Summer!
Friday, July 29, 2005 , 4:50 AM
I took the subway over to my editor’s house this morning, wearing shorts and layered T-shirts. For the first day since I arrived here, it’s a normal summer day, not a post-apocalyptic one.
On the subway, I saw a young man walk past me carrying a thick book. I had one of my prejudices smashed when I saw that this inner-city tough was reading One Hundred Years of Solitude. Later on the train ride, I noticed a woman leaning across the aisle, talking to him. They didn’t look like people who would know each other, so I couldn’t help but eavedrop on their conversation. “You read it in the original Spanish?” she asked. “And now you’re reading it in English? Oh, I’m so jealous!” She said the name of one of the many unforgettable characters in the book: “Remedios”. She sighed and smiled at the boy, clutching her hands to her chest and leaning back in her seat.
Walking down the tree-lined old Toronto street Catherine lives on, I thought about this woman, and smiled myself about the fact that she felt such love for an imaginary person. And now everyone is carrying a copy of the latestHarry Potter. I like this. (Though I can’t say the same about last year’s DaVinci Code fetish.)
~
I’m into my last few days of my summer trip. Two nights ago I had supper with Kristie, whom I lived with when I first moved to Edinburgh. She’s now back in Canada with her husband Ian, and walking on air because she’s just finished training to be a schoolteacher and loves the work.
~
Last night, I went with Ross (a team member and coach at work) to a social event of The Fraternity — a gay businessmen’s group. I feared it might be horrible (gay anything, really, is a worry), but the people I met were great. We had drinks, then Ross and I went for dinner, where he told me about his post-Strategic Coach plans. I’ve no doubt he’ll be successful, and be a great help to lots of people. We also talked about my plans for my next book, and about money. The former was exciting, and the latter got my dander up — purely because of my own discomfort with the topic; his advice was sound.
But I did have a conversation in that neighbourhood the other day, as I renegotiated my terms with The Coach. I basically made a presentation based on Strategic Coach problem-solving tools, and wound up leaving the negotiations with a basket of goodies*. I thought I had a perfect job before, but it just got more perfect.
~
I’m finished attending workshops, and now I’m back to my regular writing work, but alongside Cath, who is such a great mentor within the company. But she’s more than that to me now. It’s like we’re on a spiritual buddy-system, and I love it.
I’ve decided that for the next year I’m taking myself off the market, creatively. I’m just going to indulge myself in creating whatever I want to — drawings for my walls, handmade books, a novel. Of course, I also know that this will ultimately produce better work than if I’d tried to work toward a commercial goal. Whether any of it will be saleable — well, that’s not the point. But it will be true.
I showed Cath a doodle I drew in the workshop yesterday, of a bunny strapped to a rocket, and she said, “I’d love to just take all these things you do from you and bring them to market.” My heart leapt like a cricket: I long for such a creative/business partnership.
~
The rest of my free time here until I go is really, well, party-time. The killer weather has broken, and I’m going to have an opportunity to hang out with bunches of people I really like, and be responsible for nothing but having fun.
In short, it’s summer!
*To my friends who have endured all those torturous attempts at travel plans with me, you’ll be happy to know that I will now enjoy paid vacation time. Instead of not taking time off for fear of losing income, I’ll now be faced with a strategic urgency about using up my allotted “Free Days” — a happy challenge!
Hamster in an oven.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005 , 5:22 AM
No, I’m not going to do a Sylvia Plath, that’s just how it felt today when I left the office — like I’d just been stuck in an oven. Too, too hot here.
This weekend was fun. A nice lazy Saturday-day at Mark and Eric’s, followed by a tequila-soaked summer night that was a real hoot. It began with a backyard party at — I didn’t really follow who the hosts were. Friends of friends of friends.
In the afternoon, I had a conversation with Mark and Eric about affirmative action, and mentioned how racist I’ve found Britain, and contrasted it with my perception of Canada. This theory was blown out of the water by a drunken oik at this backyard do, who actually asked Eric “So what are you?” After a second of figuring out what exactly he was asking, Eric responded that he’s Chinese. I corrected and said that he’s Canadian.
Then the drunken, you-can-tell-I’m-a-drag-queen-even-though-I’m-dressed-like-a-man host tried to make Kaposi Sarcoma jokes with one of his guests.
