O Christmas Tree!

O Christmas Tree! O Christmas Tree! Much pleasure thou can’st to me.”

Among all the traditions of the holiday season, the single most enjoyable is the decorating of the Christmas tree. It’s much more than just a motif for the giving and receiving of gifts. It’s a remembrance of Christmases past, good will toward all and the blessings of the year gone by.

The putting up of a Christmas tree is a personal involvement in the spirit of the season. From the moment the tree finds its place in the home to the crowning of the tree, there’s a sense of achievement that will be shared with friends and family, neighbors and new acquaintances.

Whether freshly cut or a manmade reproduction, the occasion to place ornaments on the bows of the tree might be accompanied with the singing Christmas carols. Perhaps it’s a rehearsal for a night of caroling in the neighborhood. Regardless of singing off key or forgetting the lyrics, the occasion to spread cheer and joy is the central theme. ‘Tis the season to be jolly! Fa la la la la, la la la la!

It’s the Christmas tree that sparks the excitement of the holiday season. It’s no wonder that for many the time to decorate comes shortly after Thanksgiving.

The placement of ornaments with special meaning, such as those that are homemade or given as a gift, are deserving of prominence among other baubles. The participation of kids and their excitement become remembrances in the years to come.

As a child, we would head off to a Christmas tree farm where we kids went from tree to tree on a quest to pick out the perfect tree while mom and dad chatted with friends. We would negotiate what was the best of the best but Mom would make the final decision, considerate of our choices.
Dad would load the tree on the top of the car, head back home, guide us on which branches to trim, then place the tree in the water-filled base with a little sugar added to keep the tree fresh. Although there was a lot of guidance when we were young, as we grew older we were let loose to decorate the tree at will with the very slightest of instruction from Mom.

The worst part of the tradition was the tinsel. We would get whiny and tend to bicker when it came to making the final touches to the tree, the most contentious of which would be placing tinsel on the tree. Cries that it was “glopped” together in spots and “skimpy” in others would end up with Mom demanding that we quit the arguing. The best tactic was to wait until later, after the decorating was finished, then do a little rearranging to suit our individual fancies. Most everyone did it – it never went unnoticed.

Once the tree was all dressed up, that’s when the true realization that Christmas Day was only a few weeks away, the excitement of what presents will be placed under the tree were foremost in our thoughts. But we also looked forward to spending Christmas Day dinner with relatives. The anticipation of the variety of made-from-scratch rolls, including the most delicious cinnamon rolls ever baked, was an excitement in itself. Aunt Ethelyn had been a homec teacher.

As a family, we seldom had the opportunity to visit other people’s homes. With five kids it just made sense to have the get-togethers at our house – there was plenty of room, a big yard where we could play in the snow, go to our rooms to check out each other’s toys and occupy part of the day wandering through the barns.

Even as a youth, I loved to gaze upon the lights and decorations that graced the branches of Christmas trees. Each and every tree was a creation in itself, as unique as the snowflakes that blanketed the ground. Since hosts are very conversant of the history and meaning of their special decorations, the intimacy warms my heart and makes me grin and smile for moments unending.

To this day, I remain disconcerted that there is no ornament made that justifies the importance of adorning the top of the Christmas tree. As I was preparing my thoughts for this column, I realized there will never be light as bright as the Star of Bethlehem, the sight of which heralded the birth of Jesus Christ, the Light of the World.

Nonetheless, my Christmas tree will remain lit for many days to come as I proclaim, “O Christmas Tree. O Christmas Tree. Much pleasure thou can’st to me.”

Christmas

In celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ, many Christmas traditions are symbolic of the life and teachings of Our Savior, the Son of God. The giving of presents represents the bearing of gifts by the Three Wise Men. Of course, Jolly Old St. Nicholas is the biggest gift-giver of all.

Green symbolizes the potential for eternal life through Jesus’ sacrifices, as with the evergreen Christmas tree. Red is for the blood that Jesus spilled to redeem us for our sins.

Holly branches represent the Crown of Thorns that Christ wore on the cross; the red berries, the blood he shed. The circular shape of the Christmas wreath symbolizes everlasting life. An angel is significant as a divine guidance of love, peace and protection.

Chiming bells allows the Good Shepherd to find lost sheep and guide them back to His flock. The flame from a candle, Christmas lights and the star on the top of the tree remind us of the guiding light of the Star of Bethlehem and that Jesus is “the Light of the world.”

The symbolisms of the candy cane were conceived by candy maker, John Sonneman, in the 19th century. The peppermint flavor is similar to that of ‘hyssop’, an herb that was referenced in the Bible as a healing agent. The hardness stands for the solid base of the Church. The white stripes represent the Virgin Birth and the purity of Jesus; red stripes symbolize the blood of Christ that was shed at the Crucifixion.

Also, the cane is in the shape of a shepherd’s staff; turned upside down it become the letter “J” to represent the name of Jesus.

Even icicles have a special meaning. As the Christ child took shelter under a pine tree, when the tree realized who was lying beneath its bows, tears of happiness fell from its branches and froze into icicles. Bows and ribbons represent that we are tied together through the Brotherhood of Man.

Of Christmas songs, the Twelve Days of Christmas are references to passages in the Bible and the many gifts that the Lord has bestowed on mankind.

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree – referring to Jesus.

Second day… 2 turtle doves - The Old and New Testaments

Third day… 3 French Hens - Faith, Hope and Charity

Fourth day… 4 Colly Birds - The Four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. (Written in the 18th century, ‘colly birds’ referred to blackbirds, a common and plentiful food. “Calling birds” is said to be a misinterpretation.)

Fifth day… 5 Golden Rings – The first Five Books of the Old Testament, the Pentateuch man’s fall from grace

Sixth day… 6 Geese a-laying - the six days of Creation

Seventh day… 7 Swans a-swimming - the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit: prophesy, ministry, teaching, exhortation, contribution, leadership and mercy

Eighth day… 8 Maids a-milking - the Eight Beatitudes: Blessed are… the poor in spirit, they who mourn, the meek, they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemakers and they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness.

Ninth day… 9 Ladies Dancing - the nine Fruits of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.

Tenth day… 10 Lords a-leaping - the Ten Commandments

Eleventh day… 11 Pipers Piping - the eleven faithful apostles: Bartholomew, James the Elder, Andrew, Peter, Jude, Thomas, James the Younger, Major, Philip, Matthew, and Simon the Zealot

Twelfth day… 12 Drummers Drumming - the twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle's Creed
Of course, all of us kids know that Santa Claus, aka Jolly Old St. Nicholas, travels through the night on Christmas Eve to deliver presents out of the generosity of his heart and his caring for the less fortunate.

The greatest gift of all is God’s promise of eternal life through the grace of the King of Kings. Rejoice in the birth of Jesus Christ, Our Savior, and have a Merry Christmas.

No Bleach Needed

I don't wear white underwear.

Motown Forever

Money, that’s what I want! Barry Gordy sure earned his fair share of it over a music career that marks 50 years of the Motown Sound this year. “Money” was the first hit released on one of the myriad record labels that eventually dominated the Pop and R&B Billboard charts in the 60’s and ‘70’s. Berry wrote the song with friend and associate Janie Bradford.

Even in 1959 Gordy wasn’t new to the music industry, as he had written the ’57 hit “Lonely Teardrops” by “Mr. Excitement” Jackie Wilson who appeared on the Brunswick label. Wilson’s cousin became a Motown heavy-weight in his own right. Ever heard the name Levi Stubbs of the Four Tops?

Originally released in 1959 on the Anna label, named for his sister, “Money” was reissued on Tamla Records, a name that originated from the ‘57 #1 hit “Tammy” by Debbie Reynolds, that soon afterward signed up such top-liners as Smokey Robinson & the Miracles, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder and The Marvelettes. From there Gordy set up a string of successful record labels with other artists that also became household names.

