Wednesday, March 28, 2007
"Laptop Girl"---the poem
No. This was not a song by David Bowie. That was China Doll. This little poem, "Laptop Girl" was inspired by the view of one laptop girl at the local library, sipping coffee in the cafe area as folks walked the circular stairs around her. Click on the post. Enjoy.
"The Sermon"---The Story of Fr. Jackson--a true story
Click on the post for a classic Observer post of 8/2006.
"Hello......Hello.....Hello...." ----"Connected"---the Myth of the 21st Century
Recently I have been wondering.....wondering how we can be the generation that mostly hears the words "Hello....hello....hello." and yet be so "connected" in every way. After all. We drive a car, cell phone, text message, shave and drink coffee at the same time. How could we be more fulfilled than that? So efficient. So totally engaged. And yet no matter what cell phone plan one buys....and no matter how much one pays.....one gets constantly disconnected.....hello....hello? What's wrong with this picture?
Some time back, when my dad and mom were alive, we would go and have burgers around the little habachi that was my dad's favorite. Now days, kids would just probably text message instead. Somehow .......that is just not the same.
For purposes of debate, I would suggest that we are the most disconnected decade-----never before have so many folks been so connected .......and so disconnected at the same time.
There's nothing connected about it. And You?
You make the call.
Some time back, when my dad and mom were alive, we would go and have burgers around the little habachi that was my dad's favorite. Now days, kids would just probably text message instead. Somehow .......that is just not the same.
For purposes of debate, I would suggest that we are the most disconnected decade-----never before have so many folks been so connected .......and so disconnected at the same time.
There's nothing connected about it. And You?
You make the call.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
"Why the theory of the Frozen Tundra Failed"--On the Minnesota Viking Love Boat Cruise
Because The Observer is a native Minnesotan who grew up on the sailboat lake, White Bear Lake, and married the girl from the powerboat lake, Lake Minnetonka, I believe I am in a perfect position to explain the problem that the recent love boat cruise or "team building" outing of the Minnesota Vikings presents to local Minnesota voters.
The "Theory of the Frozen Tundra," a rare and lost text, explains that true virtue is inversely proportional to weather. The colder it is, the more Satan and all his pomps is destroyed. Time and time again in my youth it was instilled in me that the below zero weather of Minnesota was good for me. It caused wandering souls to come home early. It caused those with loose morals not to come to Minnesota in the first place. In summary, cold weather plus high taxes equal high virtue. This was the land of Lake Wobegon. Garrison Keillor country. Where all the folks were bright--------- and all schools had seven valedictorians. Anyway. Thus, my mother in law can tease me that my sketches are from Lake Woe--begotten. True Virtue is Lake Wobegon or Viking country, and Packerland is Lake Woe--begotten. You catch the ideology.
Thus the love boat scandal of the Minnesota Vikings comes as quite a blow to the citizens of the frozen tundra. What went wrong?
Click on the post for the view of Tom Powers. He feels that only if all the Viking sinners are purged and the righteous Viking reserves are elevated to starting positions will peace be restored in Minnesota. That would certainly be nice for the Packers on Christmas Eve.
It seems to the Observer that all sports, music, and all arts, are "divertido" in Spanish or "diversion" in English. It seems that since the realities of life....war..social discord...economic struggle...loss... are so difficult that we are completely dependent on diversion to numb the pain. Thus, a college student cannot walk from class to class without an ipod or a cell phone in the ear. Not possible to interact..Must block it..thank you. So.. it seems to me we have placed too high a burden on football to deliver us from the anguish. Who wants to deal with Wisconsin if the Packers lose? Not me. Yes there is hope if the Badgers win, but if both lose...God forbid.
In short, we need a new balance. Maybe a new diversion. Maybe tango dancing. We cannot keep relying on football for the Total Deliverance.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 8:46 AM
The "Theory of the Frozen Tundra," a rare and lost text, explains that true virtue is inversely proportional to weather. The colder it is, the more Satan and all his pomps is destroyed. Time and time again in my youth it was instilled in me that the below zero weather of Minnesota was good for me. It caused wandering souls to come home early. It caused those with loose morals not to come to Minnesota in the first place. In summary, cold weather plus high taxes equal high virtue. This was the land of Lake Wobegon. Garrison Keillor country. Where all the folks were bright--------- and all schools had seven valedictorians. Anyway. Thus, my mother in law can tease me that my sketches are from Lake Woe--begotten. True Virtue is Lake Wobegon or Viking country, and Packerland is Lake Woe--begotten. You catch the ideology.
Thus the love boat scandal of the Minnesota Vikings comes as quite a blow to the citizens of the frozen tundra. What went wrong?
