Sunday, February 1, 2015

The Scholar and the Adventurer


“Hey Curmudge, in your postings about people, are you trying to be some sort of psychologist?”  It certainly doesn’t fit your résumé.”

“No way, Julie.  I’m just a storyteller—sort of a Caucasian Uncle Remus.  Our posting on Companion Qualities was just common sense, and the one on Brain Health for Young and Old was based on a hyperlink to great research by Barbara Fredrickson on the characteristics of love.”

“Okay Uncle Curmudge, what’s today’s story?”

“Well, Swifty, if you had taken a moment to read the title, you would know that it’s about two very different people, a scholar and an adventurer.  And by the story’s conclusion we’ll realize that these people aren’t as different as we originally believed.”

“Sit there in your rocking chair, Old Guy, and tell your story.  If it stops rocking I’ll know that your peripheral neuropathy is no longer just peripheral.”

“Mary was attractive and intelligent, and even in high school, was devoted to her profession, her family, and her church.  In college she joined one of the best sororities and dated guys from the right fraternities, one of whom characterized her as ‘spoiled.’  Nevertheless, her profession dominated her activities.”

“I trust that Mary was not the adventurer in our story.”

“Right.  That was Joe.  He canoed in bad weather; ice skated on a big lake in view of open water, and ran rapids—alone—in a small, inflatable boat.  When he saw a mountain, his first thought was, ‘How can I get to the summit?’ “

“In my opinion, some of that approached the extreme side of adventure.”

“To get to the point, ma chère, Mary and Joe attended the same college and were married the week after she graduated.  Somehow, Mary and Joe knew intuitively about Barbara Fredrickson’s characteristics of love before she wrote them.  By the time their children were in high school and college, Mary had become sufficiently daring to travel alone to Paris to study for a month.  And she didn’t speak any French.”

“Wow!  She had really moved up on the ‘adventurous’ scale.” 

“And while she was there she successfully discouraged an attempt at seduction by a Frenchman who spoke excellent English.”

“I perceive, Curmudge, that adventure can be fun when you initiate it but not when you attract it.”

“In subsequent years, Mary and Joe took many separate vacations.  She went to Europe, and he went hiking and even technical climbing in the Rockies.  His adventures were low key with excellent guides, and he learned that one must climb on good rock and with good people and good rope.”

“I’ve got it, Professor.  Mary and Joe’s scholarly and adventurous spirits converged, possibly because they learned to trust one another to do the right thing.”

“In later years they went to Europe together where she looked into every cathedral they encountered and he practiced foreign languages and took day hikes in the Alps.  And as Mary and Joe aged they took cruises on most of the rivers in Western Europe.”

“You can’t kid me, Old Guy.  This time I’ve really got it.  You, Curmudge, are Joe, and Mrs. Curmudgeon was Mary.  You gave it away when you mentioned foreign languages and river cruises.  And you proved that some differences can converge and stay converged for 52 years.  But some differences are so great as to be nonreconcilable.  For example, I’d bet that Mrs. Curmudgeon wouldn’t have stayed married to a septic tank cleaner or a pig farmer.”

“Well, she kept me even when I lived 2,000 miles away and only came home once a month.”

“Sure, but if she had been married to a septic tank cleaner, it would have been on the condition that he lived 2,000 miles away and never came home.”

“Julie, you win.  You always win.  But that’s because we reconciled our differences over 300 postings ago.”

Kaizen Curmudgeon

Link to posting from blog archives: Sepsis 2—diagnosis, management—9/07/11