In the fall of 1965, when I checked the Sunday newspaper (The Detroit Free Press) for the weekly Billboard Top Ten songs, I kept seeing this Motown group on the charts that I'd never heard of with songs I wasn't familiar. Well, unbeknownst to me at the time, it was the same group that had topped the charts in the early 60's with "Shop Around" and "Mickey's Monkey" and "You've Really Got A Hold On Me". The Miracles had become Smokey Robinson & The Miracles! From then on I never lost out on any of their successes.

It seemed overnight that "The 12 Year Old Genius" Little Stevie Wonder was tranformed into a hit after hit music machine. His first song "Fingertips, Pt 2" went #1 in 1963. After "Castles in the Sand" was released in early 1964, he became Stevie Wonder and the heights of his successes were phenominal. When he released "You Are The Sunshine of My Life" in 1973 and became his third #1 song, I thought it was one of those old standard songs. Come to find out, he had penned the tune himself, afterwhich it truly became a standard and performed by dozens of artists. It was sandwiched between the release of "Superstition" (#1) and "Higher Ground" (#4). Wow! The guy oozed talent from the very beginning of his career. Totally awesome!

Motown Records itself was established in 1960 with The Supremes and The Four Tops and later with The Jackson 5, The Commodores and David Ruffin who went solo from The Temptations. Diana Ross. The label was dubbed ‘The Sound of Young America’.

With or without the Supremes, Diana Ross holds the Number 1 spot on my list of divas. Although nominated for 12 Grammy Awards, but never won.

No way Lisa Minelli should have won the 1972 Oscar for Best Actress for her performance in Cabaret. The 1972 Oscar for Best Actress should have gone to Diana for her exquisite and breathtaking performance that chronicled the life of Billie Holiday in Lady Sings the Blues. But Diana had no chance of winning. For one thing it, was her film debut.

Instead, Liza Minnelli won Best Actress for her performance in Cabaret for multiple reasons. Liza was to become the only child of two previous Oscar winners (Judy Garland and Viicente Minelli) to win an Oscar. Liza, a Hollywood insider, had the clout. No doubt she was, and still is, an extremely talented entertainer but the dimensions of Diana Ross' acting and singing were unequaled.

In 1962, Gordy Records competed against Gordy’s other labels and touted ‘It’s What’s In The Grooves That Counts’ with the likes of The Temptations, Martha & The Vandellas” and Edwin Starr.

By 1964, Soul Records (Jr. Walker & the All-Stars, Gladys Knight & The Pips, Jimmy Ruffin) and V.I.P. Records (The Spinners, The Elgins, The Velvettes) joined the foray of Gordy’s successes.

And don’t forget the all the Motor City groups that sang in rhythm and danced with perfectly choreographed moves, thanks to a guy named Charles “Cholly” Atkins.

Barry Gordy seldom signed on white artists but the one I remember is The Ones that appeared on the Motown label with the song “You Won’t See My Love”. Of course, the group was flavored with soul but it never made the Billboard Hot 100.

I wouldn’t have heard the song if weren’t for spending time searching for stations on a transistor radio not much larger, but much heavier, than a pack of cigarettes that dangled from the handle bar of my bike. I’d forever be opening the back to tweak the two screws that adjusted the antennae for better reception across the broadcast spectrum.

It seemed like a mine of gold records when I happened on CKLW, an AM station just across the Detroit River in Windsor, Ontario. It played Motown all day, every day.

One of the last successful labels of the Motown Record Corporation was Rare Earth, established in 1969 and named on behalf of the rock group Rare Earth whose first songs were Top Ten covers of The Temptations’ songs “Get Ready” and “(I Know) I’m Losing You”.

Talking about cover songs within the Motown circle of artists, I loved Gladys Knight & the Pips original hit “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” but Marvin Gaye’s version released a year later, in ‘68, is still among my most favorite songs of all time. The string of hits he had with Tammy Terrell (“Your Precious Love”, “Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing”, “You’re All I Need To Get By”) are of some the best duet songs ever.

When “The Prince of Motown” came out with “What’s Goin’ On” (1971) and “Let’s Get It On” (1973) it brought a whole new dimension to the world of music. Marvin Gaye brought about a social awareness through music more influential than the protest songs a half decade earlier. The Temptations started the trend in 1970 with “Psychedelic Shack” (remember the flashes of lights and colors on the Ed Sullivan Show?) and “Ball of Confusion” but Marvin took the gender of songs to a new level.

Motown cover songs? The numbers are unbelievable. Marvin Gaye sang “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) in ’65, Jr. Walker & the All-Stars in ’66 then, in ’75, ‘Sweet Baby James’ Taylor gave the tune a mellow tone.

Linda Ronstadt and Johnny Rivers each had their versions of “Tracks of My Tears”. Ronstadt did another Smokey Robinson song “Ooh Baby” and Johnny Rivers, “The Tracks of My Tears”. The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, did “Money, That’s What I Want” but the group that charted highest was the Kingsmen.

Every Motown singer performed his/her/their own versions of every other Motown hit.

Perhaps the most enjoyable cover song was of the Marvelette’s #1 song “Please, Mr. Postman” as performed with the sweet-as-honey voice of Karen Carpenter when she did a bouncy rendition in 1974 and made it the Carpenters’ third #1 hit.

The Motown Sound isn't nostalgic. The Motown Sound is forever.

A Little Awkie, A Little Big Man

What’s a “Little Awkie”? What about “Little Big Man”? Actually, they’re “who” questions. Both were nicknames given to me at one time or another. In both instances it took me years to figure out what the heck they meant.

Although they might sound like Indian names, they are not.

Dubbed Little Awkie by dad, it seemed quaint when I was a kid. Fortunately, it was only used in the presence of the immediate family. But I had never questioned or really thought about its importance until later in life.

The affectionate nicknames dad gave my two younger sisters were apparent. Susie was “Susie Q”. The baby of the family, Sally, was “Brat” because she was “always there” in your face chatter-talking. By the age of five, the four of us other kids had so often told her to “Shut up!” that she developed an ulcer. Imagine that! A family full of brats.

Other of my siblings had their own nicknames, all of which came from dad. “Brat” became the affectionate name for the baby in the family, Sally. The name fit perfectly. Born seven years after the next youngest family member, her presence became an annoyance to the rest of us four kids.

Sally was "always there”, chatter-talking, always wanting attention . She usually got her way because there wasn’t much anyone could do about it. It became so bad that at some point we started telling her to “shut up”, and yet she was the most loved member of the family and got plenty of attention without her intruding on our privacy for what seemed every moment of our days.

Although we reminisce about it now as a fond (?) memory and joke (?!?!) about it, Sally developed an ulcer, and I say this with guilt, at the age of five years old. Imagine that! A family of brats! Needless to say, we effectively became respectful to the needs of the Brat as dictated by mom - we had to "grin and bear it". An amount of annoyance was still there; we just didn’t yell at her anymore.

Although Susie, the closest in age to myself, was called “Susie Q”. Since Dale Hawkins had made the song of the same name in 1957, when Susie was five years old, it wasn’t entirely unique. There was also an affectionate expression that whenever Susie fell asleep with a child’s exhaustion after a long day of activities was a takeoff of another 1957 song by the Everly Brothers, “Wake up little Susie, it’s time to go to bed.” Then she’d be swept up in dad's arms and carried off to bed with hardly a stir of awareness to what was happening.

I don’t remember my older sister, Nancy, of having a nickname but as she became a young adult and brought one of her boyfriends, Roger, to family gatherings dad would refer to him as the “big dummy”. The name fit so perfectly but never used in his presence. I don’t remember dad ever calling the man by his Christian name.

Since he had a good tinge of red hair, my older and only brother, Russell, was simply called Rusty when he was little and Russ as he approached adulthood except for mom who never gave up using his given name.

