Dear God — please give Leah McLaren a seat on your right hand, or least in the vicinity. She's terribly smart, and witty, and balls-against-the-wall outright FUNNY. Wise, too. I wish I could write her a letter from the perspective of being 90 (which is when you REALLY fear death)... Now, what young women can I share Ms. Leah's missive with?
Good lord, where do I start? If I was even slightly religious, I might feel better about death. right? I've led a reasonable life, haven't done too many bad things, haven't been unkind, done what I can to improve the music community I've been involved with (publicity, concert production, writing etc.) — so I'm going to heaven and I'll be happy ever after; no problem.
But there is a problem: I've two great kids (in their 60s now!) who will be hurt when I die. I have so many friends, every one of them way younger than me. I have too much music I still haven't heard. I've way too many books I've not read. I resent that travel insurance is so high that I can't come to London any more (if I could I'd get in touch and ask for a meet-up over coffee). I can't make that life-changing trip to the Far East, or go to Australia again. I can't take my friend Julia to that pub in Lincoln's Inn Fields (The Seven Stars; have you been there?) My "bucket list" is as full as ever it was.
And I'm stuck in a land of unfulfilled dreams, schemes, hopes and ambitions. I turn 90 in June (if the creek don't rise, as Johnny Cash used to say). My brain seems to be holding up, but I walk slower, it's hard to get up after sitting down, getting in and out of cars and taxis is MUCH harder than it was, I don't run up stairs two at a time like I used to do (I don't run, period). I don't like hip hop music, or rap, or heavy metal — though I try not to complain about that stuff, because it reminds me of my dad who used to grumbled about the traditional classic jazz that enthralled me when I was a teenager.
So I spend too much time thinking about not being here. Not fulfilling my dreams, Not talking to my kids. Not listening to music. Not writing my weekly missives on Substack. Not reading. Not having my morning coffee. Not having sex any more (gave that up six or seven years back). The worst time is when you're in bed,with the lights out and you're not asleep yet. Will I wake up? HOW will I die, and WHEN? Will it be without pain? How will my kids get rid of all the shit I've accumulated over the years I've lived in Toronto (I got here in in 1957)?
God, this is miserable. All I can tell you is that none of all this ever occurred to me until I turned 6o; it's gotten worse the longer I've been lucky enough to be here.
And I wish YOU a long and productive and happy life. We all deserve that, and I am relieved and grateful that I'm still having one.
Not miserable at all! I spend far too much time worrying about death and I'm still in my 40s, at you have an excuse. Btw, you should come to London without health insurance -- the NHS doesn't have any mechanisms for charging people in the unlikely event you are incapacitated whilst here. A relative of mine once required emergency surgery on a visit here from Canada. He had insurance but was discharged without a bill. The NHS literally doesn't do bills. Come!
I know this was directed to Leah, but this was so incredible to read. Thank you for being so frank! Your list left of things you'd like to do sounds so rich and beautiful, and I'm sorry it feels like those are beyond you. It does also sound like you've done some beautiful and memorable things already, and that you still have so much music and community ahead of you :). You're invested in your local music community so you probably already do, but do you know SoFar? It's a really cool international program that does secret shows with local artists in undisclosed places around town - it might be something you're into! https://www.sofarsounds.com/cities/toronto I'm going to one here in Toulouse, FR this weekend.
Thank you again for sharing your insight - it's a real gift.
Dear Leah; I remember the naughts fondly and all the fun I had reading your scribbles for the paper that was often delivered to my doorstep, damp but still legible. So glad to read you are still alive. Also I am quite chuffed at my own continued planetary presence. Unbelievably I am so old I remember when The Canada Council had A and B grants. The A Grants were the plumper of the two and given to "Senior Artists", a species now photoshopped out of existence.
This was a beauty! I remember reading your column back in the day. I worked at CBC, then went to the dark side and had a great career in PR and strategic communications. I can’t even fathom what it’s like in either industry now as they were both so connected. Looking forward to whatever your third act brings.
Hey there Leah, I've noticed four places so far that either have a word repeated or the phrasing is just off, tense concerns or just obviously problematic. I'm a writer, and I feel, am a pretty good editor...I'd consider assisting you - at next to no charge - because I like your transparency and genuine authentic nature. Maybe we can have a conversation?
This piece reminds me why I write. Back in the day I had a column in a daily newspaper, folks would surprise me by saying my words resonated with them. Each of my pieces was basically a note to myself; describing something I found curious. Reading them over now, I wonder who that man was and I am amused by what he has become. Thanks for exploring the bits that are/were uniquely Leah. Through your gifted storytelling you bring us all a bit of understanding of the bigger picture.
Dear God — please give Leah McLaren a seat on your right hand, or least in the vicinity. She's terribly smart, and witty, and balls-against-the-wall outright FUNNY. Wise, too. I wish I could write her a letter from the perspective of being 90 (which is when you REALLY fear death)... Now, what young women can I share Ms. Leah's missive with?
Can you please write me a letter about what it’s like to fear (or even just think about) death at 90? Seriously, I want to know what you think.
Good lord, where do I start? If I was even slightly religious, I might feel better about death. right? I've led a reasonable life, haven't done too many bad things, haven't been unkind, done what I can to improve the music community I've been involved with (publicity, concert production, writing etc.) — so I'm going to heaven and I'll be happy ever after; no problem.
