The Island of Life

[4est_4est_Gump]

One day in 1976, Moraitis felt short of breath. Climbing stairs was a chore; he had to quit working midday. After X-rays, his doctor concluded that Moraitis had lung cancer. As he recalls, nine other doctors confirmed the diagnosis. They gave him nine months to live. He was in his mid-60s.

Moraitis considered staying in America and seeking aggressive cancer treatment at a local hospital. That way, he could also be close to his adult children. But he decided instead to return to Ikaria, where he could be buried with his ancestors in a cemetery shaded by oak trees that overlooked the Aegean Sea. He figured a funeral in the United States would cost thousands, a traditional Ikarian one only $200, leaving more of his retirement savings for his wife, Elpiniki. Moraitis and Elpiniki moved in with his elderly parents, into a tiny, whitewashed house on two acres of stepped vineyards near Evdilos, on the north side of Ikaria. At first, he spent his days in bed, as his mother and wife tended to him. He reconnected with his faith. On Sunday mornings, he hobbled up the hill to a tiny Greek Orthodox chapel where his grandfather once served as a priest. When his childhood friends discovered that he had moved back, they started showing up every afternoon. They’d talk for hours, an activity that invariably involved a bottle or two of locally produced wine. I might as well die happy, he thought.

In the ensuing months, something strange happened. He says he started to feel stronger. One day, feeling ambitious, he planted some vegetables in the garden. He didn’t expect to live to harvest them, but he enjoyed being in the sunshine, breathing the ocean air. Elpiniki could enjoy the fresh vegetables after he was gone.

Six months came and went. Moraitis didn’t die. Instead, he reaped his garden and, feeling emboldened, cleaned up the family vineyard as well. Easing himself into the island routine, he woke up when he felt like it, worked in the vineyards until midafternoon, made himself lunch and then took a long nap. In the evenings, he often walked to the local tavern, where he played dominoes past midnight. The years passed. His health continued to improve. He added a couple of rooms to his parents’ home so his children could visit. He built up the vineyard until it produced 400 gallons of wine a year. Today, three and a half decades later, he’s 97 years old — according to an official document he disputes; he says he’s 102 — and cancer-free. He never went through chemotherapy, took drugs or sought therapy of any sort. All he did was move home to Ikaria.

...

Ikaria, an island of 99 square miles and home to almost 10,000 Greek nationals, lies about 30 miles off the western coast of Turkey. Its jagged ridge of scrub-covered mountains rises steeply out of the Aegean Sea. Before the Christian era, the island was home to thick oak forests and productive vineyards. Its reputation as a health destination dates back 25 centuries, when Greeks traveled to the island to soak in the hot springs near Therma. In the 17th century, Joseph Georgirenes, the bishop of Ikaria, described its residents as proud people who slept on the ground. “The most commendable thing on this island,” he wrote, “is their air and water, both so healthful that people are very long-lived, it being an ordinary thing to see persons in it of 100 years of age.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/28/m...-die.html?_r=4&pagewanted=4&hp&pagewanted=all

 

[Wat_Tyler]

There is a thing not well understood called Spontaneous Remission. The Great Spirit seems to dole it out from time to time.


I think that living life with the idea of helping others is a trigger.


Helping by choice, mind you, not by having the Comancheros come to breakfast.

 

[4est_4est_Gump]

The variety of teas, honeys, herbs...

Growing your own.

Living...

 

[Wat_Tyler]

He also re-embraced his faith.


There doesn't have to be a god to believe in one, and the believing seems to have the same effect, much like Pascal's Wager in practice.


He was helping his wife, parents, and neighbors, too. Life as service manifested by action.

 

[4est_4est_Gump]

Stay busy my friend...


However, America is creeping in. The old ways may die with the old people.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

That's okay.


We can always pray to Dix and see how that works out for us.


He'd have us believe that he is a power greater than we are.

 

[4est_4est_Gump]

Indeed.


If there were a gawd this is the form it would take.

Meanwhile, Mopar tinkering my lead to a long life if you have lots of visitors...




... and honeys...

 

[Wat_Tyler]

It seems I am making do with Mopars for the moment. A new 4-core radiator is on the horizon. The manifolds and carbs will have to wait - first things first.


But I do have a supper "date" with a young squaw tomorrow. She is a young'un, too.


Friends, damn it. Being helpful, as opposed to helping myself.

 

[4est_4est_Gump]

With the fell chill in the air, I think puttering in the garden is about to be replaced with puttering in the basement...

 

[LiFeNdEaTh]

interesting....

 

[4est_4est_Gump]

FAME! I'm going to live forever.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

With the fell chill in the air, I think puttering in the garden is about to be replaced with puttering in the basement...

Yeah.


Off to putter outside while it is still possible.