A few weeks ago, my one and only fan, meaning someone who is not related to me and forced to read the drivel I write, Terry H., reached out to ask if I was dead and if not, that she missed my blogs. So, it is thanks to Terry that you are reading this and, hopefully, more drivel in the future.
It's been two years, seven months and change since I wrote about my bathhouse experience in Hot Springs, AR. My mother, whose 90th birthday was the impetus for that road trip, is closing in on number 93. Richard and I are still chugging along; the kids are well and determinedly single; the cats, Phoebe and Penny, continue to bicker, and our granddog Ranger is a partially permanent fixture around the house.
Bear with me while I get my groove back.
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