‘WTF?’ is up with stupid people…

October 22, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Got back to basics, at least a little bit on homeowning side of things, this weekend; i.e. procuring another tank of propane for the grill, planting some purple-white-yellow cold-hardy pansies in the front window boxes to add a little color in the winter (makes me feel like I’m still gardening), and tidying up some paperwork although there is much, much more to go in order to make my office habitable.  More time spent at home means less time spent on the golf course and given the putrid state of my game, that’s not altogether a bad thing.

The best part of the weekend is Saturday morning.  While Felicia sleeps in, I rise-and-shine and brew up a fresh pot of French roast coffee and hit the streets about 6:45 with my go-cup.  It’s mostly the lovely sound of quiet except for the chippering song birds and a few joggers and other walkers.  Also with me is a plastic grocery store bag.  This is where I need to come clean with you guys because there must be something about old age where we develop habits that perhaps others don’t want us to develop and you two might think your old man is just a plain nut.  No one would blame you.

This goes back quite a while.  My daily walk is around the block, about two and a half miles.  For a long time I just got increasingly fed up with all the trash and junk that slobs had discarded along the route.  I wanted my walk to be cleaner, not necessarily pristine, but at least presentable.  One day I saw a can or a bottle or some other refuse and just stooped over to pick it up.

Bottom line, I just got tired of walking by other people’s trash. It’s something I could do something about.

I went another 20 yards and picked up something else.  By the end of that walk, my hands were full of litter.  It’s been that way ever since (I don’t take a bag when Felicia and I walk since I’d probably be a total embarrassment to her).  So now, I combine my solo jaunts with bagging up what total Neanderthals  toss out their car windows.  The real enemy is plastic.  Everything – paper, plastic, cans, etc. – all goes into the recycle bin.

But here’s what is really morbid.  Some days I spread my haul out on the back driveway, photograph it and take an inventory of what I scooped up; how much plastic, how much paper, how much ‘other’ and the approximate weight (right now what has been picked up and removed from the environmental chain is probably pushing 1,800 lbs. of stuff).  My hoped-for aim is a blog that would encourage people and kids to take up arms (and hands and bags) against this slobbery.  I just can’t stand the thought of all this trash being washed down into storm drains where the next stop is a river or lake somewhere, and the ocean beyond where plastic bottles and Styrofoam raft up into huge masses of gunk.

People driving down the street look at me like I am just some crazy homeless guy, but there are a few folks who repeatedly see me and thank me for doing the neighborhood a kindness.  It keeps the paths cleaner and makes me feel like I’m contributing toward some good.  But it has developed into its own sort of mania.  In part I wonder what it is we are leaving the Emma’s of the world (and that applies to your kids, too, Reid, when they come to pass).  The sum total is that my paltry effort to keep one route clean is loosely related to the much, much larger concerns of climate change, etc.  What’s truly nuts is there is always trash to be picked up.  Day-after-day.  I always come home with a full bag.  There’s never a day off.  It makes me think ‘WTF?’ is up with stupid people.

The other lunacy this weekend was switching channels when it looked like Nebraska was going to get rolled by Northwestern.  They came back, of course, and now I wear my weak-kneed Cornhusker shame much more than ever happens as I tote around my plastic bags.

The seeds of life…

The bounty of lettuce on my front porch. I hope Ellen can replicate it in Minnesota.

Every now and then I spin out a fast one-off letter on some minor or inane topic.  Yesterday, one such note went to Ellen (or Cakes as I often call her).

She and her hubby Tim have a sunny spot at the top of their back concrete entry way.  It is the ideal spot for a middling pot of fresh lettuce.  It would be safe from ultra-ravenous neighborhood herbivores (aka bunnies) that would mow down anything at ground level.  I’ve planted lettuce varietals in just such an arrangement for the past couple of years, and the yield has been more than one person can consume.  Of course, Felicia’s appetite for greenery has stressed my lettuce/spinach production.  The note below was hand written on legal paper.  The seeds will likely break ground before Ellen can decipher all my scratchings.

