I was away for three weeks, and upon return I developed a cold. That is, I came down with “The Cold” as we say here in Nova Scotia. Here, there is only one cold that has been split and re-split into thousand of shards and we share them, passing them amongst each other ad infinitum. I think The Cold I have now is the same one I had in 1962 and kept me from having to go to several piano lessons which I had been taking under the tutelage of Sister Thomas Marie and her happy gang of  whacking…er…knitting needles.

I believe that even talking about “The Cold” has power enough to lower immune systems and lay one open to The Cold taking up residence. Even on the telephone. Please don’t call me to say: She’s got The Cold…I had The Cold last week…have you had The Cold…did you manage to avoid The Cold, etc. Please! Remember that the telephone is a tricky, mysterious transmitter! Bear in mind that I could well be germophonic, or worse viralinguistal.

I’m certain that during my vacation I had brilliant ideas and many original, creative thoughts. Regrettably, I’ve forgotten all. Memory, always a fickle rascal, now seems to view me with blantant disregard. I often suffer the silent treatment. The Cold robs me of the strength to argue.

Back in a day or two with thoughts on travel. ‘Til then, stay well. Don’t answer the phone.