Brouhaha

What's the Difference Between Having A Baby and a Great Idea?

2010-08-29T13:52:00.024-04:00

"Where do these great ideas come from and who thinks themup?" the young, curious recently newly minted MBA asked me, an old and wizened corporate dude. The MBA guy was referring to a new process our corporation just put into place that actually wasn't working too well.

A Great Idea?

I thought for a moment, wondering how much of the truth he could handle. "Many of the ideas are spawned in the executive offices onthe top floor. When they are conceived, I believe that there are at least twopeople involved, but there can be many more," says I. His eyes widen. I watch as some of hisyouthful academic beliefs shatter.

"What about the Great Man theory?" he asks, referring tothe theory was popularized in the 1840s by Thomas Carlyle. Ignoring his masters degree, I answer,"In the corporate world, there can be many fathers-- and mothers -- to an great idea. "

"Once the seed is successfully planted, more executives startnoticing and encouraging the idea to take form. When enough time goes by, and amajority approve its potential, it's officially born."

"It then becomes an official member of the corporate environment, and communal teams swoop in from law, compliance, operations, systems and other areas to help raise it in in the corporate form it needs to be. They will nurture the idea, putting form and fabric on it so it can be tested. "

"The idea then morphs into a project," I press on."At this point, it literally has a life of its own. It will grow upbecoming either a product or a process and in all likelihood, will look nothing like the original idea."

"Then it can go through years of growing up. It gets tested, usually by people it won't ever have to use it. If the project fails a test or two, and may have togo back a step or two for more study," I inform. "The idea either finally grows up, orunfortunately dies in the testing phase. The life of an idea is extremely fragile and could even have passed awayearlier."

"I’m not certain why this one didn’t," the youngnow-not-so-curious writer mutters as he walks away. "It sucks."

The Red Renault

2010-08-13T18:00:00.005-04:00

by Bob Beardsley

Simulated Photo of the Actual Renault!

I once bought a 1965 Renault R8 for $300. The paint on the 1965 Renault was a dull, burnt red-pink. Really burnt because the original red had oxidized into its present unappealing condition. The paint even felt rutted to the touch. Not that a Renault with a good paint job would ever be characterized as good looking. I inspected the engine -- which was located in the rear of the car -- looking for serviceable life. As soon as I popped the hood latch I sniffed gas. The engine’s fittings and fissures were spotted with rust and oil. The car did not look roadworthy.

Once in the car, the smell of old, weathered seats – I think they were made of a type of a leather -- filled my nostrils. A relaxing odor reminiscent of very old leather chairs you might imagine in a British men’s club It gave me the sense this vehicle had provided years of comforting and faithful service. I was surprised that the driver’s seat felt very accommodating; warm, soft and welcoming. The entire interior, including the seats, carpeting, paneling and dash, displayed an non-offensive tan color.

The small dashboard peered out from behind the steering wheel. The odometer permanently registered 87,000 miles and never advanced, while the speedometer only registered speed in kilometers. The gas gauge appeared to be functional. There were no more instruments. This minimalist approach did not trouble me, and I found it rather reassuring that I didn't have to bother with much data. Driving the Renault would be like discarding your watch, freeing oneself from the conventions of society.

The black wooden gear knob rose from the center floorboard on a gangly metal stalk. This is where I discovered that the heart and soul of this Renault. The rounder, wooden knob was worn and soothingly smooth to my touch. Any instructive gear patterns stamped on the top of the knob were long ago rubbed out, but no matter. The shifter and transmission worked flawlessly together. Driving this apparent wreck of an auto was a pleasure. The car gave me years of good service.

In all the years since and considering all the cars I have owned, I never felt more safe or more at peace than in this unlikely auto that I paid $300 for in 1971.

P.S. The car served me well for three years and I only parted with it after a major accident. A young lady ran a light and smashed into the front of the Renault, squishing and collapsing the trunk like an accordion closing. This absorbed most to the energy and spun the car around for 150 feet. I was uninjured because this odd duck of an auto had the engine in the back. Had it been in the front, the impact and result would have been much worse.

They Served with Honor, Pride and Sacrifice

2010-05-27T19:20:00.013-04:00

Thanks to all the veterans who served and especially to the ones that gave up all their tomorrows that we may still enjoy our todays.

Everyday Heroes Who Can't Be Seen

2010-02-25T21:15:00.007-05:00

I came across this modern Helen Keller story and although I know many of you have heard of her before, I thought you might enjoy meeting Dr. Temple Grandin. Dr. Grandin didn't talk until she was three and a half years old, communicating her frustration instead by screaming, peeping, and humming. She is autistic.

Today she is world renowned as a scientist and speaker. Perhaps her greatest accomplishment is that she has been credited as the person who has provided the greatest insights into understanding autism to date.

Grandin was born in Boston, Massachusetts, and was diagnosed with "brain damage" at age two. Her parents placed her in a structured nursery school with what she considers to have been good teachers. Grandin's mother spoke to a doctor who suggested speech therapy, and she hired a nanny who spent hours playing turn-based games with Grandin and her sister.

At age four, Grandin began talking, and she began making progress. She considers herself lucky to have had supportive mentors from primary school onwards. However, Grandin has said that middle school and high school were the worst parts of her life. She was the "nerdy kid", the one whom everyone teased and picked on. She would be walking down the street and people would say "tape recorder", because she would repeat things over and over again. Kinda like Dustin Hoffman's Rain Man.

After graduating from Hampshire Country School, a boarding school for gifted children in Rindge, New Hampshire in 1966, Grandin went on to college. She received her bachelor's degree in psychology from Franklin Pierce College (also located in Rindge) in 1970, her master's degree in animal science from Arizona State University in 1975, and her Ph.D. in animal science from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign in 1989.

There are many heroes in this story. Her parents did not give up on her at a time when many brain damaged children were not understood or even tolerated. With the help of teachers, mentors, doctors, speech therapists, nannies and family, she overcame great odds to become who she is today.

For your enjoyment, here is a video of her speaking at a convention. Although she is standing alone on this stage, and although you can't see them, there are many, many average, everyday people that stand behind her.

Will Someone Speak for the 14 Million Children?

2010-02-25T19:44:00.020-05:00

The debate on national healthcare rages on in the legislative branch of our government and the party lines are firmly drawn. The Democrats say let's get this done and the Republicans say no way. Our taxes will be too much. The verbal exchanges are wild-eyed and vituperative. Socialists! Naysayers! Liars! Election focused ranting! Fascists! Hitler! This is all sickening. Is there a sane person in our congress? Is there a hero that can break this deadlock?

Can someone speak up for the 14 million children (19% of the nation's children) who live in poverty and can't afford basic life services like food much less medical care (these are 2008 statistics from Feeding America)? Will a Democrat stand up and sacrifice his pork barrel legislation to the health bill for the children's sake?

Can someone in the Republican party come up with an alternate plan to provide affordable medical care to the 47 million Americans who don't have any healthcare coverage? Or is there no hope? Or do we just tell the poor and the sick to go to the emergency room, knowing that some may never go or only go when they are so sick that major medical intervention is needed. BTW, who do you think pays for this in the end?

And can someone tell the radio talk show hosts that it's too late. America embraced socialism many years ago. Even these bilious windbags will collect social security when they get old, take advantage of Medicare healthcare benefits when they need them, have their special needs children and grandchildren be given appropriate schooling by law, and they will even collect unemployment if they get fired from their jobs (not soon enough!). If these aren't "socialist" welfare programs, then what is?

Can someone speak up and tell us? Can we get this done and do the right thing?

I never thought I would see the day

2010-01-28T21:15:00.004-05:00

...that I would so enjoy the sunsets and sunrises like we have here on the water almost daily. Right here is New Jersey!

...that I would use such wondrous and magical tools like the internet. With applications like Facebook, the net eliminates the boundaries of distance and even time. I have traveled back in time to reconnect with long-lost friends. Friends from grammar school, high school, college, Air Force, my working career that has spanned 36 years. These renewed friendships enrich my life and provide an unique joy to this journey once again.

...that I would be shocked that a man who once posed totally nude in a magazine could get elected to the Senate. He happens to be a Republican. What happened to "family" values that party is so proud of? By the way, there is great irony in this victory as the seat that was filled was Ted Kennedy's, the champion of Healthcare reform.

...that I would be asked to play Andy Rooney in an upcoming company video. OMG, do I look that old? Please don't answer! Now what's this I found in my desk drawer? Carbon paper?

...that I would hear the vitriolic ranting that the conservative and liberal media hosts -- not to mention politicians -- offer to their listeners. Olbermann calls Scott Brown every foul name in the book on air just after Brown is elected. Limbaugh says "Haiti is tailor-made situation for Obama" as if Obama can score points from it. Hannity compares Obama to Hitler, the greatest monster in history of mankind. Does anyone else find this repulsive? Why the hell aren't sponsors bailing out on these guys? Free speech -- yes. Lying and slandering -- no. It's up to us to tune out and then advertisers to bail out fom these guys.

...that I would be disappointed that the seemingly smart and educated people we elect to represent us as Senators and Representatives turn into gang members in Washington, They join one of the two political gangs in Washington and they apparently swear allegiance to the red or the blue and they vote as if they share the same brain. When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way.

...and that I would be amazed that Apple named its new tablet computer the I-Pad. There couldn't have been a woman in the room when they picked that name!

The Old Sun Just Keeps On Rising

2010-01-18T15:09:00.004-05:00

Editors note: I have often wondered what it is like to grow up as a young person these days. So much has changed since I was that age that I can't imagine what pressures people in their twenties and thirties endure now. Consider this economy, the technology, and the changing standards and mores over that past 40 years. Life was so much simpler then.

I received the following submission from one of my most loyal blog readers. It's a review of a decade in her life as she travels through her thirties. She reveals her own challenges, joys and sorrows, sometimes stated obviously and sometimes between the lines. There is much said in this to indicate to me that maybe the moral, technological changes haven't altered growing upp as I have imagined. We all have looked for ourselves through the decades. And I think each of us continues that quest throughout much of our lives.

A Decade of Reflections by Kris

December 31, 2009

It's the the end of a decade. And, as it’s New Year’s Eve as well, it’s fitting to review the year, as well as the last ten years. Oh my, how much my life has changed as I think back to the beginning of the last decade, which was the end of the previous one – December 31^st, 1999.

I was 28 years old and had just gotten out of the Army on December 2, after serving nearly 7 years of Active service, essentially ending my officer’s career that began at West Point, in 1989, which in fact, had been another 10 years earlier. As a quick review of the 1990s, my 20’s had been consumed primarily by Army operations, field exercises, and assignments in Georgia, North Carolina, California, Korea, and Egypt and the beginning of my first long-term relationship.

The decade also marked the receipt of one of the greatest gifts I have had in my life – my first dog, Murphy, a determined, anxiety-filled, but playful schnauzer, who was my most reliable and steadfast companion through most of the 90s and the 00s. In my career in the Army, I had been an ambitious officer, full of persistence and drive, while less in touch with the emotional side of things. I threw myself into succeeding and had done fairly well at that.

Back then, on December 31^st, 1999, I had really no clue what was in store for me in the next decade. It began with a short stint with Siemens manufacturing company in a little town outside of Raleigh, North Carolina. I started in customer service but quickly found myself being called to help on the manufacturing line, which had all for all intents and purposes completely stopped shipping switchgear and circuit breakers due to a huge information technology upgrade.

Soon after a new production manager took over, he hired me to be responsible for one of the largest lines in the plant. This is where, as a supervisor of 40 individuals, I began my transition from an officer, where I had relied mostly on issuing orders and the punitive effects of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, to supervising individuals who cared less about following commands and management who relied less on disciplinary measures. This was a significant shift for me, and I began to create a new view of myself as a leader, one that continues to grow even today.

After my two-year gig with Siemens and primarily due to the horrific events that occurred on September 11, 2001, the FBI started hiring, and in January, 2002, I began New Agent Training at the FBI Academy and officially started my career as a Special Agent, reporting to my first assignment in Los Angeles, CA. I remember receiving my orders during New Agents’ class - my heart literally dropped when I saw “Los Angeles” in bold font on the piece of paper, as I had been hoping to see “Washington DC.” In fact my Dad thought there had been a bad cell phone connection when I told him I was going to LA.

While it had been terribly upsetting to move my entire life from the East Coast to the West Coast and be so far away from family, make terms with the ending of my first long-term relationship that had lasted eight years, and finally start therapy to deal with a great deal of unattended emotions that had been left over after my Mom died in 1989, Los Angeles turned out to be a spiritual reawakening.

I learned meditation, yoga, and fell in love with a beautiful woman and the adventures of being in a wild, untamed California, all of which helped me to find the old philosopher my friends back in high school had known so well. We moved to Topanga, a magical and religious experience in itself, and I put in for and was awarded an assignment as the FBI Weapons of Mass Destruction Coordinator in LA, which ended up to be another blessing.

When I left LA in 2007, I had achieved some of my most proudest life moments, as I had directly impacted the welfare of the communities I had served and had received an LA County official scroll in a ceremony presided by the LA County Public Health Officer and one of the LA Board of Supervisors.

The 00s also marked me coming out to my entire family, including my grandfather (who received the news rather positively), bringing my girlfriend to my brother’s wedding in Richmond, Virginia and meeting my terrific new sister-in law Stacey, and, most notably, my father marrying Rita, who has become a second mom to me. With the marriage, I also inherited a new sister and brother, who I could not imagine loving any more than I do today. But this is not all – I got a promotion as a Supervisory Special Agent with an assignment to the FBI’s Bioterrorism Prevention Program at Headquarters in Washington DC. The new job has brought some amazing experiences – advancing and formulating national policy at the White House, debriefing the Amerithrax (2001 anthrax letters) investigators and developing lessons learned to improve biosecurity at US labs, and conducting bioterrorism response training throughout the world.

In the US, I have trained local responders in Washington DC, Florida, California, Indianapolis, and Texas. On the international front, I have conducted training in the United Kingdom, the Philippines, India, Paraguay, Sweden, Switzerland, and the United Arab Emirates. Additionally, I have traveled to and participated in international and bilateral meetings in Lyon, France and Berlin, Germany.

This decade ends quietly for me. I have dealt with some significant losses in the 00s: my second long-term relationship, a life-changing experience for me, ended after three years; I lost Tosca, an incredibly free-spirited cat during a road trip across the continent; Murphy died in October 2007, only three months after moving into my new home in Takoma Park, Maryland; and on Thanksgiving Day this year, an 11-month relationship with my most recent girlfriend ended.

Once being most proud of my drive to succeed, my life as a “thinker,” and my taking command and providing results to tough projects at work, now I am much more appreciative of my emotional side: I cry more easily, listen more deeply, and love more intensely. With these losses and with all of my life experiences that have led up to me welcoming this New Year of 2010 as a 38-year old woman, I know I have a great deal for which to be grateful. I have two awesome cats, Jasper and Tarzan, both of which are in good health.

I live in the amazingly liberal and community-oriented town of Takoma Park, Maryland, right across from Sligo Creek; the closest I can come to living in place that resembles Topanga. I have the most wonderful friends and family I could ever hope for and have recently become an aunt of cute, adorable, little baby Aubrey (good job Dave and Stacey!). My job is enormously rewarding as I am able to impact emergency response planning both within the United States and internationally, and this gives me a sense I am contributing to a larger life purpose. I am able to enjoy my favorite activities such as meditation, yoga, hiking, and running, on a regular basis.

And, I have traveled to some of the most incredible places in the world and experienced a variety of different cultures and sights while not paying a dime of my own money! With all that said, here’s to hoping 2010 brings good things to my family, friends, and to our planet and its sentient beings; and for me, I really have no clue what’s around the corner.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

2009-12-31T14:10:00.001-05:00

Editors Note: We received this very nice essay from one of our favorite correspondents - Dr Bob Gallagher. Many of us will have our memories jogged a bit by his recollections of his Christmas's past. I think most of us will read this and be able to share a smile -- or even a melancholy moment or two -- reflecting on the magic of being a child in holiday seasons past.

Christmas in Pittsburgh

Christmas has past and today I sat around thinking of the images of the Christmases of my youth. Yes, it was a LONG time ago, but the mind is still sharp enough to bring back memories.

A week or so before Christmas our family would drive the 25 miles to the “big city” (Pittsburgh) to take in the Christmas sights. All the department stores would convert their outside display windows into scenes of the season, with electric trains in action, snowy villages and Santa’s workshop showing elves hard at work making Christmas toys.

The sidewalks were crowded with shoppers on their way to find that perfect gift. On every corner would be a young boy with his stack of newspapers for sale. The hustle and bustle of the big city always put us in the Christmas mood.

When I was about eleven or twelve and in the Boy Scouts, we sold Christmas trees as a money making project. It had snowed, heavily, and we were able to just stick the trees into the snow to make our own forest. Trees 6’ and under went for 50 cents and those taller ones were 75 cents. Of course, the man who had the tree sales around the corner, wasn’t happy since he charged $1 per tree.

At our house, we bought our tree and then left it on the back porch for Santa to put up and decorate. On Christmas morning it was such a sight to come down stairs and see the tree and Santa’s gifts to us on display under the tree. I remember that one year he put balloons in the tree as additional decorations.