Yeah, it was like that. The whole thing was distasteful — except for the wicked burn of the mescal the host kept pouring for me. That was nice.
So we drank the beer we’d brought as quickly as we could manage (this was not a party you wanted to leave beer at), and left.
From there we went to Woody’s (a pub in the gay ghetto) — “we” being Mark and Eric, and their friends Kevin and & PJ, the nice people who brought us to the not-nice people party and were increasingly mortified for having done so. I spotted a pair of guys I’d known a hundred years ago, Jay and Brent, and they joined us. More beer ensued, then we stumbled our way to Buddies, the bar/theatre where Cosgrove and I put on our play years ago. Tequila ensued, and from there the evening tumbled into a happy blur.
Yesterday involved a half-conscious trip to the DIY shops with Mark and Eric, then supper with my theatre school friend Kirsten and her family — her mum, dad, son, and her husband Malcolm. More fun, and yet another good, big meal in a restaurant.
I’m officially pudgy around the middle.
I’ve got to go to bed. I’m back in workshops this week, though with the associate coaches, who don’t visit me at the back for chats the way Dan does, so I’m just observing, really. Still, it makes for a long day. And tomorrow I have the meeting in which I renegotiate my terms with The Coach. I’m mostly confident about that.
Apologies to anyone who’s e-mailed me if I’ve not replied to you. Internet access and time for writing are difficult to find while I’m here working. And I’m into the final stretch of this trip, which involves meeting people in restaurants or for drinks every night.
Okay, must go. Night night.
In the right place, at the right time.
Saturday, July 23, 2005 , 4:52 PM
Supper was great, and the conversation was as challenging and engaging as ever. I felt honoured by the invitation, and moreso because of how comfortable they feel sharing of themselves so openly with me. Part of the intention of the evening was to celebrate the book Cath is working on with Dan, because it looks like we’re about to get famous because of it. They’re positioning Dan as “the guru to the gurus”, the guy who coaches the people everyone recognises, but whom you don’t normally get to see. Two days ago, a company in Brazil bid $30,000 for the rights to translate it into Portuguese and sell it there. And it’s not even finished yet! What’s nice is that, talking to Dan, it’s clear that we’re ready for this. No matter how big it gets, everyone involved is well-grounded and won’t get light-headed from the rare air of fame. In fact, the book’s very premise, The Laws of Lifetime Growth, precludes this, if we follow what it says.
Dan and Babs’ house is a beautiful, tasteful, peaceful oasis in the middle of The Beaches, and I appreciated being invited there. We’re friends, and I’m honoured by that. Dan said to me in the workshop the other day, “I want you to know how much Babs and I enjoyed your company in Edinburgh,” and the feeling is mutual. They’re just friends of mine, just further down the road, more experienced in making life work. It only seems unusual to me when I’m reminded how in-demand they are, and that most people don’t get to have access to them, let alone the sort that I’ve had.
Especially enjoyable was the role I played in the workshops this week: During the periods when the clients were heads-down, working on an exercise, scribbling away in their notebooks, Dan would come to the back of the room, and we’d have conversations about the Battle of Agincourt, the nature of the life, writing books — everything under the sun. It was a fun game of mental ping-pong, knowing I’d have to be in top form and keep him engaged whenever he walked to the back of the room — and I’m tired today, because that requires a high level of presence — but talking to him and doing the workshop exercises myself helped sort out my head. Things have been going well, but I’ve been floating for a bit, feeling directionless, and now I feel like I’m strapped into the space shuttle pilot’s seat, ready to blast off.
So while I may have sounded confused in my previous blog entry (at least my mum thoughts so), the reality is that I’ve never felt so sure, and so happy about all that I have. I’ve just spent two weeks with my family, who are so bright, funny, and loving, and now I’ve got a clear sense of what I want to get up to in the coming months (and years).
