My klingon mother died at age 102 this afternoon. I saw an eagle float overhead a couple of days ago and I knew it was her avatar. I howled outside tonight to let them know she was coming. They were taking precautions already.
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I once amazed a class of 24 year-olds – when I was 57 – by saying that as a child I rode in the back seat for hours with two siblings, with no seat belts, with a father who drove while smoking a cigarette, window open. Somehow we survived. All those parents who were World War 2 survivors thought every day without gunfire aimed at them was a good day.
Here is a meditation on aging and modern times, from Brad Upton.