Relativity

I was walking across a parking lot to my car and stopped to admire a vintage Camaro. I became aware I acquired a cohort, a young man around twenty, plus or minus 10%. “Rad ’67,” he said.

“I think it’s a ’68.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not positive, but it doesn’t have the little vent windows by the outside mirrors. I believe they disappeared in ’68.”

“Wow, you know your antiques.”

“Antiques? It’s a Camaro.”

“Yeah, an antique one.”

If he wants to think so. Wait a minute. Let’s do the math.

The car is over forty years old. When I was his age, what would’ve been the equivalent? A Ford Model A. He was right. The Camaro was an antique.

I drove home feeling a little like one myself.

Carolina on my mind

South Carolina, that is. During my early years, I had little impression of it, except as a place to pass through on the way to Florida.

Much later, I bought a new sports car and was anxious to wear some serious tread off the tires. I asked a friend if she’d care to go on a vacation in the mountains. She suggested Charleston and Savannah, noting I’d get my share of the curves enroute in North Carolina. I didn’t have any perception of those cities and said it was my idea and we’d go elsewhere. We went to Charleston and Savannah.

They were a delight and we had a wonderful time. They offer an intoxicating mix of historical buildings and a wide variety of activities. The ample waters were a draw for me and I vowed to return to kayak.

A couple years later, I retired (for the first time) and decided to go south to contemplate what I would do for the rest of my life. I booked a kayak trip with an outfitter near Charleston and made plane reservations.

As the time drew near (early April), the outfitter contacted me to ask if I was sure about this. I replied I was and inquired if there was a problem.

She informed me about the prevailing rule of one hundred among the paddlers there. They required the total of the air and water temperatures to exceed that sum before they’d launch. It had been a cool spring.

I assured her that the weather there was balmy, compared to Ohio. I was the only one to show up for two days of paddling. I had wanted a combination of creeks and ocean, but she drew the line at big water with the temperature barely reaching fifty. We paddled the blackwater swamps, which were full of historic remnants and I enjoyed it very much. She shivered most of the time.

Once again, I vowed to return. This time, I planned a trip in the Edisto River and Charleston Harbor for my paddling group. I lucked out in mentioning it to a friend. He knew someone who had a treehouse on the Edisto that we could use for a night’s stopover. That added a big plus to a great trip.

The harbor also turned out to be terrific. We took a group photo on a small island that would later appear on the big electronic billboard in Times Square.

I’ve gone back to the area several times since and have never failed to have a great time. So, when I just planned my first cold weather spontaneous trip south of my second retirement to Florida, I included South Carolina in the route. I’ll be paddling with a club there and am really looking forward to it. There's just something magical about that place.

Carolina on my mind.

A beautiful thing

I’ve helped out a lot of businesses with their strategic planning. A fill-in-the-blank alternative would’ve been cheaper for them but wouldn’t do much good. The crux of the process isn’t answering questions. It’s teaching them to erase all of their mindsets, assumptions, fears, comfort zones, etc. and start with a clean slate to create the best possible thing, given present conditions and future trends. And, most importantly, to do so without limiting themselves with assumption of barriers, restrictions, possibilities, historical procedures and policy or any other inhibiting factors.

That’s a challenge because we’re taught to think convergently, with little time spent on divergently. That is, true or false. Or, is the one and only answer A, B, C or D? There are very few tests that ask something like, without regard to all convention, what would be the best possible answer(s) to this? Or, that accept that there are many answers.

Life management is much the same. I’ve seen many people who aren’t especially happy and few do anything about it. “I majored in accounting, I’ve worked as an accountant for 20 years, ergo, I’m an accountant.” Yeah, but what if at this juncture you’d really enjoy being a designer? “I started playing golf in high school. I’ve golfed all my life. I have a couple thousand tied up in gear. I’m a golfer.” Even if you’re not that good and it is a source of frustration for you? You can apply the same thing to any phase of your life.

Today we had a “reunion” luncheon for our Leadership Cincinnati class. I’ve bumped into a lot of these people over the past 25 years and, outside of some progression, nothing much changes with them.

