May 23rd, 2007

What is Good

Once, in I believe the fall of 2002, I and a few similarly tinted friends created the list of “1000 Things We Like,” perhaps number 1001 being how easy it was (and number 1002 being that there is enough strange synchronicity in our circle that more than one person suggested “little staplers”). The world is overflowing with very good things. This weekend alone, were I still working on the list, I would’ve added,

1) Waterfront winds
2) Marshmallow-mandarin orange salad
3) Unexpected fireworks displays seen out the car window, over the school around the corner, at the house across the street, even three feet in front of me as I walked home last night (ok, that one was a little alarming)
4) The Ben Report–my brother phoned yesterday from Tel Aviv to report that he is fine. He swam in the Dead Sea and played chess with soliders (not simultaneously). He is en route to Cairo, if you’re following this.
5) Cranberry-based birthday confections
6) Free perfume
7) The new issue of The New Quarterly (#102), filled with a slow wry heart-break in Annabel Lyon’s novella *Palaces,* a sad hilarious snapshot of fabulousness in Russell Smith’s story “Confidence” and, well, just tonnes and tonnes of good stuff. And, um, a story by me. No, I can’t believe it either.
8) Teenaged punks who do their vocabulary homework just because I begged them to for months. No, I can’t believe it either.

Life is good. I guess there’s nothing to do but get on with it. Back to work.

You’re such a lovely audience / We’d like to take you home with us
RR

February 24th, 2023

Six Years Gone

When I talk about my dad I often mention that I don’t take after him very much. When my mom walks into a room where people know me, or I walk into one where people know her, we can be identified on sight, we resemble each other so much, and it’s not just physical either, but my dad and I…less so. But today, six years after his death, here is a list of things we did/do have in common:

1. Jerry generally ordered the most interesting things on the menu, even if they were also things that could turn out to be bad. He quite often ended up mournfully picking at a weird stew but he also had some fantastic bouillabaisses over the years, and he never gave up believing in the special of the day. After years of sticking with my favourites, somewhere in my thirties I became more like that. I unusually want the most interesting thing I can order, and am often disappointed–and often not.
2. We are both green thumbs, mainly because he taught me to be. My dad taught me that the art of taking care of plants, as with taking care of anything, is labour and paying attention. I mean, and also weeding, which sucks.
3. We are both nosy about the lives of strangers, which is funny for a couple reasons. I am nosy about everybody, but my father was not overly curious about the lives of people in nearer proximity, like neighbours and colleagues, probably because they would have the ability to nose right back–my father was an incredibly private person (when someone comments that I wasn’t a very rebellious kid, I sometimes retort/want to retort that we are all rebelling against different things). But he did like to know about random people at the library or on the street. He once met a waitress at a Pizza Hut in Atlanta whom he talked about for years. My father liked people who were at a slight remove from him and knew it, and could joke about the distance. My favourite one of these was his “machine guy,” who would fix his two lawnmowers and rototiller (he had a vast property and garden) every spring and fall. They had a relationship spanning decades, although I have no idea about the guy’s name. The guy was a motorcycle enthusiast who did the Friday the 13th Port Dover Rally, if you are familiar. One year it took extra long to get the lawn mowers working in the spring and my father was anxious about the lawn getting “too long,” by his standards. He called the guy (repeatedly, I imagine) who said, “I know, I know–it’s taking too long. I go to my therapist, you’re all I talk about.”
4. We both want to pet all the cats, look at all the birds, feed all the horses–all the animals, all the time. My father’s original dream for me, when I was probably only about three or so, was that I would be an ornithologist, because I liked looking at a dead bird I found on the road (why was this happening? lost to time). My parents took me to the children’s museum to see more dead birds (again, why?) and many zoos and any farm where you could see a horse, which were conveniently plentiful in our neck of the woods. One dusk we sat in lawn chairs in the backyard and 1000 starlings flocked in our yard, I don’t know why. We always pointed out hawks to each other. Mark was very startled by the phrase “that’s a good-looking dog” when I first pointed one out on the sidewalk, but now he uses it too–it originated with my father.
5. This list could go on and on–I’m having a tough time, I don’t know why no one tells you about year six. But I’ll end it here. We both are happy for other people to have a good time. I’m not always as generous as I want to be–working on it–but I’m always glad to see if someone else can have some fun even if I can’t. I always wanted my roommates to go to parties even if I had to stay home and study, I would like to hear all about your glamourous vacation, I always hope Mark will get to go on good guys night and drink a million beers. My dad was the same way. The last gift he ever gave me was a last-minute plane ticket on boxing day–not cheap–to go and see my in-laws. I had been supposed to spend Christmas out there but because he was so sick I didn’t go, but he didn’t want me to miss the whole trip, so he and my mom got me the ticket to go later. He said over and over how happy it made him to image me having a good time. He died less than two months later.

February 1st, 2023

Against Bookism

At the end of the year, folks were tallying up their book lists, doing best-of-the-year lists but also just of-the-year counts, how many total, by genre, by gender, compared to last year, everything. Stats are interesting, I suppose–I like data too–but it made me nervous. Because why do people count books? I feel like we tally things we should do, or want to want to do, like workouts and days without a safety incident, and not things we just gravitate towards joyfully, like tv shows and cheese. In all the 2022 tallies I saw on socials in December, no one said, “I had 38 cupcakes this year, gonna try to top that in ’23!” So, books, eh–in the same category as cardio and keeping the guard on the bandsaw. I mean, that’s good–but not as good as a cupcake. As a writer and a reader and a producer of books, I sometimes DO feel like a book is delicious. Some books are carrots but some are cupcakes. Aren’t they?

The other things is that as soon as you start measuring you invite comparison. If we’re all counting–and even though I feel like I shouldn’t, I also count books–then there’s a right number we’re trying to get to. Read a little faster, skip a little tv, focus a little better, and crank up that number? Eh, not really–like most things in my life, I seem to have a set point with reading. I have read slightly more than a book a week–about 60 books a year–almost every year since I started counting.

