Get off your duff and lace up your hiking shoes – Wyoming!

Yeah, baby! This is what I’m talkin’ about: the unrivaled mountains in the Wind River Range, Wyoming Green Lakes region of the Bridger Wilderness, Briger-Teton National Forest. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Attention all outdoorsy types or outdoorsy wannabes: Hey, if you’re looking for a strenuous, test-yourself sort of outdoor semi-survivalist trek this summer, book the week of July 15 in the Bridger Wilderness in Wyoming.

Six nights of sleeping on the hard ground (but inside a tent away from the mosquitoes), nearly 37 miles of potential blister-inducing huffing-and-puffing trails – all offset by incredible views of the Cirque of the Towers and fly fishing for fresh brookies. They say this is God’s country, and The Almighty hasn’t denied it.

We assemble in Jackson, WY Friday, July 12 (or Saturday, if you prefer just-on-time arrival) and head into the country around noon on Sunday, July 14.

Me doing my pack mule imitation in the Bridger Wilderness a few years back. Tom has helped me lighten the load considerably.

Physically, we’ll be in the Southern Half of the Bridger Wilderness near Big Sandy, which is southeast of our favorite town, Pinedale. We’ve been doing this foolishness for years. (You might wonder, and rightly so, ‘what the hell does this have to do with his weekly letters to Ellen and Reid?’ Well, a guy has to have something to write about.)

Seven or so objects of our affection. We are mostly catch-and-release hikers, but keep some brookies for supper.

We stumble back out on Friday, July 19 and lick our wounds over cold beers and burgers (bison, we hope) at the renown Wind River Brewing Company on West Pine Street in Pinedale before further licking our wounds (after soothing showers, of course) once we get back to Jackson. We wistfully fly out on Saturday. (When you make your flight arrangements, pick a window seat on the right side of the plane. On the approach into Jackson, you’ll see why giving up an aisle seat was worthwhile.)

Me and my boy Tom (The Beast Walker) Bohr

Tom (The Beast Walker) Bohr has solo hiked the length of the Appalachian Trail in a single pass, trekked across Spain and the guy is a pro. Ain’t no mountain he can’t climb.

will handle ground arrangements (it means we rent an SUV) and hotel stuff in Jackson and Pinedale. We need to know your

Set the bar low…

People ask what Ellen looks like, so here she is with hubby Tim up to their knees in Wisconsin trout waters.

No doubt some of you – maybe all of you – have rolled your eyes at some of the sub-trivial fluff I foist on the kids and other unwitting recipients.

I don’t hold myself in very high regard as a writer.  What comes out, comes out.

My dire self assessment aside, the goal has never been to set the bar high as high art.  Instead, my goal is really to stay out of my own way and just get the letters out the door on the appointed day.  To achieve “high art’ is not in my meager skill sets.   It would seem to imply that art supersedes the doing and that the writer’s sense of self-importance surpasses the expectation(s) of the recipient(s).  In neither case is that true.   High art also takes time, suitable inspiration and untold revisions, all of which further implies a pursuit of creative perfection which, if you’ve read my onslaught of letters, is in no danger of being eclipsed.

I’ve set the bar low and am pretty much content with such lowness.  Some days might be higher than others, but not by much.

—————–

The Charlotte Observer ran my first column this weekend.  As my age will attest, my beat will be narrowly focused.

http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2010/10/23/1778133/having-the-talk-with-aging-parents.html

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

October 18, 2010

Ellen/Reid: Ellen, what is this with your car windows being smashed?  I thought your little neighborhood was relatively immune to such nonsense.  What a way to start your Sunday morning.  Was the car in the garage or on the street (Tim’s new rig is likely in the garage, isn’t it?)?  Just make sure you keep stuff out of sight since that’s how most of these car-invading hooligans decide to break in to your car instead of others.

My weekend was far less adventuresome than yours.  Felicia and I rode to Maggie Valley, NC in search of the ‘Wheels Through Time’ museum of ancient Harleys.  It was wonderful, and I’d go again in a heartbeat, but the real star of the trip was the trek through the mountains.  The leaves and the scenery were incredible and the traffic was nil.  That’s quite a change from my last leaf-looking trip on the Blue Ridge Parkway a couple of years ago.  This went through canopied twisty roads alongside streams, and you can tell Tim we saw lots of fly fisherpeople all along the route, and secretly, I wish I’d been among them.  The route took us northwest out of picturesque Hendersonville, NC west on state road 64 and then a right turn onto state road 276.  One of the best roads ever for riding.  The museum was just a scream.  I’d guess the guy had 100+ old Harleys and Indians and other makes strewn all over the place.  But half the fun is looking at the old memorabilia such as newspaper clippings, posters, letters, and other assorted stuff.  It was just a lot of fun.  It was a cold ride in the morning but got nicer as the day went along.  Had BBQ in Maggie Valley at some place called Butts on the Creek.  It was pretty good, not the best, but just pretty good.

