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"Men do not quit playing because they grow old; they grow old because they quit playing." — Oliver Wendall Holmes Summer has arrived. Days are longer, temperatures higher. The sun shines brighter against the azure skies, while campfires cast a glow on starry nights. Life is easier, stress lower. The shorter hours of darkness give us time to do more, to pursue more, to complete more. Amidst the clamour of this busy, busy world it's as if we have suddenly earned moments to kick back and relax. Work is shifted, or even dropped, for a round or two of golf.  Weekend chores are put on hold as we head off to the beach.  We give ourselves that one extra chapter in the book,  one more morning coffee. It's like a hint of what life will be like when we can leave behind the toil of the workaday world. Having reached a certain age the notion of retirement has presented itself on occasion in recent months.  It's a word I've heard attached to negative connotations by

"Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time." — J. Lubbock I am one of those people for whom the word retirement is finding its way into conversations with increasing frequency. The majority of my friends and acquaintances are already happily welcoming Monday mornings in the same manner they welcomed Saturdays for decades. They enjoy days of coming and going as they please, time spent in interests and pursuits of their making and for their pleasure. They have finally achieved something close to a hedonistic lifestyle. Let it be said, however, that not one of them should be relegated to any presumed stack of grey-haired uselessness either. They are all living life to the fullest, passing hours committed to charitable deeds, socializing and the proverbial pursuit of happiness.   There is time for rest, too of