Today, I sat across the table from Penny. She’s a financial genius and has had leadership and ownership roles in top investment companies. I’d lost touch with her over the past couple years and asked her what she was up to. That was more than being polite. She looked more buoyant than I’ve ever seen her.

She’s in the process of wrapping up her latest financial venture and then heading for California to become certified as a touch healer. It’s a passion she’s harbored inside of her for some time and finally decided to do something about it. She was so excited that it was contagious and a joy to share.

Most people build walls around themselves with fears, doubts and assumptions, and remain a prisoner of their qualms. Penny’s one of the few who broke through. It’s a beautiful thing.

Memory

At first, it’s scary. You walk into a room to get something and then can’t recall what it was. You hear a very popular song you’ve heard a hundred times but cannot bring up the name of the singer. You forget to get a birthday card for someone close to you. It’s part of aging.

I think you arrive at a point where you can remember things that occurred fifty years ago like they were yesterday, but not something that was fifty minutes ago. Or, so it seemed with my generation. Now, I fear we’re losing that.

In a previous blog I noted that there was some disagreement among my high school classmates as to where our senior prom was held. Now, it’s even worse, according to the conversations on our Facebook page. Diane asked if anyone remembered who she went to the prom with. She couldn’t recall. I can almost understand not remembering the location, but your prom date?

Okay, but that’s just one person. Nothing to be alarmed about. But then, Tony G. said he took Anne and had a good time. Tony S. said that Anne did go with a Tony, but it was him. That left Tony G. befuddled. Fran tried to assist him, relating that she had corresponded with Bonnie some years back. Bonnie told her that she had been dating Tony G. our senior year and went to the prom with him. That didn’t help. Tony G. said that Bonnie was full of BS (with the "b" standing for bull) and had a case of total BF (with “b” standing for brain) and was always claiming to be with someone she wasn’t with. I recall her and can’t argue with his diagnosis.

George chimed in that all he could remember about his date was the blinding pink dress she wore. Apparently, not even that. Ginger angrily responded that she had worn aqua and that it wasn’t “blinding” at all.

All of this was a little unsettling, but it did make me feel better because I can remember my prom date with clarity. At least I think I do.

Guy-think

The world according to Stan. He and I were emailing. In the course of the discussion, he asked what I thought about the latest exchanges on our high school class’s Facebook page. There were some not-too-subtle references to Bart and Daryl hooked up with young women.

Bart had been one of the major dreamboats. A star on many of the teams with the California surfer look that was so popular at the time. And detached cool that made Steve McQueen appear jumpy. No one got a rise out of him and he floated regally above the fray of the puerile dramas of the high school mentality. In the eyes of the girls, he was the most.

Now, he was the least. Or so it seemed from some of the little barbs the women were slipping in, concerning the latest in his string of youthful girlfriends. The guys appear a lot more positive about it, almost winking and high fiving in the text.

Daryl was no prize in high school and married a girl in our class who bordered on frumpy, even then. He involved himself in politics after graduation and eventually got himself appointed to a high post. In Philadelphia politics, this means substantial income, usually in the form of envelopes passed under tables at a bar and nontaxable. Daryl became very wealthy and dumped his wife in favor of a newer model who he brought to the last reunion. She was young, personable and had dance moves that would make Christine Aguilera blush. Given his resources, you’d think he could’ve afforded to buy her a dress that provided complete coverage. She was quite a contrast to Daryl who now disturbingly resembles Boss Hawg.

Neither the guys nor the gals in our class appeared to approve of Daryl. Stan noted that I hadn’t engaged in the banter and wondered what I thought about it. I said who people paired up with was no concern of mine and I had no appetite for petty squabbles, anyway.

“Do you want to hear my theory on why the guys view Bart and Daryl differently?” He didn’t wait for a response, as is his custom. “Bart won his trophy. Daryl bought his. That’s guy-think.”

Possibly. What’s for sure is that the women don’t approve of either one of them.

