Saturday night

After that last post, I received a stern warning from dear Lani that it's not a good idea to announce to the world, via my blog, that I am about to toss out old income tax forms. Identity theft, she scolded. Shred! Luckily, this time, I saw them go right into the truck. For the next time, I do not have a shredder, so I think I'll do what usually happens with important forms around here - I'll just spill coffee all over them, and my identity will remain impenetrable.

It's Saturday night. There were several options for wonderful entertainments tonight, including a cabaret show starring the sublime Brent Carver, and, in an attempt to get my Oscar quota more up to date, "Beasts of the Southern Wild," at TIFF. Not to mention dinner with my beloved family - my ex-husband, who's staying here till Tuesday, and our children and grandson. An embarrassment of riches.

Instead, total withdrawal - wanting to do nothing, beyond listening to Randy Bachman and reading and sitting. And for excitement, writing to you. I feel tired to the core of my being, not such a bad thing, and not surprising, perhaps. Plus, it's February, almost every day is grey, and the city is its usual hideous midwinter self.

So. Retrench. My mother died almost exactly two months ago, and here is my dear ex-husband. We had Chinese food here last night, time spent mostly watching the antics of Eli, scooting across the floor, staggering along the sofa, strong, confident, eager to learn more about this fascinating world. Here we are - our version of family, pretty damn close and pretty damn lucky.

For some reason, thinking about it makes me cry.