STICKER SHOCK

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I serve on the board of a national organization located in Washington, D.C. Our by-laws require three board meetings annually. Consequently for me, the Nation’s Capitol is not off the beaten path. I feel very fortunate to have the opportunity. In addition to board meetings, it not uncommon to throw in another trip for good measure to visit with Congressional staff regarding proposed legislation.

 

There are places to see and areas of interest to tour, but I travel there so often that I don’t generally allow myself time to do sightseeing. If there is any leftover time, I limit any sightseeing to the Wall or Arlington National Cemetery. The rest of my time is generally invested in meetings and trying to keep up with work. I know this is beginning to sound like an “Oh poor me” scenario, so let me quickly say that in the midst of the routine, I manage to capture the adventure. I’m not an “all work and no play” kind of guy, but at times it feels that way.

 

Perhaps my most memorable trip to Washington (or perhaps most painful) was several months ago when I toppled down an escalator at one of the Metro stations face forward. Bump, bump, bump – I thought I’d never come to a stop. Once I did, I wasn’t sure that I was okay. Yet, when mention was made of calling an ambulance, I managed to put a halt to that plan. After all, I had already paid my subway fare. If I needed medical care, I’d take the train.

 

Actually, that wasn’t my most painful trip to D.C. Without going into details, the etched in stone name of my brother on both a white stone marker at Arlington National Cemetery and at the Wall represent real pain.   The topple I took face forward down the escalator pales in contrast to that kind of discomfort.

 

For the most part, despite the discomfort of the past, I’ve managed a regime in Washington where comfort ranks high on my list of priorities. When I was first invited to serve on the board, a colleague from a neighboring state was serving as president of the board. He is really a nice guy, but at times had the tendency to posture himself in a “take charge kind of role” and suggest where the group would go to dinner and where the group would stay.

 

I’m a flexible kind of guy, but after booking a hotel room in the same shabby hotel down the street from the Capitol for the first two board meetings I attended, I determined that enough was enough. I drew a line in the sand and announced that creature comforts and basic amenities in a room were an absolute must for me. For example, I didn’t think it was too much to ask or to expect that the room have a closet or somewhere to hang up one’s clothes after you took them out of a suit bag. When the hotel where we were staying had been built, clothes closets weren’t yet an expectation.

 

Don’t get me wrong. There is something inviting about the sounds of the city, but if you’ll pardon the pun, it could border on overkill. For example, if the weather was too warm in your room, I learned early on not to bother to look for a thermostat to adjust the temperature. The hotel where we were staying was operational and serving guests before thermostats were invented. Of course, the plan for cooling that they originally used worked fine. All you had to do was open a window. Of course, that also was an open invitation to the sounds of the city. In addition, if you had the misfortune to have a room on the first floor, it could also pose a whole new concept to “mi casa es su casa”.

 

The third time may have been the charm, but I opted not to go there. After two trips to the Nation’s Capitol and staying in what I considered marginal settings on Pennsylvania Avenue, I learned about Priceline and I’ve never looked back.

 

Initially, I opted to bid on rooms. According to the parameters of the Priceline website, you can make as many as three bids in a twenty-four hour period. Consequently, it almost became a game with me. About a week out, I’d start the bidding process. Sometimes I got a room early on and sometimes I didn’t. Often out of desperation, I’d go a higher than I wanted to pay, but it was also under what you could expect to pay for a La Quinta or something comparable.

 

In more recent months, I’ve discovered express deals. Available information provides you the star rating, location and price. Wow! Wow! Wow! If what they’ve got posted looks like a bargain and is located in an area where I want to stay, I opt for the express deal. It takes the guesswork out of knowing whether or not you’ll get a room.

 

About three weeks ago, I checked hotel rates for Washington. When it came to rates for 4 star hotels, they were way above what I generally pay. They ranged for $350 to $425 a night.  I guess you could say I looked at the prices and had sticker-shock. But then again, it was three weeks out. Consequently, I waited a week and tried again. I wasn’t sure what was happening in Washington, but the whole premise of Priceline is related to supply and demand. It was apparent that the demand was much higher than the supply. Consequently prices were not dropping.

 

Two weeks out, I was startled to discover that rooms were sky-high. I scrolled through express deals and didn’t come up with much. Actually, hotels with a 4 star rating were way over my price range. At some point, I check deals again and found a 3 ½ star hotel near a metro station for $61. Wow! That was an incredible price. I can’t remember now. I think the regular price was three times that amount.

 

Okay, so I’m sometimes too big for my britches. I opted not to reserve the $61 dollar room. It wasn’t that I thought, “How lower middle class.” I didn’t think that at all. I was confident that when rates changed on this past Sunday, I’d easily find a hotel with creature comforts (aka – within walking distance to a good restaurant) in the same price range I always pay.  Besides that, I wanted a 4 star venue.

 

Sunday morning, I almost gasped for breath when I looked at prices for hotels in D.C. The four star hotels had not dropped in price. If anything, they had gone up and the 3 star hotels had skyrocketed. I’m old school. I’m not going to pay $267 dollars for a 3 star hotel anywhere.

