I Got the ESL Option

First, let me say that I think of the whole concept of a Global Positioning System happens to be just this side of magical.  I reserve the same kind of reverence for its capabilities that my parents had for microwave ovens.  So when I added integrated voice-activated GPS navigation (via an expensive option) to my new car, I was prepared to enjoy the full benefits of this awesome technology on a completely new level.

Second, I admit this was an uncharacteristic indulgence on my part.  I fell in love with GPS during my working traveling days.  Now, in my retired drivespace, I usually know where I’m going 90% of the time; however, I reasoned it would be very helpful on the occasional road trip where cellular service (another miracle) might be spotty or non-existent . . . because, frankly, that’s the kind of jaunt I like to take.

Shortly after getting the car, I was looking forward to show off this new gadget while we were on our return from a trip to Fort Sill, Oklahoma and transporting the proud parents of a nephew who had just graduated from his training.  Having also decided to show off some Texas ribeyes at the renowned Sweetie Pies restaurant, I attempted to speak the address (201 W Main Street, Decatur, Texas) to the car when we were about 30 miles out.

It took a couple of tries to get it to recognize the city.  Then it asked for the street name.  Then the trouble started:

Me:  Main Street

Car:  Cain Street?

Me:  No.  Main Street

Car:  Lane Street?

Me:  No. Main Street

Car:  Frame Street?

Me:  No.  Main Street

[… at least 5 more variations of this followed]

Car:  If you need help, say “help”

Me:  Help!

Car:  Simply say a street name, like “Main Street”

Me: #@$$%^#&$!

Backseat:  [uncontrolled laughter]    

So much for showing off my expensive automotive option.  Thankfully, the ribeyes were still outstanding. 

Recently we had an occasion to try the system again.  We were wandering from Austin to San Antonio and decided to detour to an old town established way back in 1847 and made “famous” by the likes of Jerry Jeff Walker, Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson.  Why use the GPS?  Simply because most of the signs have been stolen as souvenirs.

Me:  Luckenbach

Car:  Lucas?

Me:  You’re the reason I won’t be talking to my microwave oven for quite awhile.

Need A Doctor: Eeny Meeny Miny Moe

It finally happened.  My General Practitioner announced he was terminating our almost twenty year relationship due to his advancing age and creeping technophobia.  If he stayed in practice he was going to have to replace his fax machine AND have to buy his first computer.  I’m convinced his decision to retire was due to all the new “paperless” reporting requirements of Obamacare, Medicare, prescription and insurance billing . . . and had nothing to do with him being my age or the fact my file was fully 9” thick and he couldn't lift it anymore.

For old time’s sake, my Dr. Dough was kind enough to provide a list of potential new physicians who just might accept new patients.  Several on the list were affiliated with Doctors' Dynasty Amalgamated.  Since my BBL played this game of finding a new GP a couple of years ago and ended up at this place with a Dr. Kwo (a young female equivalent of Doogie Howser).  No chance of her retiring in our lifetime! I thought I would take this shortcut, even though Kwo wasn’t on the list.

On Monday I called for an appointment and explained to the receptionist my extremely close relationship to one of Kwo’s patients.  She checked and said the good doctor would accept a new patient, and yes, she would accept Medicare.  “Oh, and she has an opening this Thursday morning approximately 72 hours from now!”  All good!

I showed up at the appointed hour (actually an hour before the appointed hour because a new patient must sign their name on at least six different sheets of paper(!)).  Then:  “You must be mistaken, sir. You are supposed to see Dr. Bo.”  I’m mistaken?  Neither I nor my BBL had ever heard of Dr. Bo.  But I can be flexible (once in a while) and decide to see this Dr. Bo even before the receptionist tells me how nice and caring she is.

While sitting in waiting room #4 (yes 4!), I look through my papers and review again the list of doctors my Doctor had sent me.  Among the list of those associated with Doctors' Dynasty Amalgamated was Dr. Vo (a now obvious typographical error).

When I’m face to face with her, I explain to Dr. Bo how Fate has meant us to be together.

And that my visit has absolutely nothing to do with my toe.

It’s A Grand Day To Be A Father

My 36^th Father’s Day is approaching and it is unlike any that have come before.

What is the same, albeit perhaps a tad stronger, is the pride I have in the quality individuals my children have always been and how they have matured into intelligent responsible adults.  I do not take credit for this.  I have never thought of myself as a great Dad, just someone who was fortunate to be married to one of the world’s greatest Moms.  My children certainly have benefited from that relationship (I will take some credit for having facilitated this most important contribution to their lives).

What’s different this year is that my status has been elevated to the Grandfather level due to the generosity of our daughter and her husband.  They bestowed upon my BBL and me an absolutely gorgeous 21 inch, 18,569 carat Ruby (coincidentally also the traditional precious gem for one’s 40^th anniversary -- how thoughtful)!

As a bonus, I recently learned my Grandfather-ness will be raised to the power of 2 before the next Father’s Day due to the munificent efforts of my son and his wife to provide my granddaughter her first 1^st cousin (there is no 2^nd place in this race)!

Now I find myself wondering if I can improve on my “personal best” record as a Grandfather.  I’m not too worried . . . I’m married to one of the world’s best Grandmothers.

"Here's to grandchildren, gifts from on high . . . they are God's way of increasing our economy's money supply!"   Prost!

RIP TL

We are saying our final farewell to a man who was, to me, first a nemesis, then a co-worker, then a friend.  Rinse and repeat, again and again and again over the course of 45 years! And while I truly considered him a friend, he was always somewhat of a mystery to me too. 

I first saw him on my initial job interview with the NCR Corporation in Dayton, Ohio in late 1969.  I had not yet graduated from college.  I was in awe of the prospect of working for this renowned company, and definitely feeling a lot of anxiety.  My interviewer was immaculately dressed and groomed, sophisticated yet friendly, the model of a modern business professional – in other words very unlike me.  Going through my head . . . you only have one chance to make a good first impression.

