‘A well-considered life’…

Ellen and Henry in rest mode. Letters can help prop up the father-children relationship when the Ellens of the world move onward and upward.

The Charlotte Observer reprinted a wonderful column by David Brooks of the New York Times that expands on author Clayton Christensen’s view that – and I’m paraphrasing now – when we put off the investment of time and energy into the relationships we have with spouses and children, “the most important things get short shrift.”

What we do too often, says Christensen, is mis-allocate our resources – largely time – toward things that yield near-term accomplishments (mostly work related) at the expense of what would have a more lasting impact on our lives.  Brooks labels the lasting impact, among other things, a well-considered life.

But perhaps most telling of all was Christensen’s assertion that our preoccupation with the short-term denies us the long-term view: “…it’s not until 20 years down the road that you can say ‘I’ve raised a good son or a good daughter.’”  I’ve slaved to write nearly 90 posts since January, and in one fell swoop he captures the very essence of a decade of letters.  He ought to write my book, not me.

Yet there it is.  The 10 to 15 minutes of keyboard time – toss in another eight to 10 minutes worth of planning – is my weekly investment of effort, creativity and fatherly love for my Ellen and Reid.  Many posts ago I said there is no other earthly way I would rather spend my time and my money.  The letters are, by all accounts, an extension of my willingness to invest in our family relationship.

So I tip my ever-present ball cap to Brooks and Christensen for validating the idea that family ranks way up there ahead of whatever else is a distant second or third.

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Mom has a new mailing address in Grand Island.  Here’s the first letter sent to her new home.  There’s no earthly reason for her to ever know about my current situation.  As with the Glen, the staff in G.I. have my blessing to open the letters to read aloud to her.

August 6, 2010

Mom: Well, by now you should be pretty much settled in at your new place, and from everything I’ve heard it’s swanky and nice. You need to keep me posted on how the food is because if the food is good, that’s 90% of things.  And if it is good, you’ll need to find me a bunk out there because it would sure beat what I’m cooking these days.

These days, however, it’s unbearably hot and humid down here.  It’s just God-awful terrible bad.  Honestly, you can’t walk – or I can’t walk – outside without breaking into a sweat.  And that’s at 7:00 in the morning.  I know I’ve whined about that before but it is worth whining about.  Grand Island might be hot, but it’s a whole lot drier that it is in North Carolina.  No wonder the locals mosey so slowly in these parts.

Reid had a good review at his job in Chicago the other day.  He seems happy these days, and he might be getting the itch to look for a new situation in the advertising world.  He keeps telling me what he does with the Internet and such and I keep nodding like I get it although I don’t understand much of what he tells me.  It is way too technical for this guy.  He likes Chicago and everything about it.

Ellen is doing fine, too.  She might get an offer in the next day or so to move up in her current company but it would change her commute from literally 5 minutes to about 25 and she worries about that.  25 minutes?  Down here that’s like driving next door.  Commutes in Charlotte are routinely 45 minutes to way over an hour.  So she didn’t get a lot of sympathy from her dad.  But whatever makes her happy.  She still holds on to the dream of being a teacher and I told her nothing about her new position would stop her from applying for teaching jobs.  I hope she lands that dream situation.

For a lot of different reasons, including just a terrible swing, I’ve hung up my golf clubs on a hook in the garage.  They will stay there for the foreseeable future.  I’m just golfed out and there are other things on my plate.  Also out of the car trunk are stray golf balls, tees, spikes and other golf paraphernalia.  It’s all gone.  It’s anyone’s guess when I’ll get the golf bug again but it likely won’t be anytime soon.

My tomatoes have frittered away.  The excessive heat has stopped the plants from setting fruit and the few fruits on the vines now wouldn’t make half a BLT.  I’m buying them from the farmer’s market but my suspicion is they aren’t from around here.  They feel and taste like factory tomatoes to me.  It just isn’t the same.  The corn isn’t too bad.  Speaking of that, the sweet corn up in G.I. should be coming in right about now.