I found myself thinking an old thought on the bus yesterday, “Maybe things never really change that much. I can try to do stuff, but things ultimately stay the same.” But last night Cath drove me home after our supper with Dan and Babs, and we talked some more about life, the universe, and everything, and I came inside. While debriefing to Mark about my day, it struck me that my life is unrecognisable from what it’s been at various past stages in my Toronto story. I’m very happy with my success, and couldn’t ask for better circumstances. I’m like the luckiest guy in the world. This isn’t bragging, ’cause this setup is perfect for me, and would probably fit anyone else like an old pair of my shoes. I believe there’s room in the world for everyone to feel like this, and I think that’s what The Strategic Coach is all about. And there’s still worlds more progress available, which is a fun challenge.
Anyway, that’s what I’m thinking about today. Mark and Eric are renovating their kitchen (DIY — blyeugh! — I’m hiding), and we’re going to be going out and being social this afternoon and evening. Should make for a fun Saturday!
I also spoke on the phone for hours last night with Sean, someone I like a lot but I’ve had a complicated past with. We’re in different places now, though, so chatting with him was rewarding and not-confusing. Like with the Pride PEI event, it’s nice to rewrite the past.
Chop wood, transform your obstacles.
, 2:56 AM
What I wasn’t expecting is that this stuff would work on me.
Through the years, I’ve learned a lot about myself from working here, about my natural working style, what my best abilities are, and such. But I came in here with a head full of cotton wool, and now after sitting in three workshops I feel utterly confident and clear about what’s ahead.
It’s confusing, ’cause I’ve been doing all this Zen thinking, which is soft and squoogey and hard to pin down — “Nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to get”. I do still believe that there’s something true for me there, and that we mess ourselves up by thinking that somehow this isn’t it.
Yet…
What about goals? There are things in life that would be fun to experience, and achieving them would change my sense of what I think it possible. The danger of my Zen stuff is that it can leave me paddling my swan-boat in circles. After a week here at The Coach, I know what’s what.
So there’s a paradox here, and I’m trying to find a balance.
~
Last night I went out for a co-worker friend’s birthday, and one of her friends is from Scotland. Listening to him speak, I got so homesick.
I’ve got another week here, though, and lots more people to see whom I love.
Some pics and contact info.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 , 5:49 AM
Here are some more pictures, from PEI and of my friend Lisa:
Pics
And if you didn’t know this already, I’m not in Edinburgh, so it’s no use calling or texting me. If you need to reach me while I’m here, you can use my Toronto mobile number, which is:
(416) 500-4127
Melting
Monday, July 18, 2005 , 11:56 PM
But it’s so damned hot here. And humid. I’m not equipped for this anymore. I miss Scotland. I looked forward to my core temperature getting lowered at the office, but that didn’t happen. Dan gave me a ride downtown in the limo — brief Arctic bliss! — but walking up Yonge Street was like being dropped into the heat-sink of a giant computer.
Anyway, enough whingeing.
PEI was great. I love my family intensely, and the Island itself is in a beautiful state. The place has such a good sense of itself, and there’s so much original local art going on. It was good to see my stocky, tattooed, good-humoured Uncle Garf again, and his tiny Cuban wife Tina is a sweetie. When she kissed both my cheeks and said goodbye to me, she said she loved me. She barely knows me, yet I could feel that what she said was the truth: She knew all she needed to to love me. For her, it’s that simple to give away, and that’s beautiful.
I went for pints one afternoon with my bro’, and we sat out on a patio under an umbrella in the rain while all the other patrons moved inside. He’s a great friend, and he makes me laugh. I had smaller, yet no less cherished moments with my sister-in-law and nephew. And when Mom and Dad took me to the airport I sat with them, loving their company, waiting till it was time to go through the security gate, wishing I could have them with me like that forever.
The night before (sorry, my addled brain is flipping back and forth in time), I’d gone to a Pride PEI event. Yeah, a gay gig in Charlottetown. I’ve now stepped into another dimension. I went to a cabaret in a packed ballroom, where a series of talented performers entertained us, including my new friend Cynthia, who as “Parkdale Doris” made me bark-laugh. I didn’t know half the local figures she was talking about, but I quickly inferred who they were in the community, and her observations about them were very funny.
After that, I went to a dance/club event at what I knew as Pat’s Rose and Grey Room. That night, this former restaurant, an old wooden space that could easily have been an apothecary’s or somesuch, was full of flashing disco lights and gay-gay go-go boys. You’d think they’d imported them from — well, from the coffee shop on Church Street where I’m writing this now.
