The Worth of Friends (and maybe a little ice cream...)

    A number of years ago, Paula discovered a reasonably priced, aging house on a beautiful beach on an otherwise very expensive island, smack dab in front one of the best places we've ever found for kiteboarding.  I would tell you where it is, but then you might rent it on "our" week and that would be the end of our friendship.  Or I'd have to have you rubbed out, or whatever.  

    So, for the last eight years (minus the icky one with the pandemic thing), we've dragged along friends and have had a great time in XXXXXXXXXX (location redacted).  And don't ask me why everyone ended up with red helmets.  I was first!

 

    Paula was born on the 5th of February, so the trip is always scheduled to include that.  The timing is nice also because it's something to look forward to during the dark days of January, and by the time we get back and recover, it's not too long until Spring (in North Carolina that is, sorry about you guys up north).

    So who are these guys in red hats?  Look for the skinny legs, and that's me on the right.  Next to me is our great buddy Winston, who interviewed for medical school the same day as me in August 1976, and so I've known him longer than Paula, and don't do the 'age' math thing.

    Then comes my brother Mark, an expert kiteboarder along with Winston, and always looking for fun stuff.  He's a thoroughly kind and generous guy and pushes me, and it's usually even in the right direction.  Usually...

    OK, and the guy with the weird-colored legs?  My bro Mark was an orthopaedic surgeon, and that guy (Harold by name) was one of the anesthesiologists that he worked with.  Unfortunately, Harold is also the repository of a huge and awful collection of dad jokes, and would apparently pop up at the head of the operating table during procedures and torture the room with them.

     For the ten days, we enjoy the water and the wind,

and each other's company.  There are birthdays to celebrate

 

and kites to be fixed

and walks to be walked

and heads to be measured

(excuse me - what?!)

    In the past thirty or so years, it has become clear that along with proper diet, exercise, control of blood pressure, blah, blah, blah, social interaction not only makes life richer, but can actually extend it.  

    As an example, drawing on data from more than 2,100 participants in the long-running Midlife in the United States (MIDUS) project, researchers discovered that adults with higher cumulative social advantage—meaning long-standing, robust relationships with family and friends and in religious and community groups—had biological markers showing slower cellular aging and reduced levels of chronic inflammation as compared to their less-connected peers. 

    An analysis of 148 studies found that people with strong social bonds had a 50% greater chance of survival than those with poor social relationships. Harvard’s 80-year Study of Adult Development came to the same conclusion:  “Loneliness kills. It’s as powerful as smoking or alcoholism.”  A documentary in 2023 called "Join or Die" draws upon these findings to encourage participation in social interactions with others.

    And those are a few of the findings that I quoted to Paula while defending my utter need for that new, really cool kite.  "It'll make me live longer if I kite with my friends!"

 

     Pausing, she considered how long she really wants me around, and added that into the equation of whether or not I get the new kite.

    Of course, all of this begs the question of the health consequences of some of the activities during these 'social interactions.'  Like not sticking too tightly to some of those old, stuffy 'dietary guidelines.'

 

    Don't bother counting.  It averaged out to over a gallon of ice cream per person.  Does that negate the effects of the 'social interaction' thing?

    In addition, we have been known to get together and do things that could be classified as stupid.  Like, maybe, kiting at night.  Yeah, but it was a full moon! 

 

'   Or some other fun (dumb) stuff.

 

      So, I dunno, maybe it all evens out in the end.  Meanwhile, get together with your friends and have some fun!  I, uh, mean some important, meaningful, purposeful social interactions.  Yeah, that's what I meant. 

 

Dave 

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

      Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in Sonnet 43 written in 1850, found a bunch of them for her particular relationship.  So, this morning, when Paula said she loved me, I asked that she enumerate the reasons.

     "Good looks?" I asked.  She thought for a moment, "Well, no, I mean, you're not really ugly or anything, but let's put that one to the side."

    "Gee," I said, "Glad we got that one out of the way.  OK, money?"

    "Oh, that's not so important, and having just done the finances for the 2025 taxes, I'm not sure you'd be considered a great catch by a lot of women for such a very superficial reason, so skip that one also."

    "Like, for instance, what proportion generally would not think the money thing?"

    "I dunno, like 99.4% or so in your specific case."

     "OK, what's next?  You can skip my dancing ability and proclivity."  [Note:  early in the marriage we agreed that if I learned to dance, she'd learn to ski.  Large zero on both.]

    "Well, you've been faithful to me.  That counts a lot."

    "Yeah, but you could have gotten that from a Golden Retriever."

    "Sure, but I didn't have to house train you.  Mostly."

    "So skip that.  Why else would you love me?"

    She thought for a moment, and that turned into a little while.  "I'm thinking, OK?" and she tried to change the subject.   

    "I know!" she finally exclaimed, "You do the dishes and I don't even have to ask you!"

     So, in the end, having not even recognized it along the way during our 48 years of happy marriage, I earned the love of my beautiful wife by doing the dishes.  It was that simple!  If only more men realized that they could be loved for that one easy thing, skipping all the rest.  Man, I ought to write a book! 

