Elders - Clearances

An unexpected heavy parcel delivered today was from a longtime friend in Pennsylvania. The package contained 20 albums of classical music, quite a few of them multiple-disc sets of operas. There was no note. Though all were in good condition, it was obvious that the CDs had been in my friend's possession for years, had been frequently handled and played. Knowing the love of music we'd long shared, I wondered how he could easily part with exceptional recordings, a few of which, though remastered, were of historic live performances dating back to the 60s and 70s, one -- Maria Callas' La Traviata at Teatro alla Scala -- from 1955.

There was a phonecall from Pennsylvania about a month ago. Something of a surprise, as I believed my friend and his wife were in Rome at the time, fulfilling a lifetime dream of finally visiting the Eternal City. But no, he explained, the trip had been cancelled. He'd had a mild heart attack, nothing too serious, he assured me, not comparable to the open-heart surgery I'd undergone less than two years ago. Nevertheless, he felt his energies were depleted, feared his years of work-related and pleasure travel would be seriously limited, sounded surprised that one could suddenly, following physical setback after years of robust health, be forced to make concessions to age.

Five years younger than I, he'd recently celebrated his eightieth birthday. Welcome to the club of octogenarians, old buddy. And yes, I know, handling, listening to, those fine CDs, why he sent them. Time to rid oneself of things -- possessions, no matter how deeply valued -- which in advanced age demand stewardship or maintenance not compatible with limited time and stamina. Divest oneself of many non-essentials, including collectibles you once believed you couldn't do without -- cherished books which won't again be re-read, reels or tapes of film which won't be viewed, artifacts and souvenirs from distant shores gathering dust, papers, letters, photos, boxes of paraphernalia stored in cupboards and closets. Stuff. You can accumulate mountains of it in four-score years.

I'll enjoy listening to those CDs, but know I won't want to add them to the burdened shelves of my own extensive trove. The sight of that wall of music is a reproof every time I pass it. When will you begin to thin the ranks, particularly when there' so much you rarely listen to anymore. And in this day of ubiquitous technology, who needs to store anything. I hear all the music I care to from 24-hour classical KHFM, Albuquerque/Santa Fe, as well as from streaming computer audio broadcast by New York's WQXR and Britain's BBC.

I've not been as hasty as my friend in Pennsylvania to begin clearing the decks, but hope his example will strengthen my resolve. One at my age has known the loss of much and many, among them loved ones whose spirits may walk beside me but who can't be embraced. We must let go people; it should be easy to let go things.