Missed yesterday because I was in transit. Sic transit gloria mundi, that is, Gloria gets sick on the subway every Monday, and I get sick of the obstacle course set by airline and customs officials every day. You have to run a horrible gauntlet before you collapse on a plane with a glass of tomato juice, pretending it's a Bloody Mary, and a draft from the window wall, no blanket. Times like that I wish I were rich and famous and could have my own private Lear jet whisk me away. Normally I don't envy anyone, except writers who have just sold their latest offering while I am searching for a new market. It's Christmas Day now and I am surfeited with consumerism, even before I am surfeited with food, I don't shop much at home, preferring catalogue shopping and delivery, and not taking time to browse and be tempted in the stores. So it's a culture shock for me to encounter the WEALTH of EXTRAVAGANT tschotschkes under my family's tree. I guess that in my Other LIfe we were similarly blessed, for our time, but it's still a shock. I'm not going to dwell on this, bur for all those who have lost someone they loved, let me just say that after 40 years, I still miss my husband. Life, I was warned, would never be the same, and it never has been. We go on, we go on. Bless you all.