So there I was facing my interviewer in a glass encased office that was in the middle of a bullpen of desk workers.  As I am trying my level best to supply intelligent answers, all of a sudden this person appears on the other side of the window wall (behind the interviewer) and starts all kind of antics . . . putting finger “horns” on the interviewer’s head, making gorilla-like gestures, drawing knife-across-throat and hanging pantomimes!  That was my “introduction” to big business and to an extraordinary human being.

I have no idea what I ended up saying in that interview and to this day I am amazed I received an offer of employment.  When I reported to work, I finally met my antagonist and was astounded to learn he had only been hired a few months before my interview and had the moxy as a new employee to pull this prank.  That’s when I also learned he had been asked to leave Notre Dame after being caught participating in a panty raid at St. Mary’s.  Perhaps he considered his stunt with me, and many others over the years, merely child’s play.

When our department relocated to Wisconsin, I was a single man always in search of a home cooked meal.  At times it appeared to TL’s wife Nancy that they might as well adopt me.  At and after many a dinner in their home, I believe I saw a different TL than many of my coworkers.  Out of the limelight, without feeling any need or pressure to “perform”, TL almost seemed to live down at my level.   [Nah, not really!]

The very next day I could become the butt of his comment or joke.  On our company softball team he graced me with the nickname “Stonefingers” after one of my many errors.  But I wasn’t singled out; he took particular delight in bestowing nicknames to coworkers (a long time before G. W. Bush was doing it).  And when my future wife showed up at her/our first company function, after being introduced, TL loudly asked her “are those D’s or double D’s”?  I could have strangled him!

TL, for all his antics, was an extremely dedicated and loyal company man.  I had occasions to accompany him on sales calls ranging from small sheet printers who might buy 500 pounds of product per year to national account plants that could buy more than 5000 tons per year. In my observations he always represented our company and its products extremely well and with a level of enthusiasm and professionalism few could surpass.  And his “secret sauce” was that he always made his interaction with a customer or prospect a memorable event.

Talented/outrageous/intuitive/edgy/courageous/crazy?  In many ways I think TL was a savant . . . think Jonathon Winters or Robin Williams.  And, like them, a little dose  could go a long way, if you know what I mean!

TL provided enough memories to last me until I meet him again . . . I think he’ll be the one behind St. Peter, putting horns on his head!

Time Traveler

Thomas Wolfe believed you can't go home again.  But I just did.

Quite unexpectedly a book arrived the other day, a thoughtful gift from a sister-in-law.  Its title:  Goodbye Elgin High by Mike Bailey who authored a fairly parallel story of us coming of age in a city undergoing dramatic change (except for a minor two year difference in our academic schedules and the fact I attended the other high school).  Reading it immediately transported me back to my teen years in this median size northern Illinois city that we called home.

I was reminded that during my high school days the St. Louis Gateway Arch was completed; the news was all about the Soviets first "spacewalk" and then their first soft lunar landing;  the Crocker Theater was showing The Sound of Music; WLS radio was playing I Got You Babe, Help, and Catch Us If You Can;  the popular TV shows were Bonanza and Andy Griffith.  Tang, Cool Whip, Pampers, Pop Tarts and freeze-dried coffee appeared on the shelves of our 35+ neighborhood grocery stores.  Modern Dairy still delivered milk to the insulated aluminum cube sitting by our back door.  There was a live lion at Lords Park. And gas was 30-35 cents/gallon at more than 55 service stations in town.

As far as coming of age memories go, the author has a lot more of them than I do.  My most vivid high school memory was me nearly scaring Dad to death as he was teaching me how to drive (might have been his most memorable too).  But before the State of Illinois would grant me a driver license, they made me get glasses-- their testing discovered that sometime during my tender years I had become near-sighted.  Once I got my new glasses I really began to discover the world around me.  Coupled with the newfound independence my license and an old beat up '47 Cadillac provided, my life took on new dimensions.  I became a better student, did well enough on my ACTs, graduated in 1966 and went off to college.  About the same time as my life seemed to be ascending, Elgin's started descending - both economically and in my consciousness.

In 1952, Elgin was selected as an All-American City and rightfully so.  It was a great place to grow up.  But starting in the mid-sixties, circumstances conspired against it. The tipping point was the closure of its most prominent and famous namesake employer: The Elgin National Watch Company.  It had been an economic engine providing a substantial foundation of local employment for thousands of skilled, above average paid folks who had, in turn, attracted other manufacturing and retail businesses for more than a century.  Some say it was the victim of cheap foreign competition, but the tremendously successful marketing campaign (spearheaded by John Cameron Swayze) relentlessly promoted the rugged (and cheap) virtues of the Timex brand watch also took its toll.  In retrospect, the Timex slogan “It takes a licking and keeps on ticking” could have been adopted as an Elgin city slogan after the demise of its own watch company.

That started the slow decline in the community.  Other local businesses withered, died or moved.  The demographics shifted toward lower income families.  More and more Spanish speaking students appeared in the schools struggling with the English curriculums which negatively affected overall education performance.  Increasing numbers of families left for other places with better performing schools.  This ripple effect continued for the next three decades (some would say it hasn't ended yet).

Elgin most certainly would have died if it had not been successful in attracting a casino.  The city coffers now receive $1 for each gambler and 5% of their losses.  City government now has more funds than ever.  While providing for infrastructure improvements, they don’t have that many more better paying jobs or much better educational performance.  I guess you could say they gambled their future . . .  and at least won an All-American City designation a second time (in 2002).  I hope the good fortune lasts.

But I’m glad to have lived there when I did; As I’m fond of saying, it was a good time and place to be from.  Thank you, Judy, for providing the vehicle for this trip in time.

