Forty-five

 Peggy,

    Yes. When I walk, I listen, or at least try. I think I hear. Probably not everything. My old ears just can't anymore, too much music through old fashioned head phones in our younger days. (That's my story and I'm sticking with it.) And an old fashioned habit of watching clouds as much as I can. Of course, the treatment is only temporary, though even a short vacation is better than none. As I sit, the shit slowly renews itself. Again, you are much stronger than I am, much more clear. (She is that way, too.) Did you ever go camping with us? I have no recollection. Not that I am a mountain man or anything like that, but we were always camping, I actually tried hunting with my father on a couple of brain freeze instances, playing outside everyday was what we did. So, yes, that is how I deal with shit.

    And books, of course, but they were a later; like fifth grade, though I was reading Asimov in third.

    I haven't said how sorry I am. I do that too much: a forgetfulness.

    We have someone to hold on to, so that's lucky and necessary. She makes me hopeful. Well, renews hope, adds to hope, makes me want to hold on to it.