It was after dinner, lunch as they call it out here in the Southwest corner, a misnomer this ole Tennessee boy can accept because it’s 72 degrees with a 5 knot ocean breeze, 60% humidity, and there are no clouds.

i’m sitting in my home office after a Monday morning of medical checkups and other appointments trying to decide if i should plug ahead on several writing projects, take care of some adminstrivia (thank you, Dave Carey, for giving me such a great term for necessary busy work), or…taking a nap. Undoubtedly, i will end up taking a nap.

However, during my contemplating, i realize the air outside my air conditioned less window ( yep, don’t have air conditioning; don’t use the heaters except to knock off the chill for about two hours in the winter months, and…oh, i’ve bragged about that before), there is a cacophony of symphonies going on. It is not the neighbor young daughters in the pool with their music blaring. They don’t play a lot of Bach.

But this isn’t Bach. It’s goldfinches, mostly i think, a few mourning doves, a couple of which are nesting in our eaves; there seems to be black phoebes joining in along with a California Towhee, and a song sparrow or two. i really don’t know. i am in no way an ornithologist. i stole these from a Google search. But i do know the finches call, and i do know and love the doves cooing. And for some reason, the multiple crows and ravens (someday i will figure out the difference; we have them both) seem to be silenced during this allegro.

As i sit here listening, i am taken back home. Summers. Robins, bluebirds, sparrows, mockingbirds (oh, i long for the mockingbird trill). Mornings. Filled with the sounds of birds. Songs of the heart.

The world as it should be. Back home then or in the Southwest corner now.

Peace.

once upon a time in a land far, far away,
there were some old men who grew up together:
played in the fields together;
played cowboys and indians together
where being one or the other
did not make them good or bad;
played mumblety-peg together;
played red rover and simon says together;
threw and caught balls together;
got into trouble together;
even had fights together;
and
as they grew up, they
played sports together;
were boy scouts together;
hunted together;
began to smoke together;
began to drink together;
began to go out with girls,
not together but
they talked of those exploits together;
and then,
some went away;
some stayed in the land far, far away;
some made some tidy sums:
some went broke;
some moved to the big cities;
some moved to farms;
some stayed right where they were;
and then,
nearly all of them married;
had different experiences
in the places they chose,
in the lives they chose;
and
years later, they would get together
to talk of when they grew up together
once upon a time in a land far, far away;
ask about their wives, their kids,
how things were going for them.

and then,
they locked themselves into their new grownup roles,
taking sides of politics,
world problems,
country problems,
local problems,
forgetting they grew up together;
some suffered maladies,
some lost loved ones;
some died;
and
those who locked themselves into roles
became spiteful and full of hate for those
who did not believe as they did;
and then,
there were two groups of the old men
who rejected each other;
there were a few others who did not forget,
did not judge;
but they were few
still remembering growing up together.

and then once upon a time in a land, far, far away,
they were gone.

My hard run/walk never-really-daily exercise regimen had been cut short. Yesterday, i underwent some minor surgery, which turned out to be not as serious as i imagined, the bane of old men: worrying about just how bad a minor problem can become.

Doc told me to cut out any serious exercise or work for two weeks. That meant no golf, boo; no run/walk, boo; no home tasks, ahh, okay; and no dishwashing, yippee ti yi yay, get along little dogie.

As  you might have noticed, it did not include writing with the computer.

Doc also okayed “leisurely walks.  “Good for you,” he said. So late morning today, i decided to amble. One of the circuits in our neighborhood is just shy of two miles. The streets run along canyon views and the hills beyond, including Mount Miguel. This was all scrub, high desert, used mostly for grazing land and for youngsters to hunt small game before the development men rolled in their trucks and graders and clobbered the ridges, other high ground, and eventually most of the laderas and arroyos. Yet there remains a wide swath of open space The views to the west are magnificent with the skyline of San Diego and, oh yes, the Pacific. The views to the east, in spite of the best efforts of the development men to sully the vistas with dots of houses and grey strips of road, looking east gives one pause at the beauty of this high desert land.

i had other things to do like naps and lunch and reading and sitting at this crazy electronic wonder, so eschewed major preparation to go out, another tribulation suffered by old men with hall monitor wives (that i really appreciate; i really do). So i slapped on my sunscreen sleeves and wore my wide brimmed sun hat and headed out.

i rejected the idea of wearing ear buds with my iphone — Why did they get away from “earphones?” Are these things stuck in our ears our pals or little flowers? And why is this magic, ethereal connection between two machines or more labeled “bluetooth?” Haven’t they ever used teeth whiteners? — even though i relented to using those music generators on my walk/runs because they keep me from realizing just how labored i’m breathing. It was a “leisurely” walk. i wanted to take it in.

i did, take it in, that is. Out of the house, i once again relished my Southwest corner: mid-June, 11:00 am PDT and i am comfortable, almost cool in brilliant sunshine, no clouds, an ocean breeze and high 60’s. i could live with that…oh yeh, i do.

i look at the yards and the different approaches to improving houses and yards. The agapanthus are everywhere, the jacarandas are close to losing their blooms and the purple petals form a wedding aisle on some of the sidewalks.

i think, “i am a lucky man.” Again.

Couples are out walking. We meet. For several years, my usual response to “How are you doing?” is “i may make it, but i’m not taking any bets.” It nearly always gets a laugh. But today, i’m thinking this walk is too nice for such tomfoolery.

i pass a couple. The woman says, “Hello;” the man says, Hi.”

And it hits me. i respond, “Hello, and a good day to ye.”

Seems about right to me. One or two more couples pass with greetings, and i have got it down to just, “And a good day to ye.”

The couples smile when i say it. i think it’s my new deal.

i ponder as i hit our cul de sac on the return. It seems a shame we have all of this confrontation of people, mostly good people on all sides. i wonder how it might change if everyone started off and concluded each conversation with everyone by saying, “And a good day to ye.”

i wrote this about two years ago. It’s not quite the same with the wars of hate and scourges raging around me, but there’s always something, always somebody trying to impose their will on everyone else, and i think this was a projection of me i would not have considered back then.

me. every man; no man

i am every man;
i am no man;
i have been everywhere;
i have been nowhere;
i have seen the heights of joy;
i have seen the depths of despair;
i have laughed; i have cried;
i have found the world and its inhabitants inspiring;
i have found the world and its inhabitants depressing;
i have been loved, and i don’t know why;
i have been hated; and i don’t know why;
i have failed;
i have been successful;
i have watched the generations following mine and become disgusted;
i have watched the generations following mine and been in awe;
i am older than the limbs of a wizened oak;
i am younger than a babbling brook;
i have lost loves;
i have found love;
and
i marvel at my life, the world, the people
while sitting on my perch of older:

it’s a pretty good view.