An asthma attack hit me yesterday, and finally caused me to split from choir practice half an hour before quitting time. I still feel a bit crappy this morning, but less white-knuckly.

It’s interesting how easily humans learn to tolerate bodily limitations. As I sat on the edge of the bed with my inhaler in my hand, I honestly wondered whether that was really the pain of developing bronchospasm in my chest or did I just want an excuse to duck choir practice and stay home with the cats and my current audiobook. Then I coughed up another hockey puck and went to choir practice anyway. Two hours later, breathing razor blades, I had to bust out of the alto section and leg it for the open spaces.

My body does not enjoy the onset of winter. The first blast of real cold always lays me low until my twitchy airway adapts to the horrid new reality — which, so far, it always has. It’s just not a fun transition.

Meanwhile, I have fruitcake to bake today, and the Ottawa-bound Christmas parcels to start on — boxes, wrapping paper and packing material to round up. It also occurs to me that I should call my lawyer and tell him to add nephew Logan’s college residence costs to the clause in my will that covers his sister’s university tuition fees.

Oh, yeah — and change the furnace filter, and rake the cat hair out from under the dining-room table, and …

It never ends!