The Examined Life Is No Picnic.

As One Old Gentleman Put It, " Son, I Don't Care If You're Stark Nekkid And Wear A Bone In Your Nose. If You Kin Fiddle, You're All Right With Me. It's The Music We Make That Counts.

If You Break Your Neck, If You Have Nothing To Eat, If Your House Is On Fire, Then You Got A Problem. Everything Else Is Inconvenience.

Only Now Have I Finally Realized That My Life Has Been An Unending Field Trip. And I Have Tried Hard Not To Be A Tourist. But To Be An Adventurer, A Traveler, An Explorer, A Learner, And A Pilgrim.

I Know What I Really Want For Christmas. I Want My Childhood Back. Nobody Is Going To Give Me That. I Might Give At Least The Memory Of It To Myself If I Try. I Know It Doesn't Make Sense, But Since When Is Christmas About Sense, Anyway? It Is About A Child, Of Long Ago And Far Away, And It Is About The Child Of Now. In You And Me. Waiting Behind The Door Of Or Hearts For Something Wonderful To Happen. A Child Who Is Impractical, Unrealistic, Simpleminded And Terribly Vulnerable To Joy.

Everyone Has Doors In The Living Room Of Their Lives That They Assume Are Locked. Doors That Lead To Artistic Expression. People Say "i Have No Talent -- I Can't Dance Or Sing Or Paint Or Write Poetry Or Play An Instrument." More Often Than Not The Doors Are Not Locked, Just Closed. One May Turn The Handle, Open The Door And Pass Through Into A Larger Life Space.