If you ever were a salesman or business owner you have many inspirational books on your bookshelf. One needs them to stay motivated. Enthusiastic.
One of the most famous of these inspirational books is "Think and Grow Rich" by Napolean Hill. Other favorites are "See You at the Top" by Zig Ziegler or "Shut up and Sell" by Don Sheehan. Then there are the audio tapes for driving in the car.....the real estate closing tapes...ABC, always be closing etc. Anyway, you get the idea....
If you are married and a salesman, you are probably also reading a book, or even two books by John Gray.....like..."Men are from Mars,,Women from Venus"....The reason that you are reading the books by John Gray is either because you don't have a clue about women as sales prospects, or you don't have a clue about what is happening to your marriage----or both.
Reading inspirational books is fun. However, one warning. It is important to review "walking the walk" as well as "talking the talk." What I mean, of course, is that one does need to know that Napolean Hill died penniless....It is also important to know that John Gray is on his 4th marriage.
O.K. Now when you are reading the books, you can have a better sense of perspective. I don't want to ruin any enthusiasm here, but, it is important to know. Behold, you may be in far better shape that the authors were. In fact, you may not even need the books.
Just a thought for the day.
Thursday, September 8, 2005
Stillwater Struggles to Regain Control over Lumberjack Days
Sometimes it takes a whole village----It has been taking everyone in Stillwater, Mn. to try to piece together what actually happened during last years Lumberjack Days. They had "Lynyrd Skynyrd" as the feature band and had plenty of fine beer, so what could have gone wrong? Turns out they had just too much beer and were a couple hundred porta potties short. Anyway, sometimes trying to get in touch with your heritage just backfires.
Stillwater is a special place for me, cause I used to picnic above Stillwater on the bluff in "Pioneer Park," Wonderful view. A scene right out of Huck Finn. Something to check out.
If you go to the Lumberjack days, there will be some bland bands they are hoping will keep everybody away, or at least a few of you who came for the music. I will try to keep you informed on how the weekend turned out.
As a P.S., the only lumberjacks I knew of were a Mr. Tozer, who was a lumber baron of Stillwater and left money for students of Washington county for college scholarships ----hundreds of them over the past 50 years. Many of my siblings and friends owe their schooling to his generosity. So, this weekend, Mr. Tozer, we remember. Thank you.
Stillwater is a special place for me, cause I used to picnic above Stillwater on the bluff in "Pioneer Park," Wonderful view. A scene right out of Huck Finn. Something to check out.
If you go to the Lumberjack days, there will be some bland bands they are hoping will keep everybody away, or at least a few of you who came for the music. I will try to keep you informed on how the weekend turned out.
As a P.S., the only lumberjacks I knew of were a Mr. Tozer, who was a lumber baron of Stillwater and left money for students of Washington county for college scholarships ----hundreds of them over the past 50 years. Many of my siblings and friends owe their schooling to his generosity. So, this weekend, Mr. Tozer, we remember. Thank you.
Sunday, September 4, 2005
"The Saxophone and the Sunglasses"---a mostly true story
The Saxophone and The Sunglasses
Some of you have kindly written wondering where my old dark blue 1989 Lincoln Towncar is. Well, it is still running. My oldest daughter, who always dreamed of owning a Honda is driving the Lincoln "ghetto cruiser" and fitting it into the parking spots in Madison designed for a Honda. Anyway, recently, I got to sit in the car and think of the good old days, and I flipped down the visor and tons of Cd's fell in my lap. Quickly, I inserted some in the CD player, desperately looking for some rock and roll. No, they were all Blues, Jazz and hip hop. Worse, most were in Italian. " When did this all begin?" I mused. Then I remembered about the Saxophone and the Sunglasses.
One Sunday night when my oldest was a sophmore at EHS, I overheard a stressful discussion in the kitchen, and as I usually did, I walked right into it. " What's the problem," I asked. " Well," she replied, " tomorrow is the first Jazz Band practice." "So, what?" I ventured. "Well," " I don't have a saxophone and don't know how to play it since I play flute."
" Just ask Mr. Z," I said, "and if he says you can play sax, I will go get the sax at Ward Brodt. Call me at lunch and leave me a message. On monday, there was a short, breathless message on the recorder. " Go get the sax!"
That afternoon both girls came home from school and were giggling and excited. I had to ask, " Well what happened?" "Oh," the oldest said, Mr. Z said to come tonight and just fake it and then gradually play what I felt comfortable with." It's going to be no problem, I can fake it fine."
What followed was the most intense three weeks of learning ever in our home. Scales, swearing, broken reeds, trips to the music store for riff books, arguments about why it is important to stop playing at midnight so the old folks can sleep. After three weeks of almost no sleep for us, the playing sounded pretty darn good. She said, " Well, I need to go to Janesville!" " What ever for?" I asked. "The Sunglasses", she replied. I did understand. If you play the sax, you need the approved style of sunglasses.
As I sat in the old blue Lincoln with the lap full of jazz cds, I thought of what had happened because of that one open door, that one moment when a musical passion had been ignited because the maestro had opened the door to a lifelong obsession.
If you do make a contribution to the instrument fund at EHS,( EHS musical inst fund, attn Mr. Z) you might consider that it is not the instrument you are giving, but the entrance ticket for a lifelong passion for music. If you were present at the "Good Question" gig at "Real Coffee" recently, you got an idea of how much fun this can be.
Some of you have kindly written wondering where my old dark blue 1989 Lincoln Towncar is. Well, it is still running. My oldest daughter, who always dreamed of owning a Honda is driving the Lincoln "ghetto cruiser" and fitting it into the parking spots in Madison designed for a Honda. Anyway, recently, I got to sit in the car and think of the good old days, and I flipped down the visor and tons of Cd's fell in my lap. Quickly, I inserted some in the CD player, desperately looking for some rock and roll. No, they were all Blues, Jazz and hip hop. Worse, most were in Italian. " When did this all begin?" I mused. Then I remembered about the Saxophone and the Sunglasses.
