Christmas came and went. I am always amazed at the amount of preparation that goes into celebrating Christmas and then within hours it is all over. It is always nice to have the whole family together at one time for a few hours. Thank you one and all for making it happen.
Grasshopper No.5 and her furry friends made it home inspite of cruddy road conditions.
I got to walk on Sunday (the day after our Christmas) with two good looking babes. One was Grasshopper No.2 and the other my daughter-in-law. I was described by one of my buddies as a thorn between two roses. I think he was jealous.
Nana was rushed to the hospital Sunday night. She was having trouble breathing because of fluid in her lungs. She is "on oxygen". Your Mom spent last night with her at the hospital. Nana is well enough to watch "Little House on the Prairie". At last word, the plan was to arrange Hospice care for her at her assisted care home. If things worked out, Nana would have been able to visit this morning with her youngest sister Lois.
This is my final blog of 2009. I feel compelled to comment on the year. If you have survived and have a job, rejoice. I apparently will get reduced healthcare coverage with Medicare thanks to pending legislation. Rejoice. The financial crisis at the banks is apparently over. Now no-one can pass the rigid screenings by banks so no-one gets loans. Rejoice. Most cost-of-living pay raises are non-existent. Teachers still got their raises. My property taxes went up to pay the teachers. Rejoice.
In 2009, the biggest sports story has to be Tiger Woods fall from grace. Someone estimated that the companies he represents with advertising have cost their stockholders $12 billion dollars because of falling stock prices. The issue seems pretty simple. The dumb shit got married. He will be back. He will continue to make billions. Alas, he will be forgiven.
The Packers go into the playoffs playing well. The Vikings go into the playoffs with a "limp". Brett Favre is arguing with his coach and even the lowly Bears beat the Purple Vikes. Like I said before, I hope Green Bay meets Minnesota again and whips their ass.
I really do hope 2010 is a good year and that you enjoy good health and prosperity..
Wishing you all a very Happy New Year.
Love,
Dad
Besides watching a few episodes of Dexter (to apease Grasshopper No.5), I noticed that several movie channels were playing "White Christmas" (the movie) over and over.
Come back with me to days of yesteryear. It is the early 1940's and World War II has broken out in Europe. Christmas is approaching and you are a field soldier. You live in cold, wet sloppy foxholes. You yearn to be someplace else, almost anyplace else. Then over the "radio free Europe", you hear a broadcast of crooner, Bing Crosby belting out the new music release " entitled "White Christmas". It begins with "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I use to know". Suddenly you are transported in your mind to better times. Loved ones. Christmas trees. Good food. Most importantly, snow on the ground. Millions of people in the military fell in love with the song along with their loved ones back in the "states" did to. No wonder it was the No.1 record of all time.
So I wonder why people get their undies all in a bunch over snow at Christmas. The ground is supposed to be covered in white. The song says so. Snow enhances the dream.
Listen to me. I don't have to travel in lousy weather. The worst of the current storm is winding down. Conditions should continue to slowly improve. We will have survived the second big storm of the year.
Grasshopper No.5 made it out of Minneapolis hours before bad weather began to move in. It looks like the twin cities will get over 12 inches of snow followed by slop. Now I ask you, would you rather be back in Minneapolis or Appleton near family and friends.
Drive very, very, very carefully while listening to "White Christmas" on your car radio.
I hope Santa fullfilled all your dreams.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Love,
Dad
Yesterday was the shortest day of the year. The days now start getting longer. It won't be long until the sun is shining in your bedroom window at 5:00 AM and the birds are chirping.
Living above the City Club tavern when I was growing up, I had a continuing fear of fire. The patrons of the tavern were heavy smokers and they would get careless with their "habit" as they drank more. The tavern was 100 years old at the time and made of wood. Dried wood and fire are a lethal combination. On top of that, there was a grill for sandwiches that generated lots of grease. My feared "tinderbox" fire never happened but I had my escape route all mapped out in my mind. Last night in Blanchardville, Wisconsin, the Silver Dollar Saloon burned down. It was a tavern/restaurant downstairs and a hotel upstairs. It burned very rapidly and four people died. My childhood fear played out in real life.
