A Season Away

After a great week of early morning dog walks, winter chose today to remind me that he wasn’t going to leave quietly. It was cold! Having to get up and on the road an hour earlier probably didn’t help either, but at least one of my dogs will never accept the notion that something as common as weather could cancel her scheduled expedition. Makes sense to me and it also makes me wonder how many people are killed every year sitting on the toilet when the tornado strikes! “Didn’t hear a thing” the survivor says as the television camera surveys his demolished home, “you know that fan is really loud, but it saved my life this time”.

I’ll stop here with the endless string of bathroom humor that flows through my head daily and talk about what I had planned. Spring is on the way! My neighbor’s Bradford Pear trees are the perfect yardstick to measure the season’s progression and they are the topic of our conversation each morning as the dogs lead us down the street. One would think that after fifty one years of watching the changing seasons the fascination would have faded, but for me it has not. A few cold January mornings may have tested my resolve, but deep down I knew it was just a matter of time before warm weather arrived, and so far, it always has.

Spring is not my true season, no, I prefer summer. The hotter the better! Trust me when I say that I’m not trying to convert you, I understand that we all have our preferred weather conditions, mine just happens to include sweat and biting insects. We all have our seasons.

I’m told that the earth spins and tilts on a predictable basis. Sometimes we are close to the fire and sometimes we are further away; we face the light during the day and we turn our back on it at night. We go through the motions with the understanding that, like it or not, the current conditions will change. If you happen to be in your season, enjoy! If you are simply enduring your present conditions, understand that change is just a season away.

The DMV

A few years ago I discovered that putting my thoughts in print made me feel really good. I admit that I enjoyed sharing them with others (and fielding comments), but the purge effect I felt after doing so was amazing! Unfortunately, I also discovered that if I don’t write them down during the first few hours of the morning, my thoughts become so commingled with the day’s events that they really don’t come out as intended. Hopefully the summer will allow me a few mornings to clear my head. I can start today!

Hardly a day goes by that I don’t pat myself on the back for choosing to live in a small town. I guess the true award goes to my parents, but I have been free to leave this “mean little Mayberry” for more years that I would like to own up to this morning.  I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t complain about things like Friday’s traffic or a fifteen minute wait in the grocery store line, but deep down I know it could be worse. This town is just large enough to grant a small taste of anonymity, but it’s not too hard to make a connection when I really need to. If you ask the right questions, everybody is always somebody’s cousin that your brother’s ex-wife used to work with before Walmart moved to its third location. We’re practically related!

Learning to use these connections has been fun for me, but I recognize the all-to-familiar “why don’t you just shut up and pay the cashier” look my daughter gives me when I talk to everyone in the checkout line at Kroger. I can only imagine how nervous she was when the duty of taking her to the DMV for her driver’s license fell on the shoulders of her long-winded father! Had she not been as nervous as she was, I’m sure I would have been officially asked to “be quiet…just this once”. Fat chance!

I feel sure that everyone reading this has been to the DMV (now the DDS). Even in this little town, the wait can be long and the employees are…serious? A tough crowd, even for Milledgeville! But anyone who truly knows me can guess how it ended. Credit Taylor with knowing how to drive well enough to get her license, but before we could get out of the building, she got a hug and congratulations from the instructor, a written diagram of what she needed to work on, complimentary key chain, and a visit from the clerk that took our initial information! Okay, this clerk came back mainly to pick on me, but the experience was one that we both will not forget.

It seems as though I have made this all about me, and while that is one of my favorite topics, that was not my true intention. I learned a long time ago that I come with a long list of faults and a longer list of limitations. But luckily I also learned that while I can’t be everything, I can at least be friendly and nice. The treatment we received that day made a difference in our lives, and I like to think that the treatment we gave them made a difference in theirs!

An Accident Waiting To Happen

I’ve always considered turkey hunting a fairly safe sport. I understand that safe is a relative term, but at least the woods are not filled with fellow hunters carrying rifles that could accidentally kill you from a distance greater than the shooter could actually see you! For the uninitiated, turkeys are hunted with a shotgun; a close range weapon. But for some unknown reason, I can often find a way to hurt myself in the safest of ventures.

March is a great time to be in the woods. The sub-zero weather has graciously passed, and usually (early on at least), there are no ticks or mosquitos. To hunt turkey, you venture deep into the woods in the pitch-black dark, find a likely place to stop, and listen to the woods creatures as they wake up. Of course you mainly listen for the sounds of one creature in particular, but it’s always exciting listening to them all. Most of the successful hunters I know already know where the turkeys are roosting, but I usually just go when I have time. I hope to either stumble on one, or get lucky and call one up! This is a trial and error sport, but I have been fortunate enough to actually fool one a time or two.

