It’s my birthday.  If things had gone differently 28 days ago, I wouldn’t be celebrating one.  That’s such a weird thought, but it’s true every day, isn’t it?  Today is my birthday, but if things had gone differently Saturday when we dropped off and picked up the kids from their friends’ houses in the car in the rain, I wouldn’t be celebrating either.  I just recognize the danger I was in on Dec 2, where I have grown numb to the myriad perils I face on a daily basis.  It’s a survival skill, I suppose, turning down the volume on the everyday dangers of life – a car accident, a saber tooth tiger, etc.  Like the way you can smell the litter box or burnt popcorn or any other odiferous scent instantly upon entering your home, but by the time you’ve taken off your jacket and put the groceries away, you don’t perceive the foulness anymore. I once overheard my husband explaining the phenomenon to our daughter.  He suggested that back in cave man days, people didn’t have toilets and showers or 50 different outfits they could wear and then wash to get clean again.  They kept their tools and animal skins and everything in their cave with them to keep everything and everyone safe. Cavemen were probably pretty stinky. If they had not developed the ability to stop smelling all the unpleasant scents that assaulted their noses daily, they would have been just as in the forefront to them as that burnt popcorn is to us, except all the time.  With that kind of olfactory overkill going on 24/7, they’d have little chance of smelling it when the saber tooth tiger was prowling outside the entrance to their cave or to detect any number of other dangers that could cost them their lives.  Survival. Smart.