First In Line!

Kim put a picture on Facebook of her grandson Thomas standing at a bridge railing over the train yard watching the activity below. Seeing the picture immediately took me back to my youth and the countless times Nana and I stood on various vantage points to watch the hustle and bustle of switching and building trains in the old Frisco yard near her house. I loved trains. I could - and did - spend many hours just watching the trains slowly move around the yard as the switching locomotives built the trains for their journeys off to unknown places.

Bob Ward, Nana and Papa's tenant, then neighbor, was larger than life when I was a kid. He was a Brakeman on the Frisco Lines, back when the railroads still had brakemen monitoring the train from the caboose that brought up the rear of every train. It was always a thrill when Bob was in the caboose of a passing train.

I still love trains.

One of the highlights of my time spent working in video production was a shoot we did in the GE Locomotive plant in Erie, Pennsylvania. I stood in the factory where the mighty powerhouses of transportation were born. I still remember that day with great joy.

I have written before about what ranks up there as one of my favorite Father's Day celebrations watching the mighty Union Pacific Challenger when it made a trip to Milwaukee.

I simply love trains!

I have many strange habits that drive people around me nuts, but perhaps none quite so blatant as my driving behavior when trains are involved. Whenever possible, I adjust my speed when I see the lights go on or see a train approaching a crossing in an attempt to time it so I am first in line when the train arrives. There are few driving experiences more fun than being the first car at a train crossing so I can see and feel the power as the locomotives rumble past, and watch the progression of cars; each carrying precious cargo that represents our economy in action.

I suppose the people in the cars behind me may be a little peeved at being "stuck" by a train, but I think it is wonderful! For those few minutes; it's just like I'm a little boy again.

Seeing Kim's picture reminded me that there is still something magical about little boys and trains - even when we become big boys.

The Special School...

I went to Busch School for fifth, sixth and seventh grades. I would have been there for eighth grade, also, but we moved out of St. Louis. Busch School was a special school, "For the Gifted and Talented." I don't know what made any of us there so gifted or talented, but many of us were quite special! The importance of that fact will become apparent in a little while.

Mom and Dad took us to Manchester to see our new house for the first time shortly before we moved in at the end of seventh grade. We walked around in the house and wandered around what seemed to me to be a massive backyard. A small creek ran between our new house and the house behind it. The family living in that house was out working in their garden as we walked around. They had a daughter who looked to be about Kim's age and a son who looked to be about my age. Mom lined us all up along the edge of the creek and they lined up on the other side of the creek for the obligatory introductions.

They were the Kilkennys. As I had guessed, Karen, their daughter, was just a little younger than Kim and Ron, their son, was a few months younger than me. Although Ron and I came to be inseparable, it almost didn't happen.

Mom introduced the girls and then introduced me. I'm sure she thought she was paying me a compliment as she introduced me and proclaimed that I went to a "special school." Now, special school meant something very different in Manchester than it did to Mom. Ron told me later that his mother had instructed him in no uncertain terms that he was to be nice to me since I had some sort of disability that required me to go to a special school.

Ron wanted nothing to do with the kid from the special school! He managed to avoid being out whenever I was in the yard for several days after we moved in. I suppose he figured that was the easiest way to deal with the kid from the special school.

Eventually, though, our paths crossed and we were forced together. We were playing catch in the yard when the conversation somehow turned to fishing. It quickly became apparent that fishing was a passion that we shared and Ron informed me that there were two small ponds within a short walk or bike ride that he fished regularly.

We quickly gathered our gear to head to the pond when Mrs. Kilkenny told Ron that he could not go fishing until the grass was cut. That edict caused us to team cut the grass at breakneck speeds. I'm sure the grass cutting job was somewhat less than perfect as we raced to finish quickly so we could go fishing. We finished, though, and quickly dug some worms from their compost pile and headed off to the pond in Glan Tai subdivision.

We sat and talked while waiting for fish to find our baits. The talk, naturally, turned to the special school. We had a great laugh as I explained what Mom meant by the "special school" and laughed again as he recounted his Mom's mandate that he be nice to the kid with whatever disability it was that I had.