It wasn’t until after dad passed away that I pondered the significance of being Little Awkie. As I thought back to when I was but a little runt, I had a tendency to be “awkward”!

The single incident I vividly remember was when, ignoring mom’s oft-said directive, “Don’t run in the house!”, I whacked my head on the wooden base of what seemed a monster of a living room chair. Now barely noticeable, a one-inch scar on my forehead is a reminder of that summer afternoon when I bawled. Even then I hadn’t learned my lesson as I went running to mom for comfort. She tended to the gash as she scolded, “I told you not to…..”

There’s another scar at the base of my chin from falling off my bike and scraping a few layers of skin onto the sidewalk. Doctor Pauley said I’d never be able to use a straight razor. Many years later, I proved him wrong when I tempted fate. I didn’t bleed to death.

What does “Little Big Man” portend? When living in Orlando, Paul, my next-door neighbor’s son, gave a friendly wave from his dad’s driveway when he name-called me those words.

Having spoken to Paul on various occasions, although he had a full head of dreadlocks, which might imply social profiling on my part, he spoke as a more intelligent communicator and a better educated professional than myself. So the labeling confused me, thinking “little” was somehow derogatory. A few years later, when I was lifting this and hefting that while landscaping the front and back yards of my home here in Spring Hill, it dawned on me how I was always doing some pretty strenuous yard work.

On one occasion Lenny, Paul’s dad, saw me struggling to uproot a monstrous, sickly, ugly ligustrum bush. Lenny came over welding a machete to help, leaving me to finish the job on my own. I accomplished the task without being a Little Awkie about it. So, although small in stature, I constantly tackle jobs that others might consider too big to handle, saving themselves time but at a cost. Well, I’d rather do it myself! Another mystery solved.

Although neither Little Awkie or Little Big Man are Indian names, there’s still a bit of American Indian in my views on life and death.

Some twenty years ago I had wisely set up a living will with instructions that in the event of being in a coma, or some other life threatening condition where I’m left unconscious, rather than pulling the plug, don’t plug in the contraptions to begin with. No going “totally tubular” for me.

Indian names or not, I’ve long envisioned myself following the American Indian tradition whereby, as I grow weak in body but still sound of mind, I should walk with nature through the wilderness along a path of Mother Earth toward oneness with the universe to rejoin the Great Spirit, or My Maker, the center of all being.

Okay, I admit the scenario might only be a fanciful myth scripted by writers for the big screen. But, to me, the idea has a certain attraction.

No last minute decisions, no end-of-life consultation, no pointless hospital charges that would take away from leaving my beneficiaries whatever life-side possessions I may have accumulated. In other words, no going “totally tubular” for me. Becoming a natural part of the food chain seems right.

I should have no regrets. There should be few tears from anyone, save in the event of an untimely, accidental death. Just remember the good times. As mom used to philosophize, “When it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go”. My dear mother was kept alive on life support until I arrived to take part in the pulling-of-the-plug ceremony. Pointless. She was already gone.

A Wanted Man

Wanted: Whereabouts of a college student from Estonia who spent the summer in Spring Hill peddling for dollars to help pay tuition costs.

In the previous blog, ‘Pedestrians, Peddlers and Other People", I related an incident that occurred while driving in an adjoining neighborhood to where I live in Spring Hill.

On the way to Lowes to pick up various plants in an effort to beautify the blandness of the front yard, I came upon an emergency-flashing Jeep driven somewhat erratically, followed the rule of the road and came to a complete halt at a stop sign, concerned that a young man riding a bicycle going around the Jeep may be in danger of a pedestrian-motor vehicle collision.

The man came within about ten feet of the front bumper of my truck. Since he proceeded with a steady pedal, I assume he felt no present danger. Still, the look on his face could have been to judge my next action. Once he was securely beyond the intersection, while still eying the Jeep that had by then come to a complete stop on the side of the road and the coast was clear, I went on my way.

As explained in the previous blog, I came to believe our eye-to-eye contact was one of recognition – he of me, not me of him.

When the encounter happened between the Jeep, the bike rider and my truck, I had no thoughts of our previous meeting. But on the way down Mariner to the intersection of Elgin, my mind came to wonder if there wasn’t something about the rider that I should have noticed. Ah, the bag strapped from the right shoulder to a secure position under the left arm should have signaled a moment of acknowledgement.

We had casually conversed on July 1st or 2nd when he had visited my home offering educational assistance programs to parents whose children may need assistance in righting some shortcomings in learning so they would successfully graduate with a high school diploma.

What I remember of our brief exchange of words centered on his age: 20 years old. Since he had a pleasant demeanor and his accent was presumably of Slavic origin, I joked, “You talk funny – where ya from?” His answer was “Estonia.” As if to challenge my knowledge of world geography, he questioned if I knew where it was. Giving a nod of awareness, my mind searched for a definitive answer. I knew it had been a satellite country under the iron-fisted control of the now defunct Soviet Union, so I gave a simple, “Yes.” I’m sure he picked up on my uncertainty but he let the subject drop without further comment.

I asked his name to which I didn’t understand so I found myself asking, not once, but twice to repeat. Even then I still couldn’t get it – isn’t that the way of us Americans who are less than worldly and seem to have this attitude that they should learn our language and not question our economic and military dominance in the world?

Since I don’t know his name, let me call him “Will” as in the movie “Good Will Hunting”. Unlike the character portrayed by Matt Damon, I’m sure his path toward higher education will prove him a successful intellectual.

Will said he’d be spending the summer in Spring Hill to help his mom with tuition fees. Not only was I a losing proposition for his product, I advised him that my immediate neighbors would be of no better source for the sale of his product.

He suggested I give him a wave of recognition if our paths should cross over the remaining weeks that he’d be in the area. Wishing him good luck, he was on his way to whatever fate had in store. Out of sight, out of mind, I proceeded with my life with no further thought of him.

If I had recognized him, a conversation would have led to a whole slew of questions of sincere interest.

Have you been successful at reaching your goal? For what age group was your material directed? Your perception of Spring Hill and its people? What of the number of vacant homes, overgrown lawns and For Sale signs? Any confrontations? Made any friends? Any thoughts on Obama? What of Toomas Hendrick, President of Estonia, and his 20% approval rating? Where will you attend college? For sure, many more questions.

It would be helpful, too, to once again ask his name and get it right.


__________________


[I'm rather bent out of shape for not having been astitute enough to grasp ahold on a personal encounter that would have given me the opportunity to write about something other than all the droleful current events that every other buff writer has an opinion about.]

Pedestirians, Pedalers and Other People

Since I don’t twitter, does that make me less of a twit? Not necessarily. Since I don’t use a cell phone while driving, does that make me less of a danger to others on the road? You can bet everyone’s life on it.

When people talk of traffic most often it’s about tailgaters, speeders and drivers whose sense of maintaining a constant speed is elusive, including those traveling too far below the posted limit.

Since my radio antennae is out of commission, cds are played on repeat or, as backup, the tape player is primed to waft some illegally copied tunes to provide a preferred variety of favorites. There’s over two hours of listening pleasure that keep me entertained as I sing out of harmony with talented artists.

To some, just listening to music while driving might be considered a distraction of sorts but, believe me, contemplating my next column would pose more of a hazard. I know my priorities behind the wheel.

A group of roadies that deserve extra caution from operators of a machine that poses a death threat to anyone meandering residential streets are pedestrians and bike riders.

Many residential areas are void of sidewalks so when I see an adult pushing a baby stroller, or walking with children tagging alongside and taking up a full lane of the road, it’s extremely disturbing. I don’t just slow down, I come to a complete stop until I feel assured a little tyke won’t jut out from the side of the road. There must be no regrets.

