*Dedicated to James Surowiecki.*
In a moment of morbid curiosity I looked up my life expectancy and discovered it was 64.4 years, meaning I should have checked out back in 2011. However, given that I missed that deadline, I've now supposedly got another 12.43 years or so to mess with.
That means a lot more of these Facebook posts.
But statistics can only tell one piece of any story. It's like a box score after a baseball game, which is filled with numbers and information, but can't capture any of the big moments, let alone the turning points of the game.
For those, you had to be there.
Since the Covid-19 pandemic is culling our population largely by age, I'm sure there's an actuary somewhere who could project how these age expectancy numbers will need to be adjusted downward in light of our present dilemma
As for baseball, there is no season with no games and no boxscores. Theus it's easy to project this year's statistic: zero.
Most everyone who knows me knows I have a weird fascination with numbers, that they talk to me, constantly telling me stories. Several therapists have suggested this may be sign of a mental condition; let's call it *numeropathy*.
For example, back in 1975 my boss gave me a bonus check for $5,000.
According to my trusty friend, Google, had I deposited that check into an account that kept up with inflation, it would be worth roughly $24,000 in purchasing power today. Or maybe $18,000 after taxes.
Too bad I spent it.
***
One of today's news articles speculates about what will happen if there never is a vaccine for Covid-19. In that event, we'll keep getting sick and dying at the present rates until we achieve herd immunity.
We are used to the notion that we live our lives as individuals or couples, or as groups, communities, political parties, sports fans, beer drinkers, sushi lovers and the people who love bacon.
I believe that covers just about everyone.
But the idea that we are part of a herd? That conjures wildebeests, swatting away insects with our tails or running in panic from predators. Herd is an unpleasant, smelly kind word and we work pretty hard at not being overly smelly.
All right, I get it. So we can be classified as herd animals, but only in the most charming of ways. There are many herds of our species and we'd prefer to think we run with the better ones.
As this year dawned, I found myself housed in a skilled nursing facility, rehabilitating my body after many months of various illnesses. There was a lot of PT (physical therapy) involved and it would have been easy tp fall in love with one of my PTs, as they were quite fetching.
Blessedly, they worked hard with my broken down wreck of a frame and I gradually improved my basic skill levels, which had atrophied during months in hospital beds.
"You know why they like you?" one of my nurses observed one day, referring to the PTs. "Because you try."
It was pretty easy to see her point. At the gym where we did our PT routines, there were many kinds of patients, including some in far worse shape than I was, and who seemed to be just going through the motions.
By contrast, despite my growing affection, I wanted to get the hell out of that place. So I practiced the exercises they taught me all through the day and often at night too, since I could scarcely sleep amidst the nightly screams of the dementia patients.
One day the head nurse came to explain to me that I had accomplished my goals and I would have to leave that place as soon as I could find somewhere to go. What I remember best about leaving the following day is that the sun blinded my eyes when I tried to look up at it.
***
If indeed there is to be no cure for this dastardly disease, what next? Who among us will fight it and who will give in? How, exactly, do you battle a microscopic enemy that never gives you the slightest hint it is there? You can't hear it, smell it, or feel it until it is too late.
Maybe developing a survivalist attitude is in order here. Eating, exercising, and sleeping right, and communicating regularly with our other herd members, might be a key. Defense and offense are the same thing in this case.
When it comes to that communication piece, it might be healthy for all of us to take stock of the true nature of our relationships, whether of the physical or virtual variety.
For example, I just checked and I have 4,232 friends here at Facebook alone! That's enough for over 11.5 friendly interactions per day, even in a leap year.
At 4 AM today, I awoke with that old schmaltzy Johnny Rodriguez song playing in my head, which led me to a Bob Dylan line and on and on:
Who can tell just how it starts
***
P.S. *I'll let you be in my herd if I can be in yours.*
-30-
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