Reid, Nebraska choked in the Texas game.  The Big Red came in all hyped up but came out like Little Pink (a name from Bob F____________).  On the ride I was kicking myself for not recording the game but in hindsight it was a good thing.  Your uncle must’ve been a basket case at the game.  He would’ve been beside himself, and I pity the poor person sitting next to him, in front of him and behind him.  Your grandfather probably rotated in his grave.

My lengthy interview last week has gone for naught.  I made the second cut but not the third.  In most interviews you typically rue making comments you wish you wouldn’t have made and that was true in this case.  I had nosed around with people about their impressions of _______, and was trying to relate that their views didn’t necessarily mesh with what I’d learned about the firm.  I just didn’t communicate that very well to the person who mattered most.  I inadvertently irked the hiring manager and it was instantly apparent that I was out the door – and I still have five other people to talk to.  But that’s just the way it goes, although it was a firm I would’ve liked to get to know a little better.

But things are going along as well as could be expected here at the bank.  I like the new situation, and while it’s just a temporary layover to whatever is next, it’s a daunting task.  The technical aspect of legal letter writing is overwhelming.  You really have to be on point and organized to orchestrate a letter which alternately recognizes the customer’s problem but doesn’t do anything to further irritate them.  They’re likely irritated enough already.  But it’s a challenge and that’s okay.

No real word from the place where your grandmother is staying.  I’ve been a complete absentee in that I’ve not called her as much as she deserves.  My pre-New Year’s resolution is to begin, this week, to call her 2-3 times each week.  She may not remember the calls but I’ve just been a schmuck on that score.  You guys should write her a note now and then because the staff will read them to her.   Gotta run, but keep your phones on for further text messages.

A public display of private affection…

Today's letter to mom before it was tucked into the envelope. Some aren't sure if letters to her are worthwhile. Not me. If a letter gives her a few minutes of enjoyment, what's wrong with that?

A blog is an odd beast.  It is an open book to whatever the topic is.  Although mine has yet to catch on with the masses, in theory this post could make its way around the globe in the time it would take you to read this whole shebang.  Maybe faster.

What is doubly weird is that this blog is all about what would be, under most normal circumstances, a highly private matter – the personal correspondence between a father and his children.  But here they are, reams of letters, for all to see.

As it has occured to others, how do I reconcile a public display of private affection that others can see, too?  That is a fairly pointed, but fair, question.

I guess the short answer – you will be spared the long version – is that this whole exercise is an object lesson on how one dad goes about the business of family business.  By necessity, you ought to see what the hell I’m talking about in the most graphic of terms – the literal pages themselves.  I’m not above slicing out paragraphs that are solely intended for Ellen and Reid only.  I’ve done so with regularity.  You see most of the dirty laundry but not the whole washer load.  That might change, but not right now.

—————–

Bridger update: The list of tentatives continues to grow.  If everyone went who has voiced an interest, we’d be at 10 right now.  I’m going to do two things: there is a rustic ranch B&B on the outskirts of Pinedale that will provide affordable rooms the night(s) before the trip.  They might also help arrange pack animals (horses or llamas) but I do not know the pricing.

——————–

My brother thinks my letters to my mother are a waste of time.  The staff at her facility don’t think she grasps everything.  But she doesn’t have to grasp it all.  She just has to grasp a few things.  So, I will continue sending a Friday letter to my mother.  Here is today’s letter to her.

October 22, 2010

Mom: We are smack in the middle of Indian summer here.  The weather has been glorious.  Not too hot, not too humid, just right.  I see that the weather in Grand Island is pretty good, too.

Man, Nebraska really got taken to the cleaners by Texas.  I thought for sure that was a game the Big Red would win in a cakewalk.  But nothing should surprise us any more about that team.

Ralph says you’re doing pretty well these days.  That is good to hear.  And it was good to talk to you the other day.  I need to do a better job of calling you.  I promise to do better.

Been riding the Harley a lot.  It’s much more fun to ride when the weather is cool but not rainy.  Rode through the mountains last weekend and it was very pretty.  The leaves are changing and the mountain streams looked clear and cold.  There was not as much traffic on the roads as I thought there might be.  That made for pretty good riding.

I have to admit to having ice cream these last few days.  I went to the grocery store the other night and made a trip down the ice cream aisle.  They had some on sale and I wilted.  It makes me feel guilty to eat it but it sure tastes good.  It’s all gone now.  Urp.

Now that it’s cooling down around here it’s time to begin to bake bread again.  My house just gets too hot when the oven is on during the warmer days.  But with the temperatures cooling it makes the kitchen that much more comfortable for baking.  I should send you a loaf or two.

Looks like I will be in Minneapolis for Thanksgiving to see both Ellen and Reid.  My plane ticket was bought this week and I’m really excited about going.  Ellen has already told me that I’ll be the chief cook for the weekend and Reid wants to help with the cooking, too.  He’s pretty good around the pots and pans.  Ellen isn’t much of a beef lover so it will be turkey the entire time, although her main request is for me to make breakfasts.  It’ll be pancakes, waffles, scrambled eggs and bacon.  Her husband Tim can eat like a horse, as can Reid, so there will be no shortage of food.  I’m glad you will be in Ralph and Gayle’s house for the holiday.  Maybe there is a chance Joe will get out there, too.

