It’s uncertain how we’ll spend this week-end because some of us here are feeling not-so-good and are no doubt walking germ factories. Quentin is scheduled to come next Friday and we don’t want to get Der Bingle sick for that so maybe he’ll stay in Dayton. And I would stay on the sofa and Summer would alternate between the other end and her room and we would have Kleenex and blankies handy.

If the under-the-weatherness develops further, I might just put on the weather channel and let Jim Cantore tell me all about the blizzard heading at Boston. They are saying it may top the Great Blizzard of 1978. Makes me feel old and highlights the passage of generations; I’m one of the old-timers now who tells stories of the the GB of ’78. A long time ago, I’d be the one listening to older folks talk about their parents and the storm of 1888 and I heard my own parents tell about the winter of ’36. COLD. Of course, I don’t think watching one on TV is the same as – oh, let’s say, sitting huddled under blankets in the dark by the fireplace, if you’re lucky enough to have one.

Tummies are queasy here as well . . . but let’s not go into detail about that.