22 days and counting. That is the number of days until Debs and Tom stand before the Judge (sorry Minister) and repeat their vows. This is the most serious of all ceremonies because if anyone objects they are asked to "speak up now or forever hold your peace". Forever is a long time. Scary.
Your mom and I have talked about taking an ocean cruise for a long time but neither of us is too anxious to get sequestered on a big ship for very long. The stories of virus outbreaks aboard ship are numerous. Also boats sink. And mom can't swim!
Well I had a dream last night about going on a cruise. We succumbed to the enchantment of taking a maiden voyage on a new ship of the White Star Line. The dream had us going first class and we had quarters on the promenade deck. That meant we dined with the Captain (at his table) each night.
It was glorious. We sat in the sun, read famous novels and I oogled bodies at the pool. And we ate and ate some more. We had breakfast, a morning brunch, lunch, an afternoon snack, and an evening dinner. Then there was the bedtime snack. By the time you leave the ship your body shape has changed and your walk becomes a "waddle". Of course in my dream, the drinks and food are incredibly scrumptious and there is no weight gain. I can do that because it is my dream.
Very vivid in my mind is the first night at sea. They have an identification card in front of each "place setting" at the Captain's table. My card for some reason says Mr. Isidor Straus. Maybe that was my name in another life.
Then my dream becomes disturbing. Your mom and I are awakened from a deep sleep by a "shutter" in the ship. It is followed by a crewman telling us to report to the deck and find the nearest life boat. I assume we hit another ship. I knew it! We take our first cruise and the damn boat sinks. Double damn!
Then I awake in a cold sweat! Earlier in the day we had taken a tour of a "Titanic Artifact Exhibition" in Oshkosh at their Public Museum. You are given a replica boarding pass as you enter the exhibit and you carry that card with you until the end of the exhibit. Mine says Isidor Straus. You get to find out if your simulated character survived the Titanic ordeal. It turns out that Isidor was traveling back to New York with his wife Roselie. The Straus family owned Macy's in New York and of course traveled first class. It turns out that Roselie would not enter a lifeboat without her husband. What a gal! They both died.
As we entered the Oshkosh exhibit, your mom was assigned a boarding pass in the assumed name of Charlotte Collyer, a woman with tuberculosis headed to Idaho and a better climate. She was traveling second class. Your mom survived.
Actually the Titanic exhibit was interesting but it did nothing to encourage me to step on to a large cruise ship. The new release of an updated version of the Poseidon Adventure doesn't do much for my confidence. Having dinner with the Captain in an upside down ship is not appealing.
So Grasshoppers, you are controlled by your dreams and fears. Trust your instincts. Go with what feels good. For me cruise ships conjure up bad thoughts and I have no desire to "go there". Call it a premonition.
Love,
Dad
Insanity deals with madness or something extremely foolish.
Johnny Cash has a song about a man who is going to die on the gallows in 25 minutes. The first line of the song is "they are building a gallows outside my door, 25 minutes to go". He sings about each descending minute until he reaches 0 minutes and then of course he hangs. Well, I don't equate the upcoming nuptials of Debs and Tom to hanging on the gallows, but there are 25 days until that commitment of "I do". I do considered it my duty to remind both Debs and Tom how many days until that make that final exchange of vows. 25 Days and counting. I don't know why I've included their upcoming marriage under the subject of insanity? Ha.
Now the real insanity. I was scheduled to play golf today, Tuesday April 25, 2006. I had all the high tech weather data in front of me so I could make an intelligent decision. Forecast was for a cold front to be passing through. We would tee off in 39 degree weather at 8:30 AM and finish around noon (temperature forecast to be 47 degrees). Wind was out of the north at 15-25 mph. I figure a rational man would call his golfing buddy and they would reschedule to another day with better temperatures. The buddy said that the weather forecast was a worst case scenerio and that we should play anyway. So the Prince of Pride (me) says, alright you a--h---, if you want to golf, we'll golf. I will not get a reputation for whimping out (Chris call those kinds of people a wooss?).
We were to play south of Fond du lac. We were to meet first at Schrieners restaurant and ride together to the golf course. So I drove all the way to Fond du lac with every piece of warm clothing I could find. My back seat was filled with sweatshirts, jackets and hats.