One of the gifts I always remember was a dart game. You loaded three or four darts into a box that had a reverse periscope attached to it and a lever to release the darts. You stood over the dart board, which was a map of Tokyo, and let those bombs go ! By now, you can figure how old I am.

Another tradition at our house was that after opening all the gifts, my mom and dad would take a very long nap. It wasn’t until later, when I became part of the midnight visit from Santa, for my sister, that I discovered the reason for this traditional “family sleep time”. It seems that after doing all the “Santa” thing at our house, my parents went next door to help with our neighbor’s tree. Their Christmas tradition consisted of starting to drink after dinner and by the time their kids were in bed, the neighbors were pretty much wasted. If it wasn’t for my parents, there wouldn’t have been much of a Christmas next door. Hence the Christmas nap time at our house.

Well, those are some of the Christmas memories I always think about from my childhood. I hope you can sit back and let the memories of your youth pass through your mind and bring a smile to your face.

So, Merry Christmas, even though it’s late.

Bob Gallagher

The Decade Concludes with Jack Bauer vs Santa!

2009-12-24T12:24:00.004-05:00

Dear Brouhaha readers;

My Christmas wish for you: despite the frantic pace and anxiety the season of peace brings, I hope you can take 5 minutes to reflect on how far you've come, and embrace the moments of peace you can hopefully find now, and renew your hope for the coming decade.

The past decade flew by. I was just getting used to it and it's gone already. Having seen a decade or two (ahem), I think this past one has offered the worst of times and yet the best of times. At least in my memory.

I just read somewhere that this decade has had fewer natural disasters than the previous one, for instance. Hard to believe calling to mind the tragic tsunamis, devastating earthquakes, horrific hurricanes that drowned and demolished major cities. Not to mention worldwide terrorist attacks and ongoing genocides. For Pete's sake, we've been at war for 8 years of the decade now with no end in sight. Not uplifting events.

But what is uplifting is that this nation has actually elected a black man as President. I was a young child growing up in the 50's. In my lifetime African Americans couldn't use the same bathrooms as whites, the Ku Klux Klan still killed blacks and the whites who supported them with impunity, and basic human rights were intentionally denied to so many.

So Obama's election is a major step forward in recognizing and honoring the uniqueness and basic equality of humankind. Don't unfurl the banner that says "Mission Accomplished" yet because the road ahead for human rights is still long. But this was a major victory for us all, no matter what kind of president he is. I think he will be a good one in that arena as well.

As King Arthur said, this was "one brief shining moment" during a decade when so much hatred was exposed in the name of radical religious fanatics. But, oh, how that moment shines.

But that is not the only thing to cheer about from this past decade. Science and technology gave us wonderful and affordable tools to the common man or woman. Almost any of us can experience and participate in art, photography, music and communication in ways no one could even imagined ten years ago. It makes our lives so much richer! I know the world has become much smaller and my network of fellow travelers/friends on this journey is now worldwide and growing thanks to the miracle of the Internet. Thanks Al Gore! :-)

What can we expect and hope for in the next decade? It looks like we'll make major medical advances because of projects like the Human Genome research will begin to yield results. Will we finally see the end of cancer as we know it now? I think this would be humankind's next great accomplishment. We all know someone who is suffering from cancer or has shuffled off our globe at an early age from the deadly killer. We need to pop open a can of whoop-ass on that bad boy. Also, a little prayer might help as well.

Now for Something Completely Different

In the most bizarre of throwdowns, we've found this wonderful little video on YouTube. It's the classic battle of evil vs. good in a mashup of everyone's favorite rogue agent vs the Jolly Old Elf, himself. Can you guess who wins?

Happy New Year!

The Christmas Letter You Never Got

2009-12-13T20:33:00.008-05:00

Editor's Note: At one time or another we've all received the perfect holiday letter from the perfect family. You know the one. Everything is beautiful. The kids are all-star players and honor roll students, the parents are climbing career ladders at breakneck speed, the new custom built house has plenty of room if you want to visit, and the new shore house is just perfect. And in between all the volunteer work at the soup kitchen, not to mention the golf and tennis club charity balls, they want to reach out to you -- the little people they once knew.

Yes, now they reach down to you personally -- even though it's obvious that they send the same letter to everyone. It's not even signed in real ink -- just a "love you -- the [family surname only]". You can't even tell who composed the damn letter so you would know who to blame.

Well, here is Brouhaha's answer to the perfect year end letter. If your life isn't all it should be, just copy this letter to send -- just fill in the names as appropriate.

Hello everyone! Kisses and hugs to you all! Our family had another really great year and I want to share with you just how wonderful our lives are.

If you are reading this family update, it's probably because we were very close with one at one point in our lives but either due to the shallowness of our previous relationship OR our change in social status, we have lost touch. Or maybe you are a family member that no one in the family talks to very often. Whatever! Time to catch up with the our family news!

Not that "things" are the most important things in life, but we are proudest moment in 2009 was when the bank renegotiated our mortgage on our shore house. Thank goodness! I don't know what we would have done this summer! It can get a little warm in Short Hills and you know how crowded the regular beaches get that time of year. Plus can you imagine the pain of having to travel that much farther to the summer country and pool club? Lord-ee me!

Hey, but I still have a bluebird on my shoulder!

Our daughter, Trudy, has just met a wonderful man! As you know she is a real go-getter! She is a management trainee at Hooters and when there was a big golf tournament in town, she met a dashing young man. He's a professional golfer known world-wide, according to her. But you know how modest she is -- she won't tell us who it is! But when the time is right, Trudy says, everyone will know about them! We are very excited for her and hope that wedding bells might be in the future!

As for our son, Butch, is really doing very well in high school. He is the quarterback of the team and has a new girlfriend every week. He has a part-time job selling little boxes of Chicklets gum packs after school and, gosh darn it, it's a real money maker. Wow, are we surprised! He has more money to spend than we do, it's really amazing! But as you know, Butch is a natural salesman with a great personality and wonderful smile. He is saving up to buy a fancy SUV and is on track to earn it in early next year.

By the way, my face lift went so well I've included a photo of how I look now. Don't be jealous, now! All Ralphie can say is "wow, you look like a 25-year-old again." Such a big flirt, eh?

Not everything is picture-perfect though. I want my America back!

I know it's an "Obama-nation" now but enough is enough. We are becoming a socialist nation in the hands of these liberal do-gooding bleeding-hearts! Just when and Ralphie and I are about to start collecting social security and go on medicare (who can afford health insurance - tee hee). Obama and his friends are trying to find new ways into our private lives to tax us. I say just give me my social security check, medicare and medicaid payments and keep big government out of our lives! We wish Ronald Reagan were alive so he could kick the bejabbers out of these do-gooders! Next thing you know, they'll want to take the food stamps away from grandma and grandpa!

That's it for this year! Zip-pee-dee do-dah! Have a happy new decade! Your friends or relatives forever, love you, -- the family.

Leaving the Danger Zone Behind

2009-11-24T13:09:00.008-05:00

John and I became friends in the 4th grade of St Matthews Catholic Grammar school in 1955. Our friendship grew because we shared a mutual love of airplanes, of fighter pilots and their stories of derring-do. We often spoke of the magic of manned flight, of the allure of the open sky, or of the types of airplanes we had seen flying in the air space around New York City. Of anything aeronautical. Both of us were hardly daredevil kids, but we shared daredevil dreams of flying P-51 Mustangs of F4U Hellcats. We shared a romance with the wild blue yonder.

In school we drew pictures of aircraft until the nuns slapped our hands. We built plastic WWII model airplanes when we could scrape a little money together, painted them up and admired them. We created airplanes from paper and again, got in trouble with the nuns.

We assembled and flew balsa wood airplanes that cost 10 cents at Herman's Gyp Joint and Sweet Shop. We mended them with tape when they splintered. And sailed and crashed them until they would fly no more. In later years, we flew gas engine aircraft in never ending circles on the end of a tether.

We remained close friends throughout high school and college. The Vietnam war split us up as he joined the Army and I the Air Force. Then marriage came along, kids, and true to our conservative natures, we both found jobs with major insurance companies.

We remained friends for more 50 years. Our lives diverged but always intersected again and again, many times if you don't mind me being redundant. We shared a lifetime of wondrous joys and great sorrows during these years, and always stayed in touch throughout. We could tell you some stories. But long story mercifully shortened, I am happy to say that John did fulfill his childhood dream of flying when he earned a pilot's license. I became an avid birdwatcher.

These last 5 years have not been kind to John, his health failing over that time. He would rally and appear to be headed in he right direction when another health issue would emerge to knock him down again. This last year has been particularly harsh. The last time I spoke with him 3 weeks ago, I noted a resignation in his voice that I had not heard before. He expressed concern for his wonderful wife who supported and endured with him every step of the way. But he was just tired. His decline mercifully ended last week when he passed away.

I think John would enjoy the following video as tribute to our mutual childhood dreams and our life-long friendship. This one's for you, Maverick. You are out of the danger zone now. God speed.

Now for Something Completely Different

2009-11-07T10:04:00.003-05:00

Something struck me about this.

faltjahr 2010 from yohann on Vimeo.

The Summer of 65

2009-11-06T12:54:00.001-05:00

A long time ago, I met a girl in my high school years who became the object of my first serious crush. Being young and unsure of myself, I let her go without revealing my "true" feelings about her. That's always been a regret. I have never forgotten her and you can imagine that I was very happy to find her somewhat accidentally 35 years later on the internet. A miracle of sorts in itself. We reconnected via email.

Her life and mine has taken many a twist and turn over that time, but I found that we still had much in common after so much time. Somewhat surprising but not really. More than I knew than, we shared a lot in common in that brief time and in our lives to follow.

This story does not end badly where someone falls in love with a 17-year-old who no longer exists and runs off leaving current life and family, I have heard of such stories. There is more than a little something about capturing your youth through your memories of days long gone.

This is a story about realistically connecting to days gone by in a life-enhancing way. She helped me through a very difficult period in my life and helped introduce me to my new life -- a very happy one.

One of my favorite all time songs that bring her to mind whenever I hear it. God bless her and her family and may He keep her in His bosom.

Chad and Jeremy

Little Miracles

2009-10-25T10:54:00.000-04:00

Miracles occur every day and all around us. They are so commonplace that I think we don’t even stop to notice them. I recently was inspired to write about a few of those that I have seen in my lifetime because I was motivated by the recent canonization of one Fr. Damien. In doing a little research of the good Father (Joseph de Veuster), I stumbled upon his story and that uncovered another little "miracle" for me. That it took 120 years for the church to recognize this man!

Damien was a Belgian missionary priest who left his homeland forever to minister to the Hawaiian Islands natives. Not bad duty at all. If you are going to save the heathens, then why not save them in a place like Hawaii? This was in 1863. He spent the next 10 years building churches with his own hands and, no doubt, saving scores of pagan babies.

On 10 May, 1873, Father Damien, at his own request, went to Molokai Island where the Government kept segregated all persons afflicted with the loathsome disease of leprosy. There were then 600 lepers. For a long time, Father Damien was the only one to bring them the help they so greatly needed. He not only administered the consolations of religion, but also rendered them such little medical service and bodily comforts as were within his power. He dressed their ulcers, helped them erect their cottages, and went so far as to dig their graves and make their coffins. After twelve years of this heroic service he discovered in himself the first symptoms of the disease. This was in 1885. He nevertheless continued his charitable ministrations, being assisted at this period by two other priests and two lay brothers. On 28 March, 1889, Father Damien became helpless and passed away shortly after, closing his fifteenth year in the service of the lepers.

Damien spent a third of his life with lepers who, prior to his arrival and shunned by society, and lived in miserable conditions. Under his leadership, basic laws were enforced, shacks became painted houses, working farms were organized and schools were erected. At his own request, and that of the lepers, Father Damien remained on Molokai. President Obama recently praised Damien who “gave voice to the voiceless” and dignity to the sick.”

The Catholic Church does nothing quickly or often logically. Damien was sainted over 120 years after his death based on the evidence of two separate events that occured over one hundred years apart and half a world distant. The miracles, in his case, were that two women suffering hideous illnesses would pray to him, a non-sainted priest. One had a horrible intestinal disease and the other was growing fist-sized tumors and had lung cancer. Both were inexplicably cured after interceding with Fr. Damien through prayer. Whether Damien had anything to do with the cures is really irrelevant. I submit that he earned his sainthood here on earth. It's a shame that it takes so long for his church to recognize it as well.

It’s a another miracle in itself that there are people among us like us. Those that give up everything for what appears to be nothing in it for them or worse. Pat Tillman comes to mind. Mother Teresa. Mohandas Ghandi. Jack Bauer. Well, maybe not Jack.

But there are so many more that we never hear of, or hear of just for a moment in time. On January 30, 1994, Aris Espinosa, a 13-year-old boy from Lanao del Norte, Philippines, did something for his friends. A grenade on the ground was about to explode near the children, Aris quickly jumped and covered the grenade with his own body. The children were saved by the courageous and unselfish act.

The American Dream and MSgt Vandy

2009-09-15T18:22:00.005-04:00

In early 1969, this was my American Dream come true. My 1966 Mustang Convertible. I was 23 when I bought it. I think I paid $1400 for it. It wasn't new but it was brand new to me!

I thought it was so cool to have a convertible. I fantasized that all the girls would would want to ride in it. That dream abruptly ended as I discovered that although all the girls admired the car, none of them really liked to ride in it when the top was down! Those were the days of the big hair just so.

When I bought the car, I was brand new Air Force Lieutenant stationed in Little Rock, Arkansas. As green as could be. Lucky for me, wise old Master Sergeant Vandy took me under his wing and went car shopping with me. Back in the day, wise veteran sergeants often took us wet-behind-the-ears under their wings. And so it was with Vandy and me. Long story shortened, Vandy saved me from the Arkansas car salesmen more than once, and I ended up with a fair deal on the Mustang I wanted. I hope he is well and resting peacefully somewhere.

So, when my 23-year-old daughter was shopping for her first car purchase, and in the spirit of Sgt Vandy, my wife and I went with her. Not really expecting any shenanigans in this day and age, we went as interested observers rather than guardian angels.

It turned out that our attendance didn’t stop the dealership from employing some pretty slimy sales maneuvers, resulting in somewhat of a scene at the end of a long evening. In a carefully constructed sales practice, they did not disclose the true cost of the car behind the monthly payments numbers they presented.

When we pressed for more detail at total price at any point, the salesman was evasive, kept going back to the "monthly payment." Even when negotiating the price down, they would simply come back with a lower monthly payment-- not a new bottom line. After a couple of hours, we all agreed on a price. But as it turned out, not the same price.

This only became obvious when we finally saw the written contract. And it was the last document shown to us, after many other documents were presented. The total was almost $4,000 more than what we thought we were paying!

In the spirit of the old Sarge, my wife and I stepped up to the plate. Before we were done that evening, we had raised quite a ruckus, attracting the attention of several members of the dealership team. The price was readjusted and they made concessions. At one point both Rita and I told them the deal was dead and we were leaving. It was then that Meredith interceded for "private family moment." She really liked the car and wanted it. She could more than afford the monthly payment. So we settled on it to close the deal.

There was one special moment during that evening. At one point, I thought the deal was solid and announced I was going to go on home while the girls finished the final paperwork. The salesman gave me a look that told me I ought to stay for the entire negotiation. I look back at that as a "Vandy" moment and the "tell" that maybe this deal wasn't done. Tired as we were, we stayed.

I sincerely thanked the salesman as we were leaving for that moment, although he played his part well in the sales process, including "mis-remembering" some of the things he told us.

Is there a point to this story? Maybe two points. Although things have changed so much in the past 40 years, the art of the sale has not. Let the buyer always be aware. Be Vandy for your young adult children when they make major life choices.

And secondly, there is a bit of the spirit of Sergeant Vandy in all of us, even in the well-practiced salesman who tipped us off to stay -- even though it almost cost him the deal.

Five Star Dining in the City!

2009-08-28T21:33:00.029-04:00

Also baseball.

Phil and I had the great pleasure to be the dining guests of my brother-in-law John and his son Luke in NYC recently. We ate at the Legends Suite Club in the Bronx and what an experience it was! Photos won't do this place any justice.

When we first arrived, we were escorted to our comfortable outdoor overstuffed seats in this park-like setting. The seats were large and comfy. On the way to our seats we passed open unguarded open barrels of soft drinks and giants tubs of candy bars and other treats. Grab as much as you liked. We did.

We sat down to watch batting practice. It was then I noticed a young man -- obviously another type of server here -- with an electronic tablet. He was taking orders from the other "guests" around us for bit more standard ballpark fare. I say "standard" but things like sushi were on this menu. There was also pizza, popcorn, ice cream, nachos w/cheese, pretzels etc. After you placed your order (never leaving your seat) food runners brought it out to us. Amazing! I imagined I wanted a pretzel. Two minutes later a pretzel was delivered to me by a panting food runner.