I’m in the “post-gay” conversation: the whole “gay” thing is a mental construct, and one that doesn’t fit particularly comfortably for me, so I’ve given myself permission to not be it or any other “thing”. So going to a gay event at all felt a bit regressive. And yet, I knew it was important for me to do: I still held onto some not-great memories and attitudes about PEI, and this event presented the challenge of giving them up.
An artist-in-residence at the Confederation Centre chatted me up, and together we deconstructed the scene around us. I realised, though, standing there amonst these other people — particularly the men, since they’re the ones usually considered the most threatening or weak or whatever makes rednecks want to attack — that what I thought about PEI was no longer true. Sure, as my sister-in-law reminded me, those attitudes are still there, but that there’s any shift at all, and in the town where I lived…
It’s that old challenge again: Am I willing to accept that things are fine? That my complaints — the ones I face in my particular life — are theoretical, and can be gone the minute I stop fixating on them.
So PEI is transformed. Some part of my past is rewritten: There’s no reason to hold onto that.
And now I’m in Toronto, sitting in this coffee shop where I wrote most of my first two books. The same conundrum faces me here: It’s great to be visiting this city, and I get to visit lots of people whom I love to bits. There are some past loves here, and it’s easy to gravitate to thoughts of them, wondering whether to see them or not. But there’s really no issue here: Life’s great, and Edinburgh is home, so everything here is just pretend, for fun. These people mean something to me, I’ve felt things for them, and there’s nothing wrong with that, nothing I have to defend myself against, or to try not to feel.
So, permission granted: Two weeks to spend having fun times with people I like, and recharging my work batteries.
Speaking of thinking too much — I wasnt, but I was — yesterday I saw my friend Lisa’s show in the Toronto Fringe Festival. It was a clown show, though in a cute-girl-clowns-who-talk-and-swear kind of way — in which she condensed ten years’ worth of intense ontological conversations into a funny, surprising, and moving show.
I was proud of her bravery, her sneaky sense of humour, her talent, and the boldness with which she applied it. Bravo, Lisa! I am inspired.
An island afloat in notes.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005 , 5:57 PM
I’m sitting in the Charlottetown Public Library. There’s something very square, Seventies, and governmental about the buildings that form this block, which also includes the Confederation Centre of the Arts. Doesn’t that name say it all?
The library hasn’t changed too much, though the old encyclopaedia section has been replaced with a bank of computers.
A woman in the children’s library upstairs just finished reading a story in a high, very energetic voice, sounding like a puppet on a mix of speed and helium.
I’m here to work today. The last two days I’ve worked from home, but, just like my place in Edinburgh, my folks’ house is distracting — too much to eat, constant high-speed internet connection, and so on. Being in a place with other people doing things, even if it’s — like now — two women reading a story loudly in squeaky Island accents, is helpful. It gives that ADHD monkey in my head something to pay attention to so I can focus on my work.
~
Last night, I went to The Guild, a newly-renovated local theatre/arts space, with my mum. A young temp she works with was performing in a show called “Celtic Ladies”. They were very good — singing, step-dancing, and playing a variety of instruments. There’s a fascination in Maritime Canada with things Scottish, so some of the show’s material made me feel homesick. It’s hard to articulate, but there’s a slight difference to the work here, something original that’s been added by the distance and time between this work and its source.
Mom said something the other night as we sat on the couch at the end of the day (just before she fell asleep on her crossword, book, or in front of the telly, as she always does) about how in touch with the arts scene I am here, that it’s the one part of the Island I still seem strongly connected to. I pointed out that a good part of that is due to her. Saturday night we went to “Late Night at the Mack”, a cabaret put on by members of the Charlottetown Festival company (man, the talent!), and Sunday we went to The Kirk of St James to see an American choral and handbell choir. Music is a constant feature of my mum’s life, with church choir, barbershop chorus, and a barbershop quartet she belongs to.
Dad? It’s harder to say what he does. Mom keeps joking with him about his Parkinson’s medication making him obsessive — about playing FreeCell, mowing the lawn, doing jobs around the house. Only the FreeCell is new. I’m thrilled I don’t have to mow that damned lawn anymore! Dad’s always been handy around the house, so if I were to characterise what he does now, I’d say “He’s retired.” I pointed out to Mom that she’s got her share of obsessions, too, and no pills to blame them on.
