Today is another personal holiday. As I look around, I am aware of the light pouring in from the outside world. I think of my photographs, books, family portraits, souvenirs, steamboat memorabilia. I think of my death and the fate of all these things I have taken such trouble to collect. Individually they are meaningless, but taken as a whole they give an idea of what kind of person I was and how I chose to live my dreams.
In every way I have been a very lucky man.
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