Well my golf buddy shows up in the 37 degree temperatures with the northwind blowing and he says, maybe we should reschedule. Again I thought, you a--h---. You made me drive all the way from Appleton to Fond du lac and then you decide to whimp out. He didn't have to ask the question about cancelling again. We had breakfast with hot coffee at Schrieners and then I drove home in the warm comfort of my Saab. I felt pretty good because I had won the game of "Chicken" by forcing my buddy to back-out first. Take that!
So let me see. I drove to Fond du lac and back, a total of 80 miles at a cost of $.40/mile. That was $32 dollars. Then breakfast with tip came to another $8. $40 to prove that I was more macho than my buddy. I win. I think I won. Come to think of it we both lost. What a bunch of losers.
Insanity is thinking you will enjoy playing golf in 40 degree temperatures with a strong north wind. But I have my pride. I made him chicken out.
My lesson grasshoppers is that you should be aware of tripping over your pride. It is a stupid trip.
Love,
Dad
I have mentioned "fabric of life" in previous blogs. My Grandma Myrna's life was inextricably intertwined with the City Club. The history, the tradition and the people that made up her life comprised her life fabric. Your life too is made up of your Grandma, Grandpa, Mom and Dad, spouses, brothers, sisters, Loves, children, grandchildren, acquaintances, fellow workers, teachers, childhood friends and more. You can't escape the entanglement of emotion, commitments and obligations. You are defined by your personal "life fabric".
In my spare time, I got to thinking about life fabric. Some people's lives could be described as woolen meaning a strong natural weave, warm and high quality. Other people could be cashmere which would be soft, elegant and aloof. How about life fabric being denim? Or gunny sack (gunny is a coase scratchy material)? How many people do you know that might be described as having a life analogous to gunny sack? The list is long. Silk! Polyester! Cotton!
Now you can begin to expand the fantasy. Colors. Some people have "black" fabric lives. Some with white might think they can do no wrong. Reds, blues, hues, rainbows and natural tones.
Some of life's fabric is imperfect. It can have holes in it. It can be tattered and torn. It can be dirty or clean.
The material of your life can have buttons, zippers, and decorative sequins.
Fabric can be treated with "fabric softener" to make it artificially soft and smell good (or stink dependig on your point of view).
You can take your life analysis to the level of fairy-tales. There is the story of Rumplestiltskin who had the fair maiden spin threads of gold. Or there is the story of the Emperor Who Wore No Clothes. This would be for people who live a fantasy life (a world of their own).
How would I describe my life fabric? For sure it is weathered. It is strong to have survived this long. It is colorful based on the people that are in it (or have been in it). It is practical. It is woven with purpose. It almosts sounds like cotton or wool. I don't know. I want it to be silk, expensive and striking. Ha.
So Grasshoppers, the lesson is that your life is woven together with the people and events of your life. The fabric of your life defines you. You can't deny it. It is a woven maze of experiences. Wear it proudly.
The question is "How would you describe the fabric of your life"?
Love,
Dad
Imagine if I went to a high school class reunion and got elected most popular at the reunion. In all the excitement, I had a minor heart problem causing me to pass out. The next thing you know, I woke up at an earlier time. I was back in my sophomore year of high school. It was 1956. My dad was still alive. I was dating Shelby on a steady basis. Myrna was in her early years of marriage (at age 55) to the debonaire Chuck Andes (the jerk from Pennsylvania).
The important part of this exercise of going back in time is "I know everything that I have learned in life and I take that knowledge backward with me". Would I change anything? The perfect answer is "I wouldn't" change a thing"! I don't want to answer too quick because this is my fantasy and I have time to wrestle with the facts.
I would minimize the love side of the world and marry for money. But wait, I could have both. The knowledge I carried back in time would provide the riches. I would beg, borrow, or steal every share of IBM, Yahoo and Microsoft stock I could get my hands on and ride them to riches. Hey, I could still marry for love and have the money too.
I could experience all the old early TV shows like The Texaco Hour with Uncle Milty, The George Gobel Show, Wells Fargo starring Dale Robertson, and Howdy Dowdy. Buffalo Bob's famous reprise to Howdy Doody (the dummy) when he was excited was "Cowaubunga Kemosabe". Wow, that cry would give me chills.
I could drive my old '51 oldsmobile convertible with my best girl. I could drive my dad's new '56 Dodge four door with push buttom drive and aerodynamic fins. (My dad bought a Dodge? Nobody in their right mind drives a Dodge!).
I would experience the ambiance of the City Club Rooms.
