You're never too old to read a love letter. It's not embarrassing, either. It's downright invigorating. Even at my age. Or yours.
Age is just a state of mind, anyway. In a year that's been filled with keen reminders of just how tenuous this whole business of breathing and remaining upright really is, Mark Twain comes unshakably to mind: "Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."
I'm not usually so accepting of such homilies and bromides, especially the ones bordering on such blind, positive-thinking alleyways and perky, overly-caffeinated boulevards -- but there you go. The effects of reading last night's love letter, I suspect.
The love letter was called Young Frankenstein, first rolled out on its electrical scroll, way back in the Dark Ages (as some would say) of 1974. Hard to believe almost four decades has slipped through consciousness since, the years as easy to misplace as handfuls of lake fog gathered just before dawn.
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