But after a bit, we realized that if this went on much longer, we'd never be able go to the sit down dinner awaiting us inside out of the heat of the day. Yes, there was a special dining room back inside the stadium. And we walked back past the tubs of free food to eat more food inside a grand dining room.

Although it was buffet style, each table still had its own server awaiting our instructions to fetch us whatever liquid refreshment we desired. With the exception of alcohol, all drinks were complimentary. And the buffet tables were incredible, much better than anything I have ever seen on Mothers Day anywhere. There was a Mediterranean food table, a Tex-Mex table, a Steak/Prime Rob/Rib setup. A Polish table. A fish table. A exotic salad table. A dessert table. There were chefs carving the meat, sushi chefs preparing their fare. Servers and table cleaners and moe chefs were everywhere Wow. There were even hot dogs and kraut (which my young nephew chose). Phil, my stepson, went for the duck (yes, duck), ribs, lamb and prime rib all on the same plate.

This is what that looked like.

And this was just his first plate of several for Phil. I tried to be more reasonable in my approach so I chose an anchovy salad, a shrimp enchilada and some sushi. I wanted to save room for more of the treats outside. Although there was dessert inside as well. This was truly a bacchanalian feast unto itself. One would have not been surprised to the the Ghost of Christmas Present carving the beef. There was just excess to the nth degree. We finished our dinner. And if we wanted to come back in an hour and be re-seated to have a second or third dinner, I'm sure we could have.

Back to our seats. The order takers and runners were still circumspect in their duties and eager to feed us and remained so that entire game. Under our chairs piled up nacho boxes, pizza boxes, sushi plates, sausage and pepper remains and various type of ice cream wrappers and half empty containers of drinks or all types. We were truly treated like royalty and we acted like we hadn't eaten in a year!

Yes, there was a game in between all the food but it almost seemed secondary to the experience. I think the Yankees lost.

And so it goes...

2009-08-07T21:38:00.001-04:00

It happens all the time. All over the world. People shuffle off this mortal coil. I walked by a television this morning at work and noticed the bright, age-free-but-not-old, newswoman clone that hosts so many of the daytime news programs. She sported a bright, beautiful smile for us average folks out here. However, the news crawl below her read "Over 600 people have died in India in floods..."

Something is wrong here. Have we become so jaded and impervious to death in large numbers that reports like that have no impact on us? Can we no longer intellectually process the impact these mass tragedies have? It's no wonder that there are people who don't believe the Holocaust occured. Who can imagine 10 million people murdered?

A tragedy occurred in our town this past week. A 19 year old girl was killed in a car accident in a kind of freakish way. She was sitting in the back seat behind the driver. He lost control of the car on a wet, country road and it skidded sideways into a utility pole. The other three people in the car exited under their own power. The girl, whose fate was decided by the seat she chose in the car earlier that night, was mortally injured.

This kind of event attracts everyone's attention, especially parents with teenagers. And even more especially when the girl is a friend of your daughter's.

Words can't express the feelings I went through all at once. Not that any of these events ever make any sense, this one seems to make even less sense and more random than usual.. She was sitting in the backseat. There were four passengers. Three exited the car under their own power. She was hopelessly injured and she only survived for a short time. It was 3 a.m. on a dark back road when the car spun out of control, the rear door striking a utility pole. The driver is only 20 years old and it's not clear whether he had been drinking or not, although the police did charge him. And it's only safe to say that he lost control of the car. If tox screens show he had any alcohol in his system at all, because he was underage, he will serve time in jail. This makes this tragedy even more tragic -- if that's the case.

Of course the collateral damage from the accident is immeasurable. The parents of the victim and the driver now find their lives changed in previously unimaginable ways.

As for myself, I am just tired trying to figure out why these things happen, and what parents can do to help prevent them. Having raised four people through a teenage years, we have survived relatively unscathed. But we were just lucky. The facts are that children must grow into adults and there are times when they do things that are unsafe, unwise and sometimes downright stupid. Some of the same things we did growing up. I think, and there are plenty of modern parents who disagree with me, that parents should never condone underage "safe" drinking. In my little mind, our late teens are already in jeopardy enough by allowing them to drive at 16 and 17. Can't we wait until 21 to add drinking -- another risk factor -- into the mix?

Back to my original point of our anesthetic view of the death in large numbers -- I think that we may be just employing a self defense mechanism to shield the true nature of such a large number of lives lost in tragedy. The horror of those events can only be truly appreciated by examining each life lost one at a time. It's only then we can even begin to imagine the weight of the loss.

And so it goes...peace, out.

.

Will It Float?

2009-07-27T16:49:00.007-04:00

I wanted to do a column on "Will It Float?" subject. But first some explanation. I am not stealing Letterman's lame idea of dropping random items in a giant bowl of water! My idea is more sophisticated.

Some of you hipsters might know there is a running internet You Tube series called "Will It Blend?" For the rest of you that knows not, the joke is that a nerdy middle aged guy named Tom Dickson tries to "blend" all sorts of items in a high-powered blender. He does this on video, of course.

Some of the items that he attempts to blend include pork and beans (in the can, of course), marbles, Bic lighters, glow sticks, a WII controller, and most famously, a working iPhone. His investigations to find definitive scientific answers about what blends defies reason, of course. Tom may have gotten the idea from Dan Akroyd's "Bass-o-matic" advertisement from the 1st season of SNL. Guess what he blends in that commercial?

Just to bring everyone onto the same playing field, I've included one of Tom Dickson's videos.

Now, my take on this is to create a "Will It Float?" series. Why you ask? Because I can't believe some of the flotsam and jetsam that washes up on our beach. The funny thing is some of this stuff really doesn't look like it can float. Like giant truck tires, huge metal bars, very large pieces of everything you can imagine.

But here's the really funny thing. Invariably, the next day that everything that was there yesterday is gone! Disappeared! But the stuff has been replaced with a new assortment! It's almost like God has a truck tire day one day, and a Busch beer keg day the next, and then a giant unrecognizable wood day! The beach is always different.

I took my camera to the beach this afternoon and hoped the giant tire that was there yesterday would still be there. I wanted to photo it with the clever caption "Will It Float?" under it. It doesn't look like it should. And then maybe shoot photos everyday of things that appear to be unlikely floaters on the beach.

Alas, no tire today. In fact, the beach was pretty dang clean. God must have declared a "clean the beach" day. Kills my "will it float joke" and series.

Instead there was this. A fisherman with a very large Bluefish. Come to think of it, this fish is definitely a floater now.

Who Was the Man in the Mirror?

2009-07-07T18:37:00.001-04:00

How can the death of Michael Jackson become such a focus for so many? So many others have died having lived much more noblely and were more worthy of our interest and sympathy. Farrah Fawcett, for one, fought all the way out. Her celebrity pales in comparison to MJs. His courage pales in light of hers. Michael just "eased on" down a ruinous road. So why all the uproar about Michael?

Was it that he dazzled— really dazzled — us as a performing artist like no one else ever did?

Was it that he was such a freak show — especially for the past 25 years?

Did his life peak too early in 1983 with the release of the music video “Thriller?”

Was the low point reached during the trial for child molestration?

Was it that we could see ourselves in his brilliance?

Or did we recognize his failures all too well?

Was he a hollow man in the end ?

Has he lived in a drug-dream all his life?

Did he leave here with unfulfilled dreams?

Did his life intentionally parallel that of Elvis – the King of Rock and Roll? Even to go as far as to marry Elvis' daughter?

Was he anorexic? Did he really have a skin disease? Was he in chronic pain all the time?

Does anyone really pity the Jackson family? Does Michael, himself, deserve our pity?

Did Michael ever really grow up?

What did Michael see in the mirror? What did he see?

I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways
And no message could have been any clearer
If you wanna make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and then make a change

Views From Our Backyard

2009-06-16T19:18:00.009-04:00

The adventure begins. It's moving day and some 12 hours after we started we are in. There are boxes aplenty everywhere but we are now sitting on the balcony during the evening. We've moved from the Princeton, NJ area to the Port Monmouth, NJ area.

Our back yard is a dune and beyond that is the New York Harbor. One of the striking features of we can plainly see across the water is the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. Pardon me for not taking this photo, but my camera equipment is buried in the piles of boxes somewhere. This is the view from our balcony.

Giovanni da Verrazano (c.1480–1527) was an Italian navigator in the service of France. He was the first European to enter New York Bay in 1524. The bridge itself is the 2nd longest suspension bridge in the world. It spans "The Narrows" that separate upper NY Harbor from the Gateway and connects Staten Island from Brooklyn.

Fun fact: Rita and I once bicycled across the bridge!

Our Backyard

2009-05-27T21:11:00.006-04:00

It's been quite some time since I've posted and this is the reason why. We're renting a home on the beach. For a year! The photo above is a view of our boardwalk backyard. It's Port Monmouth, NJ and that's the New York Harbor bay. Looking a bit to right, I can see the NY skyline. The Gateway National Park is about 5 miles behind us as I took this photo.

Rita and I are looking at this as a "life list" dream come true. We're selling our house in Central Jersey (although nowadays its never sold until the closing day), and we are going to rent a townhouse right on the beach. It's something we could never afford to buy, even in this economy, but is very rentable because of the depression we are in. We'll have 4 bedrooms, so there will be room for everyone!

This will be part "A" of our retirement plan. We do hope to end up farther south eventually. But for now, it's sunning on the beach, fishing on the shore, boating on the bay, sitting on the deck with a cold beverage watching the shore birds and ships passing by and maybe a little bicycling on Sandy Hook. And there is a ferry about a half a mile away directly to Manhattan. Sounds like heaven to me!

Right now though we are still going through a grueling sales process. We were on the market for about 60 days and had a lot of lookers. Only two bidders though. We ended up with a satisfactory sales price, and a short closing date in the middle of June. The home inspection was scary, but we emerged from that OK as well. There is still much to do (we've been packing boxes on weekends) but we have a pretty good jump on that as well.

I have a lot of stories about the home sales process, and not many are good for the seller. But a little pain will lead to a lot of gain!

My intention is to post daily once we move the shore. Obviously, there will be shorter postings but I think there may be lots to write about our experiences there.

The Great Colonoscopy Sweepstakes? Can the End Be Near?

2009-04-23T07:00:00.004-04:00

Some mighty peculiar things are going on out there. Have you noticed? I don't know if its the economy, global warming, the democrats, the pirates or even the republicans, it is downright crazy. For instance:

Sunset on the Ocean in New Jersey? Seemingly impossible, I snapped this photo at Sunset Beach in Cape May, NJ. Yes, that's the ocean. The sunken concrete ship can be seen in the water. One of the few places on the east coast where you can see the sun set on the ocean.

The CBS Colonoscopy Sweepstakes

You probably think I made this colonoscopy thing up. Really, what kind of crazy, sick people would come up a major sweepstakes where the first prize is a colonoscopy?? Probably the same funsters who came up with the employee of the month grand prize of lunch with the company executives. That's a sure bet to drive performance down in most organizations.

As for the Great Colonoscopy Sweepstakes, they're real and they're spectacular! Go to "CBS Cares." for details and to enter. But there's more (only if you act NOW!).

In addition to the free colonoscopy, CBS will fly you to New York City and put you and one guest up in a fancy hotel for 3 nights. Of course, one of those nights you'll be parked in a beautiful bathroom experiencing the joy of "colon blow" laxative. I speak from personal experience. After 24 hours of enduring this cleansing, you'll be wondering why you brought your best friend/date/spouse with you to share in this adventure, considering the racket you've been causing in the bathroom. Not to mention you'll have spent most of the first day in your glamorous NYC hotel, never wandering too far from the toilet.

You'll emerge from this purifying experience a better person -- and you may even have lost a few pounds! Not just from the colon blow, but you haven't eaten anything for two days now. You'll not allowed. Oh, I guess that means you won't be visiting any of the hundreds of great NYC restaurants the first day and a half or so.

Soon, hopefully, on day 2, after checking in with a renowned NYC gastro doctor, and completing a few brief hours of paperwork and preparation for the procedure, you'll be stretched out on a table with what looks like a garden hose rammed up your butt.

The "whole" event will be "simulcast" on a monitor near you (and hopefully NOT over the internet). Anything that was hiding in there is then removed by a super suction thing, which I could plainly hear even in my half awake condition. Within a half hour or so, they will have had enough of this and be done with you. Out to the recovery room you'll go.

After somewhat of a wobbly wakeup and dress up, you (and your guest if they are still with you) will finally be on your own to enjoy a bite of the Big Apple . Assuming there was good news from the test.

BTW, I signed up for the drawing. Ne'er having won anything of significance my entire life, I feel this could be the one.

More signs of the times: Walking the dog one morning recently, I noticed the newspaper delivery guy driving through the neighborhood. What was so unusual about that? He was flinging newspapers out the window of a late model BMW.

That's the ticket: One of the more active seminar/training communications shops in the nation is offering free airfare to fly to its upcoming 2-day seminar to make it "easier on your corporate budgets." We need to show some love to our downtrodden

On the Bone: A new restaurant is opening in Princeton on Route 1. At least I think it is a restaurant. Not sure what kind of clientele will be attracted by this uniquely named establishment. Fred Flintstone types? Canines? Morally defunct persons of questionable character? Also, I wonder what's on the kids' menu?

Letter to Aubrey

2009-04-06T22:26:00.007-04:00

Hey there! You are a day old in this photo and it's about time Grandpa gave you a public hearty Blog welcome to Richmond, Virginia, USA, Earth. Yes, I know you've been around for several months now, but I think you'll agree it is a lot different out here!

You probably noticed it's much colder and louder and -- oh-- those lights! Who turned on all these lights? Ouch.

And I'll bet you a binky that the cafeteria service was a lot more convenient in your last location. There was even free home delivery at Mom's Restaurant. But now you have to work to get your milk on.

Aubrey, I hate to tell you but there is a lot more that's different out here. Some of it is good, some of it isn't too swell. In fact, dear granddaughter, some of it is downright nasty.

But all in all, I think you'll enjoy the trip. I know I have.

OK, its not all going to be the cream of the milk, if you know what I mean. But. you'll find that there is lots to play with and you'll be able to experience some of the modern marvels soon enough. Something called the "internet" and something else called "miniaturization" has led to all sorts of marvels, I wonder what your Dad's I-phone will look like when you are a teenager. Whatever it looks like or can do, you won't even be amazed like we are now. You will grow up hand-in-hand with tech and you won't know life without it.

So much has changed since Grandpa took his first trip to the world, it makes my head spin. I can't begin to tell you, and you wouldn't believe, what life was like when I grew up. Someday, when you can pay attention better, Grandpa will regale you many old time stories such as "Did you know we had to walk 12 feet to change the channel on the TV?" Yes, life was harder then.

But there are some things that have changed from when I grew up that Grandpa thinks aren't so good. For instance, you'll have to make decisions about some very serious things at a very early age. Grandpa never found out about most of that stuff until he went to college! Really. College! I'll tell you about some of those escapades later when Mommy and Daddy aren't around. As for you, I hope when you are faced with those choices, you'll draw upon the values your Mom and Dad teach you over the next few years and do the right thing.

Oh, just reminded myself to tell you later. Aubrey, sweetheart, the North did win the war ... no matter what your Mommy tells you! :-)

What's It Like to be a Grandpa?

Many people have asked me this question and I haven't found the right answer to this question yet. More than anything, when I try to express an answer, nothing comes out.

I guess that's because there is no good answer. I feel a little bit of everything. The most overpowering emotion was how much joy I felt when I say Aubrey for the first time. Another moment was when Rita said to me that "the replacements are here." Yikes, what a feeling of mortality that brings on. Mos def, I have entered a new stage of life which will be a really great stage. I look forward greatly to seeing Aubrey grow, and for me to retire, to do more things that I like to do, to enjoy a simpler life.

And for doing some new things, I don't know what those things are yet. We'll see what comes around the bend.

Snowbound and the Six Hundred

2009-03-09T20:37:00.004-04:00

My daughter-in-law asked me how I feel about being a Grandfather-to-be. I am not sure, uneasily. I had not thought about the prospect in that way exactly. Of course, I am thrilled, excited, joyful, fearful, cautious, and even saddened in a way. But I could not verbalize these feelings. I am saddened because a grandmom and a grandpa won't be here to meet their first grandchild.

That same weekend, 10 inches of snow hit Richmond, Virginia. It virtually closed down the town. This amount of snow there was very unusual. See the photo taken out my son's door.

The Confederates took it all in stride though. Since the neighborhood streets weren't getting plowed anyway, all the kids got their sleds and saucers out and since the street is quite hilly, formed quite a nice sledding run down the road. The adults came out as well and they soon were helping the kids build a more elaborate run out of a steep driveway onto a banked, snowpacked sled run that gave the kids some extra speed down the hill.

Then the neighbors brought out a portable firepit, set it down in the road next to the run, and surrounded it with lawn chairs. We didn't stay but I'll bet something good was cooking before long and there was hot chocolate and a Bud or two enjoyed as the kids sped down the hill/road. These folks know how to have a good time. Just don't mention the war.

During that same weekend I found myself in a sandwich shop with my 35 yr old son, Dave. Flashback: I recalled a similar scene just 4 or 5 years earlier in a very similar setting. My father and I would have Saturday lunch on many a weekend in Edison before he passed away. The routine was always the same.

