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.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, September 23, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, September 20, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
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.
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.
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