Today my uncle’s memorial took place in the outskirts of Chicago and resembled a family reunion, as these occasions tend to do. Last time I’d been to Chicago was a spontaneous trip at the end of 1999 (I woke up on December 24 and decided to fly the next day), when my uncle was still in good shape, before my cousin moved to Colorado, and before his grandsons were born.

My father and I each spoke a bit as representatives of our Canadian branch of the family tree, and I became the de facto photographer to document the afternoon. At least my dad was able to speak before the slideshow, because the collection of photographs made everyone emotional, including the rest of us who were due to speak.

My cousin’s boys, super cute and smart enough to type their own names under their photo in Flickr. The two-year old needed only a bit of help: I sounded out the letters and he pressed the correct letters on the iPod Touch.

I got lucky today — the flight before and after mine got cancelled. My flight was the only one bound for Chicago that left Toronto tonight, albeit two hours late.

An ambitious nomad, spotted in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania. Maybe his goal for today is to eat, and tomorrow it’s world peace. Some things can wait until tomorrow, right?

Me, I’m on a steady diet of Ricola (green tea with echinacea), orange juice, and whatever I can pull out of the fridge and eat without cooking. Last night my neighbour gave me some Tylenol cold remedy for nighttime, and it knocked me out cold — which is one way to deal with it, just sleep through it!

Thanks to all for your well wishes. At least I can communicate with you without passing on any of my nasty germs!

As I pulled into the driveway of my friends’ house near Lake Wallenpaupack, Pennsylvania, about half past midnight or so, the thought occurred to me: “Damn, I just got in my car and drove for eight hours straight!”

Which sounds ridiculous, but I’ve done it so many times it doesn’t seem like much of an accomplishment anymore. It’s not even close to my record (14.5 hours), but still — that’s a lot of driving, especially by myself, left to my own amusement. I am apparently quite easily amused.

The drive normally takes just over six hours, but the traffic was so heavy it took ONE HOUR to drive 20 miles (32 kms), from my house to Hamilton. It took me two hours just to reach the border, and ordinarily it’s about 1.25 hours (73.5 miles, or 118 kms)! I was making good time until I hit Syracuse, which is usually a breeze to drive through, but I got caught for nearly half an hour in a snarl caused by a horrendous crash involving at least two vehicles — which no longer resemble cars but twisted pieces of strewn metal mixed with glass. When you see a collision like that, you automatically slow down and put both hands on the wheel.

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