That was almost 17 years ago. The summer between first and second year of my grad school program, I was waiting to meet my thesis supervisor and I wanted to have something to tell him when he finally turned up, so I started keeping a journal of the books I read. Notably, I did not change the books I read to find more impressive ones to enter in the journal–the first one was Necklace of Kisses by Francesca Lia Block, the 6th book in the Weetzie Bat series, which was for teenagers. I didn’t even find an impressive journal–it had a flower on it. My supervisor wound up not caring about it at all but I found it quite useful over the years to take a few sentences of notes on each book I read, just to record my general impression of it, in case I forgot what I had read later or was asked for recommendation.

So I kept it up, through the second year of grad school and on into my next job, the first book I actually wrote, the coming of GoodReads–a similar concept, but too public to write what I actually think of certain books–and on and on. A few more than 60 books some years, a few under others–way under that the first year of the pando, but I am back at capacity now, baby! I like reading, like books, like thinking about them and…if I’m being really honest, I like counting them. BUT WHY?? I don’t think about books as medicinal, I swear I don’t, but I just like to tote them up. They aren’t vegetables, mainly–cupcakes, mainly cupcakes! But I want to count them.

I finished my 1000th book on Saturday. The Sleep of Apples by Ami Sands Brodoff. I enjoyed the book, a collections of linked stories, but I also got that frisson when I finished it of knowing I had hit 1000. Three diaries, almost 17 years, and 1000 books. I judge myself so harshly for this but also–just so excited for 1001. What is this impulse?

April 29th, 2020

Pandemic Diary V: April 13 to 20

April 13: That thing that is going around where I list ten things that are reasonably popular with the general population that I, personally, do not enjoy:

1) gravy
2) activities where something attaches to my feet (skiing, ice skating, rollerblading, etc.)
3) parades
4) TV shows about cooking (unless they tell you HOW to cook a thing, which is never in 2020)
5) alcohol
6) good-natured teasing
7) getting a lot more information on something I already know is bad (of everything on this list, #7 is probably the hardest one to convince others of)
8) podcasts and webseries that just funny people hanging out
9) debate
10) fondant (although, actually, there’s *lots* of fondant in the world, but does *anybody* actually like it?)

(2) Evan has learned to play tug of war. #catsofinstagram

Day 32 (yesterday’s status that never got posted somehow): it is raining. Slightly tricky work puzzle to figure out, felt my brain protesting angrily (still solved it, but am now exhausted). It was indeed a slothful weekend, I hope I am not fully ruined for industrious effort now.

I have been finding new things to be anxious about as we leave the apartment less and less, which does not bode well. Last night we made a roast chicken et al for dinner, and it was very nice. As he was packing up the leftovers, Mark said to be careful when I ate them because there might be little bones in there. I said, “Well, then I won’t eat any.” This morning I demanded that if Mark ate any, he call me so I could keep an eye on him in case he choked. Remembered the terrifying time I briefly choked on a fishbone in a restaurant and was too embarrassed to say anything until after I coughed it out. Once the crisis was averted, I didn’t want to eat the rest of my fish in case there were more stealth bones and my friend (who appears to no longer be on facebook) leaned over and cut it all up for me and patted all the pieces and said, “See, no bones!” and I saw his whole future as an excellent father (which was right) and so I ate the fish. Later that night we went to a reading and that was the second time I’d ever talked to Mark Sampson and my voice sounded funny because the bone cut up my throat but it was still really nice.

Man, I miss going out with friends and restaurants and readings (and cheerfully letting others touch my food). I watched Mark eat the leftovers and he didn’t choke, but can not choking be really be the best one can say about an experience?

Day 33–I have been putting off calling my doctor regarding prescription renewals hoping that somehow the pandemic would just…go away, and I wouldn’t be faced with the choice between going to an office with potential sick/germy people and doing without my usual drugs. But I call just now, and I could make a phone appointment for tomorrow! So easy and not scary–and no germs! FYI in case you, too, have been worried about making the call!

(2)

I self-inject mediation once a month, which is not frequently enough to become either proficient or blasé about self-injection, so I make Mark monitor me in case I–I don’t know–hit something important with the needle. Conversation while I was sterilizing my thigh, readying the needle, and injecting:

RR: Someone is doing a most hated high-school books bracket on twitter.
MS: Ooh, what’s winning?
RR: So far they’re just collecting nominations. What would you nominate?
MS: Shane! For sure!
RR: Oh, I didn’t read that one. It’s about…
(at the same moment) MS: A horse. RR: A pimp?
MS: I think there was a pimp in it. (Takes out his phone, googles, starts reading Wikipedia) …set in 1889 Wyoming, when Wyoming Territory was still open to the Homestead Act of 1862…maybe not a pimp.
RR: …(faintly) a bad muthaf*cka…?
MS: …
RR: …
MS: You’re thinking of Shaft.
RR: Oh. (does injection wrong in some way I do not understand, bleeds)
MS (shoulder hug) It’ll be all right.

Day 34–I have a long tunic/short minidress that I generally wear on the former setting, with leggings or opaque tights. But today, alone in my apartment with husband and cats for 34 days, is the day–bare legs, baby!

(2) Made some late night hummus because why not? It is pink because I used beet tahini. I think it’s gorgeous. #hummus #whynot #whatamidoingwithmylife

Day 35 (or possibly day 1000, no way to tell) neighbour noise report: my neighbourhood is extremely noisy, but if I delve into that it gets whiny really fast. I have been marinating in noises for 35 days, suffice to say.

