We all would like to be remembered. Not necessarily by something so big as history, or by the nation we came from, or even the community we lived in. We do all seek to be thought of after we have gone. It’s one of those fundamental human desires that we find ourselves wishing for at one time or another.

A person normally ponders such things when we get old. It’s especially true around the time of birthdays — like it was for me this past Sunday when I reached the big milestone at three quarters of a century, turning 75 years old.

Oddly enough, or maybe it’s not so strange in the age of artificial intelligence, the first person to wish me a happy birthday this past week was a car salesman from the dealership where I bought my last vehicle. I thanked him, but also cut him off before he laun

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