Age creeps up. It's sneaky. One day you're 13, the next 53. Or more. Still feel 13. Until a cold snap comes and suddenly every body part hurts. Walking upright is no longer taken for granted. Falling isn't improved simply because you still can get up again. One day, you won't be able. So, what does age have to do with beauty and laughter? Because, as with all of life, age is beautiful and funny. The lines on my face are memories. I want to outline them and fill them in with color. I'm not so much wise as I am experienced. Been there, done that is my new mantra. I want now to do the things I have not yet done - and they are fewer and further between. Is that the street sign of life well lived? Or just thoroughly lived? What is a life well lived?