Sunny Sunday on the Toronto islands

Sunday suppertime, after a wonderful day... Penny and I were out the door on our bikes at 9.05 a.m. to make the 9.30 ferry to the islands. Ran into a roadblock - they were filming a chase movie with Colin Farrell on the Gardiner, no one could cross. We made our way through various side streets, rushed to the docks, and made our ferry with one minute to spare.

Meandered about in the nearly empty space - it sprinkled with rain so we stopped under shelter to eat a sandwich, ended up at the end of Ward's Island admiring the beautiful island houses, and went to the Rectory for lunch. I introduced myself to our waiter as the mother of Sam, who worked there for years, and I do think we received extra-special treatment. Lunch was superb. And then the sun came out and - the beach, lying in the sand, swimming, hard to believe, as Penny said, that it's not the ocean, except that it's not as cold. Perfect, in fact.

On the ferry back, we saw the jam-packed hundreds in the line-ups to go over and were glad we'd had the place to ourselves.

Yesterday - Harry Potter. Oh my friends, what a wonderful film. Yes, I confess, I wept. There were many moving scenes, but the one that hit me hardest was when Harry is preparing to die at the hands of his great enemy (Ralph Fiennes in a most thankless role, among the many superb British actors who bring such talent to these films). He finds himself in the midst by his dead loved ones - his mother and father, his godfather, his beloved teacher, surrounding him with love and strength. He asks his mother, "Will you be with me at the end?"

"Always," she says, beaming with love. "Always."

I thought, what a beautiful message for anyone, especially a child, who has lost someone valuable - the sense that that person is always, always, beside you. Very beautiful. But the whole thing was terrific. I'm glad they showed a bit from an earlier film, so we could remember Harry when he was a small boy. We have watched these kids grow up. I adore them, and I adore J. K. Rowling for bring all this to us.

When Penny arrived and was standing at last in my kitchen, she cried, "I'm here. I'm in the blog. I'm in the blog!" I think she is enjoying herself. If you want to find out for sure, you can follow HER blog, at

http://pennyrea.blogspot.com/

Duelling blogs.

sunny Sunday on the Toronto islands

A typical shabby unattractive island abode

My city from afar (well, not that afar)

Friend Penny at the Rectory Café

kill the tension music

I have very few secrets from you. Okay, a few. But I was not shy about telling you a few days ago that I'd had a mammogram; I have them every year as a high-risk woman, because of my mother's history. At the time, the technician had to do the left breast over because "there's a fold or something," she said. And then she said, "You should hear in about a week."

The next morning at 9 a.m., my doctor called. Something in the left breast. Could be dense tissue or a cyst. No need to worry yet, she said, way too early. But they'll call you back for another mammogram, maybe an ultrasound.

"Wow, that really made my day," I said. She knew I was joking. I was joking.

Immediately, the melodramatic brain kicks into high gear. I love my life! Yes, there's pain in my left breast! No, can't be. Forget it. When will they call? Let's get this over with. I'm too young to die.

To cut a long story short - when I hadn't heard by the next day, I called them. I have an appointment in mid-August. That's the soonest they can see me - weeks away. So then I really spiralled into freaking out-dom. And then, luckily, I went to get my hair cut. Donny, my hairdresser Ingrid's partner, is an eccentric very interesting man and computer geek. Of course, I told them all about it; Ingrid and I have known each other for decades, I spoke at her first husband Harvey's funeral. Harvey, an extremely sweet and handsome man who cut my hair for years, used to have a cigarette after every haircut. He died of lung cancer at the age of 48, leaving Ingrid and 2 young children. But I digress.

Donny looked at me and said, "I'm psychic about these things. There's nothing wrong with you. You'll be fine."

And right then, I decided not to worry any more. I don't know if Donny is psychic. I do know that it's useless to worry about something you can do nothing about. So I'm not going to worry one tiny speck, any more, until I really have to.

Which is great, because I have a very busy time until my appointment - friend Penny has just arrived from England, and it would have been too bad to have overshadowed her whole visit with my moping. She is a keen traveller who has never been to Canada before and is interested in everything. We started off early the day after her arrival, with a 10 a.m. ticket to see the Abstract Expressionist exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario. Of course, the Gallery itself is one of the main attractions, and Penny ended up spending the whole day there, but the special exhibition was terrific, especially an entire room of sublime Mark Rothko's, those giant rectangles suspended in space. Then I made a special visit to my favourite, David Milne. It's ironic that in Paris, London and Madrid I'm an art hound, and at home, with this wonderful gallery under my nose, I hardly ever go.

