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moody blues on a Monday morning

AAAGH! Going mad. If I do not make a change to my Aeroplan account by this weekend, I will lose my points. So I have to buy something through that account, and let me tell you, they could not make it more complicated and infuriating. I have spent the morning trying to find something I actually need and then trying to figure out how to buy it and then calling the Aeroplan number to get assistance, all of which have led me exactly nowhere. I consider myself a sentient, even fairly intelligent human being, but they’ve got me bamboozled. Phooey.

Monday morning, and there’s a sprinkling of fresh snow inside and outside – outside it’s white and cold, inside it’s plaster dust showering down from on high; sanding has begun.

The hall without bannister

Kevin in my bedroom

Ed on high. This is part of the hallway cathedral space newly created. Light!

A quiet weekend. I went to see The play that goes wrong which was indeed hilarious, full of theatre-going-wrong jokes – mugging actors or ones who forget lines, doors that won’t open, falling down set etc. It was the kind of British comedy that’s delightful and vanishes instantly. No heft at all, but sometimes, particularly on a February day, a good belly laugh is more than okay.

Wayson came for dinner last night and we watched more Pride and Prejudice – go Darcy! – and a bit of the induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame – go Moody Blues, these aging British rockers are invincible – and the Grammys, but it was just too too for us fogeys.

Speaking of fogeys, I think I will start a regular section here called Annals of Aging – not just the minuses but the plusses too. But mostly minuses. For example, the Y has installed, in the women’s health club bathroom, a cruel device – a vast and powerful magnifying mirror. A horrifying sight awaits me each time I venture to take a peek – each line and crevice, each mole and blotch and sag and sprouting hair – sigh. However. I am far wiser now than when my skin was firm and clear. It’s worth it. Without question.

Today in the Star there was an article about a new tech firm; the founder is quoted as saying, “I’ve even got grandmothers learning to do it!” The premise being that there is no creature on earth more backward or harder to teach than a grandmother. If I had that young man here, I would bonk him on the head with a frying pan. No, I would crack the Y’s magnifying mirror over his head, thereby killing two birds, so to speak.

On the plus side in the Annals of Aging, my best friend Lynn and I Skyped for an hour on Sunday, from Montpellier to Toronto, much to catch up on, including our children and grandchildren, her work and mine, their renovation which is stalled by French bureaucracy and mine which is steaming ahead, and the quality of cashmere she gets at a certain store at sale time. We have known each other 51 years – almost as long as the Moody Blues have been together. Pure gold.



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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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