My next-door neighbor’s 16-year old son, Randy, with a future career in engineering, frequently skateboards with his friends with a makeshift ramp. In my opinion, they’re not very good but at least they keep a watchful eye out for traffic and immediately moves to the side. Not all kids are as respectful as some do a stare-dare out of insolence to the driver. An alternate route is safest.

The neighbor on the other side has three young children, the oldest of which is 7 years old, who also play in street. I was really impressed when little David demonstrated the creative maneuvers he can make with his skateboard that swivels in the middle, called The Wave. He’s pretty cool squatting down on it as he shows off, but I make sure to mention the precautions he must take to keep him and his siblings from getting hurt. Fortunately, I’ve seen him looking out for cars, always moving out of danger.

Recently, I remained motionless at a stop sign. The erratic behavior of a Jeep with emergency lights flashing was a concern, but the bike rider going around it was altogether too scary. The rider looked me straight in the eyes, for what was an assumed precaution to make sure I wouldn’t send him sprawling on the pavement.

Later, I realized the look was of recognition from when the young man had stopped at the house to sell enhanced educational services for kids. He probably thought me rude for not waving as he had requested since he’d be pedal-pushing his wares in Spring Hill the summer to assist mom with college tuition.

Imagine the determination of the young man to pump those pedals all day long, for what must have been days on end with the sun beating down on him in this land of heat and humidity?

Although a truly needed service, with high unemployment in Hernando County the rationale of sending someone to this deprived area fails my understanding. I doubt he achieved his goals. If only he had taken the initiative to offer a greeting of some nature, it may have led to an exchange of words between us that would have told me tales of his travels. For sure, he deserves no blame.

Alas, being from Estonia, a unique opportunity was missed for a conversation that would surely have provided myself, thus the reader, a unique perspective of a foreigner in this land of strange Americans. Hopefully, he had no ‘incidents’.

Still, an experienced bike rider such as he is no less subject to the failings of a driver. When I see anyone on a bike, of which there appear to be few, I fear for their safety. Untrusting of all drivers, I haven’t ridden a bike on a road in decades.

I’m also oblivious to recognize or even acknowledge a friend who later wonders why I didn’t wave as we traveled along the same street. Keeping my eyes on traffic doesn’t allow for socializing while driving.

Two happy-go-lucky amputees who traverse neighborhood streets brighten the road with a hearty wave and an exchange of smiles. Having had conversations with each while exercise-walking, their joy of having motorized mobility enhances their lives immeasurably. I worry for their safety, too.

Cautious me, when I turn off Mariner onto the street where I live, on more than one occasion there may have been a fender bender because the corner house is ‘right there’ and the poor souls who have lived there (it’s changed owners at least three times in the past three years) have no choice but brave backing out of the driveway

My scariest road encounter was when, after using the turn signal, I rounded the curb off Mariner onto the street where I live at 10 mph, an action that kept two young girls walking on the side of the road from being sent to an emergency room with broken bones, or worse. At fault or not, guilt would have been at my side. For life.

Vehicle-to-vehicle fender benders are less apt to cause serious injury. Vehicle-to-person encounters can be killers.

Paying Out Cash For My Clunker

A month ago, when entering the TIA short-term parking garage my truck stalled. It restarted okay but the temperature gauge was pinned. Two weeks later at a cost of over $5,000 it was back on the road.

Never having required anything other than regular maintenance, without hesitation I authorized my trusted mechanic to begin work immediately. After 14 years of being a reliable source of transportation, it remains the most trusted of the five vehicles I’ve owned over the past four decades.

The goal of a vehicle taking me over 100K miles through life has finally been met. The ’69 Gremlin didn’t make it. Neither did the ’76 Mustang, my favorite. Each had less than 90K miles. The interior of the Gremlin was simply worn out and didn’t have air. The Mustang had transmission and cooling system problems.

I really liked the dealer-used ’81 Mazda 626 but the manual shift was too annoying in the stop-n-go traffic in Los Angeles. Still, I would have kept it indefinitely but for an accident that totaled the car. The other driver went through a stop sign, barely hit the rear passenger side of my car and put me in a slow motion rollover that ended with the car upside down and sliding into two parked cars before coming to a halt.

I was out of work for a few months, an unpleasant healthcare fiasco.

I then bought a fully automatic ’86 Mazda 626, U-Hauled it cross-country to Florida on a flat-bed trailer in ’88 and kept it until ’95 when electrical problems at 98K miles led to the purchase of the Toyota 4Runner.

So, on July 1, AAA towing service delivered the truck to Brooksville to be rehabilitated by the masterful mechanics at ToyoDoc.

A Toyota Camry is the traveling car so the truck has never been outside Florida, primarily used to get to and from work and numerous jaunts to Daytona Beach when I lived in Orlando. A minor rear-end nudge pinned the bumper to the back tires. No other accidents.

As a homeowner, it’s been indispensable not only to myself but also to friends when needed. Only two other people have driven it, when I was a little tipsy. I’ve taken very good care of it. Some exterior scratches and dings, barely noticeable, and a few interior scrapes and digs, most of which I caused while hauling things. It’s a truck. The antenna remains broken. The speakers need replacing. Other minor concerns, all cosmetic. My faith in the quality of Toyota products assures me it’ll see me through another decade or more, if I should live that long. Que sera, sera.

Actually, my disinterest in new cars might appear insulting to others but I’m not a car person. It might look nice and pretty but how much per month?, for how many years? and at what increase in auto insurance? are thoughts not actually verbalized. People have different values.

I cringe when a new car owner starts talking about dealer problems. Or when they say there are so many fancy options that it would take a year to read the manual (respectful laughter, please, for the bland sense of humor), and the inevitable whining about parking lot door dings and bumper scratches. It happens and other car owners don’t care.

Then there’s the “Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.” “Wows!” and “That’s unbelievable!” are said out of obligation. Consumer driven technology is truly amazing – can’t live without it, right? Just get me from point A to point B with air or heat as needed. Most everything else is fluff and something else that can go wrong. Okay, I like electric windows and door locks.

The ‘cash for clunkers’ scheme was never an option for me. Before the July 24 kick-off, my truck had already been resurrected. It’s not a ‘junker’. It had a boo-boo that may have been avoided if it had been checked out when I first noticed an odd noise. I still saved thousands of dollars and years of car payments that wouldn’t fit into my budget anyway. When The Big One hits, it’ll safely transport my cats, a few emergency essentials and myself to Tennessee, if not for some other life-changing mission.

The 250,000 new cars sold under the plan are mainly foreign made, replacing American brands. They get an average increase of nearly 10 mpg, reducing nationwide gasoline use, thus greenhouse gas emissions, by a paltry .04 percent. Annual savings are about $600 at $2.70/gallon if driven the same number of miles. The debt to trade-in ratio isn’t an enticement.

The plan may temporarily keep a number of employees from becoming the latest victims of the recession but six months down the road the streamers and balloons will be gone as will many of the dealerships.

I Don't Go Out Much

I don’t go out much any more. Call it summertime hibernation. The blackout, block-out drapes are drawn to a close. The horizontal and vertical blinds too.

Candles lit at night aren’t for the esthetics. Night lights shed a soft glow so as not to step on Elvis, my Burmese buddy in black, or from tripping over Sassy, a Siamese pretty boy with the bluest of eyes reminiscent of those of Paul Newman.

The 82 degree thermostat setting suits a person with hypothyroidism. For the rest of us, a few moments in the blistering heat and stifling humidity makes the indoor temperature feel like a touch of cool springtime air.

Try as I may, for too long words have been ignored that the air movement from an overhead fan are only affective when you’re in the room, otherwise it’s wasteful electricity. As is too often the case, not until someone else makes the same claim that there’s a miraculous moment of understanding. Pointing out the fact that it’s been said many times before is as pointless as saying, I told you so. I empathize with Rodney Dangerfield.

