I rarely, if ever repeat a blog, but I am compelled to do so because, although posted 6 weeks ago, it is even more relevant and poignant today.   The blog was entitled Typhoid Mary and went as follows:   "Her name was Mary Mallon and she was a rich man's cook in the early 20th century.   Trouble was that she was an asymptomatic carrier of Typhoid Fever.  

The current issue of The New Yorker arrived at our home the other morning. As is our practice, we allow our mail to “sit” for a day or so before handling it.

Picture this midwest evening.... 5 nieces and nephews, sitting in the back of my son’s pick-up truck, watching the sun go down; playing a little Kenny Chesney in the background, whilst the deep voices of the bullfrog weigh into the conversation. Sweet, right!? Evidence of a frisbee toss, badminton gone bad, and silly wiffle golf ball tosses, aimed at each other, admit our demonstration of family love and of our competitive nature with one another. Deep chats, belly laughter, and togetherness. I wouldn’t trade this precious time for all the gold in the world.

  One of my partners was in the office last week. I have to admit I was jealous. Seeing her on Zoom sitting at her desk made me want to be sitting in my office right next door. We have decided to reopen slowly and so I know that I will not have the experience of sitting next door for a little while – but still.

  For months my husband and I have anticipated this. We have discussed this back and forth, imagining what it would look like. And, like everything else you anticipate as much as we have, it happened very differently than expected. I am talking about eating in a restaurant.    

The title represents one of two relevant song titles I considered after deciding on this blog. You see I had another topic in mind – another discussion – perhaps another day, certainly another blog.

This past week marked my Mom's 90th birthday. My sister and I were so happy we could see her. Until that point, no one was allowed in the assisted living center where she resides so it was a game time decision whether we could see her or not. Thankfully, we were good to go.

This blog is written with my wife Joanne’s permission because, at times, she is forgetful and relies on me to remind her of things.