JULIAN GOT A HAIRCUT TODAY. IT'S AMAZING HOW MUCH TALLER HE LOOKS. HE SEEMS A FOOT TALLER WITHOUT THE LONG, CURLY HAIR... AND OLDER. HE AND HIS DAD AND I WENT TO A PARK SO HE COULD RUN AND PLAY. IT WAS CLEAR THAT HIS DAD WAS GRIEVING A LITTLE AT THE "LOSS" OF SOMETHING, AND I DON'T THINK IT WAS THE HAIR. IT'S AS IF ERIC, NOT JULIAN, HAD GIVEN UP SOMETHING THAT HE WOULD LIKE TO HAVE KEPT. LATER AFTER THEY HAD GONE HOME, I GOT TO THINKING ABOUT HOW HARD IT IS TO GIVE UP THINGS, EVEN THINGS THAT YOU DON'T NEED, THINGS WITH NO VALUE THAT CAN BE QUANTIFIED.

WHAT IS IT, DO YOU THINK, THAT IS SO APPEALING TO ME ABOUT OLD SHIRTS AND PANTS THAT ARE STILL HANGING IN MY CLOSET AFTER YEARS OF NOT BEING WORN AT ALL? WHY DO I WANT TO HANG ON TO THAT STUFF?

Can’t you pose a harder question? That one is too easy. At times lately you’ve been preoccupied with the fact of your advancing age. All that talk when you were in you fifties and sixties about how you’d have no problem getting older, that moving into seventies and eighties, which you avoided calling old age, how that would be just part of the adventure of living, how being an older person should be a matter of being at least a little wiser... Maybe it was just talk to cover unease. Perhaps the deaths of friends is having an unexpected effect. Lynn’s death a good many years ago you simply crossed off as premature, as unexpected. When Stanley died last year, you were in Europe and couldn’t come back to California for the funeral, but I could see that you were very much affected by the news that he had died, even though it had been expected for months; but he was four years older than you. Imbi was eighty-three. Ten summers from now you will be eighty-three.

MAYBE YOU’RE RIGHT... BUT MAYBE I JUST LIKE THE FEEL OF SOFT, WORN, FAMILIAR CLOTHES. I KNOW I HATE TO GIVE UP A PAIR OF SHOES WHEN IT HAS BECOME OBVIOUS THAT I CAN’T HAVE THEM RE-SOLED ONE MORE TIME. AND I DON’T LIKE THE WAY NEW SHOES LOOK OR THE WAY THEY FEEL. I’VE NEVER LIKED SHOPPING FOR SHOES; EVEN WHEN I WAS A YOUNG MAN, I DIDN’T LIKE IT. I’VE GOT SHOES I HAVEN’T WORN IN YEARS, BUT THEY’RE STILL WEARABLE. I SHOULD GIVE THOSE UP.

MARGARET FINALLY INSISTED THAT I GET RID OF SOME THINGS. WE LIVE IN AN APARTMENT. “THERE’S A LIMIT,” SHE SAID. AND SHE’S RIGHT. SO I SPENT SOME TIME SORTING THROUGH ALL MY SHIRTS AND PANTS. I DIDN’T COUNT THEM, BUT I GUESS THERE WERE MORE THAN FIFTY T-SHIRTS: “BIKE TO WORK DAY” T-SHIRTS FROM 1944 AND 1945 AND 1948 AND 1950; A T-SHIRT THE KIDS AT GOMPERS HAD MADE WHEN THEY DID “LITTLE NELL,” THE MELODRAMA, FOURTEEN YEARS AGO; T-SHIRT FROM ALL THOSE TIMES I DONATED BLOOD AT THE SAN DIEGO BLOOD BANK; T-SHIRTS FROM ISLANDS IN THE CARIBBEAN; AND T-SHIRTS I’VE NEVER WORN WITH LOGOS OF PRODUCTS I’VE NEVER USED. THE T-SHIRT I ESPECIALLY LIKE AND WON'T GIVE UP IS ONE THAT DAVID GAVE ME THAT PROCLAIMS, "ALL WHO WANDER ARE NOT LOST." SHAKESPEARE SAID, "IT'S A WISE FATHER WHO KNOWS HIS OWN SON." IN THIS CASE IT'S A WISE SON WHO KNOWS HIS OWN FATHER.

AND PANTS: WELL WORN JEANS AND HARDLY WORN TROUSERS THAT I MUST HAVE THOUGHT ONCE I NEEDED BUT NOW CAN’T REMEMBER WHY I THOUGHT IT OR EVEN WHERE I BOUGHT THEM. BY THE TIME I WAS FINISHED I HAD THREE BIG BOXES OF CLOTHES TO TAKE TO GOODWILL. OH, I FORGOT TO INCLUDE THE SHOES.

You should have long ago given those once-good wool sweaters to someone before the moths got to them. There are plenty of people who could have used them on cold nights. Even in San Diego you could have cruised the streets and parks downtown and found people who would have been glad to have a warm sweater. You’re fooling yourself when you hang on to stuff just because you say you may one day need it. A few years ago you said you intended to go up into the Sierras some winter to take pictures and you’d need heavier clothing. You made that trip to Russia a couple of years ago and spent two months in Northern Europe, and you dug out that old parka with the fur-lined hood; you took only a couple of sweaters and a two pairs of corduroy pants.

YOU KNOW I COULDN’T TAKE MUCH ON THAT TRIP. PART OF THE TIME I WAS MOVING AROUND EUROPE ON TRAINS. EVEN IN SMOLENSK I DIDN’T WANT TO BURDEN MY HOSTS. SO I TRAVELED LIGHT.

That’s not the point, is it? I'm wondering if you feel younger when you wear a sweater you’ve had since you were forty-something?

MAYBE THAT’S THE PROBLEM. I USUALLY DON’T “FEEL” ANYTHING AT SEVENTY-THREE THAT I WASN’T FEELING WHEN I WAS FORTY-THREEE OR THIRTY-THREE. IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT I’M WEARING. BUT I DO KNOW THAT BEFORE I LEAVE THE HOUSE ON A COOL JANUARY DAY, I REACH WITHOUT THINKING FOR THAT OLD BROWN WOOL CAP THAT I GOT IN ENGLAND A SO LONG AGO THAT I CAN’T REMEMBER WHEN IT WAS... MAYBE IN 1971; OR WAS IT 1983? I KNOW I GOT IT MANY, MANY YEARS BEFORE LAST AUTUMN WHEN I VISITED WORDSWORTH’S COTTAGE AND ACTUALLY THOUGHT ABOUT THE CAP, WHICH WAS BACK HOME IN SAN DIEGO, AND WISHED I HAD IT ON MY HEAD EVEN THOUGH IT WAS A WARM DAY. MY THINKING ABOUT THE CAP THAT DAY HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH FEELING “OLD.” I WAS IN A MOOD, A SPECIAL, VERY GOOD MOOD; AND I THINK I WANTED THAT GOOD MOOD TO LAST. MAYBE I THOUGHT THE CAP WOULD HELP.

For a man who fell in love a long time ago with Thoreau, especially with the idea of living simply, you’d have a hard time convincing anybody that you have a simple life. And spending a quiet hour every morning with yoga doesn’t mean you're living simply. Do you have any idea how many people there are in the world who don’t have the luxury of time to do yoga in the morning? You’re damned lucky to have a pad to put on the carpeted floor in the room where your digital sound system can transport you to a jungle with birds and crickets and waterfalls. No. Your life is not simple. You don’t keep and wear your old clothes as a way of living simply. Think about.