Friday, December 31, 2010

Chad LeCroy

I changed my profile picture on Facebook today. It is still the holiday season, but the new picture is not one of me unwrapping a gift or hugging a relative. I am one of many others that did the same as we are all sharing a similar picture. Some are badges with a black stripe across the center and some are simply a picture of a fallen hero and a badge number. The picture of a father. A husband. A son that wont ring in the new year with his family this year.
Something as simple as putting a picture of this man on my facebook page wont change anything. There is nothing I or anyone else can do that will change what has happened. There is nothing I could say to his family that would make them or me feel any better. But it makes me proud to see so many people that wish they could. I never knew Trooper Chad LeCroy and I never will. An individual that doesn't understand the value of human life has made sure of this. There is no punishment that will make you understand what you have done to a family.
The peace I wish for the family will be difficult to find. You will be left to deal with your loss long after the public moves on. A scar that will ache when you least expect it, a bone that has grown back wrong. I hope you find peace and know that today the we cry with you.

Monday, December 20, 2010

The Club

Michael Vick wants a dog. This could easily be a comment taken out of context by the media sharks circiling the USS Vick, but let us assume for a minute that it is the truth. Everybody now knows that Mike went to prison for eighteen months for his involvement in a rather large and cruel dog fighting ring. He admitted his guilt, lost his high profile job and went to prison. For many this would be the end of the story and they would disappear into the anonymity most of us enjoy. But he chose to try to get his job back and re-enter the limelight and wealth he previously enjoyed. Get out the microscope.
It is the price paid for fame, and it can be expensive. In modern times one must assume at all times he is being photographed. I don't think you can buy a cellphone that doesn't also function as a camera so if you are getting in a cab you better be wearing underwear. But it must be worth it because we create new "media darlings" everyday. We build them up to super human status, follow and record their every move and ultimately watch many crash and burn. Become human again. Sounds expensive to me.
Somehow I have gotten off track of Mike Vick wanting a dog. I'm glad he wants a dog. Humans love dogs. The unconditional love that a dog offers is like no other. I love my cats but it's not the same. I have heard many people say "I love your cat, he acts like a dog". Unlike a cat, a dog only wants to be vice president. He wants to be your body guard and publicist.
"Letting Vick have a dog is like letting a child molester work at a daycare". I heard this on the news last week. I hope this is not true, and I don't think it is. I think it is the perfect time to enlighten him. I think it is the perfect time to let him join the club I have been a member of most of my life. I never knew I loved children until a nurse handed me my own. Granted I had never abused a child before, but I had also never really looked at one either. Other people's children were cute, but they were just things. They were shoes and coffee tables. Just things. I was allowed to join the club with no experience and I'm glad I accepted the invitation.
Let's give Michael Vick a chance to be a member of this club. Let him enjoy the love of a dog that is his own. He doesn't deserve this because he is a famous professional athelete, he deserves this because he is a human being. Maybe deserve is not the right word. Maybe he doesn't deserve anything for what he has done. But the benefits he will recieve from the love of a dog will out weigh the risk. I'm willing to take the chance. If he is not a changed man, he will be when the nurse hands him the baby.
We don't live in a perfect world. People do terrible things to each other everyday. Varying opinions of God give people free reign to treat each other in the most inhuman of ways. Skin color alone has probably caused more deaths than all diseases combined. Somewhere we have to draw a line. We have to understand that while there are many small clubs, they are all a part of a much larger one. The main club. The home office. The human race.

Relentless

Most of the people who have known me for any length of time understand that you never know what I might say next. My little brother always told me that I wasn't necessarily funny, I was just relentless. Just wear em' down. Go for quantity not quality. Maybe, but really I just love to talk. Believe it or not, I do recognize that glazed over look others give me when they are tuning me out, and while it does deter me, it wont stop me. Maybe I am relentless.
According to my parents I "came out talking". I know what they mean, but it's a scary image if you really think about it. As a little baby I told a stranger in the grocery store to " put it back in the sack" when she touched something in our buggy. That must have been weird because the stunned lady turned and walked away. I imagine she looked over her shoulder a time or two because a talking baby is horror movie material, second only to a talking doll. But I had things to say. Still do.
My parents were as tolerate as could be expected. I realize now why they encouraged me to read so much. It was one of the few times my mouth wasn't moving and I was still. Because along with lots to say, I was what old people called "busy". The antiquated version of hyper! Luckily my folks chose not to medicate me. It was popular at the time, but I think their was some fine tuning still to be done on those drugs. Probably still is. But I also realize now that nobody asked me very many questions. If I was not already speaking, why start me up? Just enjoy the peace and quiet because it wont last.
But I love conversation. Always have. As a baby my daughter was the same way. She was ready to communicate! I don't know the real truth about how early I did start talking, but I remember when she did. She started off babbling when she was 5-6 months old and graduated to conversations before she could walk. She either had a lot to say, or was simply trying to get a word in edgewise. Hard to say. But I do know that conversation is contagious. When we get out of the car at home we are greeted by a dog that gives us a 10-12 syllable welcome home. The longer we have been gone, the longer the greeting! I guess he has no one to talk to while we're away.
The biggest problem with talking so much is that you become very familiar with the taste of your own foot. The odds of your saying the wrong thing are greatly increased. I had a friend that was murdered several years ago in Alabama. He had been at my house in Georgia the day before and I was one of the last people to see him alive. The local detectivies had bogged down on solving the case and called me to see if I could offer any tidbit that would help find some answers. They decided to come to Georgia and interview several people that knew the victim. This was fine with me and I was really hoping I could help. When they showed up a few days later and got out of the car in front of my office I was shocked to discover that there were five of them. Hadn't counted on this and I was unsure how I would fit them in my tiny office. It kind of made me nervous as well. As it turned out only one man spoke. The other four took notes and basically just glared at me. No smile, no frown, no emotion whatsoever. Now I was really nervous.
Well I made it through the "interview" without crapping my pants, but I was rambling on like a talk show host. I walked them to their car and while they were handing me business cards and finally making small talk I asked them where exactly the body was found. They told me the location and I said....."huh, my brother lives a few miles from there". There goes the foot!
Well they left anyway, but not before they looked at each other and back at me for a few seconds then shook their heads, eyebrows raised. I was so glad when they finally got in the car and drove away. To this day I think they felt sorry for me. Why in the hell I added that little bit of information (that amounted to nothing) at the end of the interview still puzzles me. I guess I am relentless.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Looking Back

