Asked how he was feeling as he was about to give a speech to a ladies group, Mark Twain, looking stricken, is supposed to have said: ‘How do you expect me to feel? Shakespeare is dead, Goethe is dead, and I have a terrible cold.’Alas, I’m no Twain, but I feel worse than the Mississippi sage ever did — that I’m sure of. Going cross-country skiing underdressed in bone-chilling temperatures didn’t help. I now sneeze about 150 times a day, I’m aching all over, my nose is running as if I had shoved two ounces of Peruvian pure up it, and my head feels as though it is stuffed with poisoned marshmallows.
So, last Sunday, unable to read, I decided to improve my mind by watching television, the invention that has made western man a superior human being. Believe it or not, the horrible device brought back some very pleasant memories: 4, 6 and 7 May 1967, to be exact.
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