Like most people, I suppose, I’ve always enjoyed looking at a good painting.
I mentioned last week that as of now I have been around for 84 New Year’s Eves, but I remember only three of them. One of them I will always treasure because it contains a special memory of Lolly. The second one was more prosaic.
As of tomorrow I’ll have been around for 84 New Year’s Eves. I’m just guessing, but I suppose a person with an average memory might perhaps remember — oh-h-h-h — 10 percent of his New Year’s Eves?
With yet another Christmas rolling around — and there have been a LOT of them for me — I got idly wondering which Christmas had been my best.
I’ve lived 84 wonderful years, and during those years I have read so many quotations by so many people that a list of them would probably fill a library. And yet, I cherish just seven of them.
A long time ago in a far away place (always wanted to say that!) I developed a small habit that has had a remarkably happy effect on my life.
As I said last week, if I took some of the unlikely events that have happened during my life and used them as plots in a novel or short story I’d be laughed at, but there’s one major exception: The most wonderful event of my life, one which happened one evening in Karachi, Pakistan.
If I were to take some of the unlikely coincidences in my life and use them as plots in a short story or novel I’d be laughed out of every editor’s office I took it to. And I wouldn’t blame them either.
Two weeks ago I mentioned that I wanted to become a scientist, but didn’t go to college out of high school.
Last week I mentioned that I wanted to be a scientist, but didn’t go to college out of high school because a counselor said a science degree was impossible for me.