Last night my daughter and I watched "Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer". The 1964 claymation classic that for me has always dropped the green flag for the Christmas season. This year network television chose to air it on November 30, which seems way too early, but that is another topic. I don't remember the first time it aired because I was two years old, and even if I could have understood it then, we probably didn't have a television anyway. I don't think I knew it was in color until sometime in the 70s. But it is a classic. Let the games begin!
Watching it with an almost 14 year old is somewhat of a challenge. A teenager. The time when you adjust to the idea of Santa. The time to go from anticipation to reflection. Logic. A 300lb man and a chimmney don't add up. When the whole family participates in the wink that follows the leaving of cookies and milk for the delivery man. Playing the game that keeps the spirit alive.
I remember a certain Christmas when I was about 6-8 years old. My daddy told us in great detail Christmas morning how he had gotten up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve because he had heard a strange noise. "Something scratching on the roof" he said, and he had to check it out. When he came down the hallway he noticed a large man in the living room dressed in red. He said it scared him for a few minutes before the man turned to look at him and he realized it was Santa! "What did he say? What did he look like? Did you see the reindeer? Why didn't you wake me up? Why, why, why" A million questions from all three boys. Daddy had actually seen Santa. Wait till I tell my friends.
Well my friends didn't really seem that excited, and they had similiar "Santa encounter"stories of their own. But I thought of this for years. I carried it with me until I came to that gray peroid of decision. The time when common sense and want collided. Why had they tricked me? Why not just give me some presents and take full credit? What about the toothfairy? The easter bunny? This was getting tough. While my friends told me that they knew all along there was no Santa, my parents still said there was. Better go with the home version...just to be on the safe side.
That was a long time ago. Many Christmas' past. And yes, it is tough at times to watch a Christmas classic with a 14 year old, but as we sat there and watched them I still remembered when she was finally old enough for me to tell her about her grandfather's Santa encounter. The scratching on the roof and the man in the red suit slipping quietly through our living room some forty years ago. How he had eaten the cookies and tasted the milk and how the carrots we left for the reindeer had the strangest teeth marks and how the were mysterious drag marks on the roof and in the yard and how the dog never barked and how......and the look on her face tells me all I need to know. It tells me why my parents told me the stories and why she will tell her children them too. Why they will believe for years....just to be on the safe side.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Myth buster

When I was a kid there was nothing I loved more than swimming. A lake, an ocean or a pool, it didn't matter. Well I did prefer a pool really because a muddy lake bottom or curious sea creature did take a little of the fun out of it, but it was still swimming. I could swim all day with only food and sugar loaded drinks as fuel. But I'm sure that everyone my age remembers the swimming and food rule. "You have to wait 30 minutes for your food to digest before you can go back in." The parent, or adult in charge would tell us. "You don't want to catch a cramp. You'll sink like a rock." We all heard it. We all hated it. And though none of us knew anyone that had sunk to the bottom from a meal of hot dogs and potato chips, we had to obey. None of us had a watch, so we were at the adult's mercy to let us know when the time was up. Thirty minutes was a long time back then.
You don't hear this rule much anymore. I think I even read on the internet that not only is it not true, but really it is probably good for you to go back in the water and burn off those calories immediately. What I now know as a parent is that the 30 minutes of food digestion time was actually 30 minutes of parental rest time. While I could swim all day, my parents couldn't (or wouldn't) supervise all day. I knew it was a trick, I just couldn't prove it! Kids have all the answers at their fingertips today, and a computer or even a smart phone can make you look like a stupid parent. The internet ruins a perfectly good excuse again! When your kid's favorite show is Myth Busters, you better watch out.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Crap is king

You are sitting on the edge of the bed watching your wife get dressed for the party. You have been ready for an hour a she is almost ready. You are already thirty minutes late. She walks in the room, stands in front of you and asks the dreaded question. "Do these pants make my butt look big?" Hell yeah, you look like a circus bear! Can we just go now! What do you think? You are not going anywhere now. Well this is not really going to happen anywhere, It is an old joke. But what if it is the truth? Should that make you tell her? She is entitled to the truth. Of course not. It is not the right time.
There is a time and a place for everything. Having been married (to the same woman I might add) for over 20 years I could give the newbies some tips, but that is for another day. What bothers me is that as 21st century people we seem to think that we are entitled to know the absolute truth and complete story about everything. News is on twenty fours a day and a click of the mouse will instantly tell you the story, give you the images and help you with an opinion on any current topic. This is a monumental leap from the weekly smoke signals from not too awful long ago. But with this there is a cost. It has happened so quickly that we forgot to draft a code of ethics. I don't want "sugar-coating", I just want responsibility. I don't think we have any more rapists and murders than we used to, just more news coverage of where they are. Is this a good thing? I'm not sure.
The accused soldiers...did I mention accused...ok. The story about the soldiers accused of killing Afgan civilians that was on CBS news last night is a good example. Who thought that was a good idea. We are hated around the world so why dont we parade an accused criminal across the screen as an example of what we represent in our war effort. Because it sells more soap. Crap is king. What CBS (and I'm sure other networks) did was unexcusable. Guilty until proven innocent.
When I was in boot camp my company commander told me that one of the reasons my uniform, conduct and just general military bearing were important even when he was not around was because I represented him. You don't have to be military to understand this. You don't want your daughter to wear a mini skirt and a tube top to school because your friends will look at her and think of you. She represents your household. Well I hate to tell you that the national media represents you and I both in the eyes of the rest of the world. We used to ride horses and rope cows while singing from the saddle, and now we burn Korans and kill foreign civilians. Sterotyping, as we all know, is wrong.
In my mind this issue has nothing to do with politics. We, as a country, are a team. We get a new coach and quarterback every few years, but we are still the same team. The rest of the world sees us as such. I bet you couldn't find an Afgani that has ever heard of Nancy Pelosi. We can fight as hard as we want to amongst ourselves, and back seat drive, but to the rest of the world we must at least give the illusion of a united front. A team. The fire is burning just fine, let's not throw more gas on it.
You may not have a family member in the military but if you have a son or daughter at college they are in danger. If you decide to go to New York to look at Christmas lights you are in danger. How long before this threat moves to small town America? War, for most people, is "something you can't see from my house". Theory. A chess game. Those that have loved ones in harms way can certainly see it from their house. When you allow the rest of the world to assume we, as Americans, are like the criminals displayed on the news we will have real problems. The "information age" has to develop a concious.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Fall

Everybody loves fall. Football season, holiday parties and cooler weather. I heard somebody say this morning "man it went from summer straight to winter, it's gonna be 30 degrees tonight!" Maybe for a couple of days, yeah, but here in the south it will warm back up. I've sat outside with short sleeves on at many a Christmas party, it's one of the reasons I like living here. The seasons change.

But one thing that changes is the pace in which everyone moves around. We all start acting like people from the north (Atlanta and above) moving quickly everywhere we go. But down here we also smile more. The cool air is like a private joke that only we get. A tease. Could just be the Christmas spirit that retailers now think we need before Halloween, but people seem nicer. I guess the heat just "wipes that smile right off your face". But really it is just that the season is changing.

January comes along, then Febuary, and we start wondering when it will ever warm up. It wont be any colder than it is now, we just want it to change. I have never lived in an area without seasons. Seems like paradise when you're sitting in a warm house and looking at barren trees and dreary skies, but I bet it's dull. You never put your summer clothes away and get out your long sleeves. You may not like winter clothes but everyone has a favorite jacket. Get out your "Lucky Shirts" . You can build a fire outside a sit as close as you can to it without smelling burning hair. When you smell something burning you simply turn around and heat the other side. You change sides.

This all sounds really good today. Taylor and I bought some new LED Christmas lights yesterday at Lowes. We Looked at all the artificial Christmas trees and decorations and got excited! Gonna turn the gas logs on tonight and cook something good for supper. We bought the makings for a pumpkin pie to bake and we might even build a fire in the backyard firepit. Enjoy some fall activities! This all sounds like an exciting night to me. We will probably have evenings similiar to this from now through the new year. But I know that very soon I will be ready for a change!

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Timing

A sizeable argument with a Facebook friend about an ammendment that failed to pass in the last election has really made me think about a few things. I know that which hand you use to vote with makes a huge difference in how you vote, but there are just plain old common since issues too. Many people let their party decide for them how to vote and leave it at that. Others read each ammendment and vote for it on it's merit alone. Personally the language in these proposed ideas scares me to death. "Shall the state constitution be ammended to....Hard to swallow for me, and hard to go back from.

