Dear Dave,
Well if you’re reading this , never thought we’d make it this far eh? In fact, haunted by the prophecies of Nostradamus we assumed we’d be dead by 33 in 1999. Then Y2k came like a damp squib, and 2012 just flittered by as unnoticed as a bland smell in a rose garden.
I guess, we was right to horde the stuff we loved. “You’ll never read all those books, or listen to all those records”, they said, but sure we did. Glad we became a burden on the welfare state and got our pensions worth for making us work the best years of our life . I wonder? At 100, do you regret not wanting to be ambitious, not reaching the dizzy heights of stardom or power, we never felt that pull, well still at my age I have no desire to promotion or fame, and I guess less at yours.
If you are content (and not smug or a sarcastic curmudgeon) as I am now then that’s great, though, I guess we’ve seen a lot of our friends die, a lot of peculiar changes.
It’s odd to go through life more or less observing than being drawn along its conveyor belt to do this and that, though we have had a lot of luck, coincidence and paths opened without us seeking them. We should be thankful for that, some trickster or card dealer,~Lord fate has been favourable, we have to admit that.
I hope you kept moderately fit, and ate well, I don’t want to think I’m sitting in some dank smelling nursing home pissing my pants.
Well see you in 40 years, wont be long. The older you go the spiral of perceived time quickens, the labyrinth becomes smaller, so although its 40 years, it will probably seem like 10.
Lots of Love, Autistically and Artistically yours.
Blessed be
Dave
Header Artwork -Paul Louis Martin des Amoignes (1858–1925), In the Classroom (1886), oil on canvas
The Western Gate 
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