Regrets

Feeling old today. It happens sometimes. This week, an old friend in the urban planning profession died, unexpectedly they say. Ron Newman was his name, and he was an extraordinarily fine person. I happen to be blessed that way with friends and colleagues. Among other professional accomplishments, Ron was the director of the Capitol Zoning District office. It enforced a state law designed to protect the Arkansas State Capitol grounds and the Governor’s Mansion from being overwhelmed by tall, tawdry buildings and incompatible, i.e. crappy, land uses. That law was passed back when lawmakers cared about such things.

I served on the Mansion Area advisory committee, so Ron and I worked closely for a number of years. It’s good to work with good people. Ron and his wife moved to Colorado years ago and I’ve only seen him once, I think, since. Hearing of his death made me feel sad, old, and mortal. I'm glad I knew him, and regret I didn't see him more often.

Speaking of feeling old, you should have seen me yesterday. Once a year or so, I have to climb a ladder and remove leaves and debris from the gutters on a shop building at our farm. The cornice is 12 feet off the ground and it takes a few steps to get within reach of the gutters. The building is 60 feet long and I have a total reach of about a “phantom.” That’s about six nautical feet, or the length of a fathom according to my beloved United States Navy.

If my “gazintas” and “timeses” bear trusting, that’s about 10 trips up and down the ladder. I know that my wife and others think that I’m just turning 50, but that’s not true. My muscles and joints can attest to that this morning with perfect certainty.

I did buy a new ladder this year. It’s fiberglass, aluminum, rustproof, and much more stable than the relic I used previously. It’s one heavy summich, though. My shoulders can testify.

Oh well. As long as I’m climbing ladders, I’m on the right side of the grass, so they say. My Sainted Mother always said, “a little hard work never hurt nobody.” She well knew about hard work. She once told me how, as a young girl, she would pick to the end of a cotton row and sneak a short break while nobody was looking. While “being excused,” she would dream of finding a shiny new lady’s wristwatch lying on the grass.

I guess regrets are just nature’s way of telling us things are going to be okay as long as you have hope.

R.I.P old friend.
 The world is a better
place because
 you were here.