As the day approaches, I, too, lay down my tools and rest. I wonder if I've done my best in this life.

I have many things in my house and my giant toy-box garage. Everything in the driveways and our three homes is paid for and debt-free.

The children are set up and provide grandsons galore. I even understand how I have transformed from a Shit-fire-hot, ball-busting workhorse in my twenties into an easygoing, soft, rolly-polly, 68-year-old who loves his roses more than his beer and took pictures of the last ten-point buck seen instead of putting a bullet in his ear. I know it's supposed to be his heart, but Angelo would have told me it sounded bad as if letting it rhyme might make it better.

Bikerider was a good friend, one of my frequent reviewers who never failed to inspire me to write better.

I will miss our friend and hope his new home is not as far from my next as was his last. That's assuming I will settle in more tepid climates than the one my preacher suggests I am to abode.

So, old pal, I pray you'll put in a good word for me… and in case my lot is to descend rather than ascend, I will give one last thumb in the eye to the devil below and let him know it was from you. Rest easy at last, and have some well-deserved fun!