One Sunday night when my oldest was a sophmore at EHS, I overheard a stressful discussion in the kitchen, and as I usually did, I walked right into it. " What's the problem," I asked. " Well," she replied, " tomorrow is the first Jazz Band practice." "So, what?" I ventured. "Well," " I don't have a saxophone and don't know how to play it since I play flute."
" Just ask Mr. Z," I said, "and if he says you can play sax, I will go get the sax at Ward Brodt. Call me at lunch and leave me a message. On monday, there was a short, breathless message on the recorder. " Go get the sax!"
That afternoon both girls came home from school and were giggling and excited. I had to ask, " Well what happened?" "Oh," the oldest said, Mr. Z said to come tonight and just fake it and then gradually play what I felt comfortable with." It's going to be no problem, I can fake it fine."
What followed was the most intense three weeks of learning ever in our home. Scales, swearing, broken reeds, trips to the music store for riff books, arguments about why it is important to stop playing at midnight so the old folks can sleep. After three weeks of almost no sleep for us, the playing sounded pretty darn good. She said, " Well, I need to go to Janesville!" " What ever for?" I asked. "The Sunglasses", she replied. I did understand. If you play the sax, you need the approved style of sunglasses.
As I sat in the old blue Lincoln with the lap full of jazz cds, I thought of what had happened because of that one open door, that one moment when a musical passion had been ignited because the maestro had opened the door to a lifelong obsession.
If you do make a contribution to the instrument fund at EHS,( EHS musical inst fund, attn Mr. Z) you might consider that it is not the instrument you are giving, but the entrance ticket for a lifelong passion for music. If you were present at the "Good Question" gig at "Real Coffee" recently, you got an idea of how much fun this can be.
Saturday, September 3, 2005
"Let's Keep Everything just the way it was."--a true story
Thursday, September 01, 2005
"Let's keep everything just the way it was."
In my college years, I lived with my grandmother in St. Paul, in a home just like my home on East Main. It was in the suburbs in 1912, at the end of the trolly line, though it is in the inner city now.
One Sunday, my dad drove me in from White Bear Lake for the move. He said, "Nana likes things just the way they were when Grandpa died. Just remember----- it is her house." "O.K., I said," " No problem."
This was in 1963. Grandpa had died in 1930. The victrola in the corner of the living room looked right out of an FDR fireside chat. The radio dial was on a AM station that had died years ago. I expected any minute a breaking bulletin announcing a further chapter in the Pacific war. Anyway, all the wallpaper was mint original. True Historic Preservation stuff. The rugs were all oriental. And of course the floors were oak and the sliding pocket doors really slid hard, since nobody knew how to adjust them anymore.
The furniture was the problem--the living room furniture was vintage 1920's, but the springs had been shot for at least 30 years. So, nobody could sit on them or a serious back injury would result. The dining room furniture was useful since it was all oak
.
Nana had a story for everything. Yes, the green historic lighting was ok outside, but not as grand as when the "lamplighters" used to come each night on the wagon and reach up and light the kerosene lamps with a wick. Now that was grand.
Years later, I learned that folks occasionally react to loss that way. They will want to keep things just the way they were. There is therapy for it now. No need for a person to suffer that way....fixed in time and not being truly alive.
At the Homecoming Parade in Evansville this year, I had the opportunity to watch the parade from the true center of the Historic District. What a glorious day of fall colors. The residents I spoke too, however, were not too jovial. They had just gotten their assessments for being Historic and the assessments had gone sky high. They pleaded with me, "Can't we just be old and not "Historic?"
"NO, I replied," "That cannot be." We are old on East Main and proud of it. You are Historic. You have to keep things just the way they were."
"Let's keep everything just the way it was."
In my college years, I lived with my grandmother in St. Paul, in a home just like my home on East Main. It was in the suburbs in 1912, at the end of the trolly line, though it is in the inner city now.
One Sunday, my dad drove me in from White Bear Lake for the move. He said, "Nana likes things just the way they were when Grandpa died. Just remember----- it is her house." "O.K., I said," " No problem."
This was in 1963. Grandpa had died in 1930. The victrola in the corner of the living room looked right out of an FDR fireside chat. The radio dial was on a AM station that had died years ago. I expected any minute a breaking bulletin announcing a further chapter in the Pacific war. Anyway, all the wallpaper was mint original. True Historic Preservation stuff. The rugs were all oriental. And of course the floors were oak and the sliding pocket doors really slid hard, since nobody knew how to adjust them anymore.
The furniture was the problem--the living room furniture was vintage 1920's, but the springs had been shot for at least 30 years. So, nobody could sit on them or a serious back injury would result. The dining room furniture was useful since it was all oak
.
Nana had a story for everything. Yes, the green historic lighting was ok outside, but not as grand as when the "lamplighters" used to come each night on the wagon and reach up and light the kerosene lamps with a wick. Now that was grand.
Years later, I learned that folks occasionally react to loss that way. They will want to keep things just the way they were. There is therapy for it now. No need for a person to suffer that way....fixed in time and not being truly alive.
At the Homecoming Parade in Evansville this year, I had the opportunity to watch the parade from the true center of the Historic District. What a glorious day of fall colors. The residents I spoke too, however, were not too jovial. They had just gotten their assessments for being Historic and the assessments had gone sky high. They pleaded with me, "Can't we just be old and not "Historic?"
"NO, I replied," "That cannot be." We are old on East Main and proud of it. You are Historic. You have to keep things just the way they were."
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