Destination: Wedding

A week ago, our status changed to “married, with married children.”  Our son and his bride exchanged vows on a beach outside of Cancun.  It was a beautiful setting for a beautiful occasion – and our first ever destination wedding.  It was like having a week-long all you can eat reception.

Being the father of the groom, this was also a stress-free occasion for me, i.e. until my BBL inquired if I had thought about what my toast to the couple would be.  Well, I hadn't, and immediately set off to formulate what I might say. 

I bought some internet time and started googling.  I started out by searching for famous quotes or observations about marriage.  I liked (and prudently discarded) some including:

•  LBJ (a fellow Texan who became famous for lifting his dog by the ears), said “only two things are necessary to keep your wife happy. First, let her think she’s having her own way; second, let her have it!” And,
•  “All men make mistakes, but married men find out about them quicker.”

Feeling the World Wide Web wasn't helping me to be so wise, I started thinking about a conversation held earlier with a friend of the newlyweds.  She had inquired if my son has always been so competitive.

My first reaction was that he has not been competitive at all when it came to the marriage game.  After all, we had spotted him two years of life over his sister and she still beat him to the altar by 3 years!

Personally, I never thought my son had a competitive disposition where he felt it necessary to win every contest.  But I've seen where he does try to improve upon his performance, like running further or faster to beat his personal “best.”  Being competitive in that way is surely a good thing.

However, when it comes to team sports, he strikes me more as a raving maniac.  He is passionate about the teams he supports and is likely to (boisterously) offer running commentary/criticism about how the game is being played.  But it also seems to me that he knows the rules and regulations of the sports he follows better than most spectators and is usually first to recognize if actions on the field have violated them.

So it occurred to me that if he brings these traits:

•  The desire to continually improve in the way he loves and respects his bride;
•  Be a passionate, supportive raving fan of this new “team” in good times and bad; 
•  Knows, understands and plays by the rules of this “game,” then they will surely have a championship marriage! 

So that became my toast, albeit delivered with some warble, because I was sucker punched by emotion.

P.S.  If there’s any competitiveness left between our children, they are welcome to engage in a race to make us grandparents!

A-Train Tripping Down Memory Lane

Monday my BBL and I initiated what will hopefully become a new tradition for us.  She’s labeled it Monday Meanderings because she now has most Mondays off from her gainful employment which consequently offers us some additional freedom to “explore.”

We agreed our first venture would be to discover some of our local public transportation options.  Our first choice:  the Fort Worth stockyards, which was do-able until we slept in and missed the 8:30am departure on the Green Line to Big D where we would have connected to the Trinity Railway Express, then transferred to a Fort Worth bus which would have deposited us at the Stockyards just past noon.  [Note: My BBL will fly to Chicago (AA willing) in significantly less time later this week] 

So instead we opted to take the 10:30am departure on our tax-dollar sponsored (+$12 out-of-pocket) light rail innovation called the “A-Train” to our county seat. By 11:00 we were in downtown Denton after an extremely smooth ride.  We were pleasantly surprised at the number of riders on the train, all of whom were pleasant toward us newbies. The terminus was right next to the old Moore Business Forms plant where I first made sales calls in 1981.  It now houses several municipal departments--a transformation that sort of pains me.

For the next four hours we circled Denton’s core business district.  We invested in a cup of Costa Rica java at Jupiter House Coffee, an enterprise that proudly boasts its reputation (voted best coffee house three straight years!) and its sleeveless cups.  We spent some time feeling and smelling the dust in Recycled Books, a sprawling place located in the Opera House, apparently another example of infrastructure re-purposing in this city.  Went in and out of several antique/junk shops and made a purchase of an old glass doorknob that my BBL intends to re-purpose.  And in the center of the Square, we admired the iconic Courthouse, unfortunately closed in honor of Presidents Day.  After a hefty late lunch on the patio at Hannah’s Off The Square (we can definitely recommend the White Truffle Pomme Frites), we ambled back to catch the 3:00pm return of the “A-Train” -- and I am transported back to my other best memory of taking a train ride.

The year was 1955.  My mother and I had to walk about a mile from home to catch the Chicago, Aurora & Elgin electric train.  I remember we had to raise a semaphore to signal the train to stop for us.  Our destination was downtown Elgin to see the matinee showing of perhaps the best animated film ever - Walt Disney’s Lady And The Tramp. It was my birthday present.  I was seven years old.

. . . two great days connected by interurban train rides, two wonderful ladies and this old tramp.

Picture This (If You Can)

Those who know me also know I enjoy taking pictures.  Photos help me (and occasionally others) remember a scene, a suspended point in time, a memory.  For me, taking a photograph is merely a personal experience – not a competition to come up with the best pixels money can buy.

It occurred to me recently, and perhaps belatedly, there are scenes occurring daily in my life that are essentially impossible to photograph with any meaning.  Most of you would say books also fall into this category (and I would agree) -- although the motion picture industrial complex continually begs to differ.

For example, picture this if you can:

•  A 64+ year old white-haired male watching a show on his 55” Sony 1080p HD TV
• The show is a fuzzy PBS rerun of the Ed Sullivan’s 1966 rock ‘n roll performances dating back to the viewer’s high school graduation days -- and does not utilize the entire screen's lamdscape
•  The viewer is frugally sipping boxed Merlot from a treasured wine glass while sitting in a leather chair normally reserved for his BBL who is off visiting relatives in Illinois which makes him all the more introspective
• While comfortable, the viewer is unconsciously conscious of his left side clumsiness that still resides after an unfortunate accident which occurred several years earlier by a driver under the influence of an illegal substance -- necessitating a certain due diligence when the viewer handles his wine glass  
•  The viewer wonders again how in the world Ed Sullivan ever had his own TV show due to Ed’s own apparent lack of showmanship
• Ed introduces a group called The Association who performs their hit song “Along Comes Mary” which transports the viewer to a spot unremembered until now
• The viewer comes to a revelation that the song is most probably about marijuana, something that never had occurred to him during the hundreds of times he previously heard the song
• The viewer has a hard time grappling with how he could NOT have perceived this before; after all, he had understood the implications surrounding Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit”
•  Later in the program, the viewer decides that The Turtles’ “Lucky Man” is a song much more worthy of his affection as it is a more relevant reflection of his current life situation than when his youthful ears first heard it.

