As the somewhat deranged bounty hunter in the television series, Firefly, said at the very end of one episode as he found himself in his space suit, alone, abandoned millions of kilometers from the nearest planet, station or ship: "Well. Here I am."

Here I am. Sixty-two years old. I swore I would never live this long. I never saw any reason why I would want to. But life happened, you know how that is. Or maybe you don't. You'll understand some day. Or you won't.

I guess the biggest part of why I am still alive is that, with one notable exception, I have been spectacularly healthy my entire life. There was a bit of asthma as a child but I outgrew that. There were a few cases of pneumonia. There was one leg fracture (which would make a great story by itself!). But, hey, that's it! I have all my teeth. I have NO allergies of any kind. I never get headaches. What little arthritis shows up in X-rays is (so far) totally painless.

The exception to this awesomely healthy record is, of course, polio. I caught that nasty virus at the age of five. I have lived in wheelchairs for 57 years now. I'm sure that's close to a world record. But before you fret over that, let me warn you that I've probably done more and had more fun than you ever will, so zip it.

This year, though, has been different. Two cases of pneumonia since January put me in the local hospital for a night, each. And last week, my left leg swelled up like a salami and began hurting. It is a blood clot. It is way high up in the thigh. And if that clot breaks loose... well... you probably won't see me around this website much.

(And if you DO see me, scream and run!)

I've been giving myself two injections of blood thinners every day. I can't take pain killers (because of the blood thinners), but pain and me have been old friends for a long time, so it's not a big deal right now. I'm even typing this from my office computer. I'm back at work. Stiff upper lip and all that.

Chances are (the ER bookies are giving 12 to 1) the clot will dissolve over the next month and all will be well. Modern medical science will have trumped the "will of God" once again.

But this does raise some serious questions about... [gulp!]... mortality. [deep organ chords in a minor key swell in the background]

We're all going to die. Eventually. But these precedings have alerted me to the fact that my own demise is not decades off, but mere years, if I'm lucky, and weeks, if I'm not. I don't have a will in place. (I want everything to go to my wife, Gwendolyn.) There are other legal arrangements that have been ignored far too long. I need to find someone to take possession of a fifty year old stamp collection, mostly 19th Century Europe. And I haven't won that Nobel Prize in Physics yet!

"Dying is easy. Comedy is hard." Somebody ask Buffy who said that, she will know. Yeah, dying doesn't really take that much wherewithall. It's the Final Approach that is so nerve wrackiing. It's getting old, falling apart, springing leaks, rusting out -- these are the hard parts. These are the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that have to be "white-water rafted" before you can get to the ultimate release of Niagra Falls.

Have you ever been to Niagra Falls? Do it! Don't ask questions and don't make excuses, just go. I did. Three times. Facing your own personal death is so much easier if you've seen Niagra Falls. Or the Grand Canyon. Or you've jumped out of a perfectly good airplane and watched planet Earth hurtle upward towards you at 120 miles per hour. (I've done that, too.) Or you've gone across Royal Gorge Bridge in Colorado on a motorcycle. (I've done that, too.)

Growing old is no picnic, no cakewalk, no bed of roses, and it is not for the timid, the cautious, the fearful, or the sissies. It hurts. If nothing else, it hurts your pride. It causes you to wonder if you have lived your life adequately, if it was all worth the trouble, if you will leave anything behind worth noting, if you will be remembered.

Blah, blah, blah. You don't want to hear this. And I feel too damn good right now to make you listen to any more of it. Life is too damned short to spend it in regrets, worries and philosophizing. But I just thought I owed you guys, my best friends, a heads-up just in case I didn't show up one day. Not that that is likely to happen.

Of course not. I'm industructible, just like you are! Let me open this bottle of Cabernet Franc, 2003! Who wants a glass? Here's to you guys at Hypography! Here's to GAHD who gives me my infractions, and to InfiniteNow (who I want to be like when I grow up), and to TheBigDog who is my role model, and to Tormod who gave me all these wonderful friends, and to Turtle for reasons I do not understand.

And to Buffy. This toast is to you Buffy, for no reason at all. If there is ever anything I can do for you, just whistle.

You do know how to whistle, don't you?


Nelson A. Thompson