I'm 59

I've been that way for about three months.  I'm 59 and a quarter.  And when you get this old, dear friends, time seems to give way in front of you like an avalanche on the back side of Cowboy Mountain.

Brief personal aside:  If you haven't yet read the now-much-talked-about New York Times avalanche story online, on a good computer, it is high time that you did.  Go here.  An absolutely amazing example of the potential of online journalism.  My grandfather in heaven must be very happy.

Now, back to the metaphysical ...

As if referencing your grandfather in heaven wasn't metaphysical enough.
Nicely said.  Nonetheless ...

Time, already that most flexible of dimensions, seems even more fluid the older you get.  Whoooooosh, 2012 is gone.  There's a voice in the back of my head that tells me the next time I sell a painting I should go to St. John and spend a week sitting on a beach chair staring at the Caribbean drinking Coronas with lime.  But the concern is that I go, and I find a nice place on the beach, and I sit down, and the nice man brings me an overpriced beer, and then whoooosh: it's time to pay my hotel bill and head for the airport.  And what's the point of that?

All of which by way of saying that in my recent rant about the State of the Union I wrote the following ...

A lousy job on an ongoing basis, although the zenith of this lousiness, to my mind, was marked by the squabbling last year (and coming soon to a theater near you) over raising the debt ceiling.

The truth of the matter is that the squabbling happened in 2011.  Not last year.

Unbelievable how time flies.  It seems like yesterday.