 

Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. All I can say is, “If I had it to do over, I’d have taken the 3 ½ star hotel for $61.

 

All My Best!

Don

Impromptu Has Its Limits

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“What am I reading between the lines?” I re-read the question a couple of times and had the same thought each time.  The question had been sent to me via email.  Had we been playing charades, I might have had a visual clue.  As it was, I had absolutely no idea. I thought it was a strange question.  A person who regularly reads my blogs asked the question.  Consequently, it could have had a relationship to my posting from yesterday. Yet, how could I possibly know what they were thinking?

 

Had they asked if my work related performance was waning, I might have deducted they surmised that I was on the precipice of retirement.  However, that is not a cliff I am yet willing to tumble over.  After all, I suggested in yesterday’s blog that I would walk away before I settled for mediocrity. 

 

Honestly, I don’t think anything in yesterday’s blog even subtly suggested that retirement was looming on the horizon.  I guess through the simple process of deduction, one could ascertain that it is a concept not totally foreign to my thought processes.  After all, many people my age are retired.  For that matter, many people my age are also dead.  When it gets to the concept of age appropriate activities, I guess you could say the sky is the limit.  What do they say about the “Sweet By and By?”  Isn’t it something about meeting in that beautiful place?

 

Speaking of cliffs, I remember in my childhood that I had a reoccurring nightmare.  It was a dream of being in a school bus that went over a cliff. I vividly remember being a passenger in the bus as it was falling. Even though I had the same dream several times, I never knew how it ended.  I always awakened before the bus hit the ground.  The strangest thing about the dream is that I grew up in Odessa where there were no cliffs from which to fall.  In terms of terrain, it doesn’t get any flatter than that.  Secondly, I never regularly rode a school bus.  For those of you who are dream analyst, please don’t offer an interpretation.  Any interpretive diagnostic assessment would no doubt be protected under HIPAA and my right to privacy. 

 

At any rate, I started yesterday’s blog with the intent of considering the value of making a bucket list.  In the process, I got sidetracked and opted to go another direction.  By nature I am not a list maker.  For one thing, I like the freedom to live impromptu.  Once you start writing stuff down and planning a calendar, you become an indentured servant to following a schedule and prearranged commitments.  I am resistive to the concept of being tied to a ball and chain associated to one’s calendar.  Why not discover adventure in the midst of the commonplace and go from there?  However, that concept can only take you so far. 

 

If you really want to color outside the lines and visit faraway places, it takes some planning and schedule coordination. It also takes money. Depending on where you want to go, it could take a lot of money.  Consequently, if I wait until retirement to craft my bucket list, I might by necessity have to purge it based on financial resources.  I figure I’ve got a better shot at coming up with a more affordable list of options if I’m still working. 

 

I hope my friend who asked, “What am I reading between the lines” pauses to consider the tone of the previous paragraph.  It might be easy to conclude that I plan to work ‘til Jesus comes.  Perhaps that could be the thought for today.

 

I’d welcome any suggestions of items needing consideration for my bucket list.  I am a novice at this.   It makes sense to me that the list needs to include at least four categories.  It should include things I hope to accomplish, new activities I hope to enjoy, people I want to meet or visit with again and places I want to travel to and explore.

 

Hermina Hirsch, an eighty-nine year old survivor of the Holocaust, fulfilled one of the items on her bucket list on May 23, 2016.  She was provided the privilege of standing before a ballpark filled with people and singing the National Anthem before the umpire said: “Play ball”.  The location was Comerica Park in Detroit.  Of course, the team she favored was the Detroit Tigers.  She has been a fan for the past sixty years.  They were playing against Tampa Bay.

 

I suspect that my bucket list will not include any opportunities for me to sing in public. Unlike Hermina Hirsch, I cannot sing.  I’d write more, but I’m going to start on my list.  Besides that, I’ve got places to go and things to do. I am in my impromptu mode. I spent last night in Seal, Alabama.  Tonight Meansville, Georgia is the destination.  Of course, nothing is quite as good as home sweet home.

 

All My Best!

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Don

London Bridge Is Falling Down

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The year was 1987.  Sometimes it seems like it was only yesterday. I walked away from a job that for all intents and purposes had provided for my family. I liked my work, but I had an itch to step it up a notch and become more directly involved in helping children and families from hard places. Why not? I had worked in State government for 17 ½ years and had a good understanding of the child welfare system. I also had some ideas of ways to do it better. At least I thought I could. Why not take the risk and follow my dreams?

The offer before me wasn’t one that I couldn’t pass up. It had been offered to me once before and I turned it down. Sometimes fear of the unknown can be somewhat overwhelming and intimidating. It was less than a year later that I was approached again and asked to head a children’s services organization that seemingly wanted to move from the dark ages to embrace the future. The board was unanimous in their belief that I was the man to lead them. I naively thought they were paying me the highest of compliments.

Sometimes I am a slow learner. The new job taught me many things. One of the things it taught me was “Timeo Danaos et donna ferentes”. The expression is Latin for “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.” Just because folks articulate that they want to embrace best practice, doesn’t always mean that they are open to change.

