They say you're getting old when you begin to enjoy the company of children, or such chores as feeding chickens, more than you do making money. I see my Dad feeding chickens and I can feel his smile from where I'm lying down-- in the living area, a good ten paces from our backyard-- and I know this piece of urbanite folk wisdom is true.
I'm not that old, --I'm still young enough to be ambitious-- but I'm happy that Dad gets his kicks from simple things. They don't cost him much and they serve to keep him young. Of course, this means I get to wake up to the odd goings-on in the family abode. Like livestock running loose in the dining room, a dog and cat sharing the master's bed, a myna that must have worked in a call center in its previous human incranation.
At least, his simple pleasures don't involve unhealthy doses of women, wine or (thank God!) videoke.
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