The Real Deal

Sunday morning, we launched our kayaks in southern Indiana and paddled upstream on the Ohio River. We had the boat ramp to ourselves, which wasn’t surprising considering the wind-driven sleet.

That slackened and softened to rain by the time we made our turn and headed back for the ramp. Still deserted. However, as I was racking up my kayak, I heard a bass drawl behind me, “Purty small for a fishin’ boat.”

I affixed a smile on my face before turning around. Rule number one, never mess with the locals. The further you get into the sticks, the more bucolic witticisms you draw about your kayaks. There’s nothing to be gained by showing anything but good nature in response.

“I’m after small fish,” I replied. He chuckled and I stared, trying not to be obvious about it. This was no ordinary specimen. I might’ve stumbled onto an icon here, or vice versa.

His ride was a vintage Lincoln Mark IV, circa 1970s. Massive body, hard edges, vinyl roof with opera windows and a hood you land small aircraft on. It was showroom condition. Someone spent a lot of time sweating over this car and I doubted if it was the driver.

He was mid to late 60s with a healthy bulk in a relaxed but somehow regal posture. He lived well. He wore a straw boater and a cowboy style yoked shirt that I’d bet didn’t come from a discount store. I couldn’t seem them but I’d bet there was a pair of hand-tooled boots under the dash. He probably had to angle his hand to pay tolls because the diamond in his pinky ring would be a tight fit through the window opening.

We bantered a bit without introduction seeming necessary. The tacit assumption was that I should know who he was, if not by name. He owned the local bank, grain silo, funeral home or other economic mainstay of the area. He wasn’t the local mayor, county commissioner, sheriff or whatever, but ran the ruling party and decided who was. They received their marching orders from him. He didn’t have to introduce himself, it was self-evident in his self-assured manner.

When he was satisfied he knew what we were up to and that I recognized his station, he gave a polite goodbye with a slight movement of his hand and rolled away at an unhurried rate. Matt, one of my fellow paddlers, had been dipping in the icy river to test out his wetsuit: the answer to the mathematical problem, what is the difference between 32 (Matt) and 62 (me)? He came over to me as I watched the Mark IV exit the far end of the lot. “Who was that?”

“The real deal,” I replied. “The real deal.”

Generation Difference

Our high school class’s Facebook page is really cooking, perhaps in anticipation of a reunion coming up this year. Of late, there have been a lot of conversations recalling all the great times we had.

One woman opined that she felt sorry for the following generations. She can’t imagine that our kids had fun like that in a more complex and pressurized world, and that it keeps getting more stressful.

I wondered if that’s just something every generation thinks. My kids certainly seemed to enjoy themselves and still do.

On the other hand, we have seen a rise in psychological issues among youth. Part of that may be in improved diagnosis and record keeping. For that matter, you can see much the same in adults. It’s a more complicated society. But, we do allocate more attention to leisure activity.

I don’t know if we had more fun or not, and it’s beyond my control so I’m not going to worry about it. The point is that we did enjoy ourselves a lot. Even more germane, it appears many of us still do.

Back to Facebook. Stan and I have been kind of center stage in the recollections and discussions. He was always a character and that seems to still hold true. Me? Make your own call.

Shirley posted that some of “the girls” hold an annual mini-reunion at her place in Myrtle Beach and she thought it would be great fun if Stan and I showed up as their special guests. Then she emailed me back channel. One of the girls contacted her and questioned the wisdom of that idea because Stan and Henry had been a bit on the wild side. Stan definitely was. Me? Make your own call.

Shirley said she responded that while she didn’t dispute that, she was sure we’d be harmless now. Right?

I’ve been emailing with Stan lately and I don’t know that I’d characterize him as harmless. Me? Make your own call.

A tale of two transactions

My to-do list today included getting new windshield wipers and a trip to the bank. I went to the auto parts store I always patronize. Since I parked in front, the clerk saw me checking my current blades for the brand. He came outside and removed them for me. We went in and he showed me the choices for replacement, comparing their relative merits.

I made my selection. He rang up the sale and then installed the blades for me at no charge. That’s why I always go there.

