Monday, December 5, 2022


One of the saddest endings to a book is William Bradford's Of Plimouth Plantation. For 40 years he kept a detailed history of a colony for which had been governor through most of it.  The last two lines 

Another year.
And another year.

At 66, every birthday becomes like that.  I figure that I have probably lived 2/3 of my life.  I have projects to do that matter (two Expert Declarations underway at the moment and probably more on the way) but it just wears you down after a while.

Enough whining.  I feel a little better.


  1. I feel ya! At 63 I'm right behind you. Yesterday I broke three drill bits in quick succession and decided that the universe was trying to tell me something. So I went back inside to contemplate my life choices. Another day...

  2. My Dad was fond of saying, "Just wait until you get to be my age, Sonny". I got sick of hearing it, but now it's ME saying to kids like you. Last birthday was #79; I wish I was still in my 60s. After 70 or 75, things begin going downhill fast.