Labour Day – brisk no nonsense weather, warm with an undertone of warning = perfect. Friends and family are on the road. Anna spent Saturday packing while the boys and Holly came here to play. I rode to the Eaton Centre to get 9-year old Eli a warm jacket; he’s so tall, I bought size 11-12, which only just fits. Ben is interested in money. “How much money do you have, Glamma?” he asked. “Enough to live on, Ben,” I said. “You mean, like, $400?” he gasped. It reminded me of when 4-year old Eli told me he was going to marry a girl in his class and I asked him how old he thought he’d be. He considered. “8,” he replied.
If only we could hang onto that sweet vagueness about numbers, the world would be a better place.
Anna left extremely early Sunday morning with the boys loaded up in the back and made it by 4 p.m to New Brunswick, to a motel with a pool. For dinner, she found an Indigenous-owned restaurant that served lobster rolls and poutine, and today she made it to Nova Scotia. So we know Anna is in heaven.
My friends Kevin and Donna arrived from Nova Scotia in the midst of all this to spend the weekend; they’d driven the other way to visit one of their sons and his family in Toronto. Kevin’s mother became one of my mother’s dearest friends in the fifties, so Kevin and I have known each other for decades, though we lost touch for some time as he lives in rural Nova Scotia. We did a lot of talking all weekend. And eating. And drinking. Last night we watched the US Open tennis, the amazing young Canuck Felix Auger Aliassime in a titanic battle with an American. Our boy won, and so did another even younger Canadian girl. Woo hoo! My mother and her sister Do loved tennis and were glued to the set during Wimbledon and every other series. Federer forever.
K and D left this afternoon, and I went to the drugstore for old people stuff – anti-aging serum and skin tag remover. The L’Oréal serum promises that instantly “skin feels more plump, supple, and looks smoother,” and in 1 week, “Youthful, bouncy feel returns, skin is visibly refreshed, looks well-rested and glowing with moisture.” Stay tuned, my friends. Soon I’ll be as youthful and bouncy as Eli and Ben.
On another front, this from an American magazine to which I’d sent an essay: Thanks for sending us ‘Secret.’ We’re sorry to say this submission isn’t right for us. This isn’t a reflection on your writing. The selection process is highly subjective, something of a mystery even to us. There’s no telling what we’ll fall in love with, what we’ll let get away.
Writing is hard work, and writers merit some acknowledgment. This note doesn’t speak to that need. Please know, however, that we’ve read your work and appreciate your interest in the magazine.
We wish you the best in placing your writing elsewhere.
Isn’t that sweet – “let get away”? Where shall I send it next?
Here, two iterations of a photo taken on Friday, Beth with one of her great loves – which do you prefer?