Name Tags and Placemats

Getting reacquainted with old friends, associates and casual acquaintances can be an interesting time travel into one’s past. Over the years, I’ve had the pleasure, disappointment, and soul-satisfying experience of revisiting my own past lives through those encounters. Each reunion is different and each revealed as much about myself as it did them.

As we’ve all travel through life, we’ve encountered other folks, aside from family, that have impacted us in one manner or another. For me, it was a couple of guys in high school, my barracks buddies in the Army, a couple of strays in Denmark as lost as I was, and work place encounters that lasted only for the duration of the job itself.

My fiftieth high school class reunion was a classic example of this. I graduated on May 31^st of 1961 and, with rare exception, never saw my classmates ever again. That is, until our class reunion fifty years later. The event was well orchestrated with a handsome binder of memories, mass (which I didn’t attend), and a class only gathering in the old high school gym. The next day there was an afternoon picnic at the Minnesota State Fairgrounds, spouses, girlfriends, and others invited.

My reunion with some of my old classmates had begun weeks earlier with several phone calls wanting to reconnect. Coffee encounters afterwards solidified our pre-reunion/union and paved the way for future dinners with the wives and solo coffee salons. Surprisingly, we seldom brought up our high school years and, instead, focused on our past fifty years and the miles traveled. While some of those folks have now passed on, the bulk remain good friends and coffee companions.

My years at the Maryland Center for Public Broadcasting were among the most cherished of my working career. Several friends from that era of the early-to-mid-seventies are still Facebook friends and blog commentators. Our collective miles traveled haven’t diminished their or my enthusiasm to talk current events, personal trials and tribulations and reflections of that ‘chamelot’ period in our lives. It’s almost as if time has shrunk and we’re both back to our old routines and bad habits; cherished or hidden as they may be.

Occasionally a name from my past will connect with me on Facebook. Curiously enough, after my welcoming response, most of them disappear and are never heard of again. Why did they bother in the first place; beats me?

Another side of that ‘So, how have you been?’ encounter have been several unexpected meet ups that led to disappointment and self-examination. These are the folks who, undenounced to me, turned out to be simply name tags and place settings from my past lives. There’s sometimes a fine line between being mildly interested and really caring about past connections. Each question, statement, or pause can be a test to be passed or failed based on the sincerity felt by the other party.

The art of conversation could be seen as a test. Words say a lot. Conversations mean something. Real conversations are priceless. I thrive on substance and not empty calories. These folks seem to have traveled a different pathway than I have. We may have once strolled the same lane but the divide that drew us apart has never left.

While some folks are willing to let you back into their lives, others aren’t so kind. My conversations with them, sparse as they’ve been, are all surface chatter, much of it contrived, and all very safe. It’s as if they’ve wrapped themselves up in this impenetrable armor that won’t let real emotions, true feelings and honest appraisals of our past lives become part of the conversation. To be honest, I can get more intimacy from a band-aid or Vaseline.

Photo Credit: Bob Getterz

Some of my coffee companions have chided me for caring about those lost connections from my past. ‘Let it go, it’s ancient history,’ they say. I disagree with their appraisal that the past is better left unearthed. Sometimes those past encounters can fill in the spaces where memories fail and questions still linger. Those encounters, while scotch taped with weak smiles and dishonest head nodding, are still a part of my past that interests me.

All those past connections with friends and casual time-sharing associates are glimpses into a younger me; good, bad, confused and trying. Under the crown of elder or senior, I find myself on an interesting journey of self-discovery. How did I get here? Why did I end up like this? Although I can’t change the past, how can I embrace what once was, accept that all friendships don’t last forever and recognize that as humans we all change, evolve, and hopefully grow in our own ways.

While I’d love to think that all past acquaintances, friends, associates, and casual encounters will be around forever, I know that is not the case. Relationships come and go; some longer than others. If we have just a couple of true, honest friendships that pass the test of time, we are damn lucky.

In that sense, I’ve been a very lucky man. I’ve had some great folks pass through my life and enrich me for the time spent with them. For those name tags and place settings, I wish them the very best. I have my memories of our past, real as I think it can be, and that’s what I’ll hold on to. Foolish or not, I want to remember the good times and accept the not so good as my reality when I was a younger man.

What Ever Happened to...?

photo credit: Jerry Hoffman

I was recently commiserating with one of my salon compatriots about old friends and past companions. With our collective miles under the belt, we’ve both had many casual, close and a few profound friendships, relationships and acquaintances.

