One of my very favorite poems by one my favorite poets, Robert Frost, came to my mind this morning as friends Clyde, Dave, and I talked over our Wednesday morning ritual coffee. As happens sometimes, actually quite often, something happened midway into our conversation that knitted together important pieces of the day. We had been talking about age and the great value of friendships and concern over Syria and other troubles in the Middle East.  Somewhere midway in our congenial talk, a man, whom I thought to be quite old, came into the courtyard with his cup of tea and chose a small table behind ours.  He didn’t seem to be paying attention to us, but after a few minutes, he made a comment about Syria and about passing through Arkansas on the way from Chicago to San Diego by way of New Orleans.  Ours is a friendly table.  Clyde turned and started introductions, so from then on the  conversation included Del, our new friend. He told us how small San Diego was when he came when he was twenty-three. Clyde wanted to know where Del had worked... (downtown at Marston’s Department Store) and where he lived then (downtown in a small apartment, bathroom down the hall) and where he lives now... (Adams Avenue across from Trolley Park ... a place where there was once an ostrich farm). 

Dave asked, “If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you now?” 

“Eighty-six,” Del, the man whom had I thought to be quite old, said.

“Sobering,” I thought.

Later after Dave and Clyde left, I asked Del if I could take his picture.  I told him about my pattern of taking and keeping a photograph that I think of as “the picture of the day.”  I told him I will have my seventy-eighth birthday next week.  He laughed and said, “If we had been in the same school when I was in eighth grade, you would have been a first grader.  I’ll bet I would have teased you.”  I said I would have liked that.  We laughed a very good laugh, the way friends do.

PROVIDE, PROVIDE

--Robert Frost

The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag,
Was once the beauty Abishag,

The picture pride of Hollywood.
Too many fall from great and good
For you to doubt the likelihood.

Die early and avoid the fate.
Or if predestined to die late,
Make up your mind to die in state.

Make the whole stock exchange your own!
If need be occupy a throne,
Where nobody can call you crone.

Some have relied on what they knew;
Others on simply being true.
What worked for them might work for you.

No memory of having starred
Atones for later disregard,
Or keeps the end from being hard.

Better to go down dignified
With boughten friendship at your side
Than none at all. Provide, provide!