About twenty years ago, I hurt my foot somehow.  When I went to the doctor’s office to have it checked, the receptionist who sat behind an open counter that was at least four feet high asked me, “Where’s the injury.”

To the amazement of the office staff,  I swung my foot up, rested it on the counter, pointed, and said, “My right foot.”

You know, that counter may have ben higher.  Maybe even five or six feet.

When I broke my toe a week ago, I discovered I can’t do that anymore.   Knowing I had to soak my foot, I put ice and water in the bathroom sink and attempted the same move at a much lower level.   I’m lucky I didn’t cause myself serious injury.   To the accompaniment of  many creaking joints and a fet grunts and screams, I was able to shove my foot into the water but worried the entire time I’d never be able to get it out again.

Lesson:   One cannot do everything one did twenty years ago.  However, I also know that one can do things that one couldn’t do twenty years ago such as publishing ten books.

This morning, I stubbed my broken toe.   Ouch!

Lesson:   people with broken toes should wear shoes.  However, I don’t like shoes and love to go barefoot which suggests more pain.

What lessons have you been taught that you refuse to accept?