As readers of my past blogs know, I sometimes reminisce about past experiences, acquaintances, friends, and associates much to the chagrin of my better half. Sharon would say I reveal far too much personal information about myself (even though at this stage in the game, I don’t really care anymore). Despite the criticism, I find myself fascinated with the age old question of ‘what -ever happened to…’

While some of my friends won’t admit it, I do have a number who have acquiesced to ‘Facebook stalking’ and/or perusing ‘Classmates.com’ in hopes of finding old school chums, friends, associates, love interests and other assorted contacts made over the years.

My philosophy is that you leave something of yourself with everyone you come into contact with. Granted, you are a different person now than you were back then but if you have ‘history’ with someone even for a brief period of time, the connection is still there.

The categories where old acquaintances can be found are too numerous to list here. It really comes down to meaningful events in your life even if for only short periods of time. It’s different for everyone and could almost be seen as a memoir of one’s past life.

photo credit: Jerry Hoffman

One of my regrets is that almost all of those kids I hung around with through eighth grade have long since scattered to the winds of time. It would have been so fascinating to find out how their lives turned out after life in Highland Park.

I didn’t reconnect with any of my Cretin High School classmates until well after our 50th Class reunion. Back in school, I had a small cadre of friends; all of them were on the college track in school. Then there was me; preordained to go into the trades or the service. Despite my councilors advice, I chose another track for myself. A few of us reconnected after the reunion and continue to this day.

The Army had a profound effect on me although I didn’t realize it at the time. My two year enlistment was ripe with hundreds of story lines, personal antidotes and character studies. Events happened and were forgotten only to resurface years later when nudged forward by a song, comment or photograph. It was a colorful kaleidoscope of military images buried deep in my memory bank. There were Drill sergeants right out of hell, bunk mates who were anti-social, lost young men, gung-ho John Wayne types, rumblings of a far-off war, and youthful lusting for the opposite sex.

And the list could go on and on. It was only a moment in time but there were enough instances of brain-burn images I still can’t shake. Over time, some of those images have become characters in my plays and novels.

Living in Europe on two separate occasions also supplied me with lasting memories of colorful characters, sad creatures and intimate cerebral partners for late night salons.

There was my old roommate I called ‘animal,’ who only lived with me briefly but even then left a memorable impression. Tiny Bailey, another lost soul from Arizona, who escaped an alcoholic mother to seek solace in Denmark but ended up leaving for Israel instead. The Guy from Canada who lived with a local family and was treated like royalty and Maria, my pal at the Danish laundry.

Then there were closer contacts that never went very far. For some that was a good thing. For others, I wish I was still in touch.

There was Heidi, the University student, who wanted more than just friendship. I demurred and dodged the bullet on that one. John and his friend from Amsterdam who were incredibly ambitious. I would really like to know if they ‘made it’ with their dreams intact. Wendy, a pen pal from Lincolnshire, England that I sadly lost contact with.

KTCA television was still evolving and changing from educational television to public television when I began volunteering there on the crew. I was the oldest among the gang but we had one hell of a time taping television programs and learning the trade. Management, always sequestered in the panel-boarded wing of the building, was the enemy because they were all older. Then there was that attractive blond receptionist who always had a smile for me.

Those memories ended bundled up as a play entitled ‘PTV’ for which I have high hopes in the future.

My film trip to the Costa Rican jungle lasted almost a month.  My fellow travelers and I endured three weeks of heat and humidity and deadly tree-hugging snakes. They were a crazy bunch of writers, photo journalists, adventurers and those two girls who didn’t hesitate to go skinny-dipping with us.

The Maryland Center for Public Broadcasting was less than ten years old and still going through its Camelot period when I joined their Programming Department. The station was a microcosm of very talented, creative types that came in every color, aptitude and disposition. There were the elite power couples, the talented producers and directors, some stoned-out crew members and numerous artists and actors who haunted those hallowed halls in the early days.

Over time, there were a number of interesting folks who rented apartment units from me. Believe it or not, there are a number of those past tenants that I would dearly love to hear from again. They were wonderful folks to know. Most were young and beginning their respective careers.

Past Girlfriends are always a topic of curiosity for most men. This kind of inquiry could seem awkward but it doesn’t have to be. For me, each of those women were charming, interesting, and a delight to know in their own way. They had names like Diane, Joyce, Sheila, Marti, and Susan. There were others but their names are less memorable and my time spent with them more easily forgotten. With each, we had some ‘history’ and it was good.

