How quickly things change, my dear friends. New Year’s Eve was a lovely time for me. I opened a very nice Italian bottle Edgar gave me for Christmas; usually I wouldn’t drink such a good wine by myself, but NYEve. Made a shrimp stir-fry, using all the vegetables in the fridge, including a very old head of broccoli. Had dinner, then watched, yes, Bridget Jones Diary that was on TCM. Annie was watching too, so we were texting back and forth about what a shame they made her such an idiot, and what a gorgeous man Colin Firth is. It’s a ridiculous film, though with shades of Pride and Prejudice, including a hero called Mark Darcy, and fun, with the usual great British cast, especially that dreamboat. Though why such a good, fine man — a human right’s lawyer, for God’s sake! — would fall for such a goofball is never explained.

Got a beautiful text of gratitude and healing from my son, and a video from Anna of her and Holly singing and dancing with the Christmas karaoke machine. Joy.

So at my usual 11.15 p.m., I went to bed. Beside my bed, I have a little book in which I write briefly about the day, and that night I wrote, “The best New Year’s Eve ever.” And then, at exactly midnight, I started to vomit. Continued all night long. No sleep. Continued in the morning, and then it tapered off.

People were kind. Jean-Marc brought bananas and bread; Carol who lives upstairs brought tea and a hot water bottle. I spent the day in bed looking out my winter window or curled in a foetal position, managed to eat a banana.

Had to cancel engagements, including a gathering Friday with two writers I was anxious to meet, and a get-together at Union Station Saturday with old friend Harriet Walter, stopping as usual on the way home from her winter vacation with old friends near Kingston.

Took a sleeping pill Thursday night, slept long and hard, and felt human this morning. Had tea and porridge, later toast, a bit of soup. I usually have a stomach of cast iron, no idea what hit me – stomach flu? Food poisoning? Could it be e-coli from old broccoli? Not dressed today but partly functional. My downstairs suite is now empty and needs to be fixed before it’s rented again, so there’s lots of work to be done. Jean-Marc signed on as my decorator, but eventually his energy wore me out. Not 100% yet by a long shot. But human.

Before that, another disaster — the rains were so heavy last weekend, on Monday the sump pump that keeps the basement from flooding broke. I had a new one ready, was going to install it as soon as the flat was empty, which was — of course — two days later. At midnight Olga and I rolled up all the rugs and watched the water rise; next day Doug the handyman and I drove to Home Depot and averted disaster. He’ll come tomorrow to replace the sump. My three nightmares in this house: sump pump, smoke alarms, termites. All have done me in. How much longer will I be able to cope? Not a good time to ask, when I’m not myself.

My class at U of T that starts Jan. 13 is already a go, a huge relief. But renting the basement suite is a priority. Sorry to be pushy but here’s the listing. If you know anyone in or coming to Toronto who might be interested, please let them know.

Thanks. I hope New Year’s Eve was the low point for my year and a high point for yours. Over and out, and up!

love, b.