Well put, Rippy. Seeing the "writing on the wall" is both a blessing and a curse. The blessing, I suppose, is the sense of urgency it can provoke. I vaguely remember what it felt like to be oblivious to the signs of imminent demise. That's one feature, and not too much else, that I envy in youth. They seem much less engaged in the conscious pondering of people and things disappearing. At least I think youth, and myself of course when I was younger, were less concerned about the temporary nature of things. I sense that being the last remaining practitioner of something, of anything, would have little to recommend it. Like the poor birds in "Last of the Curlews". A lonesome vista. On a happier note, tomorrow I'm taking out a 50's-era cedar and canvas Langford that hasn't gotten wet this year, and I'm going to paddle my local reservoir, rain or shine.