Dad and I used to go to a pizza shop on a Saturday at about 11:00 in the morning often arriving before it opened. He liked to eat early. In fact, he liked to do everything early. I recall that once he showed up at 10 a.m. for an 1 p.m. barbeque at my house. We were still in pee jays, hadn't even started to clean up the house for the festivities.

Well, back to our pizza lunches, we would invariably be the first people at the shop. We'd saunter in to order a couple of slices and some sodas. I always hated the way my father spoke to the shopkeepers. His food order always sounded like a demand and even somewhat accusatory. "Are these real mashed potatoes?" he always asked the waitress in the diner.

It occurs to me that I have become him at least to some extent. Both Meredith and Kristine -- not to mention Rita -- have said I speak rudely to the restaurant help. When they point it out, I see they are right. I am turning into Dad in some strange ways. And I don't even mean to be that way.

Your Assignment Today: Compare and Contrast

Fortune 500 Company Town Hall

My Translation of an actual Town Hall I Heard on the Net

We must move forward now,

Even knowing what's facing us.

Our stock is worth less than 10% of what is was a year ago

We owe the government billions in loans

But we still and always will owe our best effort to our customers and to our families and to ourselves.

We will face challenges at every turn,but we will do our utmost to meet each one.

We will all be proud of that.

It's true that not all of us will make it to the other side of this journey,

but each of us will know we gave our best

when our customers and company needed us the most.

Charge of the Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'

Was there a man dismay'd ?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Some one had blunder'd:

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

There Are Still Only Two Possible Outcomes

2009-02-19T21:13:00.009-05:00

It's 1971 and I am sick with a very bad cough. So at the urging of my wife, I visit the New Cumberland Army Depot Medical Dispensary. I am stationed here. I am an Air Force Recruiter here in eastern Pennsylvania.

The dispensary is small, as is the Army Depot, and there is only one doctor here during weekday hours. He is Dr. Wojewicz. He looks to be about 80 years old (to these 23 old eyes). Too old to be practicing medicine I think. And he speaks with a heavy eastern European accent. It crosses my mind that this doctor may have participated in WWII. It also crosses my mind that he could have been on either side.

My concerns are put to rest by the kindly doctor as he asks me "What is you here for?" I explain this brutal cough, and even demonstrate it for him. He listens to my chest, checks my throat, thumps me on the back and says: "you pretty well to me." Embarassed, I hack furiously, hoping some sputum will appear to vindicate my visit to sick call. I don't want to be known as a "goldbrick." But nothing comes up or out. Even my cough is kinda prissy.

The good doctor says: "Okay, G.I. You return to duty." He has obviously deduced I am a malingerer.

"What if I keep coughing?" asks I.

"Only two outcomes," he says, then he winks. "You will either get better, or you will die." He then hands me a bottle of green cough syrup, which is known to servicemen the world over as G.I. Gin.

Ed. Note: G.I. Gin was a term used for Army cough medicine, a combination of 50% grain alcohol, juniper berry flavoring and water and syrup. Soldiers would show up at sick call just to get a bottle of this potent cough suppressant.

Now it's 2009. I had both knees replaced 4 years ago last November. It's a pretty intense experience and I still have to take the prescription drug - Celebrex -- once a day to control inflammation. I have to call for renewal every three months My doctor is a very young, bright, thorough and intensely competent internist from India. I call the doctors office and leave a message for a renewal. I get a call the next day from a nurse who says that the doctor wants me to take a blood test and then come see her before she renews it.

Hmm. OK. She is very thorough, and that a good thing. I arrange for the blood test, take a half day off to go in for it, then schedule an appointment with the doctor.

The appointment day arrives. I am now in the examination room and the nurse asks me why am I here. I tell her. She says the doctor will be in shortly. And she is. She has my chart and is apparently studying it closely.

I am getting a little nervous. "What is it, Doc?" asks I.

She looks at me and puts her hand on my shoulder and says: "Just promise me one thing. "

She now has my complete attention.

"If you ever feel like killing yourself," she says solemnly, "please call 911!"

My mind is now racing. Did my blood test indicate suicide was imminent? Does she think that I will kill myself if she won't prescribe Celebrex? Is suicide a side effect of Celebrex?? And if I am suicidal, I should call 911, not even her? YIKES.

I blurt out "In my darkest days I have NEVER considered suicide! I am here only to get a Celebrex refill!" "Good idea" she says, abruptly leaving the death talk behind. "While you are here, let's get a blood test."

"Uh, I had one earlier this week at your request," I mutter, now wondering whose chart she was looking at. "Oh, yes" she says flipping through the papers. "Here it is. Looks good although your HDL is up a little. You should exercise more often" she advises. "OK," I lie.

Even doctors have off days, and this is one for my normally great doctor. I won't hold it against her. Even though she wants me to call 911 instead of her if I want to off myself!

As she writes my Celebrex script, I ask her what will happen if my HDL stays at this level for any period of time. She smiles. "There are two possible outcomes."

"Don't tell me, I know," says I.

Five People I Met On Earth

2009-02-05T20:08:00.006-05:00

Dr Bob Gallagher is a friend of more than 30 years and he is someone I never met personally until a number of those years went by. You see, before there was internet gaming, there was postal (snail mail gaming). There was actually a sizeable number of folks playing games -- all sorts --through the mail, one turn at a time.

And before there were blogs, there were hobbyist home-made newsletters. Yes, the first Brouhaha was a gaming newletter that I wrote, photocopied, collated, stapled and mailed out to as many as 60 gamers.I believe I did this for 3 years or so.

Our friendship started through the mails while playing a postal game called "Diplomacy." It continued over these many years always centered around online gaming activities. I think we've gotten to know each other personally while traveling down some of life's highways.

Although Dr. Bob writes about some famous folks he's encountered in his 70 years, he is quite self-deprecating about his own life. When I first met him postally, he was a dentist then in a suburb of Pittsburgh near the steel industry flourished.. When the steel mills closed down in the 70s and 80's, Bob's dental practice withered up to the point where he couldn't afford to continue it any longer. In his forties at that point, we and wife Karen had 2 kids to support. So they packed everything up in the car (like the Beverly Hillbillies!) and drove south to Orlando, Florida to begin a new life. In true pioneer spirit, and with little else that what they could bring along in that car, they started over.

Since he's been there for almost 22 years now, and he and Karen have done what it takes to raise the family. Bob's been a catalog designer for a plumbing warehouse, a high school teacher, a puppeteer, a wood worker, an actor and most recently, a photographer at Disney World. Karen has worked for the state for many years. Consequently, both their children are college educated and graduated, are professionals on their own. Plus, they now have provided a small flock of Grandchildren.

So, when you read about the people that Dr Bob met along the way that he's admired, keep in mind that he, too, has done some extraordinary "ordinary" things in his life as well. For sure, he won’t become as famous as the people he writes about. But I am not sure any of them have anything over Bob and Karen in courage, responsibility, and hard work.

Where Was My Dream?

by Dr Bob Gallagher

Here are 5 people I’ve known, back when they had a dream of the future, and what they have accomplished.

Mickey Ferrari was three years behind me in high school. We played in a combo that another friend started. Mickey played trumpet and, no he didn’t become a great musician. Mickey loved school and wanted to further his career in college administration. Mickey’s four-year tuition at Michigan State University was $7.25, which went for some type of tax. Dr. Michael Ferrari became

President of Drake University for about 10-12 years and then moved on to Rice University. He now is retired and works as a part-time college administration headhunter.

When I was a dentist, this next individual was a patient of mine when he was in junior high and high school. He always wanted to play quarterback for Notre Dame. He turned down a free pass to play basketball at North Carolina to go to Notre Dame as #7 on the quarterback depth chart. He got his dream and then some as he played a little football in the NFL and now Joe Montana is in the NFL Hall of Fame.

While substitute teaching. (My third career) I had many football players, who had no ambition and were just putting in time until high school graduation. One of them was different. I don’t want to say he was dumber than dirt, but he had a difficult time grasping anything in school. He wanted to play football for Florida State. When there was some “free time” in class, he didn’t goof off, as the other jocks did. He kept trying to understand the work he had to do. Chauncy Davis played at Florida State and now plays defensive end for the Atlanta Falcons.

I met Richard Borg at a miniature wargaming convention. Richard wanted to design a war game that he could sell to a big time game company. He kept after his dream and developed a rules system he called “Command and Colors”. I was a Civil War game and he ended up selling it to Avalon Hill. The then transferred the system to a World War II game, which is now sold as Memoir ’44.

Shortly after I moved to Florida, the local community theater announced auditions for a production of West Side Story. I auditioned, hoping to win one of the four non-singing parts. Since there were only four of us trying out for those parts, it was, pretty much a given to get one. So, I became Officer Krupki. There was a Puerto Rican girl cast as Anita, a very demanding role requiring acting, singing and dancing. I found out that this gal was only a high school junior, attending the local school for performing arts. Just last week I saw that she was named the #6 diva on Broadway for her part in “In The Heights”. Karen Olivo, has since left the show to reprise her role as Anita in the upcoming Broadway revival of West Side Story.

I only wish that I had the same focus and desire when I was growing up, as these five individuals had in their lives.

Freedom Has Never Been Free

2009-01-23T21:00:00.007-05:00

January 20 was a great day for this nation for good reason.

My life has spanned the civil rights movements of the 50s and 60s to the present day and I have been fortunate to witness this great time. I want to mark this Inauguration Day with some random thoughts on the subject of race and racism.

Preface:, the war for civil human rights goes on still. Here and abroad. Wherever there are people who are different, there are those who don't understand and fear the differences. Is this a human condition? I hope not. The Founding Fathers of this country declared that all men are created equal. I hope to live to see that day where this happens

The election of President Barack Obama symbolizes a major victory in the struggle of blacks in this nation. But he, like Jackie Robinson, Martin Luther King, Muhammed Ali, and Harriet Tubman are only some of the most well known of those who have pleaded equality and risked their lives to prove their points.

There were many, many others. Some were heroes by choice, some martyrs by chance and most are unknown to all but their families. The thing they all had in common was they knew they were in an important fight, and they wanted to prove themselves to be worthy.

Milton Olive III, 19.

I was brought up in a Northern low middle class family. Both my parents came from large farm families that weathered the depression. Neither my mother nor my father had ever met black people until they came to the urban environment of Northern Jersey. I would say that neither was a racist yet they had some racist attitudes. These attitudes prevailed throughout most of the white community where I lived and grew up in New Jersey. There was a general unwritten rule about separation of the races. And it took all the courage a person had to flaunt those rules.

Rosa Parks was 42.

I remember that my father didn't root for the Brooklyn Dodgers because there were too many black players on the team. Naturally, and only because, of the rebelliousness of my youth, I rooted for them. This brought some criticism and suggestions that I ought to get more serious about the sports team I cheer for. The "common" belief where I grew up was something was inferior about being anyone being different.

Equal educational opportunities eluded blacks in both the North and the South through these many years. In the North, it was just more sneaky I think. As long as people knew their place, there was no trouble. Not just blacks were excluded, by the way. I recall that our local Catholic High School admitted a Jewish boy who was tormented by his classmates all four years.

James Meredith, 29 at admission.

The word that begins with "n" was used commonly by almost everyone when I was growing up. And way into the 20th Century. You may recall that at the OJ Simpson trial, the police were accused of using it and thus prejudicing their work. It was only because of the Civil Rights movement and people like the Good Doctor King that the word became a serious no-no. I think it is unfortunate that we have seen the rappers bring it back to mainstream use again. Even if they mean it differently, it is a polarizing, segregating word.

As I grew up, I remember the scandals involving mixed-race couples. It was in 1966 that a 14 year old white girl wrote a shocking song on interacial dating. Janis Ian was one of 5 white kids in an East Orange NJ school and she saw the situation from both sides. I clearly recall that it was especially reviled when a black man was with a white woman. Or even looked at a white woman.

Emmit Till, 14.

Until the 1950's there were no assurances from the Federal government that all citizens had the right to an equal education, fair employment, and non-discrimination in housing. There wasn't even a constitutional guarantee of the right to vote. These matters were left up to each individual state.

Thus, into the 1960's, 11 states still had poll taxes and literacy tests to specifically exclude black voters. There were 16 states that declared that interracial marriage was illegal with jail sentences of up to 5 years for the offense.

Mildred and Richard Perry Loving, both 25 when arrested.

During the middle 1950's, our nation seemed obsessed with the Communists in Russia. I recall that we would have frequent nuclear attack drills in elementary school. We would leave our little desks, march in the halls where we sat again the walls, our heads lowered between our knees. As if this would protect us somehow. If there was an attack, I think we were only in good position to kiss our asses goodbye.

Astoundingly, the war that could have broken out was between US Army forces! In 1957 in Little Rock Arkansas,The governor of Arkansas mobilized the National Guard to prevent 9 black students from entering the white High School. In response, President Eisenhower sent in the 101st Airborne division and "federalized" the National Guard, and the Guard complied with the President.

Ernest Green,16; Elizabeth Eckford, 16; Jefferson Thomas, 15; Terrence Roberts, 16; Carlotta Walls LaNier, 15; Minnijean Brown,16; Gloria Ray Karlmark, 15; Thelma Mothershed,17; and Melba Pattillo,16.

I did not know any of the Freedom Riders - those brave young people, both black and white, who sought to register blacks to vote during the summer of 64. I was a senior in high school that year and our star running back was black and the senior class president was black also. But we had a very small minority of blacks in rural Jersey at the time. I recall no demonstrations and little talk in the school itself of what was happening in the South.

James E. Chaney, 21; Andrew Goodman, 21; and Michael Schwerner, 24.

And there were fire bombings of churches. Yes, churches. I can't imagine that happening to the Roman Catholic church where our family belonged. My recollection of the sermons from that time centered around pleas for more money in the collection plates and a rather haughty attitude towards all non-catholics (we were the true faith). So, while we weren't anti-black, we were just anti-everyone else who wasn't Catholic. We prayed for the pagan babies who would never go to heaven because they were not baptized. We pledged to convert as many of the non-believers as possible to save their souls. Even as children then, we were asked to proselytize.

And very sadly, I don't recall us praying for the victims of some of the horrible acts that were occuring so frequently then.

Denise McNair, 11; Cynthia Wesley, 14; Carole Robertson, 14; and Addie Mae Collins, 14.

Human rights issues are still on the table. Gays, women, people of color, people of different religion in many nations, Chinese, Native Americans,Tibetans and many others. The election of Obama is a major signal that things can change.

I Can't Stand the Truth! (My Day in Court)

2009-01-12T18:51:00.003-05:00

It started innocently enough one dark and rainy evening. We went out to dinner in Theresa's in Princeton and parked in a handicapped parking space. I didn't do it on purpose. Until I found the summons tucked under my windshield wiper, I didn't know it was a handicapped spot. It was not clearly marked, IMHO.

Like I said, it was a dark and stormy night.

For those not experienced in major parking crimes out there, handicapped parking violations are particularly reviled by the law. The fine is $250 for the first violation AND requires a court appearance. You can't just mail it in.

My lovely and litigious better half looked at this as an opportunity. "You have to be at court anyway," said she, "so plead innocent!" I pondered this for a moment. "You can probably get the charge reduced." Maybe Rita was right.

On the day of my court appearance, I arose early and timed it so I would get to the court house a little early. But I start out at the wrong courthouse. Hard to believe but there are two local courthouses in tiny Princeton. There is a Princeton Township court and a Princeton Borough court. I went to the Township court. Oops. Damn. Now I had to hustle over the Borough court house.

Traffic wasn't horrible as I proceed across town to arrive at the correct court. There is a sizable parking lot adjacent to the court I notice...but not large enough. There are no spaces available. I become more nervous now..I am a little late and have no place to leave the car. Suddenly a parking space appears. Except it's marked "Permit Only Parking." Yikes. There is no where else. I pulled in. It occurs to me that the reason I am here in the first place is illegal parking. Now I am illegally parking in the Borough Courthouse/Police station. Have I become a monster .. a Serial Parker?

I lock the car and hope that they don't tow here.

I go into the court house and take my seat in a very packed courtroom. There are many desperate looking characters of all sizes, shapes and types, young and old. I see some cheap suits also. Obviously, some of my fellow law breakers have lawyered up. There must be 100 people here.

The judge arrives. He looks like everyone's uncle. I am guessing that looking kindly yet stern when he had to be is a major qualification for getting elected to Judge to a municipal court.

The prosecutor, a man who is as red-faced as can be, with a sport coat 2 sizes too small and a tie from the 1970s, begins the role call of perpetrators. Most of the perps are here, yet amazingly, a good number are not. Who would skip town over a traffic court appearance?

A couple of the absentees have sent friends or relatives in their stead. One of these indicates that her cousin and gone back to Mexico and is never coming back. "Oh," says Uncle Judge. "Case dismissed." Hmmm. I wonder if I should have asked Rita to go and indicate I went back to Poland?

