Uneventful

There's nothing quite like the thrill ... wait for it ... of looking at my calendar and seeing blank squares. I can't quite remember when my social schedule started to be so crowded; nor why. It just happened gradually, I guess, and my life became a struggle to stay ahead of the RSVPs, card purchases, gift registries and, occasionally, flights to book.

"Lucky you", you may be thinking. And I am. I have myriad friends and a wide and varied extended family network. My husband too comes from a large family so his occasions are mine and vice versa (except I do ALL the RSVPing and card-buying and register-checking for both of us). In addition, he has taken on a significant volunteer position which sometimes requires me to wear a long dress and heels. (I do draw the line at pantyhose in the summer.)

This summer has been a hot one. Oh so glorious when one is floating off the dock at the cottage. Agonizingly uncomfortable in the full flush of another hot flash in the centre of a crowd. When all one can think about is stripping off and being in the water again.

So when I studied the calendar last Sunday I was amazed to see nothing. I double-checked with my husband. Had we forgotten to write in a week's stuff? Nope. I began to daydream about all kinds of things--including just sitting on the deck daydreaming. Oh the books. The crossword puzzles. Maybe I would get out the jigsaw puzzle I had received for Christmas. I would have time to play the piano and read old newspapers. There was a chance I would get caught up on my online games and reply to all my email.

If I get really lucky it might be rainy and then I will unguiltily unwrap the second season of Downton Abbey and slide it in. There will be popcorn and, possibly, knitting. And definitely napping.

Still Reeling

Still Reeling

It was with great sadness that I and thousands of other fans learned two weeks ago that Nora Ephron had died. She was relatively young at 71--as in "I'm in my fifties and that's not so far away for me"--and still writing funny tidbits that were spot on.

Selfishly, one of my first thoughts was now I'll never get to meet her. I'll never get to show her my work and tell her how much of an inspiration she has been over the years.

The world is a slightly sadder place without her bon mots rippling off the pages. No more will I laugh into the night  by flashlight trying to not wake my husband. Once, when he wanted to know what I was snickering over, I handed him her book between giggles. He read the chosen hilarious episode and commented, "Hmmph". That was it. Not even a smirk. I still don't know if her work is strictly gender specific or if my husband's sense of humour is less developed than even I could have thought possible. I do know that, should I be lucky enough to come across some new material by her in the future , I will laugh heartily into the night on my side of the bed.

I kind of regret that I was such an endorsing fan, passing on her books and pressing them breathlessly into the hands of any who I thought would enjoy her work. When I rooted through the bookshelves of my life the other day, I discovered to my dismay that I no longer own a single one of her works--although I know of at least three that I owned at one time.

I am going to think of them as taking on a life of their own, moving through the read-a-sphere, spreading joy and laughter--late into the night.

I will miss you Nora.