When I get older, it is not likely I will be losing my hair many years from now. I wonder who will be sending me valentines, birthday greetings, with whom I will be sharing a bottle of wine.
This painting, a work in progress, is my birthday gift to myself...a promise of a new future, a new, life. Does it really begin at 40?
When I turn 64, my daughter will be 30, my wife and hopefully friend will be 56, my close friend and godmother to my daughter will be 63, my traveling buddy will be 56...my cats will be dead. How many steak and cigar-induced heart attacks would I have had by then? Would I be able to walk away from the city and move to paradise? Will there be any paradise left on earth or will WalMart have a superstore in Papeete? How many new lovers? How many will stay around to be friends? Will I still be good in bed? Still? Am I now?
Will I still enjoy the chocolate egg cream?
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