October 13, 2009

It's October 13th. There's a definite fall chill in the air this morning. I know from watching the weather on last nights news show that today is suppose to be a near perfect fall day. Sunny and in the lower seventies. Here in my adopted homeland that's not an unusual occurrence this time of year. Fall can ramble on here well into November.

Having grown up in the Chicago area, I remember that this time of year usually signaled first snowfall. For us as children this was an exciting time of year. Halloween. Thanksgiving. CHRISTMAS!!! Trick or treating. Snowball fights. Sled hills. Turkey with all the fixin's. NEW TOYS!!!

It's funny how one's perspective on this time of year changes with age. Don't get me wrong, I still love this time of year. Just not for the same reasons. Halloween. I can hardly afford food on my own table these days. I have to buy bags of candy for these costumed juvenile delinquents! Thanksgiving. I have type 2 diabetes. Can't eat like I use to. I go for that second piece of pumpkin pie and get my hand slapped by my beautiful young bride. Christmas. Five kids. Three kids-in-law. Five grandchildren. Need I say more! Snow. That's where the good comes in. Here in the south we don't see first snowfall until late December, early January. And as far as I'm concerned, if I never saw a flake again, it wouldn't break my heart. Yes, fall is a slow moving season here in the south. Just the way I like it.

But it's October 13th. Tuesday. New music release day. Two weeks before Halloween. On Tuesday's my regular routine is I arise, turn and grab my iPhone off it's charging cradle next to my bed to check out new music in the iTunes store. Look! New Bob Dylan! Let's check that out!! Tap on the first track to listen to the sample. "Here Comes Santa Claus"!

Oh, that's just so wrong in so many different ways!

Shannon

I had to bring out the "shared" suit last Sunday. It was for me this time, not Number One. I was going to meet My Lovely Brides' second cousin, Shannon. We had never previously met. I had met his parents, Lynn (My Lovely Brides cousin) and her husband Keith and most of the other relatives on that side of the family that would also be in attendance. And, let me say, My Lovely Brides father, having had thirteen brothers and sisters, made for a rather large number of Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Second Cousins, etc. But Shannon and I had never met.

I had heard stories of this young man. Number Four was not only related to him, but they were friends. He had come up to her in middle school, shortly after she moved back from New Jersey, and introduced himself by bounding up to her and saying "hey, we're related...somehow!" Number Four had no clue who this loud, happy, vivacious young male was. They become friends for a lifetime.

I knew he had entered the Marines after high school. I knew he had returned safely home to the loving arms of this large family. I knew he had moved last year out to the coast with some friends and was working and going to school there. Certainly a daunting task for any young person. But I knew as well it was the coast and how the sun drenched warmth of a Carolina beach could feel.

But Shannon and I had never met. Until last Sunday at Brookwood Church.

The church parking lot was literally overflowing. There was a large crowd milling about by the front door on this warm, sunny, beautiful Carolina afternoon. As we entered the front door of the church we met Uncle John. He greeted us warmly. It had been over a year since we had last seen him. His resemblance to my late father-in-law always brings a happy warm feeling to me. We continued on inside and got in line to enter the sanctuary.

So many people. So many young people. Pictures flashed on large screens above the filled room. Pictures of a happy child, from infancy through high school. I recognized other family members in these pictures flashing above our heads. A lifetime revealed. We continued to move forward. And there, standing in the front of the sanctuary we saw Cousin Lynn and her husband Keith. Standing in front of there twenty-four year old son's casket, stoically greeting this seemingly endless line of people. This is were I would finally meet Shannon.

My Lovely Bride embraced her cousin. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. We cried. We all cried. I cried for the parents, having to bury their child. I cried for the grandparents, having to bury their baby boy. I cried for family who would never again see that tremendous smile. I cried for the friends who had lost one of their own. I cried for Shannon. I wished so I had met him before.

At the end of the day I returned the suit to it's place in my closet. As I hung it up I quietly whispered to it, you'll come back out in a few weeks and you'll see. It will get better. Next is a wedding. I promise. We'll dance.

Ladies and Gentleman...The Beatles!

Nothing else so effected my life growing up as The Beatles did. They helped shape my voracious love of music as well as lead me to a social standard which I still adhere to today.

I so clearly remember the first time I heard "Please Please Me". That 45 starting to spin on the old Silvertone Stereo Phonograph. The arm swinging over and slowly lowering. Those first crackles and pops that emanated from the little speakers. Then...those first two guitar notes followed by the harmonica. Amazing! And here we are, forty-six years later and this wondrous catalog of music has been re-mastered and re-released to yet another generation.