INSIDE our building, interestingly, is not noisy–it is one of those old 70s cinderblock constructions where, if you can hear your neighbours, your neighbours are doing something unusual. So here is the report on our neighbours, all of whom are 98% silent but I’ve had 9 years to find out what I can and 35 days to really ponder it: north-side neighbours are a couple and their perhaps 10yo? daughter. The dad is friendly enough, the mom is very reserved, but the little girl would like to pet our cats and possibly even talk to me at the elevators so the mom is cordial for her sake. They once had an elderly woman staying with them who paced the hall for hours and slightly frightened me. The only noise we have ever heard from their place took me quite a while to figure out, turned out to be a popcorn popper that was touching the wall for a few minutes. The only noise ever. South-side neighbours are the couple with the tiny baby who I have mentioned before in this space–although they refuse to be rude, they very definitely wish to talk to me never. Pre-pandemic I never heard a peep from them, but since i have been home I have heard the baby crying once, someone jumping rope once, and a few things falling on the floor. Also once a loud argument that may or may not have been on tv. Across the hall neighbours are a couple with a miniature dachshund and, they claim, a cat which I have never seen. I occasionally hear them chatting happily or their tv if I am in the hallway (the doors are less soundproof than the walls). The previous occupant told me that apartment is a bachelor, and they have lived there for more than 5 years and just seem really joyful for two men and two pets living in a single room. These neighbours are pretty friendly but, unlike the other two mentioned, speak English as a first language, so that could have something to do with it (there is another couple with a miniature dachshund living down the hall, also two men, also friendly–I don’t know if they have a cat or not). Upstairs neighbours: these are the ceiling singers, whom I’ve mentioned here before. I think there are several of them, I think they are pretty young, but since we don’t share a corridor we can’t be sure. They definitely love music, they are definitely mainly untalented, and they have a lot of friends to throw parties for. They are a tiny bit noisy, but since they replaced an abusive parent who screamed and threw things, I appreciate them every single day. Downstairs neighbours–no available information, we have never heard anything and never knowingly seen them. Since noise travels down more easily than up in a building, probably we are their noise, although we are really quiet according to me. I wonder what they think….

Day 36, things edition. At the beginning of the lockdown, I refused to order anything for delivery–then, a few weeks in, I went berserk and ordered the following: a yoga mat, since my old one was trapped at work (and also is the free one I got with Special K purchases that is falling apart); a bunch of new leggings/jeggings, since I didn’t have very many and those too were falling apart and even I can’t wear skirts/tights when I’m home all day everyday); new earbuds for walks around the neighbourhood since, again, I had destroyed my existing ones. Except for my tendency to ruin all my belongings, I’m a fairly thrifty person and I wound up feeling really guilty about all the deliveries while also really enjoying each and every one of them.

Before and since, I’ve also been wandering through the apartment, finding things that I had forgotten about. Even as people who allegedly buy very little, we had still accumulated all these random nice things that we didn’t even have time to appreciate…until now… Here is what turned up:
–Kitchen: arborio rice (the kind you make risotto with), dried kidney beans, chia seeds, lasagna noodles, beet tahini, several fancy teas, sourdough starter, hot chocolate, ground almonds, sweetened condensed milk, frozen pumpkin–all things bought for some recipe or given as gifts and then just kind of…there (except the sourdough, which is eternal) all now used up, except for a bit of tea and of course the starter, which is eternal. So many good meals!
–Bathroom: vast collection of nail polishes, though I swore off buying nail polish over 5 years ago; fancy shower oil; fancy soap; fancy moisturizer; shower puff in the shape of a rose; perfume that I always worry is too strong to wear to work; essential oil for migraine. I’m working on using this stuff up, and my nails and skin look amazing. I’m also having a very well-scented lockdown!
–Bureau: vast collection of scarves, none of which turned out to be good for making masks, but it is fun to wear pretty silk scarves every day! Actually, that’s kind of it in that area–I’m not really dressing up much these days.
–Bookshelves: Arcadia by Tom Stoppard, which is one of Mark’s faves but I had never read. Now I’m reading it aloud with a couple friends over Zoom and it’s one of the highlights of my week! I’m also making some slow progress on my New Yorker backlog and a treat for this weekend is Tabitha Southey’s Collected Tarts, which I bought I don’t know how long ago and somehow just never got to.

That’s all I can think of, but there’s probably actually more! Oh, a cool rice paper notebook from high school that only had like 4 pages written on! Anyway, as we cope with boredom and financial belt-tightening, it’s nice to have all this stuff to play with. Have you found anything fun lying around your place?

Day 38. Because I have started spending the entire day and evening in a single room, I have come to have somewhat strange feelings about this room. Whereas in the Before, I would wake up, go to the gym, shower, TTC to work, work all day and maybe go to a few meetings, TTC home, eat dinner, and then write in my home office in the evenings, now I wake up, do a YouTube workout in my home office, shower, work all day in my home office, eat dinner, and write all evening in said office. Most video calls, online games, and watching of TV Mark does not like is also done in here. I know, I know, cry me a river–it is very nice having this office and I don’t take it for granted. But I have been spending up to twelve hours a day in here and have noticed way too much about the paint on the walls, the window frame, the very non-ergonomic desk setup (I thought it was great until recently), etc. etc. I wonder when I will be able to go back to finding this a pleasant little room again…hopefully someday!

Day 39, somehow. Overwhelmed with sadness about the murders in Nova Scotia. I don’t usually talk about big horrors on social media because I don’t have anything unique or comforting to say, but since all forms have self-censorship have gone out the window in the pandemic: I’m sad and I don’t have anything useful to say about that.

My tomato seedlings are starting to get their adult leaves. Evan threw up this morning (twice), but on an easy-to-clean surface. It occurred to me that part of why TV never looks realistic to me is that everyone’s clothes have clearly been put on 10 minutes ago and have no creases from sitting down or anything–no one ever looks like that in real life.

I continue to be upset about the homeless situation during C-19 (and not during C-19, but particularly right now)–I keep finding tents in my neighbourhood in new spots wherever I go for a walk. I’ve been donating to different food programs to support people in need, but it doesn’t feel like enough. If you’re acquainted with an organization in Toronto that is helping people in poverty through this crisis, I’m happy to hear about it. I can post a list of places I know about so far plus the new suggestions I receive, if others are interested…

April 9th, 2020

Pandemic Diary II: March 21-28

Day 9 of the Great Loneliness and the Sampsonblums have left Saint James Town. It was amazing! We booked a car share for @neverlizzy ‘s birthday party, now of course wisely cancelled, but we hung onto the car booking and drove around looking for some different things to look at and now I feel so much better. Happy birthday Liz—we celebrate you from afar and someday from a close (shots from North Gwillimbury and Beaverton, and yes we disinfected the car when we got in and when we got out, brought a picnic, talked to no one, etc., etc) #leavingtown #adventure #anywherebuthere

Day 10 of external monologue (ht Anne-Michelle Tessier): just brought my lunch from the kitchen to my desk, forgot a fork, not going back.

