Musings on a rainy afternoon

Many years ago, I wrote
Furst, by the way, was not quite two months younger than I am. People my age are dying all the time. Reminders of my mortality occur all too often these days. Well, to be accurate, they've always been available; I'm just much more sensitive to them now.

Growing up, Father's Day was always a holiday I tried to forget, because when you don't have a father and wish all the time that you did, this is a rough day.

Today, I'm very lucky that Sarah and Scott remember the day and try to see me on it, as they will later today.

I am a fortunate man indeed. I would be wise never to forget that.