Within a two-year period, I sensed the board was ready for a change. Regardless and more importantly, I was ready for a change. The thing that most saddened me is that I knew the positive changes that had been made for children wouldn’t survive an administrative change. Somehow in a two-year period, we built a credible organization. We had changed the culture and we had changed the reputation.

In addition, we added foster care to our program and were effectively serving more children than the agency had ever served before. At the risk of sounding like: “When I was a kid, I walked ten miles to school through the snow, uphill both ways”, I can’t single-handedly take credit for the changes that took place. It was a team approach, but I can say that although we were understaffed, we somehow managed to keep our heads above the water and moved forward by putting the needs of those we served first.

The day came when all of that changed. Do you remember the nursery rhyme “London Bridge is Falling Down?” The full version goes like this:

“London Bridge is broken down,

Broken down, broken down.

London Bridge is broken down,

My fair lady.

 

“Build it up with wood and clay,

Wood and clay, wood and clay,

Build it up with wood and clay,

My fair lady.

 

“Wood and clay will wash away,

Wash away, wash away,

Wood and clay will wash away,

My fair lady.

 

“Build it up with bricks and mortar,

Bricks and mortar, bricks and mortar,

Build it up with bricks and mortar,

My fair lady.

 

“Bricks and mortar will not stay,

Will not stay, will not stay,

Bricks and mortar will not stay,

My fair lady.

 

“Build it up with iron and steel,

Iron and steel, iron and steel,

Build it up with iron and steel,

My fair lady.

 

“Iron and steel will bend and bow,

Bend and bow, bend and bow,

Iron and steel will bend and bow,

My fair lady.

 

“Build it up with silver and gold,

Silver and gold, silver and gold,

Build it up with silver and gold,

My fair lady.

 

“Silver and gold will be stolen away,

Stolen away, stolen away,

Silver and gold will be stolen away,

My fair lady.

 

“Set a man to watch all night,

Watch all night, watch all night,

Set a man to watch all night,

My fair lady.

 

“Suppose the man should fall asleep,

Fall asleep, fall asleep,

Suppose the man should fall asleep?

My fair lady.

 

“Give him a pipe to smoke all night,

Smoke all night, smoke all night,

Give him a pipe to smoke all night,

My fair lady.

The year was 1989.  I had been in the job two years.  I’ll never forget the telephone call. It was from one of the teachers at school. She wanted to know why the telephones in the cottages for children weren’t working. She had attempted to telephone two different cottage parents. She got the same recording on both telephone numbers: “This is no longer a working number.”

My investigation reflected there was validity to the recording. There were no longer working numbers in any of the cottages. The chairman of the finance committee of the board had made the call, but I’m sure the decision was not made in total isolation. The executive committee of the board functioned pretty much like the Supreme Court. They were the final authority and they had the wisdom to know how things best needed to be handled. Consequently, they did it their way.

The telephones had to go. Children didn’t need access to their families. There was nothing wrong with the old system. Children stood in line at the gym on Saturdays and talked for up to five minutes with their families without any sense of privacy or confidentiality. That was good enough for them, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t good enough for the kids we were serving and it wasn’t good enough for me. Unlike a number of previous administrators who worked for that organization, I wasn’t fired. I resigned and provided the board 30-days written notice. I still remember the look of shock on their faces. Although I didn’t look in the mirror, once the decision was made, I’m sure I had a look of relief on my face. Oh to be sure, the board would have subsequently terminated my employment, but I didn’t play fair. I beat them to the punch. I made the change that I needed to make. It proved to be a lifeline for me.

Fortunately I left that job and in short order went to work for the agency where I now work.  The experience has been fulfilling and supportive of meeting the needs of children and families from hard places.

Across the past 27 years since leaving employment in State government, I’ve faired well in the child welfare arena. I can truthfully say the two years I invested in the program I opted to leave, were meaningful years. I learned a lot. If nothing else, on days when I’m tempted to think I’m having a rough time, I have the ability to look back across the years and remember what a tough time could look like.

The child welfare system in Texas is reportedly in a  mess.  The headlines in the news carry the theme that Texas children are in imminent danger because CPS isn’t doing their job. A headline yesterday caught my attention and filled me with alarm: “Texas CPS staffing crisis has leaders pushing to hire caseworkers without college degrees”. The article stated: “Texas Child Protective Services is dying to solve its caseworker turnover problem by reducing the education level required to apply for the job.  CPS caseworker salaries are rock bottom, as low as $34,000 to start.  That wouldn’t bother people with just a high school education the way it grates on workers who went to college, Department of Family and Protective Services officials argued in recent internal communications leading up to the decision…”

I had a flashback to working for a board that didn’t value the importance of getting it right for children.  It looks as though our problems are beyond us and the short term solution is to lower requirements at the risk of not getting it right for children.  Did I mention, Chapter 42 of the Human Services Code requires state agencies to meet the same requirements and minimum standards for the private sector?  Something is rotten in Denmark.

All My Best!

