Some things are ending for me, some things are beginning, and some have just rolled over into this new year without any disconnect.

I have half of being 44 behind me, and half ahead of me (today’s my half-birthday). So today is a day right in the middle, a day to talk about what is behind and what is ahead.

You don’t always get the things you want in life, but sometimes you do, and when that happens, you can thank God, or your lucky stars, or Warby Parker.

The story I’m about to tell is one I treasured in my heart for months after it happened because I’m learning how good it can be to hold on to something as mine for a time.

When I die, I’d like to have my commonplace books buried with me unless any of my kids wants to keep them. I don’t want them to go into uncaring hands because these words are my very life.

My experiences of Shakespeare are threefold and minimal: Maggie O’Farrell’s Shakespeare-inspired novel Hamnet, which I read in March of last year; not attending the yearly Veritas Shakespeare plays, but knowing people in them; and memorizing one Shakespeare sonnet.

Last November 6th was my eightieth (and final) time waterskiing in 2022 because that was the date of my ski accident. The rope broke and I fell so hard and hurt my ribs and didn’t ski again for seventeen weeks. On March 5th of this year, the weather was warm enough and I was recovered enough to ski again and the rest is history.