 

     "Like that, you mean?  Just do dishes?!  I'm going to make a killing on this book thing!"

     "OK, you need to step back a couple of steps.  'Doing dishes' is like saying that you could be a great musician just by learning 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.'  The fact that you wash some plates and scrub out some pots is great, but it's only a part of a much bigger picture."

     "Uh, oh, does this mean I'm about to get a much more nuanced (longer, boring) explanation of how it works?"

    "Doing dishes, or helping with the laundry, or spreading compost for me, those are great, but so are helping me with my church assignments, and gently looking past my quirks.  You let me pursue things that I think are important.  You make me feel pretty by your side, and you quietly push me to be my best self."

     "That's because I sincerely love you, and that's grown through the years as I've figured out what a really good person you are.  And it doesn't hurt that you're still cute."

     "OK, now that we've expanded your perspective a bit, the dishes still need washed.  I need to work on my lesson for church next week."

     So, happily up to my forearms in suds, I got to work on scrubbing a pot and loading the dishwasher,  and thinking about what she said.  This book thing is going to need some work.

 

Dave

So what's the big deal?

     And Paula answered, "No, you really DO have to have functioning water and sewer lines, OK?"  I guess borrowing the neighbor's bathroom is really not a long-term solution after all.  And cooking with Gatorade doesn't seem like a realistic path either.

     So, what happened?  While working in the front gardens ("There was a weed.  I had to remove it.") Paula noticed a wet spot, even with some standing water.  It didn't seem to be really icky water, but we had the guy with the fancy camera put it down the sewer pipe just to make sure.   

     For all we knew, he might have gotten the pictures he showed us from Google Images, but whoever's pipes those were didn't look so good.  And we learned elsewhere that cast iron sewer pipes are usually good for 50 years or so and these had been in the ground for 61.  Oops.

    The estimates for replacing the water supply and sewer pipes ranged from one semi-ridiculously-high figure to five times that much.  We held our breath and said OK.  And no, not to the high one.

     The guys showed up early one morning and proceeded to drive the backhoe right through the landscaping and grass,

digging a trench from the house to the street, 

with mounds of dirt along the way. 

 

 By late afternoon, the new pipes were in and the dirt was back in the trench.  Some of it, at least.  There was a lot still heaped around, and even though I shoveled it back over the trench, it will take years to settle out again.  

     On the other hand, water comes into the house when you turn on the faucet and the other stuff leaves the house, so there's that.  However, the landscaping...

    Paula put a shovel in my hands and we went to work.  We'll be doing so for a looonnngg time.   

     So, I guess that was the big deal.  We would suggest checking on the age of your pipes, and if they're approaching 50, move.  Now.

 Dave & Paula   

Just when you think you've gotten rid of them...

      Our second-oldest daughter is married to a guy in the Foreign Service of the U.S. State Department, and she has followed him around to all sorts of strange places during their married life.  Their first two kids started out in the States, but from a very early age those two have lived abroad, and the remaining five know nothing else.  They get to come to the States for 'home leave' every summer, and one of them described it like, "going to Disneyland," and then they go to back to their real home in Tajikistan or Kazakhstan, or Uzbekistan or Whatever-stan.  Kind of a different perspective.  

    Anyway, they've been here for a couple of weeks, and it's been a lot of fun.  First was Topsail Beach with more cousins than I could keep count of.

     They got to catch up on the latest fashions in fingernails, 

and get reacquainted with their cousins, like this was one being fed by Grandma.  Who else could look so good feeding a kid while wearing Shark Dark™ glasses?

     Then back to Raleigh, where a friend of ours let them infest their pool several times.

     And after that they tried to steal my car.

 

     Grandma took the oldest daughter out to lunch with her cousin, and they shopped for new dresses.

     It's amazing how much your IQ appears to increase in a 'borrowed' pair of your grandfather's reading glasses, which he'll go crazy hunting for later.

 

      Or how much that IQ can appear to drop with a pair of googly eys.

     Or how strong you can get by working out.

     Or how many cardiac arrhythmias you can cure with a pair of paddles.  (If I were this guy, I'd ask for a copy of her medical license.  BEFORE she used the paddles.)

     There have been lots of good walks,

 

as well as some plain old hanging around. 

     The gang got to go to beloved Uncle Mark and Aunt Amy's who live on the water in Maryland and they got to go sailing and climbing on Mark's big climbing walls.

     Back in Raleigh, the toy bin had to be checked out.

     And several went flying with Grandpa.

    And the fish needed to be fed.  Or lied and said they needed to be fed.  Can't trust a fish. 

 

    It has been a great visit, and there have been lots of fun and sweet moments.  Though the house has been chaotic, it has been worth every extra load of laundry, every extra trip to Costco and all the rest.  

     We wouldn't trade these moments for anything.

 

Dave & Paula

She did it!

      Paula is one of the most consistent, tenacious and organized people I have ever known.  Our sister-in-law (one of her closest friends) saw this card, bought it, brought it home and asked her kids, "Who does this remind you of?"  With no prompting, they answered in unison, "Aunt Paula!"

