I just spent the evening playing tunes on my three magnificent Mack Hoover Whistles. (a pvc ‘D’, a white-top ‘Bb’, and a mahogany ‘G’).
And then it occurred to me that I haven’t read any of Mack’s great poetry lately. I guess he hasn’t been posting.
Well, I hope all’s well. Mack, give us a shout if you’re still tuned in! 
I browse daily, just don’t weigh in much.
I’m making more banjo type instruments these days than whistles.
The addiction is almost as serious.
They aren’t as quiet as whistles.
I may be losing the reputation as the quiet guy. Just the old guy now.
And here’s the requisite poem. It’s not a new one.
OLD AGE BENEFITS
The old man I once dreaded to be has gradually crept up upon me.
I knew he was coming, he didn’t hurry, just kept up a slow steady pace.
I started out strong, but all right along I always knew he’d win the race.
But I’m growing to like him, whom I resented before!
I treasure the past, savor what’s now, value that which yet is in store;
I am not troubled by what’s yet to come. If the tale were retold,
Here is my sum: have a plan… take it slowly…and start it out old!
–Mack Hoover, 5/25/07–
Oh… I’m still running away as fast as I can. 