It's been quite a while since I've written anything. I haven't felt that I really had much of anything interesting to say, and now I find myself conflicted with the desire to share two different incidences from my day. I suppose I'll just have to make two entries, as they don't really flow together as one topic. But anyway, down to business. I would like to share a story with you. Perhaps it is not put forward as eloquently as many others could do, but it is a story from true life and I want to share it. There is no moral of the story, no lesson to learn, and no real point in sharing it beyond the fact that it put a smile on my face and completely made my day.
Though it is only in the last couple weeks of March, the temperature has gotten up to 80 the last couple days and you could not ask for more glorious weather. I unfortunately had to work yesterday and was unable to enjoy the day other than to open my window for the latter part of the day. Today, however, was my day off. I had been putting off getting my oil changed for the last thousand miles and finally made an appointment to bring my car in late this morning. The door to the sitting room was open, allowing me to soak in the warm breeze and the ambiance of a beautiful day as I read my book. As I was on my way back home I kept thinking about what a shame it would be to just end up in my room the rest of the day. Even if I had my windows open to let in the day, it would still feel like a waste. I had almost determined to simply take my book into the tree in the front yard with me when I realized that I would shortly be passing the levee, and made the impulsive decision to stop there and take a walk.
I have only been on the levee a few times in the past couple years, but as I walked I remembered all the times from my childhood when we'd all go to the levee together. It was very rare that we would ever make it all the way to the end, as the youngest kids would get to tired to go more than a certain distance, or there was the occasional mishap resulting in a skinned knee or other such injury. Back in those days, we had so much energy to burn and mom and dad decided to let us run along the portions of the walk that actually had the fencing on the sides. We had to stop at the end of those sections and wait for the parents (and probably the youngest sibling) to catch up and walk with us until we got to the next section with fencing. These memories, combined with the warmth of the sun, the light breeze, birdsong, and just the general feeling of beauty everywhere put a perpetual smile on my face.
As I neared the end of the walk, an elderly man passed me slowly on his bike, commenting on how lovely the day was. When I reached the end I saw the same man sitting on a bench looking out on the view with a pair of binoculars. I stood at the fence looking across the dam for a bit, and then as I turned to make my way to a picnic table next to the bench, the old man invited me to come sit with him for a bit. If the day had been less lovely, if I had not already decided to sit down for a bit, had I not been in as open and happy of a mood, or had I even had any other commitments for the day, I would have most likely felt a bit of inner panic and awkwardness at social contact, and from a stranger at that, and would have made some sort of excuse and left. But, as I was in such good spirits and the day was really too glorious to enjoy alone, I smiled and accepted the invitation with only the slightest feeling of awkwardness inside. (I will most likely always retain some degree of inner, and sometimes outer awkwardness for the rest of my days. There is no escaping it.)
I am so glad I decided to sit there for a while, for I spent the next hour chatting with a very interesting 77 year-old character named George. He's not one of those old men girls would refer to as a cute or adorable old man, nor was he spry, impertinent, cheeky, feeble, or somewhat confused. He was a very real, genuine person who belonged to an older, simpler time. He had so many stories to tell me about his life, his friends, his older relatives, and little-known facts and tidbits from history. His grandmother was one of the passengers on the Titanic, and he told me bits of things she had told him from that time as well as his own theories about the sinking of the ship (which his grandmother insisted was the fault of the Germans). I don't feel that it is quite right to share all the things he talked with me about on here, as his stories are not mine and I don't have the right publicly post what he had to say. But all the same, I want to give an idea of the intriguing nature of many of the things he talked about.
This man collects binoculars from tag sales and flea markets, primarily war time binoculars. The pair he had with him today was a recently acquired small model of German make, from the second world war. He told me many stories of other pairs he had found, facts and stories in history having to do with binoculars, and of a pair of long, brass binoculars he once bought for $30 that turned out to be originally from a Russian ship that had been sunk by the Japanese fleet when they crushed the puny Russian fleet. The Japanese converted the Russian binoculars to the Japanese style by adding lines in the viewer that would assist them in shooting down other mortals. George found out the history of the binoculars when he took them to an antique shop where he was offered $600 for them. When he visited the same shop a week or two later, he saw those same binoculars he had sold sitting in the window with a $2000 price tag on them. (George also collects glasses and watches from tag sales and flea markets, but I won't go into any of those stories.)
I also got to hear stories about various friends and people he had known, things he had seen and done, and other random things of life. I found out that he believes in UFOs. "They're out there, you know. Always have been." Supposedly a friend of his had seen a UFO a few years back while doing some early morning fishing in a cove in that area. For, as you know, "they like quiet, secluded places." George told me about wildlife in the area, birdcalls, a white coyote he saw once, and how he once mistakenly pet a bear cub, assuming it was the dog from a nearby house that would visit him from time to time at one of his resting spots. I mostly listened and occasionally made encouraging responses or asked questions, doing little talking about myself, but that's the kind of conversation I like best, I think. I love listening to other people, especially when they have such interesting stories and lives. That one hour spent in conversation with 77 year-old George made my day, and I'm hoping that I brightened his day a bit by being such a willing and agreeable listener. I'm afraid not many people have the time or take the time for that kind of thing. As we prepared to part ways, George told me that he wished he were about 30 years younger. I laughed a bit at that, but refrained from telling him that as he would still have been old enough to be my father at that point, he would really have to be more like 50 years younger to hope for anything. (Though I am obligated by my boyfriend to say that even in that case, I am still spoken for :P)
I have no real point to make with this post, other than that people should really get out there and enjoy the weather, appreciate God's creation, and take time to talk with others and listen to the stories of old people. I fear that most people view the elderly as an inconvenience, as having outlived their time, incompetent, feeble, and useless. But I believe that most of them have so much more knowledge and life experience than any of the rest of us have, and they are more than worth talking with.
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