Between one thing and another, I never made it to the cinema in the Fall, and now that they’re shut again, it’s all I want to do. Cue Tom Keifer’s lyrics, “Don’t know what you’ve got (till it’s gone).” Daytime documentaries at the Ted Rogers Theatre are one of my great pleasures. When the theatres re-open next week –– let’s hope –– I’ll be there, popcorn in hand, watching whatever is playing. Some subjects interest me more than others. Art, fashion, Floridian octogenarians. At home, I watch a lot of drivel; sappy movies, re-runs of old sitcoms, Grey’s Anatomy and This is Us. It’s all very comforting in its predictability. So, when I go to the cinema, for 90 minutes or so, I want to be immersed in a world that I know little or nothing about. Eagle hunters in Mongolia; truffle hunters in Piedmont; people whose homes are smaller than a standard parking lot. There are never more than five or so people at the matinées, and the popcorn is better than anywhere else. And yes, I dress like Brigitte Bardot for the occasion.

Who could imagine Meat Loaf, Betty White and Thierry Mugler at the same farewell party. André Leon Talley no doubt ups the dress code from smart casual to white tie, arriving in swaths of jewel-toned moiré satin. Sydney Poitier wears an Armani tuxedo. Bob Saget spreads love and laughter. Meat Loaf and Betty slow dance to one of his power ballads. Does anyone else wonder whether the universe orchestrated this eclectic mix of departures?

Somewhere over the course of the last two years, I learned to sit still. My friend, Charlotte, who as a child spent endless hours in the pews of her community church, comes by this pastime naturally. For me, the act of sitting still, staring at a wall, a cloud in the sky, a splodge of paint on the floor, has never come naturally. I fidget, I pace, I find something to do. Pick up the dry cleaning, roll out some clay, squeeze in a swim. Waiting for the gynecologist to arrive was always a test. I’d scan the walls for babies that my baby might look like. I’d scroll through my phone for unusual baby names. “Niobe?” Waiting for flights was another test. What a bore. “We are currently boarding passengers in zone one.” Fack. And what of the countless hours spent sitting outside a gym/swimming pool/dance hall/rink etc… while my children learned a new skill? I talked to more people, exchanged more life stories, highs, lows, traumas, tantrums and triumphs in these hours, than in any others. Never did I find a quiet spot to roll into a child’s pose in. These days, I would. These days, I do. “What are you doing?” my son asked me earlier as he walked in to find me sitting upright on the sofa staring at the wall. “Nothing.” Doing nothing, I have come to appreciate, is a pastime. And a worthy one, at that. Through yoga practice, I am learning to sit still for very long periods of time. My mind is rarely as still, but like clouds moving through the sky, the thoughts come, and then they go.