I’m glad you are close to Ralph and Gayle.  That makes me breathe a lot easier these days.  I think it’s a great thing to be close to the family you have, and you will make new friends up there soon enough.  I just wish I was closer to all of you.  See you soon.

Maybe its just me…

No one seems to talk about a generation gap anymore.  Generations – Gen-Xers, Twenty Somethings, Boomers, Gen-Y, etc. – appear content to stay confined within the walls built by their age group.  Maybe its just me, but I don’t see free and easy cross-generation mingling.  Kids – anyone under 35 – won’t have much to do with those of us who are gray, balding, and rounder by the year.  When the older set (me) is around, the young crowd stands stone-faced and un-speaking in elevators, passes us silently in hallways, sits away from us at lunch.  The gap is hardly static or rigid.  It’s width fluctuates based on circumstance and willingness to close the distance.  For all we know and in the absence of generation-busting give-and-take, anyone younger than me might well view us matures as standoffish and gap nurturers.

Perhaps it is instead a technology gap, them tethered to their hand helds, us more comfortable with in-person conversation.

Yet the gap lives and I’m certain it exists within families.  How we ought to narrow the gap is anyone’s guess.  Like all wars, victory is won in small, incremental battles.  My battles to keep relevant with my two are waged weekly.  The weapons at my disposal are what you see here a few times a week plus whatever time I’m granted on the phone.  Emails?   Those remain sheathed.

So I’ll keeping chipping away and try to nickle-and-dime it to death.  I feel the presence of the gap some days more than others.  Then again maybe its just me.

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Wayback Wednesday.  Today we go kinda way back.  Five or six years ought to do it.

June 7

EB:

Well, summer is here.  Just last week it was cool, now it’s near 90 with more to come.  We’ll take it, however, as winter will come soon enough.

Reid has surprised us by literally bouncing out of bed at 6:30 every morning to head off to work in grubby jeans, inside out (?) t-shirts, and dusty work boots.  He sure likes the cash, and by gosh he’s been saving a fair portion of it, too.  One of the good sides is that he doesn’t stay out during the week nearly as late.  Most nights, he’s here by midnight, although he crashes after work and snoozes pretty hard.

We’re catching ourselves with post-Scooter moments.  When I get up, I think ‘oh, better let the dog out.’  Or, ‘better feed the dog’.  We’ve got his picture and collar (with tags) prominently displayed.  People have been sad to hear of his passing.  Your mom says we see him up in the puffy white clouds.

Grandma and Grandpa headed for Sundance, Wyoming this morning.  They’ll go through the old route via the Sand Hills of Nebraska.  Grandpa wants to take a pilgrimage of sorts.  He probably won’t get up there again.

Actually, they’re taking the same highway Bob ____________ and I took last Friday up to Ft. Robinson.  It was a wet trip but still fun.  We both just love the Sand Hills.  No better ride on a beautiful day as far as we were concerned.  We had one ticklish moment Saturday morning in the rain.  Bob’s BMW bike almost didn’t start, and we were literally hundreds of miles from the nearest BMW dealership.  I’m not sure what we would’ve done.  Saw antelopes and deer and a few turtles.  Saturday morning was 170 miles of solid rain.  My face felt exfoliated from the stinging raindrops.  We stayed with Ralph and Gayle Saturday night.  Ralph was the same as usual: talk and tell jokes.  He’s glad you’re doing well.

The countdown is on to Nonnie’s move.  She’s just paralyzed with fear and angst.  That drives Nancy and your mom nuts.  Lots of TLC needed on this one.  You can guess who will do the heavy lifting.

So, the mushroom goes into the bar and says ‘bar keeper, give me a beer.’  To which the bar keep says ‘we don’t serve your kind here.’  ‘Why not?’ replied the mushroom.  ‘I’m a fun-gi.’  Get it?

That’s the best I can do.  Let me know how things are going and what your schedule is.  Toodle-ooh.

The abridged version…

The closing farewell to the August 2 letter you can read next Monday, August 9...