On to the bank, one which I try not to use. However, in this case it was part of a small business deal. A condition was that I run receipts and expenditures through a debit card issued by this bank. I have never understood the rationale for the debit card (why would you use your money when you can use someone else's free?), but a principal in this required that it be set up this way.

The deal wound down and it was time to start moving residual cash to my personal bank account. I went up to the teller and said I wanted to withdraw funds and check the balance. He said he could give me money but couldn’t check the balance for me. I would have to go outside and use the ATM across the parking lot for that. That begged the question, how did he know how much money I could withdraw if he couldn’t determine the balance for me? The terminal will just accept or reject the request.

That didn’t make sense to me, but I knew there was at least fifteen grand in the account and I was only going to withdraw five at this time. He put the request through and it was rejected. Why? It doesn’t give reasons. There was a toll-free number I could call and then withdraw the cash after I resolved whatever the issue was. Except, I’d have to go to another branch because you can make only one attempt a day at a given branch. But, isn’t it the same bank? I’d love to meet whoever makes these rules and designs the information access.

I call the number and am informed that they restrict withdrawals to three thousand a day. You do? Whose money is it? This isn’t a credit card where it’s their money. It’s my money. If I provide valid identification, I’m entitled to it. Apparently not.

Allow me to digress because there’s a related restriction I always encounter. The grocery store where I shop has gas pumps. I can use the debit card inside the store without limit, even at the self-serve checkout. However, the gas pump caps its usage at $35.00 (no limit on credit cards). And the difference between one side of their front door and the other is?

Back to the bank. I go to another branch and request three thousand. Would I like a check? Sure. That’ll be seven dollars.

No way, I’ll take cash, assuming there’s no fee for that. Cash? Yeah, and make it singles.

They huddle about that and the manager finally comes over to me. Cash would be a problem for them. Gee, I’d hate to inconvenience the bank, what with me being the customer and all. I tell her that I was kidding about the singles.

She says it’s not that. They like to maintain a certain level in the trays and this would be a problem. Couldn’t I see my way to taking a check? Sure, if there’s no fee.

She argues, but finally relents. That’s why I never use them unless I have to.

That'll teach 'em

I received official notice in the mail, today. I am qualified as a beneficiary of a class action suit settlement. Break out the champagne!

Just kidding. I’ve seen dozens of these things and they seldom amount to even a small pile of beans, much less a hill. The only ones who make any money are the rapacious lawyers who fanned the smoldering ember of an issue into an inferno that lines their pockets. And just once, I’d like to see one that goes after some real sleazebags like hucksters of ersatz weight loss pills, marketers of snake oil miracle cures, phony get-rich-quick schemes or the Better Business Bureau who sells credibility to the scam artists.

In this case, the primary defendant is the Hertz Corporation and the complaint is that they illegally and improperly charged a “concession recovery fee” on vehicle rentals at Las Vegas, Reno and other Nevada airports for six years. Now that is a lot more than a hill of beans.

Hertz. Deep pockets. I rub my hands in anticipation. What’s my cut of all this? “Johnny, tell the contestant what he’s won!” Ten bucks. Ten bucks? Ten lousy bucks? Okay, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Cut me a check. But wait, there’s more.

It isn’t cash. It’s a ten dollar discount on a Hertz rental. In my neighborhood, we call that a promotional coupon. In fact, this is even more beneficial to Hertz. Their coupons and other incentives compete against those of all the other car rental companies, with little edge. This provides them with a potent advantage for snagging the next rental because it isn’t just a discount like the others. “That’s my money and I’m damn well going to rent from Hertz to claim what’s rightfully my due.” They’re going to clean up. And, on top of being handed this game breaker, the lawyers are doing the promotion for them. Sweet.

Hertz makes out, but what about the lawyers who instigated this? I didn’t really have to scan the document to figure that out. Hertz pays them. Hertz does okay, the lawyers cash in on a big payday and what about the injured parties? You get a slight “discount” if, and only if you give them more business. If you don’t give them your business, you don’t even get your money back, much let alone interest or punitive damages.The judge approved this as equitable, of course.

