Lest we forget, we are the lucky ones, we were born under the shelter of the spreading chestnut trees.
Like spreading branches of a Horse Chestnut tree, our arms and hands like conker leaves, now continue to reach out throughout the world. Many of us through the use of this site may have found a long lost friend, neighbour or fellow Cuckooite.
I know in our old age we sometimes seem unappreciative or forgetful, but there again, some of life is just as well forgotten, we eventually remember the important and joyous things.
Sure, over the years our hearts have been broken or we have suffered a traumatic incident. How can you go through life and your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or when a beloved pet maybe gets hit by a car?
Like a chestnut tree that has had so many big sticks thrown at it, hopefully with the right attitude, one can still stand tall with pride.
And like some conkers that get smashed in a game, our hearts also get broken, but broken hearts are what give us the strength, understanding and the compassion we need. A heart never broken is too pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect, or be able to spread out it's arms like branches touch someone in need of a hug or a few kind words, or touch a friend after a falling out and be warm and forgiving over a cuppa.
And like a conker it's really ok to be a bit tough and prickly and maybe unshaven on the outside, life can do that to you, but unlike the conker we don't need to become too hard, or uncaring on the inside.
We are so blessed to have lived where we did and played hard and long enough, and like our beloved Horse Chestnut trees, we should have grown strong, spread our seed, blossomed and matured, into adults and loving parents.
Autumn leaves will certainly fall and our silvery hair will shed, our teeth may fall out and some poor unfortunate soul, (no one in particular thought of here and not to even mention anyone by name) may have their things drop off.
However, we will still have those youthful laughs forever etched into wrinkles on our faces.
So many have never, played conkers like we did or really loved, or seen things sag and really laughed.
Tragically so many have died, some for you and me, before their hair could turn silver or become a sixty-er or seventy-er conker or more.
We truly have much to be grateful for.