     There are things that bother her that don't cause me any problem (which speaks badly for me, by the way) such as:

or

or

      She pointed out that in addition to the corner of the sheet being out in the picture above, there was NO MATTRESS PAD!!

     This has been great in our married life....mostly.  It means that the house is always neat, the weeds are pulled and the spices are in alphabetical order.  Of course!  Who would dare do otherwise with spices?!

     Note:  I was sternly reprimanded for leaving the cabinet doors open taking that picture.

     The wash is done and neatly folded so that all the towels are stacked the same way.  The pictures are all straight and there are "hospital corners" when the beds are made.  I've been informed that at times I don't stack my jeans the right way, and she will take them out and arrange them correctly.

     Let me emphasize that this is almost always to the good.  Our home has a quiet and peaceful spirit, and while I laugh and give her grief on occasion, I consider myself lucky to be married to her for this and a million other reasons.

     As you've read before, we spent almost five years in South America, and through a LOT of hard and persistent work, she became fluent in Spanish.  She spoke over 300 times in various public meetings and never required a translator.

     We've been home now for nine years, and starting soon after that, Paula signed up for the DuoLingo app.  She says that learning the language was the hardest thing she's ever done, and doesn't want to lose it.  Consistent with her persistence and diligence, she almost never misses a day to "feed the owl," the way the app refers to the daily task.  (Because of her diligence, she can skip very occasionally if we're en route to Kazakhstan or something.)

     So, she made it!  Three thousand days in a row!

    She was asked, "So, what now?"  "4,000 days!  Duh!"

    Not long ago, a friend of a grandson bragged that he had a 200-day streak on DuoLingo.  Nathan laughed and said, "OK, my grandmother is closing in on 3K.  My GRANDMOTHER!"  Take that!

     I have to admit that although I laugh a lot about it, Paula's persistence, diligence and organization are one of the reasons that I love her.  I'll post again when she hits 4,000.  And then 5,000.

Dave

Be careful who you pick for friends

      Because you may have them for a looonnng time.  

     I graduated from the Medical College of Virginia (now VCU School of Medicine) in 1981.  

     During my four years there, I made a lot of good friendships and actually had a lot of fun - mixed in with a lot of hard work, long hours, scary situations, sad outcomes, and...you've heard about the rest.

     The first two years of med school were mostly spent in the classroom, with a few early exposures to patients.  However, the third year, we were thrown in the deep end of the pool without our floaty wings.  The class divided itself into twelve groups to begin the clinical rotations, and these groups formed more-or-less organically.  My friends and I declared ourselves to be "Group 12."

     One of our gang was from my congregation at church in Northern Virginia and I'd known him since about five years old.  Another interviewed at MCV the same day I did in 1976, a couple of months before I met Paula at BYU.  Several were accomplished musicians, and we began meeting at someone's house after big tests to overeat and play music.  I was honored to play alto sax (poorly) a couple of times with the band that was formed, The Cyanotic Blues Band (get the joke?  "Cyanotic" means "blue" - OK not that funny.)

     At the end of medical school, we scattered to residencies in just about all the big branches of medicine.

      We thought we'd had it tough in med school, but as interns and residents we were tossed in the deep end without a life jacket, and this time there were a couple of cinder blocks tied to our ankles and there was someone standing on our head.  

     After THAT was over, just working 70 hours a week felt like a vacation, and we even got PAID!  Woo-hoo!  

     However, over the years Group 12 devolved in to Christmas cards and an occasional visit if we happened to be in that part of the country. 

     Those with whom I was closest have turned out well.  One has been the chief of staff at one of the most prestigious hospital systems in California.  

Another is a professor of anesthesiology at a top-tier medical school, was the head of the national academy of pain specialists, and has testified in Congress concerning hospice care.   

The one with whom I've remained closest became a senior partner in a large ophthalmology practice (and a really good kiteboarder!)  

 Meanwhile, I hung out and caught babies.

     But we're all getting older and are beginning to feel it.  Cancer, serial orthopedic difficulties and what we look like in the mirror have made that clear.  So someone finally called time out for a huddle.

    And it was great!  All four of us are still married - and to our first wives!  We met at the beautiful home of  our buddy in San Diego and took in a Padres game.  Yeah, they lost, but the hot dogs were great and we laughed a lot.

      We toured some good restaurants in San Diego and ate far too much!

      We hit the San Diego zoo!  That's Paula on the left.  (She didn't eat THAT much!)

     We watched the video of our senior med school "Take-offs" in which we made fun of our attending physicians and played some pretty good music, and we laughed some more!

     It was a great four days, but the best part was seeing that everyone had stayed on course.  We all had honorable careers and had stayed true to our ethical bedrock, which may have been naive at first but which proved in the long run to be the right way to go.  

     Do it all over again?  Are you NUTS?  But feel blessed to have found such honorable life-long friends?  Absolutely.  

     So, be careful who you pick for friends.  They may be with you a lot longer than you think.   

Dave & Paula