I am 69 right now, at 9 p.m. on Friday July 31, but tomorrow, Saturday August 1, I will be 70. Each decade has been like this; it sounds impossibly old until one is in it, and then it just feels like – like Saturday.

Just back from two days at Monique’s cottage. We are so incredibly lucky in this country to have wilderness, or relative wilderness, with gorgeous lakes and dense woods an easy drive from our cities. I understand why people flee to these places, and I regret that my children did not have that experience growing up; I didn’t have a cottage as a child in Nova Scotia, and neither did my then husband in B.C., and with his demanding job and our lack of money, buying a cottage was a non-starter. But I see what huge value for kids – getting away, even from the internet, to a place where all there is to do is to swim and play in the woods and play board games and read and be together.

My friend and I had a great time; she has a floating dock that at 5 we loaded up with our aperitif drinks and snacks and then pushed out, like Venetian gondoliers, and sat floating in the lake, jabbering in French and drinking rosé, while the loon family, parents and two babies, dove and sang their quavering song not far away. It was glorious. O Canada. This morning, Monique took her coffee and phone to the dock while I stayed ashore with my camera. And then later took the next shot. The sky!

Now, home. Robin kept the garden alive though there’s work to be done. It feels crowded and so narrow out there after the cottage, but still, it’s beautiful, and there is rosé, and there is HBO: Monique is coming over at 10 to watch Bill Maher with me.

Birthday wishes are coming in from dear friends by email, mail, e-cards, and a package from Lani I get to open tomorrow. There’s much to say about life and work and love and time and – But all I’ll say right now is: I’m grateful that I’m alive and you’re alive and there is so very much to celebrate on this magnificent, flawed, crazy planet.