At last role call is finished and now we are going to the pleading part. Again, the prosecutor calls out the names one by one but now reveals the charges. There are some tough looking hombres here. One is charged with going through a stop sign, and yet another desperado apparently drove recklessly. Yet another didn't have proof of insurance. Some plead guilty and were immediately "sentenced" to pay a fine. Others plead "innocent" and will stand trial immediately after all the pleads were entered. On and on the pleading went.

Finally, my name is called with the charge of "one count of parking in a handicapped space." I approach the bench and feel like a thousand eyes are burning holes in the back of my head. I can hear people thinking how low could anyone go to steal a primo parking spot from handicapped citizens?

My plan to plead innocent-- to get a lower penalty -- is abandoned now. I don't want to stand up here any longer than I have to and I don't want to wait for the trial that will follow. I can't stand to go through the whole role call again. "How do you plead?" says Uncle Judge. "Guilty" I say. "But I want to make a statement for the record!" The judge looks a little surprised, and maybe a little miffed. There are a lot of people in this courtroom. But he nods yes.

I bravely state that this handicapped space is not clearly marked and does not have any indication of 'handicapped' only on the parking meter itself. Isn't is supposed to be blue?

I am floored when Uncle Judge agrees! "In fact," Uncle says, "I even have photos of this space because it is the most notorious handicapped spot in Princeton." He waves a binder with photos at me. He actually looks proud. What is this, I think? Parking entrapment? The opposite of a speed trap? Mistrial my brain is screaming! I object! YOU ARE OUT OF ORDER! YOU CAN'T STAND THE TRUTH!

Collecting myself, I timidly suggest that the spot be more clearly and appropriately marked. He actually says, for the record, "I am not a sign or parking meter painter.," Uncle Judge's eye twinkles. "Write a letter to the Princeton Safety Board" he advises. OBJECTION I SCREAM IN MY HEAD.

"OK," said I, meekly.

I slither away from the bench, and then slink out of the courtroom. I pay the fine at the clerk's office. I am now wondering if I received a citation for parking in the courts reserved space.Is this another trap? Would I have to go through this again next week?

Tune in next time!

Happy New Year for the 62nd Time

2008-12-31T14:42:00.017-05:00

The year 2008 has become a historical record. I personally mark this as the 62nd new year for me. I hope that I have learned some true things while taking this trips around the sun and at the risk of sounding trite or cliche-ish, here are a few of my observations about the year past.

I celebrated the election of Barrack Obama. Never in my lifetime, knowing the amount of prejudice and fear many folks of my generation and of the one before me, did I expect this to happen. I believe this event is a clear sign of hope for our future as a country and as a human race. God knows we need it!

I am appalled at our no end to greed. It has poisoned a world economic system. I don't see any end to it soon. But in the suffering that will occur, the system will right itself. Have we learned our lesson though? Or will we always chase the quick buck? The scheme?

I celebrate each of my family member's individual accomplishments this year especially in overcoming obstacles and still remaining -- sometimes unreasonably -- positive. I have the most positive and uplifting family ever. We occasionally stumble and fall, but then we get up.

Not that you asked, but here is a list of people who touched me even though I never met or will ever meet andy of them: Heath Ledger, Paul Newman, Randy Pausch, Tony Snow, Bobby Fischer, George Carlin, Charlton Heston, Tim Russert. Some of these were courageous in a losing battles, some were brilliant but tormented, some were pretentious but left us with a greater knowledge, and some took us to places we'd never been. They all were teachers in there own ways. All were human and flawed as humans will be. And all of them left a lasting impression on the world around them.

I mourn over 4800 servicemen and women who died in Iraq and Afghanistan during the past 7 years. We should spend special love and shoutouts go to the families of those who died in this nation's service. Their sacrifices speak out about their willingness to shoulder a serous responsibility during a point in history where it is the norm to shirk responsibility. For young and old alike. A hope for 2009: not one more pays the price.

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A final note: Aunt Myrtle died this year. A good and kind soul. she was 94 years old whose mind was clear to the end. She was a teacher. She always wrote to us every Christmas by hand and looked forward to news about her great niece and nephew (my daughter and son). Is it coincidence that her life ended when a new one began in the family? Her great grand niece (my granddaughter) is scheduled to make an appearance this coming April.

Christmas Music and Other Anomalies

2008-12-23T18:00:00.005-05:00

As we approach the year's end, here are some random thoughts you can stick around your celebratory conifer, if you have one, be it artificial, real or imagined.

The humanist movement is growing. In case you have not kept up, atheists, agnostics and other doubting Thomas's are turning to a new ethics code called "humanism." While they have decided that while they don't believe in a rewarding afterlife, they pledge to live life as if they did. 60 such Humanists gathered in Horsham, PA, on Dec 23 not to celebrate a religious holiday, but only for the Winter Soltice. I think this same bunch of guys were called Druids back in the day.

Happy Holidays? Just try it, buster! There is a new corporate ethos that recognizes there are those who don't believe in holidays of any sort. So, we employees are careful in choosing to offer any good wishes in the context of any holidays. This leaves us with the the highly sanitized "Have Good Day." P.S. I think if someone doesn't celebrate holidays, they ought to come in to work. :-)

Actually, I can understand why people don't celebrate holidays. For instance, the Songs of the Season are enough to make one yak if heard too often. There was a time when I really couldn't stand to hear another version of Frosty or Sleigh Ride or Rockin' Round the Christmas Tree.

But now I think the aging process has killed some of the brain cells where I stored that that type of thinking. I've come to find them relaxing. I especially like Ave Maria, The Prayer, and even the religious O Holy Night. And so, it is particularly curious that when I brought home some new, very relaxing Christmas Music, my Bose entertainment system broke this year. Not only do I have to mail it in to get service in just 3-4 weeks, 6 of my favorite Holiday music disks are jammed in it. Ho. ho. ho.

For Dying Out Loud

2008-12-16T21:32:00.002-05:00

This is the age of living out loud. Reality TV. Facebook. MySpace. Twitter. It is a time of ending relationships via a MySpace posting. Of virtual online romances breaking up marriages. Party pictures on FaceBook leading to career damage. You may have lived it.

Everyone who has ever worked on a newspaper or reads one knows that the obituaries follow a formula. Name, age, hometown, those left behind, job, memberships, service record -- that's pretty much it. And I've always thought that was pretty much what we should know.

I mean, look any human life of any years is, well, human. Everyone has done things they are ashamed of, or made mistakes they really don't want to talk about. But unless you are a celeb or a politician, your dirt gets buried with you. Not anymore.

An old Air Force buddy recently sent me an obit from his big city paper that has taken the next step in living-out-loud movement -- tell-all real-life obituaries of the average joe. This special series is called "Tribute." And keep in mind that the family volunteers their loved one to be featured this series.

The particular "Tribute" he sent was on the life of an Air Force pilot who flew combat missions in Vietnam. This must have been the "tribute" part of his life.

The rest goes downhill. The tribute notes years of hard drinking, failure to hold a job, decades of estrangement from the family. Finally, during the last 10 years, a reunion of sorts. Redemption? Not quite. The son points out "he continued to be hampered by alcoholism and health issues even during the final years."

Another son points out that "for the first time in a long time, he would've been proud during his military funeral." Proud? He had to die to be proud?

The memories offered from his grandchildren is that they looked forward "to his Christmas gifts." Hmm. What kids wouldn't look forward to those? Faint praise indeed.

The best thing his wife could say about him is "being a pilot was his absolute goal in life." She also pointed out that when she met him he was the social chairman of his fraternity and very outgoing. Considering the rest of his life as described by the family, I am pretty certain these were NOT compliments.

Why is this poignant to me? Small world. I knew this man in college -- he was a couple of years ahead of me at Rutgers and in Air Force ROTC, as I was. I vaguely remember the face and name but can't say l many direct interactions with him.

Since the last time I saw him in 1966, he lived a lot of years and apparently most of them not well. I am saddened that he lived his life in such a way that his family can't even forgive him in death. I am saddened that obituaries are written like this one.

The man's standard obit would have been enough for me. I would rather imagine a whole life lived within those mileposts knowing there were many, many bumps in the road.

A resident of Kansas City, he died at age 65 after years of poor health. He is survived by 2 sons and a daughter, and four grandchildren. He served as a pilot during the Vietnam conflict and flew 169 missions, for which he won many medals for bravery. He retired from the Air Force as a Major with 21 years service. R.I.P. I hope his family can find peace as well.

I think living out loud should be a choice only the living make.

The Gift

2008-12-05T20:08:00.002-05:00

Open Letter to Service Men and Women

It's December 1970. I am part of the Disaster Recovery Team on 24 hour call on this Air Force Base in the middle of nowhere.

This is my first Christmas away from home. I am lonely and over 1,000 miles from where I know where Christmas is really happening. It's sure not happening here. It's not snowing and it's not even cold. There is no one to eat dinner with, there are no parties to go to. Most of my new buddies were able to get leave.

On Christmas eve, I sit by myself in my sparse base quarters. There are no presents under the tree. There is no tree in my room. Nothing to open tonight or tomorrow morning because I immediately unwrapped gifts from home as I received them weeks ago. So I find myself on my own and dejected. I feel the world has forgotten about me. It is at this lowest point, there is a knock on my door.

Lo and behold. An Air Force nurse -- someone who I have known only for a short while-- presents me a small wrapped holiday gift. Embarassed because I have nothing for her, I fumble with the wrapping, and open it --it is just a bottle of inexpensive cologne. I am deeply moved by this gift than more than any other I had ever received.

I cannot thank her enough. I remain grateful to this day for her kindness and her thoughfulness. I feel this event teaches me a valuable life lesson.

A gift doesn't have to be expensive -- or even has to be something the person wants -- to have remarkable impact on a life. It sounds corny, but the simple act of reaching out to touch someone in an unexpected way is truly a gift itself. Especially those who are alone and afraid.

Thanks to a nurse named Joanne in Little Rock and a $5 bottle of cologne taught me I receive a gift I can never forget on my first Christmas away from home.

All I can offer you is the small gift of this absolutely true story. If you are in a place you don't want to be, and feeling all alone, I hope you can take comfort, as I once did, in the receiving or the giving of the the gift of a simple act of kindness.

Robert W. T. Beardsley

Captain, USAF, 1970

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Postscript: A Christmas Past

From L to R: Me (reclining in front of my future wife); Kay; Don; Joanne (the nurse who gave me the gift), Cookie (who married Don), another Bob (who I haven't kept in touch with) and Phil (I was the best man at his wedding). Both Kay and Cookie have passed on way too soon, both leaving loving families and two children each behind. Don retired after 30 years in the AF and lives in California. He has remarried. Joanne and her children live with her husband, George, in Pittsburgh.

Clauses to Give You Pauses

2008-11-22T20:00:00.002-05:00

According to a study conducted at Oxford University and published in the book Damp Squid, the 10 most irritating phrases in the English language are (in order of most to least aggregious) are:

1 - At the end of the day
2 - Fairly unique
3 - I personally
4 - At this moment in time
5 - With all due respect
6 - Absolutely
7 - It's a nightmare
8 - Shouldn't of
9 - 24/7
10- It's not rocket science

Heading the list was the way-overused expression and very annoying 'at the end of the day'. I know an attorney that concludes every sentence he says with 'at the end of the day.' It's amazingly possible to end much of what with say with that phrase. Try it.

And for the 'fairly unique' talkers out there, I say make up your mind and take a stand! It's either a fairly good approximation or actually is unique. Not both. Stop it!

The absurdly redundant statement 'I personally' made third place. I think this is a favorite of Tom Cruz. Personally who else could you be? Following closely is the ubiquitous and really precise 'at this moment in time' phrase. What other dimension would a moment occur in?

It's followed in lessened annoyance order by the ingratiating and rather insulting 'with all due respect.' This one is in the Passive Aggressive Hall of Fame and is one you can brandish at work. However, overuse of it will certainly aggravate the target.

One of my own personal demons is 'absolutely' which I say WAY too much. Absolutely. And how many times can we hear and say 'It's a nightmare'? Time to wake up and lose that old chestnut before someone takes exception in a nightmarish way.

At number 8 we find the grammatically incorrect "shouldn't of", instead of "shouldn't have". To me, this seems put of place in this list of well worn offending cliched phrases. It's really just a grammatical error that is repeated over and over.

Bringing up the rear of the top 10 funky phrases are the fairly modern '24/7' and 'it's not rocket science'. The former still has some meaning -- as an way overused generalization while the later ought to be launched into deep space forever. Irritating for sure.

Perhaps the most disturbing element of this study is that anyone -- much less Oxford people -- would dedicate time and resources researching and publishing this stuff. To what end can studies like this lead to? You think someone might actually want to talk or write about this silly research anywhere? :-)

A few of my personal favorite overused cliches did not make the list and I would be remiss if I exclude them. So here goes.

Love you. Mean it. (said very quickly and insincerely of course)

Perfect storm. (Used anytime two or more variables can explain a stupid decision you made)

That 's amazing! (especially if we are easily amazed -- hyperbole at its finest)

Let's get together soon! (Soon as hell freezes over)

Not for nothing, but... (trying to figure out what this means makes my head hurt)

Got any overused phrases you care to share?

Fall Spectacular in New Jersey

2008-11-16T20:50:00.003-05:00

I can't remember a more gorgeous fall in Central Jersey than this current edition. Here are some photos from around the neighborhood to prove my point.

Like most everything else when you get older, Autumn spurs many memories of years goes by -- some pleasant and some not so pleasant. And some are melancholy.

The last Autumn I remember so clearly that rivals the beauty of this year is 1989. This was the year of a big earthquake in San Francisco when highways buckled, buildings shook and a nation held its breath. This was the year that the Eastern Bloc Eurpoean countries began to break with the Soviet Union. This was the year that the Berlin Wall came down.

And this was the year that Kay, my beloved wife of 19 years and mother of Kris and Dave, passed away after a relatively short illness. Whether it really was a brilliant Autumn that year or perhaps it was just nature was "amplified" by the seeming disconnect with our lives and nature. If that makes any sense. This was a horrible but beautiful Fall.

1964 was one of the most pleasant of Autumns of 1964 went I entered Rutgers marked the beginning of major life changes for me. Truly it was the Spring of my adulthood.

That same year I had a car and I was smitten with a girl -- we went to Rutgers football games and life couldn't have been more sweet. The next year she and her family left the country and broke my tender little heart. It was at that point that I started writing -- letters, poetry, stories. I began then to realize what a release this would be over my lifetime.

The last photo above features our new Schnauzer -- Roxy.

But enough about us. How about your favorite Autumn story? Use the comments button below!

He Had A Dream

2008-11-04T20:04:00.002-05:00

Why is this Election Day feel so different than any other?

An African American is running for president and it looks like he will win. What a paradigm shift we’ve had. The readers that are less than 40 years old may not truly appreciate the way it was. Growing up, I recall my father (God rest his soul – he was a good man) complaining that there were too many black players on the Brooklyn Dodgers so he couldn’t root for them. Of course, he didn’t say “blacks.” And of course, being a rebellious youth, I embraced the Dodgers and have been a fan ever since.

The polling place was jammed with voters this morning. I’ve voted in the same place for 8 years now and I cannot recall such activity and buzz. While I was there I saw several people wandering about who obviously hadn’t voted before and didn’t know what to do. There was one mom was dragging three kids, an elderly Asian woman needed voting assistance in the booth to figure out the machine, some others who young and old, men and women, diverse and not so divers.

We have a renewed appreciation for our democracy. The right to vote and the freedom of choice we have in this nation is unparalleled the world over. Back in the day, I served my country in order to maintain these rights as did so many other 20-year-olds. Even though we did not fully understand our obligation then, we served, and we were proud. This presidential race has stirred the conscious of the nation in a way that I have not seen since the Vietnam war. And I think it has mobilized us to serve again. There were many people at the polling place today who looked proud to vote.

There must be great joy in heaven today. Abraham, Martin and John. Bobby. Jackie, Rosa, Thurgood, and 14-year-old Emmit Till. Harriet Tubman, James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner. Crispus Attucks, Frederick Douglass, Dred Scot. Paul Robeson, Lyndon Baines Johnson, Branch Rickey. So many more, so much sacrifice.

Win or lose today for Obama, the march that began so many years ago continues and does not end here. We await the results.

This Just In..

2008-10-27T20:21:00.001-04:00

John McCain latest campaign strategy: blame the Congress as well as Bush for everything bad that has happened to this country during the past 8 years. Did he forget he was prominent part of the Congress for the past 26 years? And isn't it his experience that makes him a better candidate?

Our new corporate "people" strategy hit a snag when we discovered we had almost no employees under the age of 30 on which to pass our boomers' knowledge and experience. Oops!

Grey's Anatomy has hit new heights of lowness. This TV show used to be a sweet, often touching story about struggling young interns growing up professionally and emotionally. That storyline worked well for about a year. Progressively, the show has turned from a hospital into a 'ho house' where everyone gets it on with pretty much everyone else!

