If I consult a calendar, I can confirm that I am no longer 25, but to tell that to the gallivanting spirit I've adopted of late would engender an argument with myself that I'd rather avoid.
Nonetheless, two nights in a row of hitting the pillows at, oh, 2-something A.M., after a good ten nights of out-and-abouting, these quinquagenarian (how's that for a show-offy word?!) bones are complaining.
My niece flew in from Ottawa last night and spent the night before heading out to spend the week with her parents across the waters of the Salish Sea. If I could choose a daughter, it would be her. She's recently completed her PhD in microbiology, and over a breakfast of oatmeal with blueberries and toasted almonds, she spoke of her research in virology, and of cutting-edge cancer research, where in the next 10 to 20 years, cancer treatment will be individualized to fit the patient, thereby avoiding stab-in-the-dark chemical attacks on the human body in the form of chemotherapy. It essentially amounts to a cancer vaccine — fascinating and hopeful stuff — and she's thick in the middle of it. My heart glows when she's close by, and she's beloved not only by me but by my sons, who consider her more of a sister than only a cousin.