I’m a better writer than a conversationalist. On the phone, a voice-to-ear conversation can be filled with an embarrassing emotion, an inflection might give the listener hints that the spoken words were other than honest, or a misunderstanding might sideline the main topic into something entirely different.
On the other hand, Word Document is just the right medium to communicate with the opportunity to explain (manipulate?) a situation. There’s no immediate interaction when sent through email so it’s too easy to disregard subjects and references from previous communications. That’s what you call taking control for your own personal interest; keep the recipient confused by imbedding a sense of doubt.
Of course, verbal discussions can also work to express a sense of worth between two individuals with compliments and earnest concerns, possibly forming a mutual admiration between two people. The immediacy of a conversation can bring tears of joy or pain; laughter filled with sarcasm or a real belly buster; or words that expose anger or sheer delight. Innuendos, suggestive remarks, insults and intrusions are, at one time or another, products of an intimate conversation. Disrespect, threats and hate can be just as alarming as love, hope and charity can be bring tranquility.
The impersonal aspects of electronic communication can result in brazen self-indulgent arrogance and the intended reader can’t do too much about it.
If you don’t like the caller, don’t answer the phone, let it go to an answering service or, in some instances, block the caller, which is similar to an email service that can block the sender or the recipient can delete a message before it’s read.
Regardless how people interact, whether by phone or by electronic messaging, there’s always an inherent need for man to communicate with others. Everyone has their own reasons to keep in touch with people albeit it positive, negative or indifferent. The important thing is that no matter the distance between any two parties it can be bridged with spoken or written words. That's what makes lives interesting and meaningful.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
GenXer vs Boomer
This past summer I happened upon an interactive web site called SodaHead. That's what I get set up with with a Google search on any given subject: I know not where I goest through the endless data streams of the Inet. This includes blogs.
I've learned not to accept facts from a questionable source as it may be, and probably is, to one side or the other in accuracy. Of course, I'm not included in that group since I research information from a number of web sites: established news services, government sources and official pages of a particular business.
As a member of SodaHead, I came upon a blog hosted by a 37-year old NonameGenXer who, with utter bitterness, placed all blame on Baby Boomers for the direction this country has gone. The lady wrote about the sell-out of Boomers to materialism, greed and te loss of solid direction for the betterment of mankind, taking it a personal affront to her future. I too have the same feelings.
Although my original response is lost to a deceased web page, the essence of those thoughts were sent in her acknowledgemet that not every Boomer is like the rest.
Nameless,
I feel a great accomplishment with your consideration of adding "Boomers Strike Back" on your website. Not all boomers are greedy and self-indulgent but many are the very ones who protested in the 60's yet have not fulfilled their promises to bring change to the world. I put a lot of blame on the establishment - corporations - to influence consumers in being the "throw-away" society. Boomers had the opportunity to take another path but, as you know, they have fine-tuned the American way whereby no one has sufficient savings and have maintained ignorance of the world community. There's no quickstep to catch up.
I, for one, refused to be molded into the excesses of an era of brats and opportunists.
Charles Reich wrote "The Greening of America" in the early 70's. I remember the basics but was somewhat lost on his multi-level awareness of the future of the economy of America and how we might bring about harmony between corporate interests and the individual but only if drastic steps were initiated to thwart what seemed the inevitable. It didn't happen thus we are at this point in history. Our buying habits and life styles (including putting careers and social contacts above families and personal awareness) are still controlled. I've started a blog on the topic but, as with many of those I save in Word, haven't completed - yet.
Good luck with "Boomers Strike Back". The inclusion of a link to my "Parcel Post" blog would be just fine. Perhaps I can get other readership beyond family and friends and a local newspaper editor. (In the past 18months, I've had dozens of letters printed in the St Pete Times, Tampa Trib, Tallahassee Democrat, plus local editions.) I’ve also had a feature article in the health section of a local paper. It comes with a certain amount of pride that as my thoughts and words progressively became lengthy, and apparently well expressed, I have become a “Guest Columnist” in both Hernando Today and the Hernando Times.
With a little pride and a lot of appreciation, I remain humble to be recognized as a viable contributor to readers’ interests. Anyway, the best of luck with "Boomers Strike Back". I'll keep an eye on your writings on your site - it's a Favorite.
Be well. Be Self.
Ron
I've learned not to accept facts from a questionable source as it may be, and probably is, to one side or the other in accuracy. Of course, I'm not included in that group since I research information from a number of web sites: established news services, government sources and official pages of a particular business.
As a member of SodaHead, I came upon a blog hosted by a 37-year old NonameGenXer who, with utter bitterness, placed all blame on Baby Boomers for the direction this country has gone. The lady wrote about the sell-out of Boomers to materialism, greed and te loss of solid direction for the betterment of mankind, taking it a personal affront to her future. I too have the same feelings.
Although my original response is lost to a deceased web page, the essence of those thoughts were sent in her acknowledgemet that not every Boomer is like the rest.
Nameless,
I feel a great accomplishment with your consideration of adding "Boomers Strike Back" on your website. Not all boomers are greedy and self-indulgent but many are the very ones who protested in the 60's yet have not fulfilled their promises to bring change to the world. I put a lot of blame on the establishment - corporations - to influence consumers in being the "throw-away" society. Boomers had the opportunity to take another path but, as you know, they have fine-tuned the American way whereby no one has sufficient savings and have maintained ignorance of the world community. There's no quickstep to catch up.
I, for one, refused to be molded into the excesses of an era of brats and opportunists.
Charles Reich wrote "The Greening of America" in the early 70's. I remember the basics but was somewhat lost on his multi-level awareness of the future of the economy of America and how we might bring about harmony between corporate interests and the individual but only if drastic steps were initiated to thwart what seemed the inevitable. It didn't happen thus we are at this point in history. Our buying habits and life styles (including putting careers and social contacts above families and personal awareness) are still controlled. I've started a blog on the topic but, as with many of those I save in Word, haven't completed - yet.
Good luck with "Boomers Strike Back". The inclusion of a link to my "Parcel Post" blog would be just fine. Perhaps I can get other readership beyond family and friends and a local newspaper editor. (In the past 18months, I've had dozens of letters printed in the St Pete Times, Tampa Trib, Tallahassee Democrat, plus local editions.) I’ve also had a feature article in the health section of a local paper. It comes with a certain amount of pride that as my thoughts and words progressively became lengthy, and apparently well expressed, I have become a “Guest Columnist” in both Hernando Today and the Hernando Times.
With a little pride and a lot of appreciation, I remain humble to be recognized as a viable contributor to readers’ interests. Anyway, the best of luck with "Boomers Strike Back". I'll keep an eye on your writings on your site - it's a Favorite.
Be well. Be Self.
Ron
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
BAD KITTY CAT
I grab the neck of that darn cat Sassy and ring it and toss his head around just a little bit. I’m forever having to spank him; sometimes people say it’s too hard.
What do expect from the “owner” when he misbehaves? Sassy is incessantly at my feet either paw-pickin’ my socks which is okay I guess but it’s a precursor of him attacking my ankle – for cryin’ out loud, I can feel his teeth on my skin! Bad kitty.
His harassment starts early in the morning, well before sunrise, like at 530am. He is so persistent in trying to get fed before breakfast the 7am breakfast. For a Siamese cat that hasn’t yet developed into the typical yowler, he sure makes his voice heard loud, clear and annoying. Some days I have to kick him. Sorry but that’s the way it is. We’re still trying to work out the details about it being my house but his domain.
Once his tummy is fed, Sassy exposes that same tummy trying to be so loving but his selfish goal is get me to assist him in stretching. I will say that with my training he does have very good form, his leg muscles well toned.
When he was just a couple weeks old and in my possession, he was named, not by creative intuition but because it was so obvious he was born to be a ‘sassy boy’.
After three years he’s no longer that little kitten that fit in the palm of my hand. He is one big boy now, barely able to fit on my lap. But he is so determined to harass me in any way he possibly can that after a while my legs go numb because the weight is so burdensome. It’s real nice when he decides to clean himself while I’m in such misery for lack of blood to my legs, or he falls limp in deep sleep for whatever length of time that serves his purpose. I tell ya, bad kitty!
It’s when he’s in a docile mood that I make my move and clench my hands around his neck and feel the softness of his hair. I feign anger and shake his head just a little bit but he’s too busy doing nothing to make a response. I don’t really need a reason but that’s when the spanking begins. Witnesses would claim that the soft pats are okay but when the butt thumpin’ begins they protest that it’s too hard, stop it! Bud Sassy makes no move to escape; he’s just at peace with the world around him as he could possibly be. Actually, he loves the touchy-feely strokes and body scratching. He doesn’t even flinch – he’s that comfortable with my loving hands.
And the gnawing at the ankles? Just when I think it might hurt, the tickling begins. He makes me chuckle every time. The stretching? He does it on his own but I help a little bit too when he looks at me on his side and his body language is almost pleading me to be his assistant in training. He’ll do this a few times every day.
Bad kitty? No. Good kitty!
Now, the morning food situation is all too real. Excuse me but I just have to find my Sassy cat and give him a good spanking. I good spanking indeed!
What do expect from the “owner” when he misbehaves? Sassy is incessantly at my feet either paw-pickin’ my socks which is okay I guess but it’s a precursor of him attacking my ankle – for cryin’ out loud, I can feel his teeth on my skin! Bad kitty.
His harassment starts early in the morning, well before sunrise, like at 530am. He is so persistent in trying to get fed before breakfast the 7am breakfast. For a Siamese cat that hasn’t yet developed into the typical yowler, he sure makes his voice heard loud, clear and annoying. Some days I have to kick him. Sorry but that’s the way it is. We’re still trying to work out the details about it being my house but his domain.
Once his tummy is fed, Sassy exposes that same tummy trying to be so loving but his selfish goal is get me to assist him in stretching. I will say that with my training he does have very good form, his leg muscles well toned.
When he was just a couple weeks old and in my possession, he was named, not by creative intuition but because it was so obvious he was born to be a ‘sassy boy’.
After three years he’s no longer that little kitten that fit in the palm of my hand. He is one big boy now, barely able to fit on my lap. But he is so determined to harass me in any way he possibly can that after a while my legs go numb because the weight is so burdensome. It’s real nice when he decides to clean himself while I’m in such misery for lack of blood to my legs, or he falls limp in deep sleep for whatever length of time that serves his purpose. I tell ya, bad kitty!
It’s when he’s in a docile mood that I make my move and clench my hands around his neck and feel the softness of his hair. I feign anger and shake his head just a little bit but he’s too busy doing nothing to make a response. I don’t really need a reason but that’s when the spanking begins. Witnesses would claim that the soft pats are okay but when the butt thumpin’ begins they protest that it’s too hard, stop it! Bud Sassy makes no move to escape; he’s just at peace with the world around him as he could possibly be. Actually, he loves the touchy-feely strokes and body scratching. He doesn’t even flinch – he’s that comfortable with my loving hands.
And the gnawing at the ankles? Just when I think it might hurt, the tickling begins. He makes me chuckle every time. The stretching? He does it on his own but I help a little bit too when he looks at me on his side and his body language is almost pleading me to be his assistant in training. He’ll do this a few times every day.
Bad kitty? No. Good kitty!
Now, the morning food situation is all too real. Excuse me but I just have to find my Sassy cat and give him a good spanking. I good spanking indeed!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Today's Birthdays, Tomorrow's Memories
As a morning dose of entertainment I eventually turn to Page 2 of the Tampa Tribune where the latest lottery numbers are printed in the center of the page, a column by Television Critic Walter Belcher at the top and a celebrity rag sheet to the right with all that’s going on with those beautiful people in the entertainment fields. (Tony Dow will have a spot in the Louvre displaying one of his original abstract sculptures!)
Just below the deeds and misdeeds of celebrities, there’s a daily listing of Today’s Birthdays covering well-known professionals from all walks of life. Producers, directors, actors, actresses, sports figures, politicians, etc. Only the birthdays of the living are listed.
It’s become a morning mind exercise that leads to personal memories of events that might help be make a thoughtful guess on the age of each celebrity.
Take for instance, on November 5, Bryan Adams and Ryan Adams, who aren’t related, shared the same birthday. A very unique coincidence and particularly of interest because both are listened to often. Let’s take Bryan: recollection puts one of this first hit tunes Cuts Like a Knife somewhere in the early ‘80s shortly after moving from West Chicago, IL, to Santa Monica, CA, in 1981. That was 27 years ago, so assuming Bryan may have been maybe around 20 – simply because he looked young and many artists make their initial entry into the music scene once they’ve entered adulthood. My guess added 20 + 27 to equal 47 years old in 2008. Not bad since he was actually 48!
Ryan Adams, of course, is much younger with just a few years in the limelight whith music I consider alternative-rock-folk music, although the paper referenced his work as alternative-country. Maybe, but on his 2007 CD Easy Tiger some of the music reminded me of Neil Young; similarly, I never considered Neil a country singer.
Although Ryan’s CDs typically hide his face either with hair hanging down, or his face directed away from the camera, I figured maybe five years ago he was probably 20 when he released Love Is Hell. So, 20 + 5 would put him at the age of 25. A fairly shy cry from his actual 33 years.
