Friends Named Cheva

     I like friends.  I have a friend who now lives in North Carolina coming to see me on Monday.  It may not sound like a story for a blog but this friend is special.  And special friends are hard to come by and they always come with a story.  Friends become special when you share exciting, happy, sad or fun times.  Much was exciting when we were young and full of piss and vinegar. 

     I have many friends and they all don’t live in the neighborhood I grew up in.  Marc was someone who took me under his wing when I showed up to a new job.  I was young, probably not even twenty.  I was confident and sure of myself but sometimes that is tested in certain situations.  My job had taken me from Spain to Boston Massachusetts.  My job was to be a sailor on a tin-can destroyer.  A great chance to work hard and the opportunity to play hard.  On the first day on my new ship I rolled into the mess (cafeteria) at lunch and was confronted with the need to find a friendly place to sit.  And like a new kid in high school “who the fucks the new guy” was an anthem that appeared to be playing out with the sailors around me.  One guy with a broad smile, surrounded by other jovial sailors, looked up and said “Hey come on over and sit here.”  So as to make room for me on the bench he pushed himself left and then pushed himself to his right moving other guys . 

     He introduced himself to me as “Marc, but my friends call me Cheva” and asked me what my name was and what my job was on the ship.  I introduced myself as “John and I’m a Boatswains Mate.”  With a thunderous clap on my back he said “Johnny Boats, welcome to the USS Edson.”  The details of our conversation during that lunch escape me but that moment never will.  Neither will the nickname.  Twenty two years have passed since that moment and apparently neither will our friendship.  I like friends.

the philosophic relationship between god and the caller id

One of the best things god has created in this pre-millennium era is the caller id.  You wonder how the household survived prior to the intervention of this remarkable invention.  Everyone knows that the phone won’t ring until you pick up a hammer, break out the 2000 piece puzzle or start supper. 

If I consider my history with Ma Bell it wasn’t until I became a teenager that I actually remember talking into it on a regular basis.  Before my teenage years it was an occasional conversation with an auntie or my Nan.  As a teenager it became the conduit to meet up with friends and lovers.  During my twenties my lifestyle dictated that a phone was no use whatever.  I worked from boat to boat to port to port to couch to couch.  My life became the neighborhood of the port I was living in.  Occasionally I would drop the obligatory post card or some letter inspired by an emotion that squeezed out of the haze of those times. 

 

Today as I move around my kitchen cooking dinner, replacing a pacifier where it belongs, trying to impart socially acceptable behaviors to my oldest three, loading the dishwasher, yelling at my oldest three, stubbing my toe the phone will ring.  My relationship with Ma Bell has changed dramatically.  Now that I get needs met at home, my work rarely calls, my friends call a few times a week, the phone is hardly ever for me.  This means that when it does shiver out a bell noise I rarely break stride in what I’m doing.  If I’m partially curious to know who is calling I will listen to the answering machine, if by happenstance I’m right next to the phone I might flip it over and glance at the caller id to see who it is.  In the conversational world of Ma Bell I wield self imposed god like powers as I refuse to answer any call from any 1-800#’s nor will I answer any call whose number I don’t recognize.  Upon reflection, perhaps this attitude is reflective of how I have been beaten up by relentless phone peddlers banging away at me to buy ginsu knives, support the Fraternal Order of Police, Vietnam Veterans Association, insurance, mortgages, financial planning or a bridge over land in Florida. 

…no more surprises nor more rude salesman just the people who I want to talk to.  Tell me the caller id wasn’t inspired by god.

circumcision and semi-automatic guns

If there was a secret and easy method to live life and not experience the stress, headaches and other sundry of emotions that the living experience, the keeper of the secret could make a bundle selling it as a manual.  Yes I’m sure a few readers are thinking there is the Bible, Koran, Das Kapitol, Torah and whatever the middle eastern zealots read.  No they are not a good example.  Forget the middle easterns…it appears they are currently not happy and nor do I believe in their history have they ever been too happy.  Well except for when you see them burning American Flags and shooting semi-automatic weapons in the air to celebrate whatever event it is that a group of people gather with semi-automatic guns to celebrate.  What life event would that be exactly?  Is it the protocol for circumcision, loosing a tooth, divorce, marriage, birthday? 

I often experience stress.  Tight shoulders, tight and sore jaw, cranky attitude aimed towards those who I love most.  Thats how I roll.  I hate stress and my negative  for many reasons.  Any moron can figure out why they respond to stress in their own certain way.  Some read the bible, gamble, use drugs and alcohol, meditate and use violence, pray, sex, tv and the gym.  Some do all of the above.  Some do a couple.  Many do none of the above.  Some may talk about how they think and how they feel.  This is generally the last option for me.  I like to generate solutions on my own.  I don’t like the idea of listening to other people and their advice.  It never seems to hit the mark because I rarely express exactly what I think or feel.  It seems I speak in generalities leaving the potential sage/listener/priest/friend without all the info they need to reach me in times of need.

The question is how much would you or I pay for a book that would solve the sundry life problems, thoughts and feelings that can plague the human condition.  My question would be “Do you take credit cards?”