A friendship was forged that day. Ron went on to be a jock in high school and I went on to be the kid with the calculator case on my belt, but we were friends. While time and distance have made that relationship less than it once was; I will always consider Ron to be one of my closest friends. And he, I hope, remembers those days with the kid from the special school with a special fondness, too.

So this is what $150,000 gets you...

I suppose $150,000 doesn't go as far as it used to.

In fact, I was recently pondering the question of just what $150,000 gets you these days. The answer was not what I expected.

It wasn't that long ago that $150,000 could buy you a decent house. In fact, we bought our land and built our house in 1994 for substantially less than $150,000. You certainly couldn't buy a lot like ours and build a house on it for $150,000 today.

I have come to the conclusion recently, though, that in today's dollars, $150,000 buys you a couple of pieces of paper.

I estimate that the boys' complete college experience cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $150,000. For that, they each received a beautiful diploma from Bob Jones University that proclaims them as honored graduates of that institution. They apparently completed the coursework necessary to have their degrees bestowed upon them. Based on the many stories I heard - and the many others that I can only surmise - they also had a lot of fun, made a lot of friends, grew up a little and became godly young men.

Those pieces of paper signified the completion of a lot of hard work; and I commend them heartily for it.

Those pieces of paper also signified the start of a lot of hard work that will last for the next four decades, or so.

Diane and I picked up the majority of the tab for the boys' education. I don't resent doing it, but it's rather eye-opening to look back over that six year span and realize how hard I worked - and how hard I will continue to work to pay off the loans I took to make up for what I couldn't earn - to put them through school. College has certainly gotten a lot more expensive than when I was in school.

So I guess that's what $150,000 got me. The boys benefited much more, of course, and will continue to benefit for a lifetime. As for me, though, I suppose I'll just watch my boys as they move ahead in their chosen careers and appreciate just how much $150,000 ultimately got me.

I suppose it's a better investment than my house!

Trade Show Travel

Now I know I can be a bit warped, at times, but work with me here...

Three of us from work are heading to the bi-annual ICUEE show in Louisville next week. It's a huge trade show with thousands of utility linemen, operations people and purchasers in attendance. We don't do a lot of trade shows, but we don't ever miss this one!

I drive the speed limit and I can drive to Louisville from my house in about six and one-half hours.  Rick and Todd both drive significantly faster than I do, so we'd probably make it to Louisville in well under six and one-half hours with one of them behind the wheel.Keep that number in mind, because it will be important later.

Now I would always prefer to drive on such a relatively short trip because it's far easier than the hassle of air travel. One of the other guys doesn't care how we get there. The third guy, though, insists on flying and, since he is the boss, we fly.

There are no longer any direct flights from Milwaukee to Louisville so we either have to figure out connections or fly out of Chicago. The solution this year was to fly from Chicago's Midway Airport to Louisville. Our flight is scheduled for Noon; which means we will have to be at the airport no later than 10:30. Because of the Chicago traffic situation, we have to leave our office sometime between 8:00 and 8:30 at the very latest. Figure four hours from departing the office until we take off, then another 45 minutes, or so, to get our bags and pick up the rental car after we land. We're pretty close to six and one-half hours either way.

Flying isn't really saving us any time and it is more expensive for three of us to fly and rent a car than it would be for the three of us to pile into one car and drive. We have to pile into one car to drive to the airport, anyway.

Oh, well...

Like I said; he's the boss.

The Stand

When I think of The Stand I don't think of the wildly popular Stephen King novel of the late 70's. No, the words The Stand cause me to think about an elevated platform in the woods from which I hunt deer.

That Stand!

The long saga of building our deer stand has finally reached its conclusion.

I meant to get pictures, but we got busy and forgot to take them. I'll try to get some when we go back up to clear shooting lanes.

It's All In The Details

I'm a detail person. Planning and analysis are two of my favorite activities. I am in my element when I can focus on organizing and planning down to the most minute detail.

I love getting lost in the details. Whether planning a trip or building something; I don't believe you can ever be too detail oriented!

One of the ways I feed my detail fetish is by creating checklists. I create Excel spreadsheets with packing lists for hunting trips, fishing trips, camping trips, business trips, etc. You name the trip and I have developed a checklist for it. I even have multi-level checklists that allow me to check off various stages of the preparations from buying a particular supply to loading it into a cooler or tote to loading it into my SUV.

