In the home where I grew up there was a den that my father used as his office.  Over his desk hung a painted goatskin with a colorful panel featuring vignettes of life in Africa.

I still remember the quote written at the end of the panel.  It said, “Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.”

When I was only five years old, I couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of those words, but I remember that they seemed “adult” and “deep,” and mysterious. All these years later, they remain with me, and I’m proud to still remember the quote today, more than seventy-five years later.

An internet search reveals the quote was from a poem, and a book, entitled, “The House by the Side of the Road,” by the American librarian and poet Sam Walter Foss, who lived from 1858 to 1911.  Foss died before my dad was born in 1914.

The poem was published in 1887 and was very popular in America at one time, although now it is mostly forgotten.

In any event, “The House by the Side of the Road” is an uplifting poem about choosing to engage with people in an accepting and non-judgmental manner. Be a friend to all who pass through your life. Perhaps those are still the best words to live by today in these times of divisiveness.

My mother was literary, my father pragmatic.  Looking back, I find it intriguing that my father chose those particular words to display over his desk. He was someone who didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.

But our parents are role models we both cling to and run from, as we must, in becoming our adult selves.  This may be why I’m pragmatic to the core yet carry a deep appreciation for the wisdom and beauty of thoughts and words.

I find it fitting that for fifty-five years I have run a commercial real estate business (what could be more pragmatic?).  It is also fitting that for more than twenty years I have published Rattle, a poetry journal which reflects my desire to bring poetry to a wider audience, especially to those who might have initially thought that they didn’t like poetry.

And since I’m on the subject, allow me to sing the praises of Rattle.  I’m proud to report that our circulation is currently more than ten thousand copies quarterly, and that we publish one poet’s chapbook with every issue.

But this blog is basically a love letter to my mother and my father, as a “thank you” for helping to shape the self I have become: a man who chooses to live in a house by the side of the road… and be a friend to all.

Alan

On August 8, 2023, the entire community of Lahaina, Hawaii was destroyed by wildfires. Once the capital of the Hawaiian kingdom, Lahaina was home to 13,000 people, of whom 97 were killed in the fires.

In the center of Lahaina there is a 150-year-old Banyan tree which has grown to cover more than half an acre. News media reported that, after the fire, the trunk of the banyan tree “appeared badly charred,” and “its leaves browned to a crisp.”

After reading this I felt sad.  A few years ago I owned a home on Maui, and I came to cherish the Banyan tree almost as much as the locals do.  It’s across the street from the Peter Lik shop that sells great professional photos of nature. I have three or four displayed in my office and at my home.

But there is good news.  The tree may recover.

According to the New York Times, “…some feared that it might not live on.  Then, green shoots began to unfurl around the trunk…others sprouted from its branches between brown and withered leaves.”  A landscape contractor who is tending the tree says, “…we saw a lot of new root growth…”

I’m rooting for the tree (pun intended) and hoping it will recover, along with the town. I remember how pleasant it was to visit. I once enjoyed an engrossing conversation with a close friend under the shade of that same Banyan tree.

The learning I take from the beloved banyan is that trees, like people, can recover from disruption and disaster and, like the Banyan tree, we are all beautiful in our way.

Trees grow toward the light.

And, hopefully, so do we.

Alan

About a year ago I had surgery to remove cataracts.  This morning I visited my eye surgeon for a follow-up.  He noticed there was an eyelash in my right eye and asked me if I would like him to remove it.  I said, “Sure.” 

He then gave me a release form to sign and date.  He told me that whenever he does any “procedure” he first needs a signed release form, even for something as minor as removing an eyelash. That’s the rule. 

I said, “That’s sounds like an unnecessary rule.” 

He agreed.  Then we had a brief discussion about the usefulness (or pointlessness) of certain rules. 

This started me thinking… We are all governed by many, many rules.  For example, traffic lights:  red means “stop,” green means “go,” and orange means “go faster.”  While there is a good reason to follow all (or most) of the rules of driving, we often find ourselves following rules that no longer serve any useful purpose. 

Years ago, I noticed that an employee in my accounting department was on the phone collecting data and writing it down on paper. She had been with my company for two decades. 

“Helen,” I said, “why are you doing it that way?” 

“Because that’s how you told me to do it,” she said. “Don’t you remember, Alan?  I’m following your exact instructions.”  

While she was undoubtedly correct, I had given her those instructions eight years earlier, before we had computers.  I hadn’t thought to update my instructions, which she continued to follow. She was spending an extra hour or two every day — still working under the original rules. 

The list of rules in our lives seems to always expand and never contract.  Rules seldom go away, even if they are entirely out of date or counterproductive. But if rules are meant to improve our lives – to keep us safe, or make us more productive — shouldn’t they evolve along with our changing lives? 

From this I have learned that: 

1. We should be careful in setting rules. 

1. We should encourage ourselves and others to question rules and consider whether they continue to be useful. 

Those are my rules on rules.  The only two, I think, that always matter. 

Will you follow them? 

Alan