In summary, Hertz violated the law and illegally charged fees to customers. As punishment, they get to keep their ill-gotten gains, benefit from an effective promotion tool and have someone else execute it for them. That’ll teach ‘em.

Economic Geography, Conrad style

Nick created a web site that brought together members of our high school graduating class. It’s a wonderful vehicle for chatting and getting caught up with each other.

A couple days ago, I received an email from Conrad. “Check out where Jeanne Auglaize lives.”

Palm Beach, Florida. “Okay.”

“Now, Harriet Stancowicz.”

Trenton, New Jersey. I could see no connection between the two. Even mentioning the two girls in the same conversation was a rarity. Jeanne was, dare I say, a delicate flower. Harriet was definitely rough trade. “And?”

“Sandy Buffington.”

“I didn’t mean ‘and who?’ I meant, what’s your point?”

“Just look her up.”

Colorado Springs. “Got it. Are we going to play Where’s Waldo for the rest of the day or are you going to say what you’re driving at?

I find economic geography interesting. For instance, why is Cincinnati what it is? By that I mean the home of Procter & Gamble, Cincinnati Milling Machine (later, Cincinnati Milacron), Emory Industries (chemicals), etc.?

The Ohio River made a good conduit for shipping hogs down river to serve western markets. Cincinnati became a destination port, spawning slaughterhouses. The byproducts were used to make soap, candles and chemicals. Being a layover for the steamboats, the machine tool industry flourished, cranking out repair parts and modifications. More skilled people were drawn to the area and other industries blossomed.

Which brings us back to Conrad’s line of thought, which was always a bit “unique.”

“I noticed a pattern. The hot girls from our class are located in places like Beverly Hills, Provo, Grosse Point and so on. I postulate they married well and were able to live the good life. The less than desirable never made it out. They’re still living around Philly, or dumps like Camden, Trenton and Wilmington.”

Possibly, he’s onto something. Or, just needs a hobby.

Life's too short

The condition of my friend in the previous blog got me thinking those thoughts. Those life’s-too-short thoughts.

Not that long ago, I hooked up with an old neighbor on the web. We exchanged a lot of fond memories of growing up together.

She suggested that we compare calendars, I come east and meet her in the old neighborhood to walk the streets together. I went her one better. “Then we go to Alvino’s (our hangout) for a slice and up to Greenwood Dairies for a Pig’s Dinner (giant sundae).

“There is no Greenwood’s anymore and, as far as I recall, you were banned from Alvino’s the summer you graduated.”

“Let’s see, old man Alvino was older than the Dead Sea Scrolls then, I’m guessing he won’t be there to enforce the exile.”

So, it was set. Except, then she called and said she had to go down to Florida to move her mother from one home to another. I could meet her there instead and we’d do some cool things, like swim with dolphins. And, her mother would love to see me.

“Your mother thought I was a delinquent.”

“Still does. This is your chance to prove her wrong.” Easier said than done.

I pondered it for a moment. Flashbacks of Mrs. Pallino chasing me down the street with her broom, looking for a kill shot. But, it wasn’t just that.

Meeting her on the old street would be nostalgia. But, a rendezvous in Florida is…? I don’t know. “I’ll pass on it. Why don’t we wait until you get back and think up another time we can meet on the old turf?”

Long silence and a weak “Okay.” That went well.

But, thoughts today are that tomorrow is promised to no one. Seeing an old friend and swimming with dolphins? Sounding pretty good. I just called and asked if the invitation was still open.”

“You’d better believe it!”

We’re on. Hope her mother has lost a step or two.

Life Decisions

Along life’s path, we make critical decisions. You may never be sure if they were correct, so it’s nice to have affirmations when you can get them. I’ve had a couple recently, but under distressing circumstances.

I am “retired” but take on projects I enjoy (mostly marketing and PR) because that’s like sport to me. A recent assignment requires a purchase in behalf of a client. I’m getting bids from the client’s current vendors, but adding a couple who might offer better service or pricing.

