That was it, folks, a few days ago - Toronto had its seventeen minutes of spring, and now it's summer. Saturday night there was a frost warning, and by Tuesday, it was boiling hot, everyone's in tank tops. Unbelievable.
And of course, I celebrate the change in the temperature by getting a cold. Snivelling dripping coughing. Otherwise, filled with joy.
No, really, all is well despite the empty balloon in my head. Monday Sam came over with Eli to give his mother a whole bunch of hours off, which is all she wanted after throwing that massive party on Saturday. So Sam and I spelled each other off with the young man, we went to a playground and to Doubletake and did some gardening and mostly, Eli watered everything in sight, including himself. Then my son cooked his usual spectacular meal and took his nephew home at 7.30; Eli, who'd had his bath here, fell asleep in the cab, and I, exhausted, not long after. I was worn out after one afternoon with him, with someone to help. Anna does it alone, 24 hours a day, pregnant. And soon there will be two. Yikes.
Good thing she's young. Ish.
Speaking of old-ish, Sam just texted me a photo. I looked at it - there's Eli, but who's that ugly old man with him? And then I realized - it was me. Sam had taken a photo of us fooling around at Doubletake, wearing straw hats. The ugly old man was me.
I wrote sadly to my son, and he wrote back, It's not a great picture, but you're a beautiful woman. And I wrote back, GET YOUR EYES CHECKED! Which he actually needs to do. It does make me sad, sometimes, to catch a glimpse of myself. But mostly I don't care. This is what 64 looks like. Get over it. I will not however be buying that particular straw hat.
Busy busy busy 64 - editing like crazy for the So True readings this coming Sunday - this time, NINE stories plus my own, which will be - I think - a short excerpt from the new memoir - readers ranging in age from 27 to 87, four men, five women and moi. Teaching three times this week, hoping I don't sneeze all over my students. But the fridge is full of delicious leftovers, the polls are not good for the Conservatives, and the garden is bursting with green. Happiness is.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
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Your son sounds so lovely, Beth. I'd stay away from straw hats and concentrate on that garden, the leftovers, the power of stories, and yes, those polls. Though I honestly think the Harpers (I refuse to think of them as Conservatives, remembering the decency of Joe Clark, etc. -- even though I would never have voted PC) will use any ruthless and cutthroat strategy imaginable (or unimaginable) to try to win the next election.
ReplyDeleteI think you have a couple of spectacular sons yourself, Theresa - aren't we lucky? And I agree - never did I think I'd be longing for the old style Conservatives... This bunch - I can't help but think their days are numbered - I mean, look at Alberta. But who knows? Let us pray.
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