Have to say, 2026 has not started well over here — or anywhere, in fact. Hard not to be gloomy. The weather has been vile, the worst winter in years and it’s only January 10. I’ve been sick since New Year’s Eve and am not much better, queasy in the belly and now have a bad cough, something in the lungs. Phooey. If I’m still like this Monday, I’ll call the doctor. Enough.

On Dec. 3, Colbert said, “A highly contagious vomiting disease is surging across the country. It’s hard for me to tell if I’m going to catch it because I watch the news for a living and I vomit all year round.” I’m with him.

Because worse, of course, is what we’re witnessing in the world, overseas, and in the once-great democracy to the south. The brilliant Heather Cox Richardson recently posted, on her Substack, a WW2 screed written back then for Americans about fascism, what it is, how it starts and plays out. The current situation there ticks all the boxes. Terrifying and incomprehensible, from Obama to full-on fascism in a decade. How?

Which reminds me: a guy from my high school in 1965/66 in Halifax, very right wing, lives in the States, passed through TO and took me to dinner a few years ago. Voted triumphantly, gleefully, for Trump. Back then, he and I used to argue about the Vietnam war. Later he told me I’d been right and he’d been wrong about that, so I kept assuming he’d come to the same conclusion about Trump. After the kidnapping in Venezuela but before the murder in Minneapolis, I sent him a sarcastic note congratulating him on how his vote for such a fine, ethical, decent leader and his inspiring team has made the world a far better place. He wrote back, “Congratulations accepted; Trump one of the best presidents.” And went on about Alberta — if the referendum on separation goes through, Canada is finished. But he and I “can still be friends although we disagree about everything.”

Imagine, still supporting that man, one of the worst human beings on earth, who’s giving permission for the worst from people everywhere. I wrote back that no, we could not be friends, I was done with him; there are people in my life I disagree with but respect, but not him; he has been selfish and blind all his life. “I loathe everything you stand for,” I wrote.

He wrote back, “Just because you are a lonely spinster disappointed in life and men is not my fault or Trump’s.”

Wrong again. Of all the things I know myself to be, a lonely spinster disappointed in life and men is most definitely not one of them.

I will try to lighten up. What about Heated Rivalry? A Canadian smash hit, heartening us all. Two stunning young men on skates falling in love, what’s not to like? I watched the first episode, said to myself, they’re adorable but I don’t enjoy watching gay sex any more than I enjoy watching straight sex, so I didn’t go on with the series. But since, I have watched Episodes five and six, which are about love and trust and are tender and beautiful. Episode five is one of the best TV episodes ever. Gorgeous.

So, good news. My class at U of T is nearly full. I now have as a coaching client a much-lauded woman who sets up shelters for abused women in a third-world country. Spoke on Zoom to a CFUW group who asked great questions, including “Of all the stories you’ve told of your life, what is your favourite?” It stumped me for a minute, how to choose? But then I said, “The story told in Loose Woman of working at L’Arche, in France — the connection with disability that changed my life.”

I wrote and sent a profile of Ramy Elaasar, who owns and runs Alexandria Printing, to the east-end newspaper The Bridge, in the hopes it inspires a new column, Local Heroes. Ramy is one of mine.  And the pleasure of reading a wonderful book to the boys — The Poisoned King, by Katherine Rundell, the sequel to Impossible Creatures that we read last year. She’s a fabulous writer — like the best writers for kids, there’s lots in the book for adults.

Was supposed to meet Harriet Walter at Union Station, like we did last year, as she went from her winter vacation near Kingston to the UP train to Pearson, back to London. But I was sick, so we FaceTimed. She’d read Midlife Solo, told me I’m “a beautiful writer” and that she and I have a great deal in common besides our time at LAMDA. I am awaiting seeing her in the series Archie, about the life of Cary Grant, as Grant’s mother in later life; watched the first episode last week, not great, but when Harriet appears, she’ll make it work. I’d just watched the film Holiday on TCM, with Grant and Katherine Hepburn, and marvelled at Grant’s humour, grace, and beauty, a star through and through. Had no idea his childhood was horrific, Dickensian, with the father from hell. How the strong survive.

Have been working all week with Doug my handyman to fix up the downstairs suite, now dear Olga has moved out after three years. She’s one of the rare tenants who leaves a place better than when she moved in; how lucky I was. Not a nibble from a renter, however.

Yesterday was briefly so mild, I could ride to the Eaton’s Centre to go to the Apple Genius Bar, my least favourite place in my least favourite place, but necessary. Luckily, a terrific young man was very helpful about the glitches in my Mac. It’s seven years old, Methuselah, a dinosaur, so I need a new one. Somehow have to fit that into the budget, although — thanks, Apple — as a teacher, I get a discount.

Then I had coffee here with two younger writers who got in touch. With them, though, I myself felt like Methuselah. One is a former influencer with a diversity of skills who has put out slick videos for her book, with music she’d had composed specially. Both of them, tech and marketing savvy. They have their eyes set on the American market for their work, when I can barely survive in Canada.

So. Tonight perhaps I will watch One Battle after Another on Crave — the awards season has begun and I’m way behind on my films. And still, way behind on my work. I’ve been talking about my slump, and then read this quote by Vivian Gornick: ‘When Manny and I hooked up, I was in a slump. That’s how I put it. “I’m in a slump.” Manny looked at me. “You’re in a slump?” he said. “What does that mean? That’s bullshit for you don’t wanna work, right? That’s what it means, doesn’t it? It means you’re a writer who doesn’t want to write. Even I can see that….”’

 Well, I do write, as you can see: blog, Substack, newsletter, the Ramy profile, occasionally FB and IG. But not my next book. Is it being sick, all to be done in the house, the news that makes me want to vomit?

This too shall pass, I know for sure. And a happy new year to you too, from this disappointed spinster who’s not so lonely. She has a cat.