One of those is Jack’s company. I know him from years ago when we were in the same CEO roundtable. That’s a program where you meet regularly with a group other company owners or chief executives and serve as an ersatz board for each other. Actually, it’s better than a board where the directors often rubber-stamp executive decisions and management spoon feeds information to them. We were candid and held each other’s feet to the fire.

Jack is a great guy and a hard working salesman. But, he shouldn’t have been running a company. He let his employees walk all over him. He would come to meetings with horror stories about what this one of that one pulled in the past couple weeks. We’d get all over him about issuing warnings or getting rid of the deadwood, which he would vow to do. But, he never did.

His customers also abused him and he lost money on that end. But, he worked so hard and the economy was good, so he was raking it in. He was living the good life with a huge house in the best neighborhood and all the trimmings. He didn’t feel compelled to pull in the reins on people, assuming that was even in him to do so. I didn’t think it was and advised him to cash in while he was on top.

Instead of calling or emailing, I thought I’d just show up and surprise him. I was the one to be surprised. There was no signage on his building. I could see lights inside, so I went in. A few people were crating stuff up.

I found Jack in his office and we exchanged jubilant greetings. Then, we got down to brass tacks. “What the hell is going on?”

He was merging with another company because things had been going badly the past years. Under those circumstances, you usually don’t “merge.” You’re getting acquired at fire sale pricing. Employees had been making more and more demands, even though the business hadn’t been going well, and he had been tapping his own assets to keep the company afloat.

So, along came this merger opportunity and he took it. All of his equipment and inventory would be moved over there and he would do sales. Yep, he was being acquired.

He downsized his housing and lifestyle and would probably have to work the rest of his years to dig out and maintain a semblance of the good life. He looked at me. “Why aren’t you working?”

I could be banking more bucks by starting a business or working at something that doesn’t ring my bell. But, I don’t think there’s a good exchange rate for enjoyable days, which are finite in our lifetime, vs. cash. I’ve avoided the big/multiple houses, status symbol cars, etc. for that reason. You don’t own them, they own you. You work for them.

If I’m punching a clock, I lose two thirds of a year. Or, every year I spend now doing what makes me happy is worth three in the harness. In ten years, I’d lose seven of satisfaction. And, there’s a time value. That is, my present health and physical condition enable me to enjoy life more than I probably can a decade from now.

I assume he asked the question because I used to live a life similar to his, except with more expensive toys than status symbols. But, at one point, I decided how I wanted to play out the end game and restructured my life to accomplish that. Seeing Jack still in the harness while his grandchildren are starting college reaffirms my decisions.


Mark is a member of a literary dinner club (for lack of a better term) I belong to. For decades, he’s built up his professional practice. On several occasions, he’s expressed anticipation of getting out and enjoying life. “Why not now?” I’d respond.

“In a few years,” he’d say, “I want to have a big pile of money when I pull the plug, so I can really enjoy my final years.” He’s said that for as long as I’ve known him, but recently he seemed to mean it.

Last night, I received an email from the head of the group. Mark has suffered a massive heart attack and was in an ICU. No brain activity. He spent more time than I did piling up money, but my decision is looking better.


Yeah, it’s good to have affirmation of your decisions. But, not at other people’s expense.

Quotes

Over the past couple days; I engaged in a major housecleaning. This is unusual for me because I regard it as a Sisyphus chore, but I’m expecting a house guest.

For a pack rat, this is an archaeological dig. That is, the deeper I go, the older the relics.

One prize I surfaced was a brochure from an ad agency that I received a couple decades ago. They included favorite quotes from all their employees.

I still know some of the people and it’s interesting to see what they revealed about themselves in their selections and compare that to how they might perceive things or prioritize today. In one case, a woman advocated opportunity over risk-aversion, which is the opposite of how she is today. Age can do that to you.

Some of the more interesting include “Obstacles are things people see when they take their eyes off their goals.” Easy to see why this guy was one of the agency’s executives.

