It was in the little gray house that we lived next door to Arthur. We bought that house when our first born was barely walking upright, and we had our second and third babies while living there. Arthur, or Art like he was known to most, was 98 years young and living alone when we moved in. It didn’t take long for us to realize what a gem he was.
Art was a kind and generous man, a widower, a devout Mormon, and beloved by many. He lived in what one might call the tidiest of shanty shacks. It was a two bedroom bungalow, probably built the year Art was born, and it had peeling paint on the siding and overgrown shrubs surrounding its one-car carport. The living room was so full of yellow-orange floral print furniture from the 1960s that you could hardly walk around in it. But there wasn’t any need to, because when you came by, you were there to sit on the couch and listen to his stories, and hopefully be served chocolates from a company you’ve probably never heard of.
About a year into living in the little gray house, we learned what the chocolates were about. Art came by our house and delivered some old 4x6 photographs to Adam. I think maybe this was done in the small hope that the neighborly relationship we had formed was sincere, and therefore, we were interested in hearing some of his story. It was a funny gesture to me at the time. He wasn’t loaning us pictures of himself in the past. He was giving them to us. He wanted us to know him, and this was a necessary part of that. The photos were yellowed and streaky, and I don’t remember much about them except that many had large boats in them, with Art’s slanted cursive writing on the backside.
One of the photos was a landscape, faded brown and green. There was a dip in the land and a small hill behind it and on the backside his handwriting read, “Overlooking the valley where I retired.”
Art explained to Adam that when he was young he joined the military, and moved to Panama so that he could work on the Panama Canal. He met a Panamanian woman, fell in love and married her. Then they continued to live together, and raise a family in Panama for 60 years. Yep, you read that right: 60 years. They had kids there. Their kids had kids there. Art had moved back to the US 15 years prior - after his wife died ofold age. When Art told my husband this part of his story, Adam ran home with the eagerness of a kid on Christmas morning. He could NOT wait another second to tell me the news that Art had lived almost an entire lifetime in another country. Thus, the chocolates. They were his favorite candies from his lifetime in Panama.
When Art shared this with us, it was as if this veil between time and space was stripped open, and we found out that someone can live two whole lives. Put another way, for a girl in her early 20s, it was the first time that I realized how long life truly is - how many chances we get - how much time we have.
We grow up hearing, “Life is short! Make the most of it!”
But, these faded photographs were the first time I discovered that life isn’t only short. If we’re lucky, it’s also pretty long.
The phrase, “life is short” makes for the sound-bite-iest of sound bites. It makes us feel good and motivated. It’s the first cousin of “YOLO,” “Seize the day!” and “Carpe Diem.” And, don’t get me wrong. I love their whole family. They get shit done. Go, team YOLO.
But they don’t rest very well. They don’t have the best patience. I’m not sure that they are good listeners, and they always seem so busy to me.
When I think about life being long, it stirs me something different.
“Life is long” means I don’t have to rush everywhere, all the time.
It means I don’t have to get everything right on the first try.
When I fall flat on my face, which I inevitably will, there’s a good chance that I’ll have some time to get back up and try again.
If life is long, then that also means our relationships can last a long time, too. We have lots of time to mess up and hurt each other, somethin’ awful. But, we also have lots of time to learn each other deeply, and practice the art of forgiveness.
Those of us who are as lucky as Art, might even have time to live many different stories inside our own lives.
What a gift that lesson is.
Thanks, Art.
[This short story is an installment to what I’m predicting will be a three-part series. Stick around to learn more about Art’s chocolates, mowing the lawn while (almost) blind, and how to be a good neighbor.]
That house, your babies, and stories about Art... This post takes me back to what already feels like a different lifetime. Imagine all the different stories still ahead of us!
I truly can’t wait to read more! Thank you for sharing this story with us.
Please ramble some more because I love it and can’t wait to read more about Art. Your talent inspires me! ❤️
Wow. What an amazing story… definitely sticking around for part 2. ❤️
That house, your babies, and stories about Art... This post takes me back to what already feels like a different lifetime. Imagine all the different stories still ahead of us!