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Last month, Lori and I took a road trip to Dillon, Colo. Before we left, I made a visit to the library and checked out a book on tape: “The Blue Zones” by Dan Buettner. A best-selling book, it endeavors to learn how certain segments of the world’s population live past their 100th birthday. These people earn a special moniker: centenarian.
The “secrets” to living longer are the rage these days. Dr. Oz is always featuring super foods, especially those high in antioxidants, whatever they are. Every couple weeks someone is out with a new book on eating healthy and extending life. Amazon shows 50,000 books on living longer, often combining diet with new age routines like something called Tai Chi.
OK.
All this chatter bores me. Except for the part about drinking wine and living longer. That part I’m working hard to perfect. But Buettner’s book did intrigue me, and so I grabbed it off the shelf and in no time it was playing.
Between multiple bathroom breaks along the way, including visiting the busiest McDonalds in North America in Limon, Colo., where absolutely no super foods are served, we listened to the first half of the book. I didn’t need to finish the rest because after the fourth CD I had it all figured out. And by the end of this column you will too, and thus be spared nine hours of listening about really old people.
The first place Buettner visited was Sardinia, and more specifically a town in upper mountains, Silanus. There he met a man, Giuseppe Mura. He’s 102, which means he lived through, like, 10 world wars. Giuseppe resides with his daughter, Maria, who is 64, and the conversation started with Maria shouting in his ear that the guests want “to interview you for National Geographic magazine.” Giuseppe’s reply: “What?”
While much is described as to how Giuseppe lives each day, what I found noteworthy is what he doesn’t do. Giuseppe, for instance, has lived a long life without ever cramming a blender with kale, kiwi, blueberries and Greek yogurt and then blasting it until every human within a square mile, like him, goes deaf. He’s flourished without ordering a grande iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk. He’s never tried yoga, a spin class or had a massage by Fifi at Bijin Salon in Prairie Village. To him a tweet comes from things with wings. The only thing in the cloud is, well, you get it.
Part of the secret is he is culturally isolated. So add never watching KU play football or a presidential debate to his cultural diet.
This is starting to sound very attractive.
There were other things. Sardinia has strong family values, such as taking care of other family members. They say that helps lower stress and reduces depression. But of course most of his immediate family is pushing up daisies, so that keeps the dysfunction to a minimum. No headaches over passwords, log ins, or text messages from children using textspeak. I’m in.
But deep in the discussion was this tidbit: Giuseppe fathered eight children. The parenting was left to his wife. Her status? Dead. Does anyone really need to learn anything more about what he eats or drinks?
But there’s more. His life, it seems, has been complete by living with goats, taking daily naps and drinking a liter of Sardinian wine each day. So, repeat after me: Walk with slow-footed animals, drink wine, get fresh air and have absolutely nothing to do with children, except for at the very, very beginning, of course. And this is news?
But my interest continued. The cheese of choice is Pecorino Romano. The wine is something called Cannonau. The milk consumed is produced by goats. I accompanied Lori to the Hen House in Prairie Village and picked up the cheese, thanks to a cheese expert there who was quite helpful. Made from goat’s milk, it was salty, sharp and flavorful.
But too much of this good thing would require another diet addition — Miralax — so I saved most of it for later.
I figure that once I add the goat milk and wine to my diet, in no time Lori will find me wandering the backyard, napping under trees, leaving behind wine bottles and abandoning all the daily duties to her. I’d probably live long but I’d be divorced and need a name tag for family reunions.
I tried one of the websites for Blue Zones. Naturally I was excited, in part because this was going to allow me to determine whether I had a shot to become a centenarian. This detour proved very disappointing. The Google teaser promised information about my life estimator. But when the page opened it had this directive:
“Login/Register to begin.
E-mail address/password.”
My life expectancy just lost three days. I’m going to need goat’s milk to reclaim them.