But really how could now be the time to ask taxpayers to pay for anything extra? Is it a good idea to pay an extra $10 for your car tag with an unemployment check? That is like buying a Walmart gift card with a credit card. We all do it but it feels weird! What about the small business owner with a fleet of delivery trucks? Not a stretch to say that maybe somebody would either lose their job or at least lose some hours. This is not an issue for the right or the left, this is about timing. It's a bad time to ask anybody to give more money. I was told that the people that voted no on this issue were "tightwads".

Seven hundred lives a year would be saved. This is great! I am all for saving lives. I remember years ago when the speed limit was lowered to 55. Everybody hated it, but we agreed because of how many lives would be saved. How much did this cost? Well, it wasn't free because we had to make up new road signs, but I don't think it cost $80 million. We lowered the limit for driving under the influence. Made it illegal to have an open container in a vehicle. Construction workers hated it! You mean I can't have a beer on the ride home with my buddies? Unfair. Well we passed these rules anyway. Saved a lot of lives I'm sure. How much did this cost? Well it wasn't free because we had to beef up law enforcement to cover the new laws, but probably less than $80 million.

See what you can do without asking the tax payers for more money? Wait until times are better and ask again. We can't give what we don't have. Don't call me a loser because you won the game and don't call me a tightwad when I'm broke! When money is tight you don't vacation in the Carribean, you go on a picnic in the park. You have to eat anyway. Use what you have.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

All Boy

Growing up with two brothers I could never have been accused of not being being all boy. I got my first stiches when I was five years old. In the head of course, but from this I learned to always face the direction in which you are running. Didn't make that mistake again though I did end up with enough stiches in other places to sew a leather jacket. Attractive when you get older.

I learned that horses should come with a saddle AND a helment from a private rodeo some neighborhood kids and I had. Came out of that one with a concussion and some hoofprints on my chest, but I did learn to speak a little horse language that has since come in handy. When you sit on a horse's back and he turns his head to look at you it means "I'm fixin to kill you". You simply slide off his back and do something else. I usually thank the horse for the warning and tell him "sorry, I didn't know". They don't seem to hold a grudge.

There were countless other lessons I learned along the way. Basketball and new shoes don't mix, three wheelers will cut a nice donut, but not with you still on it and on and never jump up and attempt pull a garage door down unless you are absolutely sure it is disengaged. All of these involved either lots of blood or broken bones and the hurt quite a lot! I have always considered myself a quick learner because once was enough for everything mentioned so far.

But tonight as I sit here and write this I have to say that there is no pain worse than a bad back. I do know this time what caused my back to "go out", but for me it often happens without warning. Go to bed at night feeling fine and wake up in a fetal position. Standing still you feel fine, but move an inch to the right or left and you have to hold your breath. Sneeze and you will pass out. You walk around in an awkward stance that looks like you have something stuck in your butt. Usually it only lasts a day or two and I'm as good as new. Toady is day two.

I wish I could tell you that the doctor says that what I suffer from is minor and it will just run it's course, but of course I have never gone to the doctor when my back is out. Like a pimple I just let it clear up on it's on. But the psychological part of a bad back is the worst. Maybe this time it wont fix itself. Maybe I'll be stuck like this forever! I look fine but I can't tie my own shoes. Instant old man. I have decided tonight that if you can't put on your own shoes, then maybe you don't need shoes! I have learned the reason they make tennis shoes with velcro closures...I wish I had some!

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Love

As most of my friends know I love to read. I really don't have a certain type of favorite, I really just read anything. I pass books along when I'm done with them and I sometimes get the comment "You liked this? Really?". Well yes, as a matter of fact I did. Reading a book is kind of like spending the weekend with people that you don't know. A monitoring visit. A 300 page America's Funniest (or dumbest) Video segment. How the other half lives.
One of my favorite themes in a book is love. I know that you are picturing the covers with the shirtless, heavily muscled Fabio types holding a woman that looks like she hasn't eaten in a month, but really not this kind of love story. Ok I will read those too, but this is not what I'm talking about. What I'm thinking of is everyday love. Friends and family. Dogs and cats. Taylor and her cellphone. Just the everyday interaction with others. This is love.
I can't remember the lines exactly because it was a couple of books back and is currently being enjoyed by someone else that loves books, but the definition of learning to love was something like this. To know that loves comes in many colors. It may not be the bright red of passion or the cold black of unrequited obsession, but anywhere in between. Any shade or color that you can imagine. It really doesn't have to have a name or number, you just need to know that it's there. It's everywhere.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Discovering history

Today we celebrate the "discovery" of America by Christoper Columbus. I'm pretty sure the inhabitants that lived here thought that they had already been discovered, but he made it official. If the economy gets much worse I may choose a Georgia county to "discover" myself, but that's another subject. But the historical implications of Columbus' discoveries cannot be denied. Many hundreds of years later we call it simply home.
It's hard to imagine how rough and untamed this place was. No conveince stores, Walmarts or football stadiums. Food was not previously killed for you, but there was plenty. Jobs were scarce, but there was plenty of free parking. Good and bad. The locals hated us, but we were bigger than them. We took their lunch money. Comparing yesterday to today obviousily does not work. Apples and oranges. But try as we may to think that the modern us is our identity, it just doesn't add up.
My father lived during the depression. I know what the depression is because I studied about it in school. I also read 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Vern and while they seem totally different, they are both equally hard to imagine. These are both chapters in my personal book of history. They both shaped who I am today. I am a product of my history.
I can buy a large and expensive home if I have the money, but I grew up in a two bedroom one bath home. I love the big home, but I loved the little one I grew up in too. It's where I came from and part of my history. I don't hide from small homes out of embarrassment.
The famous saying by George Santayana "Those who cannot remember the past are condemmed to repeat it" brings to mind ill planned wars, slavery and government atrocities. But these are just the big, popular "pasts". The true pasts are your own. Your personal history. Your first grade teacher. The dog that ran out from under your buddies porch and bit you. The first love that smashed your heart and the true love that you are still with. The good and the bad. Leave out a chapter and the book changes.
Remember that we are a work in progress. Don't try to mask where you came from and the mistakes you've made, learn from them and keep going. What you hated, others loved. What you loved, others hated. The gun makes a different sound when it is fired in your direction. Who knows, if the book is good enough, they make a movie out of it!