Walter Cronkite had a birthday on Election Day 2008. Going back to the 60’s with recollections of his emotions on the assassination of JFK (1963) and the landing on the moon (1969) that would be 40-45 years ago when he may have been about 40, so the guess was about 85 years old – a poor guess since he turned 92 this year.
[My thoughts usually revisit certain periods of time when there was a memorable personal event, such as Neil Armstrong’s moon walk in the same era as a lone movie date to see 2001: A Space Odyssey and the Beatles’s songs Hey Jude, Get Back and Come Together.]
For another instance, Prince Charles was born on November 14 but, since he’s never been a person of interest in my life and I really didn't care, I just figured he had to be close to a decade older than myself. My guess was 65 although he was actually 60. My goal is to be within 3 years of each person's age.
Too often there are names I don’t recognize, such as actor Josh Duhamel (who? movies? or TV?) – 36. Former UN Secretary-General Boutros-Ghali? 86 yrs. Rapper E-40? 41 yrs. Rachel Appleton? 15. Holly Valance? 25. Kip Pardue? 32. Whatever! They all get a “I don’t know that one.”
There's a personal interest when a person's age is close to my own. In addition to myself, others in the not-quite-sixty group including Elvira, Charo, Ozzie Obsourne, Jay Leno, Robin Williams, Jessica Lange, Cheryl Ladd and Dr. Phil.
Just a few minutes in the morning and the windmills of my mind get the brain a-stirrin', with reflections on people, places and events that mark the years leading up the this time in my life. As the day progresses, who knows, the day’s activities may be remembered years from now when I relate an experience to a name on Today’s Birthdays.
Just below the deeds and misdeeds of celebrities, there’s a daily listing of Today’s Birthdays covering well-known professionals from all walks of life. Producers, directors, actors, actresses, sports figures, politicians, etc. Only the birthdays of the living are listed.
It’s become a morning mind exercise that leads to personal memories of events that might help be make a thoughtful guess on the age of each celebrity.
Take for instance, on November 5, Bryan Adams and Ryan Adams, who aren’t related, shared the same birthday. A very unique coincidence and particularly of interest because both are listened to often. Let’s take Bryan: recollection puts one of this first hit tunes Cuts Like a Knife somewhere in the early ‘80s shortly after moving from West Chicago, IL, to Santa Monica, CA, in 1981. That was 27 years ago, so assuming Bryan may have been maybe around 20 – simply because he looked young and many artists make their initial entry into the music scene once they’ve entered adulthood. My guess added 20 + 27 to equal 47 years old in 2008. Not bad since he was actually 48!
Ryan Adams, of course, is much younger with just a few years in the limelight whith music I consider alternative-rock-folk music, although the paper referenced his work as alternative-country. Maybe, but on his 2007 CD Easy Tiger some of the music reminded me of Neil Young; similarly, I never considered Neil a country singer.
Although Ryan’s CDs typically hide his face either with hair hanging down, or his face directed away from the camera, I figured maybe five years ago he was probably 20 when he released Love Is Hell. So, 20 + 5 would put him at the age of 25. A fairly shy cry from his actual 33 years.
Walter Cronkite had a birthday on Election Day 2008. Going back to the 60’s with recollections of his emotions on the assassination of JFK (1963) and the landing on the moon (1969) that would be 40-45 years ago when he may have been about 40, so the guess was about 85 years old – a poor guess since he turned 92 this year.
[My thoughts usually revisit certain periods of time when there was a memorable personal event, such as Neil Armstrong’s moon walk in the same era as a lone movie date to see 2001: A Space Odyssey and the Beatles’s songs Hey Jude, Get Back and Come Together.]
For another instance, Prince Charles was born on November 14 but, since he’s never been a person of interest in my life and I really didn't care, I just figured he had to be close to a decade older than myself. My guess was 65 although he was actually 60. My goal is to be within 3 years of each person's age.
Too often there are names I don’t recognize, such as actor Josh Duhamel (who? movies? or TV?) – 36. Former UN Secretary-General Boutros-Ghali? 86 yrs. Rapper E-40? 41 yrs. Rachel Appleton? 15. Holly Valance? 25. Kip Pardue? 32. Whatever! They all get a “I don’t know that one.”
There's a personal interest when a person's age is close to my own. In addition to myself, others in the not-quite-sixty group including Elvira, Charo, Ozzie Obsourne, Jay Leno, Robin Williams, Jessica Lange, Cheryl Ladd and Dr. Phil.
Just a few minutes in the morning and the windmills of my mind get the brain a-stirrin', with reflections on people, places and events that mark the years leading up the this time in my life. As the day progresses, who knows, the day’s activities may be remembered years from now when I relate an experience to a name on Today’s Birthdays.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
A Night To Remember
They not only came in waives but more alarmingly, they came in storms. Ghosts, goblins, Spidermen, witches, extra-terrestrials, princesses, werewolves, Dracula’s, and many more disguises worn by children, teens and adults greeted me on the other side of the front door. Not a single mummy! No Frankenstein? I didn’t know a single one of them yet they were all friendly, if not shy, tricking me into giving treats in celebration of Halloween.
Year one of living in Spring Hill found a fair number of costumed partakers of sweets and treats. Years two and three were few and far between, leaving too much candy to tempt my taste buds with mouth pleasing pieces of chocolate and flavors that would get the saliva flowing from the tartness of their ingredients.
Originally, the idea of spending money and a couple hours of time opening and closing the door for a glimpse of people large and small draped in one or other pieces of cloth, plastic and, in some cases, paint didn’t fit well with my attitude. But, on the eve of Halloween, I found myself at the closest of the many Wal-Mart stores in Hernando County heading toward the “Seasonal” aisle, confused and indecisive on which of the multitude of choices that would make me a popular host to the door-to-door spooks saying “Trick or Treat”.
I decided to ask a couple of kids standing next to me what might I pick to avoid a trick. Either they didn’t quite understand my wording or they had been brought up, as they should be, leery of adults offering candy. Luck had that Mom was right there and interpreted my question in simpler words.
The boy, about 10 years old, gave an immediate response of “Airheads”. I admitted to Mom that I had no idea what they were, at which time Dad magically produced a bag of the candy for my taking. Cool, I felt the thoughtful giver for the next night’s activities. The daughter, who had been silent to my original inquiry, maintained silence with an aloof presence and drifting away. When my comment reasoned she wasn’t a candy lover, Mom assured the opposite. Still they girl, in her early teens, offered no suggestions.
I wasn’t done with Mom quite yet. In an effort to be REAL popular, I needed more input. Starburst and Skittles, which I was familiar with, immediately came to mind so in shopping cart they went, one bag with a mixture of both. As we all meandered back and forth down the candy aisle, I had to explain to Mom that it was chocolate candies that were my favorite: Snickers, Clark Bars, Reese’s, etc.
I’m sure whatever I might have picked out there wouldn’t likely be a disappointed kid with whatever I deposited in the bag but, again, I really didn’t want to disappoint the little ones. Finally, I felt at ease with the bags of candy among the groceries and personal items in the shopping cart. It wasn’t quite time to go to the checkout lane as I still had to slip a few small bags of those chocolate delights among the other treats. I have to admit it was done with guilt, not that they would be hoarded; I did some generous sharing through the late evening hours.
Yes, I had quite a pile of candies. As a last minute choice to participate in the night’s activities, I wanted to make sure I didn’t shortchange any one of the potential visitors. I not only wanted to please but be generous, and I was. There was one kid who was already so awarded with goodies that his bag was nearly full but still with room for a few more; I chose not to slight the guy. He must have been proud of take for the evening; I was hopeful that he would share his bounty but that was up to him, not me.
As a not-so-typical treat, I had a placed three Golden Delicious apples in a paper bag hoping to find the right family with a Mom and Dad there to make sure they were inspected for safety; there’s always the chance that some ghastly person would ruin the night with an item foreign to the fruit. The parents, also in costume, and two little boys seemed the perfect choice. As Dad was the last to leave me at the door, I asked for his attention with ‘Excuse me…’ and explained that I love apples as no one else in the household but when they had been purchased I failed to remember soon-to-be installed bridgework kept me from enjoying the fruit. He glanced inside the bag and commented that his boys love apples. I was thanked and felt thankful myself.
I reserved that Hanna Montana candy necklaces for the little girls and a couple of stick-ons that came with the package for the littlest of the sugar-and-spices.
The crowning moment came at the very end of my participation of the evening. No knock on the door, no ring of the doorbell. Although I faintly heard the words ‘Trick or Treat’, I felt obstinate enough that I didn’t acknowledge the threat until I heard the greeting of a light tapping on the door. The little girl was so cute in an outfit and hat of a witch that made me think she was surely the Good Witch of the South. Once the door was open, not a sound was uttered from her mouth. She gave a shy smile then turned her back toward me, perhaps wanting to share the full sight of her costume. I asked her if she had a wand and, although she didn’t respond, Mom tried to find it but with no luck She couldn’t even respond when Mom prompted her to say those three little trademark words of the night.
The shining moment for the three of us came when I handed the last of the Hanna Montana stickers to Mom so they wouldn’t get crumpled. Bright eyes and a gaping mouth gave me the crowning moment of pleasure. As it was approaching the 10 o’clock hour, I prepared to close down the candy shop, turning the outside lights off once I was assured they were safely along their way.
As dark as the night had become, there was a glow of satisfaction for the appreciation the kids showed for my efforts to make their night a successful adventure. Each time the kids walked away from the house and down the sidewalk, I demanded they ‘Have fun!’
I have no doubt they did have fun many times over and I played a bit part in their satisfaction. Yes, the kids and I had a good amount of fun!
Year one of living in Spring Hill found a fair number of costumed partakers of sweets and treats. Years two and three were few and far between, leaving too much candy to tempt my taste buds with mouth pleasing pieces of chocolate and flavors that would get the saliva flowing from the tartness of their ingredients.
Originally, the idea of spending money and a couple hours of time opening and closing the door for a glimpse of people large and small draped in one or other pieces of cloth, plastic and, in some cases, paint didn’t fit well with my attitude. But, on the eve of Halloween, I found myself at the closest of the many Wal-Mart stores in Hernando County heading toward the “Seasonal” aisle, confused and indecisive on which of the multitude of choices that would make me a popular host to the door-to-door spooks saying “Trick or Treat”.
I decided to ask a couple of kids standing next to me what might I pick to avoid a trick. Either they didn’t quite understand my wording or they had been brought up, as they should be, leery of adults offering candy. Luck had that Mom was right there and interpreted my question in simpler words.
The boy, about 10 years old, gave an immediate response of “Airheads”. I admitted to Mom that I had no idea what they were, at which time Dad magically produced a bag of the candy for my taking. Cool, I felt the thoughtful giver for the next night’s activities. The daughter, who had been silent to my original inquiry, maintained silence with an aloof presence and drifting away. When my comment reasoned she wasn’t a candy lover, Mom assured the opposite. Still they girl, in her early teens, offered no suggestions.
I wasn’t done with Mom quite yet. In an effort to be REAL popular, I needed more input. Starburst and Skittles, which I was familiar with, immediately came to mind so in shopping cart they went, one bag with a mixture of both. As we all meandered back and forth down the candy aisle, I had to explain to Mom that it was chocolate candies that were my favorite: Snickers, Clark Bars, Reese’s, etc.
I’m sure whatever I might have picked out there wouldn’t likely be a disappointed kid with whatever I deposited in the bag but, again, I really didn’t want to disappoint the little ones. Finally, I felt at ease with the bags of candy among the groceries and personal items in the shopping cart. It wasn’t quite time to go to the checkout lane as I still had to slip a few small bags of those chocolate delights among the other treats. I have to admit it was done with guilt, not that they would be hoarded; I did some generous sharing through the late evening hours.
Yes, I had quite a pile of candies. As a last minute choice to participate in the night’s activities, I wanted to make sure I didn’t shortchange any one of the potential visitors. I not only wanted to please but be generous, and I was. There was one kid who was already so awarded with goodies that his bag was nearly full but still with room for a few more; I chose not to slight the guy. He must have been proud of take for the evening; I was hopeful that he would share his bounty but that was up to him, not me.
As a not-so-typical treat, I had a placed three Golden Delicious apples in a paper bag hoping to find the right family with a Mom and Dad there to make sure they were inspected for safety; there’s always the chance that some ghastly person would ruin the night with an item foreign to the fruit. The parents, also in costume, and two little boys seemed the perfect choice. As Dad was the last to leave me at the door, I asked for his attention with ‘Excuse me…’ and explained that I love apples as no one else in the household but when they had been purchased I failed to remember soon-to-be installed bridgework kept me from enjoying the fruit. He glanced inside the bag and commented that his boys love apples. I was thanked and felt thankful myself.
I reserved that Hanna Montana candy necklaces for the little girls and a couple of stick-ons that came with the package for the littlest of the sugar-and-spices.