On this particular morning, after calling, changing locations (and repeating this process several times) I decided to call it a day. There were either no birds in my zip code or my rookie calling attempts had them belly laughing as they headed for the hills; either way I was headed back to my truck turkeyless.  About halfway back I came upon an open area with a big gobbler, standing squarely in the center, doing his thing! He was fanning out his tail and his ugly head was blood red, but before I could kneel down and try to make myself invisible…he saw me. Okay, he kind of saw me. Had he fully recognized me for the armed intruder that I truly was, the story would likely end here.

My heart raced as he halted is garish sexual behavior and stretched his neck for a better view. Not really sure what to do next, I pulled out my call and started making girlfriend noises. This seemed to put him somewhat at ease and he would dance for a few minutes before assuming the “you know I can fly” posture. We played this game for what seemed like forever, and I think he finally decided that any woman that could resist the display he was putting on was probably not worth having anyway. Time to run!

Luckily when he decided to run I was prepared to shoot. He was a little bit farther away than I would normally feel comfortable taking a shot, but my quick reaction put him on the ground! Remember I said put him on the ground…I didn’t say kept him on the ground! Before I could put my hands on him, he jumped up and headed for the next county. He was moving pretty good for a wounded bird, but I feel sure that it had something to do with the overdressed, fat little old guy chasing him! Hunting adrenaline is a special kind of drug, and with a borderline overdose flowing through my system, I caught him! Okay…caught up with him. As I reached down to grab him, he decided to fight back. This big guy rolled over on his back and did his best to bury the 1” spurs in my hands or face!

Before I go any further with this story I should probably tell you that this hunting story, while absolutely true, happened several years ago and has nothing to do with the picture of me with the bandage on my face. Actually, I went to the Dermatologist early Monday morning and had a skin cancer removed. I come by this affliction honestly and that is why I posted the picture of my face with the “old man” band aid plastered in the typical spot. The hunting story sounds better, and I doubt many would have enjoyed a story about my trip to the Dermatologist! But just so you know, I came away that particular day unharmed and carrying a big Tom Turkey! What were you thinking happened?

The OSHA Instructor

I’ve been back in real estate now for a couple of years. I guess somewhere deep down I knew that I would end up back here, and to at least to some extent, I never left. I didn’t actively list property and take out buyers, but I tried to keep up with values and with market activity. When I think of it this way…I never left.

The years I spent working with the University Of Georgia were unlike any other I’ve experienced. I basically had two jobs; work and class. Toward the end I had an office in Milledgeville and Athens, but I spent just as much time studying (both in class and online) as I did working. And I liked it! I felt like I was moving in a positive direction and I was always thinking. I’m not so sure that in today’s world this training is something that I will base my career upon, but I use snippets of what I learned every day.

It may come as a surprise to some that one of the certifications I earned was through OSHA (The Occupational Safety and Health Administration). To some…the bad guys! I’m actually an authorized instructor and I can issue ten and thirty hour safety certifications! I know you’re probably wondering what a real estate agent does as an OSHA instructor, and quite frankly I’ve wondered the same thing for quite some time. I have never taught the classes (and probably never will), but this morning as I made my morning stop at Animal Rescue I had my chance!

Before your mind drifts off in to frayed electrical cords and unsafe ladders, I’ll explain. One of our best employees cornered me and asked for help. With a safety violation you ask? Well no, this was (in my mind) much worse. This worker told me that when they were first hired, every day was filled with mystery and training. She had gone from feeling the euphoria of learning new things to the drudgery of every day work! That was when one sentence I learned in the OSHA class popped in my head. “Watch one, do one, teach one”. The surgeon’s axiom! It is our duty as her employer to train her, and it is her duty as a manager to train others. Keep it alive! Sharing of knowledge is, if not the circle of life, the spice of life.

We all have much to share. If your friends see you as a “know-it-all”, the only problem is your delivery…or possibly your audience. When you feel as though you have hit the ceiling of you job, your hobby or even your personal life, I think you would be surprised how renewed you will feel by simply sharing with others what you know.

A Young Man

Eleven years ago my little brother died suddenly. I’ve talked about this publicly for years, and I feel sure that even those who don’t know me very well probably at least know this much about me. About me. I understand that this seems strange to say that his death is something you would know about me, but he’s been gone for years and I’m still here. It’s now something to know about me.

I admit it felt weird when well-wishers said how terrible it was that he died so young. He was thirty eight and I was forty; that’s not young. I have many friends that were grandparents at forty! But as I sit here writing this…eleven years later…I understand that we were both very young. I still am.

