It felt like the war in Ukraine was all the tragedy and disaster the world could handle, what with political dysfunction, rising fascism, refugees, dengue fever, famine, climate crisis, and more. But now, fresh useless horror – hatred, murder, revenge. The heart breaks. When will we learn? When will we stop?
Wait, I mustn’t include us all. I was chatting with a Canadian-American friend yesterday, and when I spoke scornfully of Americans, she reminded me that not all Americans are far-right lunatics. Many, most, are not. Just as most Palestinians and Israelis are not murderous thugs. But their leaders and their angry young men are.
Even darker days on our planet.
However, despite all, we held Thanksgiving here and gave thanks for this country, for family and health, for peace wherever it can be found. We ate a lot. The boys wrestled and played catch. Could we be luckier, more blessed? I don’t think so.
And something amazing. My tech helper Patrick and I decided to post short reels on Instagram, me reading excerpts from Midlife Solo, less than a minute because “the algorithm likes that length,” according to him. So we have done three. The first two garnered a few hundred views. The last one, 1600 so far. God knows what that means. I do not think IG views translate to book sales, especially as there’s no book, yet, to sell. But still, the numbers floor me.
The potted plants that winter over are mostly inside, as of yesterday, washed and placed upstairs where they can hopefully grab enough sun to survive; the huge heavy ones, the oleander and the jasmine, will come in today when Sam comes over to lift. It’s officially fall. The furnace is on. The sandals and sundresses are put away.
Only one direction to go, heart heavy but beating. Onward.
Anna and me in High Park last Friday. Giving thanks.