Now, how in the world could you photograph that?

He was a “Duesy”

Looking back, I remember Dad had an absolute crush on the Duesenberg and Cord motor cars of his childhood days.  They weren’t only stylish, but were also technically superior to any other automobile at the time. Trouble was they were too expensive (unpractical) for the times. The dichotomy that was my Dad can be summed up with my own memory of 1957.  Dad was going to buy his first brand new car ever.  The choice was between a Chevrolet and a Rambler.  I was rooting for the Chevy (which remains a classic) but the Rambler ended up in the driveway because it was the practical choice!  God help me, I hated that car!

Today was (or is?) my father’s birthday.  Since he would have been 90 years old today, I guess using the past tense is proper.  Except he remains alive in my memory as much --  maybe even more so -- than ever.

Tom Brokaw would have characterized him as a member of The Greatest Generation.  I don’t believe he would have ever self-identified with that moniker.  But I know firsthand he was a significant contributor to the “Baby Boomer” generation (for which I will be forever thankful)!

You grow up in the shadow of someone and still rarely know what makes him “tick.”  Sure, you learn if I say “this” his reaction may predictably be “that”. But rarely have I ever contemplated what life experiences he might have had that could have shaped a particular reaction.

Born in 1922, the only son of an only son (a tradition that has continued for two succeeding generations), it was the beginning of the Roaring Twenties. By all accounts, the Chicago-land area faired exceedingly well (particularly if you factor out Wall Street).

By the time he was 7, a Great Depression had fallen upon the land.  His family survived because his father was a highly skilled, unionized, printing craftsman called an electrotyper.   I can imagine (now) how seemingly important and practical it would be to him to develop technical capabilities.  And he did so, first by enrolling in Lane Technical High School, then going on to apprentice as a tool and die maker.  Nuts and bolts basically, as important as any cog in a functioning wheel.

Along come WWII, and he gets drafted into the Army.  Because of his “technical” background (and I suspect his solid physic) he became a field radio operator.  Fighting in Germany, with a surname the same as an opposing German general, must not have been any picnic.  But it was during this time that a pen-pal romantic relationship took root with my mother.  As someone famous once quipped, it must have been “the worst of times and the best of times.”

Some of both were still in his future.  Upon his return, he proposed to his sweetheart (knowing a little about his personality, I still cannot fathom the depth of his courage to do this) and married soon after.  He became an entrepreneur in a partnership with a high school friend to create and sell authentic-to-scale model railroad cars, specializing in electric interurban specimens.  This was a disastrous combination of skill and passion. 

At the same time the business venture was falling apart, I entered his world.  I can never say I was unwelcomed or unloved, but I definitely had to have been a burden.  The financial situation was such that my first address was identical to my grandfather’s -- because my parents had to move back to his home.  Dad petitioned Grandpa to sponsor him as an apprentice in the Electrotyper’s Union.  Long story short, Dad followed in his father’s profession.

Anxious to gain a sense of independence (I’m sure), my parents bought a bungalow way out in the Chicago ‘burbs.  It was really a shack, but it had “promise.”  I was 4.  I was 30 before the promise was completed.  I saw Dad self-learn to become a builder/carpenter, pipefitter, brick mason, roofer, landscaper -- a true jack-of-all-trades.  He did this on weekends and weeknights after a two hour round trip commute to the city.

Technology changes and union inflexibility eventually led to the demise of the electrotyping trade.  Out of work with 30+ years of experience in a now non-existent field, Dad went back to school to learn to become a computer programmer and landed a position with the local school district.  I think it was at this point that I first remember being so proud of him, not only for this but for all his accomplishments.

I was fortunate he was able to spend the last few months of his life nearby and we used that time to connect again. He told us stories I had never heard, which only made me appreciate him more.  My advice:  don’t wait until the last few months to connect.    

The Ides of March

On the Roman calendar, March 15^th was known as the Ides of March, a term that simply reflected the lunar appearance of a full moon.  Two thousand fifty six years ago, it became a day of infamy and synonymous with abrupt change.  Why?  Because Julius Caesar, a man who had spent his life serving the Empire, was murdered that day.

The current Ides represents my own day of change as it is the last day of a formal association with my past employer and marks the end of a 40+ year career with them.  In reality, the abrupt change occurred a few years ago when I was terminated during a downsizing/restructuring event.  Fortunately I was given the opportunity (and gladly continued) the relationship as a part-time consultant (although I preferred the term “ambassador”).  The finality of this change will still take some getting used to.  

It was a nice gesture when I was invited to attend one last company sales meeting.  I arrived to learn that the theme was ironically (at least to me) “Ain’t No Stoppin' Us Now!”  I was even given the official t-shirt as a keepsake.

I can chuckle about it now. Et tu Brute?

Certified: I’m Digit(ally) Impaired

The bushes in our backyard were threatening to become trees with some having reached beyond the height of the purple martin house. I knew that they should be cutback and had tried more than once to get my two-cycle gas hedge trimmer started. It took me awhile to figure out the plastic tube from its gas tank had broken – as it also had on my gas powered blower.

