Last week I published a poem on getting old. To be transparent, as I am, it was ChatGPT generated.   What I posted wasn't exactly what the generative AI produced, but pretty close. I didn't take the time to edit and "humanize" it which I wanted to do. And only one person asked me who created this...Odey.  

Recently I remarked upon our precious freedoms and our unique Constitutional Bill of Rights. A friend responded by declaring that possibly our greatest Right is not set forth therein.

Last weekend, we attended our nephew’s graduation from Brandeis University. It was nice being back at my alma mater. But that’s for another blog.My takeaway was from the graduate who told that she was failing organic chemistry in her first semester. She recalled how her professor took that special interest in her and mentored her through the challenges of the course.

The concept of “good old days” is a puzzlement.  What stage of life doesn’t come with challenges? I don’t want to go through my early teens again – no way! And truth be told, the 1950s were not so great. My philosophy is that the best is yet to come.  

Pomp and Circumstance just never gets old.   The excitement just continues to grow as you try to find your graduate in a sea of caps and gowns, and the music crescendos right along with.  

I have one vice that I am emphatic about, I have to be everywhere on time. And, not only on time, generally I always arrive early. If I have a court appearance or meeting, I almost always show up at least fifteen minutes early. If we have a flight, I am usually sitting at the gate at least an hour early.   

As mom's day approached last weekend, my deck and patio below got cleaned and I began the redeployment of furniture, umbrellas, a fan and the electronic necessary to setup my outside office.  The last act involved taking the external monitor and setting it on its stand.  That occurred after visiting with mom last Sunday.  I was able to use the space most of last week (not yesterday though.)  I hope to enjoy more as the week begins.  At right, I sits all covered to protect against the elements. 

In the tapestry of time, threads silver and gold, Each strand is a story, each wrinkle a tale untold, Aging isn't a curse, but a gracious unfold, Of life lived in depth, in warmth, and in cold.   Days whisper softly, in sunsets of molten hue, Reminding us gently of things we once knew. Each dawn is a blessing, every twilight is too, Age is but stardust, our hearts remain true.