It’s my 73rd October. I’m not sure at what age I suddenly was surprised by its arrival – but from what I hear in conversation I am not alone in this. A classic line from the inventor of poetry as congregational hymn runs through my alleged mind.

Last Sunday I had the privilege of chairing an informal but beautiful celebration of the life of a good friend’s wife. She died after living with cancer for more than 20 years. On Friday I conducted the funeral of a young friend’s wife who lived with depression for some time and that disease took her. She was only 35 and left her husband and a 4-month-old son.

We used to kid a friend that he was normal in every way - until we were reaching for our wallets in a restaurant – then his arms became too short to reach his.

I got a great deal on a couple of summer shirts while outlet shopping with Susan. 80% off an already reduced price made my shallow heart sing. You’d think I am crazy if the first time I used the shirts I cut a hole in one to repair a hole in another of my more vintage ones.

I mentioned last week that September often feels like a fresh start. But the previous eight months are still fresh in our memories. Joys and sorrows, wins and losses, hopes dashed, fears unrealized.