There is a universal balance throughout nature and everything finds its level.
Frederick Maryak
My friend, “The Voice” called again and, like the last time, his first few words brought on a flood of memories from our youth. Our paths over sixty years have diverged but the bond between us is firm.
We talked for an hour and a half. First we talked about the differences in the weather between where he was calling from and Hawaii. Their state has recently endured temperatures in negative double-digits. We have put a heavier cover on our bed because the lows have been in the 60s.
He told me his doctors have warned him about being outside in such cold, given his heart condition. It was the first mention of health, an increasing common topic among People of a Certain Age.
We drifted into conversation about his living in rural areas for most of his life while I have been a suburbanite. I reminded him that Thomas Jefferson believed that the further one got from working the land, producing something useful or edible with his or her hands, the more likely corruption would set in. He liked being compared to Jefferson.
He edits books these days. One writer with whom he has worked is Haitian; The Voice has been to Haiti visiting his son. Columbus called Hispaniola, the island on which Haiti sits, the Pearl of the Caribbean. History has been unkind to that pearl: hurricanes, earthquakes, dictators.
The Voice revealed emotion as he lamented that there is a sense among Haitians that they are unloved and unneeded, with too little hope as they struggle to overcome each wave of devastation.
I offered my insights about a population of Pacific Islanders whose plight is also in stark contrast to the pleasures of American society. We agreed that there are too many people like that in too many places around the world.
It is inspiring, he said, to meet people, as he did in Haiti, who aspire to lives like Americans live, free and prosperous. We wondered about how many Americans ever think about how fortunate they are to enjoy lives with freedom and prosperity.
That got us talking about materialism and matters of the spirit.
The Voice asked about my brush with prostate cancer three years ago. He chuckled when I told him that my doctor’s first words at our meeting after my 2013 biopsy were “three quarters of your prostate are in excellent shape.” I assured him that all is well.
I asked about his work, aside from editing. He has worked with his son in a business that requires some physical exertion. Nothing too strenuous anymore, he said. His heart has made him mindful of such things.
People of a Certain Age, is it not sobering when we first become focused, really focused, on our own mortality?
Growing up in San Diego, he and I would talk about the Padres and the Chargers. We listened to The Beatles’ string of hits as they came out, and sang “Michael Row the Boat Ashore” along with the Highwaymen. The Voice had a special knack for the Frankie Valli parts of Four Seasons’ tunes and the falsetto bit in “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.”
He had a car. We had girlfriends. Both of us married them. We fretted over the impact of the Vietnam War might have on the plans we had made for our lives. Our lives were books yet to be written.
We were naïve to the plight of people in places like Haiti or Micronesia. We did not think much about materialism or spirituality. What little we learned about the world beyond America came from missionaries from our church denomination to places like the Congo or Colombia.
We did not talk about the weather or our ailments or poverty or materialism then.
He is taking several medications these days for high blood pressure. He said that one of the side effects of one or the other of the drugs affected his balance. I don’t take any medications on a regular basis, I said, but I have noticed how my balance has been affected by age. I am more careful on ladders now, I said.
He said maybe I ought to write something about balance. Good idea, I said.
After our talk, I went out for a walk. By the park, I passed a man, balanced between two people, who seemed too frail to be standing, let alone walking. He wore a jacket and a cap though the temperature was past 80. His caregiver’s left arm was around his shoulders and her right hand gripped his right arm as he shuffled along, inches at a time. To his left was a man—a son?—holding a walker, ready to provide it if the man needed to sit down to rest.
Aren’t we all just trying to keep our balance, to find our level?
Always good to chat with “The Voice.”
Daniel E. White
February 6, 2017