EIGHTY-THREE YEARS YOUNG

…and growing. Hope all of you who are here, are suffering from glowing good health. Hope all of you making the journey, get here in style.

How did I get here? I can’t blame it on Colette, my Vitamix, since I only just discovered her. Or Macha, my shillelagh.

Named my Vitamix after Colette, a sassy French writer and WW2 heroine. I identify with her. “You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm,” says it all. Don’t you just love it?

Called my shillelagh Macha after a Goddess of ancient Ireland. Associated with war, horses and sovereignty, which about covers it, but if you have a computer look her up. There exists a gorgeous painting of her and her horse. He looks like Ari. She had long red hair -bet you didn’t know I was a red head once-and her hair, her sash and her horse’s tail, all the same color, fly in the wind. Loved my red headed year, give or take an eon or two, and would give an eyetooth for the gorgeous long skirt she wore in the painting.

She had tattoos on her right arm and wasn’t wearing a shirt. I’ll skip that part.

Guess I could ‘blame’ Ari, Boots, Duke and the cats for getting me here. They are all the dogs and horses and macaws and cats the world has ever known rolled up in one.  There is no sadness or there loss, there is life and happiness in their eyes. This works for loved ones we’ve lost, too. Every human being is them rolled up in one. If a few unfortunate memories are active, they can be deleted from the your screen.

“If you want to have the kind of relationship that your heart yearns for, you have to create it. You can’t depend on somebody else creating it for you.” –Gary Zukov

Love that.

I also think the art of creativity is a need in every human heart. The most unhappy people I’ve known have no creative skills. The happiest are the most creative.

Imagination plays an important role, too. As a devout non-believer I love to play with fantasy. I love to write fantasy. I can get lost in fantasy. It’s a gift, I think. “Imagination is the highest kit one can fly,” Lauren Bacall said. She was born September 16, 1924. Her death was an Internet hoax. As of this date, August15, 2013, she is 89. Six years older than I am.

A fun fantasy is that we could meet. If she comes to Kauai I’ll take her out to lunch and gift her with an autographed copy of The Scam.

Sitting in my outdoor computer room, Boots at my feet, books on my shelves and mottled sunlight on the Walking Iris, listening to a playful wind singing in the trees, sipping Chardonnay–ooops, only William Faulkner drank when he wrote.

A perfect day, wish you were here.

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