Listening to an analysis on CBC about the Carney budget. Much to agree with, some to disagree with perhaps, but mostly, the pundits feel, Canadians have decided to trust Carney, for now. As will I. And importantly, is it possible the vile Pierre P. is being torpedoed by his own caucus? We can hope. Begone, you horrible human being.

Spent part of the day finishing the winterizing, as there may be a bit of snow overnight. We had a long slow lovely fall, which ended abruptly. That’s life. That’s Canada.

A lovely evening yesterday, dinner with old friends Suzette and Pierre (long-time vegetarians — we shared mushroom pizza and a kale salad, delicious.) Then to see Blue Moon, by Richard Linklater with his favourite actor Ethan Hawke giving a bravura performance, extraordinarily intense and vivid, as Larry Hart, Broadway lyricist with composer Richard Rogers of many hits including Blue Moon. It’s set in the famous Broadway bar Sardi’s on a terrible night for Hart, the opening night of Oklahoma!, which Rogers wrote with Oscar Hammerstein II, replacing his long-term writing partner because of Hart’s alcoholism.

It’s not an easy film, with Hawke as Hart giving extended monologues in tight claustrophobic close-up. He has a scintillating encounter with one of my great writing heroes, E. B. White. It’s heartbreaking, beautiful, a powerful portrait of the obsessions, even madness, of a giant creative spirit. The fabulous Andrew Scott is the brilliant and successful Rogers, moving on but longing for his old partnership, which it’s clear is utterly impossible. Terrific. Amazingly, at the same time, Linklater has another film out, Nouvelle Vague, which I’m also dying to see.

In 1975, I worked with a band of lunatics called the Valhallelujah Rangers, near Valhalla Lake in the interior of B.C.; we put together a show, with music and skits, that toured to prisons and retirement homes. My fellow actress Ruby, whose father was a U.S. senator from Hawaii, and I sang Blue Moon together, accompanied by the guys. Such a great song. I think of the lyrics: “Blue Moon/You saw me standing alone/Without a dream in my heart/Without a love of my own.” More meaningful now I know about the great loneliness of Lorenz Hart.

Just read part of an interesting book, Melting Point: Family, Memory, and the Search for a Promised Land, by Rachel Cockerel, about a Jewish settlement in Texas and the rise of Zionism. What’s original is that although some of the characters are her family members, she doesn’t appear, she simply uses resource materials — excerpts of books, articles, letters.

I’m now reading Is a River Alive? by the heroic Robert Macfarlane, a wonderful writer. Have been reading the classic Tom’s Midnight Garden to the boys, but it’s just too old-fashioned and British, I have to translate language and explain too much. I skimmed to the end and will tell them what happens, and we’ll move on.

A truly welcome event in my life, on Wednesday — for various reasons I’ve been looking for a new doctor, and found out about a health clinic affiliated with St. Mike’s Hospital just a few blocks from here. All their doctors were fully booked, but they said they were hiring two nurse practitioners in a few weeks, so I called a few times and finally got an appointment — just to go in and meet him, I thought.

Instead, he spent nearly an hour with me, asking many questions, filling out pages on his computer with my info. I was thrilled to be so seen.  When he found out I’m divorced and live alone, he asked about my support system — which is just fine, I said. And, he asked delicately, are there things in your life that bring you pleasure? Hobbies?

OMG! I said. So many things give me pleasure! My work, family, neighbourhood, travelling, movies and plays and music and reading and … I’m a happy woman, I said.

He smiled. Okay, not a sad, lonely, at risk old lady then. Not yet, anyway.

Doubletake came through the other day — an Xmas present for Anna, a sweatshirt from one of her favourite places on earth, Digby Nova Scotia, and three quality t-shirts for me, for $24. My evening out yesterday, I realized I was dressed entirely in thrifted clothes, including my boots, bought on the street during the Cabbagetown Festival. Pants, sweater, vest, coat, all from Goodwill, Doubletake, or Value Village. Hooray!

And I got the latest of my blog books printed — eight books, something like two million words, an endless chronicle. Insane. Will she ever shut up? You know the answer.

Tonight, this lucky old lady is off to hear Elizabeth Gilbert speak. On this cold night, I’d rather stay home, but I booked this ticket in May, wanting to find out what her schtick is. I’m assuming there will be thousands of adoring women and six brave men, and I’m not sure I’ll enjoy it, as I hear her latest book is pretty bad. But I’ll trundle into the dark night to check her out. I am always interested in how writers present themselves on stage — the best being David Sedaris, with my dear Wayson Choy not far behind.

Dear friends, stay warm. I hope many things bring you pleasure, under the warm blue moon.