Support is a wonderful thing –– just knowing that it’s out there is often enough to make you feel better. Outside of family and friends, I’m a big believer in creating a community of support for oneself. Some people’s community includes a life coach, a healer, a housekeeper, a feng shui master, a pilot and a personal chef, while others will settle for once-a-month with a trusty hairdresser who listens, makes them laugh and cuts great bangs. These people are outside the personal fold, but they often tune in as much (sometimes more) as your dearests do. I started going to a chiropractor a year ago. I walked into Rosanne’s practice in so much pain that my eyes stayed closed the whole time. All I remember from that day was that Dido’s Mary in India was playing on the radio. And that she stuck needles in my hands and reminded me that, “this too shall pass.” One of her favourite phrases. Rosanne is positive, broad minded, kind, generous and smart. She’s also very good at what she does. Twice monthly adjustments are now a staple. And while I still move a little more gingerly than I did pre-injury, there is lovely reassurance in knowing that the support is there should I slam my coccyx flying down a slide again.

It’s strange to be caught between two seasons, where the pavements are covered in crimson leaves, but the air is still hot and humid. The city may look like Autumn, but it feels like summer. And I love it. I love heat –– even the kind that sticks to your arm pits and the skin inside your elbows. I’ll tolerate discomfort for the pleasure that heat brings. And while I know that charging through Chinatown with two children at noon is kind of loopy, there’s something so intensely satisfying about the smells, the noise, and the chaos, too. Besides, in a few days we’ll all be wearing lightweight sweaters and walking at a leisurely pace.

I watched a short film on Catalan artist, Joan Gardy Artigas today that’s set at his farmhouse in rural Barcelona. Artigas is 79, and still sketches and sculpts every day. The 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s were his heyday. He collaborated with Miró, and Picasso, Chagall and Giacometti were among his many artist friends. “I’m happy with my life. It has been long and intense. I’ve done many things. If I had to choose, I would do it all over again.” If you have a few moments, watch it. The gardens around his farmhouse are so beautiful, (listen for the birds) as is this shot of Gardy-Artigas sitting at his potter’s wheel.

Last week, I found some old  snaps I’d taken at a photobooth on The Strand. I was on my way to meet my friend Polly who worked around there, and I must have been early enough to putz around in a photobooth. I am wearing an orange paisley Top Shop dress, Diane von Furstenberg sunnies and a big smile. I loved those glasses. It’s always such a thrill to come across those old strips. A few months earlier, I’d found one of Jason, Iole and I in a photobooth at the supermarché in Bulle. I remember feeling awful that day –– drained by morning sickness and generally nervous about the reality of a second baby. But the pictures are so sweet; three happy faces squashed into one frame. And there’s another strip I love, of Jason and I at 19 and 21, kissing and giggling in a photobooth at Yorkdale. In my old filofax, I still have ones of me and my best friend Amy wearing thick eye liner and too much foundation in the early 90s. And between the pages of a book somewhere, are Stephanie, Polly, Zelmira and I toasting Zel’s upcoming nuptials in a photobooth at The Drake. Thankyou Anatol Josepho, for all the memories.

If you have a moment today for a touch of frivolous fun, please watch this delightful footage of British ballet dancer, Moira Shearer marrying author, Ludovic Kennedy at Hampton Court in 1950. The lashes on her fellow Sadler’s Wells dancers are divine, as is Shearer’s veil and demure dress. And is that champagne that’s being sipped from ballet slippers? Here she is in The red shoes directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.

If there’s a documentary I want to see, it’s Gisele Roman’s portrait of the late, great bauble king, Kenneth Jay Lane. Fabulously Fake: The Real Life of Kenneth Jay Lane is yet to be released, but when it’s out, I’ll be first in line to hear Barbara Bush, Joan Collins, Diane von Furstenberg et. al. dish on faux diamonds, rubies and Tahitian pearls. Jacqueline Kennedy was a client, as was Elizabeth Taylor. Word has it, the Duchess of Windsor was buried in a diamond belt of his. I like this photograph of Lane, taken by Lord Snowdon, and proving that more is always more.

I like this photograph of abstract expressionist painter, Helen Frankenthaler –– there’s something about her look, the pose, that draws you in. She has an air of Princess Margaret, doesn’t she? And here, too. The former was taken by Alexander Liberman, in 1964 during her marriage to fellow painter, Robert Motherwell. Frankenthaler invented the “soak-stain” technique, which involved pouring turpentine-thinned paint onto an un-primed canvas and completely soaking through the canvas to create luminous color washes. She was a pioneer among the colour field painters, and has long been acknowledged as one of the great American artists of the 20th Century. According to her New York Times obituary, Helen was interested in art from early childhood, “when she would dribble nail polish into a sink full of water to watch the color flow.” With those beautiful expanses of colour-rich acrylic, it’s her paintings from the early to mid 60s that are my favourites.