But this next generation. Do they have what it takes? Do they have the will and fortitude to carry our legacy another forty-six years? Will this music enable a shy, introverted nine year old to get up in front of his whole elementary school with three other shy, introverted friends with homemade instruments and lip-sync four consecutive Beatles songs? Uh, huh! I think not!! (Really...it was a "friend" of mine...)

Can this music touch a shy, introverted thirteen year old boy enough to put his speakers up in the open window of his second floor bedroom to blair "Helter Skelter" for all the neighborhood to hear? Uh, huh! I think not!! (Again, really...it was a "friend" of mine...)

Will some shy, introverted fifteen year old boy be so deeply moved as to struggle to learn to play "Here Comes The Sun" on his new Epiphone electric guitar for that sweet little fourteen year old girl he's sure he will marry some day? Uh, huh! I think not!! (Again, really...it was a "friend" of mine...)

Our children of today plug their headphones into their iPods and head blankly down that heavy metal, hard rock, hip-hop primrose path. The noise in their ears a mere soundtrack for their life. Our love's being lost. Our values torn asunder. It leaves us, the boomer generation to question, where did it all go?

Then. Oh, yes, then. Number one has the nerve, the unmitigated gall, to ask me...that old guy...Paul McCartney...he was really in a band before Wings?

Empty Nest

This is the second time I have become an empty nester. I would imagine it's not that uncommon any more considering the divorce rate these days. My step-son, Number Five, left for his college journey two weeks ago. He's up in the mountains, a two hour drive from home. Just the right distance. Not too close, but not too far away. It's still been a harder adjustment for me than I thought it would.

Each one of the children leaving has been a different experience. When son, Number One, now thirty years old, left for college he went a mere thirty-five miles away. It could have been a million. I was left at home with one crazy, now ex-wife and two teenage girls. I visited him quit often. It was so traumatic that I even found his cafeteria food tasty! I became somewhat of a regular. When he joined a fraternity his nickname was Captain. I was Admiral!

When daughter, Number Two, now twenty-eight, left it was...phew! See ya! Good luck! She was ready to get out and let us know by being a real pain-in-the ass for the months leading up to the departure. She had it all figured out. No interest in continuing her education, she had a job and she could afford to be living on her own. Just not too far away from home. This monumental move was a mere other side of town move. Close enough to come home and raid the kitchen pantry before heading on to that high paying job.

When daughter, Number Three, now twenty-six, left it was the first empty nest experience. This was my little baby girl moving out the day after her high school graduation. This was a real tough one. After all, hadn't it been just the other day I had put her on a bus heading off to kindergarten? And worst of all...I'm left alone with a crazy, now ex-wife! No need to fear! Number One decides he needs to save money for a car and replaces Number Three! Empty nest lasted, oh, a couple of months.

Speed ahead a few years to divorce then re-marriage. Step-daughter, Number Four, now twenty-three, is somewhat a rerun of Number Two (with a little bit of Number Three thrown in). So much in fact that that's the nickname I give her...Rerun. But she ads a new twist. She is sure living on her own is a must after high school graduation, but still can't decide on the higher education thing. So, Rerun also becomes a boomerang! Over the past four years she's been in and out three times! Number Five and I have told her the first three were on the house. Next time we charge professional movers rates! The most famous move was a three day college career at the Savannah College of Art and Design. We refer to that as Number Four's belongings visit Savannah, Georgia for the weekend. But that's a blog for another day. Anyway, Number Four is settled into college thirty miles away. Happy and content for now and still close enough to raid our pantry.

So here I am. I have a beautiful young bride I love to pieces and am looking forward to growing old with. I miss them all but I'm starting to get into this new phase of life. The one thing is...I want you kids to know...I leave the light on every night in the living room by the front door for all of you. We did change the locks though...

The Dance

Retirement welcomes me back with open arms. That was the shortest stint of my glorious career. Seven days. Someday I'll find it real funny. Not so much yet.

So here's how it went down (and I'm not fictionalizing names to protect the innocent, because, damn it, they're GUILTY AS HELL!).

The company is Roto-Plate, Inc of Burlington, NC. They claim to be "Providers of plates and graphics for the flexo industry since 1974." I went through two lengthy interviews with the owner, Jim Freeman and his new sidekick, Dan Allen. They called me. I had yet to send out a resume.

I was fawned over. I was courted. We did the hiring dance. I was made an offer. I countered their offer. They countered back. I accepted. Feelings were good. The future looked so bright I probably needed shades...ooops...although they had lost their largest account just weeks before. Timing is everything, isn't it?