Click on the post for the view of Tom Powers. He feels that only if all the Viking sinners are purged and the righteous Viking reserves are elevated to starting positions will peace be restored in Minnesota. That would certainly be nice for the Packers on Christmas Eve.
It seems to the Observer that all sports, music, and all arts, are "divertido" in Spanish or "diversion" in English. It seems that since the realities of life....war..social discord...economic struggle...loss... are so difficult that we are completely dependent on diversion to numb the pain. Thus, a college student cannot walk from class to class without an ipod or a cell phone in the ear. Not possible to interact..Must block it..thank you. So.. it seems to me we have placed too high a burden on football to deliver us from the anguish. Who wants to deal with Wisconsin if the Packers lose? Not me. Yes there is hope if the Badgers win, but if both lose...God forbid.
In short, we need a new balance. Maybe a new diversion. Maybe tango dancing. We cannot keep relying on football for the Total Deliverance.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 8:46 AM
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
"The Slam Jam"----
OP_Ed: "The Slam Jam"---Great in Basketball; Bad in Sales: Worse in Financial Planning
(Ed. note: I normally leave the sports stuff to other famous bloggers who are far more capable than I...in sports, beer, bait and ammo. However----I will make an exception......
just this once.)
I always did love the Blue Devils basketball team of several years ago that had the 'Up tempo" game as a real weapon. At some point after everyone got warm and comfortable,and.... say the score was pretty close, "Big Blue" would launch its "Up tempo" weapon.
The quick long inlet pass to the breaking guard to the hoop. Then the "press" on the subsequent inbound pass of the opposition-----then the steal and the jam to the hoop. WOW.
A quick 4 points. The enemy unnerved. Confidence lost. It was the turning point in many of these games. The crowd went wild. The rush of excitement of the locals brought down the house. It does not get any better than that..... In basketball That's the basketball "Slam Jam."
In sales, it looks a bit different. The evening telephone call during dinner. The offer of a special deal of a one time opportunity----available only right now etc, etc, etc......You all know the rest of the story. These calls are why there is a "do not call" list.
In financial planning, or school financial planning it also looks a bit different. A consultant is called. A quick set of options discussed in closed meetings. Options eliminated without public discussion. Then the short public presentation in February at a board meeting and then the solicitation of bond counsel right before a school election. Limited public input. No time for reflection. No chance of successful outcome.
So. To summarize. I just love the "slam jam." It is GREAT in basketball. I just hate it in public policy and school planning.
Make a note of it.
(Ed. note: I normally leave the sports stuff to other famous bloggers who are far more capable than I...in sports, beer, bait and ammo. However----I will make an exception......
just this once.)
I always did love the Blue Devils basketball team of several years ago that had the 'Up tempo" game as a real weapon. At some point after everyone got warm and comfortable,and.... say the score was pretty close, "Big Blue" would launch its "Up tempo" weapon.
The quick long inlet pass to the breaking guard to the hoop. Then the "press" on the subsequent inbound pass of the opposition-----then the steal and the jam to the hoop. WOW.
A quick 4 points. The enemy unnerved. Confidence lost. It was the turning point in many of these games. The crowd went wild. The rush of excitement of the locals brought down the house. It does not get any better than that..... In basketball That's the basketball "Slam Jam."
In sales, it looks a bit different. The evening telephone call during dinner. The offer of a special deal of a one time opportunity----available only right now etc, etc, etc......You all know the rest of the story. These calls are why there is a "do not call" list.
In financial planning, or school financial planning it also looks a bit different. A consultant is called. A quick set of options discussed in closed meetings. Options eliminated without public discussion. Then the short public presentation in February at a board meeting and then the solicitation of bond counsel right before a school election. Limited public input. No time for reflection. No chance of successful outcome.
So. To summarize. I just love the "slam jam." It is GREAT in basketball. I just hate it in public policy and school planning.
Make a note of it.
"The Power of Persistence", or "Norwegian Wood"
Norwegian Wood; Or, the power of persistance
Norwegian Wood
Some time ago, I wrote an article about my friend, Denny, the agricultural science professor and rock star. My old roommate, Rich Ginnaty has prompted me, to relate the rest of the story.
The three of us, Rich, Denny and I had moved into the bachelor pad on the edge of Dinky Town in Minneapolis, just next to the railroad tracks. It was the fall of 1969 and it was that time of our lives when we were between steady girlfriends. Rich, who had just completed his BS in accounting and was working his first job, was for us a guru financial advisor. One evening after work, we noticed that three beautiful women had moved just next door. One especially was striking, tall, brown hair and we had heard a rumor that she was a beauty queen from somewhere up north---the really frozen tundra.
We had to ask ourselves then what three pretty commonplace guys could possibly have that might attract such fine women. Rich, ever the financial analyst had us list our assets and liabilities. Yes, we were light on cash. Yes, we had extensive financial liabilities. However, we had the musical talent of Denny and his guitar. We groaned. Alas, he knew just five songs. Quickly we went over the five. Ok. Number two was Norwegian Wood. Bingo. That was the answer.
