So True this afternoon

Sunday, snow falling gently, a few puffs. My lungs only a little sore. We're getting there, spring and I. Just a bit slow.

Thursday, I was invited by my friend George Hume to a Beatles event at the venerable Arts and Letters Club, to which the Group of Seven belonged - it's surreal, stepping from the neon madness of Yonge Street into this hallowed sanctuary of art with its vaulted cathedral ceiling and storied pedigree. After drinks - accompanied by every Beatle song played on the piano - and a delicious dinner - I had two big glasses of wine! Health and excess return! - Piers Hemmingsen spoke about the Beatles in Canada and the legendary rock photographer John Rowlands showed his work; he started his career at the age of 17, photographing the Beatles at Maple Leaf Gardens, though he met Brenda Lee when he was 13 and she 15. Lots of fun. Thank you, George!

On Friday night, Eli came for a sleepover. For his Christmas present, I had given him a ticket to Paw Patrol Live at the Sony Centre, which we went to Saturday morning. Paw Patrol is a dreadful TV show that he and a zillion children love - the place was packed. What horrified me were the stacks of merch, as they call it, for sale - toys, clothes, useless plastic stuff. Parents who'd already paid good money for the tickets were lining up to buy this @#$#. I was proud of Eli - every child around us was clutching something, some of them multiple things, and he said plaintively, several times, "Glamma, I'd like a toy too." And I said, "I know you would, Eli," and that was that. And though the kids around us waved their sparkly new things and their capes and t-shirts and stuffed animals, he didn't bring it up again. I was proud of him.

Actors encased in animal bodies - it was actually quite clever with singing and dancing. As for plot or writing ... feh.

We met Chase and Skye after. Eli didn't want to, and signalled that to me in his subtle way, with the forbidden middle finger. Cheeky. Then we went to Riverdale Farm. So we know he's 20 paws or 11 hands tall.

When we have sleepovers, in the morning when he wakes, he comes into my room and gets into bed with me for a bit, and we talk. So at 7 a.m., there was a bright, chatty, very young man in my bed. Glamma, he said. I looked out my window and saw the hawk! He was chasing a pigeon. And the long story went on. His curtains were closed, so it was all imagination. A writer. I knew it.

This afternoon - speaking of born writers - our tenth So True. The writers are coming here first for a last reading, edit and rehearsal, and then off to our show. Show biz and writing, together at last.