I used to envy people who could take that sentimental journey back to the old home place. You know, sleep in your old room with the sports trophies still on the shelves and the Pink Floyd posters still on the walls. Hang out in the backyard and reminisce about epic Wiffle Ball games or the
[continue reading...]

It’s a great workout, but at my age, I can’t help picturing myself gasping, collapsing and being hauled, half-frozen and ghastly gray, to the ER, where they would know what happened just by looking at me: another middle-aged, snow-shoveling heart-attack victim.