What I did on the first day of the new year. Talked to a dear friend. Talked to my daughter just home from Maine. Napped in my recliner. Watched a bit of TV. Ate some lunch. Walked down Back Forty road. Went into the park. Saw young couples with children waiting for the PEC lights to come on. Looked at pink clouds in the eastern sky. Saw the PEC lights come on. Nodded to the driver of a horse drawn carriage. Took a picture of the sunset.

Got a text with pictures of mountains. Sent a text wishing a friend happy birthday. Scheduled work at the house for today. Turned on my outside Christmas lights. Turned them off again at eight. Read up on the South Rim Trail at Big Bend. Made plans to walk the stairs to my attic to build my legs. Played a bit of guitar. Sang a song. Ate cereal with blackberries for dinner. Reflected a bit on my life.

I’m 76. Born in the euphoria of victory. Does it matter. Yes. To some. Heck, even to me. How much life can be left? Am I nearing my expiration date? Who knows? Of course, no one young thinks the question applies to everyone. I guess its what you learn as you get on down the trail. No givens. Nothing is certain. Only death. Which is why I take walks. Sing songs. Call my friends. Breath deep. And give thanks for being alive in this, the year of our lord, 2023. Happy New Year.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale