During these days it can be difficult to remember what might have been as well as what was. The mind becomes fraught with recollections that are not always accurate. They are white-washed, air-brushed, and neatly folded, when in reality much of it was folded, spindled, and mutilated. It is what it is and it can be nothing else but we turn it into something else anyway. Some of us long for the old world though, the old ways, the familiar. We remember what we want to remember and choose to forget the rest. The world just seems to turn much faster now than it used to; it is so much smaller than it once was and everything is changing so fast. Everyone around you seems so much younger now. What could they know? Only the stars seem to be as far away as they always have been. I should like to find myself on a star some night.