“It's like my father always said to me, he said to me, he said, Roseanna Roseanadana, it's always something. If it isn't one thing – it's another! It's always something.” ~ Gilda Radner, 1946-1989, Comedic Actress, 'Saturday Night Live'

I showed up early today because we have men's Bible study at 7 a.m. this morning. I am present, but not necessarily operating on all 8 of my cylinders. Not to worry, because I know how to get by with only 5 or 6 of them working. I am aware that some have noticed I have not been all there for some time now. I not only deny the allegation but also the allegator. (I know this is a common misspelling of alligator, but I chose to make the word fit the allegation. Got it?) This is how I'm working to get up to speed on this Tuesday, August 4, 2026. I am. I really am. I cannot tell a lie. Truth is, I am feeling mighty fine and thankful for God's wonderful mercy and grace. The opening stuff was just messing around. While many consider me to be a very serious-minded person, and well they should, I do have a wee bit of whimsy in there somewhere. We did visit the neurologist yesterday for the wife's follow-up appointment since she had an unexplained loss of consciousness while driving a couple of months ago. Since then, she has not had any other episodes or symptoms; therefore, her specialist released her to return to her regular routines. (She was pretty much doing that anyway, but she most likely would not have wanted me to report that to the doctor.) To keep me from saying anything at all, I stayed in the waiting room and did not accompany her for the consultation. When she came out the door, I immediately asked what the doctor said, and she told me he said everything was fine. This does not mean I will be riding with her anytime soon. If she asks about that last statement, please tell her you are not certain what I meant. That will not be a great surprise to her. It won't be. It really won't be. Ha!

We left the neurologist's office, and about a block away I saw a large sign with this inscription: Foot Massage. I mentioned to the wife I had been interested in trying a foot massage to see if it would help with my diabetic induced neuropathy. She told me we should check it out. I pulled into the parking lot, got out, went in, and the fellow there was an Indian American from India. He showed me a price list, and I opted for a 30-minute reflexology massage. He showed me to the padded table where I was to await service. Shortly, he brought a container of warmish water, and I put my feet in. He then had me lie back on the table. He removed my cap and glasses and then started working on my head. Hello? He did not speak much English, so I thought I may have miscommunicated. After massaging my head for a few minutes, he started working on my shoulders. After a couple of minutes of doing that, he put a towel over my eyes. Finally, he started working on my feet and my lower legs. He worked them over pretty good. Bing, bam!, a slap here, a rub there, and that went on for the rest of my thirty minutes. Since it was my first time, I'm not sure I ever completely relaxed. When I came out, I paid the man, and the wife asked how it went. I told her it may have helped some, but I didn't suddenly feel like doing a triple axle in the parking lot. I know. Thirty minutes may not be the best test, but at least I found out a little about how things go. I do think it may have helped my balance some, and that's not all bad for a fellow who, in just twelve days, will join the 4% Club, Lord willing, and that's those who are 80 or older. Such good news. Right? Yes! And Amen!