Things are going fine at work.  Busy and hectic, but there’s nothing new about that.  I like what I’m doing these days but there’s a lot of it to do.  You be good, stay warm, and watch for another phone call real soon.

Being different…

Bryan's "designer" cast. He has limited sympathy for Bob's texting injury.

A friend of mine posted a message a few days ago on my seldom-visited Facebook page about a recent blog post, and I just got around to taking a look at her message today. It was a nice note, and I really appreciate Jane’s concern and support.

My tardiness could mean one of several things; A) I err by expecting others to instantly read my posts yet can’t take the time to read the messages of others, B) I don’t spend much time roaming the Facebook landscape and C) Facebook doesn’t hold a lot of interest for me.  I hope ‘A’ isn’t entirely true, but I think ‘B’ and ‘C’ hold smidgens of truth.

Make no mistake, I am a gnat bite on the globe-sized entity that is Facebook.  Part of my reluctance relates to time; recently, a local mother made news when she banned her teen daughter from Facebook for a week.  The young girl claimed withdrawal symptoms from her four to six hour a day Facebook habit.

Bob sports his real cast. Empathy, let alone sympathy, have been hard to come by.

It’s hard to spend one hour, let alone the young woman’s four to six hours, on anything every single day.  Sure, I like to know what people are up to but there is an intimacy that is missing online.  At least my obsessing with letters can be measured in minutes, not hours.  Perhaps it’s my way of being different.

—————–

Bridger update: Two more inquiries have come in.  The able-bodied Reid looks to be on board, too.  FYI…airfares from Charlotte to Denver appear to be in the $430 range, and $528 round trip to Jackson Hole.  Denver is a sturdy but esthetically pleasing 5-6 hour drive to Pinedale, WY while Jackson Hole is roughly two hours.

————–

October 11, 2010

Ellen/Reid: Well, it seems I’m in danger of becoming one of “them.”  By them, I mean a Southerner.  Because in the last few weeks, I’ve cooked okra twice (it’s pretty good) and also fixed up a mess of fried green tomatoes (also better than you might think), finally got a North Carolina license plate for the Harley, watched some NASCAR (just a few minutes), and while tooling around on the bike stopped by fields for a first hand look at peanuts and cotton.  On one stretch of road saw some tobacco over yonder but we didn’t stop.  I don’t think anyone down in these parts will ever confuse me for a local but the assimilation is happening as we speak.

I’m starting to learn where towns are like Florence, Laurinburg, Chester and Reidsville.  What I do know after this weekend’s bike ride is that there are no, or hardly any, straight roads in the entire region.  It is as if state road planners dyed a pot of spaghetti and poured it out on a large piece of paper.  Where ever the spaghetti hit the paper was the road scheme.  We rode to Danville, VA on Saturday, and according to Mapquest, the trip was roughly 150 miles.  That’s a shade over two hours at Interstate speed.  But the trip took nearly five hours because, without exaggeration, we took no fewer than 15 different roads to get there.  There weren’t enough bread crumbs to help us follow the path.  I couldn’t replicate it now by memory if I had to.  It was just bizarre.  Felicia and I laid the road maps for North Carolina and Iowa side by side.  It was hilarious.  Iowa was almost totally a grid of north-south, east-west straight lines, while North Carolina was a literal jumble of roads.

I’m going to make my plans for Thanksgiving this week.  Ellen, I will likely get up there on Tuesday because I’m late enough in making plans that all the Wednesday seats are filled.  Part of me would like to drive to get the stink blown off but let me see what the airfares are.  I’m excited to see your refurbished digs and the new furnishings.  Reid and I can handle all the cooking and whatnot.  That will be our role as guests.  Glad to hear you have a touch because mine is where a fair amount of my sleeping is done.

Your uncle did all the work to rid much of your grandparent’s house of stuff this past weekend.  He wasn’t too pleased that I wasn’t there to help him out but as a practical reality it just wasn’t a reality for me to be there.  All of your stuff is in the basement of a friend of mine, Pete Z__________, who was nice enough to hold it until you, or your mom, can get to Omaha to retrieve it.  I e-mailed your mother to see if she could help but she won’t be back in the Midwest until past the middle of December, so we’ll lean on Pete to hold your stuff a little bit longer than we might otherwise want.  Ellen, this includes the china, and Reid, this includes whatever it was you picked after the funeral plus some kitchen stuff Ralph and Gayle thought you might need to stock your new little kitchen.

My cousin Tom was the first to step up and say “yes” to a trip to the Bridger Wilderness at the end of July in 2011.  He’s always been an outdoor guy and the drive isn’t too onerous from his home in Eugene, OR.  It’s closer than Charlotte, that’s for sure.  I’ve got room for 8 to 12 folks so if either of you want to go backpacking…Ellen, you could even bring Henry along for the hike.  He’d love it.

