******

“Every once in a while ya meet one,” I Face-booked *-***, a friend who worked as an editor at the Mighty Mezz while I was there.
I was referring to “******,” a lifeguard at the Canandaigua YMCA swimming-pool. Last Saturday I went there on-my-own to get frazzled, and thereby hopefully improve my balance.
“Do I dare say this? I see yer name is ‘******,’ which means you were named after transmissions used in our buses,” I said.
“You got it backwards,” she said. “Those transmissions were named after me.”
“I like it,” I thought to myself. “Next time I attend the Geneseo WWII warbirds airshow, and see a P-38 Lightning or P-40 WarHawk,” I said; “I’ll say the V12 motor in them things was named after a lady not born yet who would eventually become a lifeguard at the Canandaigua YMCA.”
I then got in the swimming-pool, but noticed a bulletin board had ******’s name on it, and it had only one “*.”
On getting out I returned to ******, and commented her name had only one “*,” yet our bus-trannies had two.
“Yer right!” she commented. “They spelled it WRONG.”
“WHOA!” I thought. 74 years on this planet, not very sociable, yet I’ve met hundreds.
I have many good friends, yet only a couple have been like ******. Fortunately I was married to one for 44+ years. And gender doesn’t matter; the slam-dunks were both male and female.
My wife is gone, she died of cancer six years ago.
“Cousin ****” was first = a fabulous discussion. Relatives would be angrily banging pots in an adjacent kitchen, and Cousin **** and I would be out in the living-room quietly discussing Kierkegaard.
Next was “da Wooze,” a Class-of-‘68 student at my college. She worked with me in the college kitchen. (I’m Class-of-‘66.)
All we ever did was jabber-jabber-jabber, metaphysics, philosophy, meaning-of-life, etc, etc. But she had plans to marry another, so I gave up.
Next was the girl who eventually became my wife, also Class of ‘66. Not talkative at first, but she comprehended what I was saying, and liked the way I thought. I may have brought her out. She had female friends she could talk with, but no one male.
We became fast friends. My wife said we thought alike — that we often thought identically; like we had a shared brain.
And now that “shared-brain” is gone. I miss her immensely. Few understand me.
Except there stands ******. Never in a million years did I expect her to run with that tranny-reference. I was planning to explain.
“Every once in a while ya meet one.”
Where does this leave *****, another lifeguard at that swimming pool? I should note again gender doesn’t matter, At least one male so far, maybe two. #1 tried to convert me into a “Dead-Head.” “Better living through chemistry!” I refused.
*****’s possible, but I don’t like the way she snaps her gum. Not a game-changer. Honky values, I guess. She seems to like jawing with me.
But she better not dye her hair green. I say that, but another of my best friends dyes her hair red; flaunting my tastes. —She laughs at my jokes. I crack her up!
****** and I said goodbye, since Saturdays at that pool would become impossible when I got a dog. “I may never see you again in my entire life,” I said.
“Oh don’t say that,” she wailed. I may hafta rearrange my weekends so I can jaw with ******.

• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over 12 years ago. Best job I ever had — I was employed there almost 10 years — over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern. (I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well.)
• “Canandaigua” is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles east.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. —Our buses were powered by Detroit-Diesel engines with ******* auto-trannies.