For most of my life, I've been sort of an amateur futurist. Peering over the horizon to see if anything was out to "git me". Or, to see what wonderous new thing is about to change my life. At age 82, "many" things have.

 

Sitting here in the now watching the seasons go by (the above really is the view from our backyard deck), I'll be drop-kicking morsels of thoughts between the goal posts of reality below. (Oh, I so love mixing metaphors. Drives English professors stark staring bonkers. They will live.)

 

Topics range far and wide. You see, I was born with a personality disorder relentlessly beating me into a pancaked pool of human flotsam. 

 

It's called Curiosity Derangement Syndrome (CDS). There is no cure. It's always whispering in my ear to "look over there". (No, there's no mystical "voices" talking to me; neither do I suffer from ADD.) 

 

You're invited to sit on our park bench for awhile. But I must warn you, CDS is highly contagious for some people. They often break out with a major case of discovery; symptoms are waves of chills resulting in pools of rather aromatic flop-sweat.

 

Hi! [Handle it!]