That’s it, really. Nothing much going on. It’s grey and drizzly here, and I’m loving it, knowing how killingly hot it’s going to be in Toronto. I head there on Saturday.
Andrew (my nephew) has been down the past few days. I find myself connecting better with him now than ever before. At 17, he’s a little person. I’m better with adults than children. My brother and sister-in-law will be coming down sometime this evening. Then, tomorrow, my Uncle Garfield and his wife. I’ve not seen Garf in about a decade.
I should end this and get to work. That’s the update — just a grocery list of activities, but sometimes life’s like that. Thanks for reading.
I can do anything.
Monday, July 11, 2005 , 2:42 PM
Two days ago, my mum was talking with someone at Royal Canadian Mounted Police, “L” Division, where she works. The woman was in a lather because she was organising a training day for officers who were training as negotiators, and one of the actors they’d lined up to pretend to be someone causing a hostage/crisis situation had called to cancel. Someone in the show he’s in at The Charlottetown Festival lost her voice, so he’d been called into emergency cast rehearsals so the woman’s understudy could prepare for the evening’s performance (which Mom and I had tickets for)
Mom said, “Oh, my son’s an actor.”
Mom is proud of me. I appreciate that. It’s a good thing.
Usually.
Oh, you’ve got to call him,” said the woman. Mom quickly corrected, saying that, well, Alistair isn’t acting anymore, he’s a writer. But she phoned anyway. She figured I’d say no.
On the other end of the phone, I didn’t realise that saying no was an option. Of course it always is, but when there’s a situation where I can do something that’s needed, it’s difficult for me not to.
So I spent the day in front of a “throw-phone” — a black plastic telephone handset inside an indestructible black plastic box — trying to whip myself into hysterics. In the morning, I was a man who’d sprung his wife from the mental ward and his two premature babies from the hospital so they could start their crackheaded family off right. Or else. In the afternoon, I was a man who’d just discovered his wife in bed with his best friend, and was planning to kill her and himself.
This is half of why I don’t act anymore: Who would want to be either of these people? I don’t! I like being me!
I got a free lunch, fifty bucks, and met some nice RCMP folk who do really, really interesting work.
There was an actress there, an Island woman namedCynthia Dunsford, who, judging from what my mum’s said, and the number of times she’s been mentioned in things or popped up on the radio since I first heard her name, is a central figure in the creative community here. We got on like a house on fire, and I bet that if I spent more than fifteen minutes living on the island we’d end up creating something together.
I was too tired to stay awake when Mom took me home, and still full from lunch, so I just slept till it was time to go out for the evening. Mom and I went to see Canada Rocks!, a show in the Charlottetown Festival this summer. There wasn’t much story there, but, man, there was a truckload of talent on that stage, so much energy, it was great to see. And they had excellent material to work with: Canadians are good with the music.
My friend Julain is in the show, and sang Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”. Wow. Wow… Wow. All I could think was that she sounded like a lion roaring on a plain — so sure, so powerful, so absolute. Her voice makes me believe in God. Someone able to do that, to create that, to have all that craft and talent. Wow. There’s something so right about seeing someone doing what they’re so obviously meant to do.
There were a couple of people in that show, as there usually are around the theatre, who remind me of something important: They’ve got the flame turned up higher. It’s so easy to just get by, but life can be more when you let out what’s in you. While, yes, I like not having to be crazy for a living, there’s something that really appeals to me about the creative life.
There’s a lot of stuff I can do. I want to turn that flame up.
Suppertime with the ‘rents.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005 , 9:02 PM
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I’ve been getting bits and pieces about Edinburgh from the news; strange that my other home is so well represented in the media. The G8 business has put it downstage centre, but there are other signs of it, too, like tonight’s article in the local paper about fat people in Scotland who can’t fit into MRI machines. Hey, it’s coverage.
Last night I had a talk with Dad for I don’t know how long. He told me stories about his days as a parole officer. I always love those stories. Mom and I talk all the time, but with Dad, this is how we really connect, and it’s the best.
Right, supper’s ready. Gotta go.
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