GOOD OLD DAYS

I slept in a bed last night; didn’t wake up once. Sometimes I wake up not knowing where I am, what day it is, even what year it is. It is a short lived revelation and when I rediscover myself it’s hard to believe I’m really that old. This morning I knew exactly where I was and age, well, it is what it is. Yesterday was a driving day, south across Wyoming to Colorado’s front range. I’m still taken with the images of old, abandoned buildings, snow fences and hay fields. Something about the way they say, “People come and go and they leave their things behind.” It’s hard to find natural settings that haven’t been touched by civilization, even if it’s just a high flying jet’s vapor trail. We leave things with repeating patterns, hard lines and straight edges and somehow, they assimilate and look almost natural. I take photographs, and right now I can’t resist snow fences and hay fields.

Dr. Martin Strand is a retired, surgeon who lives in the hills above Denver. He has stories that challenge the imagination, unraveling both the noble and the dark side of the Human Journey. He and his wife Joan are my hosts. They fed and entertained me, sitting on the deck, sipping wine, watching hummingbirds arc and dive around us. I knew Martin a very long time ago, when we occupied adjacent lockers in high school, sat next to each other in history class and made small talk across the lunch table. We weren’t best friends but we laughed at the same foolishness and shared a common path, life was pretty good. I was standing at his front door when he called my name. I turned to see him coming across the drive, behind me. After 56 years, the short, red hair had given way to a shock of white hair sweeping down over his forehead and the way our bodies evolve over half a century was evident but I recognized my old classmate without reservation or hesitation. We’ve been in a loose, informal mode of contact since our 50 year class reunion, six years ago. He didn’t attend but he was located and has contributed to the class news letter that grew out of that celebration. He had made a standing offer that any of us who might be passing through, to stop for a visit: and here I am.

I’ll turn east, across Kansas today and I’ll sleep in my own bed tonight. But the short visit and warm hospitality will not dull or diminish soon. There is something empowering about reaching back in time and filling in empty space with fond memories and good will. Martin and Joan will be heading out to Iceland in the near future, about the same time I take off for Michigan and Ohio. I added a few extra miles to be here and it has been more than rewarding. Our culture is hard to resist. It’s so easy to slip into old, predictable ways but I think it’s something Martin and I can agree on; these are the good old days.