With my own marriage in the rear view mirror, I felt vicarious joy viewing recent photos of an old friend, now in his mid-sixties and his much younger wife. A naysayer might sniff: What unmitigated trophyism--even the enchantress has one to display. I say, why spite an honest celebration of fitness (in a Darwinian sense)? After all, we're likely witnessing DNA that will keep on giving in the domains of huntin', rappellin' or whatever for generations to come.
|The blogger's genetic legacy:|
DNA for angling, DNA for taxidermy
My own genetic legacy might well involve angling. That, however, got off to a shaky start. I remember when Dad and I (at age eight) tried our luck on shore from an unyielding bluff on the Cape. Two hours into it and without so much as a bite, I went for the fences with a mighty cast that disappeared into a swirl of wind. After my consummately bald father extracted the hook from his pate, we called it a day. He and I never again fished together, but I soldiered on over the years, hooking a variety of less complaining trophies.
For 2012, then, Happy New Years from Wig & Pen and best wishes for the dissemination of DNA for huntin', fishin', and, of course, humorous self-deprecation.