A return

 Lots of course has changed since 1918, I mean 2018, but the biggest one is that I wasn't doing too well in terms of my health at the start of the pandemic and it's definitely gotten worse since. I now have to take a small handful of pills every day to regulate the consequences of a lifetime of having a terrible relationship with food. 

I've written a bunch of SF novels but I'm not feeling the final edits and I can't get a Coast Salish person to accept money to look at the books and comment on whatever I've done wrong, so the edits have every possibility of being both extensive and ongoing. I'd like a little certainly so I stopped.

I have a new grandson, Ryker, born November 17; poor tyke has a horrid cold at the moment but his anxious mother says that there's no fever so who knows if it's the dreaded plague.

Tom died, and it was miserably sad, but we gave him a good send off, in my view.

I've been training my brother's cat, Buster, and he's ready to get a communication board. He can understand about 18 words so I think we're going to have a good time with it.

I'm still living very comfortably with my brother. My parents are both doing well. I'm still writing tunes, now on a keyboard, to shake things up. Apart from how much snow we're getting in the PNW, I have few complaints.