Don

The Wedding Will Go On As Planned

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Have I mentioned that being hearing impaired sometimes leads to awkward conversations? A man named James left his name and number on my voicemail. I didn’t catch the name of the company, but I was able to connect the dots in my head and realized that the lawn service had finally gotten back to me. I had been waiting for them to return my call for two days. Consequently, I wasted no time returning his call. I knew it was a long shot, but I really needed to get the lawn done yesterday or this morning.

Maybe I’m overly optimistic, but how could they say no to my need for an extreme makeover on my yard. After all, 80-to-100 people are coming to an outdoor wedding reception at our home this afternoon. There was no denying it. The yard needed work. People were scheduled to arrive. If those two variables weren’t enough to balance the tide in my favor, it would never be done.

Several months ago, a long-term friend mentioned that his son and his fiancée were looking for a hill-country wedding venue. Who could blame them? Apparently, Vodka distilleries, breweries, wine vineyards, Mercer Street businesses and wedding venues in Dripping Springs top the charts for the “in thing” around Drippin’. At last count, there are 37 wedding venues within 12 miles of Dripping Springs. Add mine to the mix and we have 38.

Unfortunately, the price tag associated to an outdoor wedding venue around Dripping Springs is sometimes a stretch for young people attempting to get the most for their buck. Consequently, I mentioned to my friend that his son and his fiancée were welcome to get married at our place. I’ll match our view with any that I know of in the area. In addition, it was a “mi casa es su casa” invitation. Apart from chair and table rentals, the wedding could go on as planned in the “Las Vegas of Texas” (ie: Dripping Springs) without the customary kind of cost.

Actually when the young couple came out to see for themselves, I suggested they might want to look at the church as the sight for their wedding and reserve the hilltop with a view for the reception. Initially they thought the outdoor wedding was more of what they had in mind. However, to humor me they allowed me to drive them over and show them the church. When it comes to an ideal wedding venue for under 100 people, it doesn’t get more picturesque than our church. The interior of the sanctuary is 100% beaded ceiling on both the ceiling and the walls. The floors are wooden with a carpeted runner accentuating the middle aisle and the slightly elevated platform at the front of the church.

The big drawing card for our church is the stained glass windows. To suggest that it is a picturesque display of art with a spiritual flair doesn’t even begin to describe the ambience. Beaded ceilings, stained glass windows, wooden walls and floors merge together in a “you’ve got to see it to believe it” kind of experience. I can promise you that none of the other 37 (38 counting our home) wedding venues in Dripping Springs has the same quaint and unique appeal. I guess seeing really is believing, because the young couple wanting a hill country wedding venue found themselves very open to a mixed venue. The wedding would take place at the church and the reception would take place at our home.

I remembered thinking at the time, I’ll have our home in showplace condition by the time April 29, 2016 rolls around. Actually, I mostly thought that because the General immediately began to identify the things I needed to get done. Sure, I could get it all done. With the General’s stalwart resolve, the things on her “to do list” with my name at the top would get done.

Did I mention that I’ve been mostly out of town for the past three weeks? The same is true for the General. In our absence, the rains came bringing with them the magic for weeds to thrive. “Showplace” is definitely not a word either of us would use to describe our lawn. Many other words come to mind, but showplace is not one of them.

Thankfully, on Friday morning I had James on the line and he held the power and wherewithal to change all of that. Initially he told me that he had us on his schedule for May 15. I know what you’re thinking and I agree. That wasn’t good enough. I needed his help immediately. All I needed to do was provide him compelling reasons why he’d want to move our home up on the schedule for mowing and manicuring our lawn. You would have been proud of me. I left no stone unturned.

When I told him we were hosting a wedding reception at our home, he responded “Congratulations.” Of course, I immediately clarified for him that I wasn’t getting married. However, I made it clear that I might not have the option of staying married if he didn’t come to my rescue. My “Mrs.” (he wouldn’t have understood the term ‘General’) wanted the yard professionally done before the wedding. That left both of us a looming deadline of less than 24-hours. I had every reason to believe he had the capacity to be accommodating.

I was fairly confident James now had a better understanding of my sense of urgency. I could hear it in his voice. He was already feeling good about coming to my rescue. Did I mention, I don’t always get it right?

I was startled when he said again: “I have you on the schedule for May 15”. I bit my tongue to keep from saying: “Did you not hear a thing I just told you?” I had given it my best shot and lost. I wasn’t going to beg.

James was still talking: “We can’t get there any earlier and it will probably take two days.” Are you kidding me? Our lawn isn’t that big. We don’t mow the pasture area. Knowing that I’m hearing impaired, I asked again for clarification: “Did you say two days.” “Yes, it will probably take two days” was his response.

I was beginning to see ‘$$$’ signs in my head. What was James and his crew planning to do? This was way more than I had in mind. There is no way mowing and weeding our lawn was going to take two days. Sure, I had explained that I wanted the edges along our drive mowed down to the gate, but there was NO WAY it represented a two-day job.

To make a long-story-short (I know – You’re thinking too late) as it turned out, James didn’t work for the lawn service. He was calling to reschedule a date to come refinish our front door. The two earlier appointments had been cancelled because of rain.

