My new book “Midlife Solo” is now available.

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Justin Trudeau at Pride

Things to be proud of: our prime minister, with his wife and children, marching in the Gay Pride parade on Sunday along with our gay premier Kathleen Wynne and her partner. How fabulous is this?I still love this man wholeheartedly. My daughter says she’s not celebrating Canada Day this year because of the Trudeau government’s failure to provide minimal decent care – or even clean water – for our indigenous people. I had to argue. Yes, there has been reprehensible failure, but things are changing for the better, and that takes time. And in the meantime, if you compare our government with almost any other on the planet – except the Scandinavian countries, of course, and Germany, and now France – we are extremely lucky. So, on July 1, I’ll certainly be celebrating 150 years of Canada.

Does anyone remember Stephen Harper and poor closeted Laureen? Ye gods.

Yesterday, I rode my bike to a giant plastic igloo to see an extraordinary film, shot in 360 degrees and displayed across the ceiling, celebrating, yes, Canada. We sit in the middle of a caribou herd, on the ice during a hockey game, underwater with whales, we see the northern lights, indigenous dances, choirs and music from across the country. Mesmerizing – and only a few blocks from home. And then across town to Anna’s for a Sunday barbecue with the whole family, including Uncle Sam. Watching Eli play soccer with his uncle or his dad, watching Ben climb up, over and over, and whiz down the backyard slide, and know Mama is inside making dinner – heaven. No blessing greater than this.

Except for one more blessing – while I was there, Chris FaceTimed from Vancouver with Brucie. I got to talk to him at last. Bruce is thinner and drawn; one side of his face isn’t working as well as it should, but he speaks clearly and is obviously his old self. Just needs more rehab to get the body and mouth working fully again. Bravo, beloved friend. Onward.

From Anna’s, straight to a Luminato event downtown, a Russian troupe performing Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya in Russian. “You’re seeing what?!” asked my kids in disbelief – their highbrow mother at it again. But how often do I get to see a troupe from Moscow perform one of the great classics of the cannon – in Russian? I took Russian lessons some years ago, have forgotten nearly everything but love the sound of the language. Ya lyubloo pa-ruski. I LOVE Russian.

Unfortunately – this production, not so much. Meh. Turgid – so SLOW, tedious and clunky. Despite the high ticket price – and meeting up with dear friend Eleanor Wachtel, who couldn’t believe I don’t PVR – I left at intermission and rushed home to see “Grantchester.” Much better, the divine, the delicious James Norton. In English.

Happy Pride to you all. Happy 20 years of Harry Potter. Happy Canada Day on its way. The rain has just passed, the sun is out again, the air is fresh and sweet, and my son is here cooking me dinner. Yet again – heaven.



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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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