Did you ever have a perfect day, 24 hours when everything went right? I had one yesterday, and it scared me.
I woke up at seven, feeling great. That’s crazy, because if I breathe normally before my morning coffee, something’s not right.
My Dad lived a long life because he monitored his health constantly. He insisted that “Feeling good is the first sign of feeling bad.”
When I was in my 20s, 30s, and 40s, every day was sunny with no chance of storms. At age 50, I began to look for tornadoes everywhere, including in my nose and throat.
I started dropping into a local coffee shop to check on neighbors who were a couple decades older. They appreciated my thoughtfulness…but mostly I was looking for what diseases might attack me next.
During my 51st year, I entered a nearby clinic and made appointments with every specialist there. I got a decent report from everyone but the obstetrician. He said, “You’re a male, and you can’t get pregnant. You don’t need to come back again.”
One doc told me I needed exercise. A second one found tennis elbow. A third said I had athlete’s foot.
So, today I just play tennis until either my arm hurts or my feet itch.
There’s one guy in our neighborhood who decided he would feel better if he modeled his dog’s lifestyle. So, he barks at anybody who comes to his front door, and occasionally rushes out into the yard to chase a slow-moving squirrel.
His wife finally insisted he quit this program, because last week he got banned from a local cafe for marking his territory in a drive-through line.
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