————-

April 14, 2011

Cakes:

Here are the seeds of life (or at least salads).  Plus a tiny bit for a pot.

Get a wide pot.  Plastic is fine.  Doesn’t need to be real deep.  Dirt from your garden is fine, mixed with a little potting soil.

Use your finger as a dibble (the thing to create shallow holes for the seed).  Put 3-4 seeds in every hole.  The entire pot should be filled with seed holes.  Roughly 1/3 of the space should be allotted for each seed packet.  Holes should be about this far apart:

(I attempted to draw circles about 3 inches apart in all directions in the pot.  An artist I am definitely not.)

That way you fill the whole thing.  In about 40 days: bon apetit!

Love, Dad

The Good Book…

This incredible book might be titled Golf Trip 2010 but it should really be called Jane's Book.

Just when there seems nothing that can pull me out of a winter funk – my golf swing is laughable, the Harley won’t start and Felicia has severely limited my carb intake - comes a package from my friend Jane in Des Moines.

Inside was a coffee table-quality hardcover book about last September’s guy’s golf trip to Coeur d’Alene.  Full color photos with narrations and commentary.  Jane let the pictures do the talking but the book spoke loudly about her.  Every bone in her body is creative.  This is indeed The Good Book from a golfer’s point of view.  It’s on the coffee table now, and that’s where it will stay.

——————

February 2, 2011

Jane: I haven’t bothered to check this morning to see if Phil-the-divined-rodent has seen his shadow or not but I don’t much give a damn: I’m calling for an immediate halt to winter across all time zones and borders.  You saw it here first.  That may not be much salve to you up in Des Moines but hopefully it will work here first.  FYI…our daffodils are already bucking the wintery trend by poking their heads up.  Why a rodent in Pennsylvania is allowed to forecast weather is beyond me.  That should be left to the pros.

I just am at a loss for words about your book.  Honestly, it just threw me for a loop.  How in the world do you summon such creativity on demand all the time?  First it was the invitation and the subsequent flood of well done details for Coeur d’Alene, than this arrives in the mail.  Furstenau and I have texted back and forth about it and for him to use the word “awe” is something in itself.  It is now resting on an honored spot on my coffee table next to the channel changer and assorted paperwork that should be stowed somewhere else.  This sort of work is your calling, and if you can catch a breath of air from riding herd over your three – I’m including Dave in that mix – then such books are where you should spend your time.  By the way, whatever became of the recipe book you were doing a few years back?  It should deserve this kind of publishing.  I offered to send it to Ellen for a quick look but she wants to see it next time she comes to Charlotte.  I think I just found the creative director for my book, whenever the time comes for it.

I’ve reiterated to your Dave that the welcome mat is out down here.  Not to sound like a shill for the local chambers of commerce, but I will throw the North and South Carolina hats into the ring to get everyone to pay a visit down here for golf and socializing…and that would include the spouses, too.  Our weather will beat your weather on all counts.   Never in a million years, however, would my feeble attempts at organization in any way, shape or form match yours, so I will exercise my right to subcontract a portion of that out to you.  I would foresee Charleston or Savannah in the group’s future, given that the other boys tend to like things that float.  My days with boats are long gone.  Really, a visit by everyone would be a great thing.  You have my permission to run that up the flagpole of everyone in Des Moines.  I’ll send some sort of note in that regard to the others in the DDD&B fraternity.

Well, I’m again grateful to be on the receiving end of your creativity.  You have gone above and beyond or however to deign to describe it.  I miss all of you very much, but don’t let me continue to whine about the invitation to all of you to visit.  Consider the door open.

A residential Stairmaster…

When I moved to Charlotte, the bank was nice enough to put me into corporate housing – a downtown apartment actually – for a determinate period.  If you like white walls, white trim, white carpet, white appliances, white upholstered furnishings and a white ceiling, it was nice enough.

