Sunday morning: I’m still in Winnipeg, going today to the Chancellor’s Tea at the University of Manitoba as part of the Homecoming celebration - celebrating the 65th anniversary of my first degree, a double honours B.A. in English and French B.A. The following year I got my M.A. in English, majoring in 20th century poetry; thesis on W.H. Auden, with a minor in Old English and Old Norse. Seventeen days after I graduated I married. Twenty years later my husband died. There’s the first half of my life in microcosm. I’ve done a lot since then.

Yesterday I went to the new Museum of Human Rights. My friend said it should be called the Museum of Human Wrongs, with its painstaking records of inhumanity, intolerance and cruelty, They are very moving and powerfully presented in a beautiful building.

Last night I went to the first performance in the new series of Virtuosi performances: Peter Vinograde, pianist, playing Bach, Beethoven Rachmaninoff and Albenis. Wow.

I have often said that we take in more information and imbibe more “peak experiences “ (Maslow’s phrase) in a day or a week than people used to do in a month - or a year - in the past. I know I always seem to have a lot to assimilate. Sometimes i feel like an amoeba just wrapping myself around stuff, hoping to digest it or make it a part of me. Actually, I have no idea what an amoeba feels like.

This plethora of pleasure, this surfeit of satiation, this overload of consumption is dangerous for several reasons. One is that you get inured to it, two is that you get so accustomed to it that you don’t appreciate it. Three is that you expect it, and constantly demand it. You see mothers giving “treats” to their children. I have observed that a treat is no longer a treat, it’s a given, not even a given, a routine requirement.

And there’s more to come.

I started this blog last night; the title is as far as I got before my eyes blonked shut.

I rose yesterday at about 3:30 a.m. to pack and water the plants and get ready to leave for the airport. I always take TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) to Pearson, i.e. to Air Canada, for the price of a senior ticket as opposed to a 65$ cab fare. That’s not the hard part. The hard part is the obstacle course set you to get to the boarding lounge - it shouldn’t be called a lounge, it should be called a recovery room. Anyway, five hours later, I took off for Winnipeg. I don’t know how to change the time on my Fitibit but I am in the hands of my hostess and friends here so I won’t be late for anything. I’m here for Homecoming at the University of Manitoba, to celebrate the 65th anniversary of my first degree. I’m sure I’ll be the oldest alum here; I spent the day finding out who has died and who is gaga - terrible expression. I like marbles better and I’m grateful I still have some.

So I have moved my body through time and space again and here I am, halfway between then and now, prepared to undergo further onslaughts of pleasure.

“Life is a round of gaierty (sic),” I thought, quoting of course, Daisy Ashford, the nine-year-old author of The Young Visiters (sic).

That line was a favourite in my home, often quoted by my father. I read the book when I was not much older than nine and bought my own copy when I left home for married life. I'm not sure i still have it; I’ll have to check my library when I return. However, I googled it and found it well documented and still available in hard cover and paperback and even in kindle! ! I don’t think I could bear to listen to a stranger reading that book attempting to replace the voice in my head and memory. Just in case you young people don’t know about Daisy Ashford, let me enlighten you or refresh your memory as the case may be.

Daisy Ashford, full name Margaret Mary Julia Ashford, later Devlin (7 April 1881 – 15 January 1972) was an English writer who is most famous for writing The Young Visiters, a novella concerning the upper class society of late 19th century England, when she was just nine years old. The novella was published in 1919, preserving her juvenile spelling and punctuation. She wrote the title as "Viseters" in her manuscript, but it was published as “Visiters" (Wikipedia)

Go ahead and look for it. I won’t spoil it for you.

Life goes on. Time flies when you’re having a good time. I wonder who said that?