After my six-month appointment at the Hospital For Special Surgery, Pete and I walked around and around the Guggenheim. The uneven surfaces proved difficult and challenging, but ultimately, we saw wonderful canvases and had a wonderful time. At home, we collapsed on the couch and wished we could sleep for a week.
Poor Impulse Control 
On the edge of feeling uncheery these days muhself. Thank goodness the cat is still a delight. Been trying to shake some post-cold congestion, but the damned cough won’t go away. When this sort of thing happens, it is easier to sleep in a semi-prone position (I used to play semi-prone baseball for the Bloomfield Ballgags), so I have slept the last two nights sitting up in the chaise. Last night my repose was disturbed by the cat kneading me; I was too weak to resist her advances. I believe my ribs have developed enough gluten to make a credibly chewy bagel dough. I always found dogs tolerable, but cats melt me. The love of a dog is a given, but the love of a cat is a gift.
Also, you never write, you never call…
You’re right, dahhhhlink. I’m desperate to hear about your adventures in Minneapolis. You would think I’d do more about actually hearing them, wouldn’t you? You would.