I spent Christmas day of 2008 on the pulmonary floor of Florida Hospital North in Altamonte Springs with a severe case of pneumonia in my right lung. I'm feeling better today, but living in a hospital room for five days is no picnic. I was poked and tested at all hours of the day and night, so, needless to say, I didn't get much sleep. My father said a hospital is not for rest, it's for recovery. That's true, and I had no idea just how sick I was.

I saw all sorts of doctors and specialists. Each one asked me the same basic questions to which I gave the same basic replies.

"Are you a smoker?"

"No, I quit 14 months ago after almost 40 years."

"That's great! Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Do you drink?"

"No. Not anymore. Diabetes pretty much took care of that." And it's true. I rarely have a drink these days because alcohol can really have affects on the liver and so does Metformin, one of the diabetes medications. The two don't mix and I could become very sick from the combination.

That line of questioning reminds me of just what a dull life I'm living these days. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not boring and I'm never bored with myself, but it's a far cry from my party days. It's not that long ago (or is it?) that I can remember when, in my early 20s, I could stay up until 4:00am partying and thinking I could do this forever. Well, not every night.

In my early 30s, I could party with the best of them until 2:00 in the morning.

In my early 40s, it was no problem staying up until midnight.

In my early 50s. Hmm. I'm not in my early 50s anymore. I'm 56 and now I start thinking about going to bed soon after watching Jeopardy.