One can relive the unfairness of youth as it is reexamined in old age and the taste of bitterness continues to make its presence felt. This suddenly reminded me of the bag of oranges that someone brought recently, you know the kind—firm and sweet, and impossible to keep your hands off them. As soon as I finish this diary entry I will scurry over to the kitchen to peel an orange for myself before someone else manages to eat them all. Most of the care givers, both morning and evening, have first names such as Gurdeep or other purely Punjabi sounding names, Tonight, however, a young woman whose name is Anzhela, came for the first time but before I had a chance to ask her about her name, she had completed her help and was off to visit the next client. She looked like someone from the Balkans and, since I am interested in languages, I shall have to find out on her next visit where she is from. In many respects she strongly resembled our Alba, a young woman from Albania. Good night to you all and it is time to peel an orange [or two.]