Sadly, it looks like my spring U of T class will be cancelled for low enrolment. Last term, a full class that was sheer joy. Too bad I was away and didn’t realize how low the numbers were; usually I put out recruitment bulletins. Ah well, too late now.

Thrilled by the reaction to my op-ed piece — 70 comments on the Star website so far, and more on FB and IG. Most agree with me about this province’s skewed priorities, although some have the usual objections — harsh Canadian winters, very different cities etc. Of course I know Paris and Toronto are different in every way. It’s the general attitude I’m talking about: over there, to solve gridlock and pollution by optimizing transit and green space; here, by spending billions and ripping out parks to make more space for more cars. Insane.

But that’s what you get when your premier is an arrogant, dishonest, and poorly-educated dinosaur from the suburbs who’s probably never travelled on public transit in his life — or been outside North America. Just our luck. We’ve years to go on his term, as he ravages this city with one hideous, wrong-headed, retrograde idea after another.

We’ve enjoyed two beautiful days but mostly, like today, it’s been chilly and wet, and I’m in bed with a bad cold. I know, I know, I get these bugs too often, no idea why. I wore a mask on the plane to Europe, just about the only person to do so, but on the way back I relaxed, probably a mistake. Still, I’m better today than yesterday, and being sick at home is no problem. Being sick on the road is a nightmare. I’m deeply grateful to be in my own bed, with computer, phone, two editing projects, and Margaret Atwood’s massive memoir.

The book that kept me company on the first part of my travels was Ann Patchett’s Tom Lake, given to me by Annie. I loved it; it’s about acting, marriage, parenthood, and the old loves that haunt us. She writes vividly with warmth and humour and a great deal of skill. I love her non-fiction; this is the first fiction of hers I’ve read, and it was sheer pleasure. I was sorry to let the book and its characters go when I gave it to Lynn.

My son is getting through this latest disaster, the fire that decimated the building right next door, but he has to find another place to live temporarily; the work, tearing down the worst burned bits of the building attached to his, is noisy and filthy, invading his apartment. He’s coping with all of it masterfully.

There is so much to do, my list is very long, and yet here I lie. Perhaps my body just wanted to shut down for a bit. It’s Wednesday, so I’m supposed to go to Carole’s class, but hard as it is to say no, I will not. What I will do is get dressed and go to No Frills to buy oranges. The great treat in Spain was a large glass of fresh orange juice every morning, in a country where oranges are dropping off the trees. Orange juice is needed today.

What hit me hard, when I got home, was clutter — the sheer amount of stuff in my old four-story home, where I’ve lived for forty years. So much, tons of family heirlooms, not valuable but evocative and meaningful — though only to me, not to anyone else. I need to start going through room by room, getting rid of stuff.

Ha! I can barely keep up with my life as it is, let alone the enormous job of dealing with my hoardes of unnecessary possessions. Next year. The year after that. Sometime. Stay tuned.

P.S. No Frills had tangelos, the best citrus ever; I’ve just squeezed myself a big glass and feel health flowing through my veins. My Adams peanut butter and tangelos are American, and I’m sorry about that, but these are essential to my well-being. Otherwise, American products can go @#$#@ themselves.