This is from yesterday:

Mark Sampson (making dinner): So Kenny Rogers died.
RR (washing dishes): Oh no–of what?
MS: Old age. Nothing to do with Covid-19.
RR: How old?
MS: 81, I think.
RR: Well, ok. I wish he’d been older.
(long, long silence)
RR: I think we should each prepare three topics to discuss at dinner.
MS: What? Really?
RR: I’m worried I already used up all my organic conversation earlier in the day.
MS: Um…
RR: You can make the death of Kenny Loggins one of your things, if you want.
MS: It was Kenny Rogers.
RR: Oh.
MS: …
RR: Well, how is Kenny Loggins then?
MS: I don’t know, I’m not on top of that.
RR: …
MS: Why don’t you google it?
RR (googles, triumphant) Still alive!
MS: Hooray!
RR: Oh, man, remember “Return to Pooh Corner”?
MS: No.
RR: It was a good song. Oh, and “Danger Zone.”
MS: I remember “Danger Zone.”
RR: And of course the real classic…
MS: Which is what? I don’t remember?
RR: I think you will… (clicks on the song, turns up phone speakers)
MS (listens intently) Footloose!!!
(All humans dance, Alice flattens her ears back)
RR: This was my finest malapropism ever!

(we wound up watching Brooklyn 99 over dinner)

Day 11 of The Isolation and we have entered The Noisy Period, as my building is testing the fire alarm all day today, Wednesday and Friday because they are monsters (Mark Sampson suggested it’s because they want us to be safe from fire, but I yelled at him until he agreed that it’s because they are monsters). This has only been going on for 30 minutes and I’ve already taped a pillow over the speaker, which is helping way less than you’d expect.

I’m terrible with loud noises and this is probably not going to go well. Expect rage around midday and despair ~2pm (all times approximate).

In non-noisy news, we gave up on dinner table conversation last night and just started performing Waiting for Godot, passing the book back and forth as we ate. I am Estragon.

Day 12 of My Yoga Pants Life: Ben Rosenblum taught my mother to Skype and it is such a gift. Life keeps moving. We broke a glass at Brandon McFarlane and Hilary June Hart‘s video cocktail party last week (wild night) and elder cat has gotten very good at finding shards of broken glass that escaped cleanup and bringing them to my attention. I am tired all the time despite doing less than I have ever done, day to day, in my adult life. Also realizing if I can’t catch up on the New Yorker now, I never will. Sadness.

(2)

and Mark Sampson eat lunch together.

MS: Do you want an apple or a pear?
RR: Pear, please.
MS (goes to fridge, takes out one apple and one pear, washes and dries both, comes back to table, hands RR the apple, takes a bite of the pear)
RR: …
MS: Oh, sorry, this is for you. (hands RR the pear, minus one bite)
RR: Marriage. (resignedly starts to eat pear) I should get going if I want to take a walk and get some stuff done before my meeting at 2.
MS: Ah. And what time is your meeting?
RR: …
MS: Did you say?
RR: …
MS: Is it at 2?
RR: Sometimes I wish we had a court stenographer.
MS: That just came with the marriage?
RR: Tell me you’ve never wished that.
MS: Of course!
RR: The dialogue literally went “…my meeting at 2. What time is your meeting?”
MS: It was the “at 2” part that I missed.
RR: But HOW?
MS: I don’t know. I really wish I did, but I don’t.

(3) The upstairs singers are back–or are they? This is all suspiciously on-key! Sounds great, ceiling friends–keep it up!

(4) I know I’ve already posted 1000 times today but: Presto is letting folks cancel their annual passes until Friday with no penalty. I love having an annual pass because I’m such a heavy TTC user that it’s worth the money and allows me to dodge 99% of the drama that Presto has brought to the system, but I basically wasted $100 in March because I stopped going places after the first 11 days so, argh, I cancelled. Hoping I can reinstate in May. FYI to others in my situation who may not have seen the message!

Day 13 of being very sad and worried all the time. What are you all doing with your time in isolation, I wonder? I talk mainly about single little moments but here is where the bulk of my pandemic time is actually going–what about you?

1) My job, which is very portable, so more or less from 9 to 5 daily I sit at my desk and try to get things done. Focus and internet connection speed are not what they were at the office, but thank goodness this is not a super-busy time.

2) Cooking: I had all these projects I thought I’d do “if I had the time” and I’ve basically done none of them…except cooking projects. I made enchiladas where you soak the beans and then cook the beans and then make the enchiladas–two days; I made bread–four days; I made a potato cake and risotto… We’re trying to be really careful with groceries and not buy too much, so I tell myself I’m helping by stretching food to the max.

3) I repotted some plants and did some US tax docs at the very beginning of the period, before my resolve went to hell.

4) Talking to everyone! The best thing about this isolation is that I actually talk to my friends every day and that is glorious. Man there is a lot of software available if you want to talk to people virtually–so far using Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Whatsapp, Signal, email, iMessage, Mattermost, Zoom, BlueJeans, Skype, FaceTime, HouseParty, and the actual phone, but hey, if you’d like to talk to me and only want to do it using YOUR special software, I will download it–hmu!

5) Marriage: I think Mark will be relieved when he’s not the only human I see in a day, but so far we aren’t driving each other TOO crazy. But I do have a lot attention to really focus on him. The other day he had a mystery scratch on his stomach and i pondered that for ages. Ages!