Next we had to review our looks. They were ok, but we needed something of a “superhero look,” something that might elevate Denny from “roofers helper” to renaissance minstrel. Quickly we went over our clothing stock. There was a very large bath towel, purple. There were some white long johns and some red shorts as well as a white shirt. Quickly we put it together to form a “superman” effect.
When all the girls had gotten home from school we began singing “Norwegian wood” through the wall at first. After singing for an hour we realized that the wall was dampening our sound and it was possible that they were not able to clearly hear our plaintive message. So, we moved to the balcony. Presto. In just another 15 minutes there was a loud rap on our door.
Breathlessly we opened the door. “ Well,” the tall dark haired one said, “we will give you two choices! Either come over for coffee or we will call the police.” Bingo.
So there it is. The whole story. On persistence. On determination. On what it takes to succeed.
Norwegian Wood
Some time ago, I wrote an article about my friend, Denny, the agricultural science professor and rock star. My old roommate, Rich Ginnaty has prompted me, to relate the rest of the story.
The three of us, Rich, Denny and I had moved into the bachelor pad on the edge of Dinky Town in Minneapolis, just next to the railroad tracks. It was the fall of 1969 and it was that time of our lives when we were between steady girlfriends. Rich, who had just completed his BS in accounting and was working his first job, was for us a guru financial advisor. One evening after work, we noticed that three beautiful women had moved just next door. One especially was striking, tall, brown hair and we had heard a rumor that she was a beauty queen from somewhere up north---the really frozen tundra.
We had to ask ourselves then what three pretty commonplace guys could possibly have that might attract such fine women. Rich, ever the financial analyst had us list our assets and liabilities. Yes, we were light on cash. Yes, we had extensive financial liabilities. However, we had the musical talent of Denny and his guitar. We groaned. Alas, he knew just five songs. Quickly we went over the five. Ok. Number two was Norwegian Wood. Bingo. That was the answer.
Next we had to review our looks. They were ok, but we needed something of a “superhero look,” something that might elevate Denny from “roofers helper” to renaissance minstrel. Quickly we went over our clothing stock. There was a very large bath towel, purple. There were some white long johns and some red shorts as well as a white shirt. Quickly we put it together to form a “superman” effect.
When all the girls had gotten home from school we began singing “Norwegian wood” through the wall at first. After singing for an hour we realized that the wall was dampening our sound and it was possible that they were not able to clearly hear our plaintive message. So, we moved to the balcony. Presto. In just another 15 minutes there was a loud rap on our door.
Breathlessly we opened the door. “ Well,” the tall dark haired one said, “we will give you two choices! Either come over for coffee or we will call the police.” Bingo.
So there it is. The whole story. On persistence. On determination. On what it takes to succeed.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Memories of the Pioneer Drive Inn--1963
Sometime ago, when I graduated from high school, I got a summer job at the Pioneer Drive Inn at Hwy 61 and Hwy 244 in White Bear Lake. It was the first job other than lawn care and I still worked the lawn stuff early in the day and then went to the cafe at night.
It was a time of classic transitions----just a mile from the Pioneer Drive Inn, with its classic canopy and the drive up tray holders with the menu and voice system, construction was in progress on the very first McDonalds for White Bear Lake. In just a few months, McDonalds would be rolling out the menu of 25 cent burgers and coke and fries.....and the Pioneer would surely be out of business and sold. Everyone knew. These were the final days.
One of the regular fry cooks had suddenly quit to take a position on the dishwasher line at Whirlpool in St. Paul, and the back up fry cook position had opened up. I was the "gofer" for the early training period, and was trained to be respectful to our head honcho fry cook, "Tony". He was about 21, rode a brand new Harley, and was dating the head waitress, "Susie".
She sure was a beauty-----that Harley. It was a Duo Glide---and by all Harley enthusiasts it was the most beautiful Harley of all time. It was not the Electra Glide--that came next. This was the model with the kick start and the magneto, not the points. Click on the post for some pictures. And it was beautiful. OK. And so was Susie.
Every Saturday night, just about 11PM, when the traffic started to slow just a bit, Tony would turn to me and say, " Well, it's time to blow this pop joint," and he would ceremoniously toss the spatula to me to take over.
Then with a wink, and a smile, he would shout, "Let's go Susie".
He would quickly punch out his time card and the two of them would head out and mount the massive Harley parked neatly on the side of the restaurant, in eye's view of Tony at the grill.
There was something magical about the way those two took off from the Pioneer Drive Inn. Those were the golden early years of biking and------ As modern folks know..... riding back then was rough. Even with shocks front and back.....the bikes still vibrated a lot. The engines were not balanced like they are today.
