Friendship - what would we do without it...

“Friendship is nothing else than an accord 

in all things human and divine, conjoined 

with mutual goodwill and affection…with 

the exception of wisdom, no better than this has

been given to men by the immortal gods…”

-     Cicero: De Amicitia 

(On Friendship)

 

Two old men sat on a bench in Federal Hill Park overlooking Baltimore Harbor. We hadn’t seen one another in a long time. 

 

It was a temperate sunny day. Gazing over the city skyline, we slipped into quiet conversation. We didn’t look at each other much…We didn’t need to. We were together, and that’s what mattered.

 

Barriers to entry…

Men often have difficulty expressing affection for one another. We couch our fondness with good-natured teasing and storytelling, probing for resonance. It’s not as though a flash of insight is required to make a friend, but rather it’s an unconscious organic process that emerges from the simple pleasure of one another’s company. If given a little thought, there is an undercurrent of gratitude. We are, after all, social creatures. It’s just that our gender is often uncomfortable expressing our feelings.

 

Dave and I had long since passed that stage in our lives. There was still the bantering, but by now, we had no trouble letting each other know how much we loved and appreciated one another. There was freedom in that, and we knew it.

 

Decades earlier…

It began when we were youngsters in the military during the Vietnam era, and we couldn’t have been more different - like peas and corn. At the start, we weren’t too keen about one another either. 

 

I was given to pontificating and as rudderless as a flat bottom boat. Dave was a no-nonsense fellow with an obvious internal fire. One might say he was an angry young man. In moments when expressing some sort of nonsense, he, with what might generously be called frank language, would suggest I was full of bovine excrement.

 

How we ever found a place with one another, is one of the great mysteries of the universe…but find it we did. Indeed, how any of us finds friends in the chaos of life, is beyond my understanding.

 

After the war, we lived together for the last year of military service. Somewhere in this time, and for reasons that are unclear, or at least in the telling, we adopted nicknames. I became Leonard, and he, the Indian. Labels in youth that remained to the day we sat on that March morning in Baltimore. Given names? What was the point?

 

That final year went quickly, after which we drifted into the slipstream of life, losing touch.

 

'Losing touch.' What a temporal expression.

 

Maybe we weren’t in regular contact with one another, but real friendships have little to do with ‘slipstreams,' time, gravity, tides, or shifting sands. They are about a touch of the heart. Once boys…now old men, the thread had never broken.

 

As youngsters, the future was waiting. Most of that future, by now, had become the past.

 

Back to the bench…

Overlooking the harbor that day, there was a little reminiscing about  Vietnam, but it was a small part of the conversation. The bulk of our time was spent sharing gratitude for the lives we had lived and our good fortune to still be breathing in our late seventies…breathing long enough to be sitting on that bench on that sunny day.

 

We committed to meeting again later in the year, and recently we did. It was, as it had been in Baltimore, like it had been almost from the beginning…two souls not reconnecting, but simply plugging back in as if no distance nor time passed.

 

There is safety in deep friendship. The relationships are sacred, intimate, and cleansing.

 

I tell my students they will become a product of the five people with whom they spend most of their time. I tell them to look for folks who uplift and edify them. I have been fortunate to have had a small number of long-term friends who fit that category.

 

I’ll bet you do too.

- ted

The unseen hand...

"Life rewards only one thing and that is action. Not dreams, 

nor vision, nor good intent. Large or small, nothing 

happens in the universe without an action.

- Anonymous

What: A tire issue

Where: A parking lot at a tire repair shop in Albuquerque, New Mexico

When: Monday morning at 7:45am

Who: John & Ted

Why: That is the question isn’t it.

 

The story…

I was back in Tulsa, where my late brother had lived. I was going to drive back to Arizona with a few things from his home. An estate sale was coming and Molly wanted a few mementos from her late brother's home before it became a house.

