my son the cocktail champ

Some days are so good, it's hard to believe that other days are not. This morning, I got a call from Anna at 7.45 - it's registration day for Toronto School Board summer programs, parents have to be on the phone dialling madly at dawn, and diligently, she got not only her own son but her friend Erin's into all the programs they wanted - two weeks at camp, t-ball, pre-school. She was thrilled. And then she said, "And I'm so happy about Sam!"

So I read the text my son sent at 5.30 a.m. Yesterday he and 3 other bartenders won the Mount Gay Rum cocktail competition and will receive a free flight to and week in Barbados. What's particularly wonderful about this is the place Barbados has had in our lives. Auntie Do's ex-husband Loris owned a small hotel called the Kingsley Club on the almost-deserted east coast of the island, a glorious place we all thought of as heaven on earth - small and friendly, full of air and light and birds, with a massive beach on the other side of the road. You couldn't swim there, there was a deadly undertow, but you could paddle and dig and run. We could only afford a few trips, but they were among the best ever in our lives, and Loris wouldn't let us pay for a thing.

Bus tours would come through on their way around the island and stop there for lunch. When a big crowd arrived, my kids begged to be allowed to help; they'd stand behind the bar and open soft drinks for the guests. The other day, when Sam was inventing his rum-based cocktails, he named one the Loris and the other, the Kingsley. What goes around comes around, or something like that.

On top of all that, it's spring in Toronto, like May in the first week of March - incredibly mild, sweet soft sun. I've never known a winter this easy. The term at U of T ended yesterday, a group I adored, wonderful writers and people. I am editing the last draft of an autobiography by a former student who's been working with me on it for years, and it's gorgeous. My own memoir is coming along really well. All in all, right this moment, things are pretty damn good.

But soon I'll go to the Y for Carole's class and realize just how old I am. George Martin just died, a great sadness, what a brilliant talent, what a good life.

The patch of sun I'm sitting in just vanished behind cloud. And I am grateful for every bit of it.

How I Won the War

Farewell, dear Downton friends. Skilful work, Julian Fellowes, arranging, for example, to have Anna get pregnant in the late spring so she'd be able to give birth during the last episode on New Year's Eve! Funny how Anna and Bates just fell off the radar. Very clever to get out of the series just before the storyline hit the Depression. I know, it was absurd, neatly wrapping up all those stories with love everywhere abounding - except, of course, poor gay Thomas - and no surprises except that Mary is married to a used car salesman, Edith actually has some backbone, and all the children were as invisible as always.

We watched the Sixty Minutes piece of fluff about our handsome PM, had a wonderful dinner, and then drank Champagne - well, Prosecco - and ate chocolate, strawberries and macarons during the show. And we, like everyone else, are now asking - What will we do next Sunday night?

Here's an idea: my friend and fellow Beatle nut Piers Hemmingsen is producing another great event at the Revue Cinema - this time, a special showing of "How I Won the War," featuring John Lennon. Piers interviewed director Richard Lester for this event and will be speaking about it. Details here: https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/richard-lester-on-how-i-won-the-war-tickets-22629144380

My Cousin Ted in NYC sent me this joke, which made me laugh out loud and also wince. Hit close to home for me and I'm sure for many of you:

JEWISH MOTHER

The year is 2024 and the United States has elected the first woman President, Susan Goldfarb.

She calls up her mother a few weeks after Election Day and says, 'So, Mom, I assume you'll be coming to my inauguration?'

'I don't think so. It's a ten hour drive, your father isn't as young as he used to be, and my arthritis is acting up again.'

'Don't worry about it Mom, I'll send Air Force One to pick you up and take you home. And a limousine will pick you up at your door.'

'I don't know. Everybody will be so fancy-schmantzy, what on earth would I wear?'

Susan replies, 'I'll make sure you have a wonderful gown custom-made by the best designer in New York.'

'Honey,' Mom complains, 'you know I can't eat those rich foods you and your friends like to eat.'

The President-to-be responds, 'Don't worry Mom. The entire affair is going to be handled by the best caterer in New York, kosher all the way. Mom, I really want you to come.'

So Mom reluctantly agrees and on January 20, 2025, Susan Goldfarb is being sworn in as President of the United States.

In the front row sits the new President's mother, who leans over to a senator sitting next to her and says, 'You see that woman over there with her hand on the Torah, becoming President of the United States?

The Senator whispers back, 'Yes I do'.

Mom says proudly, 'Her brother is a doctor.'

Downton ends - sob!

Cold but wonderfully sunny. This afternoon Anne-Marie and I went for a long walk by the water in Ashbridge's Bay. Glorious - ice frozen on branches.

Yesterday, the family visited. My daughter has her hands full. Someone pinched.

I'm busy, as usual - the Y Mega-run on Wednesday evening, a vigorous run-fit fundraiser that had me limping all day Thursday. Friday, the Francophone discussion and feasting group, featuring, among other foodstuffs, a leek and potato gratin to die for.

Tonight - the last Downton! And first, Justin Trudeau on Sixty Minutes. Richard, his friend Paul and Wayson are coming for dinner; we'll watch Justin, take a break and then mourn and celebrate the end of our beloved show.

It was International Book Day the other day.

This hit home - this is my library, only it needs to include library books I need to rush through and return. Sigh.

Time to set the table and change into something Downton worthy. Or at least clean.

You notice I am not mentioning the U.S. election - the apparent rise of racism and profound intolerance there. Too terrifying.

A final image: my son the champion cocktail maker is in a big competition in April. I was at Mark the butcher's this week when he told me he was at a food festival and saw a big poster of Sam. Colour me proud.

snowy

Many birds at the feeder, the city shrouded, the sound of shovels, the sun shining. The world this morning is bright and soft. For a few moments, we will not think about Donald Drumpf and the end of the world.

down the rabbit hole

Much much snow falling; the city is beautiful, muffled, soft. I was going to go for a walk and jump in snowdrifts, but I ended up watching TV all evening instead. Now that I have more channels, like Documentary and HBO, I'm becoming a junkie - good stuff, but still, I'm lying on the sofa much more than usual. Tonight a doc about Mavis Staples - fantastic, I want to be Mavis Staples when I grow up. Last night, two docs simultaneously - one on Ronald Reagan, which helped me understand more about the man and the era, and "He named me Malala," about that extraordinary young woman attacked by the Taliban.

And that is without what's on the computer. Why go out ever again? I'll just stay in here and rot.

No. Work to do. And I'll get to it. But now it's 11. Time for the Daily Show.

HELP!! I've been kidnapped by technology!