"During my donkey travels around Ireland in 1979, I met many unforgettable characters. However, none was quite so captivating as Queenie O’Brien, a traveler camped with her extended nomadic family outside the market town of Killorglin in County Kerry."

Kevin O'Hara writes: "It’s a universal truth that the older you get the more friends you lose. Sadly, I’m currently in a maelstrom of loss. My latest blow came last month from across the Atlantic."

Who was that fellow running down this lonesome stretch of road? Haven’t I seen him before, in Windsor, perhaps, during a snowstorm? Or was it in Savoy, when he emerged through a wintry fog?

Kevin O’Hara writes: "On Nov. 2, All Souls Day, I came very close to dying. My brush with death occurred while bagging leaves beneath our massive, 200-year-old sugar maple."

Eagle columnist Kevin O'Hara writes: "As trick-or-treaters prepare to attack every lit doorway in our fair city on Monday evening, my aging buddies and I recently reminisced over our own Halloweens — 1950s and '60s — when we took to the streets like zombies on steroids."

Imagine, being driven home on the Mass Pike by the greatest basketball player of all time — that's exactly what happened to columnist Kevin O'Hara and two of his friends one afternoon in 1965. 

Years ago, when I was as fit as a billy goat, I’d team up with my diehard golfing buddies on June 21 1 the summer solstice — and play 36, 45 a…