There are no shade trees to shelter the house from the heat of the sun. The three trees that the builder is supposed to leave on the property were jokable. Two scrub bushes and a sickly, barely rooted sand hill pine tree didn’t make for an umbrella effect. The saplings from the Arbor Day Foundation for a token contribution may take years to grow hip-high, so rainy or cloudy days are needed to keep the electric bill down.

A moment of respite from this self-imposed isolation might come with dinner. A buy one, get the second half off is a good deal but the occasional two for the price of one is the best. Still, I’d rather cook the meal myself, preferably on the grill. No overhead costs, no head counts garnering wages or tips and no feeling of being short-changed in quality, freshness or service. The best experiences are at family-owned restaurants where faces, if not names, are always recognized.

These days of isolation aren’t to be considered antisocial. As I quizzed a friend, What do you do whenever you step out of the house? After a pause, I suggested he think about it a moment longer to which he responded, You spend money? Teacher turned carpenter, he nailed it.

From the moment the garage door opener does it’s thing to the ignition of the vehicle, and hence the trip from, to and back, there are costs incurred, however slight, that tally up and creep deep into the pocket book.

However un-American it sounds, if it can’t be paid in cash or by debit, spending is to be avoided at all cost. Is it a need or a want? Sometimes a good-feeling purchase brings a little joy but those little purchases add up and might be better put toward paying down debt or, more immediate, to pay a utility bill. No added debt, no regret.

Making the best of an outside venture is a priority. For instance, a cashier looked so grumpy I thought of seeking a different register but I stuck it out for the few items in the basket – only what was truly needed. Somewhat surprisingly, the lady greeted as she had been trained. I offered a conciliatory comment that she appeared to be having a very bad day. She admitted so. Days of sinus headaches make for a protracted period of discomfort, thus the look of despair. But she perked up a bit, saying she had but a few minutes before her shift was to end. It was fifteen minutes before the hour so relief was indeed on its way. Pleasantries ended our meeting with the feeling that a simple exchange of words was of some value to both of us.

A trip to the airport and the ensuing wait was annoying. The plane was delayed a few times until two hours had passed. Regrets for failing to bring the newspaper or a couple of magazines to which I still subscribe were momentarily forgotten when a mother was heard telling her daughter, about four years old, that a sign on the wall read ‘No crying allowed’ and if the little darling couldn’t hold back the tears, she’d have to ‘go over there’ and wait. There was no such sign! It was a glass-encased fire extinguisher! Not a peep from the girl but chuckles came and went a number of times – from me. I was in awe of a mother’s creative, if not wise, means of parenting. Cheap and priceless entertainment, thank you so very much.

Hopefully these days of penny-pinching will become addictive. I don’t want to become a hermit, but for now I don’t get out much anymore.

Salt Licks and Me, Too

“But I’m not old”, said the young man in his mid-twenties when I suggested he was loading his food with too much salt. I didn’t bother to argue but I assure you, not out of retribution for the inconsiderate comment about age. Most young people remain fearless in all aspects of life, especially health concerns, until bad habits result in threats upon their lives. Sorry guy, but you are what you eat. Even though salt is a preservative in processed foods, it doesn’t extend the life of humans.

Call it atheroslerosis or arteriosclerosis, excess amounts of salt damage the elasticity of and contributes to the hardening of the arteries as does smoking cigarettes, high blood pressure, diabetes and a diet high in saturated fats. Leading to increased levels of cholesterol under the inner lining of artery walls adds to the risks of strokes and heart attacks.

True, as a kid one I did my fair share of salting everything from gravy and mashed potatoes to vegetables I might not have otherwise eaten except for the strict rules set at the dinner table. Salt made the food more palatable.

Instead of French fries, we had oven-baked crinkly cut potatoes and I rationalized that, since I didn’t use ketchup, the volume of granules streaming from the saltshaker was no worse.

It would have been blasphemy to salt my favorite meal of made-from-scratch Spanish rise with mom’s special ingredient (yellow mustard). It was befitting that this was the last meal she fixed for me before she passed away. Just about everything else was subject to a good sprinkling. Buttered popcorn. Goulash. Apples. Thinking back those fifty years, people even salted watermelon, including myself. .

Even though I grew up on a farm with all kinds of fresh veggies, I wouldn’t eat tomatoes unless cooked in one of the many dishes that graced the dinner table. Others did and if they didn’t cover tomato slices with sugar, salt was used as a flavor enhancer.

Potato chips, peanuts, pretzels and many other packaged foods that are still salt-ready were real treats because they were rationed, as was pop. As sure as my parents would head out to play euchre on Saturday nights, it was Nehi and chips for us kids. Thursdays were pop and popcorn night, and an apple afterward, because Friday was vacuum day.

‘Salt licks’ were placed in pasture fields for cattle in the spring and summer. No, I didn’t get down on my hands and knees and partake with the cows but, before being placed on the ground, a chip off the salt block provided for an exotic taste with a variety of added minerals! Calcium, iron, phosphorous and zinc.

My first pizza was Chef-Boy-R-Despicable in the box. Only the provided ingredients - dough and some abomination of tomato sauce and grated cheese. No added toppings. Everybody agreed, just the one time was once too many.

My first real pizza was at Pizza Hut, 1970. Working odd hours, from sunrise to mid-afternoon at a radio station, I braved it on my own. It was delicious! Small, hand-tossed with a ham topping, I relished it all to myself. No salt then but somewhere along the way it too became a habit. Talk about a constriction of the arteries! I gave it up years ago – the salt, not pizza.

Over the past five decades advancements in medical research have proven excess salt also increases the risk of stomach cancer, kidney stones, eye problems and bone loss, thus osteoporosis, later in life.

The 1990 Nutrition Labeling and Education Act required food companies to begin what we have become accustomed to see on over 6.5 million packaged products. Inclusive of the ‘Natural Facts’ are Recommended Daily Allowance figures for diets consisting of 2,000 calories.

Serving size, calorie count, calories from fat, saturated fat, dietary fiber, and sodium levels have all become attention getters. I now balance my diet with fruits and vegetables, which I prefer raw with no side dips. Salads go without dressings. A few olives (calories and salt content noted) and slices of cucumber marinated in diluted white vinegar suits me just fine. Kind of odd to some but who should judge my culinary delights?

One wonderful discovery has been ‘no salt added’ products, particularly stewed tomatoes which I use a lot. I kid you not, there’s a difference of 1% versus 13% RDA. The Great Value deal is a generic brand that costs half the price of name-brand packaging. Frozen dinners are laced with two to three times as much salt.

Successfully reducing my salt intake, I can still satisfy the craving by continuing to follow instructions given by my periodontist to swish a warm, mild saltwater solution that helps to heal mouth sores and strengthen gums. I just don’t swallow.

Living Mortgage Free

How did I get here from there? Perhaps it was dumb luck. Or maybe it was thoughtful common sense towards saving and planning, although in all honesty I can’t really give myself credit.

I have to come to the conclusion that, after working for 15 years at the age of 35, 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 of 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 chose 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 continue to age. A quick call to the agent to review the investments would result in a little tweaking in the direction that suits the mood of the financial markets.

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 five children in the family; I 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 investor-built home after having sold the home in Orlando, squeaking by financially as my budget has been redirected from what used to be some discretionary spending to buying just the “basics” of living 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 those 1.99% introductory interest rates on a credit card.

It’s always those unexpected expenses that lead to the temptation, and eventual use, of plastic money. Property insurance and property taxes aren’t really what you’d call unexpected but they still have to be paid on a payment plan.

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, 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.

Other figures from the 2008 Retirement Confidence Survey are extremely alarming for 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 category.

I place myself among the 21% of workers who are “Not Too Confident” of having enough money to live comfortably throughout retirement. 43% are somewhat confident and a mere 18% are very confident. The remainder who are not at all confident is 16% - realistically I’m 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

Me, Mr. Moneybag

Whoopee! I’m in the money! It was a good news week when I received the April Raymond James’ Retirement Account Summary report. I had to contain my joy as I realized that my investment funds were back to where they started in June 2004.