OK. All right. I still believed in my fellow human being and that these were two good people who wanted to succeed. Not twenty-four hours later Mr. Freeman is on the phone with me rescinding his offer. "Although we really want you on-board, we can only afford you at $1 less an hour than what we talked about yesterday."

OK. All right. Should have seen it at this point. But he sounds like such a nice, sincere man. I'm there with you, man. I think I can contribute to righting your listing ship.

Fool me once...

Monday, August 3, 2009 I report for work. The reception by fellow employees is a little cool, but hey, it's Monday morning. I spend that first day being shown around, filling out piles of paperwork and getting settled in on a new computer. Tuesday I get down to it. I receive approximately twenty-five minutes of training by the now rapidly cooling staff. I'm in. Slapped on the back and shoved into the deep end. Sink or swim. Good luck buddy.

Wednesday through Friday we're heading into the dead of winter. These people surrounding me are not happy people. I go about doing the work I'm given to the best of my ability with the limited training I've received.

Monday. I explained to them that between the time of the first interview and the hiring I had been chosen for jury duty. No problem, they say. Four and a half hours of listening about the true scum of the county later I roll into work. Ice. No other way of explaining it.

OK. All right. Let's get to the punchline...

Tuesday. Same 'ole same 'ole. Until 4:15pm. Mr. Allen comes to fetch me. Mr. Freeman would like to talk to us. I walk into the same conference room where we had fawned and courted and danced. Whoa! Instant deep freeze!! " I finally had a chance to get with my accountant who has been out of town and...well...it's not good" says Mr. Freeman. "We're bleedin'. We're a bleedin' bad." says Mr. Allen. "We've decided to let you go at this time so you can get on with finding employment" says Mr Freeman in that, I'm doing you a big favor voice. They couldn't have gained this nugget of information before we danced? Oh, of course. Busy, busy accountant. Lucky we found him at all, they tell me. All I could say was "you should have known this before you put me and my family through this." I packed my stuff and left.

Fool me twice...

...ain't gonna happen! I'm going for dance lessons!!

Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho...

It's off to work I went!

Coming out of retirement was tough. Especially on short notice (one week). So, I ran around and tried to accomplish everything I had left on my to-do list. Didn't even come close. The to-do's will just have to wait. In these economic times when someone comes a calling with a job, there isn't much of a way you can turn it down.

There's that unsettling feeling when you start a new job. At least for me. It's the same feeling I had when I was a kid in school. The first day of the school year. Who would be in my class? Where would my classroom be located? Would I be able to remember my locker combination? Did I have cool enough new sneakers? I just couldn't sleep well the night before.

Last night my lovely bride and I sat in bed talking until almost 1am. She sensed I was nervous. So we tried to remember the seven dwarfs names (since my alarm was set to go off with "Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho" from the movie with Snow White and said dwarfs.

Sneezy...Dopey...Happy...Grumpy... Well we had four. Now what were the other three...

Gripey...no.

Cheesy...no.

Sleezy...no that was from the X-rated version

Foggy...

Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho
It's home from work we go
[Whistle]

Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho

Grrrrrrrrrrrrr...6:30 already! Damn alarm!

Mustard, no ketchup, please...

The Oscar Meyer Wienermobile made it's yearly appearance in front of the Jewel Supermarket every summer when I was a kid. Me and all my buddies would hop on our Schwinn Stingray's and race uptown on the appointed day and time to wait for that beautiful, tricked out vehicle to arrive.

Watching it glide into the shopping center, it was truly a thing of beauty. It would come to a slow stop right in front of us. After several minutes that cool doorway would slide up, the stairs would fold down, and there would be our Oscar Meyer Wienermobile driver to greet us in there official Oscar Meyer uniform. We would get a tour of this incredible high tech road warrior, a quick sales pitch about our favorite hot dogs, then he handed out those neat little hot dog whistles. Shaped and colored like a little Oscar Meyer Wiener, boy they were loud! It was no wonder our mom's loved them so!

Last week as my lovely bride and I were finishing up dinner I was checking the news on my iPhone and there it was. What has to rank up there with one of the most horrific news stories of this year. I let out a loud gasp. A tear formed in the corners of my eye. I just couldn't fully comprehend it at first, but there was the picture. The Oscar Meyer Wienermobile had crashed into a residence in southern Wisconsin.

This news, along with the sudden death...at the age of 95...of the chairman of the board of Oscar Meyer processed meats, Mr. Oscar Mayer just the week before was devastating. Those wistful summer days of my youth rushed through my head. It seemed as though a part of me was now gone. I felt like I should be rummaging through my old boxes in storage to try and find one of those wonderful little whistles to sound in honor of the passing.

Oh, the humanity!