Why the hell do I keep going back to Massachusetts in the winter? This really must stop. This time when Karen and I got off the plane it was seven degrees. Some people go to Orlando in January, maybe the Keys. Not me, oh no. Cape Cod for me. We even went to the beach. A bitter wind shredded our skin and we were outside of the car for less than twenty minutes, but it was the beach. Just a little farther north than I might recommend.

But we went to see Ingrid, my beloved aunt. I am just crazy about this woman. Once she was sharp-witted and capable; now she's ailing and suffering from a head injury, but I still adore her. She makes me laugh, but even better, she's able to laugh at herself, at least most of the time. When you can't put on your coat because both your shoulders are wrecked, you're malnourished to the point of hospitalization, and your short-term memory has been detonated, you might as well laugh. Otherwise, what fun is all that?

Karen and I went to help her rearrange stuff in her house and to fill Ingrid's freezer up with food. We accomplished both in the space of three days. We also had time to sit by the fireplace and make crafts, to have an afternoon's visit with my wonderful friend Cynde, and to eat a Jim Dandy each. And for those of you who do not know what a Jim Dandy is, you'll have to go to Friendly's and find out. And to do that, you have to go to New England, which really, you ought to do anyway.

Just not in January. In January, stick to Orlando.

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