Frankly, I'd prefer to be in Scotland, but the hand probably won't reveal one's destination. I would like the hand to know that I like moderate climates with a healthy amount of rain and that I find locations in the warmer climes completely unsuitable. OK, so I'm lobbying, but just a little.
A couple of weeks ago I left the world of the 6s and entered the world of the 7s, and as I look around me, I find that most of my friends are retired, enjoy leisurely lunches, trips to various places on the planet, and try to persuade each other that their array of golf or tennis games, board meetings of worthy organizations, and concerts at 11 o'clock in the morning are their preferred bill of fare.
Me...I'd rather go to the office and put in a few hours on the modest enterprise which has entertained me for the last several decades. I don't abhor the "r" word (retirement for you youthful readers), but it doesn't seem to suit me particularly well, so I like to say that I am changing gears, downshifting, you get the idea.
Such available time as there is will be devoted to some projects, ranging from traffic management on the road which runs by my house to the history of the Christmas Eve service at King's College, Cambridge, family genealogy, and to learn some of the lore about the highland place in Scotland where I've spent a week each May for the last few years. Nothing too serious, except for trying to catch up on the reading I fell behind on in fourth grade - a hill the summit of which will always be unreachable, I'm afraid. No harm in trying, as long as the eyes can manage.
Between that and dealing with Islay, the scottish terrier (the Empress Of My Universe) and trying to keep ahead of the weeds at home, I expect I'll be pretty busy.
By doing so, perhaps the hand will focus on others whose stillness may attract it more than a man who cannot quite accept the image facing him in the bathroom mirror every day. Excelsior, and let the race continue!
