From the day he was 80 years old, every time I saw my dad he would say something like, “I’m enjoying every extra day.”

Since he lived to be almost 105, Dad enjoyed a lot of “extra” days.

In fact, I know for sure that he lived almost 25 years longer than he should have, directly because of his frugality.

Early in 1999 Dad signed up to travel with a tour group flying from Los Angeles to Cairo via EgyptAir.  The flight was scheduled for October.

A month before the trip my dad cancelled because he didn’t want to pay the high supplement cost charged for a person travelling single.  He made other arrangements, and that turned out to be a key decision.

On October 31, 1999, EgyptAir Flight 990 crashed into the Atlantic Ocean, killing all 217 of the passengers and crew on board.  Had he not cancelled, Dad would have been on that flight, and the death toll would have been 218.

This “close call” was a continuing reminder to him that he should appreciate every single day.

Benjamin Franklin once wrote about the permanency of our Constitution, “…in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.”

I heartily agree.  As for taxes, I discovered when I was young that the highest income tax rate was 91%.  Ouch!  That was certainly a force to be reckoned with.  But of more immediate interest to my 7-year-old self was the 3% sales tax that was added to the cost of every kite I bought.  When is a price not the full price?  Whenever a tax applied, which seemed to be virtually every time.

Now, I share my father’s goal of appreciating every extra day. Accordingly, I always try to find a way to enjoy whatever it is I’m doing.  A wedding?  No problem.  I like the food (if not having to dress up for the occasion).  A vacation?  Of course.  Who doesn’t like the pleasant change from sitting at a desk.  A USC football game?  Well, my enjoyment there depends upon the final score.

But, like my dad, I believe that every new day is a bonus, and I am going to continue to do my very best to revel in each and every one.

Alan

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