Then of course you had the people that did not like bikers and would try and run em off the road. You had to be pretty tough back in those days. Those were the Outlaw days of biking.
My wheels were a 52 Buick with a straight stick. Needless to say, I was not in the league of those wild and crazy Harley guys. In fact. In retrospect. I was pretty darn lucky to be back up fry cook and be the recipient of that tossed spatula.
It was a time of classic transitions----just a mile from the Pioneer Drive Inn, with its classic canopy and the drive up tray holders with the menu and voice system, construction was in progress on the very first McDonalds for White Bear Lake. In just a few months, McDonalds would be rolling out the menu of 25 cent burgers and coke and fries.....and the Pioneer would surely be out of business and sold. Everyone knew. These were the final days.
One of the regular fry cooks had suddenly quit to take a position on the dishwasher line at Whirlpool in St. Paul, and the back up fry cook position had opened up. I was the "gofer" for the early training period, and was trained to be respectful to our head honcho fry cook, "Tony". He was about 21, rode a brand new Harley, and was dating the head waitress, "Susie".
She sure was a beauty-----that Harley. It was a Duo Glide---and by all Harley enthusiasts it was the most beautiful Harley of all time. It was not the Electra Glide--that came next. This was the model with the kick start and the magneto, not the points. Click on the post for some pictures. And it was beautiful. OK. And so was Susie.
Every Saturday night, just about 11PM, when the traffic started to slow just a bit, Tony would turn to me and say, " Well, it's time to blow this pop joint," and he would ceremoniously toss the spatula to me to take over.
Then with a wink, and a smile, he would shout, "Let's go Susie".
He would quickly punch out his time card and the two of them would head out and mount the massive Harley parked neatly on the side of the restaurant, in eye's view of Tony at the grill.
There was something magical about the way those two took off from the Pioneer Drive Inn. Those were the golden early years of biking and------ As modern folks know..... riding back then was rough. Even with shocks front and back.....the bikes still vibrated a lot. The engines were not balanced like they are today.
Then of course you had the people that did not like bikers and would try and run em off the road. You had to be pretty tough back in those days. Those were the Outlaw days of biking.
My wheels were a 52 Buick with a straight stick. Needless to say, I was not in the league of those wild and crazy Harley guys. In fact. In retrospect. I was pretty darn lucky to be back up fry cook and be the recipient of that tossed spatula.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
"The Christmas Story"---a true story
Some years ago, I had the pleasure of being a computer salesman in a retail store. It was a cold and snowy Christmas Season, and as of December 15th, I had not seen the surge of Christmas Shoppers that I had expected. Then it happened.
One night right before closing, a young man entered the store and announced, " I am looking for a computer to give my child for Christmas."
"Alleluia," I silently exclaimed.
"Well " I said, "What are you looking for?"
" I want nothing but the best for my child," he replied.
So, I went and showed him the very best computer I had. I told him of the need for extra ram memory and also why a super resolution graphics card could be a big plus for him.
He was enthusiastic.
"I like what I see," he said. "I want the best."
I then went over monitors, and explained why a child might like a larger monitor so if several kids were playing at the computer, both could comfortably see the screen.
"I want the best," he exclaimed. "That high res. one looks best."
Then I happened to be playing a space rocket game and showed him how the high quality joy sticks worked and why they were expensive, but well worth it.
He tried his hand at the controls, and was impressed. " I want the best joy sticks you have."
I carefully wrapped all the equipment up and containing my excitement processed his Mastercard------it was approved. Bravo! It was the largest sale I had ever made. In my mind, I began ordering Chinese from the neighborhood restaurant for a special treat for the family.
Then I helped him load the equipment into his car.
"Merry Christmas," I exclaimed. "And by the way, how old is this lucky child of yours?"
"Two months," he said, "But he'll grown it. I want nothing but the best for my child. "
One night right before closing, a young man entered the store and announced, " I am looking for a computer to give my child for Christmas."
"Alleluia," I silently exclaimed.
"Well " I said, "What are you looking for?"
" I want nothing but the best for my child," he replied.
So, I went and showed him the very best computer I had. I told him of the need for extra ram memory and also why a super resolution graphics card could be a big plus for him.
He was enthusiastic.
"I like what I see," he said. "I want the best."
I then went over monitors, and explained why a child might like a larger monitor so if several kids were playing at the computer, both could comfortably see the screen.
"I want the best," he exclaimed. "That high res. one looks best."
Then I happened to be playing a space rocket game and showed him how the high quality joy sticks worked and why they were expensive, but well worth it.
He tried his hand at the controls, and was impressed. " I want the best joy sticks you have."