The crowning moment came at the very end of my participation of the evening. No knock on the door, no ring of the doorbell. Although I faintly heard the words ‘Trick or Treat’, I felt obstinate enough that I didn’t acknowledge the threat until I heard the greeting of a light tapping on the door. The little girl was so cute in an outfit and hat of a witch that made me think she was surely the Good Witch of the South. Once the door was open, not a sound was uttered from her mouth. She gave a shy smile then turned her back toward me, perhaps wanting to share the full sight of her costume. I asked her if she had a wand and, although she didn’t respond, Mom tried to find it but with no luck She couldn’t even respond when Mom prompted her to say those three little trademark words of the night.
The shining moment for the three of us came when I handed the last of the Hanna Montana stickers to Mom so they wouldn’t get crumpled. Bright eyes and a gaping mouth gave me the crowning moment of pleasure. As it was approaching the 10 o’clock hour, I prepared to close down the candy shop, turning the outside lights off once I was assured they were safely along their way.
As dark as the night had become, there was a glow of satisfaction for the appreciation the kids showed for my efforts to make their night a successful adventure. Each time the kids walked away from the house and down the sidewalk, I demanded they ‘Have fun!’
I have no doubt they did have fun many times over and I played a bit part in their satisfaction. Yes, the kids and I had a good amount of fun!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Lake Park Campground and Cottages
Getting to Rapid City was a straight and easy shot from Sioux Falls on the eastern most part of South Dakota on border of Iowa along I-90. There was no problem following the route given by Map Quest and being on an early Tuesday afternoon traffic was light enough to leave my nerves intact. I was pretty anxious to check in and check out the place where I would lay my weary body and relax my mind, as if I really thought I could contain the excitement of being at the base of the Black Hills.
Of course, there had a be a glitch, traveling back and forth along Jackson Blvd trying to find County Club Blvd that would take me to Chapel Lane and whatever cabin would be my home for the next two weeks. Twice I reached a point where buildings became fewer and the twist of a bend found me where there were none.
After passing Sheridan Lake Rd and the Meadow Brook Golf Course and Country Club three times there still wasn’t a road labeled as it should have been. I was so intent on finding Country Club Blvd that frustration finally set in as I began to eagle-hawk every street and driveway along Jackson Blvd. Finally, there was a small, white on green street sign that read Chapel Ln! From there it would have been a quick walk to the entrance of Lake Park Campground if I hadn’t been riding in a four-wheeler.
If I hadn’t been astute to the surroundings, I might have missed the entrance, but there it was with ivy covering part of the sign that told me I had reached my destination.
The office was easily identified with an ice bin, which I would soon find was no longer stocked. Sherry was behind the counter, quick to remember the name from a couple of conversations we had a few weeks prior to arriving. We were a day earlier since we had left a day earlier than planned and drove straight through the first night of travel.
Sherry was very friendly, made us feel welcome and actually gave us the choice of two cabins, both next to each other, one decorated in the mode of a hunter’s abode with an animal’s head hung on the wall, etc. The other cabin had a less manly feel about it but Cabin 11 was the winner, only because the TV was aligned for viewing from an easy chair and a sofa bed. Other than the positioning of the TV the cabins were identical with the same amenities yet in reversed order.
Two bedrooms, a full kitchen, a large cloakroom adjacent to small bathroom with the basic washbowl, toilet and stand-alone shower. In the cloakroom the best friend a traveler can expect was a hot water heater! For us alone, no attached cabins where sharing would have affected water pressure and available hot water. What a pleasure!
The kitchen was equipped with dishes; silverware; glasses; coffee maker, cups and filters; a window air conditioner and a gas heater; refrigerator; basic cable; and pots and pans. There were enough towels for a family of six and a huge supply of quality toilet paper, which saved the rolls I had brought along… just in case Of course, there were plenty of And an outside gas grill – a real one, not some chintzy piece of metal housing. Clean and neat with no acception.
Upon arriving, I had asked Sherry if there was a microwave. Yes. She explained it wasn’t including with any promotional information, including the Inet, because it pleases people to find more than what they expect rather than falling short of expectations. Outside the cabin, next to the grill, was a full-sized picnic table.
Sherry gave me fair warning that I would most likely see resident deer roaming the area, which there were. Without warning and without a camera handy, at one point two deer and three fawns passed next to the cabin, not more than five feet from where I sat in pleasant awe. The first week they were in sight often then they seemed to have disappeared, but Sherry suggested I just walk behind the cabin a short way where she had just seen them. They’re definitely accustomed to humans but still attune to their survival instincts. I saw then quite a few times afterward.
Lake Park Campgrounds and Cottages was the perfect place to lay my head to rest after each day’s adventures. There are other choices in different areas among the hills but the location gave me easy access to Rapid City with its restaurants, museums and a true small town feel of friendliness. Just the right size – not too big, not too small.
Mount Rushmore; a variety of caverns; Custer State Park; Hill City and Keystone, which are quaint tourist havens; Deadwood, where Wild Bill and Calamity Jane dwelled; Sturgis, where the 69th Annual Motorcycle Rally will be held the first week in August next year; and so many other wondrous adventures filled the days. These were less than hour’s drive away from the cabin. Devil’s Tower in Wyoming and the Mammoth Site downstate were within a two-hour drive.
Wherever a person travels along the roads, there’s no boredom as the scenery engulfs a person’s eyesight. Even the driver can enjoy the views without taking the eyes off the road – they’re all around!
Yes, Lake Park Campground and Cottages is strongly recommended to anyone visiting the Black Hills of South Dakota. It’s a temporary home, a haven of tranquility among towering trees with open views of the sky and the friendliest of people, Sherry first and foremost.
www.lakeparkcampground.com
Of course, there had a be a glitch, traveling back and forth along Jackson Blvd trying to find County Club Blvd that would take me to Chapel Lane and whatever cabin would be my home for the next two weeks. Twice I reached a point where buildings became fewer and the twist of a bend found me where there were none.
After passing Sheridan Lake Rd and the Meadow Brook Golf Course and Country Club three times there still wasn’t a road labeled as it should have been. I was so intent on finding Country Club Blvd that frustration finally set in as I began to eagle-hawk every street and driveway along Jackson Blvd. Finally, there was a small, white on green street sign that read Chapel Ln! From there it would have been a quick walk to the entrance of Lake Park Campground if I hadn’t been riding in a four-wheeler.
If I hadn’t been astute to the surroundings, I might have missed the entrance, but there it was with ivy covering part of the sign that told me I had reached my destination.
The office was easily identified with an ice bin, which I would soon find was no longer stocked. Sherry was behind the counter, quick to remember the name from a couple of conversations we had a few weeks prior to arriving. We were a day earlier since we had left a day earlier than planned and drove straight through the first night of travel.
Sherry was very friendly, made us feel welcome and actually gave us the choice of two cabins, both next to each other, one decorated in the mode of a hunter’s abode with an animal’s head hung on the wall, etc. The other cabin had a less manly feel about it but Cabin 11 was the winner, only because the TV was aligned for viewing from an easy chair and a sofa bed. Other than the positioning of the TV the cabins were identical with the same amenities yet in reversed order.
Two bedrooms, a full kitchen, a large cloakroom adjacent to small bathroom with the basic washbowl, toilet and stand-alone shower. In the cloakroom the best friend a traveler can expect was a hot water heater! For us alone, no attached cabins where sharing would have affected water pressure and available hot water. What a pleasure!
The kitchen was equipped with dishes; silverware; glasses; coffee maker, cups and filters; a window air conditioner and a gas heater; refrigerator; basic cable; and pots and pans. There were enough towels for a family of six and a huge supply of quality toilet paper, which saved the rolls I had brought along… just in case Of course, there were plenty of And an outside gas grill – a real one, not some chintzy piece of metal housing. Clean and neat with no acception.
Upon arriving, I had asked Sherry if there was a microwave. Yes. She explained it wasn’t including with any promotional information, including the Inet, because it pleases people to find more than what they expect rather than falling short of expectations. Outside the cabin, next to the grill, was a full-sized picnic table.
Sherry gave me fair warning that I would most likely see resident deer roaming the area, which there were. Without warning and without a camera handy, at one point two deer and three fawns passed next to the cabin, not more than five feet from where I sat in pleasant awe. The first week they were in sight often then they seemed to have disappeared, but Sherry suggested I just walk behind the cabin a short way where she had just seen them. They’re definitely accustomed to humans but still attune to their survival instincts. I saw then quite a few times afterward.
Lake Park Campgrounds and Cottages was the perfect place to lay my head to rest after each day’s adventures. There are other choices in different areas among the hills but the location gave me easy access to Rapid City with its restaurants, museums and a true small town feel of friendliness. Just the right size – not too big, not too small.
Mount Rushmore; a variety of caverns; Custer State Park; Hill City and Keystone, which are quaint tourist havens; Deadwood, where Wild Bill and Calamity Jane dwelled; Sturgis, where the 69th Annual Motorcycle Rally will be held the first week in August next year; and so many other wondrous adventures filled the days. These were less than hour’s drive away from the cabin. Devil’s Tower in Wyoming and the Mammoth Site downstate were within a two-hour drive.
Wherever a person travels along the roads, there’s no boredom as the scenery engulfs a person’s eyesight. Even the driver can enjoy the views without taking the eyes off the road – they’re all around!
Yes, Lake Park Campground and Cottages is strongly recommended to anyone visiting the Black Hills of South Dakota. It’s a temporary home, a haven of tranquility among towering trees with open views of the sky and the friendliest of people, Sherry first and foremost.
www.lakeparkcampground.com
Two Years Onward
Hibiscus with yellow flowers. The red of bottlebrush. The orange of honeysuckle. The white and yellow colors of jasmines. The purple of bougainvillea. The bluebells. A trio of snapdragon colors; yellow, purple, pink. The forever greens of evergreens. The bright deep pink of cactus flowers. Cannas with more pink and yellow flowers. The variegated tints of false bamboo and crotons.
These are the plants that are planted along the backyard fence, just this side of the numerous sand hill pines that stand among other plants and bushes in the Sand Hill Boy Scout Reserve that extends from Cortez Blvd and my home. There are a number of other plants whose names I just can’t remember.
It’s been a busy year of my attempts to adorn my backyard with vegetation that will eventually highlight the sights of visitors’ and mine own eyes. And I do mean eventually.
It’s been an arduous journey to rid the full expanse of the privacy fence along the width of the backyard, a large area some 70 feet by 10 feet that the subcontractors of Mr. Adams failed to place a few pallets of sod. The ground had been cleared as the plot of land was being prepared for resale by an investor, with an 1860-sq foot home set back from the road, but sand was left where blades of grass should have grown. The sprinkler system was misplaced as was the missing bahia.
A lot of time, sweat, digging and uprooting of weeds, and gallons of vegetation killer has been spent in preparation of whatever whim, size and expense of greenery I would decide to plant. And plant I did. Still, at this point, there are very few trees. An East Palatka holly, which will at some point have bunches of red berries that will attract a flock of birds at whatever harvest time they choose, and a non-baring fruit fig are the only trees have been introduced to the property.
The bluebells are abundant with their trumpets of purple-hewed flowers. The cannas have been quick-rooters with a continuous bloom of colors fulfilling my expectations of pleasant views.
The front of the house has a well-maintained rock garden. The roadside has a wide swath of cleared sand with a number of arborvitae and, here I go again, plants whose names I don’t remember. There’s also an open pit close to the sidewalk that was carefully bordered with “decorative” cement castings. At some point I will find the right kind of tree acceptable to my standards of shade. It’s right next to a sprinkler head, positioned perfectly for an ever-flowing fountain – no way, my friend; water is more precious to the ground than wasteful evaporation.
With slight patience I await the time when these vines and plants have my expectations of adornment. While I was gone for three weeks, they were left with the harsh weather conditions of drought, still alive but looking as though they were on their last root of survival. This was not good but the lack of moisture and the heat of days also kept weeds from proliferating the clearings.
Eventually is an often-used word of future goals and particularly applies to the growth of vegetation.
What? Maybe two years from now the vines will along the back fence will meld together with the lush of green and colorful flowers? Maybe the same time period for the bushes to flourish and fill in the garden where it now appears to be sparse and too barren?
What? Maybe two years until the housing market regains a sensible, realistic market-driven growth period. Maybe two years until I can conceivably consider my options to move out of Spring Hill, out of Hernando County and out of Florida. As a friend had gifted me with a black and white, simply framed caricature of people leisurely basking in the yellow sun of a California day with words that proclaimed “Another day in paradise”, so I may depart this State Down-under. A poorly-governed State, a County with little insight of futures past, workforces dependent on simpletons, an elderly haven no longer within the means of retirees, a region sure to be plummeted with increasingly destructive hurricanes, and what is becoming a land meant for those with fortunes: causes for concern for my security and happiness in these waning years on this planet Earth, hopefully long before I’m running on empty.
So, there’s plenty of time to tidy the house. Minor settlement cracks to fill and hide. A bit of touch up paint here and there – “there” being primary along the baseboards where dust collects, where it’s not easily de-clustered, where a few brush strokes will cover what would turn a white glove with shades of gray.
Two years for my fortune cookie to come to reality, when I “will be at the height of your career”. Two years? I don’t know what that career might be; it has to be something more than working for phone companies for half my life, leaving me with a pension at a quarter of my ending pay. The company-contributed 401(k) was the best route to achieving a minimum degree of financial security (if there ever will be). And yet, as hard as I tried, others in my same age bracket couldn’t be prompted to use common sense. Paycheck deduction makes you budget what’s in hand.
