Depends so much on where and when. I am old, but not every day, not all of the time. In truth, I cannot always consider the specifics of being old. Perhaps it is when the cold sneaks under the covers at night — a self-inflicted wound, we leave the ceiling fan on all of the time. Or when I give a thought to the seventeen years I’ve been doing this very thing, typing the preface to an issue, sipping a cup of coffee as my muse. Seventeen is a goodly number of years. Much has come and gone in the meantime, you can wax nostalgic or make your own little happy list of those things. My point is only that I am glad that I am here, with my coffee at this desk in the old dining room of this house in this neighborhood in this town. I’m not always a fan of certain changes and having a place I can go where I belong, well, works for me. This may be different for you. We are each individual in our likes and dislikes. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

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