I would have about a year to influence my Dad's early demise. Could I change it? Would I change it? Of course, I'd change it if I could. He and I were constantly at "war", but he was still a great Dad and it would be special if he had been able to see his kids grow up. Hey, with the knowlege I had, I could make him rich too! His biggest problem was he had a champagne appetite and a beer income. I could have steered him to a champagne income. I know Jack's life would have been different. Addie and Jerry could have used a good dad in their lives.
In my real life, starting at UW-Oshkosh was good because it helped me develop self-confidence. In my fantasy return to '56, I would already be confident and I would attend Harvard or the Pennsylvania School of Business (Wharton). What the hell? Juice up my credentials.
I could talk to my old friends. Real high school friends. Bernie Stellmacher. Charlie Gertz. Richard and Roger Shovan. Hey, Bill and Dick Mueller. Bob Becker. John Zelm. Jim Owens. And the list goes on.
Maybe I could have shaped world events. Imagine knowing the date of Kennedy being shot and maybe preventing it. Or knowing the significance and timing of the events of 9/11? Could they have been changed?
If you really want to "juice up" the return to 1956 exercise, imagine having one week to study everything that occured during your lifetime BEFORE you go back in time. You could get rich immediately with things you knew about the financial markets starting in 1956.
Then imagine waking up. It was all a dream. Everything is back to "normal"!
The real life ride for me has been rewarding. I married for love, had 5 great children, experienced a better than average career and have been pretty much accountable for all my actions. I don't think I'd really change much. Besides, I'm tired and I don't have the energy to go back and do it again.
My lesson Grasshopppers is you should enjoy the ride. You can fantasize all you want, but upon reflection, you probably wouldn't change much either. The good things are all around you. Your life is evolving as you read this.
Love,
Dad
This blog touches Jenny's occupation of making people look nice. You know! Hair color, hair perm, hair color and hair style. For Jenny, it is like having an annuity because people keep coming back to look nice.
It began with my Grandpa Chalk's barbershop. The City Club had a barbershop next to the Mill Street entrance to the tavern. He would trim my hair "for fun" and then tease me about getting a shave. I remember him wrapping a hot towel around my face to soften up my beard (remember I was 5 years old) and I couldn't stand the heat. I would toss the towel off and everybody would laugh. By the way, you didn't call for an appointment, you sat in the barbershop until it was your turn, and then you got your haircut.
In the 50's while going to high school, haircuts were simple. Mly dad said I could have a crewcut, a crewcut, or a crewcut. The theory was that it was easy to shower and no combing was required. Afterall, that is what athletes do. So I went to the local barber, paid my $1.00 and walked out with a crewcut (also called a flat-top or a zip). If you look at my wedding picture, I was still sporting a "zip".
Then as my life began to change, I decided that engineers and business people didn't have a "zip". They had longer hair that was combed for a groomed look. The groomed haircut was still simple and cost between $1.00-$2.00.
My Vollrath years (70's and early 80's) included Ansel Tupper. He had a barbershop on Calumet in Sheboygan. He was flexible. You could ask for a longer cut or a shorter cut or anything in between. It didn't make any difference. He always cut the same. By then the cost had climbed to $4.00-$5.00.
We moved to Appleton in the mid 80's and I was referred to an old time barber by some of the employees at Artfaire. The "old time barber" must have cut hair in the army because when you left his shop you looked like you had been skinned. The panic was on to find someone else.
Shelby indicated that many guys frequented the shop where she went and they could get their hair styled anyway they wanted. I was persuaded to try it.
So I met Mark, my hair stylist. Whoa, whoa, whoa! My own hair stylist. He is a good conversationalist and we share common subjects like cars, boats, and philosophy of life. My haircut has changed. Now I get an appointment. Mark won't cut my hair unless he shampoos it first. He has a tendancy to make every haircut the same even though he asks me how I'd like it styled. He does try. $23. Now if you go to a hair stylist you are suppose to tip. I give $3-$4 in tip (almost as much as I was paying originally in Sheboygan). Then to hold the styled hair in place, I should use a natural hair spray that he sells. Another $11.95. Of course for compatibility, the natural shampoo is the right choice. Another $10.00. I left Mark's shop last week and I had spent $49.00. What the hell? I am still not sure whether I'm suppose to tip on just the haircut (at $23) or the total (around $45).
How did this happen? From a "zip" for $1.00 as a kid to $50 for the full treatment. I get the full treatment alright. The only thing getting clipped is my wallet. Retired people should not have to endure this extravagant treatment.
Why do I go back? Because I'm stupid! The conversation is good and the haircut is reasonable. Besides I'm too lazy to look for another barber.
