There I were, working on reading through 245 pages of a 19th century Chancery case from the Culpeper Circuit Court (and discovering that the dude representing my 2nd cousin in his probate was a thief,) when here comes this email from Ex Community telling me I'm 50 days old.
Really? Why do I suddenly feel like Steve Martin in the movie, "The Jerk" who just saw his name printed in the local phone directory?
"I'm somebody!" he yelled, excited, holding the phone book high, proud of his accomplishment.
It's a strange number because every day I've abstained represents every year I smoked. I started at age ten and quit at age 60. I literally smoked for half a century. That I have any lungs left at all, let alone ones that can breath normally, is, to me, nothing short of miraculous.
But it's not me doing it alone; it's all of you helping me, and tolerating me along the path.
Thank you. Now help me pop these silly balloons. 
Peace and gratitude,
AC
