Ken passed away two years ago today.  I guess I will mark that anniversary for the rest of my life.  When he asked me to marry him, he said, "I am eight and a half years older than you.  It won't matter much now, but someday it will."  He was right.

He had an amazing life.  I am glad I got to share it.

I drove to Pat's house for supper.  She lives in the country on a farm.  Back roads.  Two lanes, no side shoulders.  It was alright going there, but coming back in the pitch black, no moon, dark of night was a challenge.  I'm not sure that I will try that again.  On the other hand, if I quit doing things, well, I will end up not doing things.  And I don't want that.

I am amazed at how much paper I have collected over the years.  I just threw it all in boxes when I moved, and now, I am going through it all.  What a mess.  I try to do a little bit every day, but it seems endless.  Things that seemed important enough to keep are now just junk.  One thing I never  did was put anything in the attic.  Or a storage shed.   I am thankful for that.  It just ends up as mouse food.  Or it molds.  If I don't need it now, then my philosophy is that I need to give it to someone who can use it.

Except for paper.  I found a ledger from l957 that I had kept--with every penny I spent.  The numbers were funny.  You get a real sense of inflation when you find records that are fifty-eight years old.

God has taken care of me for a long, long time.  It's easy to see his hand in my life when I look backwards.  At every point, in every tragedy, sickness and crisis,  He was there.  I spend a lot of time living in the past.  Things are much clearer to me looking back.  And our stories are the fabric of who we are.