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There is plenty to worry about in this twenty-first century. But some of us are hard-wired to worry no matter what; and at some point the Worry mechanism robs a soul of the ability to do something about what is causing the Worry in the first place. Such has been my lot since 1961 when, as a second-grade student in Miss Wolf’s class, I failed to finish an assignment about what kind of questions might be asked around Thanksgiving (example: “May I have some more turkey, please?”) because I worried that I might not come up with the ten Miss Wolf required. You’d think the Apocalypse had started, the way that got to me.

Fifty-one years later, I am more mellow, less apocalyptic, more productive, and less dire-predictive. Either I gained wisdom or I gave up.

Here are the words to the acrostic:

WOE betides the Worry-Wart from cradle to estate
OMINOUS are Signs&Portents–onerousness great
Rigor Mortis–Nostradamus–yes, the end is nigh
Richilieus & Looky-Lous will hit you in the I
Yet the fine print indicates there is no need to panic
Yggdrasil & Gilgamesh prove Doom is merely Manic

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The 16th-Century apothecary and prognosticator Michel de Nostredame, popularly known as Nostradamus, is most likely better-known than the 20th-century biochemist, raconteur, limericist, Futurian, essayist, humorist, correspondent, toastmaster, and, yes, prognosticator, Isaac Asimov. Dr. Asimov is perhaps best known for his Foundation series, which covered more than a thousand years of Galactic history. But he also wrote Asimov’s Guide to Science, Asimov’s Guide to Shakespeare, Asimov’s Guide to the Bible, and about four hundred other books that made him the only author to have original writing in every single major Dewey Decimal System classification in the library. His daily writing streak extended from his teens till close to the end of his death at 72. In addition to his books, he corresponded with EVERYONE who wrote him–over one hundred THOUSAND letters.

Indeed, one of the biggest regrets of my life is that I never wrote him. I wanted to–I had found what was perhaps a fatal flaw in the logic of his science-fiction short story “Billiard Ball.” But I had not the wherewithal to do so. Alas! His letter to me would have been one of my most prized possessions.

My late, great father was fond of saying “Less prediction, more production.” This is the latest of my several salutes to him. And I’d also acknowledge Thomas Carlyle for his immortal quotation: “Produce! Produce! Were it but the pitifullest infinitesimal fraction of a Product, produce it, in God’s name! ‘Tis the utmost thou hast in thee: out with it, then. Up, up! Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy whole might. Work while it is called Today; for the Night cometh, wherein no man can work.” And–what the hell, grateful acknowledgment also to Harlan Ellison, writer of more than one thousand short stories, without whom I might never have read Carlyle’s quotation.