“The foolish reject what they see, not what they think. The wise reject what they think, not what they see.” This guy was over a creative department and could’ve been frustrated by some of the delusional who can gravitate to there.

“To know what is right and not do it is the greatest cowardice of all.” A little more strident than I would’ve submitted for this. Also in this category, “The earth does not belong to us, we belong to the earth.” I don’t know that a prospecting brochure is where you want to get into issues. “Do you want to speak to the man in charge or the woman who knows what’s going on?” Maybe I’m in the minority on the issues thing.

“There is no I in team.” Should an ad agency be dealing in clichés?

“An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea.” That’s from the agency president. I’m guessing he used it many times to overcome a client’s objection to something groundbreaking.

“It doesn’t hurt to crack a smile.” Yes, she’s still warm and fuzzy.

“Life is like walking in the snow. Every step shows.” He left some good tracks so he understood that.

“Pencils and erasers never speak the same language.” That comes from one of the owners and he seemed to get that you need both.

“I used to be snow white, but I drifted.” I must look her up.

Eye of the Beholder

Friday night, we had our annual paddlers party. Over a hundred kayakers and canoeists enjoying remembrances of past events and anticipation of good times in the future.

I had been on the go since early in the morning and the party set-up provided little rest. As the evening wore on, I found a comfortable chair at the edge of the action. As I gazed across the crowded, noisy room, Sarah plopped herself down beside me, and then Brittany. The latter asked, “Do you realize what you’ve provided tonight?”

I contemplated that and began to reply, but she wasn’t asking a question as much as she was creating an opening to opine. “You’ve given all these people an excellent networking opportunity where they can make connections that get them out of the house and onto the water with new friends. What’s better than that?”

Once again, I started to respond, but Sarah was not to be denied. “What’s better is a whole lot of people who care about each other and are excited to get together. It’s a great sense of belonging. That’s what it is in a macro sense.”

“That’s very insightful, Sarah. But what were you going to say, Henry?”

My weary mind was going to respond to the original question with “carrot sticks and meatballs,” but somehow that seemed inadequate, now. “Nothing, I think you covered it.”

Full Mental Jacket

Today was bank day. I stood in line with the patience of a follower waiting for Moses to find his way out of the desert.

Understaffing wasn’t the teller’s decision, so when my turn finally came up, I broke free of the cobwebs and gave her a cheery greeting to let her know I didn’t hold her responsible. I think she appreciated it and seemed to reciprocate by going the extra mile, scanning my account information. “Have you been checking your bonus point level? You have like a billion skillion points.” I’m embellishing there, but it was a robust number.

“Uh, no.” I’m generally regarded as a reasonably intelligent person. But, that’s because most people have little opportunity to observe my soft spots, which are the prosaic things that baffle me like organizing a sock drawer, filing insurance claims, operating a smart phone and grasping the intricacies of incentive programs. In the latter case, I’ve all but deemed the effort fruitless. That’s because once I’ve built up a substantial cache of points, they seem to find some fine print caveat that bars me from collecting, or a billion points turns out to equate to about four cents. “Am I due something?”

“You could have a few hundred dollars transferred to your savings account or you could blah, blah, blah.” After the opening phrase, I didn’t hear the rest. Didn’t need to.

Found money. I keep a wish list of things to buy with windfalls. They usually fall under the category of “like I need another…” But, if you are a (blank) person, need has nothing to do with it.

While you understand you’re that kind, there is some comfort in knowing that you are not alone and that you are in good company. It’s like I alluded to in another blog. The plot of a novel was a thought I had long harbored and never expressed, assuming it was unique to my thought process. If someone lucid as the writer shared the concept, it probably wasn’t that off the wall. At some level, you want the assurance that you’re a devotee, not part of a lunatic fringe. So, you assess the birds of your feather.

For instance, I’m a hat guy, at least as far as outdoor pursuits. I can look to my left and see Fred and then to my right at Jim, fellow adventurers who prize a functional chapeau and have more than one edition. It goes beyond that, since there are numerous articles, forums, etc. for the aficionado of head toppers. We are not alone.