There is no detail too small to be included on a checklist.

My obsession with details carries over to other projects, also. You've probably heard the old saying, "Measure twice, cut once." Well I take that quite literally when working on a project. I measure every cut, fold, bend, etc. several times before completing the work. I rarely end up with wasted materials due to incorrect measurements unless I am feeling rushed by pressure from other people. In fact, I ended up with extra materials while building our new tree stand platform. The plans I was using included a lumber cut list. I found that - with just a little time and effort - I could actually cut all of the pieces I needed from fewer boards than the plans called for. I managed to save an entire twelve foot two by six and ten foot two by four merely by paying attention to the details and measuring everything carefully before cutting anything.

I also tend to over-engineer everything I do. The playset I designed and built for the boys in the backyard nearly twenty years ago still stands strong and, I'm sure, could safely hold half the neighborhood should I invite them to a party in my yard. (I'm not going to, but it would hold them if I did.)

Now I realize that my tendency to plan and measure ad nauseum drives my family nuts. Diane usually does a pretty good job of pretending to be patient as I measure several boards and calculate the best way to get the materials needed with the least waste. She even feigns interest as I explain what I am doing and why I elected to do it a certain way.

The boys, on the other hand, do not feel the need to pretend to be interested or patient. They both seem to have a pretty good dose of their Granny in them. She is more interested in just getting something done than making sure it is done well, or even properly.

I'm never going to win one of those construction contests they show on DIY Network where the teams have eight hours to design and build a themed deck. I'm never going to win an award for elegant design. But I guarantee you that I will happily get lost in the minutiae of whatever I undertake.

After all, it's all in the details.

But They Are Only Words

We communicate in various ways; both verbal and non-verbal. Ultimately, the vast majority of our daily adult communication with other people involves words.

Words are funny things. They have no real value in and of themselves. They are, after all, merely a juxtaposition of letters that have come to be accepted by society as representative of something; whether animate or inanimate. We further juxtapose those words into phrases and sentences to form ideas, concepts and descriptions of our lives and the world around us.

But they are only words.

We use that collection of juxtaposed letters and words to interact with the world. My fingers glide over the keyboard; gently clicking various keys in a particular order to form the words used to share my thoughts and feelings with anyone who stumbles upon this blog. I use this collection of words, at times, to bare my soul. At other times, I use it to share memories from my past. Whatever the topic of the day, I use words to convey meaning.

But they are only words.

As kids, we used to chant the catchy phrase, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me." There is some truth to that. The same word may bring pain or joy depending on many things, so it's not the word itself that carries the weight. It is, after all, only a word. It is really not the words themselves, but how we use the words that bring healing or cause pain.

I've been guilty of both bringing healing and causing pain with my words at times. I can be so careful in my selection of words at one moment and so careless the next. It's easy to say that it's no big deal either way because they are only words, but I thrive on juxtaposing letters into words and words into phrases and sentences.

Writing this blog gives me an outlet, but it also provides a safety valve in that I can edit, rewrite or delete completely any word, phrase or entire blog entry that doesn't convey my thoughts as I had intended. For every blog entry that makes it to the publication point, there are several others that I am working on, have deleted or simply decided not to flesh out yet. I have the luxury of time to make sure I have chosen the right words.

Communicating is so much more than the words we use.

It is a reflection of the heart.

Even if they are only words.

Modern Proverb

I used to keep an old Ziggy comic on the wall over my desk. It merely said, "Do a little more each day than people expect of you and soon they will expect a little more."

I saw that as a bit of positive advice; although not everyone I came across agreed with me. I figured it was a great reminder to strive to exceed others' expectations of me and they would soon come to appreciate my work ethic and, perhaps even my abilities, as being greater than they had originally thought.

A friend of mine - who tended to have a darker view of life than me - argued with me many times over the "true" meaning of that little comic. She insisted that it was meant to be a warning that people would take advantage of you and just keep asking more and more of you if you went over and above their original expectations.

I elected to keep the positive spin on it, though, and do my best to do a little more than people expected of me. While there have certainly been some people (perhaps ethically challenged) who have taken advantage of me through the years because of my attitude, I figure that it's really their problem - not mine. Overall, I believe my desire to do more than the minimum required by other people's expectations has made me into a better person.

