Chaparral Wisdom

It has been a tumultuous decade. But the tumultuous part all disappeared for me over a spaghetti dinner two weeks ago.

As the noodles wound their way around forks, bread irreverently tossed across the table, and wine spilled onto the floor, one of my pals proclaimed, while raising his glass, “It’s been 50 years!”

It never dawned on me, our tenure. There were nine of us, all friends from college, gathered around the table that night. We hadn’t changed much over the past five decades, at least from my perspective. Sure, our body forms had leaned into enjoyment, one of us had a stent, a couple tennis elbows squeaked, and hair was thinning, but we were all still very much alive, laughing, telling stories, and dreaming about the future as we always had. We certainly were of differing opinions about the outer maelstrom, the outside world that really doesn’t have much impact on our daily happiness. But it wasn’t worth mentioning. So, when it came up, it was quickly disposed of. That’s what people do when they care for each other, know each other, have the perspective only older folks like us can truly understand – nothing matters more than legacy friendships, friendships that have survived and thrived despite the passing decades. Foxhole friendships. Friends who would take a bullet for you.

The morning after we did what lots of people have discovered as especially enjoyable over the past few years – we took a walk in the park. It wasn’t just any park. It was a park filled with wild things – sprawling oaks, dense sage scrub, a flowing stream, dirt trails, boulders of tonalite, and a lone mission manzanita. Sure, the conversations and laughter flowed indoors the night before, around the long table I had built years ago to accommodate such gatherings (I’ve never quite gotten over how us kids were often delegated to a separate table from the adults during family events). But walking outdoors, breathing in fragrant terpenes, hearing water flow, seeing green, branching fractals everywhere, the conversations became more curious, free, filled with speculations about what was and what may come. In retrospect, the experience provided a kind of glue for me, pasting renewed memories of friendship onto a scaffold that had been standing alone, unattended, for quite some time. COVID had something to do with the lack of maintenance, but truth-be-told, I’d allowed my life-since-college focus pull me away from renewing our 3^rd East’s vows on a regular basis. That’s what we call ourselves, the Third East Gang – third floor, eastern bank of the dorms, at Long Beach State.