‘I used to be a cynic.  Now I just listen to music.’

George, expat New Yorker and retiree, is a regular at the Hendersonville outdoor pool.

Belly deep in the glossy blue, he listens in as we survey the lanes and overanalyze our options.

‘What do you want to know?’ George asks us, two new lap swimmers on deck.  Then, after pointing out the obvious (pick a line and stick to it), he turns to philosophy.

‘I’ve solved problems a lot harder than that,’ he says, a hint of mockery in his voice.

‘And what are they?’ I ask him, curious.

‘You don’t want to hear my problems!’ he laughs.  That’s when he comes out with his cynicism to music line.

‘I try to strike a balance between hope and cynicism,’ he says.  ‘People tell me, “It’s easy for you to be hopeful - you have a place to live, plenty to eat - but if you lived in Dafur, then what?”  And they’re right.  With so much in my favor, I can’t get too pompous about hope.  So when my son asks me what I’ve figured out after living all these years, I say, “I used to be a cynic.  Now I just listen to music.”’

‘What do you like?’ I ask, interested.

‘Mozart, Beethoven - ah, beautiful.  Other things, too.  Last night I was listening to Schubert - you know, he only lived to about 30 - I was thinking, I bet if he’d lived longer, he would have written things on a par with Mozart or Beethoven.’

A small bird skitters along the stainless steel gutter a few feet away.  ‘Look at that, what a pretty bird,’ says George.  ‘You’ve got to notice those things.’

We give ourselves to the swimming of laps, easily picking a line and sticking to it.  Two thirds of us, enlightened by the affable sagacity of a stranger, remember the nuthatch on a smooth patch between surf and sky, surveying the lanes with equanimity.

Photo Dori a white-breasted nuthatch, GNU Free Documentation License