For instance, this past episode featured one of the dreamy male doctors teaching a inexperienced lesbian doctor on how to go "down" on another lesbian doctor. He had to demonstrate, of course, because this is a teaching hospital! Quoth he to fellow physician seeking guidance: "take your pants off." Doctors orders will never be the same. BTW, this is not one of my must see TV shows -- I just happen to be around when is is aired. :-)

The financial difficulties the nation faces now are huge. It might not affect each of us, but it will affect some folks you know. I am not a macro-micro economist but it seems to me this breakdown is the result of several factors.

We all wanted more of everything but the bill for everything came in the mail yesterday.

Alan Greenspan -- who looks like he can't grow grass, grew our economy?How could this old fool have hung on so long? Was he really babbling in front of Congress last week? How much damage did he do on his watch?

Our government leaders are far more concerned about their partisan affiliation then they are for the people who elected them.

The banks disregarded their fiduciary interest on our behalf -- for more profits on their behalf.

The appointed regulators -- like the SEC --just went along for the ride.

Oh, and did I mention greed?

Who will pay for all these transgressions? I think the most affected will be the housing and financial industries, followed fairly closely by everyone else. We'll see. How far into your individual pocket will this recession reach? Again, we'll see.

My beautiful and politically astute wife blames the failing American Car industry for victimizing itself. It made the wrong kinda cars all along sez she. Point well taken, but excessively large gas guzzlers was what America wanted and expected from Ford and Chevy. As recently as 2 years ago, massive behemoths like the Ford Expedition roamed the highways. The American car industry really wasn't serious about a plan "b" and really didn't have to be. If you wanted trucks or truck type cars, you went to them. However, if you wanted reliable, cost-effective transportation, you chose foreign esp. Honda or Toyota. Along the way, the foreign car builders did build a plan 'b.' And some of their branding as efficient reliable car builders transferred to the trucks and SUVs they made as well. As it turns out, Japan may have the last dealership standing.

Whenever I want to get mad, I tune into Sean Hannity on the way home from work. He usually makes my stomach churn within minutes. Today he was harping on an interview done by a newswoman in North Carolina with Joe Biden.

Newswoman: Here's a quote from Karl Marx (reads a quote about redistribution of wealth to everyone). Does Karl Marx and Obama have the same philosophy?

Biden: (with a laugh in his voice) Is this a joke? Is this a real question? Are you serious?

Hannity goes on about how Biden was reactive and angry (but he sure didn't sound angry) and he ducked the question all Americans should have an answer to. I really want to throw up now so I change the channel.

How can people -- republicans or democrats -- listen to crap like this? Sean Hannity sounds like a skinhead too much of the time and its frightening to me that he has an audience! There really ought to be a line drawn somewhere about how far these "pundits" both dems and republicans can stretch and twist words.

It's coincidental that two young man described as skinheads by the FBI were picked up in Tennessee. They are accused of having a plot to kill black people and Obama while they were at it.

You're Been De-Massed? Sorry!

2008-10-20T09:52:00.028-04:00

It's finally come to my intention that my communication skill -- esp. the verbal type -- is crappy. And most often this comes to light when I communicate with my family.

For example, if I say to my lovely wife "wow, you look really hot today" there is a chance (maybe a great chance) that she'll interpret that to mean "gawd, you usually look awful but today not so bad." And so it goes pretty much with the rest of the people I love. Ya know, being a person that who has made a living from words, you would think I would be better at it.

I've searched to understand how these miscommunications can happen. I have arrived at an indisputable conclusion. It's the corporation's fault. I've worked in one for 35 years or so and have been irreparably damaged. I am communication challenged. I really can't get it right in a personal way anymore, but in a "personnel" way, I am mad good. Especially when it comes to delivering bad news to employees!

I have advanced my skills beyond the tired worn-out "downsizing", "outsourcing," "reorganizing". I am even beyond "offshoring" now. Employees know what these mean without a doubt.

So, I recommend that embrace creativity, put some verve and obfuscation in your messages especially when you are foreshadowing bad news. Following are some not so clear yet not so obscure messages that foretell a reduction in salary (to $0) for employees but keeps management feeling they've kept the employees "in the loop." My comments on each follow each message in parens.

New Ways to Say You Are In Danger of Losing Your Job

We are not going to downsize, but we are looking at an "adjustment of skill mix" based on a rigorous analysis of customer needs. (This is the "Rightsize" gambit, thinly veiled.)

We should always hone and develop our skill set so we can examine and advance our career alternatives. (Especially now. And soon.)

We need to make a "correction of sub-optimal sales force deployment." (Means your sub-optimal salary may stop soon.)

We're entering a "De-recruitment cycle." (Means you will have to post for your own job.)

Although we don't anticipate a reorganization, we may pursue "enterprise delayering." (You can might be one of the "layers!")

Using the principles of "force deployment rationalization," we'll reach new heights. (This insinuates that your employment is holding the company back.)

We'll promptly notify all those who will receive "involuntary offers." (It will be an offer you can't refuse.)

We need to make "knowledge-based assets" corrections. (This means if you know someone important, you may not be fired.)

After a period of resource transitioning, we'll enter one of selective de-massing with vocational relocation. (If you can figure this one out early, perhaps you can avoid being de-massed.)

So, you can see I can really deliver the best head-scratchin', forehead slappin' messages to inform and amaze the corporate audience thus keeping management pleased and the employees confused.

So why can't I tell my wife she looks hot, my daughters that they look like they lost weight and my sons that they are making better decisions-- without insulting the whole pack of them!??

The Older I Get...

2008-10-12T12:00:00.001-04:00

The more I like work (!)

The less I like commuting to work.

The more I find people fascinating.

The less I like large get-togethers.

The more I like prefer small groups of people.

The less of think that "more" of everything is better.

The more I appreciate birds. and nature in general.

The less I trust government.

The more I like football and baseball.

The less I watch basketball and hockey.

The more amazed I am at how heroic average people can be (check the front page of any major newpaper during a catatrophe).

The more disappointed I am at how greedy people can be. (Check the financial sections of your newpaper).

The less I think that law is about justice.

The more I think justice can actually be prevented by lawyers.

The more I like independent films.

The more I like Hollywood films, too.

The more I realize that you can't get peace through war.

The less I like politicians who claim we can.

The more I realize that the truth is not absolute but lies are absolute.

The less I like political races.

The more I like the concept of life.

A Visceral Response to the VP Debate

2008-10-03T09:07:00.031-04:00

The presidential debates never fail to depress and bore me. However, last night's VP debate was a bit different. Here are some of the emotional reactions I had in response to the event:

I was impressed:

Sarah went to "school" and memorized a whole lot o' crap AND Joe went to "school" and has learned to cut down on the crap.

I was exhausted:

because both candidates are hyperactive talkers and it made me tired just listening to them for 90 minutes.

I was stymied:

because both debaters agreed on so much.

I was disappointed:

that both campaigns believe the American voter is so stupid that eventually they'll believe anything if you say it enough. (e.g. Obama wants to raise taxes! McCain and Bush are the same!)

I was depressed:

that American voters are so stupid (see 2004) that we fall for the same partisan lies election after election.

I was stupified:

that noted journalist Glen Iffel didn't follow up on some of the more outrageous statements such as "John McCain knows how to win a war." Sarah, we lost in Vietnam and John was a prisoner for most of it!

I was astounded:

that it was the man that choked back a tear and the woman that was hard as nails!

I was puzzled:

that Sarah had five kids and that Joe is just an average Joe. Neither of them look like that is possible. In fact, from their appearance and speech alone, Sarah looks and sounds like a Democrat and Joe looks and sounds like a Republican.

I was amused:

that the women who are most like Ms. Palin (focused, driven, overextended with family and career) are the most vociferous against her. I saw some of their reactions on Twitter during the debate.

I was flabberghasted:

when Sarah said -- right at the beginning -- that she is not going to answer the questions but she'll "speak directly to the American people!" I guess we have no choice but to listen.

I was entertained:

when Sarah did her Tina Fey impressions so well! :-)

And finally, I was unconvinced:
that anyone would change their vote because of this debate. Sarah didn't blow it, neither did Joe but at the end of the night, there were no revelations.

What did you think?

Some True Things

2008-09-16T12:23:00.023-04:00

IRS Has A Cruel Sense of Musical Humor!

I called the IRS for an extension for a minor income tax dispute. While I waited on the phone for almost 20 minutes while they chatted with "other customers," However, I was treated to musical selections from Tchaichovsky's NutCracker -- music traditionally associated with Holiday gift giving! And here it was late Summer and 80 degrees out.

Not to mention the irony of the Nutcracker itself.

As for those "other customers," what is it that they are doing to make them customers? Does the IRS sell something? Or does this mean we're "always right?"

New Jersey Transit Cares!
While riding the commuter train to Newark:
1. Conductor: "We will depart in a couple of minutes while we respot the train to accommodate a wheelchair commuter"
2. Moments later, train pulls out of station. We didn't notice any "respotting."
3. Minutes later in our packed train car: Conductor says loudly to Assistant Conducter "Did you get the wheel chair on board?"
4. Assistant Conductor to Conductor "No."

5. Conductor "Oh." Both turn around and walk away.

6. Visions of handicapped person cursing the train as it pulled away!

Your Corporation Cares ... Now

The rush to retirement by Boomers has raised a new concern among our heartless corporations. Some Gen X leaders are beginning to wonder who will they lead in the coming years? So, HR departments are devising strategies to keep some of us experienced geezers, coots and old bats on the job instead of retiring. These are the same people Corporations would have recently been happy to divest themselves of -- not to mention their larger salaries.

Are Owners of Smart Cars Really Smart?

The Smart Car is basically a Go-Cart with a roof and side-by-side seating. I drive the NJ Turnpike every morning to work and have been noticing a number of Smart Cars lately. Seems like They are always in the fast lane. Keep in mind that the minimum speed that cars travel on the Turnpike is about 75 and they are about 25 feet apart from each other.

If that isn't dangerous enough, half the vehicles are Monster SUVs driven by people on cell phones. This should be terrifying to the average driver in an average sized car, much less a "Smart" Car Driver. Makes me wonder what the demographis is for Smart Car buyers. Tree-hugging Evil Kneivels?

Soldiers of Peace

2008-09-11T21:57:00.018-04:00

Seven years ago today, I climbed aboard the New York commuter train from Princeton at 6:30 am to head to work. The day was was brilliantly crisp and clear. Unusually so. I was on the east side of the train as it chugged into the Elizabeth area approaching Newark. The NY Skyline was so extraordinarily visible this day, and I found myself I looking at it in a way I hadn't for some time. And there they stood -- the Twin Towers -- magnificently impressive viewed at even 20 miles away.

The view was breathtaking that morning and had nothing happened that day, I would still recall the crystal clear presentation the skyline made that day.

There were people sitting on this same train going to work in the City and even some in the Trade Center. They would arrive there by 8:30 am via the Path line. Just in time. Some of them -- several who embarked in Princeton with me -- would not return to their cars that night -- or any other time. We knew who they were later because their photos were put up in the Princeton train station by family members.

Shortly after 9 am that day, one of my writers excitedly spread the news that a "small plane" had flown into the WTC tower. That was the first report. By 10:30 that morning, both Towers were gone, the Pentagon was similarly attacked and another commercial airplane went down in rural Pennsylvania. No one really knew what was happening but it was clear that we were under attack. We in Newark who worked in tall buildings there were given the word to go home.

Getting home would not be easy this day.

Some walked, some ran, some jumped, some cried and some just phoned home. Some for the last time. A few panicked but the majority of people did not. They did what they had to do to make the best of a bad situation. Some firemen and police put their lives on the line to rescue people, and some gave their lives in the attempt.

And many others died that day in the city. Over 2,700 in all. They unexpectedly went to war that morning armed only with briefcases, purses, laptop computers, and Palm Pilots. Many, if not all, had just enjoyed the Labor Day weekend, or were thinking about the kid or grandkid going to school for the first time that day. Some were worried about the big project at work, and maybe even some started thinking about the coming holiday season. No one was prepared for how ugly it would become.

Anyone in the NYC area who was there that day and survived has his or her own story. And anyone who endured some of the worst have scars that they will carry with them forever. And even those of us who were not called upon to do the extraordinary will remember that day.

We were all soldiers of peace in this undeclared war.

What really makes me upset still about this war is that the main protagonist still lives on and is still at war with us. If there is one major failing of our government during the past 8 years, it has to be that Bin Laden is still at large. It is a promise unkept and IMHO other sins of our government pales in comparison. I can only hope the next administration doesn't rest until this madman is brought to justice.

Until then, I still go to work armed only with a briefcase and a Blackberry.

Do you have any stories to share about 9/11? Enter comments below!

My First Flying Squirrel and Other Memories

2008-09-01T15:00:00.006-04:00

I saw my first ever Flying Squirrel the other night. Not counting Rocky of The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle.

He was sitting atop a bird feeder on our deck a couple of nights ago and for some reason I glanced out and could see his shape on the feeder.

I went to fetch a flashlight and call Rita to bear witness. I shined the flashlight on the little critter, and he didn't budge. I thought it was a chipmunk--it was about the same size. But how on earth did he get atop the bird feeder and a deck two stories off the ground?

And yes, nature lovers,it was a flying squirrel. I googled them up and found quite a bit of information on little guys. They range almost all over the United States and parts of Canada. They are nocturnal, small, and have skin webs between their legs that when they are extended serve as sails. In pictures when airborne, they look like flying handkerchiefs. Apparently,they mostly glide rather than fly,

Which is all to say that when I reflect on the previous 62 years, it's amazing how many 'firsts" are burned indelibly in my mind. I suspect it is the same for you. Yes, we've all suffered on those awful unexpected firsts no one could ever want. But when it comes to "top of mind" things -- it's the happy firsts that really matter.

Yes, I am sure we can all recall there are many common firsts in the human experience. The first love, the first day you could drive a car, the first time you ... well, you know.

I'm writing about some of the many other firsts that when you start putting them together really define your life. I started to reflect on them and the more I pondered, the more I remembered clearly. These are the memories that matter and allow us to get through the tough times.

My first dear wife, Kay, died of a rare cancer at age 41, but not before she presented two fine children to me -- Kris and Dave. I remember the first time I saw Kay after she delivered each one more than I remember seeing them. I guess my first thought was for my wife, and then for the kids. So the first memory of each of them is their mom.

I have been divorced -- imprudence on my part, I suppose -- and a truly horrible experience. My first remembrance from that brief disaster was one of escape. The first time I saw the single apartment two-room apartment I would rent in Plainsboro, NJ, by myself I felt a sense of elation I can clearly recall. It was as if my life had been handed over to me again. Oh, I didn't straighten out my life from that point on. It wasn't all uphill and I sank a bit further before I could bounce back. It took a good woman -- Rita -- to help me do that.

My first remembrance of Rita was in a classroom at Prudential in Horsham, Pennsylvania. It was in 1995. I was teaching a securities class and she and another woman marched into my classroom -- this was a day I clearly recall. Rita and ?? were different than my average students in that they were Pru management to begin with and the others were new hires, mostly recent high school graduates.

Other life shaping first remembrances: walking up a "big" flight of steps to enter Kindergarten at the Bohamton School in Edison, NJ, in 1951. The school is still standing and there are only two steps leading up to the door.

I recall clearly my first day leaving home for Little Rock Air Force Base in January 1969. My mother crying and my father driving me to Newark Airport in kind of an awkward silence. We didn't communicate in the same way young folks communicate with parents now, I think. It was a cold bitter day, and when I arrived in Little Rock a few hours later, it was 80 degrees. I thought I had arrived in hell. Looking back, I think I left one family to join another there -- people in the Service look out for each other.

Other big firsts: seeing Phil for the first time in uniform (Valley Forge Military) and on parade in 2006. What a proud moment,and what a magnificent positive, academic turnaround Phil made there.

And shortly after joining Rita, Phil and Meredith as family in 2001, I clearly recall Meredith running away from home for the first -- and only -- time walking out with a brown bag of candy and chips and wearing a bathrobe. She was 12 years old She left a note that told us not to worry and don't be upset, but she was "sick of this shit!" She came back 2 hours latter. It got dark out.

When Dave graduated Penn State and took a job in D.C., I remember our first real goodbye. I packed a van load of stuff up with him to drive to his first solo apartment in Virginia. I was filled with pride and hopes for his future, also with great regret that his mother could not be there that day. I felt the same pride and regret for Kris as she graduated from West Point and I saw her march across that huge parade ground to the graduation ceremony. Her mother so wanted her to finish West Point.

The first time I met my dear daughter-in-law, Stacey, was in 2002. and I recall her charm. elegance and graciousness like a true Southern Belle Beauty Pageant Queen. I challenged her to do her runway Pageant walk, and she, with a great sense of humor, did just that. We all smiled.

Too many other firsts to write about., although I wold love to record each and every one of them thinking of them now on a beautiful Labor Day Weekend. I see how they have framed my life in a very positive way. Kind of like a huge quilt with different unique colorful squares woven together.

Maybe the flying squirrel won't be in that quilt when if is finally finished. But I am looking forward to putting many more squares into it before its complete.

Your comments are welcome, including any of the firsts you care to share!

What WAS IT Like in the 60's?

2008-08-17T21:38:00.018-04:00

My hair-stylist (some people call ‘em barbers, hmmm) asked me yesterday what was it like growing up in the 60’s.