If you strung all the years of letters together, I suppose you would have something resembling a book.  A 750 page 8 1/2″ x 11″ tome that doctors could prescribe as a sleep aid for the drowsy-deprived.  Peak reading would be the minutes shortly before the patient mercifully nodded off.

Lucky for you there’s an abridged version.

The Monday morning salvos have evolved (devolved?) from hapless efforts to keep the munchkins occupied with a few moments of college-age entertainment to a running diary of what’s up in the life and times of their parents, their beloved dog, and now their dad.  They’ve seen what passes for good, the marginally bad, and the truly ugly.

This mixed bag of lifetime coverage is a microcosm of typical family life – all of it.  As our story has unfolded, the sugar coating that once reared its ugly head has slowly been peeled away layer by layer.  It has been so in part due to their age and maturity, and the stark realization that this simply is, for better or worse, the way things are.

So after this morning the letter count will be 751.  That should be enough to buy insomniacs another week or so of restful reading.

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Here is last week’s letter to Ellen and Reid.

July 26, 2010

Ellen/Reid: July will be gone before you know it, and the only good thing(s) about it have been your birthdays.  Jeez, what a hell of a month.

Ellen, I am sorry to have nearly missed your birthday.  While reading the paper Saturday morning I saw the dateline at the top of the page, let out a loud yelp and nearly jumped from my seat.  How the hell do you miss your daughter’s b-day?  At least I beat Tim to the punch even if it was an early morning text message.  But here is a little something to salve the wounds.  Don’t spend it all in one place.  I would get you clothes but you know my taste isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.

Reid, thanks for the pics from NYC.  Trust you guys had fun, and I’ll be all ears when it comes to hearing about Mac’s situation.  Maybe the _________ conversation will lead to something.

Well, the job search is on in full swing.  There are a number of leads that have come in and am trying to track down the people and their needs.  My guess is that is how it is; the job hunt is front loaded with leads because that is when people are at their most caring.  It’s days 30-60 (and beyond) that will be tough.  In some ways it’s all about throwing mud at the wall and hoping that some of it sticks.  It is a numbers game.  I hope this lives up to the old adage that ‘the harder you work, the luckier you get’.  It is kind of weird to be let go for the first time ever at my advanced age.

Have not set aside any time for self absorption and this is some distance from a pity party.  Beyond endlessly tossing and turning the first couple of mostly sleepless nights, finding a job is now my full time job.  If anything, there has been a fair amount of introspection about what I could have/should have done differently.  It takes two to tango but this just isn’t a bank-at-fault issue.  One could easily be consumed if he or she allowed that to happen but already it’s in my rear view mirror.  The only place left to go is to go straight ahead no matter what that might hold.  When you cut everything away and separate the wheat from the chaff, I think that creation of content might be my real key.  I’ve told folks here that my contentment is in being and Indian rather than the Chief.  I want to do my job day in and day out.  My first goal is to stay with the bank because it is basically a good, but misunderstood, one.  I’m not wholly optimistic on that score but you never know.  Betsy, my friends Tom and Todd and Tim have stepped up so we’ll see if that leads to anything.  But the 60 day clock is ticking; there are about 55 heartbeats left so I’ve got to get a move on.  The one thing I don’t want to do is retire.  Cannot stand to think of that word.  There is still a lot left to offer in this old body.

So the net is being cast far and wide.  I’m resisting the temptation to relocate.  My stake has been driven pretty far into the ground here for lots of different reasons.  I don’t want to be mistaken for a quitter.  This is where I’ve made my bed and I damned well better be ready to lie in it.

John has indicated though that all is not lost financially.  I can meet the monthly mortgage and car payments with bond dividends.  That’s something of a relief but is still a far cry from making all the ends meet.  If nothing is found within 30 days, I’ll keep plugging at it but will also look at work outside my desired areas; i.e. a bookstore or golf shop.  I’m not too proud these days.

But I do want you to know that I am okay.  Like me, you see others in far worse straits; the homeless or the ill.  It can always be worse.  Reid, you’ve been down this road before, and if you can do it, your old man can do it, too.