I am going to get a new pacemaker in a couple of days.  I dread it, however, since I don't have any heartbeats of my own and this pacemaker is failing, I don't have much choice.  It's my third.  I have lived 44 years longer than predicted.  Looks like I am going to make it.

It's just that I am tired of people cutting on me.  I'm tough, but I'm rather weary of doctors poking and prodding.  But I really can't complain.  I haven't had an infection in my arm since they cut on me in August.  So this will be just a few more stitches.  I feel like I am all spare parts at this point.  I am so full of metal that they have to frisk me all over at the airports. 

Hope is a wonderful thing.  I have planted pink dogwoods for years and years.  And they all die.  Tomorrow I am going to plant another one.  Maybe it will live.  I hope it will live.  Hope......

I planted pecan trees every where we moved, but never stayed anywhere long enough to get any nuts.  I hope someone is enjoying my pecans.

I sound melancholy.   I'm not, but I should never write when I am in this kind of mood.

Sorry.  I'm not sad.  Just a little weary.

Maybe I just miss Ken telling me everything is going to be okay.