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Lots to learn

It has been awhile since I've blogged and I have missed it. It's hard to sit down and tell a story when your head is full of math. I wonder how math teachers do this..hmm.. Maybe they tell old math tales and abacus jokes, I don't know. I did manage to make it through the studying and tests one day at a time, but most evenings, when I had the chance, I read fiction. I never turned on the television and the only news and weather I got was from my truck radio as I went from point A to point B. I don't think I missed much because the news seems the same only with different players.
There are no wrong answers in fiction. If I was tested on each book I read I would probably stop reading. Sure I was tested on them in school when I was growing up, but this was simply a way for the teachers to be sure that I had read them. Of course I read them. I read cereal boxes and junk mail when I have nothing to do. I try to imagine what the author was thinking when the wrote the description of the "latest technology in personal transportation. We at the Scooter store offer only the best...". I have been hooked all my life.
When Taylor wanted to play soccer last year the school required a physical examination. When I took her to the family doctor he looked her over good and tested her vitals. He talked to her about the dangers of pier pressure, drugs and smoking. He harped on diet, exercise and all the other "doctor" things that we all hear about. But he also told her something that surprised me. He told her to read. Turn off that TV that figures everything out FOR you, and use your imagination. A perscription to read? I thought so.
Well before it sounds like I am completely down on math, let me say that the lessons were a humbling experience. I have always consider myself as smart as the next guy, but there are some really smart people out there! It made me feel good to surround myself with them, if only for a few weeks. I now know for sure that I use the "other" side of my brain. I finally answered the question that I have asked my school teachers in the past. "Why do I have to learn this? When will I need to know this?" Now I know. Now.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

jobs

I loved going to college. I loved it so much that I changed my major most every quarter. I really had no idea what I wanted to do, so I got excited about every new class. I knew for sure that I didn't want to be in the Navy anymore, but that was it. I always had a job while I was going to school because I had to pay for it somehow. I had an incentive grant and student loans, but that was about it. College was not nearly as expensive then as it is now, but still the bills piled up.
I worked cleaning pools, I worked as a houseparent at a group home and I installed chain link fence, but I really didn't love any of this. Until my roommate helped me get a job working with him at an architectural millwork shop I was adrift. The owner would allow me to work around my class schedule and it wasn't long before I lived to work with wood. We made everything from cabinets to windows, molding and doors. Every day was a new day, and I was in love.
It wasn't long before wood replaced books and all I dreamed of was having my own shop. I worked at this shop for a few years, another for a couple, and I was ready to hang out my own shingle. I built a shop in my backyard and built cabinets, from word of mouth alone, for 15 years. The business was good to me and I managed to buy land and build a house twice. Working at home allowed me to spend alot of time on each home, so when it came time to sell I had no problem. The homes were full of woodwork and somewhat unusual.
We decided to enlist the services of a real estate agent when we sold the first one, but being from a small town where everybody knows everybody, we had a hard time deciding which agent to use. I finally told PJ to pick one and she did. Well, that didn't sit right with a few agents that were not chosen. They called me and complained and one went so far as to tell me to take it off the market, wait a few weeks, and list it with him. All I wanted to do was sell my house! I blamed the decision on my wife (one of the benefits of marriage) not being from here and how "she was handling everything" and it kind of blew over. Still we dealt with the almost daily bickering and rude comments agents made about each other. They all seemed to hate each other!
Well the house sold and we started over again. Built another house and shop and got back to work. I was beginning to tire somewhat with woodwork and looked into going back to school. It seemed expensive and complicated, especially since there were three of us now, and I got discouraged. A friend of mine that owned a real estate company suggested that I get my license and come to work with him. He said I could do it part time and continue my woodwork as well. Sounds like low risk fun and I might even make some money!
Well when PJ got home from work and I sprung the idea on her....Let's just say she was not instantly enthused. "That is a terrible business. Don't you remember how mean those agents were to each other when we sold our last house? Do you want to be like that?" Was the gist of her response with the obscenities ommited. "You are too nice and will get eaten up in that business".
She was probably right, as usual. I really wanted a change though and this sounded like a quick way. I thought about it for a few days then I told her that when I began to act like those other agents I would quit. I didn't run my cabinet business that way, and I wouldn't sell real estate that way either. "You let me know when I get like that" made it sound even more official.
The next seven years have been somewhat of a blur. While I was halfway through the real estate course my brother died. I couldn't study or work for awhile and eventually had to start the course over. In spite of my grief I managed to finish the course, get a license and sign on with a real estate company. I locked up my cabinet shop and never looked back. After almost 20 years of wood, I was done.
I enjoyed the real estate business. It seemed at first that we were just talking about work instead of actually doing it. I didn't get dirty and I was never tired. I felt like I was doing a service, people wanted to buy a house and I had the keys! But somewhere along the way things changed. I was not as happy as before. I was beginning to act like the agents that apalled me ten years earlier. I was turning in to one of them. I don't know what my future holds now, but I do know that I will keep the promise I made to myself and my wife years ago and point this ship in another direction.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Home

I have been married, to the same woman I might add, for twenty one years. We have been together for about twenty five years, over half of my life. While that in itself is pretty uncommon these days, it is not what is on my mind. Change is in the air.
Since we married in 1989 we have lived in six different homes, seven if you count that year of sin we tried before marriage. Five of these homes we owned and every time we sold we came out on top. A good track record based on some good decisions. We loved every home that we lived in, but not enough (I guess)to stay there forever. I will never forget coming home from work one day to a home on 11 acres that I had built myself. It was a beautiful and large home with every feature we dreamed about. Heart pine floors, ash cabinets, walnut built-ins, cypress ceilings and alot of sweat. We lived there five or six years, I think, and I was very proud of it. When I walked in the door PJ had this odd look on her face as she was sweeping the kitchen floor, and I asked her what was wrong. "We need more dirt and less house", she said. Time for a change.
When I was a kid I always thought if I had a home on 100 acres I would never want anything else. That had always been my dream and it sounded like PJ now shared it. So we begin to look for land and put our house on the market. Everything happened pretty fast at that point and we ended up with 80 acres, a small house and no mortgage. Taylor (my daughter) was pretty small at that point and really didn't seem to notice the cramped quarters. We eventually added on some more room and lived there for seven years. Seven years that Taylor went from 3 to 10 years old. The fun years.
Well the itch kind of got us again and we built a house in town. We kept the "farm" in the country and stayed there some weekends, but as time wore on we went there less and less. Somebody offered to buy the place after a year or so and we let it go. What had once been my lifelong dream was now just another place I had lived.
But as I sit here, scratching that familiar itch, I realize that something is different this time. It is not just PJ and I to think about, there are three of us now. Three decision makers. A wealthy investor once told me "if you let your kids make real estate decisions for you, you are making a big mistake". But that is not it. What I realize is that the last home I sold was where her memories began. It was home. I sold the door jamb that tracked her growth, in pen and pencil, for seven years. A lifetime.
The home we are in now is nice and we love it. PJ says that it "doesn't really seem like us", but I'm not really sure what "us" means. It is, once again, too large for three people, but that is a good problem to have. But for the last few months we have spending the weekends at a much smaller home we bought on the lake. Living on the lake has never been a dream of mine, but I like it. I think that more than liking the lake I like the closeness of a smaller home.
Taylor seems to be coming around to the idea of moving again, but we are going slow. I want her to be a part of the decisions we make, and to be happy with them. I want her to understand that a house is where you live, but a home is where your family is. Those marks on the doorjamb are probably gone by now. I can imagine the new owners pausing for a second before the paintbrush makes them a memory. Smiling as they realize that this house is now their home.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