Well, I’m gonna sign off for now as there’s a conference call on tap in about an hour that I have to prep for.  As soon as the T-Day plans are known, you two will be the first to know other than me.

A beat down on my book…

My friend Bob has reaped what he's sewn. A post-op picture of his swanky new cast, a result of rampant over-texting.

A couple of years ago I spent days, weeks and months on a book manuscript about my years of writing to Ellen and Reid.  It was chock full of helpful advice and tasty tidbits and what I presumed were fatherly witticisms.  A sure-fire best seller, I thought.  Who wouldn’t buy such a gem?

Well, I can name at least three non-purchasers: my former A.P. national editor Norm and my good friends Julie and Jenn.

That’s because when their edited copies came back, I knew the book was DOA.  They put a beat down on the manuscript.  To say they “hammered” the draft puts it mildly.  A lead balloon cannot sink any faster than my deflated hopes for publishing success.  Proving again the old journalistic adage that the greatest joy is editing someone else’s copy, their editing pens probably ran out of ink.

As I look back, of course they were correct.  The book was bad.  The three slice & dicers played their roles perfectly.  Editors are of no use if they pull punches.  The best editors are the harshest.  And this trio was the best of editors.  So much for my grand illusions as a book writer.  Poof.

Yet I remain undeterred.  After an appropriate period of gestation (and for mourning), I have mentally regrouped.  The book will make a U-turn in approach and tone.  The redraft is underway, and per the scribbled notations of Norm, Julie and Jenn,  it will be devoid of the preachy lectures and inanity that drove them batty.  Hell, it drove me batty, too.

—————

Bridger Wilderness update: Our small band of hikers is growing.  Although an asterisk will go by their names, Jill and Troy Aleong* from Charlotte are tentatively on board.  Tom Andersen of Eugene, Oregon is our fourth walker.  The trip is set for the final full week in July, 2011.

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Here is the typical Friday letter to my mom.  I hope the staff at her care facility keep reading the notes to her.  They say so, but there’s no real way of knowing.

October 15, 2010

Mom: I literally gave up on dinner last night.  I punted.  It boiled down to pancakes nuked in the microwave and peanut butter.  The peanut butter was on crackers, not the pancakes.  But it was the best I could do with the energy I could muster.  There was a grand plan earlier in the day to grill a burger but the meat stayed frozen and I went for the easiest thing available.  You eat better than I do.

Spend most of last night on my church newsletter.  Been doing it now for a couple of years.  It’s the one smidgen of creative work I do every month and it keeps me occupied and out of trouble although my pastor would beg to differ.  He gives me free reign and that’s fine by me.  It probably takes somewhere in the 20 to 30 hour range every month.  Hope the guy upstairs takes notice.

It has really cooled down.  We’re not in the 30s yet like you guys have been but it is a noticeable drop in temperatures.  Why, I even had to wear a jacket to work the other morning.  This weekend I’ll fire up the bike and head West and I will be sure to wear my leathers to ward off the cold.  It really is a beautiful time of year down this way.  I will avoid the “mountains” because all the leaf watchers will be out by the tens of thousands, clogging up the roadways as they gaze at the trees.  If the bike had a horn, I’d honk those slow pokes out of my way.

Good news for Reid.  He got a raise at his job, and they shuffled him around to give him some new big advertising accounts.  He’s pretty excited about it, and there’s some hope that he might get a real promotion in the not too distant future.  That kid is going to end up being a Chicagoan although he makes noise about moving to New York City every now and then.  As I tell him, kid, you don’t make enough money to visit New York, let alone live there.  But it would be a good time of life for him to be a little adventurous.  Heck, it would give me a reason to venture to New York to see him.

Ellen continues to battle through the educational turmoil.  Her first round of parent-teacher conferences were this week and I’ll be anxious to know how those went.  She must be a really good teacher because she spends a lot of time at the school working on lesson plans and things like that.  She just loves it.  I wish I’d paid a little closer attention to the teachers I had.  They must not have inspired me.

Nebraska is doing pretty well in football.  I know this because all the football experts on TV are saying what a good team they have.  The teams down this way are mostly lousy, especially the pro team (the Carolina Panthers) which has yet to win a game.  They are really, really bad.  El-stinko.  At least I don’t have tickets.  Heck, I don’t even watch it on TV.  Well, I’m gonna wrap things up.  Stay by the phone because I will call you real soon.  Keep eating that ice cream for me.

Book the Bridger: July 24-30, 2011…

 

Okay, you saw this aerial view of the Bridger Wilderness a couple of weeks ago. But it's the best I have. Beautiful, but moderate, terrain.

 

A couple of posts ago, I said the Bridger Wilderness in Wyoming is my favorite place in the Lower 48.

I wasn’t kidding.  And now, you have a chance to see if I’m right.

