On April 9th at 8 p.m. sitting in my comfortable armchair after returning two hours earlier from a lightning trip to England, the telephone rang. Unlike many people I love the telephone – at 66 and living alone it is usually a friend calling and I’m blessed to have many. Of course it could be a windows and doors purveyor, or a Toronto Star subscription agent, or the MBNA Bank. At one time I used to say, Sorry, not interested.” Now I just put the phone down without a word. This time it was the gastroentologist I visited before I went away.