Two years for another recent fortune cookie to fulfill it’s claim that “An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly!” Oh, really? If it’s the illegal type then it’s the sort that won’t speak English. Or maybe the Lotto will supply me with funds that are alien to my pocketbook. I might have a better chance that E.T. will sweep me from this slowly polluting, quickly heating planet and take me to heights and sights as I have never seen before!
These are the plants that are planted along the backyard fence, just this side of the numerous sand hill pines that stand among other plants and bushes in the Sand Hill Boy Scout Reserve that extends from Cortez Blvd and my home. There are a number of other plants whose names I just can’t remember.
It’s been a busy year of my attempts to adorn my backyard with vegetation that will eventually highlight the sights of visitors’ and mine own eyes. And I do mean eventually.
It’s been an arduous journey to rid the full expanse of the privacy fence along the width of the backyard, a large area some 70 feet by 10 feet that the subcontractors of Mr. Adams failed to place a few pallets of sod. The ground had been cleared as the plot of land was being prepared for resale by an investor, with an 1860-sq foot home set back from the road, but sand was left where blades of grass should have grown. The sprinkler system was misplaced as was the missing bahia.
A lot of time, sweat, digging and uprooting of weeds, and gallons of vegetation killer has been spent in preparation of whatever whim, size and expense of greenery I would decide to plant. And plant I did. Still, at this point, there are very few trees. An East Palatka holly, which will at some point have bunches of red berries that will attract a flock of birds at whatever harvest time they choose, and a non-baring fruit fig are the only trees have been introduced to the property.
The bluebells are abundant with their trumpets of purple-hewed flowers. The cannas have been quick-rooters with a continuous bloom of colors fulfilling my expectations of pleasant views.
The front of the house has a well-maintained rock garden. The roadside has a wide swath of cleared sand with a number of arborvitae and, here I go again, plants whose names I don’t remember. There’s also an open pit close to the sidewalk that was carefully bordered with “decorative” cement castings. At some point I will find the right kind of tree acceptable to my standards of shade. It’s right next to a sprinkler head, positioned perfectly for an ever-flowing fountain – no way, my friend; water is more precious to the ground than wasteful evaporation.
With slight patience I await the time when these vines and plants have my expectations of adornment. While I was gone for three weeks, they were left with the harsh weather conditions of drought, still alive but looking as though they were on their last root of survival. This was not good but the lack of moisture and the heat of days also kept weeds from proliferating the clearings.
Eventually is an often-used word of future goals and particularly applies to the growth of vegetation.
What? Maybe two years from now the vines will along the back fence will meld together with the lush of green and colorful flowers? Maybe the same time period for the bushes to flourish and fill in the garden where it now appears to be sparse and too barren?
What? Maybe two years until the housing market regains a sensible, realistic market-driven growth period. Maybe two years until I can conceivably consider my options to move out of Spring Hill, out of Hernando County and out of Florida. As a friend had gifted me with a black and white, simply framed caricature of people leisurely basking in the yellow sun of a California day with words that proclaimed “Another day in paradise”, so I may depart this State Down-under. A poorly-governed State, a County with little insight of futures past, workforces dependent on simpletons, an elderly haven no longer within the means of retirees, a region sure to be plummeted with increasingly destructive hurricanes, and what is becoming a land meant for those with fortunes: causes for concern for my security and happiness in these waning years on this planet Earth, hopefully long before I’m running on empty.
So, there’s plenty of time to tidy the house. Minor settlement cracks to fill and hide. A bit of touch up paint here and there – “there” being primary along the baseboards where dust collects, where it’s not easily de-clustered, where a few brush strokes will cover what would turn a white glove with shades of gray.
Two years for my fortune cookie to come to reality, when I “will be at the height of your career”. Two years? I don’t know what that career might be; it has to be something more than working for phone companies for half my life, leaving me with a pension at a quarter of my ending pay. The company-contributed 401(k) was the best route to achieving a minimum degree of financial security (if there ever will be). And yet, as hard as I tried, others in my same age bracket couldn’t be prompted to use common sense. Paycheck deduction makes you budget what’s in hand.
Two years for another recent fortune cookie to fulfill it’s claim that “An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly!” Oh, really? If it’s the illegal type then it’s the sort that won’t speak English. Or maybe the Lotto will supply me with funds that are alien to my pocketbook. I might have a better chance that E.T. will sweep me from this slowly polluting, quickly heating planet and take me to heights and sights as I have never seen before!
Friday, October 24, 2008
What Planet Do They Live On?
A St. Petersburg Times/Bay News 9 poll taken on October 20 thru 22 of 800 local voters showed some very conflicting attitudes to the reality of these economic times. The poll also gave statistics on voter preference and expectations of the next President of the United States, but those numbers were of little surprise.
Do 42% of those polled truly believe their “personal economic situation to be better over the next year”? Do another 39% have faith in their belief that they expect their status “stay the same”? It’s the 12% who “expect it to get worse” that have a better grip on current, and the foreseeable future, financial trends.
That leaves yet another 7% who don’t care, aren’t legally registered voters or on their way out of State.
Those positive-thinking 336 might be the financially secure who can easily afford the rising costs of healthcare, the next round of increasing energy costs and haven’t bothered to check their 401k accounts. I assume their investments in homeownership still provide an upward-moving equitable balance sheet. Perhaps they expect a personal bailout?
They certainly aren’t retirees living on Social Security and Medicare benefits. They most definitely have no fear that they will be among the next 7%, or more, of unemployed Floridians.
Do 42% of those polled truly believe their “personal economic situation to be better over the next year”? Do another 39% have faith in their belief that they expect their status “stay the same”? It’s the 12% who “expect it to get worse” that have a better grip on current, and the foreseeable future, financial trends.
That leaves yet another 7% who don’t care, aren’t legally registered voters or on their way out of State.
Those positive-thinking 336 might be the financially secure who can easily afford the rising costs of healthcare, the next round of increasing energy costs and haven’t bothered to check their 401k accounts. I assume their investments in homeownership still provide an upward-moving equitable balance sheet. Perhaps they expect a personal bailout?
They certainly aren’t retirees living on Social Security and Medicare benefits. They most definitely have no fear that they will be among the next 7%, or more, of unemployed Floridians.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Gas in the Tank, Money in the Bank
Heading to South Dakota gave some unreality checks on the price of gasoline. As the price was at about $3.80/gallon a month ago locally when I arrived in Rapid City the price was about $3.20! What a deal! But wait… that was for Regular unleaded grade (85 octane) but Super unleaded (87 octane) was 5-cents cheaper. Premium was a dime higher than regular. Cashiers inside the quickie-marts weren’t able to explain the pricing.
At the time I left South Dakota, Super was selling at $2.99.
There is still a large difference in each of the state’s gas rates. With the assistance of Google, checking those rates, those sales tax rates are 4% in SD and 6% in FL. Gas taxes are $.24 and $.33, respectively. Niether has a state income tax.
Currently those conflicting rates are $3.08 compared to $2.91.
Regardless the reasons for such a discrepancy of prices, the money saved stays in the bank.
At the time I left South Dakota, Super was selling at $2.99.
There is still a large difference in each of the state’s gas rates. With the assistance of Google, checking those rates, those sales tax rates are 4% in SD and 6% in FL. Gas taxes are $.24 and $.33, respectively. Niether has a state income tax.
Currently those conflicting rates are $3.08 compared to $2.91.
Regardless the reasons for such a discrepancy of prices, the money saved stays in the bank.
Other Currently Maintained Blogs
Hernando Hews '08
{The Looks and Outlooks of a Community}
www.hernandohews08.blogspot.com
Florida Menagerie 08
{The State Down Under}
www.ronraeblog.blogspot.com
Parcel Post '08
{Comments to Entice}
www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
{The Looks and Outlooks of a Community}
www.hernandohews08.blogspot.com
Florida Menagerie 08
{The State Down Under}
www.ronraeblog.blogspot.com
Parcel Post '08
{Comments to Entice}
www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Mike and His Mechanics
Just beyond the border of Mississippi and the final stretch along I-12 toward I-55 there’s a little town of Hammond, Louisiana. From what I could tell, it’s not much of place of action but it was at that point in the trip that a long than wanted stop found the first full day of driving seeking some assistance with the car because the engine light had displayed on the dashboard. The Camry was running and riding fine but the need was still there to find out what might affect the journey to the north.
I quickly found a local auto supply store whose attendant routed me to an AutoZone where they were able to do a diagnostic check. Almost in the snap of a finger, the woman identified the problem to be the “oxygen sensor before the catalytic converter”. I quickly made a silent inquiry to myself as to whether there may other oxygen sensors branching from the converter – maybe after, under, over? Of course, I had no idea so the question was never verbalized. It was a silly thought and a pointless idea but it momentarily distracted my attention from the immediate problem.
The lady was pleasant enough but her insistence that it be checked out further by a qualified mechanic to avoid other problems (such as poor gas mileage) gave a bit more concern as to where I could take the car since it was a Sunday afternoon. A Toyota dealership had been seen on the way about town but it wasn’t open for business and I began to wonder if the night was about to be spent where I didn’t want to dawdle. She suggested K-Mart automotive could handle the job. Wrong.
Hammond, LA, is quite small - about 18,000 people according to Rand McNally but the directions seemed vague and confusing. I couldn’t believe it but I ended up on a highway that took me to another highway, taking me around in circles because their were three different exits. Exasperated and a little touchy, I got back on a surface road and lo and behold! a local police car was idling in a parking lot. How joyful I was and much relieved that he was very friendly, probably noting a bit of "I don't know where I am" facial expression; the officer pointed me in the right direction, one turn and just a couple streets away.
Of course, K-Mart auto strictly does tired so there I was listening to my traveling companion, the owner of the Camry, going through another bout of panic.
Not to worry. Although I didn’t have the business card with me, and knowing his place of business would be closed on Sunday, I thought of Mike at ToyoDoc in my hometown just a short distance across from the St. Petersburg/Hernando Times building. But I quickly thought of his last name, O’Connor. A directory listing from 4-1-1 and a quick dial to his home number availed me the opportunity to leave a message with a simple summary of what I had been told at AutoZone.
By the end of the day, when the Boost Phone voicemail was retrieved, Mike said don’t worry about it, that the gas mileage might be affected but definitely nothing to be concerned about. He’d check it when we were back in town. It’s scheduled for an appointment this coming Thursday. What a relief it is to have such an excellent Doc to handle maintenance and repair servicing with an expertise that fixes what needs to be done rather than any other auto place that would most likely soak the wallet.
Mike and his mechanics are just shy of being saviors for all my automotive needs. Since moving from Chambord St to his recent location on Cortez Blvd some time ago he answered my inquiry as to how business was going. I thought with the economic situation things might be shy of business goals. Not so. He explained that, because word of mouth is the best means of advertising, he has no need to drum up business from any other source.
The motto of ToyoDoc: Proverbs 22... A good name is more desirable that great riches.
I say, great riches to the honest man.
A sincere thanks to Mike and his mechanics.
UPDATE
ToyoDoc quickly identified the problem as the catalytic converter, which is under factory warranty for 8 years/80,000 miles. Fortunately, there's no cost. Unfortunately, the Camry has to be taken to a Toyota dealership.
I quickly found a local auto supply store whose attendant routed me to an AutoZone where they were able to do a diagnostic check. Almost in the snap of a finger, the woman identified the problem to be the “oxygen sensor before the catalytic converter”. I quickly made a silent inquiry to myself as to whether there may other oxygen sensors branching from the converter – maybe after, under, over? Of course, I had no idea so the question was never verbalized. It was a silly thought and a pointless idea but it momentarily distracted my attention from the immediate problem.
The lady was pleasant enough but her insistence that it be checked out further by a qualified mechanic to avoid other problems (such as poor gas mileage) gave a bit more concern as to where I could take the car since it was a Sunday afternoon. A Toyota dealership had been seen on the way about town but it wasn’t open for business and I began to wonder if the night was about to be spent where I didn’t want to dawdle. She suggested K-Mart automotive could handle the job. Wrong.
Hammond, LA, is quite small - about 18,000 people according to Rand McNally but the directions seemed vague and confusing. I couldn’t believe it but I ended up on a highway that took me to another highway, taking me around in circles because their were three different exits. Exasperated and a little touchy, I got back on a surface road and lo and behold! a local police car was idling in a parking lot. How joyful I was and much relieved that he was very friendly, probably noting a bit of "I don't know where I am" facial expression; the officer pointed me in the right direction, one turn and just a couple streets away.
Of course, K-Mart auto strictly does tired so there I was listening to my traveling companion, the owner of the Camry, going through another bout of panic.
Not to worry. Although I didn’t have the business card with me, and knowing his place of business would be closed on Sunday, I thought of Mike at ToyoDoc in my hometown just a short distance across from the St. Petersburg/Hernando Times building. But I quickly thought of his last name, O’Connor. A directory listing from 4-1-1 and a quick dial to his home number availed me the opportunity to leave a message with a simple summary of what I had been told at AutoZone.
