My new book “Midlife Solo” is now available.

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onward and upward

Ken just called: No post since Friday, is all well? Yes, thank you, all is well. I won’t be at Gina’s line dancing this morning, maybe by Wednesday. But I will be teaching today at 12.30, another class tomorrow, and another Thursday, make up classes for the ones missed last week. Sitting in a chair listening to stories: my idea of heaven. 

As is this house. One of the questions they asked in Emerg was, “Do you feel safe at home?” What a good question, if one with no relevance to me. “Absolutely,” I replied, though I could have gone on, except when a toilet explodes out of the wall and floods the house, as happened last year. Or when termites chew through the walls and ceiling. Or or or … But yes, mostly very safe. Lucky once more. 

Two jays at the feeder – big aggressive greedy birds, gradations of blue, lovely to look at.  

When I got home from hospital last Wednesday, I started to chronicle madly — blog, email (came back to 185 new emails), an essay about it all, I was pretty hyper. I thought I’d bounce back into gear. But it’s not happening. Friday afternoon it was warm and sunny, my gardening friend Jannette came, and I went out to prune with her — one of my favourite days of the year, the first time in the garden beginning to deal with winter damage and prepare for new growth. But I didn’t last long, just couldn’t do it. Anna, Thomas, and Eli came to visit Saturday, and though it’s joy to watch Thomas and Eli play cards and Monopoly — merciless, both of them — still, by the time they left, I was beat. Trying not to overdo it, but also not to under-do it so my body turns to mush.

I watched 15 minutes of the Grammys last night before turning it off. Ye gods. I like to keep up with what’s going on, and Trevor Noah is terrific, but … what’s with the claws, ladies? The ridiculous dresses, the giant absurd things hanging around necks, the stripper pole dancing? Despair. This is music? Billie Eilish, muttering, half-asleep, standing on a car with nails five inches long? 

I am old, I am old, I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers etc. 

Did however listen yesterday with the greatest pleasure to Eleanor interview the amazing Lydia Millet, an American writer raised in Toronto who credits Canada with her relative sanity. It was like being at dinner with two of the most interesting women on earth. Thank you, CBC. 

And so, one year into this endless murderous pandemic that continues to test us all, on into a new week. Yes, thank you. I feel very safe at home. 



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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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