Something tells me someone back home misses me.
'Course, he tells me that every day, a couple times. But a nice bunch of flowers like this underline his words beautifully.

It's Scott's birthday today. Before I left, I bought a Rolling Stones double-CD and wrapped it with a card and hid it in a desk drawer. Then I gave him directions to it the other day when he needed a little boost. Tonight he's gone out for a barbecue with good friends who, Emil reminds me, came to our place last year on Scott's birthday.

His birthday, and I get the flowers. Doesn't seem quite right. But I appreciate them anyway.

***

I've spent the past hour researching glyconutrients for Mom and Dad. Friends of Mom's swear up and down that their life-threatening diseases were positively affected, if not downright cured, by these supplements sold by a company called Mannatech.

Naturally most of the web information is provided by Mannatech or other retailers of their products. I have been looking for independent articles or research, but have found nothing that looks reliable or offers much in the way of information. Yet. Will search again tomorrow.

***

Went to Mom and Dad's this morning bearing heavy German rye bread, cherry pie, and miniature meatpies. We sat around their living room for a couple hours and when they went for Mom's weekly drug treatment, I came home and got to work here at my desk.

***

My upstairs neighbour said yesterday on the phone, "Are you cold? I'm wearing long underwear and a big sweater and I'm still freezing! But I thought maybe you'd be too warm down there if I turned the furnace on."

"I like it warm in the house," I told him. "By all means, crank up the heat."

"I wonder if the pilot light is on," he said.

"I'll check," said I, and hung up to go look in the furnace room. I couldn't tell, and never got around to getting back to him, but tonight as I sat reading a murder mystery on the chaise longue, wrapped in layers of clothing and covered with a blanket, and noticed that even then my nose was cold, it occurred to me to call up there and see if he'd turned the furnace on or not.

"Well, no!" he exclaimed. "I mean, I did, but nothing happened so I turned it off again in case the pilot light needed to be lit or something."

I'd talked to Scott about it and been informed that some furnaces don't have a pilot light and anyway, even if it did and it wasn't lit, there would be no danger. It would just take some time for any warm air to start blowing through the registers, since the furnace hasn't been running for months. It wouldn't throw heat immediately.

I passed this info on to Andries upstairs, who said "Oh, thank goodness! I've been in bed trying to keep warm, and since I didn't hear back from you after we talked yesterday, I thought you were comfortable and it must just be me! I'll turn it on right away and we'll see what happens."

A few minutes later he says "Is something burning down there? Something smells like it's burning! Is Everett cooking again?"

Last night the toaster had charred a pancake Everett was reheating, and Andries had called down to make sure I was home and everything was under control. Tonight, thankfully, it was just the dusty complaint of a furnace being called back into use after a long holiday.

Within minutes I had shed all my extra clothing and was comfy as a clam. And I guess Andries is feeling more content, too. His words were "Tell Scott thank you!"