6) Yeah, I’m still writing a novel…kinda. I’m also reading books and magazines, but very slowly. It’s so hard to concentrate, especially when I genuinely have to concentrate on work for much of the day. I do get things done, a tiny bit, ish. Even TV is a challenge.

7) Going for walks: I live in one of the highest population density areas in Canada, so this is challenging, but I do try to get out every day and walk gingerly around people for half an hour or so. It’s good to see the sky. Sometimes I walk to my mom’s place and wave at her!

8) Online workouts–some are fun, some are too hard, none of them are really suited to being done in the space I have, but I try!

9) Picking up my cats and cuddling them until they bite. No explanation needed.

Day 14 of the most unusual times. I went to a park last night since I heard they are closing. People seemed to mainly keep to themselves and I walked on the mud a few times to avoid others on the path, but then a little dog came running up to me. It was very cute and I like dogs, plus I know they can’t transmit Covid since I researched it for my cats, but I waved him off out of standard social-distancing instincts. Then a little girl, about 5, came up behind him and said, “Don’t worry, he’s friendly,” and seemed ready to engage with me and I just–fled. Poor kid, I didn’t know what to do if she didn’t know not to come near me. “I like dogs too, thank you,” I yelled over my shoulder as I ran away.

So I totally get why they are closing the parks for the greater good, but it’s a big blow. The virus times are making me think a lot about how I count on a lot of common resources in the community, and when the going gets tough, those go away, and we are basically left with what is our own. I’ve made certain decisions in my life with an idea that my own personal space and possessions will be limited but I will be able to share and enjoy the whole vast city–libraries, parks, museums, concerts, community centres. Restaurants, bars, movie theatres, etc. I mean, I know no one has access to these things and everyone is struggling, but I just…really wish I had a yard. I was very sad in the park yesterday, thinking spring is going to come and I don’t know when I’ll get to walk on grass.

And I know I have so many friends who would invite me to their yards if they could but they can’t, just like I have been making all this food and wishing I could share it but it isn’t safe, and all these basic kind human instincts aren’t working right now. I’m just finding the Covid-19 period sort of…neoliberal, in some ways. This is the first time I’ve cried in this whole period, about the dumb grass, and I get that I’m very lucky, but telling myself I’m lucky not to be in serious trouble is really not holding much water today.

Day 15 of the feline life. I have the afternoon off today, had intended to hang out with my mom and/or get a massage. Instead i will be vacationing in my living room. Cats got a new cardboard box yesterday and are content. Mark has installed Canopy on the Apple TV so we can watch a documentary on the guy who created Calvin and Hobbes–we had a short fight about what his name is and I’m not going to google so I can continue to be right about everything in my mind, but that guy–tonight. I am listening to The Cars a lot, ever since David Frum tweeted a video of his daughter dancing to them. Sort of cheering. Very excited for virtual lunch with coworkers!

Car share is suspended, parks are closed, socializing forbidden, so this weekend we walk to the lake. And when we get there…sit on the sidewalk to eat our sandwiches, and then look for a place to pee, I guess. And then walk home. This is honestly the BEST I can come up with. Do you folks have plans?

Does anyone remember a Joe Ollmann comic that begins, “I’m wandering in the cemetery again, drunk as a lord”? It has black swans in it and I kept the clipping for probably 20 years but it’s lost now and I miss it. Anyway, there’s no parks now, so we wander in the cemetery now (sober) and it’s pretty dark, but interesting. Day 16 of whatever period this is. #cartoon #cemetary #darktimes @ Toronto, Ontario

December 5th, 2019

Heritable Privilege or, the Story of My Futon

Yeah, so I didn’t post for six months and I also did not finish my novel, but SURPRISE, I did try to finish my novel and this at least resulted in my thinking a lot about it.

One of the things the book is about is inheritance, in a more literal fashion than novels tend to take on this topic–what does inherited wealth and attitudes towards wealth look like and what happens when there isn’t any? (it’s actually kind of a funny novel, I swear–this is only a small aspect of it!) A way I work on fiction, and probably one of the reasons why it takes forever, is to look at what my characters are going through and try to see how that same issue is played out in my own life, or how it could be–is that autobiographical writing or the exact opposite of autobiographical writing???? I don’t know.

SO one thing I’ve been looking at is thrift. I am extremely thrifty–I am organized and responsible about money and I like to save, sometimes to a silly degree. I have the time and energy to invest in thriftiness almost like a mini-hobby, which is of course the result of middle-class privilege. People who are in more precarious financial situations do no have the time or focus to work on getting the best possible deals or finding a way to do without certain costs by putting in time or energy. I’ve become increasingly aware as adult that my ways of saving money are the result of having a bit of it to start with.

A very simple example of this sort of thing is insurance premiums and deductibles. With most insurance plans, what portion of any insured cost (say, damages from a car accident) I would have to pay (the deductible) is determined by how much my monthly payment is (the premium). So if I can pay only $100 a month, my deductible might be the first $1000 of any repair costs, but if I am willing to pay $150 a month, maybe the deductible would only be $500 (these numbers are pretty random, I’m not an actuary–it’s just an example). Basically, if I can float a bit more on the monthly cost, I can prevent a giant emergency cost down the road. Who can afford that? Not everyone.

But all insurance is a gamble, and this is strictly a dollars game–I wanted a richer example that’s more about inherited privilege and family support. Here is something I remembered from my own life, which I think demonstrates what I’m driving at a little better:

When I was in first-year university, I lived in residence but in second year I moved into an apartment with three friends–cheaper, more freedom, more fun. My parents helped me get some furniture before the semester started and instead of a bed I asked for a futon. That way I could have both a bed and a couch for the price of one! I also asked for a slightly nicer futon–I remember the bottom-of-the-line futon and frame cost about $250 and mine was over $300, because I wanted it to last a long time. I was able to do this, of course, because my parents bought it for me, helped me transport it to my apartment, and set it up.