I got a Christmas card from Phoenix, Arizona with no return address and the card was signed Chin and Joann (no last name). I couldn't remember knowing any Chinese or Asia friends named Chin. I thought the card was a mistake. Brother Jack asked it I had received a card from Big Jerry (Grandma Alice's younger brother) recently. Nope! Apparently Jack got a card. Then it dawned on me. 5-6 years ago Big Jerry and his bride made a tour of the Midwest including Wisconsin. In a visit with them his wife Joann called him Chin. I remember asking where that nickname came from. Big Jerry lived in California near Joann. He was raising chinchillas for the fur pelts. Joann would tease him about the little critters and labeled Jerry "Chin". So yes I got a Christmas card from Big Jerry.
Brother Jack is now living with a new friend Hanna. Jesus! Why would he want to complicate his life by living with another female? She is eleven months old. She was seen in the Sheboygan Press. She could be adopted for free. Jack says she is a "part Collie mix" and very loving. The dog had either been abused or in some trauma accident because her rear legs have arthritis already. She can walk and run but their is some obvious discomfort. Jack said she is very docile and loving. She is always "underfoot". She sounds like a perfect match for the cantankerous old bastard.
Santa Claus is preparing for his Christmas Eve flight. Don't forget to leave out the cookies and milk. Actually a shot of blackberry brandy would warm his soul. He still makes dreams come true.
Keep Nana in your prayers. She has always been a special part of your life.
Stay Warm.
Love,
Dad
I have recounted the purchase of our first cottage at Crystal Lake in 1977 many times. The owner was Mr. Mallman from Kohler. He had spent his life working at Kohler Company and he built the cottage at Crystal Lake out of a labor of love. His health was failing due to severely reduced lung capacity. We could tell he was somewhat reluctant to part with his cottage but he knew it was time. I think that he was comfortable with our young family buying the cottage knowing that our kids could enjoy the lake.
I asked Mr. Mallman what he wanted for the cottage and he said $30,000. It was 1977 and that was a fair price. I always had the feeling that he felt it was a high price and he might not get full value. Being decisive (which isn't like me), I said we would take the cottage at full price and we would have all the papers drawn up by a lawyer. We shook hands. We had a deal.
About 4 weeks later, we all met at Mooney and Mooney Law Offices in Plymouth to sign all the papers. Mooney's is where your Mom worked while I was going to college. Mallman's only request was to arrange values on furniture and cottage values to reduce capital gains for tax purposes. It was no big deal.
As we were signing the property transfer papers, I asked Mallman if many people had looked at the cottage. He said it was really strange but minutes after we had visited to make the original deal, a couple from Milwaukee arrived. They toured the property (I guess Mallman didn't want to be rude) and offered a premium price of $35,000. Mallman indicated that he had sold the cottage that very morning and refused the higher offer.
As we were leaving Mooney Law Offices, we invited the Mallmans to visit any time. They did come back once just to see how we were doing.
It would have been so easy for Mr. Mallman to renege on our deal. He was a high integrity guy and he kept his word.
I recount the story of our first cottage because it seems like the world keeps moving towards lower values and broken promises. You are what your values say you are. Mr. Mallman was a very special guy! It was very important for him to keep his word.
Love,
Dad
Growing up as a kid, we lived above the City Club. Christmas Eve was always a combination of celebrating with my Grandma Myrna downstairs in her apartment followed by our personal family celebration upstairs in our apartment.
When you are involved with a tavern, Christmas Eve demands certain rules. We kids knew that the tavern closed at 6:00 PM. It always took awhile to usher patrons out the door. Some had no family to go home to. By the time the doors were locked and the lights were turned down low, it was 7:00 PM. There was always a serene calm that settled over the City Club when it was closed. It shouldn't be that way. It was always filled with people, music and smoke. But when it was Christmas Eve, an empty bar room was a sign of things to come; good food and opening presents.
Christmas Eve evening began with our family of six (Grandma Alice, Grandpa Bucky, myself, Jack, Addie and Jerry Lee) going downstairs to Myrna's apartment. We could not get into her apartment because all doors to the tavern and her residence were locked. We had to pound on the tavern door until Myrna came to let us in. The early Christmas gatherings were special because my Mom and Dad had helped Myrna select "stuff" that they knew we liked. It was a good time!
The festivities then moved upstairs. The anticipation to our family Christmas was the highlight of the evening. As kids we knew that if our dreams were to be filled, Christmas upstairs would provide the answer. And we did have great Christmas Eve celebrations.