By the end of the day, when the Boost Phone voicemail was retrieved, Mike said don’t worry about it, that the gas mileage might be affected but definitely nothing to be concerned about. He’d check it when we were back in town. It’s scheduled for an appointment this coming Thursday. What a relief it is to have such an excellent Doc to handle maintenance and repair servicing with an expertise that fixes what needs to be done rather than any other auto place that would most likely soak the wallet.
Mike and his mechanics are just shy of being saviors for all my automotive needs. Since moving from Chambord St to his recent location on Cortez Blvd some time ago he answered my inquiry as to how business was going. I thought with the economic situation things might be shy of business goals. Not so. He explained that, because word of mouth is the best means of advertising, he has no need to drum up business from any other source.
The motto of ToyoDoc: Proverbs 22... A good name is more desirable that great riches.
I say, great riches to the honest man.
A sincere thanks to Mike and his mechanics.
UPDATE
ToyoDoc quickly identified the problem as the catalytic converter, which is under factory warranty for 8 years/80,000 miles. Fortunately, there's no cost. Unfortunately, the Camry has to be taken to a Toyota dealership.
LoveBugs Leave My Car Alone
I can’t really say that the trip to South Dakota started out poorly but after driving through first night and stopping the next evening the splatters on the windshield and front bumper had made a pretty good mess on the car.
What surprised me about the beginning of the journey was that, after traveling safely through the Florida panhandle by way of SR 19 then I-10 and a little stretch on I-12 to avoid New Orleans, the short distance through Mississippi and proceeding through a good portion of Louisiana along the northbound lanes on I-55 brought the sight of LoveBug splotches of gray, black and red colors decorated the Color Guard coating over the paint of the ’03 Camry, including the review mirrors.
The season of LoveBugs in Florida had minimal affect from the damaging acidity of those pesky little buggers. Previous years had plastered the porch and window screens of my home, even squeezing their pliable bodies through the tiniest openings and flying inside when outside doors were opened. Naivety made me fail to question the feasibility that through the past three decades their unnatural terrains well exceed the confines of Florida.
It wasn’t until after a few days of arriving in Rapid City that time was spent removing their remains from the car. Mild scrubbing before hand gave the touch-free automated car wash an easier job of the rest. Without rainfall locally, lovebugs were denied their basis of multiplying and 2008 gave us a respite.
Fortunately, the trip back to Hernando County was totally void of LoveBugs and very few others.
What surprised me about the beginning of the journey was that, after traveling safely through the Florida panhandle by way of SR 19 then I-10 and a little stretch on I-12 to avoid New Orleans, the short distance through Mississippi and proceeding through a good portion of Louisiana along the northbound lanes on I-55 brought the sight of LoveBug splotches of gray, black and red colors decorated the Color Guard coating over the paint of the ’03 Camry, including the review mirrors.
The season of LoveBugs in Florida had minimal affect from the damaging acidity of those pesky little buggers. Previous years had plastered the porch and window screens of my home, even squeezing their pliable bodies through the tiniest openings and flying inside when outside doors were opened. Naivety made me fail to question the feasibility that through the past three decades their unnatural terrains well exceed the confines of Florida.
It wasn’t until after a few days of arriving in Rapid City that time was spent removing their remains from the car. Mild scrubbing before hand gave the touch-free automated car wash an easier job of the rest. Without rainfall locally, lovebugs were denied their basis of multiplying and 2008 gave us a respite.
Fortunately, the trip back to Hernando County was totally void of LoveBugs and very few others.
Falling Into Summer Vacation
The original departure date to leave from Spring Hill, FL, to Rapid City, SD, was marked as September 22, the first day of fall. After careful thought, a mere four days prior to that date, it changed. First it became a day earlier on Sunday. A day later the final decision had been made for the 20th.
The reason centered on the realization that if someone should ask “What did you do on your summer vacation?” I’d have to say it didn’t happen. So, although it was at the tail end of the season, the departure date had been changed to avoid a disclaimer explaining why it I had no summertime views of this land of natural wonders.
With a little stretch of the true facts, I can now say that I vacationed in the summer and the fall!
The reason centered on the realization that if someone should ask “What did you do on your summer vacation?” I’d have to say it didn’t happen. So, although it was at the tail end of the season, the departure date had been changed to avoid a disclaimer explaining why it I had no summertime views of this land of natural wonders.
With a little stretch of the true facts, I can now say that I vacationed in the summer and the fall!
Still Depooperating
What an exciting, relaxing visit to South Dakota has been. Two full weeks among the Black Hills and all the wonderful sights that invigorated my already love and appreciation of nature had to be left behind as the inevitable return to my home and cats (actually, not in that order!) crept up with reality.
All went pretty well on the trip to the northern plains of America. I suppose I was very fortunate to have found motels along the way that were very accommodating for periods of badly needed rest. Sleeping in comfortable quarters surely made the days’ driving of a few hundred miles kept my mind and body well prepared for the exciting weeks ahead.
But, oh, those three nights spent heading back to Florida wore me down far beyond the energy that kept my being ready for one adventure after another. It was a far cry from the nights spent in the cabin at the base of the Hills.
Body aches from not-to-comfortable beds and by the time I finally reached the final destination in my round trip visit, I returned to find myself too pooped to do much other than wait for the time when I would regain my energy level. And it hasn’t quite yet achieved that degree of energy needed to get the groove back to attend to household chores and yard maintenance.
Fortunately, the house was left in a near perfect condition and with two cats for a neighbor to care for and the grass grew very little with the typical shortage (none) of rainfall. Roy, the Good Samaritan who actually thanked ME for allowing HIM to feed, clean the litter box and enjoy their company, even mowed the yard shortly before I got back just to even it off!
I had left Roy with a moderately money-filled debit card as a token gesture of appreciation for the duties he gleefully accepted. The day before I got back he used a bag of cat food ($7.95 plus tax) to make sure there wouldn’t be an immediate need for me to rush to Wal-Mart to keep the little critters’ appetite fulfilled! When I handed the card back to him after he welcomed us back and returned the key that gave him access to the backyard, he claimed he wasn’t sure it was meant as compensation for his maintenance fees. And yet, he was well aware of my intention the card was his to use as he wished.
(Roy keeps a key to the house in his possession at all times, just in case there’s ever an emergency where his assistance is needed when I’m delayed or unable to be at home to tend to my own responsibilities. We have a great degree of trust between us.)
Part of my exhaustion comes from the days of return to Spring Hill but a good part of it can be attributed to those very cats, Elvis and Sassy, that I missed so very much. Elvis is fairly innocent in the matter but there’s a certain amount of belief that he may be the actual reason why Sassy is extremely persistent in making sure I get up at a specific hour for the morning feeding.
Most of the clothes have been returned to the closet and dresser drawers but the souvenirs and relished pieces of printed materials, including brochures, sales receipts and bits of notes I scribbled on pieces of paper, that will assist my memory sometime in the distant future are left for another day or week when I become completely depooperated.
All went pretty well on the trip to the northern plains of America. I suppose I was very fortunate to have found motels along the way that were very accommodating for periods of badly needed rest. Sleeping in comfortable quarters surely made the days’ driving of a few hundred miles kept my mind and body well prepared for the exciting weeks ahead.
But, oh, those three nights spent heading back to Florida wore me down far beyond the energy that kept my being ready for one adventure after another. It was a far cry from the nights spent in the cabin at the base of the Hills.
Body aches from not-to-comfortable beds and by the time I finally reached the final destination in my round trip visit, I returned to find myself too pooped to do much other than wait for the time when I would regain my energy level. And it hasn’t quite yet achieved that degree of energy needed to get the groove back to attend to household chores and yard maintenance.
Fortunately, the house was left in a near perfect condition and with two cats for a neighbor to care for and the grass grew very little with the typical shortage (none) of rainfall. Roy, the Good Samaritan who actually thanked ME for allowing HIM to feed, clean the litter box and enjoy their company, even mowed the yard shortly before I got back just to even it off!
I had left Roy with a moderately money-filled debit card as a token gesture of appreciation for the duties he gleefully accepted. The day before I got back he used a bag of cat food ($7.95 plus tax) to make sure there wouldn’t be an immediate need for me to rush to Wal-Mart to keep the little critters’ appetite fulfilled! When I handed the card back to him after he welcomed us back and returned the key that gave him access to the backyard, he claimed he wasn’t sure it was meant as compensation for his maintenance fees. And yet, he was well aware of my intention the card was his to use as he wished.
(Roy keeps a key to the house in his possession at all times, just in case there’s ever an emergency where his assistance is needed when I’m delayed or unable to be at home to tend to my own responsibilities. We have a great degree of trust between us.)
Part of my exhaustion comes from the days of return to Spring Hill but a good part of it can be attributed to those very cats, Elvis and Sassy, that I missed so very much. Elvis is fairly innocent in the matter but there’s a certain amount of belief that he may be the actual reason why Sassy is extremely persistent in making sure I get up at a specific hour for the morning feeding.
Most of the clothes have been returned to the closet and dresser drawers but the souvenirs and relished pieces of printed materials, including brochures, sales receipts and bits of notes I scribbled on pieces of paper, that will assist my memory sometime in the distant future are left for another day or week when I become completely depooperated.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
No Rush to Rushmore
Come hell or high gas prices, the 30-year anniversary vacation has been set and the countdown ends with the departure on September 22 and the return a couple weeks later. It’ll be a vacation when friends and relatives will wait another year to reunite. (It's incidental that neice Heather and fiance Phil will draw the family brood from Michigan to Orlando for the blissful marriage that will undoubtably see them through their lives together. They will wed on Valentine's Day 2009.)
The first “private and personal” vacation was during my life in Southern California in the ‘80s. I visited Yosemite National Park shortly after Labor Day when most people have ended their summer excursions and seen their kids back to school. Reservations weren’t required.
The peaceful solitude to explore the natural beauty of such a world treasure was the most memorable vacation up ‘til then. El Capitan and the Devil's Postpile were awesome. The nights were nippy. Rental rates were low. It was a leisurely vacation and the intimacy of other vacationers and local merchants rejuvenated this worker from life’s daily routines.
The next private vacation came in ’95 with a trip to the island of Kauai in Hawaii. It was kinda expensive but incremental savings over the previous year covered much of the costs so it was quicker, easier to pay down the balances due. The trip was taken the week following Thanksgiving and upon the arrival in Lihue it was evident that it would be much like the trip to Yosemite. Few people and, once again, nothing but friendly exchanges between vacationers and locals.
I felt I was being catered to as I primarily made daily adventures around the island, including views of Kauai from the cab of a helicopter, and some island hopping to the lava beds and farmlands on the Big Island. Their terrains are from different worlds!
This year, the vacation is a round-trip road trip to Mount Rushmore. The after-Labor Day vacation will have fewer crowds so that sense of camaraderie will again enhance the easy-going days of taking deep breaths of fresh air and the sighs of appreciation for the time to reflect, relax and easily relate to people and nature alike.
There’ll be the 19th Annual Buffalo Wallow Chili Cookoff in Custer National Park on September 28. The following day is the 43rd Annual Custer State Park Buffalo Roundup Day where “cowboys and cowgirls herd up 1,500 buffalo into corrals to be readied for the fall Buffalo Sale”. All this and the 3-day Buffalo Roundup Arts Festival to boot!
The following days will be filled with adventures in nature settings unique to the area. The Black Hills, The Badlands, Wind Cave National Park, a number of National Monuments and Memorials, the history of the Sioux Nation and Crazy Horse… And, of course, Mount Rushmore National Monument will be the highlight of just one small piece of American heritage.
Away we go! Freewheelin’ days straight ahead!
Although, come hurricane and high winds, the whole scenario changes.
The first “private and personal” vacation was during my life in Southern California in the ‘80s. I visited Yosemite National Park shortly after Labor Day when most people have ended their summer excursions and seen their kids back to school. Reservations weren’t required.
The peaceful solitude to explore the natural beauty of such a world treasure was the most memorable vacation up ‘til then. El Capitan and the Devil's Postpile were awesome. The nights were nippy. Rental rates were low. It was a leisurely vacation and the intimacy of other vacationers and local merchants rejuvenated this worker from life’s daily routines.
The next private vacation came in ’95 with a trip to the island of Kauai in Hawaii. It was kinda expensive but incremental savings over the previous year covered much of the costs so it was quicker, easier to pay down the balances due. The trip was taken the week following Thanksgiving and upon the arrival in Lihue it was evident that it would be much like the trip to Yosemite. Few people and, once again, nothing but friendly exchanges between vacationers and locals.
I felt I was being catered to as I primarily made daily adventures around the island, including views of Kauai from the cab of a helicopter, and some island hopping to the lava beds and farmlands on the Big Island. Their terrains are from different worlds!
This year, the vacation is a round-trip road trip to Mount Rushmore. The after-Labor Day vacation will have fewer crowds so that sense of camaraderie will again enhance the easy-going days of taking deep breaths of fresh air and the sighs of appreciation for the time to reflect, relax and easily relate to people and nature alike.