I looked a closer look at her and saw a 40 year old eastern European woman. Her question about the 60’s came at the end on a complaint that today people have no respect. In the 60’s they did have respect, didn’t they? I dunno. Maybe respect for each other’s youth, but not a lot of respect for the “establishment.”

Frankly I did not have an elevator speech prepared regarding what was it like back in the day. I muttered a few observations – none startling I am sure – to point out that there was a changing of the way people perceived their lives growing up in the 60’s. The depression era parents were raising children differently then they were raised. And at the same time blaming themselves for what the youth they were raising. But this has become only clearer as time has gone on. We living back then didn’t think of ourselves as growing up any differently than the generations.

So, were we all liberals then, and young? Maybe. Some of us followed a more traditional path but still considered ourselves part of the voice of the 60’s. I was in the Air Force for 5 years towards the end of the Vietnam tragedy. But I considered myself a kind of rebel in my own regard. I criticized the government, hated the Nixon regime, and loved the Beatles. I believed in rights for people of all color (my hero Muhammed Ali), thought women should be educated and contribute what they wanted or could) to society, thought a woman ought to have control of her own body. The era was teeming with social movements back then.

Today, we have supplanted social movements with social media, thus bringing a new powerful voice to those who want “change” we really can believe in. But I haven’t seen much of the vitriol that emerged during the 60’s explode yet in the new millennium. OMG, the peaceniks would bomb government buildings! Now only terrorists do that.

To me, there seems to be a lack of passion in social causes that there once was. And I think passion and even vitriol provided the tension that fueled the changes that occurred. NOT that everything changed. We left Vietnam but now have an undeclared war in Iraq, a real crisis in healthcare, a nation still split by race and origin (Hispanics now), an imperfect economic system that seriously favors the haves and an educational system that still victimizes the poor.

Yet, we don’t hear the loud voices that we heard back in the day. And the funny thing is that those voices are still here – but now the voices belong to the parents and grandparents. Why aren’t they making themselves heard?

And I spend increasing amounts of time wondering what really has changed from the 60's to the millennium. So after yea these many years of living, I have come up with a few observations that I toss your way.

Nothing to do with walking miles to school, I promise. Or even having to get up to switch channels on the telly. But I think the forces of postmodern living have resulted in monumental “paradigm” shifts in the way people live now.

The maturing process (i.e. passage to young adulthood ) was hastened back in the day (BITD) because of the military draft. Everyone (females excluded, of course) had the opportunity was targeted by the military (in more ways than one) at 18 years old. Many did. Today only the “lucky” volunteers get that opportunity. One can do a lot of maturing in two years in the Army. What they taught best back then (and probably now) is responsibility to others and to oneself. They teach true teamwork and truly education in many ways. When and where are those lessons learned today by the 22 year olds today?

BITD, the 18 year old was not nearly as experienced as today’s youth. Ubiquitous foreign travel without getting shot at, drinking, drugs and sex at earlier ages might have something to do with this phenomena. You would think this would have a maturing effect something like military service. I haven't observed that yet.

BITD, kids that behaved badly in the social/education settings were punished. Today they are diagnosed and medicated. It seems to me that both methods lack overall results.

BITD, very few people kept dogs in their homes and if they did, they were invariably small dogs. Today, no dog lives outside (at least in the east), small or large. And ones as large as deer are kept as house dogs.

BITD, children didn’t speak to adults. Today, children freely engage adults often in intelligent conversation.

BITD, no one revealed their sexuality and queer was in the closet. Today, queer is out of the closet and very much in our face. It disturbs me to hear Gays and Lesbians make fun of themselves by embracing terms like “Queer” and “”Dike.” I think there is some parallel to African Americans calling themselves the “n” word. I think categorizing and stereotypes always plays to ignorance.

BITD, people had "pride" – tell no one what went behind closed doors, or anything about what went on in the family. Today people still have pride, but it’s in the telling of what goes on behind closed doors. It's living out loud. See reality TV.

BITD, drinks at lunch during were common place. See Madmen. Now, almost no one has a drink at lunch. I don't know when that stopped, but it stopped all at once, seems to me.

In the 60’s, Ozzie and Harriet.was “reality” TV. In the new millennium, Ozzie and Sharon Osborne and other celebs brought new meaning to “reality.” I suspect neither of these shows got reality right, or even close to right.

So what were the 60's like? After considering all this and more, I really can't come any closer to that elevator speech I mentioned earlier. One thing I think is for certain. Change is always in the wind and someday someone from the now generation will be comparing the outrageous behavior of the youth of 2050.

What were the 60's like for you? Use the comments section below to get the discussion started?

Where Nothing is Black and White

2008-08-04T11:44:00.021-04:00

The Known World by Edward P. Jones was written in 2003. Now five years later, there already is a collegiate study guide for it. I used to think study guides were only written on great books of antiquity studied closely in colleges and universities. The rules for writing study guides haven't changed. This is a great book.

The Known World is deep, complex and moving. This is a story of freed black men and women owning who own plantations and their own slaves in antebellum Virginia. It is also a story of the white men and women slaveowners as well as those who did not. And it is most definitely a story of the slaves themselves.

If you expect a story filled with rancor and hatred towards the slave owners, you won't find it here. And if you think this will be a tale of retribution of any sort, that isn't here either. This is a story framed in a time that is hard for us to imagine now and how these people coped day to day in this perspective.

The story that is presented is one of great human contradiction and irony. We can see that looking in from above. In fact, this is still the story of humankind, eh? Aren't we great oxymorons ourselves in many ways? Aren't we tragically flawed yet capable of great moments ourselves? What makes this novel so compelling is the framework that the characters live in.

This is a somewhat difficult novel to get into for a couple of reasons. There are a large ensemble of major characters and it takes a little work to keep them straight. Each character has a "main" story and the author tells each one in great detail. In a way, these are short stories of some dozen characters interwoven in a kind of quilt. The metaphoric quilt is at the center core of these stories. So, you might have to re-read an earlier part of the book, or in my case, listen again to an earlier disc to untangle the story.

Also, the stories does not follow a strict chronological progression. It begins in 1850, but jumps ahead to the late 19th century and back some 20 years or more. More than a few times. This slowed me down as well.

I would advise you to stick with it though, and do re-reading if necessary to get these characters and stories firmly down. Each is unforgettable and all have a compelling story. You'll learn who they are oftentimes from simple, banal life life events they participate in. And sometimes from extraordinary, shocking events and their reactions to these events. By the end of the novel, you will feel that you know these people personally -- that's how vivid they become.

You'll find no real heroes, and no real villains here. You will find all-too-human humans struggling in situations made more difficult by the code of the dying Old South. No one escapes the pain of living -- black or white, free or slave. On the other hand, there are simple joys to marvel at for the lowest of the lowest slaves and for most wealthy of the plantation owners.

And if you are like me, you'll long ponder the insoluble ironies that many characters present. Characters like Sheriff John Skiffington, wealthy slave owner Williams Robbins, and slave owner Henry Thompson, who himself is black. You will be shocked at some of the despicable, inhumane deeds perpetrated by both white men and black men alike on each other. There are great mysteries embodied in people like Moses the black overseer, of Alice the crazy slave, and of Minerva, the daughter/slave of the sheriff. This is great tragedy presented by Augustus and his wife who are freed blacks and the parents of the "main" character Henry. I use quotation marks because the story opens as the central figure Henry is dying at 31 years old.

I could go on, but instead I will urge you to go on and read this book. Or listen to it. I listened to an unabridged recorded version during my long commutes to work, and the Recorded Books version is very well done.

I highly recommend The Known World to anyone who loves great storytelling in historical context.

I Wanna Believe! Really!

2008-07-31T12:29:00.015-04:00

My paramour -- the lovely Rita -- was out of town so I decided to exercise my freedom to do something out of character and a little wild. So I went to a movie.

And not only did I go to a movie, I traversed back into time a few years and went to the X Files Movie -- I Want To Believe. I wanted to believe also, but what I did get was a couple of entertaining hours of watching Mulder and Scully scurry around on the trail of bad guys. With a pretty bad storyline.

Don't get me wrong, I had a great time and felt like I found a comfortable old sweater again (uh...bad metaphor. It's 90 degrees outside.) But, it you weren't an "X-Phile" yourself, you might have disliked the movie on its own merits. Or lack thereof. At the conclusion of the movie, I left the theater with the following questions.

When has it ever snowed so much in Richmond? What happened to the baby William that Scully and Mulder created?? Did Scully/Mulder live together in Richmond or was Mulder in West Virgina secluded away alone? What was the evil Russian scientist really building from body parts? And why weren't they getting body parts in Russia where they spoke the language and wouldn't have been so obvious? And what was the dog tranquillizer all about?

And where were the aliens? How was the government conspiracy coming along? What happened to the Lone Gunmen? Did Scully and Mulder go their separate ways at the end? WTF? I have the feeling that many of the answers to my questions ended up on the cutting room floor.

This was a TV series that raised more questions than it answered. And the same with this particular film. I had expected the storyline to follow the conspiracy thing once again, but this movie was like one of those X File episodes that stood alone as a one-off story. Some of those individual one-off episodes were very good, some not so. The movie would have ranked right in the middle of that scale.

Still, I repeat I enjoyed watching the film 'cause it took me back to younger days and some memories. I recall videotaping and mailing X Files episodes for Kris, who was stationed in Korea for a year. I also recall that it was during an episode of X Files that my faithful pooch Abby at age 18 passed away, laying next to me on the couch that Sunday evening. And the show also ran through the time Rita and I were dating. And it was warm and fuzzy feeling to think of those times in my life in the context of the series.

More Random Thoughts
X Files ran for 9 years -- and probably a year or two too long. And I fear it damaged the careers of the actors --Duchovney and Andersen. Neither seem have done anything memorable in the 6 or 7 years since the show closed. How could these actors really be anything other than Scully and Mulder?

And a final word about the endless previews that precede the film: You really gotta plan to arrive 15 minutes late to any movie. Don't the studios know that 7 or 8 previews in a row fails to titillate or tantalize? Instead, they numb the senses or causes seizures. And what is the thing with large cars crashing through walls coming straight at us? There must have been 4 previews that featured that well-worn chestnut. Now if they were to use a Smart Car in that scene, that would be something!

The String of Life is Just a Thread

2008-07-23T20:04:00.001-04:00

I wrote the following 6 months ago upon the passing of our family dog, Wolfgang.

I publish it today on the half-year anniversary.

January 23, 2008

Woke up this morning at 5:45 am. It’s a New Jersey winter out there and I don’t relish the idea of going outside to walk the dog.

Nonetheless, after breakfast, I walked the dog -- our beloved Wolfgang ---on this cold winter’s day. It’s now 6:30 AM.

Wolfie trotted outside with me and made short work of all his duty, and in less than 5 minutes we were thankfully headed back home. We were only a few hundred feet from the house -- this walk than normal. But it is cold and I think both of us want to get back indoors.

Before we got back into the warmth, Wolfgang abruptly stopped and tugged on the leash. I thought he was had to poop again and turned around in time to notice he actually was throwing up. This, in itself, was not unusual. Schnauzers have notoriously sensitive stomachs and occasionally Wolfie will snarf something up of the ground he shouldn’t have. So I didn’t think anything of it. He was a perfectly healthy young dog of only 6 years.

When we got back into the house and he threw up again after moving just 10 feet into the house and standing in the hall stock-still -- and I saw a disturbing yellow bile come out. I cleaned it up but Wolfie was no longer moving. He was just standing there, looking sickly.

I yelled upstairs for Rita -- who leaves for work about an hour after I do to alert her of the situation. There was something about this particular bout of sickness that disturbed me. I asked her to watch him carefully and to advise daughter Meredith to do the same a little later in the morning. This remembrance is not meant to be overly melodramatic and it is not my intention to drag you through the next few unbelievable hours, which they were.

However, fourteen hours later, as my wife and I wept unashamedly, Wolfgang was put to sleep at the Animal Hospital in Jackson, NJ. His internal systems had shut down one after the next during the day and his blood pressure was undeectable. His kidneys were not functioning at this point and he was inoperable. The vet said there was no hope for recovery. We do not know what killed him but the best guess was that a level of toxicity in his body was more than his organs could bear.

This was one a devastating blow for our family. Of course this was just a dog. Yes, but this was just a dog that brought a newly blended family together.

When Rita and I first married, 7 years ago, we combined a family with 2 children on each side. Anyone who has done such knows how difficult that really is. Just a few months after we married, we went out and bought a dog -- a 6 month mini-schnauzer. We named him Wolfgang. The breeder told us that Wolfie (as we nicknamed him) would be a “low key” terrier and was bred as such.

Upon arrival in his new home, we put him down on the floor to allow him to explore his new surroundings. He just stood there. He certainly was low key. We picked him up after 15 minutes or so and put him down again in a different spot. He just stood there again-- not moving a muscle.

In fact, he just stood there wherever he was placed down at first and I wondered if something was wrong with him. I had never seen a young dog so, uh, immobile. A couple of days later still with little movement progress, we took him to the Vet. She examined him and declared he was a bit immobile -- but was healthy. He was just a dog that needed some adjustment time. Just a dog that cost $1600 that acted like a pet rock, I thought.

As time passed though, Wolfgang finally came out of his torpor. And for the next six years, Wolfie became a central figure in the new family. Unlike George Bush, he really was a "uniter." Wherever there were family, there was Wolfie. He helped our blended family to grow together, even though he was just a dog, he was always the center of attention in a positive way.

Maybe he wasn’t the smartest dog anyone ever had. He really didn’t know how to play fetch, no matter how much we tried to convince him that was a necessary dog skill. Oh, he would go after toys that were thrown -- he loved to chase them down. But he rarely brought them back. He would stand there with the toy in his mouth and just look at you -- as if you should fetch instead of him.

Not that he was without a few cute dog tricks, Phil did teach Wolfie to “attack the bear”. Phil would hold his favorite stuffed bear at ankle level, then Wolfie would fly across the room and “attack” the bear. He would do this over and over, retreating back a few feet before the attack the bear command was given again.

Then there was a ‘leap over my leg’ trick. This involved Wolfgang going to the top of the stairs, then the “attack the bear” command. Instead of holding onto the bear, Phil,would toss it a few of feet away and as the dog charged down the stairs, Phil, in a sitting position, would extend his leg as a barrier between the charging pooch and bear. Wolfie would leap over the leg like a championship hurdler to get the the bear. Phil would retrieve the bear from Wolfie after a little tug of war and then make Wolfgang retreat back to the tops of the stairs for another go at it, Once in a while, Wolfgang would duck under the leg (cheater!) if he saw that Phil had raised his leg too high.

Then there was the dancing. Lord, how this dog could dance. Rita and Phil trained him to rear up on the hind legs, paw the air and “dance” in little circles for a treat. It was always good for a smile from everyone who witnessed this phenomena, no matter how many times you saw it. Wolfie mostly only danced for treats, but once it a while he would humor us by busting a move without the promise of a treat.

Rita taught Wolfie most of his manners. He would mind very well when treats were in the area. They had a little routine of tricks they would go through. He also learned to go to his “crate” in the kitchen when we were eating a meal in the dining room. Even though there was no crate any longer -- actually it was just his dog bed -- that he “recognized” as his crate.

“Go to your crate” was a like a “time out” command when he was being a underfoot. I am not so sure Wolfgang thought it was punishment though. He did so love to rest and relax. And after scanning the floor carefully for human food, he would oblige us and retreat to his crate.

Wolfie was a great dog companion for the years we had him. He performed above and beyond in helping to center and unite our blended family and we will not forget him.

Wolfgang was called away unexpectedly on that cold January day to the crate where he will rest forever. He heeded the call like the good dog he was even though it was much too early for him to go.

Ways to Improve Your Golf Game: #1 Redefine "Success"

2008-07-18T15:10:00.013-04:00

Recently, the golf bug bit me again. However, I have the same problem I had when I stopped playing many years ago. I basically suck at golf.

Fortunately, I’ve learned from clean corporation living that there are many ways to measure success. If the "standard" way makes you feel like a loser, change it up! And so, I've embraced some different standards to help me feel good about playing golf badly.

After much discussion and some intuitive research, my son Dave and I came up with a new system to rate our golf game. We analyzed that a typical round of golf is actually played in phases. These are Warm-up, In the Zone, Worn-out, Second Wind and then complete Burnout. A very good golfer, like Tiger Woods, does the Warm-up before actually playing the first hole, and then In the Zone for the next 18 and never hits the Worn-out stages.

Alas, a golfer like me does the Warm-up over the first few holes, enters the Zone for a brief period and shoots right into the Worn-out stage. With luck the Second Wind stage occurs, before the insidious Burnout happens.

This leads me to the first alternate method of measuring success on a golf course. My last round went like this: Warm-up 5 holes, In The Zone 4 Holes , Worn-out 3 Holes, Second Wind only 1 hole and then Burnout all the rest of the holes.. In the Burnout stage, it becomes incredibly difficult to strike the stationary ball with a tennis racquet-- much less hit it well with a golf club. My Burnout phase mercifully ends when I pick the ball up on the last hole. I do this in case someone is watching me from the clubhouse.

