For Phyllis and for Christopher, Vicki, Sydney, Abigail, Andrew, Wendy, Gage, and Millie with love

I went to England to see my daughter. This was in October 2004. Susan had phoned the previous week with her dire news. A Friday noon hour and I was preparing lunch in my apartment in Toronto. Tuna and tomato salad. Herbal tea. An apple. Like many older people nowadays, I am taking better care of myself than in previous decades, adhering to a regimen of the priviledged middle class: a sensible diet with fresh vegetables and fruit, a brisk daily walk, moderate intake of alcohol, though now and then I am apt to depart from the latter and get a little tight with too much wine at dinner. At such times I feel entitled to indulge myself; either that or at seventy-four I no longer give a damn. Perhaps these are one and the same.