communication

It was bright outside and light was streaming through my bedroom window. I had just turned over and put the pillow over my head to add a few more minutes of treasured darkness when something like a finger poked me in the nose. I don't remember what I was dreaming, but the poke ended it quickly and sat me straight up, ready to run. I sleep with earplugs so I never heard it coming. Whatever was poking me now had me!
Well my fear turned to anger when I realized it was my cat. "Are you up?" said the look on her face. I don't know if I swore out loud (another benefit of earplugs), but I think she got the gist of a few choice words. Well luckily PJ was getting up for work about this time so the cat turned her attention to another subject. An easier mark. They left the room and I replaced the light filtering pillow to it's respected position. I tried to doze a little longer but it was too late, the damage was done.
A few cups of coffee later and it's mid morning. The cat is asleep outside with the full stomach she told me she needed at six AM. Time to wake Taylor up so I enlist the help of my dog. "Lets check on Chickie" I say, as I do every morning, rain or shine. He jumps up and heads to the door of the room upstairs. He waits for me to open it, then dashes upstairs. Dash being a relative term for a 10+ year old border collie, maybe 'proceeds' would be better. As he walks up the stairs he shakes his head to make the tags on his collar jingle. At the top of the stairs he makes a noise that is half whine and half growl, a canine good morning. I can see Taylor begin to stir before we get to the edge of her bed, and she too puts the pillow over her head. We are both up now, thanks to the work of our pets.
As I head downstairs I think about just how effective the communication skills of these animals are. No dancing around the subject or sugar coating the obvious, just simple logic. Pets don't have and electric alarm clock with battery back up, they have a natural one. They have the engines of our ancestors that slept in caves and rose when the sun came up. They get tired, they sleep. They get hungry, they eat. They are creatures of habit and they expect the same from you. But above all, when they have a want or need, they communicate it perfectly, you just have to listen.
Our twenty first century lives have become much more complicated than those of our ancestors. It seems crazy to apply the logic of a dog to the life of say, an attorney or a banker, but the basic interactions are the same. If another dog walks past my house, my dog barks. We assume this is agression, but how do we know that? What he really said was "here I am and there you are, I see you". The obvious. The logical. There are enough mysteries without adding more.
If you are hungry, eat. If you want your spouse to take you out to eat, ask them. If you love someone, tell them. Life is too short to assume that others understand your true feelings. If you want them to wake up, poke them in the nose.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Body Language

Like many Americans in the new millenium I get my medical and psychological advice from any place other than a professional. Why go to the doctor when you can go to Webmd or just google "why does my ankle make that clicking sound first thing in the morning?" All of this is done in the privacy of your own home and you never have to try to believe a nurse when she tells you "trust me honey, I've seen a million of them". But really how good is this diagnosis? If someone wants to ruin my computer by putting a virus on Facebook, why would they also not want to hack my health? Give me a virus!

I thought of this yesterday while listening to the John Tesh show on the radio. I don't know how old you have to be to admit that you listen to John Tesh, but I just did. John started out talking about germs and public contamination but has moved on to topics more relevant to me. What to say (or not to say) in a job interview, how to talk to your kids and just generally how to interact with others. Yesterday he said that psychologists now believe that body language depicts more accurately what you mean than the actual words that come out of you mouth. He read some statistics that 90% of psychologists now believe....Ya think! Haven't we always known this? How many times have you watched your kids, after almost begging them, try a new food. They take a bite, gag and swallow. You asked them how they liked it and they say "It's good". Do you believe the answer or the body language?

I guess this means that before the new statistics psychologists would say the patient is fine, he told me so himself. This is why I think the advice and common sense knowledge you get from others is often as important as a professional consultation. Yes I treated dry skin with ringworm medication once and made it much worse, but you know what I mean. Sometimes you need a trained eye.

But I say take this common sense approach one step farther and use it in your day to day interaction with others. Sure, you went to Walmart and didn't actually insult anybody, but does this make you a kind person? You wanted to scream at a lady that was more interested in catching up with an old friend and less concerned with the fact that both of their buggies were completely blocking the isle. You didn't say anything.

Kindness by omission, this doesn't count. My daughter cringes when I ask the man in front of me at the checkout how he is going to cook the 14 packs of chicken wings he is placing on the counter. When I ask the lady blocking the isle in one of those motorized shopping carts if she needs something she can't reach. When I touch the lady on the shoulder that is in front of me at the checkout and tell her that I'm going home with her because she is buying a turkey and a ham. Nobody has slugged me yet and I while I have made very few lifelong friends like this, I have been the direct recipent of some really cool smiles. Some day changing smiles.

Let's all try to use a little common sense in our lives and be kind to others. That smile and touch on the shoulder goes alot further than what comes out of your mouth. I know it's true...John Tesh said so.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Social Media

I made a big mistake on Facebook this week. One that I rarely commit and even scold others for making. The "cardinal sin". I made a comment on a political statement. Not a statement...just a comment. My friend din't say much, but his friends ate me alive. Keep it light. Post some pictures and catch up with old friends. It is, after all, social media not political media. I slipped.
One things that happen when the conversation turns to politics is that you learn things about others that you really don't need to know. I don't want to know who you voted for any more than I want to know if you went to the bathroom this morning. There is curtain on the voting booth for a reason. It is there to enable you to keep your political views where they belong. There is no top on it, so it's between you and God, and I really don't think that God wants to talk about politics anyway.
Conversations about politics will almost always turn into an argument. They will do so because reguardless of what you "believe" there is no right or wrong. It is a highly subjective subject with millions of interpretations. What is cut and dried to one is absurd to others. But what is the goal of an argument? What does one want more than anything when they enter an argument? To win! It's human nature. Here is where it gets fuzzy.
How bad do you want to win? Bad enough to say "well at least I'm not ugly"? Bad enough to say "you are a fat bastard"? Bad enough to say "They are treating the president unfairly because he is black"? These are win at all costs statements and they are unfair. Ever think that General McCrystal made these statements about the handling of the war simply because they were his beliefs? Of course you can't do that with the boss and he got what he deserved, but does it have anything to do with his being white and the boss being black? It's possible, but I don't think so.
I was told that this was just another "disrespecting" of the president because he is a black man. Another slight in a long line of others. The first time a general disagreed publicly with the Commander and Chief. Wrong. It has happened before and it will again. We live in a free country and if your skin is not thick, you have no business in politics. You wont see me there because I already know that mine is not thick enough.
America put this man in office. We all did. He is our president. He belongs to an ethnic group that totals no more than 17% of the population of the United States. I'm no math wizard, but 17% wont get you elected for anything. Where did the other votes come from you ask? While I would never dream of telling anyone how I vote, I will tell you that the other votes came from people that look just like me.
I hope he is successful. I hope this job makes him happy. I wish him luck, it's the hardest of jobs. But while you sit at home and feel sorry for how the media and his generals may treat him, think about this. He was elected to the highest position in the United States by a country of 260 million people of every shape,form and color. He made it. No matter how much I agree or disagree with his politics, these are historic times and I'm proud to be a part of them!

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Memorial Day

It's Memorial Day weekend and the news channels dedicate a large portion of their programming to stories about people who lost loved ones in military service. Men and women who gave their lives for their country. My country. The "ultimate sacrifice" in places as remote as other planets. All to protect the freedoms we enjoy everyday. How can we thank you enough.
But there is another part of military service that often goes unnoticed. Wars and conflicts make big headlines but day to day military service in itself is hard. Being on call twenty four hours a day seven days a week,often thousands of miles from home. I doctor's schedule without a doctor's pay. A few months in the field or a four month cruise in the Medditerranean. Training on the west coast or sending the ship to dry dock. All of this happens while your loved ones wait for you at home. Babies are born and relatives are buried. Soccer games are played and proms are held. Children grow up.
Sitting with my daughter on the edge of her bed laughing at her mother making a fool of herself on the Wii. It's Friday night yes, but it could be any night. It could be every night. I don't have to listen for the midnight phone call that will send me far away for god knows how long. I turn the air down,pet my dog and get in my own bed.
Thank you men and women of the military. Thank you for protecting this country that I love. I think that the life that you live and the job that you do is in itself, "the ultimate sacrifice".

