He's fifty. Or will be next month. So, yes, he was a problem. Works too hard, plays too little, getting around to heart attack time. But he's cheerful... and fun, and he still says I'm beautiful. I love him."Dear old Martha," he said, smiling that "I care about you" smile he has. I know that one, just as I know all the others. That one is the best, I think. "I wish I could kiss it and make it better." You could," I said. I smiled again.So he did. It wasn't time, yet, for the regulation New Year's. ”Something was seriously bothering Papa, and for awhile I thought he really was upset about breakfast. We went through the motions, fed the a****ls then headed out to the back field to pick up sticks. I usually hated picking up sticks, but I was grateful to put half an acre between us. The sun was moving towards the west when Papa made his way towards me. I’d worked hard, picking up sticks. The pickup bed was almost full, though I could probably stack half as much on top. He stopped a few feet. More

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