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3 february 2003

currently reading

Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynmann!, by Edward Hutchings

crashing the party: how to tell the truth and still run for president

past my bedtime

I heard two men at the doctor's office a couple of weeks ago. They were middle-aged, handsome, well-heeled sorts. They asked how the other was doing. Work. Golf. Wife. All is well.

"I'm a grandfather now."

"Isn't it the best? I have so much fun with them; it's so much different than with your own kids."

They pause.

"Where does the time go? When did I become a grandfather?"

"I don't know. It just flies, doesn't it. Life."

We push and we push, and look at how little progress we make, pushing back the hands of time. I've given up on that one.

I say, grab the big hand. Hold on tight. Go, "wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Tomorrow, my annual Valentines' Day entry. Today, read last year's. Prepare to forget the roses. Remember to love.