There’ll be the 19th Annual Buffalo Wallow Chili Cookoff in Custer National Park on September 28. The following day is the 43rd Annual Custer State Park Buffalo Roundup Day where “cowboys and cowgirls herd up 1,500 buffalo into corrals to be readied for the fall Buffalo Sale”. All this and the 3-day Buffalo Roundup Arts Festival to boot!
The following days will be filled with adventures in nature settings unique to the area. The Black Hills, The Badlands, Wind Cave National Park, a number of National Monuments and Memorials, the history of the Sioux Nation and Crazy Horse… And, of course, Mount Rushmore National Monument will be the highlight of just one small piece of American heritage.
Away we go! Freewheelin’ days straight ahead!
Although, come hurricane and high winds, the whole scenario changes.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Faux Pas To You, Too
There are times when I’ll come up with a response to a statement made by a salesman that kinda stops the conversation stone cold dead as the other party has no idea what to say. The times are infrequent, or I just don’t remember other occurrences, but there are two that stand out that have happened during the last couple of years.
Carpet tracks
A door-to-door salesman knocked on the door along with his sidekick to demonstrate a top of the line vacuum cleaner. As they entered the house, a huge sealed box was carried inside. It appeared that attachments were easy to install as they pulled out piece by piece.
The main gimmick was the offer to shampoo a couple of rooms and a well-worn path down a hallway. Although the carpet was frequently attended too, a filter on the new cleaner clearly showed there was much more dirt embedded in the thick pile than what was picked up by the contraption I had used maybe three to four years.
The lead salesman made the statement that a good vacuum cleaner will leave wheel tracks in its path. I didn’t quite understand why he made mention of this but I made a simple words that “The cleaner I have still leaves tracks…” The young man just stared back at me, not knowing what to say, apparently never having had a prospective buyer make such a statement. The silence was profound until I assured him I was impressed with the quality cleaning performed by his merchandise.
The cleaner sold itself. With metal parts and little plastic, it will surely keep on going when I’m gone.
Bugging the technician
After a year of living in my home, it was time to renew the annual contract with a pest control company – the same one that originally treated the perimeter for subterranean termites. As the technician made his way around the house, I happened to be on the porch as he was spraying around the soffit and kindly asked him what he was doing. When he said he was treating around the house for other insects, I made the comment that I do it on a monthly basis with Home Defense and have no problems.
He stared at me, not sure if how to respond to a service that I hadn’t requested and may not need. The silence was finally broken when I made the evaluation that his chemical treatment would last longer than a consumer product and that it was okay to continue the work.
Me Too
True, I’ve also stood dumbfounded at a response that someone has made to a statement of mine. I know what it feels like to be in that situation, but it’s more fun when the other party takes the brunt of my response to their statement.
Carpet tracks
A door-to-door salesman knocked on the door along with his sidekick to demonstrate a top of the line vacuum cleaner. As they entered the house, a huge sealed box was carried inside. It appeared that attachments were easy to install as they pulled out piece by piece.
The main gimmick was the offer to shampoo a couple of rooms and a well-worn path down a hallway. Although the carpet was frequently attended too, a filter on the new cleaner clearly showed there was much more dirt embedded in the thick pile than what was picked up by the contraption I had used maybe three to four years.
The lead salesman made the statement that a good vacuum cleaner will leave wheel tracks in its path. I didn’t quite understand why he made mention of this but I made a simple words that “The cleaner I have still leaves tracks…” The young man just stared back at me, not knowing what to say, apparently never having had a prospective buyer make such a statement. The silence was profound until I assured him I was impressed with the quality cleaning performed by his merchandise.
The cleaner sold itself. With metal parts and little plastic, it will surely keep on going when I’m gone.
Bugging the technician
After a year of living in my home, it was time to renew the annual contract with a pest control company – the same one that originally treated the perimeter for subterranean termites. As the technician made his way around the house, I happened to be on the porch as he was spraying around the soffit and kindly asked him what he was doing. When he said he was treating around the house for other insects, I made the comment that I do it on a monthly basis with Home Defense and have no problems.
He stared at me, not sure if how to respond to a service that I hadn’t requested and may not need. The silence was finally broken when I made the evaluation that his chemical treatment would last longer than a consumer product and that it was okay to continue the work.
Me Too
True, I’ve also stood dumbfounded at a response that someone has made to a statement of mine. I know what it feels like to be in that situation, but it’s more fun when the other party takes the brunt of my response to their statement.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
"What's Up, Doc?"........"Bugs for Dinner!!!"
Rabbit for dinner? It not only sounds good but it actually was quite a delicious meal as mom frequently cooked the meat during the fall hunting season in central Michigan. Dad and brother would spend a few hours on a brisk Sunday in the “back woods” taking pride in supplying food for the dinner table. A family of seven required a few of the fair game to fill the dinner plates.
Just as she prepared chicken, mom pan-cooked the skinned and gutted animals in a frying pan in a bit of water. The preparation without some type of oil may sound a little odd but once the meat was done the water was ready to be made into mouth pleasing gravy; the natural juices made the gravy exceptionally tasty.
With the typical mashed potatoes, fresh vegetables and browned crescent rolls it was a true home-cooked country meal. Now, as you picked the meat off the bones, you were aware and took heed to the fact that you had a fair chance of biting into a buckshot pellet.
The same went for pheasant, another creature of nature.
Since I was raised on these animals, I don’t remember them having a gamy taste. It was just plain good eatin’, unlike venison, which I could barely keep down. When mom said we were having “steak” for dinner, I learned not to make an assumption and had an immediate mood change when the aroma told me the truth of the meal.
As our Creator intended, sustaining life with the bounties of nature is man’s means to that end. Rabbit is fine, pheasant is too, but squirrel was another cherished item on an autumn menu. As to fattening these little creatures, just let them eat nuts.
Just as she prepared chicken, mom pan-cooked the skinned and gutted animals in a frying pan in a bit of water. The preparation without some type of oil may sound a little odd but once the meat was done the water was ready to be made into mouth pleasing gravy; the natural juices made the gravy exceptionally tasty.
With the typical mashed potatoes, fresh vegetables and browned crescent rolls it was a true home-cooked country meal. Now, as you picked the meat off the bones, you were aware and took heed to the fact that you had a fair chance of biting into a buckshot pellet.
The same went for pheasant, another creature of nature.
Since I was raised on these animals, I don’t remember them having a gamy taste. It was just plain good eatin’, unlike venison, which I could barely keep down. When mom said we were having “steak” for dinner, I learned not to make an assumption and had an immediate mood change when the aroma told me the truth of the meal.
As our Creator intended, sustaining life with the bounties of nature is man’s means to that end. Rabbit is fine, pheasant is too, but squirrel was another cherished item on an autumn menu. As to fattening these little creatures, just let them eat nuts.
In Memory of Decoration Day
I remember May 30th as being Decoration Day.
Attending a Memorial Service at church might start the day, then a parade at 10 a.m. with a great amount of chatter among the spectators along the route. A crowd began in front of the Bricks and Ivy of Dansville Agricultural High School, following a course that led to Howard Cemetery. Everyone was either a friend or a relative or an acquaintance that might become a neighbor. A 21-gun salute was followed with residents at the gravesites of loved ones.
There were floats, the Dansville High School Marching Band with majorettes twirling their batons, Girl and Boy Scouts, members of the 4-H Club, the Fire Department, and antique and convertible cars that carried the Senior Prom couple. Horses and bikes decorated with patriot colors were also proudly placed in the procession. Every marcher had more than just a couple of hands waving to get their attentions.
At the lead were members of the V.F.W. Their banner was the American Flag.
History leads to May 5, 1868, when General John Logan proclaimed the 30th day of the month as a day set aside “for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet churchyard in the land”. General Logan was the national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, a fraternal organization whose members were veterans of the Union Army that had served in the American Civil War. Thus became Decoration Day.
Understandably, Southern states did not acknowledge the day.
The alternate name Memorial Day began as early as 1882 and became more accepted following WWII. It was the local veterans of that war who worked at the Oldsmobile plant in Lansing, that helped introduce the new name to our community. Union labor groups played a part in further popularizing the name.
After WWI, it became a day to honor all Americans who died fighting in any and all wars. It wasn’t until 1968 that “Memorial Day” became the official name when Congress passed legislation that created the Uniform Monday Holiday Act; the effective date was January 1, 1971, making this, along with Washington’ Birthday, Columbus Day and Veterans Day, three-day Federal holidays.
For many, Memorial Day also marks the beginning of summer vacations.
In 1968, the hundredth anniversary of the beginning of Decoration Day, time still honored the age-old tradition in small communities, such as where I called home in my teenage years. Flowers were often grown in people’s gardens, perhaps an original arrangement crafted by a neighbor and proudly placed on the graves of the fallen. The American Flag also adorned the gravesites. The display of bright colors accented the Red, White and Blue.
A gathering of friends and families with a barbecue in the afternoon finished the day. At that time, a three-day weekend was infrequent, which helped mark it as a special day of patriotic tribute. The new millennia may once again put the true meaning of Memorial Day in our lives as we the honor those who gave their lives during the war in Iraq. As in the past, these soldiers, and others who have defended the freedoms of every American, deserve being remembered.
A soldier’s grave should be decorated, as were their uniforms with Medals of Honor.
Attending a Memorial Service at church might start the day, then a parade at 10 a.m. with a great amount of chatter among the spectators along the route. A crowd began in front of the Bricks and Ivy of Dansville Agricultural High School, following a course that led to Howard Cemetery. Everyone was either a friend or a relative or an acquaintance that might become a neighbor. A 21-gun salute was followed with residents at the gravesites of loved ones.
There were floats, the Dansville High School Marching Band with majorettes twirling their batons, Girl and Boy Scouts, members of the 4-H Club, the Fire Department, and antique and convertible cars that carried the Senior Prom couple. Horses and bikes decorated with patriot colors were also proudly placed in the procession. Every marcher had more than just a couple of hands waving to get their attentions.
At the lead were members of the V.F.W. Their banner was the American Flag.
History leads to May 5, 1868, when General John Logan proclaimed the 30th day of the month as a day set aside “for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet churchyard in the land”. General Logan was the national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, a fraternal organization whose members were veterans of the Union Army that had served in the American Civil War. Thus became Decoration Day.
Understandably, Southern states did not acknowledge the day.
The alternate name Memorial Day began as early as 1882 and became more accepted following WWII. It was the local veterans of that war who worked at the Oldsmobile plant in Lansing, that helped introduce the new name to our community. Union labor groups played a part in further popularizing the name.
After WWI, it became a day to honor all Americans who died fighting in any and all wars. It wasn’t until 1968 that “Memorial Day” became the official name when Congress passed legislation that created the Uniform Monday Holiday Act; the effective date was January 1, 1971, making this, along with Washington’ Birthday, Columbus Day and Veterans Day, three-day Federal holidays.
For many, Memorial Day also marks the beginning of summer vacations.
In 1968, the hundredth anniversary of the beginning of Decoration Day, time still honored the age-old tradition in small communities, such as where I called home in my teenage years. Flowers were often grown in people’s gardens, perhaps an original arrangement crafted by a neighbor and proudly placed on the graves of the fallen. The American Flag also adorned the gravesites. The display of bright colors accented the Red, White and Blue.
A gathering of friends and families with a barbecue in the afternoon finished the day. At that time, a three-day weekend was infrequent, which helped mark it as a special day of patriotic tribute. The new millennia may once again put the true meaning of Memorial Day in our lives as we the honor those who gave their lives during the war in Iraq. As in the past, these soldiers, and others who have defended the freedoms of every American, deserve being remembered.
A soldier’s grave should be decorated, as were their uniforms with Medals of Honor.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
And the survey says....
How did I get here from there? Perhaps it was dumb luck. Or maybe it was thoughtful rationality towards saving and planning, although in all honesty I can’t really give myself credit in that respect.
I have to come to the conclusion that, after working for 15 years, I took a modest plunge into my employer’s 401(k). I had no oversight from the company and surely no guidance from my parents. Dad was a farmer. Although he worked long and hard days and at times in the dark of night to maintain his dad’s and granddad’s many years of building the family assets, profitability was much less than it had been during the past generations. In part, our family’s financial security was reliant on the glory years for small farmers.
I am now semi-retired, having made an early exit from the stresses of dealing with a corporate mindset that takes a good chunk out of personal tranquility. Rather than accept a monthly retirement check, I made the choice for a full payout of all of the moneys due me. There was no dipping into the funds for some frivolous spending. An agent with Raymond James provided me with a variety of options for investment. I felt comfortable with all of his recommendations as I pointed out my financial goals. His assurance that they were attainable as he explained the choices gave me comfort that I could realize a sense of security as I grew older. A quick call to the agent to review the investments would result in a little tweaking in the direction of
During the same period in time, I was able to make the final payment on the mortgage of my home with the help of an inheritance from both of my parents’ deaths some 10 years prior. The sum was not huge considering the five children in the family but I had made sure not to squander the funds.
Rather than taking pride in the achievement of being nearly debt-free, it was a feeling of relief knowing the largest financial weight was off my back. Sister Sue commended me with the statement, “I don’t know anybody who doesn’t have a mortgage.”