Monday, May 24, 2010

unconditional love

My heart goes out to a friend of mine that lost a family member this weekend. There wont be a big service, just a private gathering for immediate family at their home. Nobody will bring a covered dish or send flowers and life will just go on as usual this week. No hugs from aunts and uncles and no jokes from his best friend at work. Though the deceased lived a long and rewarding life, their will not be an obituary in the local paper. There wont be clothes to box up and send to Goodwill because this family member never wore them. He was a dog.
Man's best friend. Human's best friend. A love so pure that that it makes other humans jealous. "You love that damn dog more than you love me!" I've heard it before and I'm sure most other dog lovers have too. But it's different. It is unconditional love. A friend that will listen to you, literally hang on your ever word, even when you make no sense at all. A friend that waits all day for you to come home from work and is glad to see you even when your ass is perched on your shoulders and clearly visible to all. A true friend.
Several of my friends told me years ago, as they watched me dote on my dog, that once I had children I would know what real love was. That I would "put that dog outside and not think twice about it". That didn't happen. I love my daughter more than life itself, but I love my dog too. When she was born it just seemed like my family grew larger. More to love.
As I sit here and write this, I am being watched (with eyes closed) by a true friend of more than ten years. A friend that knows me as well as anyone I've ever known. A friend that misses my daughter, who is away at camp, as much as I do. A friend that knows what time PJ gets off work and worries when she runs late. A friend who's lifetime, when compared to mine, is just a blink of an eye. A flower that grows a beautiful bloom then fades back into the earth, leaving it's mark on us all. A true friend that continues to teach me about unconditional love.

Friday, May 21, 2010

The learning Curve

As Americans we are trained at an early age to dial 911 in case of emergency. Any emergency. If you crack your car up on the highway a police car will show up with lights flashing and siren wailing. He will direct traffic around the accident and, if needed, help load you in the ambulance. If you burn too many leaves in your front yard and fire truck will appear out of nowhere and extinguish the flames. Even if you are dumb enough to attempt to climb a remote snow capped mountain, one cell phone call and a helicopter will pluck you off the slope. We all tend to be a little careless because there is a back up plan. Dial 911.

Tonight, as I watched the media footage of the oil washing ashore in the pristine marshlands of the Gulf of Mexico, I wondered why someone had not dialed 911. Everyone seemed to be just riding around the spill and talking about how bad it was going to be, or laying out a plastic dam to hold it back. No fire trucks, no flashing lights, no sirens. This looks like an emergency to me! Then it occured to me that there is no back up plan. It is not that we aren't trying, it's that we have no idea what to do. Never thought this would happen?

It reminds me of those shows that I flip past when nothing good is on television. "America's dumbest criminals, kids, sports fans, etc..". You watch them and laugh at just how stupid some people can be. "They must be drunk to do that". It's hilarious! "What was he thinking?" You are witnessing the learning curve.
Why do we carry a gas can in the trunk of the car? Why is there a jack and a spare tire there too? That credit card in the back of your wallet that you never use? It's called "just in case". Well we have arrived at "just in case" and there is no 911 to call. When will we learn?

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

school days

The last couple of months I've been helping with the planning of my high school reunion. We've had two meetings already and I've seen some people I haven't seen in quite awhile. Thirty years to be exact. I have been out of high school for longer than many of my friends have been alive. A lifetime. Several of my classmates talk about their retirement dates at these meetings. It's weird,I don't see my retirement anytime soon and I'm not nearly old enough.
I felt lucky this morning to be the one to get to wake my daughter up and say "two more days of school". The look on her face says it all and she gets right up. No groaning and hugging the pillow as she rolls over. She eats breakfast and is ready to head out even before I am. I wish we could bottle this to use on those Tuesday mornings in January when the light at the end of the tunnel is so dim you need a flashlight at breakfast. But it's in the air!
Traffic on the way to school is extra heavy. The line of cars extends from the school drive out into the road. Children that typically ride the bus are being delivered in mom's car. Parents are either running late or just driving the kids to school themselves to be part of the excitement. The kids get out of the cars laughing and almost run in the building. The teachers that usually direct traffic out front are propped against the railing and... smiling? Two more days.
It's kind of like Christmas. No matter how old you are you still feel it. The grocery stores have popsicles on their rail ends. The bread men don't even bother to put the hamburger and hot dog buns on the shelf, they leave carts of them out in the isle. Colorful bags of charcoal and lighter fluid at every corner. Summertime! I don't know how long you have to be out of school to not feel this excitement, but I do know that it is more than thirty years!

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

11 killed

I finished eating dinner early last night so I could tune into the national news to get the latest update on the oil spill in the gulf. Everyday the oil inches closer to some pristine marsh land and beautiful beaches and continues to flow from the uncapped well. Several failed attempts to capture the escaping crude have made headlines and caused involved parties to start a "passing the buck contest". This could potentially be the worst spill we have had in the United States, ever. Once eleven million and one gallon escapes we are there.

But last night, as I listened to the sensational lead in by the news anchor, I heard something that I don't think I've heard before. Sure, they say it every time, but I only heard it yesterday. Eleven hard working people were killed in the fire and ensuing explosions when the oil rig collapsed. Eleven people who's only crime was being at work when disaster struck. Eleven individuals that will be only a footnote in the wake of the natural disaster that follows.

This reminds me of a quote from a Tim Wilson song, "don't blame your paulbearers if they don't show, if your buried in the middle of the Superbowl". Lost in the confusion. We have become so accustomed to footage of large disasters with large body counts that eleven seems like a near miss. The "compound interest" of eleven deaths is huge. Mothers,fathers,children,grandchildren, spouses, you do the math.

I can only hope that we learn some valuable lesson from this spill. I think we have already learned that $500,000 for a cap that can close the well from the surface is cheap. Our need for oil is not going to go away, and we have to figure out how to harvest it safely. I'm not an engineer and I don't pretend to know the answers, but today I want to pray for the families that lost their loved ones in this disaster.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

"my" day

I have enjoyed more than my fair share of memorable birthdays in my forty seven years. Turning sixteen was cool, but I had been driving everywhere I wanted for the previous year already. I don't really remember twenty, but thirty seemed monumental even though I ruined the surprise party that my wife had planned. Something came up and the only way she could get me to go to the party was to tell me about it. I did my best to act surprised, but she wasn't pleased. Forty came and went with little fanfare and now I'm closing in on fifty. Another birthday with a zero!
But all forty seven of these, as good as they were,pale in comparison to the birthdays I now look forward to. I love to recieve gifts and eat cake. I enjoy my yearly "fifteen minutes", and Facebook makes you feel like a celebrity. Just the fact that I have survived another year, while some have not, makes me happy. I have alway thought there was nothing better than "my" day, but then I had a daughter.
For one day out of the year (a week if you milk it) I could play like a kid. I could wear a grass skirt and get hit with water balloons. I could be the first one found because I was too big in a game of hide and seek. I could come in last place in every party game and not feel like a loser. It would feel like "my" day too, and after we rested up we would talk about it for weeks. This year my daughter will be thirteen.
A memorable birthday. Becoming a teenager! Cell phones and I-tunes cards will replace the dolls and toys. A few to spend the night instead of a crowd to enjoy the day. Cake and ice cream of course, but probably no hula skirts and water guns. More talking and texting than playing. My wife and I will be more like hosts than guests. I will have to be on my best behavior because (I already knew this) I can be embarsssing. Times are changing.
I have watched her grow into a young lady in what seems like overnight. From hanging on my every word to correcting to my grammer. From laughing at my jokes to telling one funnier than mine. I miss the little girl, but I am proud of what she is now. I may not be one of the kids at the party anymore, but this will still be "my" day.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Blindside

It took a few minutes to adjust to the light as we walked outside into the blinding midday sun. The crowded parking lot bore no resemblence to the Pandora we left in the movie theatre. Everything looked plain and quiet. Our ears were still ringing and imaginations fueled. When we got in the car I said " If you only see one movie this year, it should be Avatar". Glad my fantasy loving wife and daughter dragged me along. We talked about the movie the whole way home and vowed to own it when it came to DVD.

