And then tonight as I started getting tired, I remembered a little poem I had run across this week. As I went through some things in the garage, I found this in a box I had put together from one of our trips to Hawaii. It was in my handwriting; I had copied it from somewhere on the Big Island:
Never judge a day by the weather.
The best things in life aren't things.
Tell the truth; there's less to remember.
Speak softly and wear a loud shirt.
Goals are deceptive: the unaimed arrow never misses.
He who dies with the most toys still dies.
Age is relative — When you're over the hill you pick up speed.
There are two ways to be rich: make more or desire less.
Beauty is internal: looks mean nothing.
No rain, no rainbows.
And now I lay me down to sleep. And I'm happy to be 60.