I would rather have people expect much of me - even if it means I occasionally fall short of their expectations - than to expect little or nothing of me and watch me eventually sink to the level of just that.

Disconnect

It has been nearly twenty years since I had the pleasure of spending two weeks in Japan on a business trip. The trip was a whirlwind that came about at the last minute at quite possibly the worst time imaginable.

We had just broken ground on our new home when my boss mentioned the possibility of a trip to Japan for one of our best clients. I had developed the framework for troubleshooting and diagnostic software for the client's field service engineers that enabled them to use their laptop instead of carrying dozens of systems manuals for each product in their line. The client wanted me to fly to their Tokyo division to teach their software engineers how to implement the framework on their products.

Nothing was set, though, so there really wasn't anything to worry about. All of that changed in the blink of an eye when, on Friday morning, my boss called me into his office to tell me that I was booked on a flight to Tokyo at 11:00 AM Sunday.

Sunday, as in two days away Sunday??? Yep. I had almost exactly 48 hours to have everything ready for two weeks in Japan in the midst of building a home.

I left work and raced home to break the news to Diane and begin preparations for the trip. There was so much to do and very little time to get it done. I was supposed to be applying the insulation to the poured concrete walls over the weekend, but that got pushed off on a contractor, instead.

Saturday morning started off wonderfully with my glasses breaking. Add an emergency run to an optical shop to get new glasses to the already exploding list of things to do.

We somehow managed to get everything done in time for Diane and the boys to take me to the airport Sunday morning where I boarded a flight first for Chicago and then on to Tokyo.

Tokyo provided what had to be the biggest cultural disconnect I could fathom. I had to take a train from my hotel to the town where my client's office was located. I boarded the train with my computer. The trains in Tokyo all seem to be packed all the time. I put my computer on an overhead rack and was gradually pushed further back in the car at each stop. I feared that my computer would be gone when I went to retrieve it, but there was nothing to fear. I made my way through the throngs of people on the train as we approached my stop to find the computer sitting on the rack just as I had left it.

The first cultural disconnect.

Each train car had Silver Seats, so named not so much for their silver color, but for the silver hair of the senior citizens for whom the seats were reserved. The riders could be wedged into the train cars like sardines, but the Silver Seats would remain empty if no senior citizens were in the car. Younger people simply would not sit in the empty seats.

The second cultural disconnect.

The work culture was totally foreign to me. The desks were jammed into double rows throughout the entire work area. I found myself staring into the face of another person if I looked past my monitor. I could reach out and touch the workers on my right and left; so close were the desks positioned.

The third cultural disconnect.

A bell chimed at 10:00 each morning, followed by a voice on the intercom talking the employees through stretching regimens. All work stopped throughout the entire facility as everyone stood behind their desk chair and followed the leader's stretching instructions. I did not know any Japanese, of course, so I used that time each morning to head to the coffee pot to refill my cup.

The fourth cultural disconnect.

Perhaps the biggest cultural disconnect came, though, on the weekend when my Japanese host offered to take me around Tokyo. We saw the Imperial Palace, the busiest train station in the world, Akihabara -also known as Geek Heaven - the electronics marketplace of the world in Central Tokyo and Tokyo's version of Times Square.

As we walked along a narrow street in a market district, I couldn't help but notice the presence of vending machines selling beer. This prompted a discussion with my host about a legal drinking age in Tokyo. He assured me that they had laws against underage drinking just like we had in the United States. This prompted me, of course, to ask, "What's stopping a 17 year old from putting his money into the machine to buy a beer?" I will never forget the ensuing discussion. He as shocked that I would even suspect such a thing. The young people wouldn't buy beer from the street vending machines because it was against the law. I continued to press the question of what was stopping them from doing so. We went around and around on the topic for several minutes before finally getting to the point where he said there was nothing other than the weight of Japan's traditions to stop an underage person from buying beer if they chose to break the law.

The fifth, and biggest, cultural disconnect.

Although I'm sure there were many underage people who bought beer from the machines and I'm equally sure that their culture has changed much in the past twenty years; I am still amazed when I think back on that trip and the cultural shock that accompanied those two hectic, yet wonderful weeks.