As it turned out, I was embarrassed by the conversation. Of course, James thought it was funny. At least he laughed when he said, “Now what you’ve told me makes more sense. I was wondering why you were telling me about your compelling need to get your lawn done.”

All My Best!

Don

 

This Guy Knows How To Make A Big Difference

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When you stop to think about it, all of us have a back-story. Few, if any of us, start out one direction and never waver. I’m not sure I know anyone whose life was lived in perpetual forward motion with only one goal in mind. Life has a way of offering roadblocks, detours and un-thought-of adventures. We generally take a detour or two on the road to success. Most of the people I know maintained some degree of flexibility as they matured. They evaluated opportunity as it surfaced, kept their minds open, considered any number of possibilities and subsequently leaned in the direction of innate ability, passion, and interest.

Life has a way of humbling the proud, strengthening the weak, taming the wild, and softening the tough. Through the process, most of us learned by doing, experienced growth out of trials, and matured through experience. Isn’t it true that our lives are a tapestry influenced by family, friends, educational opportunities, experiences, interests, abilities, successes, mistakes and our Creator. How did Jeremiah express it? I think it was: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future”.

A noon yesterday, I had lunch with colleagues from work. One of the new guys, a kid fresh out of school (at least he looks like he’s fresh out of school – he’s actually worked where I work for the past 4 years), shared an interesting part of his back-story. I was amazed for several reasons. He said several things about his previous life experiences I found most interesting.

First, he said that following high school he went to college to learn welding. That really surprised me. Please don’t take this the wrong way. No offense to welders intended, I wish I had their skill set and their ability to make a living. However, I’ve had the sense over the past four years that I’ve known the guy, that he comes from a well to do family. Most well to do families are pretty non-negotiable when it comes to the expectation that their son or daughter get a four year degree.

He also mentioned at lunch that his paternal grandfather was the basketball coach at the junior college he attended. He majored in welding one year and subsequently served as the  manager of the school’s basketball team for the next two years. Perhaps it really is, “not what you know, but who you know.” After all, his grandfather was the coach. Actually, I say all that tongue-in-cheek. The guy is really gifted and talented. When it comes to home remodeling and landscaping, he is a workhorse who knows how to do almost anything. On top of that, he’s personable, has great interpersonal relationship skills and carries his own weight. And just to think, he can also weld. Impressive!

Obviously, he was a good choice for my blog today. After all, I was surprised by his back story. I sent him a text asking: “What did your parents initially think when you expressed an interest in welding?” Instead of texting me back, he telephoned. He said, “I spent a year learning welding. In addition, I had an internship to manage the basketball team and that covered my room and board. My schooling didn’t cost much”. I laughingly responded: “Of course not! You weren’t worth much!  After all, isn’t welding a blue collar job?”   I then asked again what his folks thought about the career path he was following. He said, “My mother said what you said.” His response went over my head. I asked for clarification. He responded again: “She said what you said: ‘I wasn’t worth much. Welding is a blue collar job.’” This time we both laughed.  He said his mother had the wisdom to see the handwriting on the wall. She thought he would be better served with a 4-year degree. His dad, on the other hand, had every confidence that he would find his way. As it turned out, they both were right.

As I inferred earlier, time changes things. After serving two years as manager of the basketball team, he transferred to Northwestern State University in Natchitoches, LA, to serve as manager of their basketball team.  At some point, in Waco where his parents lived and where he grew up, he met the young lady who subsequently became his wife.  In order to be near her, he transferred from NSU to Texas State Technical College in Waco to pursue landscape design. Like I said, “When it comes to remodeling and landscaping, this guy is a workhorse.” The new skill set served him well. In the next two years he found himself on a first name basis with some of the most influential and respected folks in Dallas. In fact, he’d even been to their homes many times.

He spent most of his time in the Highland Park neighborhood and South Lake neighborhood in Dallas. The experience opened a whole new world for him. In fact, his employer rewarded him one year by bank rolling his attendance at an annual retreat held at the Ritz-Carlton, Bachelor Gulch in Beaver Creek, CO. The following year, the annual retreat was held at the Ritz-Carlton in Park City, UT. Who’s to say which was the nicest venue. I guess the young man I work with could tell you. He’s stayed at both.

That adds a whole new dimension to the concept of living life in the fast lane. In fact, one of his customers lived in a $8.9 million dollar home in Highland Park. It added a whole new dimension to being familiar with the lifestyle of the rich and famous. The owner, a retired 35-year-old man, had three Ferraris. You know what they say, “The difference between men and boys is the price of their toys.”

Of a C.E.O. of a nation-wide clothing store chain, he said, “His home was much more modest. It was only about 4,000 square feet”. The young man sharing his back story  worked for an exclusive landscaping service in Dallas that provided “white glove” services providing anything that needed to be done. They were limited to outside work, everything from pool service, fencing, lawn care, lawn irrigation, etc. If it needed to be done, this “white glove” group could do it all.

