What a wonderful birthday.

I awoke early, knocked out a bit of work and then hit the road. Visited a flea market about which I was curious. There I bought four baseball cards for Cubs players, which cost a total of 70 cents. The old man who sold them to me said, "You smell really good," which for some reason made me smile more than once today. I enjoyed talking with another old man about the baseball bats he was selling, which included an old Roger Maris model. We agreed that we both honor him as the true home run record holder, notwithstanding any who claim to have passed him.

Brunch was at a maple sugar place . . . it reminded me of Pennsylvania breakfasts when we visited my mother's extended family, which were marked by a holder with six different syrup flavors on the table. Even the coffee beans had some sort of maple roasted flavor. The afternoon was spent seeing how many of southern New Hampshire's covered bridges I could locate and photograph. A few proved elusive, but many were captured.

There was the smell of pine and the occasional smell of animals as I drove through hills and even one little mountain. The air became crisper and cooler and ultimately I crossed a river and entered Vermont. The curved road gave way to a driveway and a white New England kind of house. Inside, there were wood floors and comfortable chairs and a nice innkeeper with a faint New Jersey accent, efficiently showing me to my room.

After a brief rest and freshening up, I stepped out into the dining room and took a seat at a round wooden tavern table. My table was perfectly situated across from the kitchen entrance and a small bar, providing the perfect vantage point from which to watch the husband and wife innkeepers tend to their dinner guests. I settled in with the Sunday New York Times and enjoyed a few pleasantries with the couple at the next table. When I took my first sip of wine, I quietly gave thanks for all of the wonderful things the past year has brought. In my next breath, I vowed to make this year count, to be a little nicer, a little more thoughtful, to do well at the things I do and to squeeze the most living that can possibly be lived out of a 12-month period.

And now I'm cozily curled up in a four-poster bed, smelling wood smoke and watching the leaping flames of a fire and feeling the satisfaction of a day well-lived.