Not much to tell you except that I’m not well yet. My old friend Lynn, not the French Lynn, the Toronto Lynn, came over and told me I have to advocate more aggressively for my health care, and if I can’t do it, she will. And believe me, once she is on the case, you’re going to move mountains. So tomorrow I’m going to make a call to see if we can speed things along. My concern is that I’ll be back in hospital before anything is resolved. 

You know I’m sick because I was supposed to go across town to celebrate Father’s Day with Anna and Thomas and the boys, and I cancelled. 

So let’s hope something changes soon. As Jannette who came yesterday to help in the garden said, “You are not yourself.” And I like being myself. I worked for a long time to find out who she is and become her. No energy, no appetite, no interest in food which all tastes terrible, not able to drink rosé, losing weight – SO NOT ME!

I can drink beer, though. Thank God for beer.

Lynn also is dealing with a big health issue, both of us fit healthy eaters, she far more than I, and yet whammo, there it is. The big whack. 

In the meantime, I’ve missed several Dose 2 Covid appointments because of timing – either just out of hospital or an invitation for a day that I teach. So, stymied on two important health fronts right now. Plus – I should just turn the page – reading in the NYT about the terrifying rise of the fanatical far-right around the world, violent gangs plotting for society as we know it to end violently. No, should not think about that right now, on this beautiful hot Sunday afternoon. The garden is flourishing. Every year, from being buried underground, it returns to strength and beauty. 

There’s hope for you yet, old girl. Hang in there.