In his masterpiece "The Prophet" Kahlil Gibran wrote "Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears."

During my pilgrimage from birth to death I have laughed and cried as both joy and sadness stood by my side one at the head of the bed while the other waited at the foot ready to take its place. In life it is often difficult to determine where one emotion begins and the other ends. Many times they become intermingled and in the confusion create mental, physical, emotional and spiritual pain. When my Dad and Grandmother died from cancer there was both a sense of sadness but also a moment of joy because they no longer had to suffer the pain of their affliction. Trying to resolve the conflict we experience at those moments off times create a minor dilemma.

I am now experiencing such a moment. There is a joy within me as I enter my retirement and a sense of sadness in my complete lack of preparation for the event. This situation was created by my lack of foresight because I was too busy enjoying what was rather than preparing for what was to be.

Today is another day in the valley of the sun. The monsoons have arrived. First there are the winds, gigantic sandstorms that stretch from horizon to horizon rising several hundred in the air. Behind them are the hundreds of lighting strikes, thunderclouds and the much need rain for the valley. The temperature drops the air is purified and I sit in my car port sipping my coffee and watching it come down. When it stops it is time to return to the more mundane aspects of my life.

I am trying to records a few of my more memorable moments and events in a memoir I intend to give to my children as a Christmas present. Once inside and t my computer I begin the journey back to a time when I wandered haphazardly through life and played the game. I sowed my seed and in time reaped what I had sowed. That harvest is in essence the summation of my life. It is the foundation of who and what I am today, a decrepit old egotistical cynic sitting in a rocker watching his children grow waiting for the knock on the door with an invitation I will not be able to refuse.

The waiting is not all bad.  It allows me to reminisce and relive the past. In so doing I am pleased with what I see. My harvest is not a treasure stored in heaven but one that I was fortunate enough to accumulate here on earth. That treasure is my children who will help fill my Golden Years with an overflowing of love and blessings until it is time for my final metamorphosis, the next and final existence, the Pearly Gates of the fiery furnace.