A NEW START ... OF SORTS.  As I walk forward, I see - figuratively speaking - a big, ornate red door ahead. A door that waits patiently for my inevitable arrival. I look at it and see a boldly lettered “80” painted across it in lavish, gold-colored script. It is a reminder that I am already walking into the beginning of my eighth decade in this life - a reality fully supported by several reminders during these past months. Last weekend, while on a short overnight trip, I fell. As in a “Hello, floor - I’d like to get to know you better and closer” kind of fall. A slip on a slightly wet surface. Yes, some folks quickly came over to help, to make sure all was well, to ask whether I wanted to go to a nearby hospital. That was kind of them. My reaction? A mixture of suppressed anger at my own physical failure, a surge of adrenaline, embarrassment, and a quick dash to my room ( this happened at the entrance of the hotel ) to assess the damage. A scraped knee. A couple of red spots ...