I am not capable of putting together a full cogent post on a single topic tonight, because I have just written an entire operating grant for my organization in a month by myself, and also wrote one the previous month. If you have never written an operating grant before, it’s a nice meditative exercise where you describe everything your organization is and does as a concept, and also why. AND THEN, you describe everything you will do in the next funding cycle, which is FOUR YEARS in this case (sometimes it’s three years, or two) and the word “will” gets very confusing when we are talking about 2030. AS WELL you also discuss what your organization planned to do in the previous funding cycle, and then what actually happened, and if there are any disparities, why. Well, the last funding cycle was accidentally six years for this grant because pandemic and I did not work here six years ago so I had to read the last enormous application written by my unknown former colleagues in the fall of 2019 and all their very good ideas and hopes and dreams and then apply myself to writing pages and pages about how none of that happened, because pandemic. And then burst into tears. And I had to finish this all a week early because I started jury duty today, and there was the long weekend in there. Well, I DID finish the grant, in a great ball of panic, alone but triumphant, and I was all set to enjoy the long weekend as a respite between horrors, and then got very sick, and spent the first great weekend of summer lying on my couch coughing and reading the last book in the Game Changers series (to me—I read them out of order, which matters very little in this series. I still maintain that unless you love hockey romance you could just read Heated Rivalry and be happy—none of the others are amazing. But nor are they dreadful—I did read all six and there must have been a reason for that.) I got somewhat better just in time to work yesterday and then put on a mask and cough my way to jury duty today, where, thank goodness, I was dismissed after a few hours. I am now exempt from jury duty until—wait for it—2030. It’s going to be a big year for us all.

Anyway, other than grants, jurisprudence, hockey love, and phlegm, there is little to report. But not nothing!!

As I continue to work on my French (jury duty made me miss a French class! zut alors!) I’m being encouraged to read and watch French things, to surround myself with the language. But the truth is, my French is at a level where I don’t find it relaxing—I’m working hard whenever I speak or listen in French, and reading and watching things is how I relax. So to motivate myself, I have gone for pure silliness. We rewatched Bon Cop Bad Cop this weekend, a strange 20-year-old Canadian movie that is truly half in English, half in French that I remembered really liking. And I still really liked it—even forcing myself to just listen to the French parts and not read the subtitles, it’s a lot of fun to watch, although the story is silly and didn’t make sense to me, like most cop movies. I think Colm Feore and Patrick Huard are just so charming and fun to watch…that’s really all there is to it. And the linguistic stuff is clever. Mark liked it too. Apparently there’s a sequel we haven’t seen, and they are making a TV version so there are depths to explore.

Also in French, we have been watching the early seasons of the Simpsons, because we both know them well enough to follow where the language eludes us. Even Mark, who stopped taking French in grade 9, because he basically has those seasons memorized. The fun thing about watching the famous and beloved Quebecois overdubs of the Simpsons (there’s a European version too, but no one in Canada likes that I guess) is that there’s occasionally an Easter Egg of non-faithful translation, a local expression or reference hidden in the dialogue. At least, that’s what we were promised, but I suspect my French isn’t good enough to catch the subtler ones. I caught my first Egg this weekend, a gag about the Montreal Alouettes—I was thrilled.

I finished reading the very good—and massive—first issue of Catnip magazine, which I love and will be reading Issue 2 (it comes out next week). I feel this does not threaten my Modern Cat subscription, anymore than subscriptions to Granta and Psychology Today would complete with each other. Catnip is more art and creative writing about cats whereas Modern Cat has a lot of veterinary writing and psychological assessments of cats, and practical things you can do with/for cats. Very different, though both have a lot of photos. Catnip recommended the children’s story Catwings by Ursula K. Leguin, which I found an audiobook of read by the author and listened to it on the subway and WEPT, it is so lovely (sorry, University Line, it has been a tough time—see above). I think there’s more in series…will investigate.

What else? It’s hot of all of the sudden, our pool is open (come hang out!), my friend C sent me this absolutely bananas article that I snickered over in the jury lounge, there was a debate about whether “emeritus” indicated retired or dead and I said “well,death is the ultimate retirement,” and now I can’t stop thinking about that. Mark is, as ever, pretty funny:

RR and MS having a complex intellectual conversation about AI, copyright, and the free market. MS (begins to pick some small bits of debris off himself)
RR: What is all over you?
MS: Nothing…it’s irrelevant?
RR: But you’re going to throw it all in the garbage once it’s removed?
MS: …yes.

Different day, same level of intellectual rigor:
RR: Hey, would you want to go to an event hosted by Eleanor Wachtel?
MS: Who is Eleanor Wachtel again? (attempts to walk away)
RR: Didn’t you once threaten to leave me for her?
MS: I never threatened to leave you for her…or for anyone, or for no one, for any reason at all. This is a great conversation. (attempts to walk away again)
RR (in pursuit): Hey, do you want to go to the event or not?

(we are going to the event; the original fight about Eleanor Wachtel ended in a temporary moratorium on mentioning her name, at least with an air of reverence)

(the title of this post refers to the apparently girlish habit of making a meal out of little bits of whatever one happens to like and have on hand, as I have also done with this post)