Every Breath You Take

 I was reading an article that suggested that every hot dog you eat shortens your life by thirty-six minutes. This same piece stated that, by contrast, a portion of nuts could extend your life by as much as twenty-six minutes. I say that it depends a great deal on the hot dog. Or the nuts. Perhaps instead of garnishing your dog with relish and mustard and sauerkraut as we have for all these years, you could sprinkle some cashews over it. You still end up losing a net ten minutes, but hey - nutty hot dog. 

Because we are all born dying. Each choice we make contributes to our eventual demise. For a very long time, I used to say that I didn't want anyone to have to guess what it was that finally took me down. I used to hope that my loved ones would all gather around my corpse, nodding in unison, saying "Must've been the cheeseburgers." These were the thoughts of a younger man. I could scoff and laugh and write checks with my time on earth that I didn't have to worry about being cashed. But for every checkbook there is a balance that comes due. Do I really want fries with that?

Which will always take me to that place where I remember how healthy my father was. For his age. Which are the words we use when we want to mitigate someone's existence. My father played racquetball and ran and lived a somewhat spartan existence, living in a mountain cabin without running water or electricity when he wasn't camping out at the odd housesitting gig. It wasn't the cheeseburgers or hot dogs that got him. The portions of nuts he gobbled did not save him. It was the airplane that got him. Your diet doesn't have a lot to do with your survival rate when the small plane crashes and burns with you inside of it. I don't mean to be morbid here. Or maybe I do, but I can remember being told in the burn ward that my father's overall constitution kept him alive for several days, but the extent of his injuries were taking their toll on his internal organs. They were more than sixty years old and his kidneys didn't have the capacity to deal with all the trauma they were being asked to mediate. He fought on and surprised many for a man his age.

Which is now just about my age. Sometimes I wonder if my kidneys would be up to the task of helping me endure a stay in the burn ward. Just like I wonder where my hot dog to nut ratio currently stands. The clock is ticking. For everyone. So I suppose I can take solace in the advice of the late Warren Zevon who said, "Enjoy every sandwich." Or hot dog.