Featuring six nights in the backcountry from Sunday, July 24 through Friday, July 29, 2011, I (and I hope to enlist Reid’s help as co-organizer) am assembling a backpacking trip in the Bridger for eight to 12 souls who are game for a wilderness experience.

We assemble in Pinedale, WY and hike the Northern half of the Bridger.  We will walk 3 – 5 miles per day (two to four hours) over moderate terrain.  I’ll pull all the food together (everyone carries their share).  Maximum altitude is probably 11,500 ft.  Any adult who is in moderate shape can handle this trip.  Incredible vistas.  Lots of good fishing, including Golden Trout in some high-country lakes.

If you’re interested, e-mail me or respond to this post.  It is an incredible place.

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Here is today’s letter to my mom.

October 8, 2010

Mom: Last night I watched the Nebraska-Kansas State game and not a whole lot has changed.  When the going gets tough for NU, I turn the channel or get up and walk out of the room or just turn the TV off.  I’ve always been that way and probably will be forever.  Your other son is exactly the opposite in that you can’t pry him away from the tube.  But there wasn’t too much anxiety since Nebraska rolled all over K-State.

Been also watching the baseball playoffs and none of my teams – the Twins, Tampa or Cincinnati have done worth a darn so far.  Since Ellen lives in Minneapolis/St. Paul I sent her a message on her phone about the game, and she wasn’t even aware there was a game.  She’s just never been into those kind of sports.  Of course Reid follows the Chicago Cubs, and they will never amount to anything ever.  Cubs players are already on an extended vacation.

My tomato is at the end of its useful life.  The growing season here is rapidly drawing to a close although there are some little red tomatoes that just need a couple more days of ripening and they’ll be ready.  Down in these parts they fry green tomatoes (I’ve done it and they do taste good) so that’s how the remaining non-ripe tomatoes will end up on my plate.

One of my favorite neighbors, Mike, moved out yesterday.  He’s moving to San Antonio and he was a good guy.  He worked at the bank, too, and was a dedicated Harley rider.  In fact, he sent me a message this morning that he kept his bike out of the moving truck and is riding all the way to Texas.  Good for him.  That would be relaxing and fun.  Maybe some day I’ll haul my Hog out of the garage and ride out to Grand Island to see you guys.  That would be a lot of fun.

Things are going okay at the bank.  It’s a stressful time, what with all the foreclosures and stuff like that.  It’s tough on people to deal with, and I don’t mean those of us who are workers but the folks who are losing their homes.  It’s really hard to watch some of those things go on.  We’ll help them when we can but some are just too far gone.

I’m baking chicken in the oven tonight along with some Idaho potatoes.  I’ll dust it with a little flour laced with some spices.  I seem to have fallen into a rut where I cook chicken one night, rice the next night, tacos another night, and pasta the other night.  It all tastes okay but I need to expand the menu a little bit.  Hope your food tastes pretty good.  You sure wouldn’t want me to be cooking for you guys.

Well, that’s it from Charlotte.  Be good, stay warm now that the weather is cooling, and I’ll talk to you before much longer.  Have an ice cream cone for me.

Relaxation when you can…

The usual sticky pad with cryptic notes for last Monday's letter to the kids. It will be posted on Sept. 20.

There are times from the past couple of months when its been a real struggle to decompress.

A hundred or so posts ago, I went off on a tangent on how extraordinarily relaxing Monday letters (any letter for that matter) were for me.  It’s even more so now.  You grab moments of relaxation when you can.

I’m no shrink, but you don’t need to lay prone on an office couch at $125/hour to know internalization is not a good thing.  Get it out, and get it out often.  Ellen and Reid have felt the brunt of the getting out.  None of it has been down-for-the-count stuff.  Rather, its more here’s-where-I-am-at-the-moment, plus the oft-mentioned assurance that things ultimately will be okay and whatever course I’m now on is just another detour toward whatever is at the end of the (job) road.

I dawdled on the Monday letter and took my own sweet time.  Whereas it was formerly a six to 10 minute sprint, now I’m trying to figure out how to stretch the pleasurable part to 15 minutes.  From there, I’ll aim for 20.

——————

You know what Wednesday means.  Another blast from the past.

September 6, 2004

Hey, you guys:

Reid, honestly, we were glad you used the fire pit when your friends were over here.  Really, it was all good fun and food (usually paid for by us) and everyone seemed to have a good time telling stories and swapping lies.  We didn’t ask a lot in return (other than everyone’s car keys.)  Still, imagine our dismay when, after months of sitting underneath the green plastic cover, what to our wondering eyes should appear but a mold encrusted, stinky, half-charred and decaying pizza box PLUS several shrapnel-ized cans of Guiness that look as if they were exploded by cherry bombs.  Next time, just make sure you empty the fire pit of illicit or funky contents.  Oh yeah, and make sure you tell us when the BBQ tank is empty.

Finally, the Harley has passenger pegs.  What an ordeal.  Part of my own making, part of the dealership’s fault.  Without exaggeration, I made 6 or 7 separate trips to get parts, only to learn that there was still one more minor piece (such as a chrome washer) that was needed.  Geez, now it’s all together.

