It’s hot – hot hot hot, and it feels especially blessed because we know it won’t last. Heavenly. Nobody, not one single person, is complaining about the heat.
Yesterday I “unfriended” someone I knew many years ago but have connected with recently only on FB. He was insulted, so I had to explain it was nothing personal, I simply cannot take FB’s relentlessness any more, the barrage of opinions and abuse, so I started with him.
Ah, navigating the modern world, so complex. “To unfriend” – a new verb.
But on other hand, I’ve invented “to family.” I familied yesterday. My son and I were supposed to go to a movie, but when we met at the Varsity, he took one look at me and said, “Mum, you’re sick. The movie theatre will be freezing. Let’s just go to your place and I’ll make you a nice dinner. “
We ended up at our favourite restaurant on Parliament Street for dinner at dusk on their roof deck; I had a glass of Prosecco to celebrate being there with a very fine man. He has had a hard time since the ghastly event of last month, but has the support of many friends who love him, a workplace he enjoys tremendously, and, now, a great blessing, a professional who specializes in trauma, who has explained to him how his brain is operating right now. All this has led to a calmer and happier man. We talked and laughed and ate and came back here to watch the Emmys, where usually he has seen everything and I have seen nothing. This time, Fleabag won big, and I had actually watched 3 episodes and he – none. It was a first. Because I am so very cool.
Here’s a few pictures on this glorious day, as I rest in preparation for a big class tonight – got to get these lungs through it –
I looked down after working in the garden and a magnificent tiny beetle was clinging to my pants. I took him out and found a leaf. He’s bronze, with spots, just beautiful. I took it as a good sign that a beetle liked me.
Is there anything in nature more showoffy than roses? The peacock of flowers.
I’ve been delving into old photos. This is my dad with Dr. Benjamin Spock in the late sixties or early seventies, both working for peace and against the Vietnam War.
And this is Dad after he signed up for the U.S. Army, in 1944 at the age of 22. This is the young man my mother met.
Today I was reading letters by my British grandfather, Mum’s father, who was born in 1890. How lucky, to know these generations. To be part of a long line, stretching back, stretching forward.