 

The drive began this past Saturday morning early. The intent was to make Albuquerque to spend the night and finish the drive through the Arizona White Mountains and home.

 

Rather than taking the interstate out of Tulsa, I took a scenic drive on country roads. It added an hour to the nine-hour run but was much more scenic. The most notable thing on this leg was unexpectedly passing through Kingfisher, Oklahoma, en route. This spot in the road was notable as the birthplace of Sam Walton, the founder of Walmart. With stretching and dehydration stops, I pulled into Albuquerque after five.

 

The plan was to be up early Sunday morning and be home by late afternoon Sunday. That was the '… best-laid plans of mice and men…' that went astray.

 

What…

As I neared Albuquerque, the car's low tire warning light came on. Pulling into a couple of gas stations and a truck stop, I discovered the tire air machines did not work. Breathing a prayer, with a dash of faith, I pressed forward to the hotel.

 

There were no tire businesses open on Sunday, so I had to stay an extra night.

 

Now we’re getting somewhere…

 

Where and when…

Monday morning, I got to the tire shop at 7:30, wanting to be the ‘…first come first serve customer…’ for the 8:00am opening. I knew it wouldn’t take long to check the tire, whether it could be fixed or needed to be replaced. I was hoping to get on the road as soon as possible.

 

Who…

All of this was foreplay for the unguarded moment that emerged over the next few minutes.

 

At 7:45 a man left the store and headed for his car one space over from where I was parked.

 

It has been a lifelong habit to lean in when I see someone I don’t know.

 

“Morning,” I said

 

The mid-fifties Hispanic man replied with a smile, "Morning."

 

I have a few questions in my kit, if I feel there might be a little more than “…what  nice day…” I asked him his name and gave him mine and fell into a few minutes of quiet conversation.

 

As it turns out, John had been in the military (Desert Storm – '…the storm…'), been a civilian swat team police officer, and was continuing his public safety career. I mentioned I had been in Vietnam as a Canadian in the American Army (my green card had 'qualified' me for the draft). We thanked each other for our service and remarked that most people in this country have no idea how people in different countries live, how dangerous the world is, and how grateful we were to live in a country with some safe ‘breathing room.’

 

Our common gratitude led to a spiritual conversation. We shared how our faith had carried us through darker parts of our lives. These moments of shared humanity reflected how similar John, and I were. The requirement? An open heart.

 

By now, the tire shop was getting ready to open.

 

John said, “Just a moment, I want to give you something.”

 

He reached into his car, and when he came out, I couldn't see anything. He he put out his hand to shake mine and in it was a coin – a medallion, a little smaller than a silver dollar it was in a plastic case.

“This is a faith challenge coin,” he said. “We exchanged them with our military service brothers. It’s an Armor of God coin. I’m giving this to carry with you.”

"And so I will."

 

This was not a religious thing to him…it was a gift of gratitude and faith.

 

It’s hard to express the sensitivity of spirit with which this coin was passed into my hand, and the intimacy two strangers shared in that tire repair parking lot in Albuquerque. This kind of thing could never be orchestrated but only through an unseen hand starting with a simple “Morning” to a stranger.

 

In these times of chaos, anger, name-calling, and vitriol from those who seek our nation's highest offices, it is helpful to remember the small experiences in the parking lots of life that narcissistic individuals with vacuous hubris will never know.

 

The words on the coin — the 'armor of God' scriptures are from the book of Ephesians—timeless words of wisdom...not meant for a specific religion, but spiritual words reminding us the real work in life is not what we do but what we think, because it is thought that leads to action.

 

John would not have known this, but the words on that medallion have carried me many times in my life (Ephesians 6:11-17)

 

¹¹ Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.

¹² For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

¹³ Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.

¹⁴ Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness;

¹⁵ And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace;

¹⁶ Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.

¹⁷ And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God:

 

Why...

Does it really matter?

 

ted

ps. The tire turned out to be fine...

A new cat in town...