Today Penny and I went to the market and did errands and tonight we're going to see the Harry Potter movie - exciting! The garden is gorgeous, my birthday is coming up and life could not be better. Long may that be so.

calm

Summer is the time for renewing friendships; my newest best friend Penny is flying in from Sheffield tomorrow, and yesterday, I saw my oldest best friend Ron. Ron spent his entire school career at the school my father founded, the Halifax Grammar School, where we ended up in the same class in 1965. We met again thirty years later in Toronto.

Last week, he invited me to dinner at a French restaurant as my birthday present. I love dinner, but I love stories even more, so I suggested that we see a film instead and have a bite somewhere around the cinema. We saw "Beginners" and both loved it, a beautiful film - first and most importantly, it stars Ewan McGregor, say no more. What I'd really like for my birthday is Ewan McGregor. But it's also a moving, well-told story with marvellous performances from all the actors and an excellent script, beautifully directed. Sheer pleasure. But especially Ewan. My God, he's got a great face, sensitive and alive, and the rest of him isn't bad either.

(One small negative about the film: Ewan suffers, can't love, is closed and frightened because, the film makes obvious, of various factors of his childhood. Oh go see a shrink, for God's sake! I wanted to cry. No, Ewan - let ME help you!)

Ron now lives right across the street from the Varsity, so we went up to his place on the 22nd floor - he has an incredible vista of downtown Toronto, not just to the lake but as far as the American side on the horizon, and a wide-open sky for sunset viewing. He opened a bottle of Moet et Chandon and we drank Champagne and nibbled from his fridge and got caught up. He has had more careers than anyone I know, from oyster farming to film script writing and much in between, with a genius for making money. He owns a low-rise apartment building in Rosedale. Say no more.

It's perfect again today, mild and cloudy, the breeze wafting in the scent of jasmin. After Carole's class at the Y, I went to Women's College Hospital to have my breasts squashed between two pieces of glass. My mother had breast cancer, so I am happy to do so. And now it's 5 p.m.; time for rosé. Can you hear me sigh with pleasure?

PS Thrilling that the Toronto International Film Festival has chosen, for its Opening Night Premiere - a documentary. Unthinkable only a few years ago, as unthinkable as a huge prize for Creative Non-Fiction. The times they are a'changing. Good news for us faction writers.

sadness

I have a personal connection to the mind-numbing horror unfolding in Norway, beyond the fact that the madman actually mentioned Ryerson University in his ramblings, as a centre of Muslim domination. But also, the young Ryerson student who has rented my top floor from September on is a Norwegian of Somali descent, a beautiful young woman with gorgeous brown skin. She left some things here in June and went home to Oslo for the summer. Praying that she was not part of the youth wing of the Labour party, I've emailed to ask if she's okay. Have not heard back.

Reading about the coverage - I can't bear to watch the TV news - I wonder, where were the killer's family and friends? How can a man turn into a murderous lunatic and no one notices? I guess it will all come out. Perhaps someone so unhinged has no friends.

And then we read about Amy Winehouse murdering herself. Idealistic young people, slaughtered without mercy; a talented young musician, condemning herself to death. Infinitely sad.

And, too, the news about Jack Layton, a fine politician, a fine man at last at the peak of his very long career, now haggard and debilitated in his fight with cancer. We need every decent politician, cannot afford to lose one, let alone one of his stature, in this time when men with mean and shrunken souls are in power - the mayor of our city wanting to cut libraries, night transit and Christmas charities for needy children; the would-be premier suggesting chain gangs. Chain gangs!

We desperately need your vision and compassion, Jack. Please get well soon.

Sadness all round, not alleviated, right now, by this perfect day with a soft heedless wind.

P.S. I just heard from my young Norwegian friend.

The last four days have been truly testing times for Norway. One man terrorized our country and killed 76 innocent people. Thankfully, my family and I are fine. Some of my friends were injured. Though traumatized, I think they will be just fine. I must say I am very impressed with my fellow countrymen who have met this hatred with love. Not anger, rage or vengeance. Last night more than 200,000 people gathered downtown to show their respect to the victims. It was amazing. We cried together, we held hands, we stood together. Our little country stands united and I have never been more proud to be Norwegian.