” …my America, my newfound land..” John Donne
The woeful saga continues with a brief chapter on flu and tetanus shots. The latter are said to be a necessity for persons of age and the latter are imperative for metalsmiths who are forever playing with sharp objects. The combination is not conducive to good cheer. One longs for a silk robe from J. Peterman, handwoven linen sheets, the fluffiest pillows, great big bouquets of the palest coral roses, chicken soup and love.
Alas, it is none of this is to be–the huge dog would shred the sheets so lovingly made in French convent so very many years ago, roses are dear and never mind J Peterman’s offerings. Coffee in bed and a two buttered slices of slightly aged boule help somewhat. Love always help and so does the fact that it is Shabbat. Cheers.