They say there won’t be another like it until 2049—35 years from now, during which year, should I live, I will be 89. The disturbing thing about that is that I can remember lots of events 36 years ago—the year was 1978. I turned 18 years old and was living in Honduras, Central America, working with future Bowditch Profession William Lionel Fash, Peter Mathews, Claude Baudez, Rene Viel, and Berthold Riese, among many others, on the Proyecto Arqueológico Copán in Western Honduras. I took out Honduras residence so that I could receive a small salary from the World Bank. Copán was a magically isolated place back then. I am still regularly in e-mail and occasional telephone contact with the young lady, a truly luscious and ever so delicious blonde, whom I was dating back then.
So, the question arises, IF I am alive, will I be able to remember 2014? As Woody Allen once said, “I’d like to grow old gracefully, but maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll be one of those old men with a cane walking into restaurants drooling and and screaming about Socialism and knocking everything off all the tables.” I have done a lot of screaming about Socialism in my youth and middle age years, so maybe I’ll have THAT out of my system—I can always hope, right?