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Saturday morning, to the St. Lawrence Market with my friend Annie, the two buildings jam-packed with great food and people buying it. Maybe the cheese isn’t quite as spectacular and the good bread’s more expensive than in France, but otherwise our market, I’m happy to report, is just as rewarding as a French market.

I loaded up, because I’m cooking the marvellous Ottolenghi roasted vegetables in caper sauce for Easter dinner. But I am not cooking the dinner – my daughter is. This is a first, a landmark – on Monday, bearing my veggie dish, I am going across town to her place for dinner, rather than cooking the whole schmear here. How glad I am to pass the torch of turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes over to the younger generation.
Saturday afternoon, back to yoga class at the Y, my first in 6 weeks and much needed. Invaluable, the opportunity to shut my mouth and stretch my spine.
And then – to the opera. Student and friend Peg sings with the opera chorus and passes on the staff special deals when she can, so for $22 each, my friend Monique and I had prime orchestra seats for the opening night of Rossini’s Cenerentola. What a feast, trills rising and falling, huge blasts of gorgeous music. And who did I run into in the lobby but Eleanor Wachtel, whom I haven’t seen since our meeting in Madrid. What globe-trotting culture vultures we are. How lucky.
Today’s treat – when Nicola Cavendish tells you to go see a show, you go. Wayson and I went to Jake’s Gift, a one-woman show written by and starring Julia Mackey. And what a tremendously talented young woman she is. If the show were running longer, I would INSIST that all of you in Toronto see it – it’s stunning. Not ten minutes in, I had to clench my jaw to keep from sobbing. Julia did research in France and throughout Canada about the DDay landing on Juno Beach by Canadian forces during WW2. She tells the story of an elderly veteran who returns for the 60th anniversary of the landing, and meets a young French girl who values what he did for her country and for the world. Just writing about it makes me want to cry.
This is the best kind of theatre, work I love more than anything – the collecting, the valuing, the honouring of stories. Stunningly moving, beautifully written and performed, using nothing but a bench, a box, a table – and talent, heart, and skill.
All this bliss, not to mention that yesterday at about noon, spring sprang. Suddenly it was hot. Today was lovely if colder, but already in my yard, delicate leaves and shoots are up and out. And my 3-year old neighbour Juliette, all dressed up in her Easter best, gave me a chocolate egg from her pink basket.
Grateful and glad, just to be breathing on this old earth.
And, as much as possible, trying not to think about the possibly hideous outcome of this election.



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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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