We were watching TV last night – I was watching, your mom was only partly watching – when a show came on about Kyle Petty’s bike ride across the U.S. to raise funds for children’s hospitals.  ‘Wow’, I thought, ‘that’s neat.  I could be part of a good cause and ride across the country.’  So, this morning I go to his web site.  The cost of a solo rider to take part: $10,000.  I guess I’ll be riding alone.

We ventured on the wild side this weekend by borrowing Holly and Dana’s two person kayak.  We wanted to float the river but decided our maiden voyage would be on the lake in West Des Moines.  It was quite a bit of fun, but the water was super yucky.  We did see lots of birds and stuff.  All the fish had 3 eyes, that’s how bad the water was.  People were fishing but who would want to eat anything out of gunk you can’t see two inches down?  We’ll do more wild stuff next weekend when we go camping with the __________ and everyone else at Lake Keohma.

Spur of the moment events are few and far between but we went over to the ______’s on Friday night to celebrate Stacy’s 46^th.  It was a lot of fun.  When you get older, you tend to celebrate more because you know you’re on the downward slide.

I’ve tried to call the “Your 2¢ Worth” column repeatedly, but the mailbox says it’s full.  I was going to leave the message that ‘Hey, I know what the “W” stands for on all those car stickers: Wrong.”  Get it?  If the paper ever runs it, you’ll be the first to get autographed copies.

“Key Performance Indicators”…

This photo has nothing to do with today's post but since you've arleady seen the shower, you might as well see the dueling pedestals. No snickering, please.

Not that I am without sin when it comes to bastardizing the King’s English, but somewhere along the line U.S. businesses took a wrong turn when it came to language and the reliance on, shall we say, ‘corporate speak’.

As I continue to beat the job bushes, the following insanity led off a job description forwarded my way:

“An Exciting Leadership Opportunity to provide overall direction and guidance to business operations with the objective of maximizing growth and profitability. Plans and directs operations within the business to support the Key Performance Indicators.  Plans objectives and ensures management is in compliance with corporate, regional and financial goals. A Progressive Leader who creates a positive work environment that values its employees and their training and professional development and promotes teamwork; and supervises all direct reports and through the chain of command all their reports.”

Okay, what business did this refer to?  Accounting?  Banking?  Advertising?  Waste handling?  Beats me.  And what was the job?  I missed that part.  I would’ve been excited but I didn’t know what I was supposed to be excited about.  As I maximized the performance of my scroll down button, the fog cleared and it became abundantly evident this was an exciting food service opportunity.  I like to eat but would rather not be on the administrative end of food service.

Clearly, HR types have yet to find their creative niche.  Obfuscation is more to their liking.  In a few weeks time I’m slated to teach a class on pleasure writing, the tenets of which would be a good thing for business, too.  The anecdotal evidence of corporate inanity shown above may well surface again, but not in a good way.  One of my hard-and-fast rules to students (mostly adult learners since it’s an evening class): a long list of corporate buzz words that will be off limits for their use.  Hey, I have to break people from the corporate language funk some way.

———————

Here is a letter to Ellen and Reid from relatively recent times.

August 6, 2007

Reid/Ellen: Well, I’ll be seeing you both later on this week in Omaha, and grandma and grandpa are really looking forward to seeing the two of you.  I’m not sure where the coordinated black tops/khaki pants came into the picture, but it is what it is.  Reid, your sister has already pulled my chain about the black mock-tee as being something I like, but you’ll just have to live with my choice.  Just play nice with all the other relatives.

Never in my life as a driver have I hit anything other than bugs that splatter on the windshield.  That’s until this past weekend.  On the way home Saturday evening from a golf outing in Hickory (about 65 miles away) a sizeable raccoon experienced an unfortunate choice of life-altering timing to cross the highway in front of me at about 70 mph (I mean it going .05 mph and me zipping along at 70 mph).  Bumpety-bump-bump-bump.  I thought I’d nailed it with the right front tire, and didn’t think much about it other than he / she had unfortunately entered the food chain.  But the next day I noticed it had rumpled the front spoiler just below the right fender.  I mean it pushed in the plastic about 8 inches, so that was a big’n.  Haven’t had it estimated yet, but my hunch is the damage will top at least $1,000, considering it’s a BMW and there’s nothing cheap about those cars.  At least it wasn’t a deer, or, heaven forbid, a person.  I’m sure the raccoon’s last thought was ‘what’s that light coming toward me?’  Wham.  It got thumped pretty good.

I’ve taken the coin mania to the next level.  More evidence I’ve stepped off the deep end and there’s no turning back.  Now, there are two distinctly separate cigar boxes in my closet, one for change as the result of a purchase transaction, the other for coins randomly found or picked up off the street.  That is just plain whack-o.  I have just plain lost it.