Then it was my bed/couch for three years, until I left Montreal, and here is where the story gets a little extra. When I moved back to Ontario, I opened the phonebook and found a mover to ship all my battered university girl sh*t back home for me. I had too much stuff for anyone to take it in a car but not really an entire moving van’s worth of stuff, and anyway, no one wanted to drive it for me. Most people I know who left the city sold all their stuff they couldn’t carry for a few bucks or just gave it to friends who were staying or left it on the street on moving day for whoever wanted it.

Not me! I shipped a used dresser I had bought for $20 and which had the date 1984 painted on it, my kitchen table and chairs, several bookcases, lamps, all my kitchen stuff, a coffee table, even my broom and mop, a tv, and yes, that futon. All this cost me several hundred dollars, which was probably far more than the street value of the contents of the load but crucially, would be far far less than it would cost to buy it all again, not to mention the time and effort associated with doing so.

Obviously, I took money from my parents to do this, since I was unemployed at the time, and then I stored all that stuff in their garage for months while they parked their car in the driveway and I looked for a job and we all studiously avoided talking about where this situation was leading. Then eventually I did get a job (two actually) in Toronto and I lined up an apartment I could pretty much pay for and my parents took my stuff out of their garage and drove it to me in their station wagon a little bit at a time until I was reunited with all my belongings and became what we all pretend to understand as an independent woman, since I stopped living with or taking money from parents at that point.

But hahaha, right? Sure, I was working and paying for my own apartment but my apartment was full of furniture my parents had helped me buy and assemble and ship from another province and store and then brought to me??!?! Also through it all, I had tonnes of emotional support and encouragement and cheerleading, which is another kind of privilege. I should point out, the employment situation I moved to Toronto for was fairly precarious, and someone from a less privileged and supportive background, someone who didn’t know she was free to fail and retreat to her childhood home might never have tried it in the first place–and I wound up with a fairly awesome career because I did try and persisted trying. Hmmm…

And that futon persisted too! I’m not sure at what point this moves from being an interesting point about inherited privilege to a sad story about a woman who lives with all her furniture from the 90s, but here is the rest of the history of that futon: It was my bed and my couch in my first, bachelor apartment in Toronto, and then graduated to being my couch in the living room of my one-bedroom, and it is now that couch in my home office. I sleep on it occasionally, if I’m sick and too cough-y to be pleasant company in the marital bed, and it’s definitely not what it once was, but it’s still comfortable enough for a decent night’s sleep, and allows me to be reasonably hospitable to others when they need a place to crash. FYI!

It’s also the reason I didn’t by my first actual non-futon couch until I was 35 (when Mark and I moved in together, he had one, but then the cats destroyed it). I guess I have low standards and don’t necessarily get charmed by new stuff unless the old stuff has disintegrated, but of the things that were in that moving truck in 2001, I kept the bookcases, the microwave, and cutlery until I moved in with Mark in 2011, and I still have 1.5 of the lamps (1.5 broke along the way), the shoe rack, the coffee table, the kitchen table, two chairs, many books, a plastic cupboard, and the futon.

I’d say I got my money’s worth. Which in itself is an interesting expression, isn’t it?

October 2nd, 2018

Can you please one of the people all of the time?

***Here is a weird thing–I wrote this post back in August for my wedding anniversary, and it never posted. I just found it now in my drafts folder. I think I meant to post it, thought I did, and just assumed it never received any comments, as many of my posts don’t. It’s possible I decided at the last minute not to post it for some reason–maybe I decided it was too personal? I don’t know–I sort of forget a lot of August now. Here’s the post.***

Western ideas of romantic partnership are so weird. You are expected to like someone’s face, body, parents, cooking, taste in music, driving ability, pets, friends, clothes, parenting style, breath, way of communicating, moral code, and hair. Your romantic partner is expected to become the first person you think of when you are upset or need to move a piece of furniture or want to have sex or have financial concerns or are considering an international move or need career advice or want to up your housekeeping standards or want to invite friends over or want to adopt a new pet or child. You expect your partner to consider dropping friends you despise or values you abhor, to challenge beloved family if they are mean to you and to think about professional development in concert with what it would mean to your relationship to take that promotion, retrain for that new field, become part-time or full-time or zero-time or really anything at all. Our partners are the people we want to look hottest for but also perhaps the only people we are comfortable seeing us at our worst, the one whose opinion matters most but also the person who when I say “I want to be alone” mainly doesn’t count.

I’ve been married six years tomorrow and I still find it really bizarre. Great but just…1000 years ago when people were trading sheep for wives I bet they didn’t see all this coming (no wait, the sheep were a bonus with the wife??? I guess that system didn’t make much sense either).

Before I’d ever dated anyone I would walk down the street alone and imagine doing it holding someone else’s hand and how great that would feel, and you know what? I was right. It is great to have a person at the party who I know will always be willing to absorb me into his conversation when everyone I was talking to mysteriously needs to get a drink or go to the bathroom at the same moment. It is great to be at the movies and suddenly overwhelmed with hilarity and look beside me and he is laughing so hard too. It is great to have someone to look at the giant bug bite on my back and say, “Wow, that IS really bad.” It is great to be the smartest one half the time and to be in awe of how smart he is half the time–I am so glad I get to do both.

Still. Sometimes I tell someone I am having a hard time lately and they are baffled because “Mark is so great.” Which is honestly a thing I might have said when I was young and had never been in a great relationship and thought great relationships might be the universal antidote to all sadness. But then again I am baffled, too, by people who say “my partner is my best friend” or “my partner is my whole world, my everything.” My partner is my favourite human and I am so lucky to have him in my life, but I get to have friends too, right? And the rest of the world?

My wedding day is legit one of the happiest days of my life. Mean people sometimes liken that to having peaked in high school, but it’s not about the wedding being better than the marriage–it isn’t–but about concentration of happiness. I liked having a whole day to celebrate our love along with the love of our friends and family for us. I liked celebrating our new little family with our old big family.

