RENAISSANCE MAN

 Recently, my sister was packing up to move from their family home and asked if I wanted Ivaan's black leather jacket back.  I'd actually forgotten it even existed but she reminded me that her younger son, Ivor, had brought it home from one of his visits to Toronto.  Ivor was the longtime Vice President of Atelier Ivaan, and he used to come to Toronto frequently to assess our operations and implement new business improvement strategies.  He was also front-of-house in the store quite often, with his own clientele who would come in asking for him, long after he'd gone back home.  He was extremely popular, and I was always confident leaving the store in his hands.  He was tall, calm, authoritative, and very capable.

Ivor went on to study Engineering at university, fell in love with a beautiful fellow student,  and when they graduated, the two of them bought a house together in Ottawa and started renovating it themselves.  They seem to have boundless energy, the pair of them.  They've sought out new employment opportunities, travelled extensively, made good friends, moved up the career ladder and established themselves in a settled neighbourhood, all while still in their twenties.   By this time, the leather jacket was a bit too short for Ivor, so it remained in the closet of the family home for years.

Frankly, when my sister mentioned it, I imagined it would be in rough shape, but actually it's perfect.  The lining is completely intact, the leather is nicely broken in but in excellent shape.  Ivor's brother, Angus, brought it home to Toronto for me, and I offered it to my other nephew, Philippe, even offering to take the chenille crest off the back of the jacket.  Philippe gladly accepted the jacket, but firmly declined to have the crest removed.  He's going to wear it "as is", he says.  

I'm just waiting for someone to tap him on the shoulder and ask him to enlarge their Ivaan ring or make them a new Ivaan bracelet or belt buckle or something....because the jacket features Ivaan's unique signature in red chenille across the shoulders.

THE YEAR OF BLUE HAIR AND NO CITIZENSHIP

It's been a year. 

So much has happened, it'll be hard to sum it up.  I didn't even know where to begin, so I referred back to previous posts to see what has changed.

I decided to change the colour of my hair while I was at school.  I remember thinking it was just an experiment that I'd undertake for a year, because I am opposed to using hair colour on principle, but having hair that is naturally the colour of slush makes me look so washed out.  I could presumably have fallen into a Toronto snowbank and no one would find me until spring.

So I have blue hair.  It helps to make a student stand out at school when classmates can say, "Eya?  She's the one with the blue hair".  Then they don't have to think up synonyms for "decrepit".

Thesis Defense Day

June 24, 2026

So, rewinding to April 28, 2025, that's the day I submitted an application for proof of Canadian Citizenship.  I'd lost my wallet-size citizenship card while I was living in the wilds of southern Ontario and the government no longer issues wallet-size citizenship cards, so I applied for proof of Canadian Citizenship.  

On May 13, 2025, Citizenship and Immigration Canada wrote to me saying they'd received my application.  I checked back periodically and learned that it was somewhere in the queue.  I contacted my MP's office around Christmas time and they told me I'd have to wait some more.  In early May 2026 I contacted them again.  Same answer.

I'm still waiting.  

Yesterday, my sister pointed out that I had gotten my Master's degree in way less time than I had spent waiting for my proof of Canadian citizenship.  She is correct.  And I probably had a lot more fun in the process.  I am now the holder of a Master of Arts in Italian Studies (with High Distinction) from the University of Toronto.  I'd told myself I wouldn't bother going to Convocation in October unless I were to graduate with High Distinction, and as it happens, I will be going to Convocation.

I defended my thesis last Wednesday, and it was accepted  "as it stands", which means that the Thesis Committee has not sent it back for any revisions.  This is entirely due to my having a sensational thesis supervisor.  This man is such a genius that every great thought I've ever had in my life, he's had that thought by the time he was six years old and long forgotten it.  He is not only a true scholar, but he's the wisest and most patient and the kindest man on the planet.  Professor Andrea Lanza walks on water, as far as I am concerned.  

When I learned who was going to be on my Thesis Committee, I could hardly believe my good fortune.  Second Reader was Professor Luca Somigli, who is the Emilio Goggio Chair in Italian Studies, and the Chair of the Thesis Committee was Professor Laura Ingallinella, who taught me Renaissance Italian Theatre in the first semester.  She is a stellar prof and  above reproach in every way. I was so lucky.  I didn't even have to wait long - maybe a minute - for them to make their decision.

During my first semester, I suffered a stroke which hasn't affected my physical ability or appearance, but has resulted in some deficits in my brain.  I initially thought I was losing my hearing and went to an audiologist who determined that it was a neurological deficit caused by a stroke.  I am fighting back, because I know early intervention is key to stroke recovery.  One of the ways I am fighting back is by learning Mathematics.  Luckily, my nephew Philippe is a teacher, and he's agreed to tutor me. He's quite intuitive about figuring out how to work around my mental block about Mathematics.  I can do Arithmetic very readily, but when it comes to Algebra, Geometry and Calculus, I was lost even before I'd had the stroke.  If anyone can get me solving math problems, it's Philippe.  Besides, this way I get a visit from him each week.

Things aren't all rainbows and fluffy white clouds and warm sunshine in my life, that's for sure.  It's been a brutal year for losing friends.  It's been a full year since the death of Alice Kazmierowski.  I often think of her and her first grandson, Clem, and wonder what extraordinary things he's getting up to without her.  In April, 2026, my young friend Emma Turnbull died, and that has been utterly wrenching.  The world seems greatly diminished without her in it.  A whole swath of Southern Ontario seems to be imbued with the spirit of Emma and all the people she influenced.  Emma is a legend.

My youngest nephew, Ivor, and his beloved Laurie are getting married this October in Ottawa.  Neither Ivor nor Laurie likes being the centre of attention, but they feel this is an occasion that needs to be marked in a traditional way, with both families present.  Honestly, I would like to know the names and addresses of the mutual friends who introduced Ivor and Laurie.  I should send them a Christmas card every year, because they have such great discernment and excellent taste.   Ivor and Laurie are perfect together.  She has such a generosity of spirit where Ivor is concerned, I just fell in love with her the second I met her.  And  Ivor has always been the most stalwart and independent young man - quietly taking charge and getting things done in an incredibly competent way.  Their wedding is going to be just like that, a blend of both their best qualities.

And you never know, I might get my proof of Canadian Citizenship  before the wedding.