Now there's an unexpected surprise. My obituary. Never did I imagine that I would read the regrets at my passing. As Samuel Clemens had quipped -- "the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated"; certainly words to that effect are appropriate in my case. On the other hand, just in case any of my friends and acquaintances, few as they may be, may be startled should they chance to come across that notice, I hasten to remark: "Not dead yet", courtesy of Monty Python.

Amazing, in a sense, although not entirely unexpected that it is people with a warped sense of humour, a decidedly comic bent and lens through which to view the absurdity of life and the release of death that has people cursing life yet clinging desperately to it, unwilling to enter the peace of that long oblivion.

Well, of course, it was not I who died. It was another unfortunate soul who just happens to have shared my name - or I hers, to be a trifle more accurate. She inherited the name before I did. For she was my senior of over a dozen years. She did live to see age 90, and I am still hale and hearty at 76. She was born in January 1923, and I in December 1936. We share an ancestral ethnic heritage, that much is obvious, and both being female, there is the extent of our connection; scant indeed.

Still, it is not every day that one is so surprised by a reminder of that long journey that takes us from life to death. And, having been reminded, trips our determination to enjoy life while we may and make the most of whatever comes our way.