Lonny Cain

Getting ready for work is not like it used to be. The dress code is gone. No ties or collared shirts. I really don't have to shave every day.

My head was on a swivel, standing at the sliding door into my backyard. It was dark, except for lightning flashes. I slid the door open to listen.

I have always used my pockets as portable treasure chests. They carried things of great importance.

In some ways, my day does not start until I open the curtains. Before my first sip of coffee, I head straight to the front window.

“I love this city!” That's a little something my wife likes to repeat when we visit New York and our son, who lives in Brooklyn.

I have a rule. If I can't look at it, then I can't eat it. I guess there's a psychology to eating. Right? It's not just about flavor.

Sherlock Holmes, I am not. I get personal reminders of this now and then. Besides being embarrassing, they are deflating moments. Tough on my ego.

When I was 11 or 12-years-old, I was into deep sea diving. In our house. Now, a skinny kid wearing a face mask automatically looks ridiculous.

“Aging is a state of mind.” “Yeah, right. Tell that to my knees. And my back. And my hips.”

Tuesday, June 9, a reminder popped up on my cell phone calendar. It tells me this every year: “Graduation West Aurora in 1966.” An important day 60 years ago.