Helluva thing about that bridge collapse.  Thank goodness you’re okay, Ellen.  We were pretty panic stricken there for a moment, especially your mom when she heard some guy yelling on your line.  The phone system must’ve gone haywire with everyone trying to get through to friends and loved ones.  Be sure I get your secondary phones and emails, plus those for Tim and Rachel.  I’ll plug those into the memory banks.

In a total turnaround, it looks as if the 4 Corners trip is off, only to be replaced by a tour of the Blue Ridge Parkway from end to end.  Betsy kind of slapped me upside the head by wondering why I haven’t gotten to know this corner of the world.  And that made some sense, so I’ll head off August 18^th or 19^th from wherever it starts (Tennessee maybe?) to wherever it ends (some place in Virginia?) and then I’ll head toward the Outer Banks in northeastern North Carolina.  It won’t be nearly as arduous as the 650 miles per day the western trip would’ve required.  That’s really humping.  The speed limit on the Blue Ridge is 45 mph, so if there is a raccoon in my future it won’t happen at such high speeds.  I’ll overnight in Asheville or perhaps Boone, North Carolina.

Had Betsy and Bob over for dinner last Friday night, and served up that pasta dish I’d sent to you guys.  They raved about it, and they made no secret I needed to atone for the tough-as-twang-leather pot roast fiasco from Mother’s Day back in May.  That was just god-awful.  We had a couple of nice bottles of wine and in true Betsy fashion, she brought over not one but a couple of yummy desserts.  That woman knows how to put that stuff together.  Now it’s back to more pedestrian fare, such as the stray hamburger or meatloaf, and in a pinch, a bowl of cereal.

We’ll see each other soon enough.  You guys drive carefully and safely, and keep me apprised if your travels.  You have my cell phone, so keep me posted.  We’ll all do our M-I-B imitations.

Passing 100…

Every letter ends with 'Love, Dad' and a variation of a smiley face. The eyes, however, are the window to my soul.

I’ll pass 100 posts on Weight of a Single Page within the next week.  Lucky for you it’s not 200.  Or 300.  Wonder what this would be in dog years?  That’s a rhetorical question.  (Just a heads up: I will ask you to pass this blog along to the parents of college students and other empty nesters because beyond my friends, those souls are really my target audience.  I haven’t reached very many, if any, of them.)

Someone pointed out a few weeks back that this was like reading a mini-soap opera.  Only without a large national daytime audience or a character named Erica.

Perhaps that’s what my week-to-week, year-by-year campaign of letters has been; a compilation of what grips a real family in real life.  As you’ve heard me drone on before, the campaign has morphed from filling Ellen and Reid’s college time with lots of homey nothingness to somewhat less nothingness and more tangents of a serious vein.  They’ve seen it all: divorce, upheaval of a move from friends and family, uncertainty in a new city, uncertainty in a new job, family loss, and more.

Cliche as it sounds, at the end of the day I feel a deep seated need to stay in touch with fast paced, young adult lives that are solidly on their own course.  I’m not comfortable on the phone and emails don’t cut it for me, so letters seem the right fit for my style of contact.  I will go to my grave (hopefully not anytime soon) in the fervid belief that letters ought to have a place – a rock solid place – in how we communicate and stay in touch with our kids and others who are important to us.

A word of warning: get ready for post 101 and beyond.

———————

Here is last week’s note to the young ‘uns.  A couple of paragraphs have been pulled for privacy’ sake.

August 16, 2010

Ellen/Reid: From all appearances you guys had a great time in northern Minnesota.  Reid, it’s cool that your boys would come up to spend a few days with you.  I remember them when you were all just peanuts.  The pagoda is the sort of spot that’s made for people to congregate, especially with a new kitchen.  Ellen, your photo of Henry napping in the car was just a hoot.  What a dog.  Makes me want to get one.  Hey, maybe now is the time.

Really glad about your teaching gig, Ellen.  Finally you have landed, and they’ll be awfully glad to have you once they see you in action.  I am so proud and pleased.  Take a few pictures of you classroom now and then so I can get a feel for the surroundings.

Got my first rejection letter last week.  The salient line in the short note was the job was filled “with another applicant.”  It was a church PR job and would have been a nice fit for me but the chance for an interview never panned out.  That’s okay, although it’s never nice to get such a letter.  Things went fine in Raleigh with the PR agency although in hindsight I likely could’ve done a better job in that interview and in the subsequent HR interview a few days later.  Haven’t heard anything since and that’s not the best of signs.  I know a lot about the real estate topics we talked about but when the HR guy asked if I had any questions about the agency, I didn’t come up with much beyond seeking assurance the agency would communicate differently than the one here are the bank.  Should’ve researched the agency more in terms of their clients and how they operate.  Hope to hear more from them later in the week but the silence so far is kind of deafening.  Since the job situation here at the bank is more or less DOA, my best bet may be to go down the freelance path although from experience I know it takes a long time to build a book of business let alone reach the point where money is coming in the door.  But I will keep plugging away at it.  My plan this week is to send out a very short cover letter (I’ll send one t you so you can see the direction I’m headed and you can make suggestions) plus AP writing samples and my resume to all the PR and ad agency shops in Charlotte.