Hmm, what I’m trying to say is there is a lot of pressure on romantic partnership to be so much to us, and it is already a lot, and the same time a lot of pressure to be chill about it. When we go out tomorrow to celebrate out anniversary, I’m sure there’s going to be half a dozen people who inform me gravely that they never bother to celebrate their anniversary or even know when it is. From a certain contingent, there’s this idea it’s shallow to think about one’s relationship too much or get too excited about how great it is, even if it is in fact really great. Are these the “my partner is my whole world” people too? I don’t know.

I am lucky. I am in love, and loved. I am tired. I have had a headache for most of the summer, but I just got back from a vacation where I swam in the ocean. Mark is the best thing that ever happened to me, but he isn’t perfect and he hasn’t solved all my problems, or even very many of them except for the problem of not being in love and the problem of not being able to carry heavy things. I think that’s enough. We aren’t friends. We’ve been married for six years.

August 30th, 2017

Social Media Policy

Someone asked me recently about how I deal with social media as a writer, which is an interesting question because I mainly just really enjoy social media as a person. The professional perks, while they exist, are mainly sidelines–very small sidelines. Writers who feel pressed to have a presence on all channels are probably being oversold on what the benefits to that might be, but at the same time, it is good to give readers some way (just one way is fine!) of finding you online and offer at least a little bit of interaction and interesting things to say, should anyone care. And of course, you have to share your readings, books for sale, etc. with the world somehow–social media is a good way to get the word out, but you need to be careful to avoid pushy self-promotion.

What is the right balance? Who knows. But because I like to share random things about myself on the internet, and hence am an enjoyer and moderately heavy user of social media, here is how I choose to use it, in the past and up until now, along with a few caveat emptor recommendations about what might or might not work for others…

Blogs and websites: I started a private blog under a nickname in 2001 as a way of staying in touch with university friends. Back then, many of them had blogs too and we were a happy little network of oversharers. Many enthusiasms waned over time but mine never did, and in 2007 it seemed relevant to start blogging publicly under my own name, since I was publishing stories and thought I might have a book on the horizon. I wanted people to be able to find me easily if they googled and find salient information (like what I had published and where they might find it) when they did. So I made the new, blogger blog, more organized and slightly less inane. Despite the rest of this long list, this is probably what I would recommend folks do if they dislike the internet but feel they have to be on it for professional reasons. Put together a simple, free site with a list of your upcoming appearances, links to publications and press, links toonline stores for your products if any, and a contact form so people can get in touch. That’s really all you need–if you set it up as a static site you don’t even need regular posts, though I still really like blogging. I moved to a personal domain and a professionally designed site by CreateMeThis in 2011, but that was really for my own pleasure, because I enjoy the site. I don’t promote the posts in any way very often, not even on other social media (though I’m going to try to get better at that), and it’s still mainly my old uni friends who read, but the site is here for anyone who wants it and every few months, I do hear from someone who googled their way here. There are no privacy settings on this website, and it would be weird if there were. Websites are for everyone.

Facebook: I joined Facebook early, in 2006, because I was back in school and could, because my friends pressured me into it, and because I had a job that left me with large swaths of free time on a computer and was bored. I remained bored on FB, mainly talking to people I talked to all the time anyway, and building out a far more detailed profile than later adopters bothered with. Now, after more than a decade, I love FB the most of all social media, largely for personal reasons. I mainly interact with friends there, but that includes friends who live far away, friends who are very busy, friends who are really more like acquaintances and who wouldn’t be up for having dinner with me but like to chat. It’s surprisingly pleasurable to still be able to ask people I knew in high school or met at a party four years ago about their kids and hobbies [caveat emptor: many people would not like this. know thyself]. It’s like living in a tiny village forever–but only in small doses. I don’t deliberately network on FB, but in truth most of the parties and events I attend are inhabited by writers and publishing people, so a lot of them end up in my feed. I won’t friend a total stranger, because I do post personal-ish stuff (photos of nieces, silly dialogues with husband, other family stuff) but my definition of a non-total stranger is pretty lax. There’s lots of writers I respect in my feed, and I do post professional accomplishments and queries there, so we talk about that stuff. But we also talk about food and cats a lot! The other writerly thing FB is good for is invitations, giving and receiving. Nothing else is as good for aggregating events from all inviters, and making sure they get to a wide swath of invitees. If I’m having a slow week (pretty rare, but) I’ll check my FB calendar to see what I might attend. And I send all my readings and launch invites out through the platform, because it ensures a large number of people see it and receive reminders. Very helpful. My FB privacy settings are pretty high, but not the highest–you can find me if you want me.

Twitter: I seem to have joined Twitter in 2009, but the memory is hazy. I mainly wanted access to one particular app, and you needed an account, so I created one. Now I have over 1000 followers, but I’m not sure why. Mainly they are literary folks, some friends but many strangers. I share writing news there, and some stuff about food and cats, as usual, but less, because the pithiness of Twitter doesn’t work for my long-winded self. Also, there’s a real community on Twitter that I have never really succeeded in getting enmeshed with, despite my many followers. I think I don’t interact with or comment on other posts enough, and I certainly don’t debate/bicker/joke around the way Twitter stars are famous for. I find it an awkwardly exposed site, because it’s very easy to for a tweet to a friend to be seen–and attacked, or mocked–by a stranger, and that keeps me rather anodyne on there. It’s too bad, because there really is a lot of great discussion going on via Tweet, but it’s just not the medium for me. I do get a lot of my news there–or rather, I find out something is news there, then google it and get longer-form pieces, because that’s just how I am. I have no privacy settings on my Twitter, because it’s pretty all or nothing with that site.

Goodreads: Goodreads turned up later than the above but I don’t actually know when or why I joined. I know most writers are pretty strongly urged to as a way of marketing their work, and for those who are a huge deal with a large following already, that does work–they have lots of questions being sent their way and Goodreads is a convenient way to aggregate them. But for those of us with a small, quiet group of readers who often don’t really have any questions, it’s hard to do much marketing via Goodreads–I think I’ve been only contacted a couple times that way, and those were obnoxious. Also, you can see reviews of your own books on Goodreads but really shouldn’t–it’ll just make you anxious. I do like Goodreads, though, but as a reader not a writer. It’s a convenient spot to keep track of what I’ve read, and also to scan down my friends list to see if anyone else has read the same stuff–and then I send that person an email about it in a non-GR context, because I don’t understand the in-platform communications at all. I suspect there’s lots more I could be doing. I do not have privacy settings on my Goodreads, and suspect I would not really understand them if I tried.