The City Club was always closed Christmas Day. That meant we kids could roam the bar room and help ourselves to free soda and candy and ice cream and games (Myrna would rig the game machines so that they didn't need coins). Maybe Christmas Day was the best time of all?
I came to realize that Santa Claus comes to taverns as well as individual homes and apartments. In some small way, maybe the tavern was the best place of all.
So Grasshoppers, I can promise you that Christmas will be special this year. You'll just have to wait until it gets here. It is that waiting that is the essence of the Holiday.
Love,
Dad
First things first. I got to see the musical production of "In the Heights" about latinos in New York City trying to "make their way". All the singing was "rap". That means a rapid fire barrage of one syllable words that my sensitive hearing picks up with perfect comprehension. The dialogue was 50% spanish, 25% "broken latino accent english" and 25% english. Amazingly, I did understand the storyline. A good time was had by all.
I remember very clearly a time in the 1980's. We lived in Sheboygan and I went out to our cottage at Crystal Lake (next to comrade Floyd). The grass needed cutting along with some other things. It was hot and sunny with lots of mesquito's. I literally pushed the lawnmower (even though it had a self-propelled feature) up the slopes in back of cottage. I remember sweating profusely and breathing very hard. At the top of the hill I turned off the mower and sat down to gaze out over the lake. I remember asking God "please don't let me die this way" while cutting the lawn with no-one around in a place I didn't want to be. It is a vivid memory.
Wednesday we had a really big snowstorm. Armed with my trusty snowblower, I did pretty well moving 14-16 inches of wet heavy snow around. I even had some help on the driveway from Grasshopper No.3. About mid-morning the city snowplows came through and put a pile of 2-3 foot high snow in my driveway. Grasshopper No.3 was already gone and I headed out for a second time to remove the plowed snow. Because the snow was so heavy, my snowblower kept wanting to "crawl up" over the packed snow. As the blower crawled upward, the handle bars tipped downwards with me hanging on until I lost my balance and tumbled forward. There I was laying on top of my snowblower (I had stopped the auger). I asked God "please don't let me die while laying up to my ass in snow on top of my snowblower during a snowstorm". Again, I was in a place I didn't want to be and things weren't going well.
I don't know how many prayers I am entitled too. I guess it depends on how many situations I put myself in that require spiritual help.
I'm sure you all have been in situations that you didn't want to be in. You survived. It is life!
Stay warm.
Love,
Dad
The sky is getting darker and a snowstorm is bearing down on Wisconsin. Technically it is an Autumn storm. While it is a daunting task to shovel the white stuff, I don't have to travel. When I was working and had to make the Ripon commute, tracking storm systems became critical in determining road conditions. At last, no travel! Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
If you want a micocosm of financial collapse, just follow the fortunes of my buddy Tiger Woods. The squeeky clean golfer on his way to billionaire status has encountered a perfect public relations storm. It seems he has been cheating on his wife. His life as he knew it is over. First, the world sympathizes with his wife Elin. The cad!. Second, every sleezy broad that shook his hand will betrying to join in on the party. Lots of law suits! Lots of books being written by girl friends to reveal all (that is a pun). Lots of sponsors preparing to cancel lucrative contracts. Tournament sponsors will have to endure a circus atmosphere when Tiger appears. Worse yet? Tiger's mother-in-law is camping at Tiger's house and rumor has it that Tiger has to sleep on the couch. Imagine earning $1 billion and having to sleep on the couch. Rumor has it that Tiger's wife damaged his 3 iron when smashing in the windows of his Cadillac. Now he has to get a new 3 iron.
The Green Bay Packers beat the Baltimore Ravens last night. It puts them in position to claim a wild card selection to the NFL playoffs. In truth, the Packers have a pretty good team and seem to be improving. I have to admit that I'd like to see Green Bay make the playoffs and ultimately face Minnesota again. The goal would be to derail the "Purple Express".
I have my snow tires mounted on both cars.
The Christmas tree is up.
All I can say is "Tis the Season".
Stay off the roads and stay warm.
Love,
Dad
Today I'm going to give you information that can make you rich. If you take my insights and use them to make smart financial decisions you might end up on "easy street".
