Yesterday at my early morning doctor's appointment I was advised to think of the flat mole along my jaw line as a "barnacle on the boat of life."

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Writing's been taking a back seat to summer chores and various household distractions these last two weeks.

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Saturday I turn 60 (OK, I'm sorry, I know I've mentioned this before) and it's messing with my head a little. I've been in a retrospective mood even while wanting to kick out the jambs and get back to Appearances.

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I was a Cold War baby.  I can't dissociate that from my history.  That I evaded the draft into the Vietnam War was an accident of my health history--I'd a history of seizures as a child and was still medicated for same (but being weaned from the medication) at the time of my low lottery pick.

I had to go for a draft physical and, prior to the physical, had to fill out forms which asked for a brief essay about how I felt about serving.  I was still writing after everyone else had filled in their forms and the official time for composition had passed.

 I walked up to the officer at the desk and handed the papers in late with all eyes in the hall on me.  It was a creepy moment.

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