Dear Cyndy,

The circumstance that I haven't written for a week
doesn't mean that I haven't been thinking of you, 
wondering how you are surviving the vicissitudes
of getting old, and wishing fervently that the spirit
is intact, even if the body is not. When you are in
the mood, please write and tell me how you are.

Until a few days ago, the weather was hot and dry,
the lawn was parched into a gray, disreputable looking
mat, which at least as of this afternoon, the cooling
rains of early autumn had not been able to restore.
Since yesterday, we've had intermittent drizzle,
no sun. The outdoor thermometer reads 70 degrees,
but it seems colder than that.

I've been busy with the work that forced itself on
me and that I promised myself I would get done.
Yesterday I repaired the patio door to the Addition.
I infer, but said nothing to any one, that one of my
athletic grandchildren pressed on the door handle
with such vigor that its spindle broke. The repair
was much easier than I had anticipated. I took the 
broken spindle to the store in Cambridge where I had
bought the door, and the gentleman who had sold it
to me 10 years ago, - I don't know whether he recognized
me, - went to a wall cabinet from which he took a
replacement. He told me there was no charge. I drove
home, installed the spindle, - the door works flawlessly, -
and felt like a master carpenter.

My other project was to replace with baseboard heating
units, the cast iron radiator whose supply pipes had
frozen and burst in one of the cold spells of the winter.
Somewhat to my surprise, I had no difficulty at all in
detaching the bulky cast-iron monster from the pipes
that protrude through the floor, and removing these also.
The radiator is assembled from 10 sections, which in
previous instances I had been able to separate without
difficulty, making it possible for me to carry them out
one by one. But not this time. Assembled, the radiator
is far too heavy for me to lift. I can slide it across
the floor, but I'm concerned that taking it downstairs
I might lose control. I've found a junk dealer who will
take it off my hands for fifty dollars. Probably worth
it; cheaper than a slipped disk or worse.

Please give my regards to Ned, and let me know the
state of your world.

Jochen