On Sunday, set off for a class at the Y but it was so lovely a day, and so near the end of this time of lovely days, that I went for a bike ride instead – to various bookstores, among other places. I spent the rest of the day reading – finished Diana Athill’s “Somewhere toward the end,” a marvellous book about aging and life written by a 90-something woman who knows a lot about both. And nearly finished “Reality Hunger: A Manifesto” which is a fascinating read for a creative non-fiction supporter like myself.

I also listened to Eleanor Wachtel talk to an Italian physicist/writer, while cooking a stir fry and a curry. (Badly stated – Eleanor wasn’t cooking while interviewing, I was cooking while listening.) I had a long Skype chat with Lynn in the south of France – what a joyous miracle Skype is. She took me on a tour of their new apartment and showed me her new pretty grey jacket from Monoprix – and I showed her one of my purchases, a big fat French “Elle.” And then my son came over, to cook potatoes and eat curry. We watched “The Simpsons” at 8, as we have for 15 years. It’s still really good, and so is he.

Today – cold and rainy, brrr. It’s fall. The leaves are dropping, and this afternoon, after the first U of T class of term – wonderful as always, a stimulating assortment of lives packed into a small subterranean space – I brought in all the plants that summered outside. Now the house is full of greenery, and the deck looks bare. And just a minute ago, I turned on the furnace. The cold weather hunkering begins. Maybe it actually began on Saturday night, when I stayed inside and missed Nuit Blanche.

Soon off to Ryerson to meet another great assortment of lives. Have I said before that I love my work?