For the time being living in Spring Hill, FL, in a new home after having sold the home in Orlando, squeaking by financially as my budget has been redirected from some discretionary spending due to rising prices of the basics of life as we know it in America. There’s some minor debt but nothing that can’t be resolved in a reasonable amount of time with some thanks for the 1.99% interest fee on a credit card. It’s always those unexpected expenses that lead to the temptation, and eventual use, of plastic money.
With all of this taken into consideration, I don’t feel secure in my long-term financial reckonings. The investments of the past five years have done very well, ranging from 12% to 20% of increased moneys. The downturn in the economy has eaten away a good chunk of those earnings but the overall picture still finds me with reasonable gains.
So, with my modest acquisition of savings and investments, including an annuity that will never loose value (really?), I find myself in a unique and disbelieving situation where I am in a class with the so-called well-to-do citizens in these United States. I am among the segment of 12% of the population with the most funds for retirement.
These figures present the findings of the 2008 Retirement Confidence Survey are extremely alarming for the majority of Americans. Roughly 61% have less than $50,000 in funds. In 2007, the figure was somewhat less at 58% and 2006 showed 65%. Today, a whopping 69% of existing retirees fit into the same category.
In spite of what appears to be my relative “wealth”, I place myself among the 21% of workers who are “Not Too Confident” of having enough money to life comfortably throughout retirement. 43% are somewhat confident and a mere 18% are very confident.
The remainder who are not at all confident is 16% - realism makes me believe perhaps I should be among this group of citizens.
This website will give you a multitude of survey results:
http://www.ebri.org/pdf/briefspdf/EBRI_IB_04-2008.pdf
I have to come to the conclusion that, after working for 15 years, I took a modest plunge into my employer’s 401(k). I had no oversight from the company and surely no guidance from my parents. Dad was a farmer. Although he worked long and hard days and at times in the dark of night to maintain his dad’s and granddad’s many years of building the family assets, profitability was much less than it had been during the past generations. In part, our family’s financial security was reliant on the glory years for small farmers.
I am now semi-retired, having made an early exit from the stresses of dealing with a corporate mindset that takes a good chunk out of personal tranquility. Rather than accept a monthly retirement check, I made the choice for a full payout of all of the moneys due me. There was no dipping into the funds for some frivolous spending. An agent with Raymond James provided me with a variety of options for investment. I felt comfortable with all of his recommendations as I pointed out my financial goals. His assurance that they were attainable as he explained the choices gave me comfort that I could realize a sense of security as I grew older. A quick call to the agent to review the investments would result in a little tweaking in the direction of
During the same period in time, I was able to make the final payment on the mortgage of my home with the help of an inheritance from both of my parents’ deaths some 10 years prior. The sum was not huge considering the five children in the family but I had made sure not to squander the funds.
Rather than taking pride in the achievement of being nearly debt-free, it was a feeling of relief knowing the largest financial weight was off my back. Sister Sue commended me with the statement, “I don’t know anybody who doesn’t have a mortgage.”
For the time being living in Spring Hill, FL, in a new home after having sold the home in Orlando, squeaking by financially as my budget has been redirected from some discretionary spending due to rising prices of the basics of life as we know it in America. There’s some minor debt but nothing that can’t be resolved in a reasonable amount of time with some thanks for the 1.99% interest fee on a credit card. It’s always those unexpected expenses that lead to the temptation, and eventual use, of plastic money.
With all of this taken into consideration, I don’t feel secure in my long-term financial reckonings. The investments of the past five years have done very well, ranging from 12% to 20% of increased moneys. The downturn in the economy has eaten away a good chunk of those earnings but the overall picture still finds me with reasonable gains.
So, with my modest acquisition of savings and investments, including an annuity that will never loose value (really?), I find myself in a unique and disbelieving situation where I am in a class with the so-called well-to-do citizens in these United States. I am among the segment of 12% of the population with the most funds for retirement.
These figures present the findings of the 2008 Retirement Confidence Survey are extremely alarming for the majority of Americans. Roughly 61% have less than $50,000 in funds. In 2007, the figure was somewhat less at 58% and 2006 showed 65%. Today, a whopping 69% of existing retirees fit into the same category.
In spite of what appears to be my relative “wealth”, I place myself among the 21% of workers who are “Not Too Confident” of having enough money to life comfortably throughout retirement. 43% are somewhat confident and a mere 18% are very confident.
The remainder who are not at all confident is 16% - realism makes me believe perhaps I should be among this group of citizens.
This website will give you a multitude of survey results:
http://www.ebri.org/pdf/briefspdf/EBRI_IB_04-2008.pdf
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Have A Nice Rae Day
I’ve spent my entire working years in one phase or another in the telecommunications industry. Positions range from residential customer service, supervising the coordination of interdepartmental interests, an electronics technician diagnosing and resolving data circuitry inconsistencies and providing solutions toward the success of business customers.
At various times, there were periods when I was given the opportunity to write, rewrite, condense and present instructional materials to newly hires employees, plus give guidance to those who have been on the job for extended periods of time, to inform them of new products, techniques and applications for success in sales and service environments.
Being a successful instructor demands complete understanding of not only products and services in an industry but also implementing an effective technique of presenting to the prospective client the benefits of entrusting their futures with your company. Providing the latest of innovative products and services is of less significance when the benefits of an investment lack consideration of how they will supplement other aspects of the business operation.
Two decades ago, companies were likely to direct attention toward providing the best of customer service to their clients and business partners. Initially, when markets became open to competition, they were primarily clones of the established business concerns. As globalization brought innovative entrepreneur ventures, alternate strategies were incorporated in long-term objectives.
Changes in attitudes of consumers’ expectations for newer and better products resulted in a progressive reevaluation of techniques to achieve corporate financial goals. Customer service became a liability; companies began to redirect their approach toward increasing profits with calculated paths of renovating their influences on market shares.
The first line of a company’s interaction, it’s employees taking incoming calls, brought about a transformation from Customer Service to Customer Service and Sales, then to Sales and Service. Nowadays, you're most likely to be talking to Sales Representative. It’s a hit and miss prospect as to what degree of importance a company will provide follow-up assistance.
Take for instance the challenges brought upon my employment when technical position became nearly obsolete when the telecommunication industry was transformed from a monopoly to alternate options of doing business. Satellite transmission. Integrated circuitry rendered human involvement unnecessary with computer-processed programming and trouble isolation. The efficiency factor was further realized when employee errors were essentially removed from the process. Job security could no longer be influenced by what could be called sabotage by intentional employee incompetence.
Within a matter of a decade the technical facility of 250 employees was reduced to 80, mostly by attrition. There were other regional offices with the same fate. Continued employment within the industry forced me to accept what I felt was degrading. I had experienced direct contact with costumers in a call center over a decade ago and felt a sense of hopelessness.
Moving from the West Coast to the Southeast I had the opportunity to accept the same technical position as previously held. The South is known to be a few years behind the times; the writing was on the wall – I would eventually be confronted with the same fate as previously experienced. Instead, I represented the company with an endless flow of residential customers making their way to my desk, relying on the phone and a computer to address their concerns.
At that period in time, exceptional sales figures garnered sometimes significant awards toward merchandise at a few local stores. Penney’s and Sales Merchandise were my places of interest. A few of us were also treated to a luncheon with management - establishments that I would not be inclined to dine at otherwise.
After about five years, my successes helped me to “graduate” to the same position servicing small business owners. The office environment was much accommodating to an employee’s personal achievement; by comparison, stresses were fewer and less intense.
It would take a few years under different criteria to feel comfortable at the job, which meant I was pretty mediocre in achievements. Being a silent achiever, the expectations I place upon myself deny me self-praise.
As the winds of change blow toward increased corporate profits and a realignment of expectations of employees, the challenges for success also grew. This is when Sales began to replace the importance of Service. At that time, Sales and Service were separated, giving the employee an option to what he or she felt appropriate for their individual expertise.
I chose Sales primarily because I couldn’t foresee myself forever being confronted with what would surely be problem situations. As a Sales Rep I would still have opportunities to provide “excellent service” by listening and learning about the customer and the needs of the business. I would be in a comfort zone more accommodating of my perceived expertise.
Within two years in the same environment, I was able to prove my self-worth. I had achieved sales figures that rewarded me an invitation to The Pinnacle Club ceremony on a three-day all-expenses paid trip to San Francisco. It was an interesting if not exhausting weekend, but the result of my success provided me the opportunity to provide guidance to new and existing employees in a quickly changes business atmosphere.
As a Training Instructor, I accepted additional challenges of not only updating and condensing materials but completing the course within a ten week period instead of fourteen. There were sixteen trainees from various backgrounds instead of the typical twelve, some of whom would have transferred from other jobs within the company. I was given two weeks to set up the classroom, computer terminals and software, and evaluate the need of and obtain supplies. The scope of the challenges were more than I had experienced in the past but the knowledge I had garnered over the past years, including that as a technician, I felt prepared, and eager, to take the task and make it my personal responsibility to make the students successful in their new employment venture.
I followed a path less traveled, utilizing materials at hand but placing less importance on company-structured guidelines than what I deemed of primary importance rather than what was dictated.
The company had reverted to involving all reps in the process of taking calls from all customers regardless of billing, service or sales prospects. As you can imagine, sales was to be the main focus of training. I chose otherwise.
The course began with the fundamentals of the multiple computer programs that were inherent with setting up new service, making changes for existing customers, providing answers to inquiries of nearly any imaginable topic. Multi-tasking had become a necessity with every contact.
Equipment, billing information, consumer support groups and identifying and securing information for various departments were the bare essentials to addressing or resolving customer inquiries. Having recently regionalized call centers, it was important to know which databases would provide information for each state’s provisions, rates, and government mandated requirements. Within any given state, cities and towns are as unique in available services as their populations differ in demographics.
Incorporating sales techniques was also important. Avoiding questions that could be answered with a simple yes or no was a basic strategy; “open ended” questions that began with who, what, when, where and how were meant to instigate a dialogue between the buyer and the provider. In other words, “do you?” and “don’t you?” were to be avoided. Everyone was made aware that there might be ears tuned into a conversation from anywhere, including the Public Service Commission. The company could implement disciplinary action on a variety of mishaps. Big Brother could be very nasty.
Students were given a comprehensive, yet far reaching, understanding of the tools and techniques to make them successful at attaining objectives, all of which were measured by multiple sales numbers, as specific as $$ per call. They were also aware of inevitable disciplinary action, including dismissal. Prior to an impending pink slip, there would be weeks of supplemental coaching, innuendos of failure and a good chance of sleepless nights or tearful emotional reactions due, in part, to customer abuse and employer harassment.
It’s difficult to measure any degree of success in a short period of time. Most students maintained respectful numbers, some sought employment elsewhere within a number of weeks.
I expressed no interest in accepting the position of trainer on a full time basis. It would have meant placing me within management, a group significantly shy of being able to express emotions for what their duties demanded. There were supervisors who had resigned because of company policies that placed, what they considered, too much emphasis on sales and required them to fire otherwise exemplary employees. Still others took early retirement.
Another instructor took the position, one that was in the good graces of the office manager, both of whom had been transplanted from another location. Cronyism and nepotism both played major roles in that scenario.
I was given a position as team leader, where I could provide support to some ten employees. Duties included assistance in sales techniques, although taking ownership of major problems within different departments and other issues directly affecting businesses were the biggest challenges. Most important, it gave the sales associates the opportunity to center their efforts on meeting their sales quotas.
At one point, the new instructor was out on a personal day so I was drafted to fill in. Moments after my introduction, I directed questions to have a perspective what had transpired in the previous few weeks. Questions lead to other questions and a dialogue ensued whereby the students and I were in disbelief what had not been discussed.
Sure, they had been repeatedly drilled on sales presentations but I was aghast that they know nothing about support tools and services. In particular, they new so little about the computer screen that displays pertinent information about the customer. Existing services, authorized individuals to make changes and inquiries, billing histories and, most important, the nature of the business. There had been no instruction about the various interface equipment that all but the basic of businesses use in their daily operations.
They appreciated the knowledge that would be of significant importance in their daily routines on the job. There were frequent times when they would seek my assistance on matters and situations they hadn’t been taught by the end of initial training. They were very respectful in not having expectations that I would resolve their issues but satisfied that I was usually able to give an answer or direct them to the appropriate database.
Other team leaders within the office didn’t necessarily go to the extent of giving just support to other employees. Small talk was not one of my strongest talents, or gossip, or complaining, or busywork. I got along well with nearly everyone, perhaps grimacing at the prospect of assisting one or two employees because they just couldn't ever get things right but never turning anyone away. I was generally well-liked.
I spent most mornings before work and most lunch periods alone, regenerating my mind by reading a newspaper, a magazine or a book. I pretty much isolated myself in the confines of my truck. It worked for me. No one thought of me as anti-social.
Nieves Abrieu parked next to me. We’d give a quick acknowledgement as she entered the building and I held out for that last moment of tranquility. There was no doubt we were friends.
One morning she was carrying a large tray of food that appeared to dwarf her small frame, and a couple of other packages. I was glad to offer my assistance. I questioned her what occasion had prompted the goodies – usually everyone in the office would contribute something or other and I felt a little guilty for not taking part in whatever festivity had been planned for the day.
