As a doubly jabbed citizen of Ontario, I am now free to travel, within reason. For me, that means driving (not gettin' on no plane if I can help it), and visiting inoculated relatives. I have just booked the services of Georgia and Max, the kids down the street, to take care of my house and the cats when I'm away.

Over the last 25 years, I have made very few solo road trips -- right now I can recall only two -- requiring more than three hours on the road by myself. The last time was in August 2017, when I had to go back to Ottawa from Stratford to complete the trade-in deal on our cheatin' diesel Volkswagen, and I swore when I returned that I would never do that on my own again. Consider those words eaten.

Rather than beat my brains out on the autoroute (Highway 401), which can be dangerously crowded with transport trucks, I might take the old King's Highway 7 across the province a little north of Toronto to the Trans-Canada Highway a tick upriver from Ottawa. Like the curate's egg, parts of it are excellent and other parts emphatically are not, but at least there's more to look at than asphalt and the arse end of an 18-wheeler.

The other trip, southwest to Windsor, will have to be on the 401. But that's only three hours, with a diversion on the way at Chatham, and I can do that on a cup of coffee and a cheese sandwich.

My bedroom floor is unacceptably dusty, so house cleaning is on the agenda this week. The choir executive wants to meet again tomorrow, so that afternoon is shot, but the rest of the week is clear. Today I must buy groceries for both felines and humans, and make soup. I shall also renew my membership at the Y and book myself in for pool class.

Life is finding a new normal. Hurrah for that.