In hindsight, my Grandpa Chalk should have continued as a barber and ignored the tavern business. Hair stylists have got to be living the good life with all the exorbitant fees they charge.
My lesson grasshoppers is that it is difficult to avoid getting clipped in life. You have to decide whether the fee you pay is worth the fleecing you get.
Love,
Dad
I unknowningly participated in simplistic business research when I was a kid growning up at the City Club. I didn't realize the magnitude of the research at the time, but in hindsight it taught me valuable lessons.
My Grandma Myrna had invited "Big John" from Sheboygan Restaurant Supply to stop at the City Club to discuss "shot glasses". She bought most of her restaurant supplies from Big John. I think I was about 12 years old at the time and I was invited to this serious meeting. The objective was to find a new "shot glass" for the bar. You know, the old "shot and a beer" routine. The new "glass" must hold less booze but look like it was actually more. Huh?
Big John brought along 10-15 different shot glasses for review. The City Club had a habit of filling shot glasses to the very top to make the customer feel that he got his moneys worth. Acceptable practice is to deliver a minimum of 1 ounce of liquor. Myrna wanted to find a glass that (1) delivered at least an ounce of booze, (2) looked like there was a lot of booze in the glass, and (3) actually delivered less liquor than the present glass. She was looking for the perfect shot.
There is big money in shots of booze. You get about 30 shots from a bottle of brandy and you can do the math. If you get $1.00 per shot (I actually don't know current rates), a bottle of brandy can produce $30 in revenue. If a bottle of brandy costs $10, the profit would be $20. Pretty good profit margin. Now imagine if you could get 35-40 shots from that same $10 bottle of Brandy. Hey, we were talking major profit improvement.
We lined up all the potential new shot glasses on the bar and carefully filled each with one ounce of Brandy. The one that filled closest to the top of the glass and looked like it contained the most booze would be the winner. I never realized how many deceptive ways you can design glass bubbles into the bottom of a glass to make it look full. There was one glass that did it all. It looked full and it wasn't. It reduced the amount of booze in each shot but because it looked very full, the customer would feel good. Myrna would improve her profit on a bottle of Brandy by 10%-20%. Big John got a order for a gross of new shot glasses. Everybody wins.
In reality everybody didn't win. The customer was being deceived into believing he was getting a whopping shot glass of booze and he was actually getting less. What the hell! He was happy and didn't know the difference.
Why recount this early business research? Well I went to buy a tube of "Obsession After Shave" at Marshall Fields. I got the Obsession shave balm for $35. They give you a travel kit along with a small sample of Obsession. You walk home with the big bag of stuff which makes you feel like you got your money's worth. They always give the kit so it was the same last time I bought it. When I got home I placed the tube of new after shave next to the old one. I noticed the new quantity of after shave was 5 flluid ounces. The old tube was 6.7 fluid ounces. I checked my last purchase and found I paid the same price. So let me see, I got 1.7 less ounces of after shave in a flashy presentation for the same price. Most people wouldn't think about it but I just got screwed out of 1.7 ounces, a 25% price increase. Damn! I may just go back to English Leather.
So my lesson Grasshoppers is that most things in life are not as they seem. Isn't that a revelation. Stay alert. Spend you money wisely. Don't let the world switch your shot glasses.
Love,
Dad
For those of you who remembered our 46th wedding anniversary, a sincere thank you for all the congratulatory messages. For those of you who didn't remember, it is too late to apologize. Some of you Grasshoppers will be dis-inherited and Ryan Eisenhardt will be adopted. Can you believe Ryan personally conveyed his congratulations.
My bride and I celebrated by dining out and exchanging "cards". Actually she misplaced her card to me and I've got to wait until she finds it. I've got a lot of jokes that could be offered here, but I refrain.
I do remember our wedding day, April 2, 1960. I was a student at UW-Oshkosh studying to be a math teacher and looking forward to a lifetime of financial riches. Yeah, right. Our lifetime commitment was made on a weekend. No trips to the Bahamas. No excursions to Europe. Nope. I had to be back in school by Monday morning.
I got home from school on Friday night, stayed at home (City Club) and looked forward to Saturday's events. I remember having a black suit that fit kind of funny but it had to do. I got dressed Saturday morning and wandered down to the bar room in search of someone that could help me with my tie. Chuck Andes was available. He gave me instructions on how to do a "double knot". I remember patrons of the City Club launching a series of jokes about marriage and laughter abounded.
