Yes indeed, hard to believe, but today (March 6^th) marks eighty years that I have walked the Earth. That’s a few decades short of Bilbo Baggins when he left for Rivendell on his birthday, but close enough. Good grief, how did this happen?

Some years back my wonderful father-in-law, Jack Benzinger, said to me, “If I’d known I was going to live this long, I would’ve taken better care of myself.” Well, ol’ Jack made it to eighty-five, and he died of a broken heart, having lost the love of his life less than a year earlier.

In that regard I suppose that I could’ve easily followed suit, having lost my beloved Jacqueline nearly two years ago. But she made me promise, at risk of eternal haunting, to take care of myself, and I’ve tried to honor her by doing just that. Given how much I miss her, it hasn’t been easy, especially with my own far from perfect health history. Still, I forge on.

The great Jerry Rice wore a significant number.

Any secrets to still hanging around? Not really. I have the loving support of my great family. I take walks every day, anywhere from one to two-and-a-half miles. I write…I read. And for the next eight months or so I have baseball. Go Padres! I once vowed to stick around at least long enough to see the Pads win the World Series. That promise is still on the table.

I recently saw my Primary Care doctor, a no-nonsense woman, for a checkup. She said this: “Mike, if I didn’t know you, didn’t know how old you were, I would’ve guessed you to be in your late sixties.” That made my day. Maybe my week? (At least my month.)

I have phoned home and told the Mother Ship not to come for a while. Honoring my beloved Jacqueline remains a priority.