Went fishing in the “mountains” near Charlotte over the weekend with Felicia, and the sum total length-wise of the four trout caught would not be as long as the width of this line.  Roughly the size of the shiners you catch perch with up at Cass Lake.  Very small but it felt good to get a line in the water.  We’ll try it again this weekend in far western North Carolina.  We got soaked by a medium hard rain on the hike back to the car but it was still fun.  The air was warm so it wasn’t like hypothermia was about to set in.  Ellen, a friend recommended I try caddis flies next time.  Ask Tim if that would be his recommendation as the temperatures cool into the fall months.

Well, I’m gonna take to the keyboard right now and begin to bang out those letters to agencies.  You guys be good, work hard (nice going on the job, EP) and I’ll be in touch this weekend.

The last letter writer…

Evil Rat skewers kindly Goat in Pearls Before Swine.

Every morning, the last section I read in the Charlotte Observer is the comics.  I’m mostly after Zits and Dilbert although other panels catch my eye now and then. 

One such nugget popped up Thursday, August 5 in the quirky strip Pearls Before Swine (excuse the fuzzy cell phone photo). 

In short, mean-spirited Rat gave thoughtful Goat a plaque as the last letter-writer in America. 

Hey, Goat, I’m with you pal.  It’s anyone’s guess as to how many letter writers are out there but we’re obviously a pretty quiet, under-the-radar bunch. 

Not to get all gushy, but what troubles me is a widespread perception that letters are strictly for fuddy-duddies.  The inference is letters are beyond passe as even an occasional way to stay in touch or correspond particularly with kids like Ellen and Reid.  Truth is, the perception is hard to refute.  Where’s our legion of PR folks when we need them? 

Yet the realist knows there can never be an effective and orchestrated campaign to rally the faithful.   ‘Paper’ is too far gone.  Perhaps we lead by example in the hope others will keep the old ways  in reserve to be called upon when the time is right.  In the meantime I don’t mind pecking away. 

The last letter writer?  You could do a census of us on one hand, but  hey, you’d have to count Goat, too. 

——————— 

August 2, 2010

Ellen and Reid: Well, the job thing seems to alternate between idle and full steam ahead.  I’d prefer more of the latter over the former.  It’s two weeks now, and some possibilities have fallen off the job board and now the work will be in the trenches. 

There is every likelihood that the search will spread further and further outside the bank.  My preference to remain in-house probably isn’t going to pan out for a variety of reasons.  But that is the hand I’ve been dealt and so it goes.  People have been incredibly helpful and caring, and now the task is to leave none of the stones unturned that they have put in front of me.  I’m not so much concerned about age as I am just finding the right fit.  I’ve told people that at this point my drive isn’t so much to be a Chief but to be a good Indian.  There’s been a lot of quiet time for contemplation since the deal went down and it seems to me that my best work would be in the written end/content preparation side of the business.  There are a lot of different twists and turns to jobs in the bank and some of those paths I’m just not very good at. 

The job I was looking for at _______ University just wasn’t the right fit for them.  I had the lion’s share of communications skills but when it came to the foundation side and fund raising knowledge, I just couldn’t mislead them.  They would’ve seen right through that.  My hopes were very high but I’m effectively out of the running.

Ellen, Thanksgiving sounds fine.  It would be great to have ya’ll down here (catch the Southern lingo?) but let’s see how this job thing ultimately turns out.  Hopefully there will be something in the hopper by then.  Reid, I don’t have the foggiest about what you might be thinking for either of the holidays.  Whatever works for you works for me because you have two families competing for you and Ellen has the desires of three to balance.  We can just play it by ear.

Your grandmother made the trek to Grand Island this weekend.  She had a good, long drive to her new home and I hope she could see the cornfields and towns on the way out.  A trip by car was probably welcome for her.  Talked to your uncle last night and she made the trip in good order.  Her attitude seems fine.  I’ll have her contact information for you soon enough.  According to Ralph and Gayle the facility is very nice although her room is somewhat downsized from what she had in Omaha.  That really doesn’t matter in the long run.  Last night they went out for an ice cream cone and she surely appreciates just getting to break free of the chain if even for just a little while.  I have some guilt in not being there to help with the move.  If this job thing is allowed to happen, and if there is even a week before I might start whatever new job awaits me, I’ll make the trip out West to see her. 

No action on the sale of your grandparent’s house.  Some guy wanted to rent it for nine months but your uncle deep sixed that request and that is fine with me.  Hopefully the real estate market in Omaha will shake loose at some point in the near future.  It’s tough to know your grandmother will never see the house again.  They made the abrupt move and there wasn’t any time to collect themselves and look around for what they couldn’t have known to be the final time. 

This note is a tad shorter vs. the other weekly letters, in part because I’ve got to hop to it this morning while the names I need to contact are still fresh in my mind.  If anything breaks you two will be the very first to know other than the neighbors who will hear me yelling if there is good news to yell about.