I carefully wrapped all the equipment up and containing my excitement processed his Mastercard------it was approved. Bravo! It was the largest sale I had ever made. In my mind, I began ordering Chinese from the neighborhood restaurant for a special treat for the family.
Then I helped him load the equipment into his car.
"Merry Christmas," I exclaimed. "And by the way, how old is this lucky child of yours?"
"Two months," he said, "But he'll grown it. I want nothing but the best for my child. "
Friday, December 15, 2006
"Uncommon Grief: Uncommon Courage"---a true story
Uncommon grief, Uncommon Courage; Or, What the real Top Gun School looks like; OR where I was last weekend.
I have been stopped everywhere lately by bloggers wondering whether I was "slacking" on the job Friday, Saturday and Sunday, because there were no posts. Normally, I don't go reverse chain of command, but I will respond to my blogger commanders. I was on the job observing the Twin City Marathon in St. Paul. First a little background.
My best friend in college was Mike Wraneshay. We had met in high school physics class where he handled the experiments and I wrote the reports. It was a pattern to follow always. In his senior year of high school, his dad, a superstar salesman, died suddenly of a heart attack. Mike then moved into the Midway area of St. Paul to live with his grandparents, and close to my family home, on Dayton Ave, almost identical to my current home on East Main, except there were historic lights on both sides of the street. When he graduated from college he became a Navy officer. His love was photography. I learned later that he was in Navy intelligence.
On completion of his Navy stint, he went into the Navy Reserve. One of the requirements of the Navy reserve was that everyone had to complete the 5 mile run and pass the eye test. Each year, both became more difficult. One August, when he was 40, I got the call. He had died suddenly after completing the 5 mile run. He left a wife and two small children. His friends and family were devasted. Navy pilots from all across the country, almost 100 of them, came to the funeral at Ft. Snelling.
A month ago, Mike's mom announced that Matthew, his son, was running the Twin City Marathon. Laverne was now 82 and she and a friend were going to the 22 mile mark to cheer him on. I explained that this was the "wall" and it might not be pretty. I felt I needed to go to be there with them.
I knew that Mike had died of an unusual clotting disorder. I hoped that Matt had gotten new medication that they had developed over the last 35 years. I dared not ask.
As I watched the runners at the 22 mile mark my mind went back to the last time I spent a week with Mike. It was the time I flew to Pensacola to drive with him home and tour the facility. It was a special weekend. The pilots were competing to see who would go to Top Gun school. It was a scene right out of the movie Top Gun. Except there were no female flight instructors. There were a lot of guys that looked like Tom Cruise.
Then Matt appeared at the 22 mile mark. We had a sign that said, "Hey, Hey, Wraneshay" . I gave him the ice and facecloth. Told him he was good to go and looked great. He did.
I wondered all the way home, how in the face of adversity and grief, Matt could gather the courage to run the marathon, or rather whether he had to run in order to conquer the fear. In any event, the words of the flight instructor in Top Gun came to me, "Up here, we have to push it. " Somehow he, and many others who have faced huge grief have found the courage to thrive beyond the grief. I salute Matt and all the others like him. For me, that is what Top Gun is all about.
When he had left, his grandmother, Luverne just smiled. "Well," she said, " You did good with the sign, Dick." "Let's just save it for next year and change the bib number."
I have been stopped everywhere lately by bloggers wondering whether I was "slacking" on the job Friday, Saturday and Sunday, because there were no posts. Normally, I don't go reverse chain of command, but I will respond to my blogger commanders. I was on the job observing the Twin City Marathon in St. Paul. First a little background.
My best friend in college was Mike Wraneshay. We had met in high school physics class where he handled the experiments and I wrote the reports. It was a pattern to follow always. In his senior year of high school, his dad, a superstar salesman, died suddenly of a heart attack. Mike then moved into the Midway area of St. Paul to live with his grandparents, and close to my family home, on Dayton Ave, almost identical to my current home on East Main, except there were historic lights on both sides of the street. When he graduated from college he became a Navy officer. His love was photography. I learned later that he was in Navy intelligence.
On completion of his Navy stint, he went into the Navy Reserve. One of the requirements of the Navy reserve was that everyone had to complete the 5 mile run and pass the eye test. Each year, both became more difficult. One August, when he was 40, I got the call. He had died suddenly after completing the 5 mile run. He left a wife and two small children. His friends and family were devasted. Navy pilots from all across the country, almost 100 of them, came to the funeral at Ft. Snelling.
A month ago, Mike's mom announced that Matthew, his son, was running the Twin City Marathon. Laverne was now 82 and she and a friend were going to the 22 mile mark to cheer him on. I explained that this was the "wall" and it might not be pretty. I felt I needed to go to be there with them.
I knew that Mike had died of an unusual clotting disorder. I hoped that Matt had gotten new medication that they had developed over the last 35 years. I dared not ask.