Within three short weeks of this discovery, everything was fixed and ready to go. Except I wasn’t. Temperatures started regularly exceeding the century mark and my enthusiasm for the task (which was low to start with) became inversely proportional to the temperature. When I finally got the gumption, I found the ”repaired” gas hedge trimmer again would not start. Closer inspection revealed the little plastic bubble used to prime the engine had developed a hole in it about the size of the price tag of my earlier repair. Rats! I decided against throwing more good money down this path and headed for Home Depot. I was going electric.

I found a beautiful model for a little more than I wanted to pay but rationalized it because (1) it would never require fuel line repairs and (2) it was Father’s Day and I deserved to splurge. Plus it could cut ¾” limbs and had a l-o-n-g blade so I could reach those higher branches. Feeling good with this decision, I brought it home and put it in the garage where I admired it every time I passed it during the next couple of weeks.

Last Tuesday I tardily decided to get outside early and get as much trimming done as I could before the thermometer hit 100. By 9:30am I was in a hospital emergency room having been transported there by my very pale BBL. The top inch of my left index finger was being held on by a bare thread of skin. [Some advice to DIY hackers: if you’re going to maim yourself, do it fairly early in the morning and you’ll avoid the long lines that develop at the ER later in the day.]

Ironically, my BBL recognized the ER doctor as the one who had attended to my last emergency visit a couple of years ago. If nothing else, we are loyal with our patronage. Dr. Z quickly consulted with a couple of different hand surgeons to assess the prospects for re-attachment. He reported it could be done but would probably require a 10 hour operation followed by an ICU stay, and probably cost >$100,000; and then there would be the increased possibility for complications. Not a hard decision for me. I’m no fan of surgical operations or hospital stays, having had some past experience with both. Besides, I’m already used to typing one-handed.

Dr. Z referred me to the hospital’s hand surgeon on call – Dr. A (no kidding). We were told to show up in his office by 3:00pm and he would work me in. We cheated a bit and showed up earlier. This is when I learned that hand surgeons usually double as plastic surgeons (maybe it’s vice versa). Arriving early meant we got to study at length all the “before and after” pictures displayed on the wall and the digital picture frame in the waiting room. We saw lots of shots of improved butts, thighs, breasts, tummies, throats, chins, etc., but not one hand!

When Dr. A finally worked through his more interesting procedures and got to me, he asked how I was doing. I felt oddly fine under the circumstances, but told him I was going to really freak out if he asked me to disrobe. An hour later, he announced the completion of “a textbook amputation”. Certified by Doctors A to Z, now I can only count to 9 2/3 – unless I’m totally disrobed.

It Was All Relative

My BBL achieved her XXth birthday last week. On her short “wish” list was a desire to visit family by taking a roadtrip to roam the Northwestern reaches of Chicago-land & /Northern Indiana capped with a stop in St. Louis.. The caveat (and I think her real birthday wish) was that she wanted me to chauffeur her! So we packed up the Mighty Mercury Montego and racked up some impressive stats:

2443 total miles
219 hours away (start to finish)
200 tollbooths (it seemed like that many!)
87 gallons of gas
53 average miles per hour (not 83 as originally posted!)
46 hours (behind the wheel)
28 average miles per gallon
Resulting in visits with:
1 Father (in-law)
1 Mother (in-law)
1 Son
1 Doctor (SO)
1 Step-Cousin
3 Brothers (in-law)
3 Sisters (in-law)
5 Nephews (in-law)
6 Nieces (in-law)
6 Spouses of brothers/sisters/niece (in-law)
7 Pets (in-law?)
Or:
28 family members visited (excluding pets)
87 miles driven per relative
199 ounces of gas consumed per relative
469 minutes away from home per relative . . .

But who’s counting? It was a priceless experience.

Thanks to all who have served

These aren't my words, but they definitely mirror my sentiments:

It is the VETERAN, not the clergy, who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the VETERAN, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the VETERAN, not the legislator, who has given us freedom to assemble.

It is the VETERAN, not the judge, who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the VETERAN, not the politician, who has given us the right to vote.

It is the VETERAN, not the orator, who has given us freedom of speech.

And if you can read this in English, thank a VETERAN!

If you've got two minutes, check out this link, then click on the screen to start.

Best wishes for a happy and safe holiday weekend.

Voir Dire Y’all

Last week I answered my civic jury duty “invitation” for the DC court system. Not the DC you might immediately think of, but the local county court system with the same initials and, I guess, the same pedigree.

This is the third time I’ve been summoned for jury duty by this court. In retrospect, that averages about once for every ten years I’ve resided in their jurisdiction (and about half the invitations my BBL’s experienced, for which I’m thankful).

In the past, the event ALWAYS came at an awkward time for service, but this time there were no conflicting pressures upon my time and I approached this “opportunity” with a different mindset: I found myself mentally willing, albeit not particularly anxious, to serve should I be selected.

The first couple of hours were no different than my previous visits – essentially a boot camp to explain the process, how honored one should feel that a computer had selected you at random, how even MORE honored you should feel if the computer again randomly selected you for a specific jury pool, but that you could not feel honored if the computer selected you and you happened to somehow be associated with the legislative branch of government, etc. Thank God the court has some minimal standards!

So I felt duly honored when the computer randomly selected me to report to the 999th district court – but they won’t need you for at least an hour. We were instructed to show up again no later than 11:15 or else the sheriff would be sent to find our honored bodies, presumably to dishonor them somehow/someway.

At 11:30 the 999th Court bailiff came to read off my name with approximately 34 other honored people and inform us that (a) the judge does not like cell phones, particularly ones that ring/buzz in his courtroom; (b) if your cell phone does make its presence known, he will bestow a contempt of court fine of at least $100 on your honored wallet, and (c) show up at the courtroom no later than noon without food, drink and preferably your cell phone (or else you know what).

At the appointed hour, we were role-called in to the courtroom. I am not in the first twelve, but find myself well within the first half of prospective jurors. After we genuflect to the cell phone phobic judge, we begin the process of voir dire. Anytime anything remotely representing a French phrase is uttered in Texas, one can be forgiven to assume the worse could happen.

