"Heap high the board with plenteous cheer, and gather to the feast."

.....Finally, I decided to write a novel; it will become known as "the great American novel" depending on whether or not I finish it.  No fair comparing it to anyone under the age of 80 who has written a novel--like F. Scott Fitzgerald or Ernest Hemingway, or Mark Twain, et cetera.  Now, you might be curious as to the subject of this novel; well it's a novel subject which at the moment I am not able to divulge.  I have a few pages already, and I have no idea where this thing is going, but I'm going to plod along until I have as many pages as "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." (Is that a novel? I never read it.) Or perhaps as many pages as Tolstoy has written in his novel...I don't think he was over 80.  I did read somewhere that his wife copied his edited versions of "War and Peace" 13 times!  She had to have had writer's cramp.  And she never had the use of Paper Mate Ink Joy 300 RT Retractable pens.  If I ever finish this novel...and it might be when I hit 90...I will probably send it to Oprah, if she still has a show.  Otherwise I will give it to an agent to publicize and sell a million copies like Sarah Palin. You never know.

.....I will write this book in spite of the fact that I have had a sore toe for almost nine months, and I still have to go to the wound care center.  And in spite of the fact that my hip surgery has not healed to the point where I can ditch the scooter and the walker and get by with a cane that Bobby bought for me; and in spite of the fact that I have had stitches in my cheek from Moh's surgery for a couple of weeks now.  The doctor does not have to remove the stitches because they will dissolve themselves and most likely  will leave a scar on my face so as to spoil my looks.  I will write this book in spite of the fact that I have watched RH+ unhappy about her weight loss; and in spite of the fact that she has had some serious medical issues herself, and I don't like to have things like that happen to her.  If these medical problems continue, then these are not the "golden years"; more like the tin years.  The novel may have to wait until I'm 95, and by then I'll only be able to write about five words at a time before I need to take a nap.

.....Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day, and I suppose we ought to remember all those things we ought to be thankful for.  I am thankful that I am still living and have all my "marbles"; I am thankful that in these times, my house is free of debt; I am thankful for the full life I have lived and I believe none can match; I am thankful for the amazing four children that I have brought up; I am thankful for the amazing woman that is my wife; I am thankful for the books I have published; I am thankful for the health that I have in spite of my misfortunes; I am thankful for my good friends, and when the need for thanks comes around I am reminded of a poem written by Swinburne:

From too much love of living,

   From hope and fear set free

We thank with brief thanksgiving

   Whatever gods may be, 

That no life lives forever, 

 That dead men rise up never;

That even the weariest river

   Winds somewhere safe to sea.