As I watched the runners at the 22 mile mark my mind went back to the last time I spent a week with Mike. It was the time I flew to Pensacola to drive with him home and tour the facility. It was a special weekend. The pilots were competing to see who would go to Top Gun school. It was a scene right out of the movie Top Gun. Except there were no female flight instructors. There were a lot of guys that looked like Tom Cruise.
Then Matt appeared at the 22 mile mark. We had a sign that said, "Hey, Hey, Wraneshay" . I gave him the ice and facecloth. Told him he was good to go and looked great. He did.
I wondered all the way home, how in the face of adversity and grief, Matt could gather the courage to run the marathon, or rather whether he had to run in order to conquer the fear. In any event, the words of the flight instructor in Top Gun came to me, "Up here, we have to push it. " Somehow he, and many others who have faced huge grief have found the courage to thrive beyond the grief. I salute Matt and all the others like him. For me, that is what Top Gun is all about.
When he had left, his grandmother, Luverne just smiled. "Well," she said, " You did good with the sign, Dick." "Let's just save it for next year and change the bib number."
The Retirement Rule, Or; The Story of Uncle Bill
The Retirement Rule, Or; The story of Uncle Bill
The last two years before his death, Bill hung on at 3M rather than retire. He was the director of transportation--directed all the trucking nationwide. He had a stroke. He got demoted. The folks at work turned mean. There were the usual cruelties. And the unusual cruelties.--like having to train the folks that will replace you. Through it all, he was patient. Stoic.
He had thought of retirement enough. Even had ordered a Surburban, fully loaded. A little over list price. With the full trailer package.
About a month before he died, he got to drive it to Chicago to see his daughter, who was a physical therapist.
It was his last trip. He never did pull the trailer.
He died never having realized his dream, as so many people do----he had not made a practice of travelling while he was young....
So--the rule---
Travel early and often. Get in the habit.
The last two years before his death, Bill hung on at 3M rather than retire. He was the director of transportation--directed all the trucking nationwide. He had a stroke. He got demoted. The folks at work turned mean. There were the usual cruelties. And the unusual cruelties.--like having to train the folks that will replace you. Through it all, he was patient. Stoic.
He had thought of retirement enough. Even had ordered a Surburban, fully loaded. A little over list price. With the full trailer package.
About a month before he died, he got to drive it to Chicago to see his daughter, who was a physical therapist.
It was his last trip. He never did pull the trailer.
He died never having realized his dream, as so many people do----he had not made a practice of travelling while he was young....
So--the rule---
Travel early and often. Get in the habit.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
"Focus"
"Focus"
Recently the Observer did a bit of garage saleing and happend to find a new set of car mats with the large word "FOCUS" on them. Even though my daughter will be driving a Dodge K-car, I thought it a wonderful nurturing idea that with this little reminder of her father to look at each time she entered her car, she might be very focused on the responsibilties of driving.
]
So---it is with some embarassment that I admit losing FOCUS during the recent school board meeting in Evansville on Monday night.
Right after the discussion of the 4K Kindergarten, breathing a deep sigh of relief that my recording seemed to be good, I was so surprised by a request by School administration that I was speechless. I know this may be hard to imagine. Bear with me.
Administration asked the school board to allocate $5000 for travel and entertainment expenses to research the alternatives to the 4 period day. Keep in mind that for the 60 years or so prior to 1997 when the 4 period day was installed, we had the 7 period standard day in our schools.
Asking for travel and entertainment for this research was a little like a married person who was considering divorce to request travel and entertainment expenses to review what the bachelor life was like. Just because something might have changed that was worth reviewing..... Whoa.
So. It may be that the board was a little stunned by this request as well. I am not sure. However----I wanted to apologize for this lack of FOCUS on my part. I promise to do better in the future.
I would be willing to place the FOCUS car mats in the Lincoln for one week as a fit and proper punishment if my readers demand it. I think a week is long enough for me to get the message.
So--I am not sure whether the board approved this request or whether this is still on the table. I am on the job.
Stay tuned to The Evansville Observer for breaking news. Remember. We break the news other folks just write about.
Recently the Observer did a bit of garage saleing and happend to find a new set of car mats with the large word "FOCUS" on them. Even though my daughter will be driving a Dodge K-car, I thought it a wonderful nurturing idea that with this little reminder of her father to look at each time she entered her car, she might be very focused on the responsibilties of driving.
]
So---it is with some embarassment that I admit losing FOCUS during the recent school board meeting in Evansville on Monday night.
Right after the discussion of the 4K Kindergarten, breathing a deep sigh of relief that my recording seemed to be good, I was so surprised by a request by School administration that I was speechless. I know this may be hard to imagine. Bear with me.
