We had a wonderful celebration on Xmas Eve, the most peaceful ever. Miracle: as I wrote last time, by midday Dec. 24, everything was ready, so I went to the Y. When Anna, Sam, Holly, and the boys arrived, wrapping paper flew, and we dined. They loved the book of family photographs I had printed for us all — memories. It could not have been better. The children’s dad is a dear friend to me, as I am to him. We might have lost this bond forever, but we did not. We are the richer, as are our kids and grandkids.
I’ve just finished a fascinating memoir, I Regret Almost Everything, by New York restauranteur and now Instagram star Keith McNally. During my January trip to NYC, I met my cousin Patti and her daughter Becky for lunch at their favourite restaurant, Balthazar, far downtown. It was very crowded, very stylish, obviously very popular. I didn’t realize it was McNally’s flagship or know anything about him. Now I know a great deal.
His book is a huge hit, and it’s clear why; as the title says, the man is extremely honest about his flaws and mistakes, far more than about his massive successes. You’ve never read a more self-deprecating success story. I think it’s because he’s from a lower-middle British background, as was my mother; never get “too big for your britches,” even if you’ve founded a bunch of the most successful restaurants in New York, not to mention having an early career as an actor in England and friendships with some of the most interesting people on earth, including Alan Bennett (with whom he had a long affair, before marrying twice and having five children), Lorne Michaels, Tom Stoppard, and Jonathan Miller.
A very enjoyable and unusual read.
Okay, a recap of 2025:
In August, I turned 75. That was big. I don’t feel 75, which sounds incredibly old. But it seems to be true. But then, Paul McCartney is 83 and indefatigable, so I will be too. With naps.
It was a busy year, despite my advanced age and increasing decrepitude — I need to consult notes and this blog to remember it all. There was an amazing amount of travel: New York in January for Henry’s 70th at the Century Club; Mexico in February to teach a workshop and do a reading at the San Miguel Writers’ Festival, with first a few days in Mexico City with Annie; France in April, staying at Monique’s sister’s tiny flat in the sixth looking out at the Louvre, then a visit with Cousin Lesley and Duncan in the Loire valley, and on to Montpellier and Gordes with Lynn and Denis and their family — heaven!
Newfoundland in July; Ruth’s cottage in August; Kingston in September, to teach and read at the writing conference there, and Stratford; Montreal in November, for my Macca. Wow, quite a year! I’ve not a single trip planned, so far, for 2026, but I do hope to get out west.
My professional life expanded — not just U of T classes, home class, and private editing clients, but speaking about memoir and the writing life — a talk to almost a hundred members of the Probus Club in Etobicoke, a Zoom Word on the Street webinar, a Zoom talk to a Toronto library, and more. The July Write in the Garden workshop and the So True reading event in October were both wonderful. All gratifying.
Professionally, the big news was the purchase of my writing textbook True to Life by a press in Beijing, to translate into Simplified Chinese. They gave a generous advance in American dollars! Bewildering and marvellous. Although I won’t understand a word, can’t wait to hold it in my hands. And for millions of Chinese people to begin writing memoirs, with my help.
Publication: only two letters to the Editor and two pieces in Alice Goldbloom’s Substack, plus of course many blog posts, Substack essays, and MailChimp newsletters. Submitted several big essays but none published; one accepted by Queen’s Quarterly, to be published spring 2027. Otherwise, no question, a slowdown. No progress at all on the big book. Stuck.
An interesting experience, spending nearly three days sheltering the great John Irving at the Mexico City airport, after Pearson was shut down by a plane crash, and our Air Canada flight was cancelled. John was sick, and I was his official guardian. It was an honour.
Good things: Mark Carney saved us from what looked at one point like a guaranteed PP victory. Yes, he may be tilting right, but I’m profoundly grateful he emerged as victor. And how about those Jays?
My student and friend Merrijoy finally compiled her life stories, I edited at length, and the book will come out next year, when Merrijoy is 99. Another friend, Ron, is writing madly and joyfully at 92. Inspiring.
Best friend since 1967 Lynn visited for over a week in September; we attended a reunion of our university drama club in my garden and later saw a ghastly piece of theatre. Had a fabulous time.
Journalist and pundit Tara Henley, who regularly interviews important and well-known people, picked up a copy of Loose Woman at a second-hand bookstore, loved it, and asked to interview me. It was the best interview ever, a great pleasure, and later she came here for a drink and a friendly talk. I like and respect her a lot. (Interview posted on the home page of my website. Check out her superb Substack https://tarahenley.substack.com)
Rushing off the streetcar to get the bus to Stratford, I left behind my backpack, which contained not just my vital sandwich and water for the trip, but my computer. I was bereft and terrified. However, calling TTC Lost and Found over several days, to my vast relief it eventually it turned up. Much hugging. It’s an essential family member, this machine.
Bad things: Two huge losses this year, two of my dearest friends, Ken, and Lani. Both suffering major health issues and unhappy, so I’m glad they’re free of earthly bonds, but sad to be living without them. Grateful I made sure to visit Lani in Ingersoll in September, renting a car and on the way, getting completely lost in the endless cornfields of southern Ontario. We had a good visit, and I was able to tell her how very much I – we, my whole family – love her. And her sweet partner Maurice, afflicted with cancer, who died the month after my visit.
Other bad things, or nearly: Rushing — always rushing, must stop rushing — for the streetcar, my foot got tangled in my loose pants and I did a hard faceplant in the middle of the street. Shocking, painful, with blood. But luckily, I bounced back. The word we all dread: fall.
PicRights, a vicious entity that hounds artists for innocently posting copyrighted material, sent me threatening emails and letters demanding thousands of dollars because of the New Yorker cartoons I’d posted on my blog. Lesson learned. I hired the Writers’ Union lawyer to respond, deleted every cartoon, and eventually they backed off. My blog is poorer, but I am not. Not much.
And of course, as the height of bad things, every single Republican who did not rein in their vile leader and his appalling henchmen as they destroy the world. Spineless nonentities who’ll be judged very harshly in the afterlife. But my blood pressure is rising; enough about them.
I tried to keep a list of the year’s cultural activities, books, plays, movies, TV shows, art shows, talks, concerts. I’ll get to it.
But for now, on this cold, grey, snowy Sunday, all I can say is: I’m alive, you’re alive, we’re relatively sentient, let’s not ask for more. Onward, to a brand new year.