After World War II, our returning soldiers were anxious to get on with their life. They wanted to go to school and they appreciated the meaning of family. It was 1946. Suddenly there were lots of babies being born. For the next 20 years there was a lot of romance going on and our school systems were bursting at the seams. If you were born between 1946 and 1964, you are a "baby boomer".
Guess what? If you were born in 1946, the first year of boomers, you are turning 63 this year and are entitled to apply for Social Security. In two more years, 2011 the first boomers will turn 65 and move onto the Medicare rolls. It is estimated that over the next 20 years, 3-4 million "boomers" will move onto the government entitlement programs. God bless all the workers paying for the retirement benefits.
Here is where you get rich. If you invest your hard earned extra cash in companies aimed at serving the boomer generation, you might make a lot of money. The great unknown is the Federal Government and the laws they might pass to provide new health plans.
Experts have concluded that the average age for getting knee and hip replacements is 67. The leading edge companies are making better and better high tech "parts". One of the better know manufacturers is Zimmer Holdings. It looks like it is well positioned for the long term.
If you think longer term, the first boomers that are now 63 will be 83 in 20 years. That will load up assisted care and healthcare facilities. Companies that concentrate that providing "final homes" for the boomers should make a lot of money. Of course that is 20 years out and the Obama administration could do a lot to screw up the rules.
So there you have it. Invest your hard earned money in companies that have products that service the "baby boomers". If you guess right, you might retire to a Carribean island and sip champagne all day long. Don't say I never did anything for you.
Technically Grasshoppers No.1, No.2 and No.3 are at the tail end of the "boom generation".
The lesson Grasshoppers is that financial reward is all about risk. The marketing information I have presented is factual. If the current congress passes a stupid healthcare bill that denies payment for critical procedures, all bets are off. That is the risky part. Denial of procedures by the government is also what has been termed "throwing Grandma under the bus".
Pretty snow this morning. For the first time it is sticking to the road.
Love,
Dad
My Dad (Bucky) had a career that involved numbers. I have chronicled Bucky's quest to become baseball player which dominates the perception of him. The baseball dream ended when I was born in 1940 and he had to get a real job just like the rest of us at age 20.
My earliest recollection is that he was hired to do accounting duties by the Borden Cheese Company in Plymouth. The world was at war in the early 1940's so nothing was permanent. Our family got transfered to Green Bay by Borden for a year before my Dad went into the military service.
In 1946, Bucky came home from the Phillipines and I think got his job back in accounting with Borden. The military had a program that paid for college called the GI Bill and my Dad went to school at Lakeland (it was called Mission House). Bucky's Dad died in October of 1946 so the management of the City Club fell on his Mom (Myrna). Over the next five years, plans would be made for Bucky and brother Bob to take over running the City Club. Myrna moved out and the Bucky and Bob took over. It was a strained relationship. It failed. Bob went on to be a pilot for TWA and Myrna moved back to take over the City Club.
And my Dad went off to pursue a career in accounting. He was about 1 year short of getting his college degree. He got Myrna to invest in a truck (sort of like a milk truck with front sliding doors). It was franchised through a company called Cun-O-Car. The truck was outfitted with countertops, calculating machines and a machine that did ledger sheets. The idea was that he could drive his truck to the job site (companies and individuals) and he had all the tools necessary be a full service accountant.
The Cun-O-Car concept fell through but he developed strong relationships with several clients. One was an oil company in Sheboygan Falls and another with a prominent mink farmer. I remember the mink farmer had trouble paying Bucky so they gave him a mink pelt neck scarf for my Mom on Christmas. You can't eat a mink scarf.
He then got Myrna to remodel the "side dining room" at the City Club and he opened an accounting office. It was a base to operate from but not many "walk-in" clients.
Eventually, Bucky started doing the accounting for the Plymouth Foundry. That evolved into becoming General Manager but he never lost his responsibility for the books. That is the position he held when he died in 1957.
Bucky was always good with numbers. He could perform many functions such as multiplying and dividing in his head. He insisted on knowing batting averages of baseball players carried out to four decimal places. We would play games mentally converting baseball fractions to decimals and argue about who was right.
So you see, Bucky was a bookie. His life revolved around numbers. The great irony of this whole story is that Bucky failed miserably managing his own finances. Go figure!
The lesson Grasshoppers is that society tends to label us by our career path. My Dad's path was pretty clear. What is yours?
Love,
Dad