Convenient as it was to the office, I couldn’t wait to leave, to own something on my own.  So, my trusty Realtor and I scoured the entirety of Charlotte.  Big homes, small homes, town homes, hi-rises, close in, far out.  I trod through them all.  Then we found a townhome on South Hill View Drive.  I bought the place almost on a whim.  Why someone didn’t slap me upside the head about a three level unit, I will never know.  It is like owning a residential Stairmaster, with the gym membership disguised as a mortgage.  Some day it may be Ellen and Reid’s, but I’m not sure they’ll be able to resell a home where the real estate agent’s promotional flyer says “perfect if you love physical exertion!”

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Not that a move is in the offing, but this older letter touches upon the tumultuous days of moving into my own space.

Oct. 23, 2006

Kidz: So much for Charlotte being in the hot zone.  Man, it’s freezing here – 41F this morning – and all the locals are whining about it.  I’d whine, too.  But it sure is a lot more comfortable compared to high 80s and ultra-humid.

Speak up now or forever hold your piece.  What do you want for Christmas?  Yeah, I know it’s early in the gift giving phase, but let me know.  EB, I have a good idea what to get you, but Reid, I am drawing a total, utter blank.  I mean, it is a blank slate.  As for me, don’t get me anything.  Honestly, don’t feel you have to get me anything other than a card.  I’d like to get you both down here at some point not long after the holidays.  Maybe a long weekend down at the timeshare in Hilton Head???  Sure, it’s fine if the Tim-ster comes along.

Took the Harley up through the Blue Ridge Parkway on Saturday.  About 400 miles of cold weather riding, but it was survivable.  Really pretty up there in a different way from the Colorado-Wyoming mountains.  The traffic was unbelievable, in fact it was so slow you got a really good look at each limb and leaf.  That’s when you realize when you live in the East, you’re close to the population centers.  It was good to put the bike through its paces and it ran like a champ.

There’s still fall out from Uncle Ralph‘s visit.  My new friends Betsy and Bob (Cakes, they want us to come over for dinner the Friday you’re here) can’t stop talking about Ralph and how much he talked.  It’s just a riot.  They took me to Gaffney, South Carolina yesterday to buy rugs for the kitchen and living room, and we really got some beauties.

Betsy is a shopper extraordinaire.  She knows what to do, especially with my money.  But the rugs are nice and very good quality.  The rugs are great and help muffle the sound on the hardwood floors.  The big 8×10 gem is all wool, hand sewn in India.

That’s good, because the furniture is supposed to be here by this time next week.  I cannot wait.  The new place doesn’t seem quite mine yet without furniture to make it seem like a home.  You know what I mean?

The cable guy put in cable.  So now the old TV that was in the basement is now working, although the volume doesn’t go very high.  Can’t figure that out.  Got HBO for the first time ever.  I started to watch TV last night for the first time as I curled up on the new rug with my new fleece throw from Bed, Bath & Beyond.  But I conked out almost immediately and woke up about 1:30 to Jerry Falwell preaching.  What a whacko.

Lets see, what else…I told you cousin Jeff emailed me, didn’t I???…I sent your mom an All-Clad Pancake griddle to replace the one I brought down here…Nebraska lost a tight one to Texas (uncle Ralph probably puked)…Pat Drickey is down here today to shoot a golf course and we’ll have dinner tonight…

What about moms?…

Reid on the beach at Hilton Head. Cook, digital ad guru, bicyclist, backpacker. All around good kid (most of the time).

Yeah, what about moms?

Sure, the word “dad” has been used frequently here when in reality it is synonymous with “parent.”  I’ve not intentionally excluded moms since they have a high-level stake in this, too.