Where there was history, there are memories. The key here is to glance at the past but not to linger there. I think its human nature to want to know about past acquaintances no matter how close or vapid they might have been. They all were, in a way, a reflection of who you were at that point in your life. A point in time that can’t be returned, replaced or replicated.

But can still hold some poignant memories nevertheless.

Invisible Walls

Being on Facebook can leave one open to out of the blue comments sometimes. Posting pictures, attitudes, blogs or other statements sometimes encourages inquiries whether they are invited or not. It’s happened to me on several occasions. A name, often times unrecognizable at first, will mysteriously appear on my page with no hint as to our past connection. It often clouds my re-collection of past friendships, relationships and encounters with old acquaintances.

When this occasionally happens, I have to wonder how they found me in cyber space. Trail blazing, walking point or just plain stalking might be the answer. Nevertheless, I’ve been found. Then the mystery begins.

Back in 1999, noted intellectual Paul Krugman said that by 2005 the internet would be no more influential than the fax machine. Guess he got that a little wrong. The internet has given me a world-wide audience. Though still small in numbers, it means exposure in foreign lands I never knew I would ever reach.

I now have a worldwide audience whether I intended for that to happen or not. It’s minuscule but it’s real. My writing platform circles the globe from the United States to the United Kingdom. It covers India, skips through Asia and into Russia then back to Minnesota again. It also makes side trips to about a dozen other foreign countries and at least three-fourths of all the states.

Who are these folks that have been visiting my Facebook page and reading my blogs? Their names, gender and age are still a mystery. Yet their presence is very real according to the cyber bots that monitor such things.

Google Analytics and Facebook data have been helpful in deciphering where my readers are coming from. It’s not an exact science and I certainly haven’t gotten a total grasp on my readership but it’s been most helpful in appreciating the scope and breath of my coverage.

When a name appears out of the blue, hinting of old familiarity, the mystery only deepens. Often times I respond to their comment or inquiry immediately but then they just disappear once again. The reconnection is swift and vapid then becomes ever elusive once more. Like touching a hot stretch of beach, that foot-to-sand encounter isn’t coming back anytime soon.

This digital tap dance in cyber space can be very confusing. I don’t know why they made the initial contact in the first place if they didn’t want to continue the conversation? Perhaps it was curiosity in connecting or pondering my response. In either case, they decided not to pursue the connection any further.

Who knows? They may have been there for important milestones in your life but are no longer even a smudge on the relationship radar. What happened to those folks? Perhaps they didn’t follow through or fell short of what I expected from them. Perhaps I failed them and the ending was mutual.

Of course, no one can make someone else their friend if they don’t want to be. It’s terribly subjective and handicapped by a less than thorough knowledge of their motives. Were there extraneous factors, whether recognized or not, that contributed to the demise of that friendship? Was it something I did or didn’t do? Was it something I said even in honesty that was taken the wrong way?

Some folks can be brutally honest in terms of their relationships. They separate family (with all those obligatory ties) from friends and acquaintances (where they get to decide whom they want to be associated with.) They pick and choose their friends based on connections, associations and tie-ins all for their own self-benefit and satisfaction. ‘It’s nothing personal,’ as my boss used to say, ‘it’s just business.’

Friendships and relationships can be by their very nature a vapid and elusive bond to attain and maintain. Fleeting friendships based on circumstance are easy to recognize. An MOS partnership in the Armed Forces evaporates as soon as discharge papers are served. That’s understood, accepted and welcomed for a return to civilian life. A close relationship in the classroom can wither away and die when outstate jobs or opportunities beckon. Neighbors and neighborhoods fade from memory after the moving van has arrived. It’s all part and parcel of the ebb and flow of normal life.

Some time ago, an old acquaintance of mine resurfaced after 58 years of ‘what ever happened to…?’ She said she was surprised to see that I had become a writer in my retirement. Another friend appeared after 52 years, also intrigued by my novel writing and local speaking engagements. They both made their first overture just as others had randomly left a message on my Facebook page. My first reaction was a refrain from that old 60’s Rascals song ‘I’d like to get to know you.’ But their response seemed to be ‘I don’t think so. Just curious here.’

It’s not like I was seeking a return to the intimacy that we once shared decades earlier. I alluded to that fact in my return correspondence but their resolve was firm. Their curiosity didn’t extend beyond that first timid comment in reconnecting. Perhaps it was more curiosity than anything else. Fair enough but too bad.

