My new book “Midlife Solo” is now available.

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glad tidings

What I forgot to mention, in that rapturous account of my ex’s visit, was one more great joy during his visit: the essay about my garden, an excerpt from Midlife Solo, was published in Alice Goldbloom’s Substack, and for days, readers wrote of their appreciation. “Great nuanced and rich piece!” “What a lovely story! I need things like this to remind me of life’s simple goodness, especially when surrounded by so much political discord and animosity.”

And more — 30 comments so far. It’s like receiving 30 warm pats on the back. Thank you!

Crazy busy. All day doing errands on the bike, slow and steady because I can only carry so much. Two trips to No Frills for heavy stuff: potatoes, milk, veg, a tin of luxury chocolate biscuits for the wonderful women who take care of things in the women’s change-room at the Y. To St. John’s Bakery, where my favourite multigrain sourdough bread was hot from the oven, mmmm. To the downtown Ikea for last minute gifts, scented candles for Anna who loves them, picture frames for the boys’ fathers, who are both coming for Xmas dinner — I had a picture of the boys printed to give them. To Doubletake, great scores for gifts, a linen blouse, a scarf, a sweater. To Pet Valu for the requested gift for Bandit, mon dieu, Bully Sticks are expensive. Will get to the LCBO tomorrow for wine for me and beer for the men, and to Ben McNally for a book for the boys, one of the NYT’s top ten kids’ books of the year, The Eyes and the Impossible by Dave Eggers, narrated, apparently, by a dog.

I am giving my kids mostly money, but it’s nice to have some bulky things under the tree, have skates and a portable typewriter for Eli and Ben.

Yesterday, Monique and I had dinner downstairs with Olga who rents my basement flat. Tomorrow, lunch with my dear friend Rosemary Shipton, editor extraordinaire. Saturday, lunch with Ron and Babs, the oldest honeymooners – at 90 and 82 – I’ve ever met. Ron has just had edited and published a beautiful book of Babs’s poetry.

The amaryllises Ken and Annie brought me a month ago are in full blazing bloom.

Yesterday my doorbell rang. It was Len, a neighbour from up the street, friend for 37 years. His wife, another Beth, had read the rave review of Midlife Solo in The Bridge, and he wanted to buy a copy to give her for Christmas.

Does it get better than that? The answer, my friends, is no.



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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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