Both the prosecuting and defense attorneys “explained” the voir dire process as meaning “to tell the truth.” They both professed to wanting to get to know us better. In actuality, what they both really wanted to do was start un-randomizing the process of jury selection that the County had spent so much time and treasure to accomplish. In other words, they each wanted to stack the jury in their favor as much as possible. The game was on!

Although we could see the defendant, the rules of this game were that the attorneys could not represent any specific facts of the case; they could only ask questions about jurors thoughts of the case in the abstract. The only specific: the charge in this particular case was burglary of a habitation.

The prosecutor started hitting voir dire paydirt when he explained the penalty for this particular crime could be 20 years to life under certain circumstances. The question: could you consider such a sentence? Much consternation arose among my peers that they could vote for such a sentence. What circumstances would warrant it? The prosecutor offered as one scenario: what if you found out the defendant had murdered someone in the past? Hmmm. Defense attorney calls a sidebar conference with judge. The verdict – let’s adjourn for lunch,

We reconvened at 2pm. It’s the defense attorney’s time at bat. We learn that at one time he was a mayor of a small municipality nearby (I can’t help myself hoping that they had a good audit committee there). He tries to address the prosecutor’s scenario with a different one of his own. We find out if the defendant is found guilty of this crime and, let’s suppose, he was guilty of two other felonies, say as simple as passing 2 bad checks (>$1500 each) twenty years ago, A-HA, then the State would require us to consider that 20-year to life sentence as minimum. Oh, and by the way, what do you think if I don’t put my client on the stand to testify in his behalf? You know he doesn’t have to say a word – you have to presume his innocence. Can you do that? Consternation consequently expressed on several levels amongst my peers = defense voir dire paydirt.

To make the proverbial long jury selection story bearable, the judge eventually called the attorneys to his bench where they conferred for some time. At the end, I was not particularly surprised to learn I wasn’t selected to serve, but I was surprised that NO ONE was selected to serve from this group. The system voir dired itself out of a jury and I’m still unsure of the mechanism (I thought each side could strike 10 prospective jurors apiece which would have still left at least 12).

What I do know is approximately 35 citizens sacrificed a day of their time and treasure (mine amounted to driving ~70 miles + lunch) – but for the infrastructure (judge, attorneys, bailiffs, court reporter, security screeners, etc.) it was just another day at the office, playing the game where they know the rules.

Reflecting upon the experience, I was extremely surprised to learn that seemingly more than half of my fellow jury candidates had experienced some type of theft; most were in-personal (garage, auto, office, etc), but some were of a very personable nature – and under capable attorney questioning, I found out that none of the perpetuators had been identified, much less brought to justice. I, for one, am therefore very surprised at the restraint these “random victims” exhibited at potential sentencing scenarios during voir dire.

One result of all this: I have started setting the home security system again. Why? In addition to the above, what if I told you (hypothetically, of course) I heard a court employee say the defendant has been charged with more than 15 similar offences?

Collaborating Testimony

I have always thought of my BBL as an angel (well, at least most of the time). She came home last week with a letter that had been sent to the hospital by a patient she had briefly interacted with.
“Three days until Christmas and nine days before my scheduled surgery, I found myself at the pre-op appointment at the hospital. It was the third hour taking care of the business at hand and I was growing weary, but this was my last stop. This particular nurse was asking questions regarding my health history and, as her fingers typed feverishly on the keyboard, I couldn’t help but notice a silver ring on her little finger. From my vantage point it looked like a small angel charm dangled from the ring. It was the smallest charm I’d ever seen, and the angel appeared to be holding a trumpet. I answered her questions without too much effort but was mesmerized by her ring.”
“Abruptly, my eyes were removed from the ring as she turned toward me waiting for an answer to her last question. I paused for a second but knew no other way to answer except to honestly say, ‘I don’t recall much about myself at that time of my life because my middle son had just passed away from cancer and I was grieving.’ She turned even more to face me and gently asked what form of cancer. I replied, ‘Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma; he was about to turn 21 when he passed away. He was an A&M student when he …’ And by that point the tears spilled out and I began sobbing, Just thinking back to that time … in the grip of the darkest season of my life, produced such intense pain and sadness. The nurse graciously shared that no mother should ever have to endure such pain.”
“For some reason, I told her that I’d been staring at her angel ring and that I wanted to buy myself one like it—that I believed in angels. Without hesitation, she shocked me when she spoke: ‘Please take my ring—I want you to have it! This angel charm isn’t even made anymore.’ I argued that I had no intention of taking her ring, but she softly said, “I haven’t worn this ring in a long time. I don’t know why I wore it today, so it must have been to give it to you. Please, have my ring.’ She took it off her little finger and I tried it on mine…it fit perfectly.”
“We completed the questions and stood up. We hugged. She was my nurse, my friend and my angel that day – and she had no idea that I had prayed to God that morning desiring more of Him and a strong sense of my son’s presence in my life that day.”
That’s my BBL. 
1/24/11 edit: corrected typo "harm" to "charm"

Spirit of St. Louis

Less than ninety days ago, it wouldn’t have entered my wildest dreams (not that I have that many anymore) that I would ever spend a Christmas in St. Louis. My visit there awakened some good, and some sad, memories.

In November, our Denver-based number one son moved East to Lucky Lindy’s hometown in order to join a firmly rooted Western based financial firm (whose motto is “Together We’ll Go Far.”) Fulfilling the “together” role, Dr. S(O) also made the same journey (we will not speculate on who followed whom). Faced with the prospect of not having our kids together with us on Christmas morn, my BBL artfully wrangled an invitation for us to visit the new transplants. And so we did -- and had a great time. Then, on the day after Christmas, my Blackberry calendar reminded me that John, my St. Louis friend/associate, had died nine years ago.

