A very slow spring here — beautiful but still damp and chilly, with possible frost at night. No planting yet, although the garden stores are full of readiness. Theresa posted pictures of her wisteria in full bloom, whereas mine has tiny nubbles, indicating life and possible bloom — in a month or two.

La vie canadienne. The city is lovely, however, the trees covered with green, pink, or white lace, magnolias, tulips, forsythia, bursting with colour.

Fully recovered from my cold and back at the Y, back at life. Two hours pruning the other day, while the sun shone. My op-ed in the Star was appreciated by a lot of people, which is good, although so far, Doug Ford has not renounced his evil ways. My MP, Liberal Evan Solomon, sent a long, detailed reply to my letter to him protesting jets at the island airport.

Watching: a doc about Roy Cohn, surely one of the ugliest human beings ever, in every way — and guess whom he mentored? Another ugliest person ever, the current President of the United States. Watched only part of a doc on Egon Schiele, turned off because it was so depressing — how the poor man suffered. Doc on how Life on Earth was made by David Attenborough and his team — phenomenal. Guilty pleasure, watching the Heated Rivalry boys in their designer outfits at the criminally ridiculous Met Gala. I worried they’re drifting apart as they deal with the immense fame and adulation that landed so fast on them both, but no, they apparently spent much of the gala evening glued to each other. Hooray.

Finished reading the huge Atwood memoir — more phenomenal. The woman has published fifty books, in every genre. It’s clear that no matter where she and Graeme were in the world — and they travelled extensively — she never stopped writing. Now that’s the kind of discipline I envy. And do not have.

However, I have a column now — I offered to write a series of profiles called Local Heroes for our brave little local paper The Bridge; have done two. As soon as I walked in to The Great Hall, the lovely newly opened second-hand bookstore on Parliament Street, I found a hardcover copy of a memoir I’ve been meaning to read for years, Lost and Found, by Kathryn Schulz. Decided to write a profile of the owner Asja Ljuta and interviewed her at a nearby coffee shop. What a story! From Bosnian refugee to Local Hero. I’ll post the profile here when it’s published.

In the meantime, my U of T course did not go, I had a no from a lit mag I’d sent a piece to, and more disappointingly, a no to my application to teach again at the San Miguel lit fest. Phooey. On the other hand, I had a meeting with a wonderfully smart woman who’s becoming my financial advisor — yes, even with my precarious and sad finances, I need someone to help me sort them out, and she’s the friend of a friend. Her office is high up in a huge Bay Street office building, and I thought, What the @#$@# am I doing here? Then she walked in with a copy of Midlife Solo and asked me to sign it, told me how much she loved it, how now she knows a great deal about me, and how unfair it is that good writers make so little money. That’s the advisor for me!

After analyzing my situation, she gave me a wakeup call — my money is running out, and within six years, by age eighty-one, I either have to: make more money somehow — write a bestseller, now there’s a good idea; stop spending so much, mostly what goes out for my children and grandchildren — how do I limit that?; renovate my house to create an apartment upstairs and bring in more income; or sell the house and rent somewhere. Tough choices. Much to ponder.

Fabulous home class last night, six writers here and two on Zoom. The best stories, some of which will be featured in the next So True, in October. Stay tuned. Tomorrow, Anna and I are driving a rental car to Woodstock, for a memorial celebration for our dear much-missed friends Lani and Maurice, who could not live without each other; he died last November and she in December.

Finally, older grandson Eli, turning fourteen next week, will graduate from Grade 8 next month and in September start at the vast local high school, a big change for him, and for his brother, who’ll be walking to school alone for the first time. Anna took Eli to buy a suit for grad. A knock-out, no? Except for the “slides,” which he wore all winter except on the snowiest days. My job is to take him to buy actual shoes, probably respectable black sneakers. And then he will be perfect.

Happy 14th birthday, Elijah. Proud of you.

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