Questions he never heard from those he served included: “How much water will the lawn take to keep it green” or “how many chemicals do you have to use to keep it vividly green.” Perhaps the most prestigious home he served was located in South Lake in Dallas. The living area of the home was 11,000 square feet.

As a 22-23 year old, he was doing his part to promote the best interest for the company. His personal annual portfolio of the revenue he generated for the company from the 50 clients he served was $600,000. Impressive? You bet!

He left the fast track of Highland Park and South Lake to go back to school and get a four-year degree from Dallas Baptist University. Obviously, his mother was right. He needed the four-year college degree. From there he wound up in the world of non-profit organizations doing what he could to promote service delivery for folks from hard places.

When I told him I wanted to share his story, he subsequently texted: “Thanks for having an interest in sharing my story. I’m a firm believer that God has been in the middle of my story from the beginning. He has opened and closed so many doors in my life. Never say I’ll never do that, because God loves proving our motives and perspectives wrong, so all the glory goes to him”.

How else can I say it? “This guy knows how to make a big difference.”

All My Best!

Don

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Older Folks In The Work Force

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Do you work to live or do you live to work? I know, you’re thinking that is really a good question. Let me ask it again. Do you work to live or do you live to work? If it is true that nearly half of Americans over the age of 50 have $25,000 or less stashed away for retirement, staying in the workforce longer obviously isn’t optional. Folks will stay because they must stay. They don’t have a choice. Even Wal-Mart doesn’t have the capacity to employee enough “greeters” to keep the baby boomer generation in groceries and pay their light bills. To say that the situation is grim is an understatement.

You know there are some enterprises where a youthful workforce is anticipated and expected. In recent months I’ve been surprised by the number of obviously older people who are now behind the counter at What-A-Burger and Wendy’s. The same is true for people sacking groceries. Older folks can be found in those venues as well. All those jobs used to be reserved for high school students.

I spent three years as a soda jerk at Otto’s Ice Cream in Odessa during my high school years. Of course, it was only a part-time job, but I enjoyed the time immensely. It gave me the opportunity to have my own money. It’s a nice concept. I remember carefully saving my first few paychecks to purchase a stereo. At the rate of $.50 and hour, it took a while, but I got the record player I wanted.

Purchasing power is addictive. Obviously it works best if you’re spending a stack of cash rather than producing a plastic credit card. The plastic credit card will come back to bite you. During my growing up years my dad taught me the importance of saving for a rainy day and under very few circumstances was it ever okay to borrow money. They were good life lessons to learn.

I guess collectively as a category of older people (baby boomers), most of us experienced a significant loss of investment income in 2008 & 2009 when the market tanked. Eventually the market corrected and we recovered or at least thought we did. Investment income is still a better plan than hiding cash under the mattress. Isn’t there a Biblical parable about a servant who buried what he’d been given and figuratively came up short because he didn’t let his resources work for him?

I say this tongue-in-cheek, but it is a true statement. In recent years, the General has often made the observation that money is worth more today than it will be tomorrow. That leads to the logical conclusion of why not spend it now? She makes a good point. Inflation and spiraling costs lend some level of credence to her observation. Of course, her idea of spending it is “nickel and dime” stuff at Williams Sonoma. My ideas would lead me to a car dealer or furniture store. I prefer the higher dollar ticket items. Consequently, it’s better that I don’t go shopping.

Of course, I’m still in the workforce. For how long, who knows? I keep telling my boss, at least ten more years. On a bad day, I reduce it to nine and a half. In recent weeks, I’ve given some thought to being a little more flexible. But who is to say? It is really a tough decision.

Rather than going cold turkey and walking out the door, why not plan an extended vacation and take some time away? It seems like a good plan, but that is a lot simpler said than done. Several years ago I told a colleague, “If you can be gone for two months without someone filling your job, then we really don’t need you.” Obviously there was an element of truth in my proclamation. He took two months off work and when he returned he resigned.

In my blog yesterday, I mentioned that President Reagan was 69 years old when he began serving in the Oval Office. What an incredible undertaking! I am not yet that old, but I am dangerously close. Give me a few more days and it’s all over but the shouting. Somehow it energizes me to learn that President Reagan was older than I when he embarked on what proved to be 8 consecutive years as President of the United States. Talk about a stressful occupation. Not only did he serve his country well, he is remembered as being an exceptional leader.

The next-to-oldest President was inaugurated on March 4, 1841. William Henry Harrison may no longer hold the title as the oldest President, but he still has the distinction of having the longest inaugural speech on record. Simply put, “President Harrison was not a man of few words”. Let me put it in perspective for you. His inaugural address was approximately the length of nine of my blogs merged into a single document. Can you imagine? I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking: “Give me liberty or give me death, but please don’t give me that”.

Some said the speech literally killed him or at least was responsible for his demise. It was uncharacteristically cold and rainy that day. Yet, President Harrison followed his resolve to utter every last word he’d written down. He had no intent to abbreviate his content or hurry through the delivery. Two hours later, he was done. Thirty-one days later, he was more than done. He was dead.