I would love to be able to visit Tokyo again sometime with Diane: to be able to share with her the joys of wandering the narrow, shop-lined streets of the neighborhoods surrounding Tokyo; to be able to eat at the seemingly ubiquitous small, family owned noodle counters throughout the city; to be able to laugh together at the disconnect of being an American in Tokyo again.

Fresh Ice

Today marks what should be a national holiday; the first day of on-ice activities for the St. Louis Blues Training Camp! This ranks right up there in importance with the start of the Blues' regular season, the opening of gun deer hunting season and the celebration parade down Market Street when the Blues win the Stanley Cup this year!!!

Okay, that last one is not yet a done deal, but I'm confident it will also come to pass.

There's something beautiful about fresh ice. The Blue Note is still vibrant and rich, the intensity of the colors in the lines popping against the pure, white background of the ice surface. Yes, this is truly the start of something wonderful.

Every September since 1967 has ushered in an excitement and passion for the start of the NHL season. This September is no different.

I wish I could be there to witness the Blues setting foot onto the ice surface at the Scottrade Center at Noon today. The offseason has been too long.

 I wish I could see the sights and hear the sounds of hockey today.

Instead, I will be at work; dreaming of that day in the no longer so distant future when I will watch the players take the ice for the start of the regular season. The day when the annual quest for the Stanley Cup begins anew; and brings with it all of the renewed hope for hockey fans everywhere.

Let's Go Blues!!!

Been There

Today marks another anniversary of the worst terrorist attack on our country. The nation came together - for a while - to help, to hold and to heal. Somewhere along the line, though, we gradually slid back to our normal routines and seemingly forgot about those things that bound us together.

For a short time, all Americans - regardless of their political position, religion, socioeconomic class or race - were joined in solidarity around those who had fallen and those who worked to rescue, recover and restore. We were Americans; bound together by our love of country and our care for one another.

I went to Ground Zero while in New York City a couple of years after the attacks. It was a horribly somber experience; one that I will never forget nor likely repeat. We stood at the fence surrounding the massive hole in the ground where the towers had once stood.

The hole marking the spot where thousands of Americans lost their lives.

The hole marking the spot where many of New York's Finest and Bravest made the ultimate sacrifice while serving the community.

The hole marking the spot where everything changed in America - probably forever.

My eyes welled up with tears as I read the countless tributes left at the site for loved ones who would never see them. I remember pointing out a neighboring building to Joseph in one of the photos of the site so he could grasp just how large the towers were.

I remember standing at the fence; struck by the overwhelming weight of grief for those left behind.

Today brings all of that to mind again. While it is good that our lives have returned to some level of "normalcy," I pray that we never forget all of the things that gaping hole represented: husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters who didn't come home; heroes who refused to stop looking even when looking seemed futile; leaders who, without regard for political party, worked together to bring closure and justice; and perhaps most of all, the day that changed America forever.

The Deer Stand

Matthew will be able to hunt with me again this year after a long, four season absence. It seems like even longer than that when I think back to our last time together for the regular gun deer season.

Matthew likes to sit beside me in the woods. I have offered to split up from him to help us cover more territory and minimize our impact on a given hunting area, but he always prefers to stay together. We used to sit on the ground; leaning side by side against a giant oak. I bought a ladder stand after he left for college that allowed me to hunt from an elevated platform. The view is vastly different from fifteen feet up and the potential for shooting opportunities seems to go up along with the height.

My ladder stand is big enough for me, but not my gear; which I had to strap to the tree behind the stand. There is no way we could create enough space for Matthew and me together this year, so we decided to get a two-man stand to hunt this year. I bought a two-man ladder stand at a local store but quickly returned it after determining that the manufacturer's idea of two men and our idea of two men were vastly different. The materials seemed flimsy and the platform would have been extremely tight. We decided, instead, to build our own platform stand.

I found plans online and made a few, minor modifications to fulfill my personal requirement to over-engineer and overbuild every project I undertake. We bought all of the lumber, fasteners and assorted hardware for the project and spent less money than we would have spent on the fancy, smaller commercial stand and went to work.

