Wednesday, 23 March 2011
Marjorie, Joan and Liz
Bright sunny day - cold - temps minus 5
Marjorie, from Connecticut, is today recovering from surgery to her hand. Never anyone's first choice of things to do in a day. But always great to be on this side of surgery. Many of you might know her - Marjorie is very supportive of many writers, especially Laurie R. King. And very supportive of me. Indeed, since I'm almost a facebook moron, she helps when I have particular questions. She also moves my blogs to the facebook page, and posts other mentions of the books.
Thank you, Marjorie! And so happy the surgery is over.
In other good news, our terrific friend Joan is celebrating her 79th birthday today. She runs the yoga centre in Sutton. She spent weeks and weeks in hospital but is now out...and coming home was the very best thing for her. Surrounded by her own things, eating fresh, healthy food, seeing friends. Her son Gary has been amazing in looking after her, and her other son, Glen has just arrived from Calgary.
Happy birthday, Joan. Now, I say that knowing full well Joan barely tolerates the phone, doesn't like TV, and wouldn't know a computer if she was served one in the hospital. So, come to think of it, i could say anything I want about her here and she'd never read it. Hmmm.....
Sadly, Joan is a wonderful woman and I can think of absolutely nothing mischievous to say. Such bad luck.
And, of course, I'm sure you've heard about Elizabeth Taylor's death. Always sad to hear such things. She did a lot of good, especially and spectacularly, for AIDS.
Well, we're in Montreal. Arrived yesterday afternoon after doing a bunch of chores on the way in from the country. Got up early this morning...Michael and I had breakfast in front of our computers. We scram into the city when we feel the need for peace and quiet time to write our books. No sooner had we settled in that I hear rain against the window in the living room.
I looked over and sure enough, it was teeming.
there was a huge and sudden flood from upstairs. I raced out the door while Michael grabbed some towels. Took the stairs two at a time, and got to the floor above. The door to the apartment above ours was open and a worker was there, holding a balled up towel to the wall. A pipe had burst with such force it sent water gushing to the ceiling, smashing into the walls, and was now pooling on the floor. It was as though a water artery had been severed. I asked if I could help and he said the plumber was racing downstairs to turn off the water.
The workers had been renovating the apartment when the pipe burst.
Unfortunately, while the water soon stopped, the next thing we heard was a banging on our door. The plumber. With scaffolding.
Apparently the only way to get at the broken pipe was through our wall.
This did not appear to be up for debate or discussion. He'd had to turn off the heat to our entire wing of the building, and until the pipe was fixed it would remain off.
So he and his assistant moved in, and we decamped to the bedroom, setting up make-shift desks and balancing our computers on them.
i"m still hiding in the bedroom. And I have to say, over the past few hours the temperature has steadily dropped. I might have to make another cafe au lait, and toast another hot cross bun. See how I suffer? Poor me.
Despite this the writing is going well. Reminds me a little of writing Still Life - taking the laptop with me as I trailed Michael around the townships. He was taking a watercolour course and they held classes 'on site'. Beside lakes, in farmer's fields, in barns and beautiful gardens. While he painted I wrote on a rickety little collapsible table I carried with me.
The plumber, who is quite a characters, has just popped his head in to say he'll be trying the pipe in five minutes....and turning the heat back on shortly after that.