This morning, I came across a terrible index in a cookbook. I want to read or write a long-form piece on the subject. Index makers are heroes. They are map makers of a sort. Never underestimate their contribution. Like plumbing in a restaurant, it is not a place to skimp or bargain shop. A book without an index is fatally flawed. *** I am between two worlds. Working out how to get over, in a good way. Among the problems I have right now is that all my ice cream buddies are on holiday at the same time, and I keep thinking about black currant or apricot sorbet. I can take myself out, no problem. But ice cream and company go together real nice. *** I was like a bobblehead of agreement listening to this podcast — sent it to girlfriends. Thank you, Sarah Manguso, Laura Good, and the woman on Bluesky who told me about it. They spill the tea on marriage, divorce, and being a successful creative woman. I will never forget the term "chaos janitor." Listening is hard because the main character must reckon with her choices, having called in a partner trying to derail her creative power. Living in that terrible human place she must see in order to change. It reminds me of a line from Lauren Elkin's Art Monsters: "To be a good wife is to accommodate yourself to someone else's story, a story in which you are not an artist." I put Liars on hold at the library. There's a whole other discussion to have about how our culture makes a leg iron out of professionally winning for men. *** Birdy and Sweet Baby James. 20111970Among the newspapers and books piled on Theo’s footstool in her living room in Fonthill were copies of Canada’s History magazine. She was a subscriber. My love for the subject is another inheritance. I have a story I'd like to write for them in time. Imagining my grandmother after dinner with her feet up, apron on, inhaling a Peter Jackson while reading it is a pleasure, like eating poached apricots and custard in July. *** A good memory from first-year university is sitting in a Catherine Parr Trail College classroom and listening to Alan Wilson share his passion. The class was small enough to be held in the history department office. Maybe 12 of us around a large teak table in a quiet room with Danish floating bookcases, woven wall hangings, and big windows with a lush backdrop of trees and shrubs. A seasonal theatre for his animation. Canada came to life in that room (mostly settler history in 1983). One of the essays I wrote for him was about Nellie McClung. Teachers like that are a gift. *** Going to the Toronto Reference Library beats the loneliness of my desk by a lot. I'm reading a dense and delicious book over visits about how we tell history, The Past Is A Foreign Country, by David Lowenthal. It's adjacent reading and has made me laugh out loud in the Quiet Area. *** Women Non-White Non-binary Immigrants Refugees Journalists Academics Librarians Anyone in a war zone Among the people I worry about, along with all the other stuff in my life. Being of aid to humans fleeing oppression might happen on a scale. Are you having those conversations? History is each day that passes. *** I wish the Jacob Bank's song went on — I could listen to it for an hour. It led me to versions sung by Mahalia Jackson and Elvis. The horns and percussion on Loaded are all that. Stitching these three together was nice. 202419991991In my first year of university, I worked part-time in a health food store. My cookbook collection at the time filled half a milk crate and included Moosewood, Laurel's Kitchen, and the Tassajara bread book. I was mostly vegetarian (and I still cook that way). I was 21 and was hired just as the business was derailing. That didn't come up in the interview. The manager called me late one Saturday night, asking where the cash bag was. After closing on the busiest day of the week I'd hid the brown paper bag of cash and coins in the usual spot in the dry stores, and it wasn't there. That had nothing to do with me. I don't know what happened after I locked the door that evening. But the call was my first clue that something dark was going down between the partners. They folded soon after. I don't remember if any of us got our final pay. Sometimes endings are messy. *** www.estherperel.com/podcasts/hw-s2-episode-8-im-your-special-one This conversation Esther Perel mediates between artist and gallerist is honest. I felt like I was listening to myself when they discussed work, children, and intimate partnership — a subject ripe with complications for women. I was sure I did not want children long before I began cooking in restaurants. It was a solid gold decision — young wisdom that calls for a party and lots of gifts. As a cook, the disadvantage was obvious. Women who left the line to have babies rarely came back. *** WAIT: Why Am I Talking? An acronym via Anne Lamott. Also, a good question. *** I had a new release lined up — a rock and roll anthem that makes me feel like a teenager. Then, in radio mode, I was reminded of Donny Hathaway. My father played the duet album he recorded with Roberta Flack often. I hope this remix makes you want to turn it up and dance. The second song is extraordinary and was written by Leon Russel. 20241971Ripeness lasts the length of a shiver with strawberries. A light jostle, and they bleed. Someone who knew a few things about their business tossed these with a whisper of sugar. I stumbled into a strawberry social at a small church — a homely wooden building with half a dozen pews. On a grassy slope behind the rectory was a scattering of white plastic tables under craft fair tents. Everyone was cast in a blue watercolour wash, sitting under their shade. The person in charge of crème Chantilly had a big spoon and generous heart. We know the same hunger. The chiffon cake was ethereal — light, buttery, and hardly sweet. I went looking for the baker to extend congratulations. I was told many people in the parish bake according to their own recipes. I'm thinking of all the cakes arriving through the morning. Sitting on melamine counters alongside flats of berries. The scent of a few weeks in the season. Parishioners bringing them through the kitchen door. The local chatter competing with the whirr of an electric mixer. I am no big church person but good things can happen in their basements. I've met wise and loving humans in a few of them. They helped get me here. This photo is filed under well-being in my dictionary. An earthly blessing. *** One of the best parts of writing is research. It can also be frustrating — a time suck and you have to establish limits because the distractions are real. But the Stacks at the Toronto Reference Library is a place that makes me believe in magic. I try to imagine where the books are stored. How much space does it require? What determines the life cycle? The business of a library is fascinating. This week, I went looking for three books. The first had a sixty-page chapter that addressed a specific interest. It was a bit academic and just what I needed. The second book was written by a statistician. There was lots of information, but it was super dull, and I returned it quickly. After finishing the first chapter of the third I found a copy used online. I love a good historical story — especially one starring women — and I'll gallop through it in a day or two. Things come up while I read. I scribble ideas longhand in a journal beside me. Pulling on those threads might lead to more discovery. *** I'm late to this wonderful Design Matters interview Debbie Millman did with Gloria Steinem last year. It's moving listening to her talk about her mother and the unlived lives many women of that generation faced. Not too long ago my mom told me she had to quit her job with the Bank of Canada in Shelburne, Nova Scotia when she got married. What the... https://www.designmattersmedia.com/podcast/2023/gloria-steinem *** I heard this song last weekend. Not for the first time. It fits my mood right now. 1996 |
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