So, to summarize. The longer I stay In The Zone, the more successful I am. So, if I stay ITZ for 5 holes (one more than last time), and even if I shoot a hideous 119, I can consider the round successful and I can feel good about it.

Here are some other ways you can measure success on a golf course in case the In The Zone fails to satisfy.

When I lose no balls in woods or water and complete all 18 holes, I call that a Perfect Round!

A You Da Man Round is free of absolutely humiliating golf swings others can witness up close. I remember once hitting a ball that struck a nearby tree and bounced behind me, thus becoming a –10 yard drive.

When I don't sustain injuries of any sort for the entire 18 holes, I can call that a Good Workout Round.

I also like to count the number of putts I take separately from the number of overall strokes, as I consider myself a good putter. I've named my putter Harry Putter because sometimes there is magic in him.

When I don't chop up the turf with absurd swings, or fell small trees and bushes and avoid striking geese, that's a Nature Boy Green Round!

The whole point is to make the game enjoyable again, and for many of us duffers out there, it become difficult to enjoy traditionally. So, be flexible and enjoy. See ya on the course!

Dear New Yorker - Fire Your Editor

2008-07-15T09:13:00.004-04:00

I sent this note to the editors of the New Yorker this morning regarding the cover displaying Obama and his wife as Muslim terrorists.

My wife and I are life-long democrats and professionals in our fields. We were both sickened at the Obama cover this week. If this is satire, it widely misses the mark. Do you actually believe that this cover will NOT be used politically? Do you believe that the tens of thousands of families that would who have made sacrifices during the war in Iraq would laugh at these "clever" portrayals? Do you think the international community will marvel at this display of wit? And to be politically "fair," will next week's cover portray John McCain as a dottering, confused fascist? Wow, wouldn't that be sarcastic?

I believe that the New Yorker has the right to publish whatever it wants under our constitutional freedoms, but I think this type of treatment of a Presidential candidate is simply tasteless and plays to the lowest common denominator of humanity. Now excuse me, I have to go watch the new episode of Bridezilla.

Independence Day Dog

2008-07-12T09:56:00.011-04:00

This is a story of a dog. A Jack Russell terrier to be exact who bolted into our lives on July 4, Independence Dog, uh, Day.. The image above is not the actual dog, but represents a reenactment by an actor dog. I didn't think quick enough to grab my camera and snap the little fella.

As we were finishing up our illegal fireworks display in the street in the front of Stacey and Dave's house about 9:30, we observed a white animal bolting from down the street in quite a hurry -- and making a bee-line for the group of us standing on the porch. This dog was booking.

Obviously, the dog (let's call him Thomas Jefferson) had declared independence himself on this date, much like the founding pops did in 1776. TJ looked like a house dog and had a tag on with a phone number and a name. He was extremely friendly, and wanted to go into our house, despite our yapping schnauzer. I think he wanted to join our little union.

My son, being pragmatic, wanted to release him back to the street, but even TJ wasn't voting for that. He wanted to stay with us. The delegates from New Jersey (Rita and I) and the patriotic Virginian Stacey voted to reunite TJ with his original owners, who were -- no doubt -- distraught at the loss of this fine (if not over-fed animal). It seemed more noble, but in truth I guess the three of us were "loyalist tories" while Dave choose the harder path for independence.

Dave secured TJ in their fenced-in backyard and we dialed the phone number. I was imagining a joyful and tearful reunion, and a warm feeling from having done the right thing. But no one answered. Undaunted, and using the modern reverse lookup phone feature, we located an address that was within a few blocks.

In the car the three of us -- Dave, TJ, and I -- drove off to deliver TJ to his home. Again, filled with the spirit, I imagined the family scouring the neighborhood looking for TJ and thus unable to answer the phone.

Instead, the house was dark. No one was home except another dog inside barking his head off inside the house. I wondered if we had the wrong house? If one dog is kept inside the house, why not TJ? As if to assure us though, acted familiar with the surroundings and was undisturbed by the barking animal inside the house. I took this as a sign that this was the place.

When we went around to the backyard to see if there was a doghouse, TJ slammed his breaks on. Wanted no part of the backyard. Hmm. He definitely recognized this place. Dragging him through the gate, we discovered a dog dish and some biscuit crumbs on small deck. This did reassure us that we had the right place.

We couldn't be sure though. Bright idea -- find a neighbor and ask if he recognized the dog as belonging there. In New Jersey, we would never do this. Neighbors are usually not that neighborly, but this was Virgina, land of the Southern Hospitality and all that.

The neighbor's house across the street was lit so we knocked on the door. A man in his pajamas opened the door and seemed friendly enough. And he was pretty sure that he had seen the dog before. Good enough for us. And oh lucky day he had the cell phone number of he the TJ's owner from across the street.

Obligingly, our new friend -- Greg -- called the cell phone and with no answer left a message that his dog was found. Greg informed us that the man who lives there has a boat on the river and often spends weekends there with his young daughter. Probably where they at now.

So, Greg, Dave and I went back to the house. dragging TJ with us into the backyard. Assuming the dog had escaped, we looked for holes in the fencing and patched up a couple of obvious spots with some small sand bags that were around the house.

Ah, good deed done. Now for the happy. Dave and I drove off in his SUV, turning around at the dead-end block causing us to pass in front of the TJ's house. Wait. The headlights illuminated something little, white and moving quickly right toward us. It was TJ again -- escaping from the backyard in a New York minute -- and heading right back to us.

We stopped, opened the back car door and TJ jumped right in. We are family!

Again, we try the patience of the neighbor by calling on him again, and again he very agreeably helps us put TJ back and patch the fence in yet more places where the Houdini Hound might wiggle through. As an additional barrier, I put TJ on the small deck where his water and bisquits are. I barricade the entrance with deck furniture, and a few ubiqitous sandbags.

We drive off again. This time we do not drive back past the house for fear we see the white terrier loose and on the move again. And although you might think this is the end of a happy story, it is not.

The next morning, we finally hear from TJ's owner. Stacey took the call from the owner. Yes, the dog did not escape again and he was there this morning. And by the way, he's spent 4500 dollars on vet bills for TJ and would we want to permanently keep him? Even though his little daughter loves TJ, he does not and would be willing to get the pooch to us. Stacey politely turns him down.

Were we surprised by this call? No, it seemed to me that TJ knew what he was doing and was willing to run away to take his chance with strangers. It is sad but a reality that many animals -- and indeed children -- can sense where they are not wanted. In TJ's case, he clearly communicated this to us.

What's A Segway?

2008-07-04T16:12:00.027-04:00

Oh, about two pounds, I said to my son Dave on the phone. It took a moment before he remembered the told joke about a "what's a hen-way?" We traveled to Richmond for the 4th of July weekend to visit my son and his wife and the highlight of our trip would be a tour of downtown Richmond on Segway machines.

The Segway looks like an animal from the Stars Wars movie, and kinda acts like one also, with a little bit of intelligence of its own. This two wheeled vehicle is on a self balancing platform, has a stick you put your hands on to steer left or right. To make the Segway move forward or backward, you simply lean in the direction you want to go. The dang thing goes 12.5 miles per hour -- four times the average walking speed!

Was it easy to ride? Well, 12 of us required around 15 minutes get used to moving on it. The photo above is about the only "hands-on" training Rita received. Still, the 19 year old tour guide did say ominously say "you will go down" if you hit a curb the wrong way.

Our tour was to last 2.5 hours and cover a pretty good chunk of the old town of Richmond, stopping (briefly usually) at some historic sites. The tour was conducted by two young Virginians, one a very recent political science major with streaks of purple in her otherwise brunette hair, and the other a 19 year old enthusiastic young man of undetermined educational background or intellectual capacity.

Riding on the Segway looks weird as one does not move arms or legs. Instead you glide along kinda "ghost like" (I am thinking of the scene in Poltergeist of the ghosts gliding down the stairs.) After a short period of adjustment, you can feel pretty comfortable standing on the platform. A little lean forward or back and you are moving. In fact, you perform such "little" movements that I started to feel the machine was 'intuitively" guided.

I was feeling "oneness" with the machine (which I was now imagining it to be a other-world beast) when disaster struck. I hit an uneven spot of pavement and then lost control. One wheel began to spin while the other did not. Spinning wildly, the machine had had enough of our oneness and was now determined to discard me.

Discard me it did. Off I went, falling on my left side I did my utmost to fall "well" on the concrete. One knee struck the ground and I flopped like a fish. I had not raised my hands to protect my head, opting to protect my lower body and articifial knees. Consequently, the side of my face struck the concrete -- stunning me for a moment.

I was surrounded by help at that point -- the fall must have looked pretty horrific -- but most of the riders stayed on their Segways -- dismounting from them is a skill to be learned and they saw what happened when one of the Segways feels taken for granted.

My left knee was nicely scraped and I had banged my head during the flop, but other than that there was no damage. The young tour guides had a "first aid" kit without much first aid in it but there was a band aid to cover the scraped knee.

After collecting myself, I got back on the Segway a bit more cautiously now. The tour was in its last 45 minutes or so and I thought I could finish it up in fine fashion. And finish we did, but I must say I now was a bit less confident and certainly more wary whenever we approached curb lips or even slight bumps in the road.

At the end of the two and a half hours, I was tired and still a bit shaken by the accident. We did see Richmond in a much more personal way and as long as we respected the beast, the Segway was a lot of fun!

By the way, the rest of our party -- Dave, his wife Stacey, and my paramour, Rita all stayed aboard their Segways throughout the tour! I was one of only three people to take a tumble -- the other two were over-confident males also, I'll bet.

At the Shore With High School Buddies

2008-07-01T15:22:00.019-04:00

Some friends from High School and I spent an afternoon at the Jersey Shore last week. Not an unusual event except it occurred almost exactly 44 years years after we graduated.

That many years can cause quite a bit of damage to one's personal person, I assure you. One of us has two artificial hips, another one is living with his 3rd (third!) liver. Yet another has lost a part of his lung and has had a colostomy. And I have two artificial knees. You just don't know what kinda crap you are going to get into during those 44 years.

We graduated in 1964 when the Vietnam war was amping up. We all went to college and 3 of us went into the military. We certainly were the last generation that expected to go into the Service and in fact, did go.

Unless you were "4F." I mentioned the term 4F to a couple of 20 somethings the other day at work -- and they had no idea what that meant. It means you have some physical impairment that disqualifies you from being shot at. Kind of an "anti-darwinian" government view, eh? Usually the impairment is such a ridiculous disqualifier, you had to laugh. Such was the case with Lou -- he was one of the most physically fit of us but did not have to serve.

Two of us -- John and Lee -- ended up in Vietnam. And they have endured the effects of war for many years. In Lee's case, he has had multiple livers, horrible recovery periods, other associated and not so associated diseases for the past 10 years. He collects a disability from exposure from Agent Orange. Lee, our most gung-ho Republican, served 2 tours over there.

John served one tour in the Nam and although he doesn't collect disability, he has developed several cancers prior to age 60. He is recovering now from a round of Chemo. We'll always suspect that he was exposed to something over there as well.

I joined the Air Force and never went overseas, although I tell everyone that Arkansas was a planet of its own. I cannot claim damage from my 5 years, and in fact, think it was an extremely useful life experience. One that many could benefit from today, but that's another posting.

So we gathered in Point Pleasant Beach bringing our wives and memories with us. One one hand, I think that a lot of living goes on in 62 years or so, but on the other hand, I still can relate to these guys and think of them still in terms of being young. No one would mistake any of us for young though.

Throughout the course of these years, a person makes many relationships and I am count myself lucky to have maintained these acquaintances all this time. We currently stay in touch through email and phone, as well as these periodic visits. We still have a lot in common. And our lives have been filled with so much without each other.

For instance, I could never beat Lou in Chess in high school and we play online now. And guess what, I still can't win. He's won 19 straight games. Lou was a brain in school and he went to Rutgers for an engineering degree. He got a job after graduation up in New York state and has managed to find time for a wife and two children as well. He is a one time grandfather as well! Lou loved sports like I did and I think we engaged in all of them except for hockey. I last played Lou in a sport in 1988 in Squash -- a truly brutal sport that is tough on knees and hips. This kind of sport is a contributing factor to the two new knees I have and two new hips he has.

Lee is the most enigmatic of the group. Lee did not take the traditional college path the other three of us did, but it wasn't because he is dumb. Far from it. In grammar school Lee was a science whiz, making things that exploded, fizzed, vaporized and whatnot. Instead, Lee futzed around a bit with college and then basically joined anything that offered an official uniform. He was in the Air Force Civil Air Patrol, the Navy Reserve and then the Marine Corps for a couple of spins in the Nam. ere we surprised when he became a Cop for the township? No way. Lee is retired now, has a wife, and 3 grown children. Another surprise: his son is a policeman now. When we were kids, Lee and I and Lou were into hell raising in our late teens/early twenties.

John is the most sensitive and I think the closest of my three HS friends. He is retired now as well, having worked in home office insurance for many years. He hasn't been all that lucky the last three years with some severe illnesses, but his spirits remain high and he is on the road to recovery. He is married and has two kids also. He is the only one of us (except for me) to have an earlier marriage. It was a rocky ride filled with drama, I am afraid, and he has to persevere through some very troubling times early in his life.

As for me, I've had a few bumps along the way as well. My first wife, who bore me two fine children, died in 1989 of cancer. Luckily, I found Rita and we've been married for 7 years now quite happily. Helping raise two more teenagers Rita brought with her has kept me young, too, I think.

I've been very fortunate in a lot of ways and I am thankful for all the smiles and even some of the bumps along the way.

Beatlemania 40 Years Later

2008-06-23T14:44:00.008-04:00

Went to a Beatle-Fest in beautiful Clinton, NJ this past Sunday. It a wonder that after all these years (43 or so) since the English Invasion we are still honoring the Fab Four. Now the Fab Four minus Two, unfortunately.

A couple of musical faux Beatle acts appeared, and actually both were quite good. The first gentleman performed by himself, looked nothing like any Beatle ever looked, but could sing up a storm. He used a synthesizer and some recorded background music to pay homage to the Boys and he did it quite well.

Clinton, for those unaware, is a quaint town is western part of the state very near the Pennyslvania border. It is the home of a very active business guild association that looks to bring traffic to its town by event sponsporship. Two years ago, the town fathers and mothers hosted a Shakespeare Festival. Hmm. Never completely broken away from the Crown, eh wot?

So where was the dissonance? It was actually disturbing to see the very aging Beatle fan population. And as if they wasn't enough to see the decrepit condition of the normal fans, it was more disturbing was to see the aging Beatlemania groupies.

Thinking back to the years when I attended many more concerts, I remember groupies as single seaters who were always on the verge of standing ovation, obviously knew the words to all the songs, and seemed to cognizant of the performers' next moves. They were slightly freaky then. They are a lot more freaky now.

One of my female friends made the mistake of remarking on a very colorful "Beatle's Fest" tour tee-shirt a passerby was sporting. The guy overheard the remark, reversed his direction and began talking about that which he loved above all other -- The Beatles. Actually, I am assuming he loved the Beatles. He could have just loved the "faux" Beatles events because that is what he talked about.

Apparently, and much to our amazement, there are three major "real official Beatle events in the colonies" a year -- one in North New Jersey, one is Las Vegas and one in the Midwest (can't remember where.) They are apparently not to be missed under any circumstances because the really good fake Beatles bands play at these and there are losts of memorabilia vendors available. This guy told us that the possible of rain this day "held back some of the vendors" from attending. Special note: I didn't see even one vendor with Beatles stuff except for the sponsoring guild member's store. (Please don't tell me that someone makes a living at selling fake Beatlemania stuff?)

A Balanced Life

2008-06-23T11:05:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I lost my balance and fell. I always thought I had great balance but apparently I was kidding myself. It happened while visiting a friend's bric-a-brac shoppe in Clinton, New Jersey. She has a ton of bric-a-brac and it's all tightly packed on shelves lining each side of the narrow shoppe.

I am embarassed to say I was demonstrating my newest trick with our dog, Roxy. The trick goes like this. I faux kick the dog and she rolls over as if having been struck. Actually when performed well, it looks like I am kicking the dog. Occurs to me that this actually is a horrifying trick and says something bad about me to begin with.

So, there I was -- dog, friends, me, narrow bric-a-brack shoppe. I swipe at the dog (she is not really cooperating as this is unfamiliar location) and my foot passes over her. And there I go, a-wobblying, teetering backwards and then down with a loud crash, sprawling into the bric-a-brac shelving and its many wonderous items.

So, there I lay for a moment trying not to move. I want to preserve any undamaged shop items (by laying on them longer?). At long last, my wife and friends retrieve me from my accidental lounging position.

The shop owner, a dear friend, peeked out from behind the counter to make sure I hadn't hurt myself then after my assurances I was OK, went back to her business. She was kind enough not to check on possible damages to her wares.

Amazingly, I destroyed no bric-a-brac How is this possible? I really crashed into the items. Fortunately, most of the wares were bottled in plastic containers. The one or two items that I could have smashed, I apparently didn't. The only thing damaged was my pride.