Photo Credit: Jerry Hoffman

It’s been several lifetimes since I’ve seen any of those folks. I assume I never will again. So I wish for all of them health and happiness and good memories. It’s the Great Go-Around in this our Circle of Life.

Like most mysteries of life, there are no easy answers. I just wanted to revisit an old friendship but they seemed intent on letting it remain a mystery. Another way of saying, you have your memories, I have my history. And the ‘old we’ probably won’t cross paths anytime soon in our respective futures. In other words, let it go and move on.

So that’s what I’ll do with one last melody humming in my head. As Woody Guthrie once sang ‘So long, it’s been good to know ya.’ And I’ll add “thanks for the memories.”

Standing Outside of Myself

The cliché wrapped up as a question goes something like this:

How do you see yourself?

How do others see you?

How are you in reality?

Often times our version of reality doesn’t compute with other people’s reality about us. So goes the game of life. I thought I knew but they knew better. Or so they thought. Self-reflection isn’t a bad thing if it can be done with a solid grasp of past failures and accomplishments. Satisfaction with ‘today’ can open up the world of ‘before’ with all of its nooks and cranny’s and past stumbles revealed.

Along with being born Catholic comes a certain amount of Catholic guilt and fear of the sin of pride. My classmates and I were taught early on that feeling good about one self, if not a mortal sin, was certainly venal in nature. The idea was to think only of others, to the detriment of ourselves. ‘Sacrifice now’ we were told so we could reap our benefits in heaven. It was an ancient line handed down from the priests, nuns, teachers, parents and other figures of authority. Being German Catholic with rural ancestry certainly didn’t diminish but only enhanced that message to us young-ins.

Being raised in a single parent household, ours was not your typical home environment when the norm usually centered on the classic nuclear family. As a Catholic youngster the standard path to eternal life for me was being an altar boy in grade school, 12 years of Catholic education, Sunday services every Sunday and unquestioning allegiance to the Bishop and Rome.

Self-reflection was usually considered a bad thing. A kind of masturbation of the mind. Feeling good about oneself was the worst kind of sin, that of pride.

So when I began blogging several years ago I found myself reflecting back on my life as it stacked up to that point. Without the encroaching cloak of adult authority leaning over my shoulder I was able to look back, not in anger, but with curiosity at a life well lived thus far.

It was only recently that I realized there were two curriculum tracks at Cretin High School. Seriously, I was that clueless! There was the college bound track with its challenging academic courses and then the other track for those less inclined or qualified. Somehow, I was able to muddle through high school without guidance or help from anyone.

Getting into St. Thomas College proved I could succeed academically despite my grades in high school. A brief stint at the University of Minnesota proved I couldn’t succeed in that large factory of learning.

So now at 75 with many miles traveled and some accomplishments under my belt, I can step outside of myself and look back at my life… and not feel guilty in the process. My academic career was less than Steller but it worked for me. It gave me the insight and passion to believe that it was paramount that my kids and grandkids steel themselves with a solid educational background in order to succeed in this new ever-changing world.

They say maturity is wasted on youth. That’s probably true but I won’t apologize for my sometimes foolish, boorish, immature behavior growing up. I was young and stupid and yet somehow survived those lean, mean, not so innocent years without hurting anyone in the process.

A part of me wants to apologize to past girlfriends for any awkward situations I created between us. I realize now how very immature I was at the time. The intent was there. The manner taken could have been better. I guess I was searching. I’m not sure for what.

It’s a shame I’ve lost touch with so many old friends. Back then it was just the passage of time and other interests that drew us apart. Life moved on but I lost something very precious without even knowing it at the time. Luckily, some of them are still around if only by e-mail or the occasional coffee chat.

On another level, I’m grateful for the casual acquaintances with whom I’ve only spent slivers of time over time. Circumstances brought us together for a while and then pulled us apart as our lives moved on in different directions. But the moments and memories are still there etched in my brain.

Many curtains have opened for me at this later stage in my life. And before (sorry for the pun) my final curtain call, I want to look back once again on a life well lived with all of its hits and misses and reflect with a smile on how lucky I have been.

Deposits and Withdrawals

When we were all young and dumb, the world was a rainbow landscape full of wonderful  adventures and opportunities. Each of us set out to become whatever we thought we should be…at the time. The world was our oyster and we meant to have it all.

