a last message

Awoke this morning to a long discussion on CBC radio about the difference between freezing rain and sleet, and what exactly is a "weather bomb." Only in Canada, you say? In any case, the rain out there looks pretty damn cold, and I'm just heading out the door, to Ottawa for my Christmas visit. If I don't get there, I love you all, but especially the two people who, lucky sods, will carry my genetic material on into the future.

P.S. An hour later: Don't tell my downtown friends, but I'm at the Porter airport, which is politically incorrect but so extremely handy for visiting Ottawa. Sure enough, the flight is delayed. If any of you needs to reach me, I'll be picking up email and phone messages from there, and Susan and Jenny will be keeping the home fires burning. Not literally, I hope.

I had an idea at 3 a.m., about being a tour guide in Paris, to which I'm thinking of returning next April - would you like to come to Paris for a few days and have me shepherd you around for a small fee? All my favourite museums, restaurants, shops, being escorted by bus and foot hither and yon ... At 3 a.m., the name PARIS @ BETHED seemed like a good idea. Not so much in the daylight, at the airport. Think about it and let me know. Merci.