And to think it was just a short while back in September 2007 when Rick and I had our monthly chat on the economy and he brought up the fact that ‘we’ had reached the goal set up when I spooned over my cashed-out pension fund and the 401(k) account with my ex-employer.

Last month when I called Rick to query any recommended changes in the direction of investments, he assured me the current allocations would be good for the short-run, to which I assumed was another way of saying there aren’t any safe bets in the markets right now.

In normal times it would be odd to be relieved that after five-years the value of your retirement savings is at near zero in gains, but these past 18 months of economic distresses are anything but typical. I struggle with resigned acceptance and remain doubtful the recession nightmare will soon be over as predicated by guru economists still floating their boasts on an overcrowded magic carpet.

It seems foolish that people rejoice when economic indicators aren’t as bad they could have been, especially when April’s figures put another half million workers freshly beating the pavement in the chilly climate of hiring freezes and more gotta-let-ya-go’s. It’s strange days on high-ballin’ Wall Street and lonely nights for the homeless in the back alleys off Main Street.

Therefore, as I’ve done quite often, I ponder the thought of aggressively invading my retirement account on a hunch that the next big dip in the markets will again deflate my financial ego. Even a low interest-bearing MMA or CD (FDIC insured way beyond my funds) would be better than what I perceive lies ahead. If I don’t act now, I’ll have to invent a time machine, go back to 2007, retroactively clear out a huge chunk of money, bury it in the back yard and get an automatic assault weapon to protect my non-investments. Oh well, the SEC, IRS and ATF would be on me faster than Obama can take ownership of yet another private enterprise.

No, it’s not a good idea to take out funds from a 401(k) or IRA. It’s the 10% penalty on an early withdrawal that keeps me from acting foolishly, as if I were a rich man. Although there are withdrawal penalty exemptions prior to reaching the age of 59.5, the tax bill still comes due.

Retirees and those with disabilities got some bad news this past week when an announcement confirmed Social Security recipients won’t be getting an annual cost of living adjustment (COLA) increase next year. The Congressional Budget Office forecast also indicated the same for 2011 and, with inflation expected to remain low over the next few years, an increase might not be given until 2013, although President Obama’s budget calls for a 1.4% increase in 2012. The 5.8% increase received in January will have to suffice for a very long time for the more than 50 million Americans on Social Security, many who will be faced with higher monthly premiums for Medicare Part B and prescription drugs. The grim situation could be resolved if the government stopped raiding Social Security and paid back the $2.5T that’s already been confiscated from the fund, over $200B in 2008 alone.

Individuals on SSD/SSI will receive their share of Obama stimulus package with a $250 payment this month. They’re pretty much tapped out on their retirement accounts so it won’t last long or go very far in easing their personal financial crises.

Consider the prospect of presently ineligible Americans being able to withdraw funds from their IRA’s without penalty. The Katrina Emergency Relief Act of 2005 did just that, allowing those affected by the hurricane damage to withdraw up to $100,000 of their retirement savings without penalty. That’s quite a big chunk of change when the typical account value is $45,000.

There are murmurs that Obama should consider this same action to ease the financial devastation that’s fallen on most American households, perhaps avoiding foreclosures and bankruptcies. According to a recent study by consulting firm Watson Wyatt, early withdrawals rose from 15% in October 2008 to 44% last month.

There’s $2.5T waiting to be purged from retirement accounts nationwide. Two years ago Americans had $4.5T in those same accounts. So, why wait until it’s gone as never before? What the heck, let’s all withdraw every last penny from each of our retirement accounts and have one great big final WHOOPEE! And save a few bucks for a whoopee cushion – you’re gonna need it.

The Greening of America

Nearly 40 years ago, in 1971, there were two books that consumed much of my summer reading. Hardcover printings that had been at the top of The NY Times Bestseller List from winter to spring became paperbacks and, perhaps by mere chance, helped prepare me for the segue from rural, farm life to urban, city living.

Two years out of high school, while living at home and working as an electronics engineer at a radio station with the simplistic job of logging several meter-readings at frequent intervals and performing general maintenance, there was plenty of time to concentrate on the immediate future as the move from Michigan to Florida was destined to occur in October.

Charles A. Reich, Professor at Yale Law School, authored The Greening of America with chapters of progressive intuition on how The Corporate State would transform society into one that puts corporate successes as the perceived champion of family values and the executor of social, if not moral, prejudices. All in the name of The Company.

Reich presented the concept of levels of Consciousness I, II and III: an eagerness to comply with new traditions; materialism that originates from the manipulative greed of corporations; the populous that would come to reject decades of false promises and return to the roots of individuality and self-destiny.

Reich defined the influences that corporations would have on how workers “spend” their leisure time and instill in them the conviction that over a lifetime of employment, the accumulation of personal wealth would allow them to maintain purchasing power through years of retirement – a perpetual spending spree.

Baby boomers were the first casualties of lost identity, where the fondness of ‘a patron’ became the detachment of being price-tagged as ‘the consumer’. Yet Reich was enthralled with the counterculture revolution and repeatedly expressed his belief that the youth generation of the 60s would transform America into a socialistic communal society dressed in beads, tie-die shirts, blue jeans and sandals. At times the book became rather tedious, a fanciful idea considering the overindulgence of music and drugs, and primal sex.

Timothy Leary, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, et al, were heroes to the flower children and, in the summer of ’69, Woodstock became the monumental tribute to the excesses of the first generation to reap the benefits of economic growth of post-WWII America.

With all the hippie proclamations of living as one with nature, Yasgur’s 600-acre dairy farm was nearly demolished by an estimated 500,000 people during the 3-day music extravaganza. A year later, Max Yagur was awarded a $50,000 settlement for property destruction – $300,000 in 2009 dollars.

The primary green in the minds of the flower children were marijuana buds and the sought-after bi-products of poppy plants. I never bought into the idea that flower power was about peace, love and brotherhood.

If anything, Woodstock marked the beginning of the end of this ideology. Students returned to college, dwelled on what changes they might make for whatever new world order they could conjure, then quickly abandoned their philosophies to join the Corporate State of riding the upward tailwinds of success. Quite so, the greening of their pocketbooks.

Over these past decades there has been a progressive deterioration of the environment. America remains the largest contributor to global warming. Industry has polluted lakes and rivers with toxic runoffs of chemically enriched fertilizers that strip the earth of natural minerals and create health hazards to all living things. Overuse of pesticides may be a cause of the loss of billions of honeybees by attacking their immune systems.

Baby Boomers have also compromised their environmental concerns by endangering ecosystems as they’ve played the part of the Company Man and willed the expansion of urban sprawl.

With all the huff-huff about anti-establishmentariansism, most melded into society as if from a pre-subscribed yet post-dated prescription to materialism, as preordained by The Corporate State.

Of course, most of us Boomers were simply living our lives as presented to us by the more ambitious and presumably more intelligent. As it turned out, we became a lost generation as exemplified, also in 1971, by rock group Ten Years After:
“I’d love to change the world, but I don’t know what to do. So I leave it up to you.”

As I headed south along I-75 in October 1971, it appeared I was destined to be among the consummate nonconformists, neither a part of The Corporate State nor “in” with the In Crowd. I knew not how my life would unfold but as time has proven, there was little doubt I would do it The Rae Way.

Oh, the other book from the summer of ’71? Later…

Future Shock

Anyone who spent a part of 1971 reading ‘The Greening of America’ by Charles A. Reich probably had a copy of Alvin Toffler’s ‘Future Shock’. The two books went hand-in-hand as America was experiencing some very tumultuous times – the Cold War, the Kennedy assassination, the Viet Nam war, the hippie culture, hallucinogenic drugs. Plus race riots and student protests that led to dozens of Americans being killed.