We got married in the Plymouth Catholic Church Rectory at around 11:00 AM. The rectory? Yep, small and intimate. The Priest was Father Ziegler. He was elderly and rather perfunctory in his approach. I don't know why, but I remember the rectory was decorated rather blandly and it seemed musty. As sunlight streamed in the windows, I could see dust mites drifting on the rays.
Attending the ceremony were George and Lyla, Grandma Alice and her dad, Jiggs. I think Addie and Jerry Lee were present. Chuck and Myrna where there. I hope I haven't forgotten anyone! Maybe Aunt Francis?
You get the picture. Two 19 years olds ready to face everything that the world had to offer.
The actual marriage ceremony was short. I don't think I missed any of the "lines" that you repeat after the Priest. We exchanged gold band wedding rings.
Your mom says she remembers the kiss after the Priest said "you may kiss the bride". She said it wasn't your average peck on the lips. It was a long passionate kiss. That kiss sealed the deal. Together forever! Does anyone really understand the enormity of the commitment?
We had an intimate dinner at Riverdale in Sheboygan and mostly family attended. It was one of those April days with clouds and sun alternating thoughout the day. A reception was held back in Plymouth at George and Lylas.
We borrowed George and Lylas black Pontiac Bonneville with the 400 cube engine and positraction drive for our wedding night. Why is it I can remember every detail about the car?
After a one night get-away to exotic, romantic Fond du lac, Wisconsin it was back to our regular routine. Shelby went back to Mooney and Mooney law offices on Monday morning. I was back at class in Oshkosh.
I do remember thinking on my way back to Oshkosh "what did we do"?
So 46 years together began with a memorable kiss. Each year is a gift. There are many, many special memories. Somehow it all worked out. So to my bride, Happy Anniversary. Thanks for the kiss!
Love,
Dad
It must be a "carry-over" from years of business. I just hate to do things that I view as wasteing my time. Things like standing in line at a fast food restaurant is annoying. Long lines at the bank or waiting for the dreaded renewal of my drivers license all are designed to make me angry.
Well this morning I went to my local "Big B" auto dealership to get my oil changed. In an effort to keep my Saab in good operating condition I change oil every 5,000 miles which is much less than the advertised 10,000 needed for change. Waiting 10 minutes for the "service door" to open to just get my car to the check-in counter should have been a clue. I kept my instructions clear, "just oil and filter". I signed a slip that I authorized anything up to $65.
So I was off to my seat in the customer service area. Sitting next to me was a slick salesman for drugs and medical supplies in the area. He had on an earpiece that allowed him to talk to clients without holding his cell phone. The little shit spent 40-45 minutes trying to impress secretaries, nurses and doctors with his spellbinding sales pitch. Meanwhile I was trying to watch the "View". I mean it is important for me to listen to those liberal left wing sweethearts. You get the point. Listen to the salesmen or the View. I was in hell.
'When I was a kid I would change the oil on my cars. You have to uscrew a filter, let the oil drain, screw in a new filter and dump in 4-5 quarts of oil. 10 minutes top! It is not rocket science.
After about 45 minutes, the service manager comes in and says my tires should be rotated. This is a ploy to get me to spend more money. Un-beknownst to the manager, I had my snow tires taken off yesterday and we strategically placed all the tires in the right places on the car based on wear. I did not need to rotate tires and spend another $60. They're not playing with any dummy here! No rotation.
Then after about 1 hour and 15 minutes they announced my car was done. My expectations were about $25. The bill came to $61. You are kidding! Nope. The oil was $35, filter $10 and labor $15 plus tax. To be fair, I got free burnt coffee and they did run my can though some sort of automatic car wash.
General Motors wonders why it is in trouble? Yes it is drowning in a sea of promised benefits to workers. Yes it has many inefficiencies. Yes it has missed the boat on cars that are fuel efficient not to mention lack of innovative design. But did it ever think about giving a customer what he/she wants? Quality products at a fair price and service that is customer oriented.
I happen to own a Toyota Camry. I can drive to the dealership without making an appointment for an oil change. I am promised I will get my can back in less that 30 minutes and the bill is never more than $25. I get free soda and coffee. Car washes are random depending on how busy they are. Toyota knows their customers. I still hate wating for an oil change but Toyota minimizes the pain. The last time I looked Toyota was making big money.
Well one good thing did happen. I had my blog to vent on! I feel better. Now I need to look forward to my next battle with General Motors. I can hardly wait.
Love,
Dad