I Am Ninety. Or Ninety-three. One Or

The Only Thing That Makes Me Crazier Than Writing Is Not Writing.

The Thought Has Cheered Me, And I'd Like To Hang Onto That. Must Protect My Little Pockets Of Happiness.

I Had My Whole Life Planned.. I Knew Exactly Where It Was Taking Me.

But It All Zipped By. One Minute Marlena And I Were Up To Our Eyeballs, And The Next Thing We Knew The Kids Were Borrowing The Car And Fleeing The Coop For College. And Now, Here I Am. In My Nineties And Alone.

They Grew Fat And Happy--the Horses, Not The Children, Or Marlena For That Matter.