In the 27 years I served as a region manager, St. Louis had been in-and-out of my geographical sales “responsibility” at least three times. During one of those touch points in the 1990’s, it represented the best market share area in my region, if not in the entire nation. Certainly not because of me, but most certainly because of John.

I remember that John almost didn’t get hired by my company. The region manager who was trying to hire him confided that he was very worried that the current perceptions of what a sales rep should look or be like (young, athletic ie. run/play tennis, etc.) would wash him out during the HQ interview process. He shouldn’t have worried so much, because the guy who looked like a balding fireplug proved to be the sparkplug most of us would come to admire. As evidence, I remember that John’s name, when mentioned during national sales meetings would elicit a spontaneous karaoke version of Volare – a close approximation of his surname.

Confident. Intelligent. Engaging. Cognizant of “the little people” in any organization. Independent. Principled. Loyal. Seeing/Using Humor. Organized. Networking for the good of all. Devoted to family/friends/associates. All attributes of John – and every other person I know or have known from this city. Perhaps all represent the true “Spirit of St. Louis”.

It pays to go to the State Fair

[But only if you’re smart enough to take your wife (and not eat tooo much of the food)]!

My BBL and I managed to squeeze in about 7 hours at the Great State Fair of Texas a few days before it ended for the purposes of:
 Enjoying an absolutely beautiful outdoor October afternoon, and
 Ride the huge Texas Star Ferris Wheel, and of course
 Savor our 2010 Fletcher’s Corny Dog, and
 Sample one of the newest confectionary Fair concoctions – fried Oreo cookies!
I’m happy to report we accomplished all of these objectives (and we are still alive). Unexpectedly, we also thoroughly enjoyed a couple of other experiences, namely:
 Discovery Gardens and the Butterfly House (we must be getting old), and
 The Russian Bar Troupe (three talented folks from Quebec–go figure).

However, our most favorable unexpected experience was when we visited an unusual booth in the Texas Food Pavilion (after sampling some Nolan Ryan’s sausage). It was displaying signs proclaiming “Your Father was wrong – money does grow on trees” and “Texas’ Best Cash Crop.” Because there was a non-existent crowd around this booth, I sauntered up and inquired about its purpose. The lone worker somewhat boringly explained that Texas has a great amount of unclaimed property which they would willingly return to its rightful owner, pending due process of proper ID, claim, etc.
Intrigued, I asked him to enter my name (18 letters + a space) into his laptop. Nada. I asked him to do it again, since his attitude and the number of keystrokes could easily have produced an error. Zilch. I had struck out.
Enter my BBL (who had been off on her own sampling a quesadilla). She quickly grasped the concept and asked the worker if he could just search by surname. While I suspect she was really trying to see if her or our kids’ names popped up, I struck pay dirt. First initial, middle initial, surname = $75 (a rebate from a computer accessories firm that probably dated back a dozen years or so).
We figure our net gain will be about $10 after deducting parking, admission, food, drink, rides, etc. After factoring in gas, tolls and inflation, it might even be breakeven – but good fortune nonetheless, thanks to my BBL. But a coronary from the corny dogs or the Oreo’s would definitely wipe out any benefit! Live and learn: my tactic for the next visit is to eat healthier and go for the fried chef’s salad with dressing on the side!
And, of course, I will check out the Texas’ Best Cash Crop booth again.

Magic Out Of Thin Air (Again)

I’m young enough not to have known this world without AM radio --- and old enough to remember discovering the existence of FM radio. I don’t exactly remember when it happened, but when that wonderful development that amplified the FM experience (FM STEREO radio) I coveted it immediately. I think I bought a different car just to enjoy that one feature.

I am now ancient enough to know some people who have never listened to any station broadcasting on the AM “dial”—and with good reason. The last time I was there was to listen to a sporting event on KRLD (1080), an event that surely ended badly at the time (according to their website they started broadcasting on Halloween Day in 1926 which somehow seems appropriate). I suppose there are also some youngsters I know who aren’t at all familiar with FM radio either (which is to say radio period).

I bring all this up because I recently acquired a Microsoft Zune – a portable everything device similar to the fruity i-Touch – but with the all important distinction of having a FM radio, which is the sole reason I bought it. At my advanced age, I don’t get delighted easily, but the Zune did it. It brought me back to me the wonder of FM and FM Stereo . . . with its HD FM receivership capabilities.

It seems in the recent past, some FM stations have quietly added HD multi-casts to their assigned bandwidth. Who knew? Surprise! HD radio (which does NOT stand for High Definition like you’d think it would) simply performs like it is High Definition radio. A single station can broadcast up to 7 different programs digitally with absolutely clear (no static) reception (although I haven’t found one yet with more than 3). Plus it can tell you the artist, song etc.) currently playing. I was transported back to the magic of going through a tunnel with no loss of the FM radio signal while different sounds were coming out of the left and right speakers.

The cost of this magic? Zero. NaDa. Free. Just like before. Take that satellite radio!

Beyond the benefits of crystal clear reception, the other benefit seems to be (with stations broadcasting on their 2nd or 3rd HD program) an almost complete lack of advertising. It’s almost like listening to a CD.

Why has this been under the (my) radar? I suggest perhaps poor marketing, at least to my age group. I offer the idea that they adopt a theme along the lines: “Let us create your ‘playlist’ for you.” Might even catch on with the younger crowd.

On August 24th--

10,957 days ago, a baby girl joined our family. And we were blessed.

52 days ago, she symbolically left us to adopt a different last name and officially start a new branch of our family. And she was blessed, just as my BBL and I were blessed in our own right only 13,478 days ago – and every day since.

When birthdays or anniversaries come around, it is only natural we tend to score their accumulation. But the real measure of success and/or just plain good fortune is the quality of the accumulation, not just the quantity.

