 I set a big work goal for myself this week. I’m embarrassed, but I will tell you it was to write 7,000 words. I’ve never done that much in five days in a decade of writing. I will never write with the speed of Kazuo Ishiguro. Five to seven hundred words a day is super bon. (Of course, there are days when I can do more.) I don’t know if this is the way it will always be. On Wednesday, it was clear I would not make it, so I took a ride on the mental rollercoaster called Funk. Living alone, there was no one to remind me to get off. Then I remembered my ex would look at my To-do lists and ask me why climbing Mount Everest wasn’t on it. Poking fun at the gap between my desire to achieve and what is humanly possible. Making me laugh was helpful. Is this a women's thing? Is it a way to prolong disappointment in myself? A micro-abuse to act out daily. A lifetime of making restaurant mis en place lists with tasks perpetually dropping off the bottom into an abyss. After a few hours of moping, I settled on being more than halfway through the first draft. Then I turned Friday into a minor celebration of my achievements because cake weather is back. I’m a card-carrying member of the night baker community. I made the Banana-Date Tea Cake from one of my favourite books, Tartine, because Elisabeth M. Prueitt writes good recipes. Sent a friend a text later that read: “This is the best banana cake I have ever had.” The crunchy sugar crust is texture perfection, and the dates and toasted walnuts give it elegance. *** This devastating photo from Liz Renzetti of the clear-cut at the former Ontario Place circulated on social media this week. I imagine seeing the same thing in cottage country from a boat when a big property is being built. A sure sign a developer lacks the imagination to embrace the landscape. Globally there was one big takeaway from the pandemic and that is the value of being together and outdoors. Some can’t imagine nature having priority over commercial waterfront development. The idea of public space delivered by the people who don't spend summers here. Projects born on a wave of bullying have doom built into their DNA. *** Something I read this week written in 1961 by Robert Ulich at Harvard University: “In many groups hatred against outsiders has been a social glue as effective as internal understanding; we have not completely overcome the dangers of tribal mentality.” *** My standing desk in the kitchen. The blinds were down, and a fan blowing on me because Tuesday, October 1, was humid in the city. “We know it’s not individual genius.” Long live Derrick Gee. The discussion on bands is *chef’s kisses.* “I always say it feels like church...When I go to AMC, I just sit there. And I can’t really experience that communal thing that we have here, where we’re all just worshipping at the altar of celluloid.” Because watching movies is not better at home. Fangirling over Andrea Brusendorf. Then, out for a walk with a friend, I see an Honorine Jobert anemone growing in my neighbourhood. I must take half a dozen photos of flowers every time I’m out for a walk. Who can resist? Might need the reminder in February. *** I was introduced to Melody Gardot at the place of heart-shattering sunsets. The rest came this week in radio mode. 202420152001Comments are closed.
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