Fistfuls of Balloons! Finis.

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I dreamed last night I was young and sound again. In the manner of dreams the location was an indeterminate place that combined the best of Vermont, Virginia, and the southern Sierras. I was roughhousing with a dog who was also a combination of all the dogs I have ever loved, Boxer, Chessie, collie, Bullmastiff, Gordon setter, Pudelpointer, others, running with him, both of us light of foot, happy, healthy, with never-ending energy, chasing each other through the green and golden land, laughing and barking in a young and boundless world.

Steve Bodio used the following quote (or paraphrase) on his website (Querencia— —in my Links) in a mention of my accident, apropos horses and riding:

“After fifty, the ground gets harder and harder until it opens to swallow you one final time.”

Tom McGuane
And if I knew the ground was going to swallow me tomorrow, I would open the finest bottle of wine I have in the house; I would eat the finest meal I could help Darleen prepare; I would call all the people who make up my chain link fence, the people I care most about, and try to make them laugh without ever telling them about tomorrow; I would leave light-hearted messages for the people I couldn’t reach; I would sit outside with Darleen and watch the stars fade into sunrise; and I would remind myself all during the night that I have had one hell of a ride, done much, seen much, traveled much, laughed much. It wasn’t enough—it can never be enough for anyone—but by God it was good and it was fun.

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