Sixty-two

 Peggy,

    So I went to this art show recently, (Ok, ok, she took me; I tend to shy away from shows because of my color-blindness) and I saw a piece that reminded me of all of us when we used to "get together" at your mom's house. Someone had created a pretty large piece in the spirit of, oh, shit, I'm not sure, she told me but now the name has left me, 16th or 17th century era group of nymphs or revelers kind of thing. But the artist put us in a city park occupying a picnic area kind of area, picnic tables, barbecue pits, bathrooms, that whole big gathering at a park place. I thought it was great. She didn't totally agree with me, the realism thing isn't quite her thing.

    Send me the dates for your tour, so I (maybe, we) can meet you. I don't know how you go through all the business aspects and still sit at your desk every night. My imagination prevents me from pursuing a book because of it.

    Yeah, old age and pain are one and the same.

    No, we haven't talked about futures. So, no. My part is: I don't think I would be a very good parent to anyone.

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