Last night was another double weeper for this sentimental fool. First I went to the annual tree lighting at Riverdale Farm, where Annie’s choir was singing. Luckily, it was a mild night after several very cold days, and the Farm was jammed with kids and parents and everyone else. There were carols and other songs by the large choir standing outside one of the barns, including Jingle Bells sung by cats and dogs; then we counted down, and the giant tree burst into light. Misty tears. As always, I marvel a neighbourly down home scene like this is taking place in the heart of a metropolis.

And then the Leonard Cohen Live in Dublin concert on PBS. I saw him not long before he died, the second best concert-giver of my life after the Beatles and McCartney shows. His poetry is magnificent, his dry self-deprecating humour, the glory of the songs – So Long Marianne, Suzanne, Hallelujah, what a catalogue! – his superb band and angelic backup singers. Ah Leonard. Wish I’d known you.

My Xmas lights are draped over the forsythia out front and I’ve put greenery in my bike basket; that’s my main effort for décor. Had to go to the Eaton Centre to get Eli’s present: roller blades. I hate that maze of a place. But it’s done.

Did an hour-long Zoom interview about my first book Finding the Jewish Shakespeare, for Ari Barbalat of the New Books Network podcast. I rarely get to speak now about the book that took twenty-five years of my life, and I have a lot to say, many stories, it’s a rich subject. Thanks to Ari for the opportunity.

Last night, to Suzette’s for dinner with her and Jessica, friends for nearly sixty years, and here we are. I told them we should celebrate the fact that there were still six breasts in the room, when so many have lost one or both. We are lucky.

On the way to Suzette’s, since she lives near Bloor St., I trekked into several stores to look for black wool pants. Mine from Doubletake were destroyed by moths, and I’d decided I need a new pair for Henry’s big event in New York. As I was hunting through the second store, I realized – I’m turning into my mother! The minute she was invited somewhere special, she fretted about what to wear, and most often went out and bought a new shiny white blouse. At her death there were many, many lovely white blouses lined up in her wardrobe. I was fussing about what to wear to Henry’s party, and instead of a white blouse, it’s black pants. Of which I have a pair or two – or four – already.

Haunted by the parade of white blouses, I’m not going to fuss about what to wear. There will be no more shopping for black pants. Or, there will, but it will be at Doubletake.

Yesterday afternoon, to Alanna’s open house in her fab condo, where she sells her prints and cards. She is a major talent, this woman. I bought a bunch of her lovely cards, though they can’t be sent until the mail strike ends.

Today, a bicycle event, not a protest so much but a celebration, with Santa, the Grinch, and many reindeer cycling through downtown with bells ringing and much waving to passersby. Bike people, like Maritimers, are the best people. I state that categorically.

The cat and I are sitting by the fire. On we go, into the merry season. As I remember that the season is not merry for many. This is part of the lineup for a food bank at a local church.

There but for the grace of God.