volume 5 of The Diary of, which happened to be on Monday March 22 1937. “And I left my umbrella apparently in a bus.” Indeed.
May 15, 2006
The No-Goat Zone
I’ve been reading the news a lot lately, but have been too tired to post anything that’s not goat-related. Understandably, but now. Kevin Chong writes a feature at Bookninja. On the world in a grain of sand. Canadian sorta-celebrity’s book-to-be entitled My Husband Left Me for Tori Spelling. A good review for Douglas Coupland’s JPod. We’re big Coupland fans in our household; admittedly DC slipped up a few years back, but his last three books (Eleanor Rigby, Hey Nostradamus and All Families Are Psychotic) were absolute pleasures to read. Jade Goody’s Autobiography is the new digested read. At McSweeneys, David Caruso scolds his cat.
Oh, and yesterday was the first watermelon of the season!
May 15, 2006
Down on the farm
We are awfully good at weekends. That’s the one good thing about working full time. We get to exercise our talent again. And so this morning we took the streetcar out to Cabbagetown, where we walked about and then we went to the Riverdale Farm (which is no longer a zoo). The gardens were so gorgeous, the animals were wonderful and we had a great time (best of all, it’s free!). Highlights included the pond where I felt like Annie Dillard, multitudinous tulips, a cow that has made me second-guess my carnivourous habits, and the sheep!! (And goats). We walked home, however, so we’re tired. Tonight my mom came for Mother’s Day Dinner and we had a very nice time.
In reading news, I finished Democracy by Joan Didion, which I like best of her novels that I’ve read. It was wonderful. And I am now reading something particularly interesting, Lovingly, Myra; Hinman Family Letters 1920-1926, which was edited and self-published by my Auntie a few years ago. “Myra” was my great-grandmother, and these are letters she wrote to her sisters, particularly her sister Susannah, who was a missionary in India. My great-grandmother died in 1926, at the age of 36, and so of course I never knew her. I appreciate these letters very much, especially the glimpse they give me of my grandmother as a child. And they are quite amusing.