‘The Greening of America’ dawdled on the pollution of individuality by the manipulative influences of the Corporate State, touted then-present day smoke-enhanced communal love-ins and proclaimed a social revolution would be forthcoming to salvage mankind from a contrived molding of society by Big Business, the Big Brother partner of Big Government.

‘Future Shock’ drew a chalk line before the reader’s eyes and before you could say, “Go!” fate would prove the checkered flag to be an illusory goal in a progressively changing world. Defined by the author, future shock is “too much change in too short a period of time”. An appropriate sub-title would have been ‘Freak Out - Get a Grip’!

A renowned futurist, Toffler foresaw the break-up of the 22 Regional Bell Operating Companies (RBOCs) under the AT&T umbrella, which became the cornerstone settlement of the 1984 antitrust case by Federal District Judge Harold Green who set up the seven “Baby Bells”.

A personal episode of drastic change occurred in the ‘80s while employed as a technician analyzing and coordinating the repair of data communications circuits leased by large corporations, such as aerospace and defense contractors Rockwell, General Dynamics, Northrup and Lockheed. In 1982, Pacific Bell, my employer, had three mega test centers in the LA area, each with over 250 employees. Due to deregulation, by 1987 each office held less than 80 positions, with company exit strategies in place for laggards-on. Now, twenty years on, telecom innovations still generate shock talk, with consumers seeking ever more wireless enhancements.

Relocation to Florida found temporary security as a service representative to consumer, then business customers. Little more than ten years later, as RBOCs like BellSouth lost long distance revenues and large shares of local service to independent providers, I was affectively nudged to early retirement as younger employees found the value of selling add-on services (too often without customer consent and other times misrepresented with misquoted charges and unspoken terms of acceptance) rather than providing customer service as had been ingrained into us old-timers. Whether addressing billing discrepancies or service outages, the goal was to Sell! Sell! Sell! Compromising integrity was never negotiable.

Toffler professed that the momentum of change accelerates until ‘information overload’ leaves individuals, social networks, businesses and governments disoriented and confused with a breakdown of decision-making. Sound familiar? Healthcare, war, drugs, terrorism, the environment, globalization, digital technologies, immigration… and banking.

Toffler has been adamant that the answer to the challenges of rampant change is through education. I quote: “The illiterate of the future are not those that cannot read or write. They are those that can not learn, unlearn, relearn."

As if to highlight the failings of education in the United States, according to ACT, a nonprofit organization that institutes college entrance exam tests, only 26% of high school students are prepared for college-level studies; 19% aren’t adequately prepared in the core areas of English, math, science and social studies. Shocking!

The New York Times reported, “A recent study by researchers at the University of California, Irvine, found that a third of students surveyed said that they expected B’s just for attending lectures, and 40 percent said they deserved a B for completing the required reading.” Sounds shockingly like future executives of institutions and their views on self-deserving bonuses despite their failures!

This entitlement of mediocrity among Americans has long been a reason for corporate recruitment of foreign intellectuals, whose visas are quickly revoked at the loss of employment, subjecting them to deportation. And yet, millions of illegal immigrants with high levels of ignorance remain willfully undocumented foreign homesteaders. Shocking!

With March unemployment figures exceeding 660,00 and with all appearances suggesting a sustainable decline of American jobs, the current 5 million jobless may double. Perhaps the March unemployment rate of 8.5% will top 10% by year’s end? A truly shocking outlook of the future.

‘The Greening of America’ was a smorgasbord of social tidbits foreseen to bring a revolution to the consciousness of the populace to such levels that there would be a reinvention of the self in society. Well, the leaves that were green have all turned brown.

‘Future Shock’ continues to provide the self a reward for having the intuition to serve up a balanced diet of constant learning. The just dessert is a future less shocking to the individual’s consciousness. Still, future shock will always be before us.

Don't forget the dental floss

A friend once asked, Don’t you ever run out of things to write about?, to which I smiled, chuckled and gave the simple reply, No. A current event, a discussion or a social observation might trigger a thought process that finds find my fingertips streaming along the keyboard. In this instance, a personal experience bring these words to print.

A twelve-inch piece of dental floss and the subsequent expense of one thousand, one hundred seventy five dollars and twenty-five cents have led to comments on health care.

When the veterinarian quoted the seemingly astronomical figure to save the life of my Burmese cat Elvis, the dearest of my animal friends, I barely flinched. Rather than dwell on dollar signs, my mind centered on the tragic event caused by leaving the floss on the bathroom sink and how I had cost my three year old cat two or more of his lives. The vet explained that other pet owners are frequently faced with circumstances similar to mine. The nylon thread was imbedded in the intestinal wall, thus necessitating surgery.

As I waited for x-rays to be taken, my eyes gazed upon a pamphlet that displayed the threats of periodontal disease of cats and dogs. The heart, kidneys and liver absorb toxins from the poor condition of the teeth and gums. I was already familiar with the danger to the human heart and shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that all mammals are subject to the same health dangers.

I’ve spent three decades attempting to preserve my teeth and gums by flossing, gargle-washing and brushing at least twice daily. Twenty years ago periodontal surgery was necessary and this past fall molars had to be extracted. Quarterly check-ups and the guidance of periodontists throughout the years hadn’t prevented the worsening of the condition.

In some cases periodontal disease is hereditary. I assume this the case in my instance since I remember how Mom flossed fastidiously, although there is no known family history to claim this as fact.

Poor tooth and gum care aren’t the only causes of periodontal disease. Since diabetics are inherently susceptible to contracting infections, gum disease is one of the acknowledged complications. If not treated, periodontal patients are also at risk of developing diabetes, which can lead to nerve damage and eye and heart diseases.

Simply put, oral bacteria enters the blood stream, becomes attached to fatty plaques in the coronary arteries and contributes to clot formation, restricting normal blood flow and robbing the nutrients and oxygen required for the heart to function properly. This may lead to a stroke or heart attack.

High levels of stress (think financial worries) increase the likelihood of gum disease two-fold. The lack of proper care during troubling episodes of adulthood can be an attributing factor as a result of a regimented routine being disrupted. Good habits can die quick.

Periodontal disease is the number one cause of tooth loss. According to a 1996 American Dental Association/Colgate survey, U.S. dentists say gum disease is a more pressing oral health concern than tooth decay by a 2-to-1 margin.

Studies have also found that rheumatoid arthritis patients are nearly eight times more likely to have periodontal disease. And although studies have found 60% of periodontal patients are twice as likely to have chronic kidney disease, more research needs to be done to link the two together.

During periods of hormonal changes, such as puberty, menstruation and menopause, women become more susceptible to gum disease. Pregnant women are said to be seven times more likely to deliver pre-term, low birth weight babies.

The first signal of gum disease, gingivitis, is sensitivity to hot and cold liquids. The build-up of plaque (tartar) along the gum line due in swollen gums and possible bleeding. Pockets develop as irreversible bone loss leads to further irritation to the gums.

This leads me to concerns about the discussion of health care reform. Unless dental care is inclusive to the dialogue, the health of millions of Americans will remain at a high-risk level. Data from 2005 shows $86.6B was spent on dental care (44% out-of-pocket, 50% private insurance and 6% paid through public programs). And yet, 70% of Americans have no dental coverage and of that figure, 35% forgo an annual dental check-up.

Universal health care isn’t likely to resolve the shortcomings of the medical necessities for the populous. Overall costs could be contained with minimal dental coverage. Without this consideration, gum disease will leave millions of Americans requiring unnecessary medical attention for deteriorating heart, kidney and liver conditions.

Darwin’s Theory of Evolution, “survival of the fittest”, specifically applies to those with periodontal disease. Dental care coverage could curb eventual medical expenses and save lives.

Life of the P-a-r-t-e-e!!!!!!!!!!!

