Snowbirds

The dog likes California

In Canada lives a species of human beings they call 'snowbirds'. Like many other birds, these creatures emigrate from the True (and truly icy) North to southern climes in the winter months. Usually they are retirees without jobs holding them in place, and they are also child-free or, to continue the avian theme, empty-nesters, and thus exempt from the need to obey school term schedules. Ontario law permits residents to live outside of the province for seven months of the year while still retaining rights to health coverage and other public goods.

In this increasingly digital world, it's not only retirees who may participate in this circular migration. It is possible to work remotely. We decided to give it a try during husband's sabbatical this term (finally-- his first in 2 decades), and have decamped with high-school daughter to California. We are based in Los Angeles, staying with my kind and generous parents. The timing is pretty good. Daughter is in Grade 10, the second of four years of high school, and the one during which there is an amount of slack available. "Go ahead," advised her principal/ headmistress. "Let her enjoy the month. I'm sure she'll learn so much from being there. Don't worry too much about keeping up with assignments." And indeed the child has learned a lot. We've visited museums, seen wildlife (elephant seals, newborn harbor seal pups, sea otters, deer) and conversed with park rangers about them. She has discussed geography, talked politics, and, beautifully, has lots of time for reading books. We attended the LA Times Festival of Books and listened to Roxane Gay and Laurie Halse Anderson talk about rape culture and women's empowerment ("fuck forgiveness," said RG).

Diligent daughter did worry about keeping up with assignments. She kept an activity log for her PE teacher. We found a circus skills class for her to attend, and also visited Muscle Beach, in Santa Monica, where she further honed impossibly unbelievable feats of balance and strength. Relying on a variety of devices she has completed math homework and submitted essays; she has remote support from teachers and classmates. The other day she asked me to film her acting out a scene from a 'life in the 1950s' script, which her project group spliced into their own clips and handed in to the history teacher. And, blessedly, she gets a month of nights of plentiful sleep.

Husband has glued himself to his study space in my parents' dining room and written more of his book as well as composing papers he will present next month. I created two workspaces for myself: one in my old childhood bedroom and another, my favorite, for mornings, at the picnic table in the back garden, overlooking the swimming pool and the roses, azaleas, jasmine, and bougainvillea. I'm convinced that inhaling the floral scents and listening to the unpredictable hollow gong of windchimes in the pepper tree enhances my productivity. Hummingbirds buzz by. I've been disciplined, working for several hours every morning, and then taking the afternoons and evenings for activities with my parents and daughter (sometimes husband is persuaded to join us).

And best of all, timing-wise, I've managed to overlap at least a bit with both sisters, all their children, and a brother-in-law. I celebrated my birthday here and efficiently made it overlap with Passover Seder, so that much of the family could join me for both at once. Missing, unfortunately for us, were our sons, the elder in Europe for the term and the younger in the midst of final exams in Toronto. It's been a wonderful month with my parents who are both in their late eighties and full of vim and vigor. My dad continues to work three days a week and my mother keeps house. She tells me often to stop helping her. "I can do it myself," she says, feistily, reminding me of my children when they were small. Both parents looked after Jordi the dog (yes we brought the dog with us) while we drove up the Pacific Coast Highway for a few days. I honor them. They're kind of my role models.

This Saturday at the end of April we head back to Toronto where the weather forecast for the week is grim, chilly rain. I repeat: at the end of April. It's my recurring disappointment with Toronto. We endure a Canadian winter followed by an English one. Every year I'm disappointed anew.

So, while I don't look forward to empty-nesting, and can't quite imagine retirement, I do think that I could get the hang of this snowbirding gig.

My morning desk 

Elephant seals at Piedras Blancas

Birthday trail run

Daughter at Original Muscle Beach

Today I'm Bill: confessions of a Trekkie

William Shatner was interviewed recently on the CBC's arts-and-entertainment radio show, Q, by host Tom Power. I don't listen to a lot of Canadian radio, preferring BBC or NPR (thank you internet), but while in the car, taking the dog for much-needed grooming, I happened to catch this segment. Mr. Shatner, I learned, was doing the rounds to promote his new memoir, but he gave every indication of actually enjoying himself in the CBC studio.  He filled the airwaves between us with a hail-fellow-well-met aura, making me smile to myself (or at the dog in the passenger seat). The man was the very definition of being in fine fettle.

Tom Power, the host, however, seemed to flounder in Shatner's company. I've checked, and learned that Mr. Power is both a musician and an experienced radio host, born and bred in St. John's, Newfoundland, one of my favourite Canadian cities (there are three on that list). But he was struggling. I could almost hear him panting to keep up with Shatner's good humour and to join in his camaraderie. Power praised his guest's down-to-earth friendliness.  "Before the show," he said to him, "When I asked you whether I should call you 'Mr. Shatner' or 'William', or 'Bill', you answered, 'Today I'm Bill. Call me Bill.' So, I'm calling you Bill." 


They laughed together at this shared reminiscence, but the guest laughed more, vainly chivvying his host toward greater merriment. It was uncomfortable. I stayed tuned because a) I'm a Trekkie (vintage: original series; wanna make something of it?:) and b) I've always felt a fondness for William Shatner. I've often been told that he resembles my father, and I understand that like my dad, Today-I'm-Bill has three daughters, including one named Leslie, who attended UC Berkeley, like me. So I carried on listening as Bill--perhaps hoping to gain some conversational traction--started talking about an activity that he and his extended family enjoy: riding e-bikes. "Everyone can keep up!" he exclaimed. "We go all over the place! No one gets left behind! It's great!" Shatner chortled. (It was a true chortle. I always wondered what one would sound like.)

"Not bad," responded host Power.

"'Not bad'?" Shatner burst out, chastising his interlocutor. He checked himself, seeming to consider whether to go on. A brief second and he decided in the affirmative, taking aim with his verbal phaser, though setting it to stun. "'You have to get rid of that," he told his host.  'Not bad' is not good." Power, taken aback, hastened to express more enthusiasm ("that's great!") and Today-I'm-Bill responded with approval: "Now that's better! Now you sound like a positive Canuck!" I could almost hear the top of Tom's head being patted. Good boy.  I patted Jordi, too, completely sympathizing with Bill's frustration at his compatriot, and feeling grateful that our dog is a naturally positive Canuck. 

Jordi, positively well-groomed