The educated guess is each parent communicates in their own way and style.  Perhaps a take-charge type will prepare something on behalf of mom and dad.  (But I’ve been wrong so many times before, and that’s why you should never put any faith my weather forecasts or my picks for stocks or pro sports.)  If nothing else, it’s table fare for dinnertime conversations.  How couples accomplish this is something of a mystery to me since I’m a single dad.

But there’s no overt intent to denegrade the stay-in-touch capabilities of moms.  A further educated guess is they are somewhat more attuned to make contact.  It might be their instinctive nature.  The point being, however, that parental title is really of no matter.  It’s all about the doing.

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Seeing how it’s nearly Halloween, we’ll reach into the bag of tricks for an older letter to the Dynamic Duo.

Oct. 16, 2006

EB/Reid: Charlotte was not ready for Uncle Ralph.  Once again, he has proven beyond doubt that there is no one on the face of the earth that he cannot talk to and cannot talk to at length.  From our Saturday lunch where he struck up a conversation with our waitress to a dinner at a co-workers house last night, he dominated the verbiage from start to finish.  But that’s what makes him.  When he gets nervous or excited, he talks.  Nothing deters him from talking.  That’s just the way it is.  It was so funny to have him around here because he just won’t settle down.  We saw the town, watched a couple of games Saturday night at a sports bar – he called Aunt Gayle every 30 minutes for updates on the Nebraska-Kansas State game because it wasn’t on TV – moved furniture around and did errands, worked out twice, and went out for breakfast.  Your cousins, Andy and Joe, are doing pretty well.  As you could guess, Ralph is all excited about the grandchild.  And he misses you guys and asked exhaustively how you’re doing.

The house is slowly coming to order.  Slowly.  No furniture has been delivered yet, as the trees they planted to make the furniture have yet to mature and be harvested, kiln dried then cut and sawn into furniture.  That’s how slow that is.  And the satellite TV won’t be installed until today.  It just killed Ralph to not have TV to watch sports on.  Just killed him.  I’ve got stuff, clothing, strewn everywhere with no place to go until the dressers arrive.  Can’t wait for those.  Actually, the bedroom furniture is in town at the warehouse, so hopefully – knock on wood – it will be here this week.  The guestroom and office are pretty much done except for artwork.  They have a swell Habitat for Humanity store that sells donated furniture, and I snapped up a bunch of really fine lamps, a couple of end tables and 4 different, eclectic chairs for the dining room table.  Now, it’s on to rugs.  It’s really nice to cook with gas.  Makes you feel like a chef.  EB, I have some silverware your grandparents sent, along with those cream colored plates we used to store next to the stove, if you want to take those back with you.  Or, I can ship it to you if you need stuff in a hurry.

Reid, sorry to have cut off your call this morning.  The cell service here is just lousy.  Really want to hear how things are going.  You’re almost halfway through with your stint there.  Can you believe it?  But it all sounds good.

Will take the bike to the Blue Ridge Mountains this Saturday.  It’s about two hours away, and I guess the leaves are just starting to turn.  If the weather holds it should be a beautiful ride.  Really glad to have the bike out, but when it rumbles through my town home development, it’s almost like riding through a canyon of walls, so it must disturb the neighbors.  It’s not like I’m revving it up.  The weather here has been lovely of late, cool and crisp but not overly cold like you’d find in Des Moines.  The days have been just wonderful.

Extended the olive branch to the C____________’s in that Jeff is more than welcome to come down here to explore job possibilities.  No, wait, didn’t I already tell you guys that?  Never mind.

EB, it will be great to have you and the Timster down here.  There are lots of cuisine and culture possibilities.  I may take off the Thursday you arrive so we can tour the town and area in style.  No doubt will take you to a couple of music spots I’ve frequented, the Double Door (blues) and Evening Muse (varied artists).  Both are a lot of fun.  And, you will make a cameo appearance in the office to say hello to the group.  Well, got to rumble.  Catch you two on the flip flop, as they say in the trucking biz.

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.

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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.

“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.