Went to my neice's wedding on VALENTINES DAY when Heather and Phil tied the knot. After the reception dinner (wasn't very good but the open bar made up for it!)the dancin' began!!!!!

And there I was justa hip-hoppin' and boolie-boppin' to e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e-s shock and surprise!!!

I was cooooooooooooooler than all those 20-somethings!!!

Even my 16-year old neice, Taylor, and her two cousins, Rachel and Hannah, were bugged-eyed at my smooth moooooooooves and flashy grooooooooves!

Then.... the DJ got everyone in a circle, chose 4 in the middle to get everybody else dancin'.......... he played Y M C A!!! It was a hoot!!! Couldnta been better if I'd had a toot!!!!!!

Yep, I was in my element and, yet, I haven't been out dancin' in a club for... I don't know for sure... must be over FIVE years!!!!! I had so much fun.

I'll probably be reminded when the event comes out on video!

Conservative Me

When I purchased my first home at age 40, I took the conservative route imbedded in my rational thought process from childhood. Farmers don’t lead extravagant life styles and, as was the case with my family, vacations are few and far between so money is very precious.

If it weren’t for weekend trips “up north” Cranberry Lake near Houghton, MI, which was a mere two hour ride, and if not for the cabin built by Uncle Jerry, there would have been no vacations. Fortunately, Jerry and Ethelyn gave us four kids many summer trips to the cabin while dad and mom enjoyed a few peaceful days alone.

In the early 60’s the tranquility of rowboat fishing and dog-paddling around the dock, which Jerry had also built, gave me the best of summers. Coleman lanterns, a gas stove, a grill and a flashlight for those frightful tip-tow nighttime trips to that god-awful, spider-infested, gross-smelling outhouse were exciting experiences. They give me happy-heart memories. I’m still grateful for the simple things in my life.

I couldn’t have wanted for more. Having food a-plenty and a safe, secure and loving home life with a brother and sisters to play with were sufficient. My best friend, Chucky, whose dad worked at the Oldsmobile factory in Lansing, went on vacations to such places as Yellowstone. I was invited to go along but no one, not even Chucky, felt the degree of dismay as myself. It had nothing to do with me personally; it was asthma that kept me feeling down on the farm.

What was initially a bit of jealousy was quickly replaced with the sad fact that I would miss a significant part of the summer without bike riding, playing ball and the little adventures a couple of buddies have as kids. Those two weeks were among the worst of my life.

I’m liberal with some of my thoughts, but for the most part I lay in a stagnant pool of conservatism. Since I didn’t know Mr. and Mrs. Jones, thus having no one to keep up with, and a non-player of the social games that people play, when I sought the help of what’s-his-name, who was more a realtor than a friend, my goal was to take on a home loan that would leave me secure in a castle but well within my financial means.

I ignored words that told me that told me I could afford a home of such-and-such a value. I ignored the suggestion that an adjustable rate mortgage would be right for me but I feared it would cost me an arm and a leg if/when rates went up. After a couple of years I refinanced, not only reducing the monthly payments but also narrowing the freedom of owning the home outright from 25 to 15 years and still chipping away until it was paid off a year earlier.

I followed the same course of reasoning when I moved from Orlando to Spring Hill. I got more home for less money with cash left over that was spent on upgrading carpeting and kitchen appliances, painting the interior with semi-gloss for longer lasting, more easily maintained walls and buying a 48” plasma TV. For the most part, these were true investments. Although there’s too much credit card debt thanks to home insurance, property taxes and “the unexpecteds” of life, I’m still a mortgage-free homeowner, guaranteed to have a roof over my head.

I had the same philosophy of survival when I left home at the age of 20 with all my belongings stacked in a wholly-owned ’69 Gremlin with enough saved for a year’s rent paid in advance. No one could understand my reasoning but, since I was all alone and insecure in foreign surroundings, I could fill my tummy with many nights of macaroni and cheese, which is healthy gourmet food at that age, without the worry of living on the street or, heaven forbid, giving up and retreating to the given security of living in someone else’s home, namely my parents. I was young, free, determined and responsible enough to make it on my own. Living conservatively has always fit like a glove to my needs.

Birthday Cheers and Jeers

On this, my Day of Days, I ask myself, What is the importance of a birthday? I think of my 21,185 days of living (including Leap Year days) in the context of the wide variety of people I’ve met who have, to one degree or another, influenced my decisions and actions.

This is not a day of melancholy any more than I allow it to be on Holidays. I reserve those thoughts for every other day of the year for, if I should lump them all in one huge bundle of sorrow, floodgates might open and, as with most aspects of life, I prefer not to go with the flow. Which is not to say there are no periods of waterfalls. I might reflect on a few moments of the past but looking through the rearview mirror of time I’m assured that what is left behind is thoughtfully preserved for clearer visions of the future.

To whose standards are my “successes” put to judgment? Opportunists would discount my accomplishments for a single chance to claim their own perceived successes that they may gain from my materialism. In contrast, others would think of my life an insignificant existence as compared to theirs. But it is I who ultimately assesses my degree of worth.

Disappointments? People. Among those I’ve met, there are many whom I hadn’t the opportunity to really know - sometimes an acquaintance who was intended to be a friend remains a stranger. But I don’t regret having crossed paths with people who may have done me emotional and/or physical harm, without which I would have learned fewer lessons and taught me less about my inner-selves. Adversaries play a part in the development of a person’s attitudes just as much as those who have proven to be of positive influences.

I am who I am. I will be whoever I allow myself to become. I will continue to have experiences instead of dreams, fulfillment rather than regrets. If I were a different person, I might mistakenly regret that I have fewer “things” than others. That which I encounter, I cherish as lessons learned in the school of life, from which graduation comes in the form of a death certificate, not a certification of life.

Many of life’s instructors, including Guilt and Jealousy, have taught me that I have much more to learn. I’m so grateful that community players of my childhood implanted in me values whereby my subconscious dictates my actions.

Music has also molded many of my emotions and enhanced my awareness. It continues to take my mind where I would otherwise not visit; melodies give me rhythm, lyrics give me insight to philosophical dilemmas. I am not a singer. I am not a songwriter. I am an accompanist.

Regardless of my biological age, my spirit remains as youthful in mind as in the past. Wrinkles mark my age to others, but the reflection I see in the mirror discounts their importance for I accept the genetic footprints that have structured the wear and tear that life has dealt to my mind and body, if not my soul.

What’s the importance of my birthday? That I shall live on for an unknown period of time. That I am more a statistic than the person I am, have been or will be. That within a pre-subscribed number of years I will be on Social Security and given whatever benefits Medicare will afford my health. That the count of candles on the cake seems more indicative of my age than the two-digit numerical figure.

What of the future? I fear not the unknown because today is indeed the first day of the rest of my life. I accept that which I have no control over, yet take control and thoughtfully consider the challenges I may encounter that will change the course of my remaining years.

I travel along a road named Ronald Alan Rae – by design, a one-way dead end street. There have been no detours. I have traveled along many side streets, some mired with hazards, and made many stops to get my bearings on which direction to proceed so as to keep me on a journey filled with adventures. Compromises are made out of brotherly love. Sacrifices are mine to make.

Death has the right of way. My Creator has eminent domain. I have the rest of my life to travel along whatever avenues that fate will allow. I am alive, so I shall live and reserve the future past tense for others to acknowledge.

Excuse me, but my birthdays are but momentary landmarks in time. I’ve gotta move on…. I’ve still gotta lot of livin’ to do!

And The Blogs Just Keep On Comin'

The 2008 tally of my blogs is 128, which includes Parcel Post 08, Florida Menagerie 08, Hernando Hews 08, and The Rae Way.

Over all, it's a relatively small number as compared to many other blog sites but I do my best with the time I spend writing.

Besides, I can't sit at the computer all day long.... I'd have a flat ass sooner than I would otherwise!