Was it the weather that lowered his resistance or was it his disregard for the need to wear a coat and hat? After all, the weather was inclement. President Harrison succumbed to pneumonia exactly one month to the day from when he started office. He may have had the longest inaugural address, but he is also recognized as the shortest tenured President in U.S. history. Someone expressed it like this: “No President has ever said more or done less.”

Following his death, his widow, Anna Harrison, became the first presidential widow to receive a pension from Congress. She was awarded a one-time payment of $25,000. Interestingly, that is the same amount I referenced earlier when I suggested almost half of those over the age of 50 today have less than $25,000. If only it would go as far as it did in 1841, our circumstances wouldn’t be nearly as bleak.

All My Best!

Don

 

 

 

Secret Santa

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Let me preface my comments by saying, “I’m not feeling old.” Recently at an office Christmas party, it was suggested the oldest employee start the gift exchange. Sadly, it wasn’t a tough call for any number of people to quickly identify me by name. The project was billed “Secret Santa”. Participation was voluntary.

The employee orchestrating the project asked me about a week before the party if I was going to participate in the gift exchange portion of the party? “I’m in” was my two-word response. Her one word answer was, “Good”. She then asked me three questions: “What’s your favorite color?” “What’s your favorite drink?” and “What’s your favorite restaurant?” She then asked me to close my eyes and draw a name. It was a pretty easy process. I remembered from quickly scanning the earlier email that there was a $15 cap on gifts. I drew the name of the wife of a former employee. The two of them would be attending the party.

The morning of the party, the General asked me what I’d purchased. When I told her she said, “That’s not a good choice. I wouldn’t want that.” I wasn’t about to let her pour cold water on my parade. I had gone to Barnes and Noble and purchased a gift box of two tins of tea: Hot Cinnamon Spice and White Tea. I spent more than the allotted cap and I would have been pleased to be the recipient of the gift. What more could anyone want?

A couple of minutes before the gift exchange started, I mentioned my wife’s response to what I’d purchased to the employee who’d orchestrated the Secret Santa. Her response caught me off guard: “Did you look at the three things written at the bottom of the card containing the name of the person you’d drawn?” In my “heart of hearts” I don’t believe there was anything else written on the card, but I tossed it as soon as I captured the name in my memory, so I really don’t know.

There is nothing quite like hearing the sound of your name being called to start the gift exchange knowing you’ve already gotten it wrong. Confession is good for the soul. I shared about the dangers of multi-tasking when taking on something as serious as the Secret Santa project. I extended my apologies to the lady whose name I had drawn and assured her she’d not be receiving anything associated to her list. Awkward? “Yes”. Enough to lose sleep over? “Probably Not”. She was good with it and she graciously seemed pleased to receive the tea.

In a worst possible case scenario, subsequently, the person who had drawn my name playfully said: “I looked very carefully at your list and opted to get you everything you wanted. You’re favorite color is green. Please note: ‘The gift bag is green’”. Following his instruction, I next took out of the gift bag an empty Starbuck Cup with a prepaid certificate for a Chai Tea Latte – my favorite drink. In addition, there was a gift card for an appetizer at my favorite restaurant.   It was a delightful gift. I turned to the person who’d received my gift and said: “I feel really badly. I got everything on my list and you didn’t get anything on yours.”

Did I mention I got more than what I included on my list. The person who drew my name has a great sense of humor.  He has both subtly mentioned and not so subtly mentioned that I use too many words when I write.  He thoughtfully included a dictionary.  Actually, it was entitled “The Devil’s Dictionary”.  I’m not sure of the intent or the message being communicated, but it was good for a laugh.

Lesson learned: “If we do the Secret Santa next year, I’ll read the email and pay closer attention”. Did it bother me that I was quickly identified as the oldest employee? “Maybe? – Maybe not?” Maybe I’m in denial, but I can’t really be old enough to be this old. They put horses out to pasture before now and I’m delusional enough to think I’m keeping up with the pace. Actually, that’s not true. What I really think is: “Catch me if you can!” I told you I was delusional.

Besides that, I like hanging out with the millennial crowd. They fall in the 18-to-34 year-old-age group. I like the way they think. I like the way they act. Actually, at times I think I have more in common with them than folks within twenty years of my age. (I am mostly joking). Besides the fact that millennials were seemingly born with a smart phone in their hand and the innate ability to make it do things I’ll never figure out on my phone, they are quite skilled at one-on-one verbal interaction. They have good ideas and new ways of doing things and they want a seat at the table in any discussion that can make the program better.

They want the freedom to exercise creativity and be autonomous at work. They don’t see themselves as married to the job (til’ death do us part), but they are going to give the job everything they have to offer until they opt to do something different. They aren’t necessarily dependent on the company’s career ladder, they prefer to be captain of their own ship and chart their own course.

While they want to earn a living, the sense of doing something purposeful and meaningful trumps the income level. It is important to them to feel like they are making a difference. Job satisfaction isn’t tied to opportunities for advancement. They are more passionate about having a purpose than having a title.

The long and short of it is they are my kind of people.  That is a good thing, because by 2020, it is estimated that 50% of the workforce will be millennials.

All My Best!