Administration asked the school board to allocate $5000 for travel and entertainment expenses to research the alternatives to the 4 period day. Keep in mind that for the 60 years or so prior to 1997 when the 4 period day was installed, we had the 7 period standard day in our schools.
Asking for travel and entertainment for this research was a little like a married person who was considering divorce to request travel and entertainment expenses to review what the bachelor life was like. Just because something might have changed that was worth reviewing..... Whoa.
So. It may be that the board was a little stunned by this request as well. I am not sure. However----I wanted to apologize for this lack of FOCUS on my part. I promise to do better in the future.
I would be willing to place the FOCUS car mats in the Lincoln for one week as a fit and proper punishment if my readers demand it. I think a week is long enough for me to get the message.
So--I am not sure whether the board approved this request or whether this is still on the table. I am on the job.
Stay tuned to The Evansville Observer for breaking news. Remember. We break the news other folks just write about.
Coffee Reflection: When "Tall" is "Small", "Freedom"..."Imperialism?"
Coffee Beat: Where "Tall" is "Small"---Starbucks raises prices
When ordering a Starbucks, one must always, sleepy as one might be at the time, focus and order the "Tall" and not the "small" coffee etc. There is an entire world where at Starbucks words don't mean what they used to.
O.K. So you rightly point out that it is not just coffee. We seem to be having a larger problem here. Maybe this phenom has affected politics---- where freedom might just mean imperialism and democracy might just mean terror interrogation.....
O.K. it's infected employment...education....ok. well...everything. But.. I need some coffee here....let's focus on the coffee....
The prices on Starbucks drinks have been raised. Click on the post for the details.
Back in the old days, folks could actually make coffee themselves and use a rotary phone. Now it is very important to sip the coffee slowly while talking on a real or maybe a fake cell phone.
Remember the slogan of Caribou Coffee---"Life is short. Stay awake for it."
It's raining this morn, and I'm listening to Bob Dylan singing "Rainy Day Women," and I do agree that a Starbucks would be great right now. Whatever the cost.
When ordering a Starbucks, one must always, sleepy as one might be at the time, focus and order the "Tall" and not the "small" coffee etc. There is an entire world where at Starbucks words don't mean what they used to.
O.K. So you rightly point out that it is not just coffee. We seem to be having a larger problem here. Maybe this phenom has affected politics---- where freedom might just mean imperialism and democracy might just mean terror interrogation.....
O.K. it's infected employment...education....ok. well...everything. But.. I need some coffee here....let's focus on the coffee....
The prices on Starbucks drinks have been raised. Click on the post for the details.
Back in the old days, folks could actually make coffee themselves and use a rotary phone. Now it is very important to sip the coffee slowly while talking on a real or maybe a fake cell phone.
Remember the slogan of Caribou Coffee---"Life is short. Stay awake for it."
It's raining this morn, and I'm listening to Bob Dylan singing "Rainy Day Women," and I do agree that a Starbucks would be great right now. Whatever the cost.
"Reflection---Pennywise .....Pound foolish"--a true story
Penny Wise, Pound Foolish; or, The Story of the Red Duster--a true story
Some years back, when my wife and I were first married, she drove a bright red Plymouth Duster. It was a great running car. It was the only car she had ever bought new.
As newlyweds, we were lucky to move into a recently bought home. I thought of myself as a pretty shrewd budgeter, but even with penny pinching, the budget was tight. During the first winter, one of the coldest in Minnesota history, we noticed that the radiator was leaking in that little red Duster. The problem of course----we did not have anything in the auto repair budget, and I naturally thought we could delay.... At least til next month.... After all.... Antifreeze was pretty cheap in those days. It was important to be on budget.... And tough minded.
Ah the folly of youth. Ah the learning curve etc.
The engine seized up and froze. Total loss.
Thus. In reviewing a budget, the key thing is to remember what the mission is. To focus. Not on just the pennies, but the big picture. The lesson of the Duster is one that I have been constantly reminded of--by my wife. And a lesson I have learned from. Yes. Even the Observer could learn these things.
And yes. When you review the effort of the Evansville School District to eliminate the Half Day Kindergarten?
Think of that little Red Duster. Focus on the mission.
Some years back, when my wife and I were first married, she drove a bright red Plymouth Duster. It was a great running car. It was the only car she had ever bought new.
As newlyweds, we were lucky to move into a recently bought home. I thought of myself as a pretty shrewd budgeter, but even with penny pinching, the budget was tight. During the first winter, one of the coldest in Minnesota history, we noticed that the radiator was leaking in that little red Duster. The problem of course----we did not have anything in the auto repair budget, and I naturally thought we could delay.... At least til next month.... After all.... Antifreeze was pretty cheap in those days. It was important to be on budget.... And tough minded.
Ah the folly of youth. Ah the learning curve etc.
