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It’s mild with a soft breeze on Remembrance Day, after a damp morning. Anna usually takes Eli to his much-loved swimming class at the Y on Wednesdays, but today, instead, she took him to the Remembrance Day ceremonies and explained to him what it means. I never took my kids to Remembrance Day ceremonies. Or to the Ex or to the Santa Claus parade either, which Anna also does. No question, she is a hundred times a better parent than I was.

And yet, I must admit – she turned out so well how? Perhaps I did something right.

Today I remember my father, who got through WW2 in the American Army MASH units, and my mother, with her fascinating stint at Bletchley Park, and my British grandfather Percy, who was rejected for the British army in WW1 because of bad knees from soccer, but who spent the war repairing engines and leather for the horses. Thank you. Thank you to all who in WW2 helped liberate our world from the vilest of monsters.

*                 *                       *                     *

Many treats yesterday, including a spectacular class at U of T – wow, is all I can say. And the Ryerson one on Monday was wonderful too. The term is winding down – last class next week at Ry and the week after at U of T, and once again, I’m profoundly grateful to have such satisfying work, work I hope makes a tiny difference on the planet.

Then home to greet my family – Sam had arranged for a photo shoot with his lovely friend Brilynne, a freelance photographer who’s 6 foot 2 – much discussion about being a tall woman, a subject I know well from my mother who was a mere 6 foot, and then to work, trying to get three adults and two small children looking in the same direction at once. I don’t know how we did, but she has already given Sam the picture she took when Ben discovered that his uncle’s thumb tasted really really good.

That’s a cheetah’s face he has on his hand, and the word LAMB. The word WOLF on his other hand. Don’t ask; I have no idea. Brilynne met him because she is photographing tattoos in the restaurant world, of which there are many. She told me she’s fascinated by them because of the stories behind them. A kindred spirit.

And then I watched the end of the Gillers, as always feeling like Cinderella, not just that I’m at home in my rags looking at the glitterati drinking champagne, but because I write NON-FICTION and this hugely generous prize is for fiction. At least there is a big non-fiction prize now, thanks to Hilary Weston. But it’s not on television yet. We can but dream. Congratulations Andre Alexis! BIG bucks and big sales. Way to go.

Until we get Brilynne’s shots, here’s one of mine, from my visit across town on Sunday:




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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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