litchfield winter cabin

Winter in Connecticut has many charms, most of which bring to mind poems by Robert Frost such as Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening or The Woodpile.  The place pictured is where my wife and I aspire to retire.  I say aspire because the economy looks like it will force me to die with my boots on.   Of course, who cares about retiring anyway?  My father, who retired at 55, declined precipitously for at least ten years after retiring.  Retirement sounds like something an invalid does.  Keep the old brain chugging and the dreams dreaming: one secret to a happy life.