Test. Test.

I tried a bit of wine today, Ms Journal. A tiny bit. Less than a teaspoon. The doctor didn't test for wine yesterday - "We don't test for alcohol. Alcohol is poisonous. Avoid it." But I quite enjoy a glass of wine in the evening with a meal, or before a meal. Or after a meal. Or in the afternoon, with or without a meal. Or at night.

So I tested myself. Just a tiny trickle of red wine in a glass. It was a test trickle. (Yeah, I know. But the doc said I'm not allergic to nuts.) It's been two hours since I tried it and so far, nothing. I feel fine. My mouth is fine. No tingling tongue. No bad taste. I'm fine, Ms J. So far, so good. The doctor told me yesterday that a reaction to food usually occurs immediately.

"Three to thirty minutes after eating."

It puzzled him that it took four hours to affect me when I first experienced unpleasant symptoms on December 28th. If I still feel OK by 5:30, I'll consider it safe to drink wine. I tell you truly, Ms J, I have missed it.

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Tonight, we perform our last show. "Yesteryear" closes tonight. We'll all attend the traditional cast party and share both tears and laughter. Whenever people come together to create something, or to pursue a common goal, there develops a special kind of camaraderie and fast friendships. The cast and crew of this play have all had fun. Over the past twelve weeks, we've become friends. And although we'll be glad to have our Lives back, I know we'll miss getting together. Some of us will meet again in other plays, but I know most will go their separate ways. The steps we take on stage tonight, and the words we speak will be bittersweet -- so important tonight between 8:00 and 10:30, but void of further significance after our final bows.

There is a song that is played during the pre-show to help establish the setting of the play. The same song is later sung, badly, by an actor on stage. It's Vera Lynn's signature wartime song. "We'll Meet Again."

We'll meet again. Don't know where. Don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day.

If they play that damn song at the party, I'm afraid there won't be a dry eye in the place.

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