It's late in the evening, but even later in life. Once sixty-five has come and gone, you are left looking into a glass darkly --- the things you always thought you would do someday are suddenly unimportant and not even very interesting any more. You begin wondering what was so wonderful about a trip along the "left coast highway" or seeing Vermont in the fall. Living a few more years is suddenly a priority. Seeing your grandchildren launched successfully into the world is a priority. You pray to be healthy enough to take care of yourself and your mate to the very end, without having to depend on the already overburdened children in your life. Learning that my husband will in most probability be having a couple of porcine heart valve grafts scares me for him. I don't want to be frightened, --- I want to trust in God that he will have many more years on this earth, but I wonder what life would be like without him. Unbearable! He is my best friend, companion, lover, my life as I know it. He is not afraid to die, but is afraid of the surgery. I can tell by the comments he makes. I would be scared to death to face something like that. How odd! How can you be scared to death and yet, not die? We are running around trying to fix things around the house --- against that day, or possibly to enjoy for a few more years? I watch the shows about clearing out your "stuff" and think that someday, I'll clear out some of my "stuff" so my kids won't have to go through fifty years of accumulating, but death will probably surprise me by coming when I least expect it and certainly before I am ready. I think I am having a bad day. Maybe, the sun will shine tomorrow.