Dreamer, drifter, homebody, floater down the River of Life. . .I have always had hopes and dreams; I have pursued them variously. I have few regrets, but. . . . Coming out of college, married already and feeling the need for employment, I was sucked into the advertising business. I never felt like I belonged there. Twenty years later, better married (here I should say so is that first wife, I believe) and with four kids to support, I made my way into teaching, which seemed like more of a calling for me. Twenty-four years of that--I enjoyed almost every minute--I retired. So here I am, late in my third year of retirement. I still have hopes and dreams, I think. Some of the same ones I've had all along, all living somewhere between the real and the fantastic: writer, musician, scholar, pilot, racecar driver, ballplayer, philosopher, outdoorsman especially on the porch. I have always had the attention span of a hummingbird with rabies. And I have always--don't know why--shunned money. I still go with the same basic motivations: I want my wife to be happy, my kids to be self-sustaining and contented. The better I get to know myself (I'm a late-bloomer in that regard), the more I realize how little I've actually done to ensure that happiness and contentment for any of them, and also that any apologies from me would be too little and too late to be of much help. But the decrepitude. . .och, tamale. My recent hip replacements helped a lot, but inventories part by part of mind and body don't encourage me much. I know I'm past any time where I am likely to influence anyone or anything, but I still entertain ideas of growth and possibility, and I battle the idea that it's past time for all of that. One of the things I like most about this forum is that so many of us are my age and older. I'm just another old fool, or am I? What do all you other retired people do with old hopes and dreams?