LinkedIn: LinkedIn is the only form of social media I do not find entertaining. I maintain an account that mainly focuses on my 9-5 job, though it does mention the writing as well. It’s pretty up-to-date and not that interesting. I use it for basically nothing–sometimes I get in touch with former coworkers or freelancers that way if I don’t have another contact method for them, and very occasionally I reach out to people I would like to hire or people who would like me to hire them. Most people, in my opinion, use LinkedIn badly–but perhaps it is me that does. I’m not going to connect with a stranger just because they send me a request, and having a bajillion contacts is not going to get you a job if you don’t know any of them. I do not read any of the feeds or promoted articles. Basically I figure this is a good professional thing to have–if I try to hire someone and they google me, I want them to find this account very staid and reassuring so they will come work for me. Ditto if I want someone to hire me–when I need a new job in the future, I’ll have this all set up, so that’s good I guess. Otherwise, I don’t really see the point of LinkedIn–and I’m baffled by what people use it for in their creative careers. I don’t think one gets gigs as “fiction writer” via LinkedIn–but who knows? I have privacy settings on this account, but they’re pretty minimal.

Instagram: Just when I thought social media was dying and I would never love anything new again, Instagram! Instagram is fun and pretty and friendly! It’s also quick and simple–you post a picture, people see it, maybe they like it, maybe they say something about it but often they don’t. That’s fine! Instagram is about sharing interesting things to look at or bits of your life or both, not bickering about finer points of whatever or getting people to agree with you. It is very simple and pleasant. Yes, one can promote their own work on Instagram–there’s whole worlds on the site devoted to promotion of various commercial goods–but even more so than with other sites, you really need to slide that in with a bunch of other stuff. As a visual, a single book cover–or a single face–gets old really fast.

And that’s it–everything I do publicly in the social media space. I have a few communication apps as well but not the ones you use socially–you have to actually, like, know my phone number in order to contact me. Is this way too much? Oh, for sure–but I like it, it’s recreation. I don’t touch Goodreads, LinkedIn, or my blog most days, and only check in on Twitter and Instagram for a couple minutes. Facebook…yeah, that’s a time suck, and blog posts like this can be too, but like I say, I enjoy it. As promotional tools, I would say most forms of social media have limited returns if you’re not there for the sake being there first and foremost–if you find you hate a platform, it’s fine to shut down your profile, and if you find you hate all social media, it’s fine to keep just one platform and update it in limited but friendly way when you have news to share. There’s really other stuff we could all be doing.

January 3rd, 2017

A tiny bit of buzz!

While I wait patiently for the 1000 things to come rolling in (hint!) I can tell you about the tiny bits of buzz that are floating around regarding So Much Love, a novel that will be out and available in actual stores to actual readers in just over two months. Terrifying.

I mean great, very exciting, it is just that I am a little nervous. Anyway! There is a print review in the most recent issue (winter) of Maisonneuve, which I subscribe to and was reading on the treadmill when all of the sudden, there was my book cover! I was NOT expecting that three months before publication. It’s just a couple hundred words and mainly summary–I’ve squinted at it for a long time and can’t be certain if the reviewer liked it or not but it is still very nice to be mentioned! The review isn’t online, but if you read it in print, please let me know what you think.

Also! I did a short interview with the wondrous Kerry Clare, with whom I’d be happy to chat for no reason, but this was actually for a little piece in University of Toronto Magazine, which is lovely.

And that, at two months and 11 days to publication, is what’s going on. Kind of lovely, really!

April 11th, 2016

Social Media News

Well, I have obtained more than 1000 followers on Twitter (1004 at press time), thereby officially proving that I have no idea how Twitter works. I’ve grown to like Twitter over the years–I see a different set of people there than those I see on Facebook or blogs and those people are interesting. The subset I actually interact with is small, perhaps less than 100 people. Maybe less than 50, I haven’t done analytics on it, but my average post gets between zero and two likes, and almost never any responses–and those I do get come from people I know in reality. I don’t mind–that seems fair considering how few posts I like or respond to myself. I am a low-dosage twitter user, for sure, and I use it to bolster relationships that would be pretty fine without it. I’ve made maybe two new friends the entire 21 years I’ve been online (Hi, Kate! Hi, Emily!)

SO WHO ARE THOSE OTHER 900 PEOPLE? I’m baffled. Well, not entirely–some are bots, and some are fellow literary types who were told by crazy people that following a lot of people on Twitter “builds your brand.” So they joined, followed hundreds of people in the lit world, and then immediately stopped using twitter. There are also savvier twitter users who still believe I’m worth following but then figure out how to devise “lists” so they can prioritize the tweets they actually want to read. I have not figured out how to do that, and don’t care because I don’t follow that many people myself, but I do think twitter lists are probably a good idea. Anyway, I figure a lot of people don’t have me on their lists, begging the question why follow me at all, but it wouldn’t be twitter without mystery. So why do I have 1004 followers? I don’t know, but I’m…appreciative of the interest, I guess, and I do hope those 900 people who never say anything to me are getting something out of the deal.

And as if this weren’t enough internet pointlessness, I’ve joined Instagram!! Yes, I know, why? Mainly because a bunch of my friends stopped posting photos of their pets, vacations, children, food, and weddings on Facebook and I want to seeeeee those things. I said I wasn’t going to post anything and then immediately posted photos of my family (me, husband, cats), a cake I made, and a Jiffy tray full of seeds that haven’t sprouted yet (so, essentially, a jiffy tray full of dirt). RR–spreading her brand of nonsense to new frontiers!!! But you can follow me if you want to see any of the above. Or for some other reason that I will never divine, as has happened with twitter.