Going to the theatre to watch movies has become an extremely expensive event. We look at the new releases and movie trailers and try to decide which ones warrant going to see and which ones to wait on. Usually the more action the film has determines this decision. "Blindside" was a film that did not make the large screen cut for us. Probably because we heard it was sad and we didn't want to waste the pocket space smuggling in kleenex. My wife and I both are embarassing snifflers and watch some movies with our backs touching. My daughter thinks this is not very cool, so we try not to do it in public.

We rented "Blindside" and joked that we would each bring a towel instead of wasting a box of tissue. Our movie room in the basement is really almost as good as the cinema. We have a projector and a sound system, and yard sale furniture that is very comfortable. Nobody kicks the back of your seat and there are never any screaming children. The room is nice and dark and we can sit far enough away from each other to have a private experience. Perfect.

Well the movie was excellent. Uplifting instead of sad and it really made me think. Would I have taken in that boy like that family did? Have I had the chance and passed it up? Looked the other way and went on with my busy life. Probably. I am a "have", and he is a "have not". I have a home. I have a family. I have people that love me. These are not small things,these are everything. We all have a great gift to give that doesn't cost a dime, love.

If you see one movie this year, it should be "Blindside"

Friday, April 30, 2010

Progress

The intermittent beeping of the tractor's back up alarm caused me to look in it's direction every few seconds. I was in no danger of being run over by the machine, but it was distracting as I continued my early morning walking tour of Memory Hills Cemetary. The franchise pharmacy under construction will be your view from the eastern side of this historic part of Milledgeville. The bright lights will probably make even a night tour possible when the store is complete. I could go on about the big chains taking over "mom and pop" businesses and changing the dynamics of an historic small town, but that is not the emotion I left the cemetary with that day.
Memory Hills is a really beautiful and interesting place. My daughter and I found headstones dating from the 1700's to 2010. The trees that shelter some of the crumbling monuments look even older. The money spent and care taken by relatives throught history for there loved ones final resting place is touching. The craftsmanship alone displayed by of some of the older monuments makes the tour worth taking. You get that "proud to be American" feel as you read the names of fallen soldiers from the Civil War to Vietnam.
But we could not help but notice how many of the older graves contained the remains of children. "John..son of Ezra..1yr.8mos. Sarah...daughter of Samuel...8mos". Many of these family plots held five or six children's graves. The determination of these parents to keep trying to have a family in the face of such sadness was humbling. How many survived? Did the mother die without ever having a family? Did she die "trying"? There were very few headstones of children from the 20th century and for a moment I thought that maybe we just don't try as hard as we used to.
It was then that the beeping from the back up alarm of the tractor caught my attention. As I looked down the hill at the future location of our newest and most modern pharmacy it hit me just how much times have changed. How many of these children would have survived with just the medicine we now sell over the counter. The simple medicines we take for granted and go to the doctor for something quicker and stronger! Fever reducers and infection fighters alone would have saved thousands. This does not make the view any better from the eastern slope of Memory Hills, but it does make me realize how lucky I am to have been born when I was.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

The Marlboro Baby

I really hated to see my daughter get out of the car this morning and walk in to school. With only three weeks left in the year the morning commute has a different feel. The light at the end of the tunnel is visible. We laughed at each other and sang with the radio in spite of the fact that it was hardly eight o'clock. A year of hard work almost complete.
After dropping her off I head home for breakfast and a few minutes of quiet time before the day gets rolling. I pulled up to the red light of a busy intersection and could not help but notice the pretty young lady in the shiny SUV sitting next to me. She reached up and turned the rearview mirror toward her and checked her makeup. She ran her fingers through her hair to complete the casual "I could have looked better if I had more time" look. She returns the mirror to it's correct position and takes a big drag off her cigarrette. The window is rolled down a couple of inches and I watch as the smoke curls around her head before it rushes out the window. Boy that looks good! Though it has been thirteen years (next month) since I have smoked, some things you just don't forget.
As I sat there watching she took a few more puffs, then thumped the butt out of the window. She rolled up the window then turned around in her seat and looked directly at me. Feeling as though I was caught, I immediately looked away. As I looked at her from the corner of my eye I noticed that it was not me she was looking at. She had a big animated smile and was talking to a toddler strapped in a car seat. I was so caught up in the morning smoke that I had not noticed the other passenger. Her smoking buddy.
I have to admit that I feel somewhat like a hypocrite writing this because I smoked for years. Honestly it does not bother me that people smoke and I often walk outside with smokers at work just to smell them. But it is no accident that I know the exact date that I smoked my last cigarette. My daughter will be thirteen next month and that is my anniversary. While we owe ourselves only what we decide, we owe our children the best chance for a healthy life possible. You wouldn't light up in church. You wouldn't shake one out while visiting your sick grandmother in the hospital. You would not do either because even if it was allowed, it just wouldn't be "right". Show your little ones and the little ones of other the same courtesy. Don't create a new smoking buddy.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Killing Frost

As I pulled into the driveway of my 2:00 appointment I could not help but notice the beautiful landscaping. The large brick home had flowering plants,shrubs and trees everywhere. April is azalea season in central Georgia and they weren't holding anything back. Since this large home was on the lake I knew I was looking at the "back" of the home and could hardly wait to see what was around front. I was a few minutes early so I gave myself a tour. The owners told me that they were no longer living here but it sure didn't look that way.

I located a paved walkway on the left side and made my way around the house. There was twice as much yard on the lakeside and a large inground pool ringed with red,pink and white azaleas. A large potting shed with resting rakes and shovels was surrounded by raised beds with things sprouting and blooming that I couldn't identify. The walkway on toward the lake was flanked by purple Iris' that were waist high and in full bloom. I spotted the lakefront in the distance and headed for the dock. On both sides of the dock, right at the shoreline were two raised beds of nothing but roses.These were not the garden variety knockout kind sold at Lowes either. As I looked closer I noticed that they were each a different kind. Some were climbers,some were not. Some had very large blooms and some had very small ones. There were probably 50 different varieties! Somebody really knew what they were doing.

I walked out onto the dock and was admiring the lakeview when I heard a car door slam. My appointment to put this beautiful home on the market was about to begin. As I was walking back I wondered why anybody would want to sell this paradise. I knew they were an older couple wanting to downsize, but leaving this would be tough. I made my introduction to the couple and told them what a lovely home they had. The husband quickly told me how much work was involved in the upkeep and that this needed to be "someone elses" job.

He pointed out sprinkler heads and electrical outlets on our way back to the house. He showed me where the pool filter was located and the lawnmower was stored. He pointed out underground drain pipes and a buried propane tank, but he never mentioned the flowers. When I turned to the silent wife and told her how beautiful the rose garden was. She just smiled and looked away.

