I have become very fond of breathing. I am quite good at it since I started eight decades ago. I hope to continue my excellent record for at least a little longer. It is usually effortless, unless I am having some difficulty with my sinuses, and I believe it benefits my body. However, in spite of my skill in this talent, I have not the foggiest idea how I do it. I know that my lungs and diaphragm are mostly responsible for my breathing but I do not know what makes them work. It is certainly possible, even likely, that they are bulging with muscles, like biceps, although not my own personal biceps, of course, which are among humankind’s weakest specimens. However, if this is so, how come they never get fatigued, or ache, or need toning or ointments? I do give them plenty of exercise; breathing, coughing, sneezing, wheezing, yawning, shouting, singing, sighing, inflating balloons, laughing or even crying and saying, “ah”, at my doctor’s bidding. I am a bit worried about them. Do I overwork them?

Now, I don’t wish to disparage lungs for I need them and would not like to turn them against me, but they are not always well behaved and occasionally exhibit signs of ailments. For example, I tend to get a few colds in the cool weather, which makes my lungs rather uncomfortable. I am not really blaming my lungs for this, although I feel that they have a hand in my discomfort. When this happens, I grit my teeth, sulk a bit, pour a glass of spirited beverage and tough it out until the symptoms lessen; a process which, for me, takes a long time. I know that there are other illnesses, some very serious, associated with the lungs but I don’t wish to dwell on them at this time.

There are other parts of the body whose works I do not understand. In fact, I really don’t understand very much about how the human body works. Take the brain, for example. It is pretty much in charge of everything. When the brain tells its body to do something, the body does it. No hesitation, no questions asked and little or no complaining. How the body does the brain’s bidding I have no idea. How this mighty organ controls, without coercion, the rest of its fellow organs and muscles and functions is a deep mystery. Now, I am not complaining, mind you, I would not like to turn my brain against me any more than my lungs. I am really very fond of mine. But I am at a loss to explain the brain’s influence and control; maybe you can.

Among the brains other services are those of thinking, remembering, classifying and creating. My brain falls a bit short of perfection on all of those. In fact, it performs poorly on most. My memory is especially subject to its failures, particularly on things like nouns and verbs and other parts of speech. If the nouns happen to be names of people or places, the failure is often total. Likewise, when I file or store or simply set down an item such as a tool or document or any other physical object, within a very few minutes, sometimes seconds, I can’t seem to remember where I placed it. I usually explain to my wife that some loathsome evildoer has clandestinely invaded our house and removed it or at least moved it to a new location, at which time the clandestine invader just as quietly vacates the premises. I don’t think that she always believes me.

My mind also has a great sense of humor. It plays tricks and practical jokes on me. For example, it sometimes supplies me with dreams that often do not enhance my self-esteem. I recall, for example, one dream in which I was walking along a pedestrian-filled street with my granddaughters, 3 and 5 at the time, each of whom sported a lighted cigarette from her lips on which they took frequent draughts. I became, in the dream, highly irritated, not because of what they were doing, but because of the public reaction. It seemed that the passersby were holding me responsible for their actions, when, in fact I had no part in supporting their habits, neither supplying them with their smokes nor helping them with its dispatch in any way. I have suffered, on occasion, other equally humiliating dreams that do little to boost my self-image. Or sometimes, when I am about to dial a telephone number that I have dialed hundreds of times, it suddenly slips from my memory. Without reason or warning. I must run to our directory and look it up. This is humiliating for someone who likes to pretend that he has a great memory for numbers. Exactly the same thing happens with facts, about which I thought I knew a great deal when I was a youth. Now, most of those have slipped from my memory. Fortunately, I have become very adept at making up facts, some of which sound so plausible that even I believe them. I don’t laugh at my brain’s jokes very often although I think I have heard my brain emit a stifled chuckle on occasion

But these examples illustrate only a small fraction of my ignorance of my body and its workings. In some ways I am glad that I don’t know much more about it. I am not sure that I would want to go inside and investigate its secrets, nor would I be happy if anyone else did so.