"Weeping may last for a night, but joy 

cometh in the morning" 

- Psalm 30:5

It was a Friday afternoon. Mark had yet to respond to 'Words with Friends,' a scrabble kind of game that Molly and her two brothers played most days. He also had not answered his phone. The latter was most troubling because since COVID, Molly and he had, with very few exceptions, spoken every single day. She knew. Saturday morning, he was found at home by a close friend. He had slipped away.

 

Mark had struggled with cancer over the preceding couple of years, and he lost the battle on that Friday in Tulsa, Oklahoma. He is the eldest, and Michael is the second in the family of the 'Y' chromosome dominance.

 

It is not that it was unexpected, but as most of us know, when loss occurs, it is traumatic. And so it was as Mark finished his earthly journey and headed home.

 

It is strange with the loss of a loved one that the business of arranging all of the things following their deaths overwhelms our need to embrace the sorrow of the moment. There is too much to do. While it is necessary, it seems backward in that when we most need some time to grieve, the business of the loss engulfs us.

 

I drove over on Sunday and Monday. Molly flew in on Wednesday. There was much to do in those precious few days we were there…people to call…notices to be made…a memorial service of friends, colleagues, and church family…the beginnings of organizing what had been left behind. There would still be much to do once we were home.

 

Mark’s memorial service Friday afternoon, in the church he loved, could not have been more comforting. As these things go, the attendees shared stories with one another...a mix of quiet conversations, smiles and sorrow. Molly and Michael hugged and thanked them. These were intimate moments with people who wanted to share how important Mark had been in their lives.

 

There were many things notable things about Molly’s brother. He was a civil engineer who, along with a small group twenty-five years earlier built a thriving engineering firm. He was an avid golfer, an ardent reader, leaving behind hundreds and hundreds of books, a deeply religious man, a collector of Native American items, and a lover of cats. Three Manx cats, to be specific. Originating on the Isle of Man, they had short or no tails. Several had come and gone over the years, lucky enough to have come under his love and protection.

 

Sunday morning, Molly and I headed back to Tucson. We brought a few things home as remembrances, but the most singular was a thirteen-year-old Manx female cat to join our little family.

 

The point of the piece…

Her name is Molly, not to be confused with the biped with whom I have been cohabiting for the past forty-seven years. She's a three-legger – a tripod. As a kitten, she had a broken, functionless right leg which was amputated at the shoulder. Just the kind of cat Mark would take into his family to shepherd, shelter and love. Molly was his favorite, sleeping with him every night. While he loved the other two, she was his heart.

 

Life has a way of providing small rewards to remind us God is paying attention. Some of them are borne out of sorrow and loss. This was no exception.

 

This thirteen-year-old cat brings enthusiasm and energy to our family. Molly doesn’t know she is handicapped in any way. A week or so after meeting our two resident cats, accompanied by a fair amount of hissing and growling, they all settled into the ‘…it is what it is…’ household.

 

Molly can leap vertically almost four feet, open cabinets with that single paw (hard to believe – there is video proof!). Her purring engine is loud and clear. Most importantly, she is a snuggler who can’t seem to get enough contact. You know, the kind of burrowing in where one’s skin is almost too much clothes.

 

It is difficult to describe how this cat's presence is a living, daily reminder of the legacy Mark left behind and the love he shared not just with his little feline family but the lives he touched in the people around him.

- ted

You never know...you know?

"If you do not expect the unexpected, 

you will not find it, for it is not to be 

reached by search or trail."

 - Heraclitus 

Greek Philosopher

Reed was running late. It was the strangest of events that we were meeting at all.

In October 2023, I worked as technical support for a local play. We were looking for an LCD projector for some of the rehearsal work. After failing to find a reasonable one to rent, I called Reed, a computer and presentation whiz at the community college where I teach. As it turned out, he had a projector and would let me borrow it.