When my favorite daughter “left us” via her wedding (the afore mentioned 52 days ago), I declined my opportunity to offer a toast, but only due to practical reasons. The ceremony ran long, the reception was rapidly accelerating toward its end, and the best man and maid of honor had the occasion fully covered. But I offer this sentiment now in lieu of doing it then:

As we all know, the weather was a bit threatening on your wedding day, but co-operated during all the “strategic” times when we had to be outdoors. It occurred to me then that we didn’t know if the weather was due to the end of Hurricane Alex or perhaps the beginning of Hurricane Baker (your new surname). Hopefully not the latter! But as you face your future, there is no doubt you two will encounter some rain – be it in a physical state that threatens to spoil a pretty day, or in a mental state that threatens to spoil contentment and happiness. To paraphrase a prayer I learned as a child, I offer you this thought whenever it may be appropriate to consider – and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to consider it daily:

“Lord, we await the day when your Kingdom will come. Until then, may the rain [reign] of Your Divine Truth, Life and Love nurture us individually and help us grow together as husband and wife. We ask You to help us repel the sins of this world and that Thy Word continually enrich the affections we have toward each other -- and that we have toward all mankind.” Frankly, so far I think it’s worked fairly well to maintain my perspective.

Happy birthday, baby. Here is your entire wedding reduced to a 14 minute video.

Thankfully It Wasn’t Posthumous

A couple of weeks ago, my BBL and I managed to escape the blast furnace we call Summer in Texas by climbing aboard a jet bound for the Pacific Northwest. We arrived to a positively refrigerated Seattle climate and, through no planning on our part, just in time to experience the opening of Seafair and its Torchlight Parade. However, apparently 75,000 other people did plan to be there which created a crowded downtown experience that was very close and way too personal for us. We decided to go camp in our Arctic Club hotel room and watch the parade on TV along with some local Pinot Noir.

The next day we escaped the Seattle crowds by climbing aboard the Victoria Clipper IV bound for (you guessed it) Victoria, BC Canada. The day didn’t start off all that promising – downright cold and overcast – but things started to brighten up as we pulled into our foreign harbor (sorry, harbour). We were immediately surprised to see the amount of seaplane activity in the port. We boarded a pre-arranged tour bus and were whisked off to the incredible Butchart Gardens only about 12 km away. This is the most fantastic reclamation project I’ve ever seen! The place exists because the Butchart family mined limestone/cement and the naturally ugly quarry it left behind was transformed into a thing of unparalleled beauty. The Gardens now take in more revenue than could ever have been imagined when the mining project began.

We were deposited back in Victoria with a few hours to spend before the Clipper departed. Again, without any advance planning, we arrived in the nick of time to witness the beginning of their outdoor Symphony Spash Festival. Lots of people to rub elbows with but it hardly registered on our Seattle “hassle” scale. Our return cruise was faster due to now perfect weather conditions and we were treated to a marvelous sunset off the stern which seemed to underscore our good fortune to have experienced someplace truly different and wonderful. We’d go back in a heartbeat, particularly if we can find someone to pay the freight.

Our next day in Seattle was all touristy. The “hop on -- hop off” bus tour moved us around the city to visit the Space Needle, the city mall area, Pike market, original Starbucks store, stadiums, waterfront, Pioneer Square and the sundry stores in these different areas. Two establishments stand out in our memory: the Chocolate Market (which had only been open a week and who were so happy to see us—or anyone—come in that they gave us several free samples and even took our Canadian coins when we made our purchase) and the KuKuRuZa “gourmet” popcorn shop (I heartily endorse the jalapeno cheddar option).
Leaving Seattle provided another first for us – a trip on Amtrak using business class service. Our destination was Vancouver, WA, a 3 hour trip but destined to be 4+ (due to track work and a dispatcher in Ft. Worth accused of being on a smoke break). Not a problem due to the scenery, first class seating, power outlets for the computer, free drink/food coupons, free movie and the freedom to move around. We were met in Vancouver by a longtime friend and resident who delivered us to our downtown Portland hotel after treating us to dinner at the Blue Hour restaurant where we feasted on the sea bass spaghetti entrée, the first of many delightful dining experiences in Portland.

In truth, Portland was our ultimate destination for this trip and the place where I had to go to “work.” I had been given an assignment to represent my employer at the summer conference of the Association of Independent Printing Paper Merchants, an assignment that has occurred as often as twice a year for the past 6 years. Attending this group’s meetings has always been a highlight for my BBL and me, but I cannot describe the surprise and shock I felt when the Executive Director announced me as the recipient of their “Career Leadership Award” named after their founder, Peyton Shaner. I left my camera with my BBL, stumbled forward to accept the honor, and mumbled a few words of appreciation all of which probably left the majority of the audience wondering about the selection process!

I have never been particularly good at impromptu speaking (and I know plenty of folks who would say “his public speaking in general”). Being caught flat-footed certainly didn’t make it any better. So my inevitable post-mortem evaluation of my acceptance comments leads me to wish I would have been astute enough to address:
- The kind/humorous comments of Joe and Noel, the award co-presenters and long-term customers;

- The selection process may have confused the terms "leadership" and "longevity";
- A plug for my company whose values have allowed actions in the field worthy of this recognition for one of its individuals – and not just once, but twice – and I know how much the recognition also meant to the other recipient;
- That both my VP and new Director of Sales were present in the room and equally surprised (I think) -- and that Jim’s presence represents my employer's new emphasis on the Association's segment of distribution;
- Most of all to recognize my “secret selling weapon” and soul-mate, my BBL, who has not only totally supported me during my career, but has made genuine friendships in her own right among many in the Association; and
- My gratitude they did not wait to perhaps present this award posthumously (as they did with their founder). Thank you!

Pictures of Victoria
Pictures of Seattle
Pictures of Portland