Life is so ephemeral. We are glad that we live every day as if it was our last, because it may very well be (and it's a fun theory, anyway). We spent all afternoon at Jackson Memorial Hospital waiting to see our friend, Pimpernel; he had a stroke on Easter Sunday. It looks as if it might not be as serious as first thought, but is certainly not good. One day you are bouncing around and the next, in a hospital bed. Oddly, the young boy in the bed next to him seemed to be much worse off; he had broken his neck in a motorcycle accident. (I divided my time between them in my best Clara Barton mode.)

Still, everything must go on, and we are on our way to Edison's birthday bash at The Fountainbleau.