A LETTER FROM UNCLE STINKO

Today I contacted my brilliant cousin on the East Coast to find out how everybody is doing. Which was rewarding. My uncle and aunt in Canada, in their nineties, survived Covid earlier this year and are both doing well. Apparently they still enjoy a glass of red wine regularly, and though hampered by mobility issues due to old age, get around a bit. My uncle still quotes nineteenth century poetry at the drop of a hat.

My cousin is a grandmother now.

Which makes me a grand-relative, but I'm not sure what that would be. The "sprightly fossil record who lives in California"? The "crotchett once removed"? "Grand cousin Bongo"?
The one "unreconstructed relative who smokes"?
Uncle Stinko?

It is as yet unclear to me whose kid it is. My brilliant cousin has two offspring, both old enough to be parents, both in movies and well-regarded in their field. And the name of the kid has no clues to gender, although I assume that the 'O' ending indicates that it is male.

It looks more human than Winston Churchill.


My younger cousin's kids, who I met about four years ago, also look more human than Winston Churchill. And although we are very distantly related, none of my immediate kin resemble him.
I have a very low bar.


Uncle Stinko has had his afternoon tea. I will communicate further with my brilliant cousin tomorrow. I have no photos of people here to send.

In a few minutes I will head out to contemplatively smoke my pipe.
A written response requires careful thought.
Be interestingly informative.
But concise.


The mental processes are benefitted enormously by tobacco, especially flue-cured leaf. Considering what to say is probably a three pipe problem.

TOBACCO INDEX


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