Matthew has an uncanny ability to be gone when I undertake some of my projects, so I cut everything when he was off doing something. He was there to help assemble part of the support legs and lower platform, but Diane has provided most of the construction help. She works hard, but she simply is not as strong as Matthew. We're getting it done, though.

I expect to finish the construction within the next couple of days so we can assemble the pieces in our yard to test it out. We'll do whatever tweaking is necessary with the luxury of electricity close at hand before we break it down into its four main pieces to head to the farm to erect it on our hunting ground.

Erecting the stand in place is going to require several people. Finding willing workers has been the hardest part of this entire project. At some point in the next couple of weeks, though, we will trailer everything up, make our way to the farm and get everything set for the opening of deer season on November 23.

When The Rubber Hits The Road...

Our paths cross lots of friendly people. Many of them we would even call friends. Some of them will go so far as to tell you to call them if you need anything. Few, though, really live that out When The Rubber Hits The Road.

True friends shine when life is in its dark moments. The ones who really are there for you when you're not fun to be with. Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they just listen. It's not by their words that they show you they care; their caring shows through their life. Even though the course of our lives may cause us to drift apart; the moments of caring are never far from our memory.

There are two people in particular who I think of when I think about people who really cared when it mattered. Nearly three decades have passed, but their acts of kindness still remind me of how a true friend shows they care.

To set the scene briefly, I was doing freelance video production work. The work could be somewhat irregular, but I was always glad to have a day scheduled. One job that I will never forget was the Camtronics shoot. I had two days of work scheduled; which meant two days of pay. It promised to be a fun shoot; which meant lots of setups and some challenging shooting situations. 

Two days before the shoot, I came home from work to find much of my apartment cleaned out, my cat gone and only a note from Sally saying, "I'm sorry," left behind. She had left me and filed for divorce. I was crushed. I told no one other than Sally's parents who loaned me a car since we only had one which she had taken with her.

I showed up at Camtronics for the shoot even though I was in no condition to work. Ralph, the Director, and Colleen, the Producer, (who later fell in love and got married, but that's a different story entirely) noticed my demeanor. Ralph took me aside and asked what was going on. I poured out my heart to him. He told me I didn't have to work if I would rather not be there. I told him that I needed to work.

They let me stay. 

I was absolutely worthless on that shoot. I'm sure I cost the crew much time and many retakes because of my distracted state.

But they let me stay.

Ralph and Colleen told me I could talk if I wanted to talk or just be quiet if I wanted to be quiet. They didn't pry and they didn't coddle me. They were just there When The Rubber Hit The Road.

When I look back over the decades, I am reminded that the friends who really care for you aren't the ones who tell you to call if you need anything. True friends are the ones who let you stay When The Rubber Hist The Road...

You Divide, I Pick

Few things in this world can start an argument faster than two people wanting the last piece of something. The problem is exacerbated when those two people are siblings.

It really doesn't matter if it's the last piece of pie or the last serving of potatoes; an argument is almost certain to start. Mom and Dad, like many parents, had a simple solution to the problem. It was simply named, "You Divide, I Pick."

The name says it all. The trick was to be the one who called it out first. Everyone wanted to be the picker, not the divider. Being the divider simply brought too much pressure.

Debbie, Kim, Beth and I were forced to endure You Divide, I Pick many times through the years. The divider analyzed whatever was to be divided very carefully - looking at it from every possible angle - trying to find a way to ensure that it would be divided exactly in half.

I'm sure I would have employed calipers and a scale if they were available, so careful was I to prevent any of the girls from getting a bigger portion; even if  the difference was miniscule. Dividing was a major task; one that required great concentration and analysis. This invariably led to pressure to hurry up and divide.

Picking could be equally daunting, though, if the divider had done a good job. The picker was obligated, of course, to carefully determine which was the "bigger half" (a physical impossibility, I know) before making their selection. This invariably led to pressure to hurry up and pick.

In the long run, You Divide, I Pick was brilliant. We learned some important lessons from You Divide, I Pick. It helped us learn to deal fairly and properly with others. It also taught us to practice math and spatial relationship skills we never even realized we were using. Perhaps most of all, though, You Divide, I Pick taught us how to apply our knowledge and skills to real life applications.

I'm not sure about most people, but to me; that is the definition of wisdom.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.