Sunken Friend Ship

Have you ever lost track of a friend? My guess is that most people have. Some of the best friends I've ever had -- or so I thought at the time -- have simply disappeared beneath the sea of passing time.

I didn't try to lose them. We didn't have any falling out that I was party to, most of them. One day I got up and decided we hadn't connected in a while and they just weren't there anymore -- phone disconnected, mail returned to sender, email bounced back undeliverable. Was it me? Did I do something?

I'm not so paranoid as to think they went into witness protection just to avoid me. I would rather fault the currents of life that swept us in different directions until we became lost in our own worlds. John Lennon said that, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans".

We're all leading our own lives -- jobs, mortgages, kids, finances.... It can be all too easy to let slip away the people you once thought you would never be without. I can count on the fingers of one hand the friends I still keep from high school. There used to be more -- a lot more.

I'm reminded of a quote from Tequila Sunrise, written by Robert Towne: "I don't know what it is about going to high school with someone that automatically makes you feel like you're friends for life. Who says? Who says friendship lasts forever? We'd all like it to, maybe. But maybe it just wears out like anything else -- like tires. There just so much mileage in them and then you're riding around on nothing but air."

I'm sure that's true sometimes, but I believe the ones who are supposed to be in my life find their way back -- or me to them. I sleep better at night trusting that it works that way.

The Winter of My Discontent

I hate to be cold. I mean I really, really hate to be cold. I don't know many people who do like it, but by contrast, my Aunt loves Winter. Certain things don't run all through the family, it seems.

This morning the wind chill knocked the temperature down into the single digits -- for humans. I read recently that humans are the only ones effected by wind chill. Not animals. Not inanimate objects. Lucky us.

Fortunately, my truck is only a few short steps from my front door, but the 90 second walk from my parking spot at work to the office bordered on painful -- a punishment meted out by the angry wind for having the audacity to venture through it.

The bottom line is that I live in the wrong part of the country to enjoy the weather I prefer. The Hindus have a saying that, "you are where you want to be". Basically, whether it be your geographical location or your current situation, you've made choices that have put you where you are. I've chosen to be here, to buy a home here, to work here, to live near family and friends.

I'll migrate south later. Or west. Maybe in five or ten years. Somewhere in proximity to a beach or at least with weather conducive to a relaxing motorcycle ride even if it's the middle of February.

Until then, I'll just have to turn my collar to the cold and look forward to the longer and warmer days to come.

Backbeat and Boredom

Yet another day begun by clawing and scratching my way out of bed so I can sit behind my desk and struggle against boredom and fatigue.

Actually, the fatigue is entirely my fault. If it weren't for the absolute necessity of sleep, I'd do away with it all together as a complete time waster. I have better things to do. As it is, I shoot for six hours a night, knowing I'm happier with eight or nine, but content that I've spared myself a string of psychotic episodes resulting from a lack of REM.

The boredom...well, that's all about me also. There are times when my job is anything but boring, usually when there is some routine emergency that requires my immediate, stressed-out focus to solve some bizarre problem. And there's rarely any middle ground. It's feast or famine. I could almost compare it to being a firefighter without the risk to life and limb. In a perfect world, I'd be a professional musician.

Correction - I would still be a professional musician, but that's a trip down amnesia lane for another post.

I am classically trained and have had a love affair with music ever since I can remember. I began playing trumpet at nine years old and was awful - as all beginners are. Apparently, I just didn't have the ambiture for it, so I switched to clarinet for the next six years. I was competent, but never excelled. Then, after a battle of wills with my orthodontist, I sheepishly approached my band director after my night brace had been wired into my mouth making it impossible to play. He sighed heavily and made a "go hither" gesture towards the back of the band room and said, "Go play drums or something".

I was home.

I took to it immediately and quickly became as good as the percussionists who had been at it for years. At the risk of sounding conceited, I was embarrassingly good.

Although I intended to continue drumming, I only joined the high school marching band at the urging of my best friend - then a trumpet player - who insisted I was a great drummer. I suspected he was blowing sunshine up my ass, but I knew it was well intentioned. As it turned out, I was the lone percussionist in my graduating class that continued in band. Of the original three that I joined in ninth grade, one of them tried out for the football team and the other two had evidently enjoyed all the structured music programs they could stand.

I was just getting started. My drumming would be one of the anchors in my life for the next eighteen years.