You only live once

This past year has seen an inordinate number of house guests as if all my friends were taking advantage of the opportunity to see me one final time before I am permanently relegated by shovel to a six-foot buffer zone.

It is true that Parkinson’s is advancing more quickly, but not sufficiently swift enough to make this the year of my final tour. So, dear friends, don’t line up quite yet to spit on my grave. As my coffee cup—a gift from a like-humored son—says, “I ain’t dead yet motherfuckers....