This is ridiculous. I keep a diary which is an amalgam of an appointment book, a reminder, a daily record and a bleat book. I also, as you know, keep a blog, a semi-private account of events, thoughts, ideas and prattle about whatever is uppermost in my mind at the moment. Is it a moment of truth or a moment of reckoning or a moment of maundering? It depends on the moment. But now, now I am overdue for a generic letter.

Most people write a printed generic letter once a year at Christmas to save hand-writing the same information over and over again. I did, too, but then I began to add informal catch-ups to a small list of friends who don't have computers, hence, no e-mail. This communication gradually enlarged to become a monthly or bimonthly "generic" (like generic drugs, less overhead) letter and I sent it out on email as well. One size fits all, with space at the top or bottom of the printed page for a hand-written greeting. That worked well until I added the blog and now I am working on some new pieces for my still-unfinished book. So it's a lot of writing.

I have a horror of repeating myself, a real danger these days with cut-and-paste so easy to do. A repetition actually slipped past me and the copy- and proof -readers in one of my books. It's easily done. By the time you've read your stuff so many times as you cut and polish, cut and paste, cut and hope for the best, it becomes increasingly difficult to remember if, where and when you've seen the material before. That's not the danger here. The danger is dearth.

What with diary and Day-Timer and blog and book, what am I going to write in a generic that I haven't already said? It's a challenge. I'll see what comes up. As the saying goes: how do I know what I mean until I see what I say? We'll see. So will you.

Who steals my purse steals my ID, and that is a real nuisance. I seem always to need a new VISA card just before a trip so that I must push to get a new one/number before I go away. I have learned over the years, and perhaps these are tips that will help you, not to put all my IDs in one basket... CENSORED ON ADVICE FROM A FRIEND ...... Thus, even when I am without tangible means of payment, I am not bereft. Still, as I say, it's a nuisance.

One thing I noted, with satisfaction: The fear factor seems to be gone. I am no longer panic-stricken when something like this happens. My serenity has something to do with my age. I've lived through so many crises by now, that ones like this seem minor by comparison.

"þæs ofereode, þises swa mæg"

Now, if the automatic spell-chek will allow that to be there, this translates as "That passed, so may this." It's from Deor's Lament, an Old English poem that carries me through the hard times.

I won't go into detail. Everyone has his/her own anxiety level. The mind, of course, can play the worst tricks on your equilibrium. Some people seek mental anguish in horror shows and violent movies. I avoid it and them, but I get agitated, and the soles of my feet tingle, when I board an escalator that goes too high or too low. I think of those deep, deep escalators in the subways of London that people used as bomb shelters during WWII. I think the closest, though far from it, in Toronto, is the escalator in the Scotia Bank Building on John Street. I can't look up or down or sideways on that one; I just tense up and clutch the handrail during the ascent. The descent is worse.

Ah well, into every life a little angst must fall. To thine own self be true.