How old are you???
By Denny Teichow
How old are you?
This is usually figured from the time you were born, but not always. Did you know that the birthday of all racehorses is January 1 of the year of their birth? If Windspirit III is born on December 31, then the next day he is considered one-year-old. Is that a goofy idea or what? Are you as old as your component parts? Are you as old as your cells? Consider the story about the tourist in Virginia who was told by the antique dealer:
“This hatchet was once owned by George Washington himself!”
“Gee,” responded the tourist, “it looks to be in very good condition for a hatchet that old.”
“Oh yes, it’s been well cared for. It’s had a new head and two new handles.”
Most of the cells that make up your body do not live as long as you might think, some for only a few hours (intestinal lining cells) to as long as several years (bone cells), but a few weeks to a few months is the average. Fortunately, as your individual cells lose their battle with the hard life, the cavalry is always coming over the hill riding replacement cells. Most of the cells in your body have been replaced within the past five to seven years. So from a strictly physical viewpoint you are no more than seven, right. Except that your nerve cells (including your brain) and muscle cells don’t get replacements. They’re like the defenders of the Alamo. There’s no cavalry coming. Fortunately, Mother Nature’s Airline overbooked your brain. You have way more cells up there than you need, so if you lose a few along the way, no problem. O.K., so your driver’s license says you are 42. But that’s only your brain, nerves and muscles.
Console yourself with the thought that the rest of your body is under seven years old.
To what end good manners?
Mrs. Mays came before the Lake Geneva City Council to speak about the problem she faced with the Piers and Harbors Committee, with respect to losing her place in the line to reserve a boat slip with the city, for not being able to show up when the committee doled them out. Mrs. Mays, from somewhere along the south shore of Lake Geneva, felt that locals should be given preference over those people who only show up during the summer months.
Sarah Hill, taking lessons from her lifelong experiences in Southern Wisconsin, slow roasted Mrs. Mays like a pre-boiled bratwurst. There will be no special consideration, and the place to take the complaint is back to the Piers and Harbors Committee. Mrs. Mays, new to being exposed before such a jaded august body of locals, wandered out of council chambers Monday night like she was in some M. Night Shyamalan movie. She’ll being seeing ghosts long before she makes it back to appear before any committee again. Should there be favoritism for locals in such selection of prime space on the lake schemes?
You bet, but being right can also make you alone.