The engine seized up and froze. Total loss.
Thus. In reviewing a budget, the key thing is to remember what the mission is. To focus. Not on just the pennies, but the big picture. The lesson of the Duster is one that I have been constantly reminded of--by my wife. And a lesson I have learned from. Yes. Even the Observer could learn these things.
And yes. When you review the effort of the Evansville School District to eliminate the Half Day Kindergarten?
Think of that little Red Duster. Focus on the mission.
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
"The Hearth Effect"-----a true story
The Hearth Effect
Sometimes because of early Choir practice, we give a neighbor gal, "C" a ride to school. One morning, she was a bit early and noticed we had installed a new wood pellet hearth and we droned on how happy we were with it. Her home is heated with a wood furnace, so they had been natural gas independent for some time.
I explained that in "olden times" like the 1930's (my mother in law told me so) young kids would awake in the morn and run down to stand around the wood stove to get warm. And also, in the cold winter evenings, families would gather around the fire to stay warm and play games. They did not have cd players or i-pods in those days. It was really a way of keeping families close.
"C" thought for a moment. Then she said, "Well, it seems it was really just a choice between staying warm with the family or freezing to death in the bedrooms? That doesn't seem like a very fair choice."
"Yes," I said, "that was the choice."
Such a wonderful way to keep families together. And as more and more families are switching away from natural gas to alternative, the closer we may all become.
It's just freeze or stay warm together.
I will leave it up to you. You make the call.
Sometimes because of early Choir practice, we give a neighbor gal, "C" a ride to school. One morning, she was a bit early and noticed we had installed a new wood pellet hearth and we droned on how happy we were with it. Her home is heated with a wood furnace, so they had been natural gas independent for some time.
I explained that in "olden times" like the 1930's (my mother in law told me so) young kids would awake in the morn and run down to stand around the wood stove to get warm. And also, in the cold winter evenings, families would gather around the fire to stay warm and play games. They did not have cd players or i-pods in those days. It was really a way of keeping families close.
"C" thought for a moment. Then she said, "Well, it seems it was really just a choice between staying warm with the family or freezing to death in the bedrooms? That doesn't seem like a very fair choice."
"Yes," I said, "that was the choice."
Such a wonderful way to keep families together. And as more and more families are switching away from natural gas to alternative, the closer we may all become.
It's just freeze or stay warm together.
I will leave it up to you. You make the call.
"On Lost Hubcaps"; or "Why Bent Rims are Deadly"; Or Reflections of a Junk Yard Dog
On Lost Hubcaps; Or, Why Bent Rims Are deadly; Or Reflections of a Junk yard dog.
As any parent knows who has seen a young teen or college student return a car after a lot of use, it can be quite a shock. The lost hubcaps, the bent or broken side mirrors (insert you own list here).
A lost hubcap can be an expensive thing, if one buys them retail. Factory dealer specials. However, after losing several, I went to the junkyard..... my favorite being Prestige Salvage, cause I like the "prestige," I asked my junk yard dog, "How come I am losing so many hubcaps?"
"It is pretty simple," he said. "You keep losing the hubcaps, cause the rims are bent. You can bend a rim by hitting a curb, a big pot hole, running into a parking lot concrete barrier...lots of ways. When the rims get bent, the hubcap comes off, and more importantly, the tire can deflate cause the rim is bent. So.....it can be a DEADLY thing. Most of the cars here in the junkyard have bent rims. There were some deadly accidents. So, lost hubcaps are not just a small matter. They are a big warning flag.
When you drive through Evansville, look for all the cars that are missing hubcaps. Makes you worry. Makes you wonder.
( My editor, a woman, says she doesn't care about hubcaps. How bout you? You make the call.
As any parent knows who has seen a young teen or college student return a car after a lot of use, it can be quite a shock. The lost hubcaps, the bent or broken side mirrors (insert you own list here).
A lost hubcap can be an expensive thing, if one buys them retail. Factory dealer specials. However, after losing several, I went to the junkyard..... my favorite being Prestige Salvage, cause I like the "prestige," I asked my junk yard dog, "How come I am losing so many hubcaps?"
"It is pretty simple," he said. "You keep losing the hubcaps, cause the rims are bent. You can bend a rim by hitting a curb, a big pot hole, running into a parking lot concrete barrier...lots of ways. When the rims get bent, the hubcap comes off, and more importantly, the tire can deflate cause the rim is bent. So.....it can be a DEADLY thing. Most of the cars here in the junkyard have bent rims. There were some deadly accidents. So, lost hubcaps are not just a small matter. They are a big warning flag.
When you drive through Evansville, look for all the cars that are missing hubcaps. Makes you worry. Makes you wonder.
( My editor, a woman, says she doesn't care about hubcaps. How bout you? You make the call.
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