After the tour of the interior was complete we sat down at a large table and I opened the folder that contained my listing presentation. I turned to the still silent wife and once again told her what a beatiful home she had. She just smiled and looked absently toward the lake. I knew this must be tough for her. We agreed on a list price and I filled out all of the necessary paperwork that modern real estate drowns in. The last step would be there signatures and I would be on my way. The husband quickly signed his part, leaving each form open to the place where his wife would sign. For a few seconds he looked at me without saying a word. He took the pen, put it in wife's hand and closed her fingers around it. She looked at him and smiled. She looked at me and smiled. It was then that I realized that the greenest of thumbs is no match for the killing frost that is Alzheimer's Disease.

Friday, April 23, 2010

The way we were

The sweat dripping from my forehead was making the bright red handle of my shovel very slippery. It was only mid April and this short,shallow ditch was kicking my butt. I stopped and looked behind me at my destination, only six more feet. I grabbed my water bottle that was baking in the sun and took a long warm drink. I'm almost there.
An hour later the ditch was complete.The pipe was glued in place and it was covered with dirt. I sat down with a cooler drink and admired my handiwork. It occured to me that what would have once taken me thirty minutes to complete had taken me at least two hours. Damn old age! But old age is really not the problem. Somewhere along the way my time had become too valuable to complete even the simplest of household tasks. It would be cheaper to pay someone else to dig the ditch while I made money at the office. Pay someone "more suited to dig a ditch". This someone used to be me.
I remembered the satisfaction I had at the end of the day when a long hard job was complete. Back when a shovel didn't have to be painted bright red and look like a party favor to be sold in stores. Back when I made an "honest" living. I may have gone to bed when it got dark, but isn't that natural? Somewhere along the way I turned into then man that used to hire ME.
In large cities many companies have installed gyms and allow employees to exercise on company time. It is said that they become healthier and more productive. Fewer sick days and everyone is happier. Great idea! I'm running on the treadmill while the landscape crew is cutting the grass out front. I'm lifting weights while the cleaning crew is scrubbing the floors and emptying the trash. I'm doing areobics while the window washers clean the glass like they are putting out a fire. We are all very busy...and healthy.
What if these same companies just had a their employees complete these "menial" tasks. What if I pushed a lawnmower for a couple of hours on Thursday. Get some fresh air. What if Friday was my day to vacuum the first floor. Would I not get exercise and at the same time have a completed job to admire? I would be a part of how beautiful and clean my workplace was. I would also remember who I was and where I came from.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Detroit

I saw a segment on the news last week about the day to day struggles of a lady living in Detroit Michigan. Later that evening there was an edition of "Dateline" that went deeper into her story and the other struggles of Detroit. We started casually watching,you know surfing other channels at the same time, but gradually became glued to the story. It was hard to believe this was in the United States. A town, once booming from the big bucks of the auto industry and Motown, looked like a third world country. The camera panned down street after street lined with vacant homes that wont sell at any price. The city is beginning to bulldose these properties to keep out vagrants and drug dealers and to reduce the size of the area that they have to police.

Though it is nowhere near the size of Detroit, I think we both thought of our little town and the job losses we've had. We silently wondered how long it will take us to be in their situation. The lady in the story had 3 foster children, the oldest was already a father himself and had spent time in jail. She was "watching" the little ones closer so that they would not end up like him. She needed the older boy though. Since he had no job he watched the little ones after school so the mother could work. They lived off of mostly canned food because there was little fresh meat or produce available. The story said that there were 8 grocery stores in her area and 400 liquor stores. The only produce available was from a glorified ice cream truck that rode through the neighborhoods selling it. The mother's car was old and she often worried how she would get to work and shuttle the kids back and forth from school. Food stamps helped pay for groceries and at the end of the month there was nothing left.

Well needless to say this story nearly broke both of our hearts. This lady was working as hard as she could in a dangerous and dying city. We discussed the parallels with our town and Detroit, and talked about this episode until we went to bed. How could people live like this?Well Last night there was a story on the national news about post earthquake Hati. Two million homeless people living in tent cities in and around Port au Prince. Sleeping on the ground with little food or potable water and trash everywhere. Makeshift latrines that the women cannot use after dark for fear of being raped. Children playing in water that contains raw sewerage and mosquito larve. The rainy season is right around the corner and disease will follow.

Certainly conditions are this bad because the country is suffering the effects of a devastating natural disaster. This is only partly true.Though I have never been to Hati I have been to Jamaica in the West Indies twice. The beaches are beautiful, as are the massive resorts that ply rich foreigners with food,drink and luxury. But when you get off of the beaten path you see sights that would make the conditions in Detroit look like Disney world. Many residents here would trade places with the poorest and most destistute American citizen. I hear it said regularly said that we should stop sending money to these third world countries and that they are not our responsibility. This is true, they are not. As Americans we are responsible only for Americans, but as human beings we are responsible for all other human beings. Things change fast and our opinions will too when we are all living in "Detroit".

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Looking Ahead

Like many other parents of school age children my world kind of revolves around basic routines. Getting my daughter ready for bed,"brush your teeth,lay out some clothes,don't stay up too late",and then we start all over again the next day. We have our morning routine that we have perfected over the last nine years(Wilco has all day pre-K) and most days go smoothly. Last night we had school night sleepover company. Before you wonder what kind of monkey wrench this throws into the mix, let me explain. We've done this several times with the same kid and it is really no problem. Parents are out of town and she just falls right in with our routine. Got to school right on time.

With a third party with us on the ride to school we have a little more conversation than usual. Mostly about music or soccer,things that teenage girls want to talk about in front of parents. Funny how the "retro" music my daughter likes to listen to with me never makes it to her Ipod, but I understand. It's just something that we do together. I disappear to them as we pull up to the school. Their eyes leave me and search the parking lot for friends to walk in with. They open the door to get out and I tell them to have a good day. The old "I love you" is now "see you this afternoon" or just plain "see ya". I'm used to it,it happened slowly. I leave the school and head back home for my rare time alone.

Still fighting the morning traffic, I pull to an always busy red light. I adjust the radio station,check my cellphone then start looking at other drivers. People watching...we all do it. The vehicle beside me is piloted by a twenty something guy in an average car. He is looking at the radio for a second, then he looks up in the rearview mirror. I know this look. He is not looking at the traffic coming up behind him, he is looking at some valuable cargo in the backseat. It's then I notice a toddler of about two looking at me through the window. I can't really tell if she can see me in the early morning light so I smile as big as I can. One of those giant fake TV smiles. She sees me. Her head turns slightly and her eyes widen. Is that the guy from the Wiggles? The light changes to green and everybody heads on their morning mission. I drive away thinking about this beautiful little girl strapped in a car seat facing the wrong way. Not yet old enough to be required to look ahead. Shielded from the weight of this great big world.

When I get back home I go back to my normal routine. Eat breakfast,pick up a few things and prepare for the day. My eye catches a picture on the mantle. A picture that has been there for years. A picture that just invited me to take another look. It is one of me and my daughter at a father-daughter dance,dressed to the nines. We are smiling and she is sitting on my knee. This was a fun day, I remember it well. I have looked at this picture a thousand times but today I see somthing different. Instead of seeing this pretty little girl smiling at her daddy I see a young lady looking straight ahead. Facing the right direction,ready for the weight of the world.