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In today's post, I'm excited to share a unique storytelling experiment where we take a simple yet profound narrative about life, choice, and joy and transform it into two different formats. The first is a straightforward account of a luncheon with an intriguing character named Jim, who chooses delight over duty in his golden years. The second is a poetic rendition of the same story, designed to capture the essence and rhythm of the experience in verse.
You'll find below the original narrative, followed by the poem. Each format offers its own flavor and insight into our delightful lunch with Jim, highlighting how storytelling can mold the same facts into different emotional and intellectual experiences.
The narrative provides a direct and clear recounting of events, allowing readers to engage with the story at a straightforward level. In contrast, the poem distills the essence of the experience into stanzas that rhythmically echo the themes of joy, aging, and the choices we make about how we live our lives.
I hope you enjoy reading both versions. Perhaps you'll find that one resonates more with you, or maybe you'll appreciate how each serves its own purpose in storytelling. Feel free to share which format you preferred and why in the comments below.
Original Post By: Don Kepple
One day I had lunch with some old friends. Jim a short, balding golfer type, about 85-years old, came along with them; all in all, it was a pleasant bunch. When the menus were presented, my friends and I ordered salads, sandwiches, and soups, except for Jim who said, "A large piece of home-made apple pie, heated, please. I wasn't sure my ears heard him right, and the others were aghast, when Jim continued, completely unabashed...."along with two large scoops of vanilla ice cream. "We tried to act quite nonchalant as if people did this all the time, but when our orders were brought out, I didn't enjoy eating mine. I couldn't take my eyes off of Jim as I watched him savoring each bite of his pie a-la-mode. The other guys just grinned in disbelief as they silently ate their lunches. The next time I went out to eat, I called Jim and invited him to join me. I lunched on a white meat tuna sandwich, while he ordered a chocolate parfait. Since I was chuckling, he wanted to know if he amused me. I answered, "Yes, you certainly do, but you also confuse me. How come you always order such rich desserts, while I feel like I must be sensible in my food choices?" He laughed and said "I'm tasting all that is possible for me to taste. I try to eat the food I need and do the things I should in order to stay healthy, but life's too short, my friend. I hate missing out on something good. This year I realized how old I was. He grinned. I've never been this old before, so, while I'm still here, I've decided it's time to try all those things that, for years, I've been ignoring." He continued, "I haven't smelled all the flowers yet. There are too many trout streams I haven't fished. There are more fudge sundaes to wolf down and kites to be flown overhead. There are too many golf courses I haven't played. I've not laughed at all the jokes. I've missed a lot of sporting events and potato chips and cokes. "I want to wade again in water and feel the ocean spray on my face. I want to sit in a country church once more and thank God for His grace. I want peanut butter every day spread on my morning toast. I want un-timed long distance calls to the one I love the most. "I haven't cried at all the movies yet or walked in the morning rain. I need to feel the wind on my face. So, if I choose to have dessert, instead of having dinner, then should I die before nightfall, I'd say I died a winner because I missed out on nothing. I filled my heart's desire. I had that final piece of pie before my life expired. "With that, I called the waitress over.. "I've changed my mind, " I said. "I want what he's having, only add some more whipped cream! "Be mindful that happiness isn't based on possessions, power, or prestige, but on relationships with people we like, respect, and enjoy spending time with. Remember that while money talks, ICE CREAM SINGS!
One sunny afternoon, with friends convened,
At a table where laughter and chatter preened,
Jim joined us—eighty-five, with a golfer’s charm,
Short, balding, bearing life on his arm.
The menus came, our orders took flight—
Salads and soups, a sandwich's delight.
But Jim, with a twinkle, did then declare,
“A large apple pie, heated, with care.”
“And don’t forget, please,” he said with a beam,
“Two scoops of vanilla ice cream.”
We masked our surprise, feigned nonchalance,
As if dessert first was a common stance.
Yet when the dishes arrived in a line,
I found no joy in that meal of mine.
For my eyes were glued to Jim, with his treat,
Savoring each bite, every morsel sweet.
My friends just grinned, their disbelief hidden,
As they quietly dined, by surprise bitten.
The next time out, it was I who would call
To dine with Jim, to see past it all.
With a tuna sandwich, I sat quite amused,
While Jim’s chocolate parfait was warmly infused.
“Do I entertain you?” he asked with a laugh,
“Yes, and confound,” was my half-and-half.
He shared his wisdom, a life’s decree:
“I taste all that’s possible, as you see.
I've realized I’m old, more than ever before,
So now I indulge in joy's open door.
There are flowers untouched by my nose,
And trout streams where no fishing line goes,
Golf courses unseen, jokes unheard,
Sundaes and kites, life’s sweet absurd.
I want to wade once more in the sea,
Feel the spray, thank God on my knee.
Peanut butter on toast each dawn unfurls,
Long calls to loved ones, precious as pearls.
I’ve not cried at every movie's end,
Nor walked in rain, with the wind as a friend.
So, if dessert comes first, let it be,
Should I die by nightfall, a winner I’ll flee.
For I’ve savored each moment, each day anew,
Lived fully as the hours withdrew.”
Inspired by his words, I called to change my plate,
“More whipped cream,” I grinned, “on mine, make it great.”
Jim smiled at me, his lesson clear:
Happiness isn’t in things that appear.
It’s in people we cherish, times we adore,
And sometimes, it’s just ice cream—nothing more.
This Post and Poem created with ChatGPT
Mike Bates
4-27-24
