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Your feet will bring you to where your heart is.
(Irish)
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Whatcom Falls Park restroom mirror self-portrait (-:
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The Canadian Cascades are visible through the trees at the top of the hill on this unusually clear day.
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Art that appeared along the trail in the past few days.
Dome spider web
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Looking up to the left of the trail
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Cooling my feet in Lake Whatcom at the end of the walk
It's been a long journey, 73 years in early October. Although I'm healthy, I'm putting my affairs in order, as they say. A few days ago, I signed up for a pre-paid cremation. It was sobering and liberating at the same time to give information that will appear on my death certificate.
My friends are close to me in age or older and now that I have a reverse mortgage in place as well as other fairly simple but time-consuming financial complications, I'm updating my will and making a trustworthy local company my Power of Attorney for Finance as well as the third party to contact if neither of my first two executor choices are available. I've had a Power of Attorney for Healthcare in place for some time. My parents put their affairs in order long before they died. I deeply appreciate that they did that. I am single and have no children or close family except a dear first cousin, born a month and a half after me, who lives locally. I have a photo of us in 1950 in Minneapolis. My parents drove from California for a rare visit with my father's family.
I'm grateful for a few good friends near and far.
Every day a gift. That's for sure.
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I dreamed last week that my father came to my door with a message. He was younger than I ever remember him being. He was clearly who he was before he was my father, probably in his 20s. He was 35 when I was born. He looked as if he had come a long way with his message. Slightly out of breath from exertion and a little disheveled, he told me that life goes by very quickly and that one must be kind, especially in the last years of life. Having said that he rushed off to the right and disappeared around a corner wall.
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Can't resist posting this song about being happy to just to be alive. Bob Dylan's music has been in the background of my life since I first heard his voice on TV on August 28, 1963, during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, when I was 13-going-on-14-years old. He's "a man of contradictions," "a man of many moods." He "contains multitudes."
