Nick and Deedee, Prologue

It’s oft said that we live on borrowed time. The age old adage so redolent of high flown, philosophical notions of mortality however also rings true in more prosaic ways. It’s not always about eternity- even though eventually it does seem to wind up that way- sometimes the phrase simply presages the plain ol’ stresses of everyday living.

When will the next toothache emerge? An ingrown toenail that totally zaps your peace if mind? A back going out! That pulled hamstring, torn meniscus, or other such exercising disaster undertaken initially with the happy intent of staying alive and in perfect health forever. A miserable cold, ugh! It takes so damn little to upset the equilibrium, the illusion of harmony, yet most of the time we continue to act as if the greatest problem of all that we ever could encounter is the occasional boredom and frustration of daily life and the planning of what to do next to distract ourselves. How about an unexpected splinter to suddenly demand your full attention. . . .

Each time we have to face the inevitable, such as a scary lab test to rule out the very worst, a worrisome symptom of some sort, we vow immediately to start living life more enthusiastically. We swear that if the results come up benign and we are given a reprieve once more from the looming awfulness, we surely will stop wasting time and squeeze out the very last drop of joie de vivre, whenever, wherever, however. You know, make the most of each day, seize the moment blah blah.  But as soon as we receive the desired, non-scary news from the doctor, we’re back to the same old neurotic routine, pointlessly busy with the daily cares and anxieties of our hum drum, quotidian existence.

And yet there always are some people who somehow manage to seem as if they’ve got if all sewn up, every silly anxiety and moment of useless indecision safely stowed behind a neat little package of competent exuberance. . . which brings me of course to my tale.