But there is a problem: I've two great kids (in their 60s now!) who will be hurt when I die. I have so many friends, every one of them way younger than me. I have too much music I still haven't heard. I've way too many books I've not read. I resent that travel insurance is so high that I can't come to London any more (if I could I'd get in touch and ask for a meet-up over coffee). I can't make that life-changing trip to the Far East, or go to Australia again. I can't take my friend Julia to that pub in Lincoln's Inn Fields (The Seven Stars; have you been there?) My "bucket list" is as full as ever it was.
And I'm stuck in a land of unfulfilled dreams, schemes, hopes and ambitions. I turn 90 in June (if the creek don't rise, as Johnny Cash used to say). My brain seems to be holding up, but I walk slower, it's hard to get up after sitting down, getting in and out of cars and taxis is MUCH harder than it was, I don't run up stairs two at a time like I used to do (I don't run, period). I don't like hip hop music, or rap, or heavy metal — though I try not to complain about that stuff, because it reminds me of my dad who used to grumbled about the traditional classic jazz that enthralled me when I was a teenager.
So I spend too much time thinking about not being here. Not fulfilling my dreams, Not talking to my kids. Not listening to music. Not writing my weekly missives on Substack. Not reading. Not having my morning coffee. Not having sex any more (gave that up six or seven years back). The worst time is when you're in bed,with the lights out and you're not asleep yet. Will I wake up? HOW will I die, and WHEN? Will it be without pain? How will my kids get rid of all the shit I've accumulated over the years I've lived in Toronto (I got here in in 1957)?
God, this is miserable. All I can tell you is that none of all this ever occurred to me until I turned 6o; it's gotten worse the longer I've been lucky enough to be here.
And I wish YOU a long and productive and happy life. We all deserve that, and I am relieved and grateful that I'm still having one.
God, this is miserable, isn't it?
Not miserable at all! I spend far too much time worrying about death and I'm still in my 40s, at you have an excuse. Btw, you should come to London without health insurance -- the NHS doesn't have any mechanisms for charging people in the unlikely event you are incapacitated whilst here. A relative of mine once required emergency surgery on a visit here from Canada. He had insurance but was discharged without a bill. The NHS literally doesn't do bills. Come!
Hi, Richard!
I know this was directed to Leah, but this was so incredible to read. Thank you for being so frank! Your list left of things you'd like to do sounds so rich and beautiful, and I'm sorry it feels like those are beyond you. It does also sound like you've done some beautiful and memorable things already, and that you still have so much music and community ahead of you :). You're invested in your local music community so you probably already do, but do you know SoFar? It's a really cool international program that does secret shows with local artists in undisclosed places around town - it might be something you're into! https://www.sofarsounds.com/cities/toronto I'm going to one here in Toulouse, FR this weekend.
Thank you again for sharing your insight - it's a real gift.
I love that you shared this, thanks Nikita!
Bravo Leah 🌈
Whew! This is one of the great ones !!! I have to lie down now.
Ah thanks Marianne (please get up) x
Ok back up. In fact I’m coming to London tomorrow until the 25th. Any chance I could invite you to lunch?
I'd love that! Will drop you an email. x
Luv the hustle-thankyou. Do not miss leaky pen ink...!
me neither — thanks!
👍👍👍👍👍
Dear Leah; I remember the naughts fondly and all the fun I had reading your scribbles for the paper that was often delivered to my doorstep, damp but still legible. So glad to read you are still alive. Also I am quite chuffed at my own continued planetary presence. Unbelievably I am so old I remember when The Canada Council had A and B grants. The A Grants were the plumper of the two and given to "Senior Artists", a species now photoshopped out of existence.
So alive! Damp but legible!
Man it really is rough out there these days
Hoooh yeah
This was a beauty! I remember reading your column back in the day. I worked at CBC, then went to the dark side and had a great career in PR and strategic communications. I can’t even fathom what it’s like in either industry now as they were both so connected. Looking forward to whatever your third act brings.
Thanks Kim — we were lucky to come up in the era we did. Having said that PR and press are more connected than ever — there’s been a merger!
Hey there Leah, I've noticed four places so far that either have a word repeated or the phrasing is just off, tense concerns or just obviously problematic. I'm a writer, and I feel, am a pretty good editor...I'd consider assisting you - at next to no charge - because I like your transparency and genuine authentic nature. Maybe we can have a conversation?
Thanks Timber. A copy editor I am not. Sure can chat
I thought the errors were part of the gag.
Imagine being a journo in the 90s. No wait - I can't. Don't remember it and Facebook wasn't there to record it. You should've been there @leahmclaren
Hope this goes viral.
This piece reminds me why I write. Back in the day I had a column in a daily newspaper, folks would surprise me by saying my words resonated with them. Each of my pieces was basically a note to myself; describing something I found curious. Reading them over now, I wonder who that man was and I am amused by what he has become. Thanks for exploring the bits that are/were uniquely Leah. Through your gifted storytelling you bring us all a bit of understanding of the bigger picture.
column as note to self, I love this
Fucking ‘ell you’re ‘ilarious
thanks Matt
Yup. We didn't realise how lucky we were. Great writing Leah. Fantastic piece.
no we did not. I hope you only have one PhD Lily!
Funny, sad, playful and dead serious. Not bad.
thanks Vian
🤣