But, it’s not a hat that sits atop my list. It’s a jacket. I’m a jacket junky, at least as far as way cool ones go. And, I found my tribe some time ago. There’s actually a web site for those who zero in on nifty outerwear appearing in movies, on television, etc.

Wardrobe designers are trained and paid to find the item that’s “just right,” so it comes as little surprise that their selections would be exemplary. That’s the easy part.

The more difficult is identifying the piece and how the average Joe might come to take possession of one. That’s where the site comes in. There are people far more rabid than I who birddog this stuff with unfettered zeal. On second thought, maybe I’m not all that comfortable about being a member of this sect.

The most challenging articles are those that are custom made for the actor. That doesn’t eliminate your options since some of those come on the market if you happen to be of the right size and are willing to part with substantial bucks. I’m not, so drop me down a classification.

The next stratum is where the brand and model have been sniffed out by the more resourceful trackers on the web site. Even this is usually beyond my budget. They are shooting for distinctive and striking attire, which means they’re not pushing a cart down the aisle of Target. Even the most battered and soiled garment often turns out to be a designer label that costs more than my last round of inlays.

But, the sleuths of the slick do not abandon me there. They just keep on drilling down to a level that resonates with me. Whether it’s a custom made piece or off the designer rack, the web detectives usually create a list of this-is-close. That is, they generate a list of affordable alternatives that approximate the look and/or features.

Yeah, I’ll be buying something I don’t really need. But, I’m in good company. Kinda.

A very good year

Yeah, I’m on a writing streak. The recent birthday has been very uplifting.

In previous blogs, I might’ve come off as critical of the internet. If you read carefully, you would’ve discerned that the theme was actually that it magnifies the flaws or assets of people and is neither good nor evil on its own merits. Nonetheless, today I come to praise the internet, not bury it.

The occasion is a birthday and it may be one of my happiest. Some of the credit goes to the internet. Through it, I’ve connected with relatives and friends that date back to my single-digit birthdays, especially within the last few years. This has evoked many great memories, a number coming from these contacts within the last day or so. Faithful readers have seen me blog the philosophy that as we approach the end of the road, what do we really have except for our memories? That’s what our lives boil down to.

Not that I perceive the end in sight. But, it is nice to take inventory and find it ample.

The guys. Guys I went to high school or college or worked with decades ago. We played, shared locker rooms, partied and adventured. Scores of them I kayak and work out with now and those relationships are gold. But the extremely precious memories come from the wild and carefree days of high school and college.

The girls. Ah, the girls. A couple things stand out there.

One delight is hearing from Mickey, someone I go way back with. She was the proverbial girl next door, if you happened to be very lucky with neighbors. I was. She was on one side and Sparky Prestini, a latter day Mae West, on the other. Kathy McCluskey was across the street and Cathy Ciambrello a few doors down, comprising an all-star team for the neighborhood. It was like living in the Playboy mansion, albeit on a different scale. Perhaps best of all, I was a year or two ahead of them and was perceived as the cool older guy on the block. Not that I’d exploit that. Much.


Getting back to perceptions, while I’m not entirely surprised by the warm wishes and recollections from the younger girls, those from the women in my graduating class raise an eyebrow. Beginning with my last reunion, I thought I detected an unexpected rise in my stock with them. I pretty much marched to my own drummer back when, which seemed to make them wary at the time. Certainly, their parents. Now, I’m the cat’s ass. What do I have now that some of my male classmates don’t? Could be a pulse. Doesn’t matter. I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Another thing that is especially gratifying is hearing from many former employees. That’s not always a comfortable relationship and I was never one to expect less than superior performance. So, it’s pleasing to receive the positive feedback. It affirms my theory of high standards/high rewards.

Of course, my kids are the most important, but we covered that outside of the internet. Every year, we get closer.

It’s been a great year which makes me look forward to the next. As a bonus, Social Security kicks in. I’ve been putting money into the pot for half a century. Nice to start taking chips back off the table.

At least for as long as it remains viable.