Portrait of a happy man…

Portrait of a happy man…

I was sorting through some of the paperwork left behind by my mother a few years ago and came upon a book – a compilation of writings by authors aged eight to eighty-eight from throughout Northern California.  I was about to discard it when I noticed a piece written by my father.  As he rarely got a word in edgeways I found this extremely comforting.  Maybe others might too. There’s a lot of talk about how to grow old these days, almost as if ag…