 

Even though we only needed it for a few rehearsals, Reed said to keep it until he returned from a trip in early November. Between the latter part of November and last week, I emailed and texted him frequently to see if I might get the projector back to him.

 

I had heard nothing from him until this past Friday morning (March 8th, for reference), when I got a text asking whether I could get the projector to him at 12:30 pm at our most western campus. West Campus is a forty-five-minute drive from my home. That was not a problem, but I had a 1 p.m. luncheon, making the timing unworkable.

 

I suggested an alternative to meet at a Starbucks on his route to school. It was thirty minutes from home, and catching him well before 12:30 would be early enough for me to do the handoff and return in time for lunch.

 

The above is foreplay…

 

I got to Starbucks early to eliminate any delay on his part. It was not a problem for me. I’m in a play in late April and had my script with me. It was an excellent time to practice lines.

 

I noticed a man sitting on the ground, leaning against the coffee shop wall near the entrance. I was thirty feet away on the opposite front side of the shop. He looked homeless and had a couple of backpacks on the ground beside him. 

 

Winter in Tucson is a haven for the unhoused. There are shelters to help and a temperate enough climate to survive even on the streets. The odd thing about this fellow was the two drinks sitting on the ground beside him. One was a plastic cup of water, and the other a ten-dollar café Latte. The other odd thing was that while he could have been sitting in the shade, he was sitting in the sun and was as red as a beet.

 

I was practicing lines when I heard, “Excuse me, do you have a dollar you could lend me?”

 

I have a policy about this.

 

“I won’t give you any money,” I replied. "But if you are hungry, I am happy to buy you something to eat."

 

“No, that’s okay. Thanks.” He turned and returned to his spot.

 

Reed was late, and I was curious, so I wandered over.

 

“What’s your name?” I asked.

 

“John.”

 

“I’m Ted.”

 

I asked where he was from. He said New Jersey but was living with his mother in Tucson. He had worked for several years after high school in a meat packaging plant but wanted to do something more meaningful.

 

“I decided I wanted to teach English as a second language,” he said.

 

This was my first surprise.

 

“Oh,” I replied. “Where?” Unsure what to expect.

 

“Russia. Most of my time in Moscow.”

 

My first thought…Sure you were. 

 

I’ve heard a few creative stories in my day, but initially, this one, coming from this fellow, was a little beyond the pale until I dug in a little deeper.

“Tell me more,” I said.

 

He described in detail the vetting process to get there, what it was like to live in the city, and how he had traveled to Latvia, Estonia, and Scandinavia during the five years he taught. Once he got going, he was articulate and had that look one gets when they turn on the playback of the recorders of their minds. You know, kind of like I wasn’t there.

 

He said he enjoyed the Russian people but had gotten ill in the last year. The healthcare system was free, but he felt he was somewhat antiquated (compared to the U.S.), and he came home because he wasn’t improving. After returning to the U.S., he got COVID, became a ‘long hauler,’ and was left with bilateral neuropathy in his feet (numbness and tingling). It hadn’t gotten notably better since the COVID. He could walk some but needed to rest. That's why he was sitting at the moment. He said he used to run, but that was no longer an option.

 

It was about that time Reed pulled into the parking lot, and we made the projector exchange. He was gone in a flash, and I had to leave to make my lunch date.

 

I told John he needed a hat. He said he lost his. I gave him mine.  Then I asked if he had access to a computer, and he said his mother had one. I gave him my email address and said I would enjoy hearing from him, being fairly certain I would not. After all, I was just some stranger who stepped into his space for a few moments.

 

On the way home, I wish I had had more time and the presence of mind to record our conversation on my phone. It made me think of all the brief, interesting, and unexpected conversations I have had with hundreds of strangers over the years. Many have been unexpected and added texture to my journey...but John? As brief as our chat was he was near the top of my 'interesting and unexpected list.'

 

Who knows what cometh…these small encounters delight me. In the future, I will have my phone at the ready…you know, just in case.

- ted