Don

Delayed Gratification Is A Sign Of Maturity

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I am probably pushing the envelope on my luck. My daughter and her husband prefer to keep a low profile. It’s not that they are purposefully secretive or trying to hide anything, but they certainly don’t fall into the category of “if you’ve got it, flaunt it”. In many respects they live simply. They both work long hours and when they are not working, they prefer to be home. As a rule of thumb they are both frugal. Whatever activities they may plan for leisure generally include their two labs. They are doting pet owners. (I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that doting pet owners/frugal is an oxymoron.) Perhaps I should say, apart from the dogs they are frugal. They integrate the things they value most in their lives and generally don’t opt to color outside the lines.

The General (aka – my wife) and I have the good fortune of sharing time with them often. As a rule of thumb, the four of us share Sunday dinner together. However, we are not an enmeshed family. They have a very full life apart from us and we likewise are very busy and engaged with others.

It may surprise you, but at times I may have a tendency to offer unsolicited advice. After all, wasn’t “Father Knows Best” popular in our childhood? Without fail, every time I take that approach Andrea calls my hand on it. Whatever question I’ve asked or opinion I’ve expressed, Andrea’s automatic default response is, “I hope you’re as engaging in the details of Craig and Becky’s life as you are ours.” That generally leaves both of us smiling and ends whatever conversation or advice I wanted to share. She is really good at her game. She didn’t have to take assertive training classes during her childhood, she simply watched the General at work and adapted the same approach.

The only time I’ve knowingly overstepped boundaries was shortly after Andrea and Kevin’s marriage nine years ago. Actually, I think the dialogue was between Andrea and I, but I’m sure she communicated it to Kevin. Andrea had been in a car accident and totaled her two-year old vehicle. I made the assumption they would purchase a new car.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking smart people don’t buy new cars. They buy one a couple of years old and avoid all the depreciation. The first car the General and I purchased together reportedly was a “demonstrator” from a car dealer. I think it had 3,000 miles on it. When all the title related documents came back, they reflected the car had been previously purchased by a car rental agency nine months before. Somehow that just put a sour taste in my mouth. Since that time, I’ve never bought a used car unless it was an “extra” and secondary to my need for dependable transportation.

Being a supportive father and father-in-law, I offered to go car shopping with Andrea and Kevin. You probably won’t be surprised to learn that they didn’t need my help. They didn’t say that, but they didn’t invite me to go with them either.

So what did they buy? They bought a Nissan Murano. It was two or three years old, in mint condition, had all the bells and whistles and only had 60,000 miles. I didn’t ask the cost, but Andrea volunteered the information. “Dad we got a really good deal. It only cost $….”.  I’m still hoping that my gasp wasn’t audible, but they could have bought a new car without the frills for about the same price. The new car would have been under warranty. The, “I’m really happy for you,” that came from my lips probably didn’t sound sincere (I guess you could file that away as a white lie).

That was about the time I discovered I needed blood pressure medication. What were they thinking? It was abundantly clear to me that the car had been salvaged from a Houston flood and would be anything other than dependable, stable transportation. Of course, I know nothing about automobiles. It was just a worst-case possible scenario. For some reason that seemed like a rational conclusion.

In the years that followed, do you have any idea how many times I bit my tongue and didn’t say, “If you had followed by advice…?” Actually, I’m smarter than that. I have carefully voided that phrase. I waited about four years and when the vehicle was in the automotive repair shop (chronic issue related to “check engine” light being illuminated for the thousandth time), I simply said, “I’m hopeful you’ll opt for a new car with warranty next time.”

In the preceding nine years, never once have I heard either Kevin or Andrea say they wish they had a new car. From time to time, they’d say, “Car repairs are still better than car payments.” Actually, that made me proud. I couldn’t agree more (Well, up to a point).

Today Andrea and Kevin had other plans for after church, so we didn’t share lunch. Mid-afternoon, Andrea telephoned and asked if they could stop by for a visit. I don’t know why they always call before they come over unless it is simply to role model what they expect from us if we are headed their way. For the record, we always call first.

Barnabas announced their arrival before they made it to the front door. I walked outside and couldn’t believe my eyes. Wow! They were in a new car. It was a dark metallic blue 2015 Audi crossover. Both smiled when they told me it was new. It only had seven miles on it when they picked it up. Kevin also said, “Don, You’ll be glad to know it has a 50,000 mile warranty)

One of defining characteristics of Andrea is her willingness to wait to get what she wants. After looking at the color options, she wanted the dark metallic blue. Unfortunately, the only choices available were white, black, grey and another shade of blue. Consequently, she opted to order the car and wait. She had a good point. If you only buy a car every nine years or so, you might as well get what you want.

I was a little surprised when Andrea and Kevin said they placed the order for the car in November. Reportedly, they anticipated it would take three months, not five. They also picked the car up from the dealer a week ago. That being said, the General and I are the first to know. Because of the rain this past week, Andrea opted not to drive the car to work. Like I said, they are private people. I doubt that they mention the new car to anyone. I guess that is an extra advantage of reading my blog. I tell everything I know.

All My Best!

Don