Floater, Part 1: An Introduction
Floater, Part 1: An Introduction
Szechuan Noodles With a New Friend
I am not in the habit of making new friends, or at least I thought I was not in the habit of making new friends, but then I made an acquaintance purely by chance, followed by the series of events described herein, and ended with a friend as close as any I’ve had in my life. How did this happen?
I can pinpoint the moment it started, in this case. My wife Mary was away last summer for a brief visit with family in the distant southern Michigan enclaves, a world apart from our northern Michigan home. In search of dinner on a pleasant evening I decided to try a new Szechuan carry out place in Traverse City, with the intention of sitting at a picnic table near the Bay and eating my spicy tofu and Dan Dan noodles in relative peace.
When I finally located the little restaurant there was a short line, but not a stampede as often happens up north during vacation season. I took my place in line, made my way forward, ordered and waited. I was momentarily the last customer, a little lull behind me. The Bay was green and blue in successive lines as the water depth changed. There were a few people walking along the water, but now at dinner hour most of the crowd had pulled back to hotels and restaurants. Finally they called my name, I collected my package and headed out. As I came to the door it opened surprisingly. There was a gentleman on the other side, we nodded respectfully to each other and moved on with a “thank you” from me and “sure” from him. As it turned out, this was our initial meeting.
I drove over to Clinch Park on the bay and located a picnic table. Fortunately, I had loaded two Yeti’s with ice water before leaving the house, and I needed both as it turned out. They were not kidding about the amount of red Szechuan pepper in these dishes. I was just about finished with my dinner, wiping the sweat from my face when the gentleman who opened the door for me suddenly turned up, also looking for a place to sit and eat. We exchanged some pleasantries and he dove into his sack with a healthy appetite.
I was still cooling down when he finished his meal and declared it “excellent.” We agreed that while the spice was definitely ‘up there’ it was not so bad that we couldn’t handle it, and also that we’d order the same meal again without hesitation; our courage replenished as the spice burn diminished.
The man appeared to be roughly the same age as myself, early to mid 60’s. He also had a head of white hair, and a well trimmed beard to match. He was in fine shape, too, and in all respects exhibited that certain personal dedication to details that so often distinguishes successful men. Our conversation started slowly, but moved along with more energy as the minutes passed. It was finally aided when I pointed out a pair of American eagles flying along the shoreline to the west, heading our way. A sight like that just lifts your spirits, and the excitement spilled over to our conversation.
Finally after some time I learned that my table partner was Jim Czerinski, or Caz for short. He retired as a first lieutenant with the Michigan State Police, running the detective squad out of the Traverse City office.
He hailed from Cedar, Michigan, one of the small towns on the Leelanau Peninsula. Cedar historically was the Polish enclave on the Peninsula, and to be honest still is, though the connection’s been somewhat diluted over the years. When I asked him if his mother made a delicious stuffed cabbage he laughed and admitted that he and his seven siblings looked forward to it as least once a week, three seasons of the year.
We hit it off well, and traded our stories of how we came to eat our dinner that evening on a picnic table along the bay. Caz was a widow with three grown children, and presently 4 grandchildren. He was an easy person to talk to, one of those men who have the ability to balance a sturdy understanding of life’s seriousness with an affable sense of humor; not a trait one often finds in life. We had enough in common, both boys from large, working families, yes Catholic, but also with very different places; he from a small farm in Northern Michigan; I, a city boy from Detroit. It kept the conversation rolling along without a hitch.
Finally, large swaths of the bay were as still as glass as the evening breeze settled to its faintest breath. We gathered our sacs and now empty containers, and walked back to the parking area. Caz showed a genuine interest in my small apple orchard so I handed him a business card in parting, not knowing if we would ever see each other again. We went our separate ways.
A week later my phone buzzed after lunch one day, just as I was settling into the couch. It was Caz. He and a friend were going to be up our way for Music in the Park the next day, could he stop for a short visit? Why just stop, I answered. Come for dinner. We agreed for 5:30, and hung up without a lot of small talk, always a relief. Mary was immediately curious.
“Who did you just invite for dinner?” she asked.
“A gentleman I met last week in town, he’s a former state trooper who grew up on the peninsula. He’s interested in the orchard.” I was surprised to hear myself saying this. So was Mary.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Is that alright?”
“I guess, what are you making?”
An inauspicious meeting, a dinner invitation, two waves of the butterfly’s wings at most and the rest, well, in good time I will sort it out here and give as honest a description as I possibly can. There are some details, some turns of the story that I still struggle with, so writing it down will help me untangle some of the confusion.
Find Part 2: Caz Pays a Visit here.