I’m too young to have seen my daughter graduate from high school. I’m too young to have had grandchildren. I haven’t had the time to do everything I want to do. I am thankful for all I have already done and seen, but I can only wonder how young I will realize I was eleven years from today.

I always felt that my brother was fortunate to have died suddenly. No extended illness; no months or years of suffering, but really don’t we all die suddenly? No matter how long it drags out, we are here one minute and gone the next. That sounds pretty instantaneous to me! I’m left to wonder if maybe a ‘slower’ death just gives us time to go over a few things. I don’t really believe that all bases would have been covered, but I can think of a few that I wish I had at least attempted.

So today I will understand that I am a young man. Technically I will be older when you read this as I was when I wrote it, but I will still be young man. There is still much to do, and if I haven’t told you lately that I love you, I’m doing so now. I know that I forget to say it sometimes, but I choose to write this off…I am young and inexperienced! I will try harder.

Routine Maintenence

I have always taken pride in my ability to enjoy things that are not typically male. I love to cook, iron and I’m a laundry genius until some someone mixes up my cleaning agents! Okay, I don’t read labels any better than I read directions. I love female authors, and while I don’t exactly read romance novels, often my favorite books are pretty close to exactly that. I don’t necessarily enjoy putting the hammer down (in the middle of adding a room on my house) to cook supper, but I’ve done it many times. I don’t consider myself exceptional; I just have a problem with gender assigned roles.

I understand that this is not always a good thing, and I feel sure that my wife and daughter would agree. I have worked them both like hired help during construction projects and we have all gone to bed mad more than once suffering from the backlash caused by my “unrealistic” expectations. I won’t say that I’m proud of this, but if I’m going to be your mother at dinner time, you can be my man while the work is going on!

But there is one instance where I know that I am all male. Please remember that this is a G-rated post as your mind begins to wander. Welcome back. The time that it is most obvious that I am all male is anytime a doctor is involved. My man’s version of needing a doctor involves wrapping a severed body part in a wet towel for safe and healthy re-attachment. Anything less is like taking a perfectly good car to a mechanic, leaving a blank check, and asking him to find something to fix! Not really, but when I went this week to be checked for a suspicious spot on my face and the doctor told me to take of my shirt…let’s just say I wasn’t surprised. “We’ll find something to remove!”

Understand that I mean everything I’ve previously said about doctors as a joke. I want to be better at this and luckily I am about to have my wish. Anything that sits in the sun for fifty years has (if not an expiration date) a definite need of maintenance. I will do better. I love my family and I plan to live long enough to thoroughly annoy my daughter. Luckily the doctor made an appointment for me to come back in six months to be checked again. We’ll call this something that every real man understands; routine maintenance! Take the whole family and we’ll call it fleet maintenance! Ahh oomp! But I really did like the doctor, he was a nice guy. Maybe I’ll take him a batch of homemade yeast rolls on my next visit!

A Cobbler's Son

“A cobbler’s son has no shoes” I’ve been aware of this saying for what seems like most of my life, but until recently I’d never given it much thought. Honestly I think the primary use of this saying is to let someone off the hook for not doing something that they should have long since done; so let’s just say it makes a good excuse. Because if you really think about it…this is a really stupid phrase!

Have you ever seen a pawn shop owner that didn’t wear a lot of jewelry; or a hardware store owner using a hammer with duct tape on the handle? Antique dealers with a particle board entertainment center standing proudly in the living room are about as common as an accountant with tax problems. I’m not so sure cobblers really exist in modern times, but I all but guarantee you that the owner of a shoe store has an exceptional (if not embarrassing) collection of footwear! Trust me; the cobbler’s son would have had plenty of shoes if he hadn’t spent so much time with that damn budget-killing puppet!

I think of this today as I sit in my recliner typing on the computer. This is without a doubt my favorite spot in the house and it’s where I do some of my best thinking. But today, instead of kicking back comfortably while writing, I am sharing my space with a massive 6 ½ pound chair-hogging Chihuahua! Dog number two; pet number four. The cobbler’s shoes are beginning to stack up.

As a family we have discussed the merits of owning one dog at a time on many occasions. This had to be spoken aloud when we started volunteering for an animal rescue group, otherwise we would quickly become a satellite location! The best way to spot the new guy at the shelter is to count his animals. But I really don’t intend to have too many and I tell myself that if the new dogs wasn’t the polar opposite of my old one, I would not have taken her home. I tell myself lots of things.

I think I will sign off now and maybe go and change my shoes. I’ve had this one pair on since breakfast, and while they are very comfortable, I really have some others that I want to wear today!