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