Nothing to say, today, about the state of the world, wildfires, Republicans, Pierre P. Feh, as the Jews say. Time to celebrate this beautiful silent Saturday. I harvested from my little garden, made pesto and, with stuff from this morning’s market, made a stir fry and pesto pasta. I’ll do something with the rhubarb later, make gazpacho, gather and cook some chard and kale. Watered, cut the grass, pruned, planted some more basil. About to go put out my slug traps – dishes filled with beer.

Getting ‘er done. For the first time in ages, I have a bit of energy.

Today’s crop.

On Friday, for the last time before the return of her boys today, had another afternoon with my beloved daughter, took her bra shopping at Sophia’s. What mothers do. I got there first – Sophia fitted me a few weeks ago – and told her Anna was on her way and her particulars. “Ah,” she said drily, “from the other side of the family.” For sure, Anna’s body and mine could not be more different. She really needs a good bra; I do not. I bought her three – her Christmas present. And then a souvlaki lunch.

I wish she weren’t so busy and selfishly preoccupied with her own life, her work, children, and home, and could spend more time hanging out with her mother. However. That’s what happens. You can’t wait for them to grow up, and then they do. And you want to be with them and they’re busy.

With her help, I bought myself a treat too – some polarized RayBan sunglasses, much needed on the bike. And then on the way home I dropped into Doubletake and found a Marimekko top for $6. My kind of shopping.

Last night, rewatched the end of the beautiful Bill Nighy film Living. Wonderful. Highly recommended.

I realize the planet is on a knife’s edge, that we are doomed. But I’m about to have a glass of rosé and will sit in the garden and be grateful for bees and flowers, trees and sky. We haven’t destroyed it all yet.

PS. I feel I should apologize for sounding so glib, writing about bras and sunglasses when so many of my fellow Canadians are watching their homes burn, and there’s disaster just about everywhere. As I hope you know, I do not for one second take this momentary tranquillity for granted. Who knows what’s coming down the pike for Toronto?

But for now, it’s such a beautiful soft evening that I do not want to go inside. The boys are home safely, have talked nonstop, played baseball, eaten pasta, and are playing video games with Thomas. We are all alive.

Grateful for every minute.