warm up this slice

Thirty-five years ago we worked on projects of mutual interest in Greece.


The Frenchman and the American. Doing the work of the Free World.


At least, that is what we told ourselves,.


The last time I saw him was in August 1974 in Athens at a seaside restaurant. I would leave Greece in just a few days, and America would have a new president.


The world moved on at its own pace.


It turns out, though, that it was not the last time I saw him. I ran into him again in 2007. In Mexico. At a seaside restaurant.


By the Gallic pallor on his face when he saw me, he thought I had come to settle a four-decade old grudge over French perfidy.


Instead of settling imagined scores, we caught up on our lives. To the extent that the gracious editor of selective story-telling allowed.


He told me that I needed to meet his greatest accomplishment: his son.


It took me almost two years, but I finally met him last week for dinner.


I was not surprised to find him to be a younger version of his father. Handsome. Witty. A great conversationalist. At 24, he had the social graces of a far-older man.


We had stopped by my place and were chatting about fears. I mentioned that my greatest fear is having my head underwater. He jumped up, and told me to follow him.


We went down to the beach. Even though it was well past midnight, he had me diving under the smashing waves that add a perpetual percussion in the house.


I was pummeled more often than I was successful. But I finally had a semblance of how to do it. And I thanked him.


But he is a perfect example of what can happen to bright young people in Mexico. He went to school to become an archaeologist. And not a Meso-American archaeologist. As a result, he cannot find a job in the area of his professional passion.


Instead, he works as a waiter at a resort about an hour south of my house. At least, he puts his fluency in three languages to use. But a passion it is not. At best, he is playing the role of a waiter in a never-ending production.


Fortunately, he has a fallback position. He wants to be an actor. I do have a few contacts in Mexico that I thought might be able to help. And I was happy to make calls. Whether it makes any difference, we shall see.


I made the calls as a favor to his father. But, I think I would have done the same thing if I had never met his father.


There is something refreshing about people who are willing to live their dreams and to escape the manacles of their own past.


And that is my second piece of Meat Loaf. The same album that contains the song from yesterday's post also contains"Objects in the Rear View Mirror may Appear Closer than They Are" -- one of my favorite Steinman songs.

The skies were pure and the fields were green
And the sun was brighter than its ever been
When I grew up with my best friend Kenny
We were close as any brothers than you ever knew
It was always summer and the future called
We were ready for adventures and we wanted them all
And there was so much left to dream and so much time to make it real

I guess that is what these two essays have been about. Trying to find the sense of maintaining the feeling that it is always summer and our futures are still calling to us.


So, Steve. Where does that leave you? You came to Mexico to experience a new life -- not to create Salem in a tropical setting.


And is a fair criticism.


I guess the answer is that I need to get with the program -- or I need to start looking elsewhere for my adventure.


I told myself last week that I am going to stop saying "no." When people offer new adventures, I am going to try them. Like my friend's son, I am going to take advantage of the situations when they happen.


I have dived under a crashing wave at midnight. And I survived.


What could touch me now?