Mary Wilson

A little humour for a cold, cold morning. It’s -6° outside.

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Yesterday, I sent the TV pitch to my fellow members of our local stuttering group. Once I get their feedback, I plan to send our idea to the Canadian Stuttering Association for their perusal and consideration. If they like it, I hope they will take the lead (but involve me) in getting the proposal to TV Ontario and Knowledge Network.

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When I was a kid, I met Ken Stauffer through my Dad. He owned The Cave dinner theatre and it was though his courtesy that I was invited to see my heartthrobs the Supremes. They were doing two shows on one night early in their career. I sat centre stage, right up against the stage.

When the first show ended, the entire audience was ushered out of the venue except for me; Mr. Stauffer had authorized my staying for both shows, so I was there when Florence Ballard and Mary Wilson came out and spoke to me. To me!

They gave me a photograph of them signed by all three of them. I asked, where’s Dianna, and Florence said she was in the dressing room and Mary Wilson added, she doesn’t mix with fans and I could tell there was love between Flo and Mary and that they did not like Dianna. I felt privileged that they shared their distaste for her with me. We had a lovely little visit that absolutely thrilled me. I adored them both. They were extremely kind and generous with me.

They did the second show and they both constantly looked at me, elevating me to godhood in my own opinion, and when people brought flowers to them at the end of the show, they both gave me a flower and I felt so, so proud to be acknowledged by these two warm wonderful women.

Mary died on Monday of this week and I felt it.

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The snow that fell yesterday was short. IT was truly beautiful because the flakes were small and as thin as cherry blossom leaves falling in the gentlest of breezes. I could almost count the flakes, they were so sparse; they gently and slowly floated down, filaments of weightlessness. Later, the sun came out although it remained cold. It’s predicted to actually snow tomorrow and again on Friday before turning to rain on Saturday.

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I’m soon to view Angels in America via the streaming service, National Theatre at Home. I’m very excited about that, and about seeing Behind the Beautiful Forevers; there are four new plays on the site. And in April I will get to see Jessie Buckley whom I absolutely adore as an actor, and Josh O’Conner in Romeo and Juliet.

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My walk with new neighbour Merrill was a total delight and she clearly is as happy as I am about future socializing together. I’ve invited her to share in my edible garden and she’s offered to help me maintain it, which will be valuable when I go camping this summer.

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I finished The Sympathizer yesterday. It’s easy to understand why it won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction (an award for which I have far less respect since reading their fiction winner, Loss). It’s magnificently stylistic.], a real masterpiece of writing, plus it’s an enticing outsider’s view of America. Up next: My third book by an Asian writer, Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng. (I have two of her books to read.)