As I sit here in the twilight of my life, I realize twilight is, if not perfect then the ideal time (not the bright glare of the noon day sun or the despair of black midnight) to set on the front porch and reflect.
As I open the daily newspaper the first thing I check is the obituaries, to see if any of my contemporaries (or me) is listed. It seems like more and more of the people I knew in my early years are listed. As I see one, I am drawn back in time when I knew them, even though some times it has been years since I had seen them, but mostly it reminds me of my own memories and mortality.
I was born during the Great Depression to parents who could not give me material things, but did give me unconditional love, the wisdom to know right from wrong, the value of hard work and the imagination to leave the farm.
Now as I look back I realize I now live about five miles from where I was born and raised and have had only two permanent addresses and only two personal phone numbers. I remember one time I filled out papers to get a security clearance and later I worked with the man who processed the papers and he told me he liked to run a security check on me because I had not been any where or done any thing.
Yet I have seen the majesty of the Alps, the Rockies and Dolly Parton. I have seen the beauty of the Sistine Chapel, the Louvre and my wife. I have seen the height of the Empire State building, the Eiffel tower and the love of my family. I have seen the width of the Rhine, the Mississippi and Jennifer Lopez's rear. I have seen friends and relatives whose minds have been lost to Alzheimer's, but whose bodies are strong, others whose minds are sharp, but their bodies are weak, and others, like myself, whose minds and bodies are relatively strong.
These and other thoughts cross my mind as I set here at twilight time.