It’s funny how reality evolves and our past lives and aspirations finally catch up with us. That winding road called ‘my life’ is either running smooth as asphalt or rough like gravel. And yet none of us want to get off the road even if the ride isn’t what we expected it to be after all these years. Something like my life in pictures.

It’s been forty or fifty years since we turned twenty-one and shed our cloak of anonymity to adorn ourselves with the costume of adulthood. Now we’re at a point in our lives where reflection is more than a glass of chardonnay framed within a sunset or a cold brew among high school buddies. And there is no going back as I learned in thecompany of old men.

Our current life style is an accumulation of habits born long before our birth. For some of us it was modeled after our parent’s pioneering excursion into life. For others, it was a process of discovery, loss, acceptance and rejection. And finally our life style became us on a daily basis and we weren’t even aware of it. It’s only now that the accumulation of excess and/or scarcity raises its hidden head.

Ernest Hemingway is quoted as saying that life is like a bank account. How you use it is solely your determination. You can withdraw it in a hurry and live a very short life. Or you can be diligent with your withdrawals and live, hopefully, much longer.

We can always try to rectify some of our mistakes or enhance our positive steps but age and reticence to change are usually huge obstacles to overcome. We’ve let life’s ebb and flow (our gypsy muse) guide us in this rhythm of life. For most of us, the process was organic and without a lot of thought. The first apartment, the first job, first time camping overnight during a long Minnesota winter.

 

And now quite unexpectedly, we find ourselves both benefiting and/or suffering from past investments of our youth. The things we did to ourselves, the deposits we made on our bodies, our finances, our love life and our children. We’re now at the stage of making withdrawals from our youthful decisions and indiscretions.

The life investments have been made, squandered, lost, accumulated, divested and set aside. Some things worked out and some things didn’t. Now we have the residue of our wisdom or luck or mistakes to live with for the rest of our lives. And all those life steps are now just a memory.

A career was hatched, grown and nurtured or changed many times over. That part of our lives is over unless boredom and fear of retirement pushes us in a new direction.

We abused our body with youthful indiscretion or ignored it or kept the blood flowing by never stopping. Now that investment or abuse is either paying back dividends or punishing us with worn out body parts along with the inevitable aging process.

My bank account of friends isn’t the greatest. A reluctance to make an effort back then, despite the chiding by my wife, has left me lacking in that area. Yet what I do have in the vault is now priceless. One of my aspirations is to mine those rich veins of past friendships to see if I might unearth more nuggets there. Occasionally I’ll strike gold and rekindle a long lost almost forgotten friendship from the dusty archives of my past. It’s a blast. And immensely satisfying.

Those random discoveries got me thinking about other friendships; past and future, strong and vapid, present and omnipresent. I thought about the friends I’ve had over the years. Some of them shared isolated points in my life; high school, college and work. Some were but fleeting incisions in the tenderness of my youth. Others were shared experiences like the military; isolated, vacuous and destined to crash with each discharge celebration where inane behavior in the barracks seemed to make perfect sense back then.

Most of those memories are lost now in that vacuum called life experiences. A few were found again but most are just fragrant memories of a life well spent. Like separating wheat from the shaft, I’d love to rekindle a few of those friendships and nourish them back to the point of commonality we once shared. A kind of harvesting from my lost years.

The cliché that you can never have too many friends dissolves over the pages of Facebook where collecting friends can be a cyber-game for some folks, devoid of meaningful contact and concern. Having friends on Facebook isn’t the same as having real friends who care and share and actually want to be somebody in your life. Big difference there! For some folks it’s like grade school best friends.

I guess that’s why I want to continue seeking out old friends and acquaintances who might share my same values and interests.  Even if it’s an exercise in futility like looking for Susan’s house. The past can’t be replicated nor ignored. It can be accepted for what it was even if we couldn’t see it at the time. It’s all cloaked in that most evolving, translucent, vapid metaphor called relationships. Together they fill our thoughts and dreams and aspirations with dream-like illusions we’d like to believe in. It’s a game we play on a daily basis as we go about the business of living.

But there’s one group that isn’t into that game-playing. Children are the most transparent of all relationships. No pretense, no pretending. They haven’t learned those life lessons of pretend, illusion and facial facades. It’s all there in front of us and easy to recognize.

So it all comes down to friends and family and the most honest among those two groups.

I am in a good place in my life. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone anymore! As an artist, I love creating stories in many different genres and I intend to continue writing until my pen dries up or I go blind. I’d like to take my true friends along on this journey of discovery of self and life and whatever else comes my way.