As I wrote about last week, I am a horrible patient. While I am very conscientious about going for my annual check-ups with my internist and gynecologist as well as my annual mammography, I rarely follow up with anything else. I am sharing my recent experience in the hope that, perhaps, I help someone else.  

Eve is in Puerto Rico. We facetimed yesterday. She was standing on the beach in the ocean with some kind of colorful cocktail, me in over a foot of snow with a beer. My plans to go to Brooklyn and then to see a movie were snuffed out.  

1 inch of snow in D.C. compares with 6 inches here in NY which compare with 3 feet in Buffalo.   Having lived in Buffalo for 4 years and experienced a winter storm where 192" fell, the one passing through our area today that they've named Jonas, in my mind, is cute. By my estimation we'll get around 6-10 inches. Not a big deal for me.  

Last week we visited Cuba for 6 days.  It was my first visit, but back in the day my Damon Runyon character dad was a frequent gambling visitor to Havana and was on the last flight out in the final moments of Castro's revolution.

It started with a little tickle... (or was it a little scratch?) in my throat. Ignore it. Within an hour, there was no denying. It was my winter cold 2016.

With the recent spate of deaths; Bowie, Rickman, Margulies, Frey, and now I've just heard of Bowie's drummer Griffin, founding member of Mott the Hoople,  passed away on Monday, I find myself getting melancholy. I know that as we get older, time moves faster and statistically more deaths occur. Also, as I become more and more present and conscious, I am more aware of mortality. Sandy Denny, talented British composer and folksinger, wrote a beautiful song that I find soothing: Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

  I am a big baby in two aspects of my life, my birthday (which I have already blogged about) and taking care of myself. As my husband who is a doctor will attest to, I very rarely go to the doctor (other than my annual check-ups) and, when I do, I complain incessantly. When I get sick, I revert to a whiney, whimpering ten year old girl.