autumn begins

Yesterday, the autumn equinox, was still summer - hot and beautiful. But today it's fall, dank and cool. The authorities say this summer was the hottest on record for Toronto; my tomatoes are proof. Now there's a final flourish - everything is back to blooming, roses, camellias, the bank of late-blooming clematis covering everything, the rose of Sharon never lovelier - just heaven.

However. Life goes on, and the nightmares of the planet persist - Syria, Trump, Putin, the brutal deaths of unarmed black Americans, the hottest summer on record. Hard not to be sad and afraid, even while the smell of the camellias wafts in. But I refuse to take on the world's problems right now, I'm too busy.

At 66, I've never been busier; I need more time per day. There's teaching and assembling the readers for the next So True event on Oct.30 - four gorgeous essays almost ready so far. I spent time yesterday morning with my daughter and her squirmy younger boy -

and on Tuesday night, my own fine boy came to cook me dinner - trout and asparagus poached in white wine with a confit of smoked bacon and apricots accompanied by grilled mushrooms, leeks and baked potato - am I lucky or what?

But most of all - there's my own work. The transformation of my bedroom into my office and vice versa has been an unqualified success; I now see that a lot of my problems getting down to work were because I did not have the right office. I know, excuses, right? But in fact, now I'm happy to go up after breakfast and get down to it, in a bright space that's organized and comfortable. And the memoir is getting there, it's nearly there, and I love love love it, my little creation, my life in words. I've sent a query to two agents, have heard back from neither - obviously so inflamed with passion for my project, they're speechless for the moment.

Sigh.

Never mind, I still have lots to do. Last night at my home class, dear friend and student Mary exclaimed that she reads my blog and does not know how I fit everything into my day. "You're so efficient and organized!" she said. And though I do not usually accept compliments, I will with pleasure accept that one.

P.S. An hour later, I realize I just wrote something silly. Of course I'm not busier now than I have ever been - remembering when I was a young actress rehearsing by day, performing at night, and managing my frantic love life, or, even more exhausting, when I was the single mother of two young children living in a house that was disintegrating around us (and with a garden that was a jungle of weeds.) I was much busier then. But still I feel, these days, as if I can't keep up with it all.