Twenty nine thousand days wasted pursuing the mundane rather than the passion!The elderly look back to their days as children with fondness. Those wer... the days when each day was an adventure. There was growth, there was change, and life was vibrant. Later in life, adults live through the lives of their children, tasting of it second hand. In old age, life becomes filled with the aches and pains of a body slowly losing vitality. The days that are lived become trips to hospitals, funerals of old. All my thoughts were of that strange manuscript, done up on my mother's manual typewriter and annotated here and there in red ink, her scrawly handwriting as familiar to me as my own.Julie, the young woman in the story, was my age, with short coppery hair like mine, a college student who was visiting home. Too close for coincidence. The longer I thought about it, the more convinced I was that the character had to be a barely disguised version of me. The page Mom had bookmarked was especially. More

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