I have a good friend who ends nearly every conversation or visit with ‘Thank you’. There are times that this catches me off-guard, and may seem even a bit out of place. I don’t know if he’s even aware that he does that, but it’s clear that he means it.
I really like that. I’ve never pointed it out to him, because he does this unconsciously, and I don’t want to spoil that.
We should all be grateful for our interactions with other human beings. And whether we explicitly tell them so, it is nice if that attitude is reflected in our behavior.
In the end, all those we love will one day be lost to us, or we to them. This may happen gradually through distance, alienation, or old age; or it may be sudden and without warning. The only sure chance we have to share our sentiments with them is right now. My friend seems to understand this implicitly.
[I posted this originally at mid-day Monday. I learned later in the day that my friend's father had passed away early that morning. His passing was not unexpected—he was scheduled to move from a skilled nursing facility to home hospice care later this week—but it was more sudden than expected. His doctors estimated that he might live another six months or so. Porter Newman was a fine man, whom I was privileged to know over the past few years. I miss him already, and will never forget him.
My friend called in the late afternoon to tell me that his father had died. We had a nice talk about Porter, and what we would do to celebrate him. Characteristically, Paul ended the call by thanking me.]
Monday, August 29, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Profound
Latine scribentes quod non facit profundam.
(Writing it in Latin doesn't make it profound.)
(Writing it in Latin doesn't make it profound.)
Monday, August 1, 2011
THE BEACH HOUSE
They walked slowly along the water’s edge at low tide. She picked up a piece of driftwood, and wrote, ‘I love you’ in the wet sand.
He took the stick, and added words so it read:
‘I WILL love you FOREVER'.
“Forever!” she said, rolling her eyes, softly laughing.
“What was your name again?” he asked.
They had gone to Road’s End each year since they began dating. They always waited until fall. The weather at the Oregon coast is best in the shoulder months—April and May, then again in September and October—and with summer vacations over, the town and beach were quieter.
At low tide, the beach seemed endless—the ocean stretching forever in the distance—and anything seemed possible. They held hands as they walked, watching the gulls bickering over edible treasures stranded by the receding water.
As the breeze began to pick up, they returned to the beach house. He built a fire as she opened a bottle of wine, carefully cut up an apple, sliced cheeses, and set it all on a board. She placed the board, the wine and two glasses on the window ledge, next to the long pillow-covered window seat. As the fire came to life, she opened the window just a bit, letting in the salt air and the sounds of the sea. He poured the wine, first in her glass, then his own, and set the bottle aside. He raised his glass, clicked it to hers and said, “Here’s to another year at Road’s End.” She looked down, then back at him, and said, “Here’s to forever.” She sipped from her glass, and as she set it down, the fire reflected in her eyes. She took his glass, set it next to hers, and reached her arms around him. As they held their quiet embrace, he felt the warmth of her tears on his shoulder.
There would be no forever for them. They would have today and tomorrow; perhaps a few more tomorrows, but not forever. When they were first lovers, they spoke of growing old together, but even as their love grew, they knew that their time together would be a sweet chapter, but not the whole story — and now they knew this chapter was mostly read. They were too different—or perhaps too much the same—but it wouldn’t last. They did love each other, but were never both fully committed at the same time. It always seemed that whatever one was holding back was just what the other needed at that moment. They spoke less and less of the future – at least not seriously.
Neither remembered who was first to make light of this disconnect; but somehow, ‘forever’ became their inside joke. They’d drop it in conversation when they were with friends, ‘This red light is taking forever’, or ‘I wish that movie could have gone on forever’. Only they knew what they meant, what they could never have, and how much it hurt. They chose Send in the Clowns—the very anthem of bad timing—as their song. ‘Isn’t it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground, you in mid-air.’
He kissed the tears on her face, then her lips. “I really do love you”, he said as they entwined on the pillows, “And I will love you forever.” Beside the open window that evening at Road’s End, they made love – to the sound of the wind, the waves, and the inexorable incoming tide.
He took the stick, and added words so it read:
‘I WILL love you FOREVER'.
“Forever!” she said, rolling her eyes, softly laughing.
“What was your name again?” he asked.
They had gone to Road’s End each year since they began dating. They always waited until fall. The weather at the Oregon coast is best in the shoulder months—April and May, then again in September and October—and with summer vacations over, the town and beach were quieter.
At low tide, the beach seemed endless—the ocean stretching forever in the distance—and anything seemed possible. They held hands as they walked, watching the gulls bickering over edible treasures stranded by the receding water.
As the breeze began to pick up, they returned to the beach house. He built a fire as she opened a bottle of wine, carefully cut up an apple, sliced cheeses, and set it all on a board. She placed the board, the wine and two glasses on the window ledge, next to the long pillow-covered window seat. As the fire came to life, she opened the window just a bit, letting in the salt air and the sounds of the sea. He poured the wine, first in her glass, then his own, and set the bottle aside. He raised his glass, clicked it to hers and said, “Here’s to another year at Road’s End.” She looked down, then back at him, and said, “Here’s to forever.” She sipped from her glass, and as she set it down, the fire reflected in her eyes. She took his glass, set it next to hers, and reached her arms around him. As they held their quiet embrace, he felt the warmth of her tears on his shoulder.
There would be no forever for them. They would have today and tomorrow; perhaps a few more tomorrows, but not forever. When they were first lovers, they spoke of growing old together, but even as their love grew, they knew that their time together would be a sweet chapter, but not the whole story — and now they knew this chapter was mostly read. They were too different—or perhaps too much the same—but it wouldn’t last. They did love each other, but were never both fully committed at the same time. It always seemed that whatever one was holding back was just what the other needed at that moment. They spoke less and less of the future – at least not seriously.
Neither remembered who was first to make light of this disconnect; but somehow, ‘forever’ became their inside joke. They’d drop it in conversation when they were with friends, ‘This red light is taking forever’, or ‘I wish that movie could have gone on forever’. Only they knew what they meant, what they could never have, and how much it hurt. They chose Send in the Clowns—the very anthem of bad timing—as their song. ‘Isn’t it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground, you in mid-air.’
He kissed the tears on her face, then her lips. “I really do love you”, he said as they entwined on the pillows, “And I will love you forever.” Beside the open window that evening at Road’s End, they made love – to the sound of the wind, the waves, and the inexorable incoming tide.
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