Nieves was always cute, but her response to my inquiry was immediate and the tone of her voice hinted of matter-of-fact pride and satisfaction. The three words shocked me and rendered me virtually speechless for all of "Ron Rae Day".
At various times, there were periods when I was given the opportunity to write, rewrite, condense and present instructional materials to newly hires employees, plus give guidance to those who have been on the job for extended periods of time, to inform them of new products, techniques and applications for success in sales and service environments.
Being a successful instructor demands complete understanding of not only products and services in an industry but also implementing an effective technique of presenting to the prospective client the benefits of entrusting their futures with your company. Providing the latest of innovative products and services is of less significance when the benefits of an investment lack consideration of how they will supplement other aspects of the business operation.
Two decades ago, companies were likely to direct attention toward providing the best of customer service to their clients and business partners. Initially, when markets became open to competition, they were primarily clones of the established business concerns. As globalization brought innovative entrepreneur ventures, alternate strategies were incorporated in long-term objectives.
Changes in attitudes of consumers’ expectations for newer and better products resulted in a progressive reevaluation of techniques to achieve corporate financial goals. Customer service became a liability; companies began to redirect their approach toward increasing profits with calculated paths of renovating their influences on market shares.
The first line of a company’s interaction, it’s employees taking incoming calls, brought about a transformation from Customer Service to Customer Service and Sales, then to Sales and Service. Nowadays, you're most likely to be talking to Sales Representative. It’s a hit and miss prospect as to what degree of importance a company will provide follow-up assistance.
Take for instance the challenges brought upon my employment when technical position became nearly obsolete when the telecommunication industry was transformed from a monopoly to alternate options of doing business. Satellite transmission. Integrated circuitry rendered human involvement unnecessary with computer-processed programming and trouble isolation. The efficiency factor was further realized when employee errors were essentially removed from the process. Job security could no longer be influenced by what could be called sabotage by intentional employee incompetence.
Within a matter of a decade the technical facility of 250 employees was reduced to 80, mostly by attrition. There were other regional offices with the same fate. Continued employment within the industry forced me to accept what I felt was degrading. I had experienced direct contact with costumers in a call center over a decade ago and felt a sense of hopelessness.
Moving from the West Coast to the Southeast I had the opportunity to accept the same technical position as previously held. The South is known to be a few years behind the times; the writing was on the wall – I would eventually be confronted with the same fate as previously experienced. Instead, I represented the company with an endless flow of residential customers making their way to my desk, relying on the phone and a computer to address their concerns.
At that period in time, exceptional sales figures garnered sometimes significant awards toward merchandise at a few local stores. Penney’s and Sales Merchandise were my places of interest. A few of us were also treated to a luncheon with management - establishments that I would not be inclined to dine at otherwise.
After about five years, my successes helped me to “graduate” to the same position servicing small business owners. The office environment was much accommodating to an employee’s personal achievement; by comparison, stresses were fewer and less intense.
It would take a few years under different criteria to feel comfortable at the job, which meant I was pretty mediocre in achievements. Being a silent achiever, the expectations I place upon myself deny me self-praise.
As the winds of change blow toward increased corporate profits and a realignment of expectations of employees, the challenges for success also grew. This is when Sales began to replace the importance of Service. At that time, Sales and Service were separated, giving the employee an option to what he or she felt appropriate for their individual expertise.
I chose Sales primarily because I couldn’t foresee myself forever being confronted with what would surely be problem situations. As a Sales Rep I would still have opportunities to provide “excellent service” by listening and learning about the customer and the needs of the business. I would be in a comfort zone more accommodating of my perceived expertise.
Within two years in the same environment, I was able to prove my self-worth. I had achieved sales figures that rewarded me an invitation to The Pinnacle Club ceremony on a three-day all-expenses paid trip to San Francisco. It was an interesting if not exhausting weekend, but the result of my success provided me the opportunity to provide guidance to new and existing employees in a quickly changes business atmosphere.
As a Training Instructor, I accepted additional challenges of not only updating and condensing materials but completing the course within a ten week period instead of fourteen. There were sixteen trainees from various backgrounds instead of the typical twelve, some of whom would have transferred from other jobs within the company. I was given two weeks to set up the classroom, computer terminals and software, and evaluate the need of and obtain supplies. The scope of the challenges were more than I had experienced in the past but the knowledge I had garnered over the past years, including that as a technician, I felt prepared, and eager, to take the task and make it my personal responsibility to make the students successful in their new employment venture.
I followed a path less traveled, utilizing materials at hand but placing less importance on company-structured guidelines than what I deemed of primary importance rather than what was dictated.
The company had reverted to involving all reps in the process of taking calls from all customers regardless of billing, service or sales prospects. As you can imagine, sales was to be the main focus of training. I chose otherwise.
The course began with the fundamentals of the multiple computer programs that were inherent with setting up new service, making changes for existing customers, providing answers to inquiries of nearly any imaginable topic. Multi-tasking had become a necessity with every contact.
Equipment, billing information, consumer support groups and identifying and securing information for various departments were the bare essentials to addressing or resolving customer inquiries. Having recently regionalized call centers, it was important to know which databases would provide information for each state’s provisions, rates, and government mandated requirements. Within any given state, cities and towns are as unique in available services as their populations differ in demographics.
Incorporating sales techniques was also important. Avoiding questions that could be answered with a simple yes or no was a basic strategy; “open ended” questions that began with who, what, when, where and how were meant to instigate a dialogue between the buyer and the provider. In other words, “do you?” and “don’t you?” were to be avoided. Everyone was made aware that there might be ears tuned into a conversation from anywhere, including the Public Service Commission. The company could implement disciplinary action on a variety of mishaps. Big Brother could be very nasty.
Students were given a comprehensive, yet far reaching, understanding of the tools and techniques to make them successful at attaining objectives, all of which were measured by multiple sales numbers, as specific as $$ per call. They were also aware of inevitable disciplinary action, including dismissal. Prior to an impending pink slip, there would be weeks of supplemental coaching, innuendos of failure and a good chance of sleepless nights or tearful emotional reactions due, in part, to customer abuse and employer harassment.
It’s difficult to measure any degree of success in a short period of time. Most students maintained respectful numbers, some sought employment elsewhere within a number of weeks.
I expressed no interest in accepting the position of trainer on a full time basis. It would have meant placing me within management, a group significantly shy of being able to express emotions for what their duties demanded. There were supervisors who had resigned because of company policies that placed, what they considered, too much emphasis on sales and required them to fire otherwise exemplary employees. Still others took early retirement.
Another instructor took the position, one that was in the good graces of the office manager, both of whom had been transplanted from another location. Cronyism and nepotism both played major roles in that scenario.
I was given a position as team leader, where I could provide support to some ten employees. Duties included assistance in sales techniques, although taking ownership of major problems within different departments and other issues directly affecting businesses were the biggest challenges. Most important, it gave the sales associates the opportunity to center their efforts on meeting their sales quotas.
At one point, the new instructor was out on a personal day so I was drafted to fill in. Moments after my introduction, I directed questions to have a perspective what had transpired in the previous few weeks. Questions lead to other questions and a dialogue ensued whereby the students and I were in disbelief what had not been discussed.
Sure, they had been repeatedly drilled on sales presentations but I was aghast that they know nothing about support tools and services. In particular, they new so little about the computer screen that displays pertinent information about the customer. Existing services, authorized individuals to make changes and inquiries, billing histories and, most important, the nature of the business. There had been no instruction about the various interface equipment that all but the basic of businesses use in their daily operations.
They appreciated the knowledge that would be of significant importance in their daily routines on the job. There were frequent times when they would seek my assistance on matters and situations they hadn’t been taught by the end of initial training. They were very respectful in not having expectations that I would resolve their issues but satisfied that I was usually able to give an answer or direct them to the appropriate database.
Other team leaders within the office didn’t necessarily go to the extent of giving just support to other employees. Small talk was not one of my strongest talents, or gossip, or complaining, or busywork. I got along well with nearly everyone, perhaps grimacing at the prospect of assisting one or two employees because they just couldn't ever get things right but never turning anyone away. I was generally well-liked.
I spent most mornings before work and most lunch periods alone, regenerating my mind by reading a newspaper, a magazine or a book. I pretty much isolated myself in the confines of my truck. It worked for me. No one thought of me as anti-social.
Nieves Abrieu parked next to me. We’d give a quick acknowledgement as she entered the building and I held out for that last moment of tranquility. There was no doubt we were friends.
One morning she was carrying a large tray of food that appeared to dwarf her small frame, and a couple of other packages. I was glad to offer my assistance. I questioned her what occasion had prompted the goodies – usually everyone in the office would contribute something or other and I felt a little guilty for not taking part in whatever festivity had been planned for the day.
Nieves was always cute, but her response to my inquiry was immediate and the tone of her voice hinted of matter-of-fact pride and satisfaction. The three words shocked me and rendered me virtually speechless for all of "Ron Rae Day".
Thursday, March 6, 2008
The Right of Rae
"You Rae's are always right."
Those are the words that I have so often heard from friends. I guess they've accepted the fact and put the argument to rest because it does little good to do otherwise.
Yes, us Rae's can be a little testy when someone questions our rational interpretation of nearly every subject. It isn't that we have opinions, it's more like we know best and our statements are filled with assertion.
And yet we're willing to hear what others say and concede to the wiser, which further proves that we are once again always right by doing so! And how did we achieve this righteous attitude? For sure, Dad was stubborn but Mom had a full grip on what's right and wrong. It's a genetic inheritance, so it's actually the Noxon's who are always right.
You could also justly say that "The Kramer's are never wrong" as sister Sue merried into Mike's family. Very honorable, but watch out, the Noxon-Rae's dare anyone to challenge our righteousness.
The Noxon-Rae-Kramer combination puts my neice Heather above the rest of everybody else in our family! She and Phil are soon to become husband and wife on Valentines' Day 2009. They are too alike, complaining in unison about the same things! Good, well-educated young adults, no doubt set to have a life together in wholly matrimony.
And then there's the Noxon-Rae-Roach combination that just might give my neice Taylor an edge above everyone else! Sister Sally married and put up with Mr. Roach just long enough to give birth to quite a remarkable girl. As she is now 16 years old, she has grown out of her childhood shyness and now converses with exquisite charm and respect.
As the years pass and the family tree grows, just imagine that the Rae lineage shall inherit the Earth and dominate the far reaches of the planet!
And don't you tell dare me I'm wrong - I'm always right!
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Those are the words that I have so often heard from friends. I guess they've accepted the fact and put the argument to rest because it does little good to do otherwise.
Yes, us Rae's can be a little testy when someone questions our rational interpretation of nearly every subject. It isn't that we have opinions, it's more like we know best and our statements are filled with assertion.
And yet we're willing to hear what others say and concede to the wiser, which further proves that we are once again always right by doing so! And how did we achieve this righteous attitude? For sure, Dad was stubborn but Mom had a full grip on what's right and wrong. It's a genetic inheritance, so it's actually the Noxon's who are always right.
You could also justly say that "The Kramer's are never wrong" as sister Sue merried into Mike's family. Very honorable, but watch out, the Noxon-Rae's dare anyone to challenge our righteousness.
The Noxon-Rae-Kramer combination puts my neice Heather above the rest of everybody else in our family! She and Phil are soon to become husband and wife on Valentines' Day 2009. They are too alike, complaining in unison about the same things! Good, well-educated young adults, no doubt set to have a life together in wholly matrimony.
And then there's the Noxon-Rae-Roach combination that just might give my neice Taylor an edge above everyone else! Sister Sally married and put up with Mr. Roach just long enough to give birth to quite a remarkable girl. As she is now 16 years old, she has grown out of her childhood shyness and now converses with exquisite charm and respect.
As the years pass and the family tree grows, just imagine that the Rae lineage shall inherit the Earth and dominate the far reaches of the planet!
And don't you tell dare me I'm wrong - I'm always right!
Add Comment
The Rae Way
This blog is set with loving consideration of Sister Sue.
Although she may visit other blogs of my creation, the politics of writing is not of her interest.
To put it simply, in her words:
"There doesn't seem to be much anyone can do to change things, once you vote someone in they are just as bad (if not worse) than the person before them."
That says it all! She is as right as a Rae can be!
Although I have a personal, family and friends website, it is reserved for just those very people, whom I love, each and every one. I will share some of those thoughts on this blog but not all. I will incorporate other topics on this blog but none will be of political or socially conflicting thoughts that create anything other than well-intentioned muses.
May I not express opinions!!!
Although she may visit other blogs of my creation, the politics of writing is not of her interest.
To put it simply, in her words:
"There doesn't seem to be much anyone can do to change things, once you vote someone in they are just as bad (if not worse) than the person before them."
That says it all! She is as right as a Rae can be!
Although I have a personal, family and friends website, it is reserved for just those very people, whom I love, each and every one. I will share some of those thoughts on this blog but not all. I will incorporate other topics on this blog but none will be of political or socially conflicting thoughts that create anything other than well-intentioned muses.
May I not express opinions!!!
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