I have been to New York five times since the beginning of this academic year. I’ve visited for my uncle’s wedding, for his funeral, for Thanksgiving, for a day of wandering around and meeting Cassie, and, yesterday, for the funeral of my uncle’s widow. I spent six hours on trains yesterday, with my dad (who was and is again in Philly for meetings), and never once pulled out my knitting. (We did do a couple of crosswords and a sudoku, though.) Hey, world? I know that people get old and die, and I can deal with that. But could I have at least six months to recover from this year so far before anything else scary happens to my family (or friends)?

So that this post won’t be entirely depressing, here’s a picture of a sign we found amusing, on the way from dinner to the train home.