I get by with a little help from my friends......

I lost a piece of my past today.......

It was just before the Christmas of 1970, and I was getting ready to head north for college in January. It was an exciting time as I made a list, checked it twice, and decided there were still a couple of  "must haves" missing.

First, college was in South Dakota so a nice warm coat was mandatory. And, second, I was lacking a dynamite stereo for the dorm room.....an essential piece of equipment for any self-respecting college student.

A friend, Tom Jones, was to be my roommate. We were destined to play football for the SDSU Jackrabbits, but right then, we were both more concerned about acquiring the college necessities before piling into his 19968 Olds 442 for the drive to South Dakota.

First stop, the music store and the purchase of a portable stereo system with lots of wattage and big speakers.....it was awesome. Next stop, Weinberg's Western Wear, where Willie Weinberg was more concerned about our choices of coats than either of us were. She knew I would struggle to pay for the coat she had picked out for me, but she insisted, and I relented. She then rang up an amount that barely covered the sales tax, and threw in a nice warm pair of gloves to boot. I was astounded, and if her husband, Maurice, had known.......Oh, but it was the Christmas Season!

On the way back to my house, I figured I still had a few extra dollars in my pocket (savings from the gift of the coat you know) so we stopped by the record store for a couple of new albums. It was a great time for music......

First selection; Sly and the Family Stone with the featured track, "I Want to Take You Higher".

Next selection; Joe Cocker, Mad Dogs and Englishmen.

Practically every song was destined to become a classic, and Joe Cocker became my all-time favorite performer. Who will ever forget his 1969 performance at Woodstock!

I turned eighteen the Sunday morning when Jimi Hendrix electrified the crowd on the last day of the festival, so it was a very special time of life.

This morning, at age seventy, Joe Cocker died. I feel much like people must have felt when a plane crash took the life of Buddy Holly.......immortalized by Don Mclean in the song, "The Day the Music Died".

I still have the albums we bought that day......I think I'll run a needle through a few of the old tunes of my youth, and conjure up memories of a time when one of  my very best friends entertained us all with his spot-on impersonations of Joe Cocker singing "The Letter". What times we had.

Rest in peace Joe. It's been a great ride.

What just happened??

The letter began, "Based on a national program, the Kansas Power+Hope award recognizes individuals...."

The event occurred a few months ago.

It was a typical August day, hot as blazes outside, which was why I was firmly ensconced in my home office with the air conditioning cranking out a constant stream of cool air. Working from home has it's advantages, one of which is the ability to do professional work while clad in shorts, tee shirt, and flip flops.....no one is the wiser.

I caught a glimpse of the pick-up as it flashed by my office window, so I was in the process of heading outside when the pounding on the front door caused me to reverse my steps. No one ever comes to the front door.....I didn't recognize the face of the young man, but anxiety and fear was written all over his face.

"You've got to come quick!" he said. "Your neighbor has had a bad accident, and needs help." Immediately, my mind started racing, Which neighbor, what kind of accident, is he hurt badly, and what the heck am I supposed to do. At that point I just headed out the door to see what we could do.

"He's flipped his tractor over and he's trapped. He's been there for nearly two hours and is in bad shape." Tom, the fellow who was now driving us back to the site of the accident, was talking a mile a minute. He was scared, and was short on details except to say that my neighbor needed help right away. He was right. We both scrambled out of the truck before it even stopped, and I rushed over to the ditch where the tractor was turned on its side. I jumped up on the wheel, grabbed my young neighbor by the arm, and asked, "What happened?"

He was in shock, barely conscious, and was pinned by a t-post that was impaled in his thigh. For two hours he had been in the hot sun, unable to move, and now it was almost too late. The relief on his face was almost too much for me to bear. He just assumed that we would be able to handle the situation. I, on the other hand, had no confidence at all that this would turn out well.

We had no coverage for the cell phones, so Tom used his truck radio to call for an ambulance. It would be at least thirty minutes and we were running out of time. Again, my mind raced for an answer. 

What do we do? I don't have a way to cut the post, I can't risk nicking an artery, but he's going to die if we can't get him free.

So we did what anyone would do, we prayed for some divine guidance and went to work. A chain was located, and as Tom backed the truck into position, I attached the chain to the tractor. Another prayer, and we tried to raise the tractor enough to get him free. It was working, so I climbed back on the tractor, grabbed the young man under the arms and lifted him from where he'd been trapped.

I'll never forget the look on his face......and, I suppose he'll never forget mine.

When the ambulance arrived, we had him ready to go. His blood pressure was almost immeasurable, his kidneys were shutting down, and he had a leg that didn't look like it could be saved. So, we prayed again, hoped for the best, and sent him on his way to Wichita for surgery.

I've visited with him several times since. His initial surgery was to cleanse and repair the leg injury, and a second one was needed to remove some damaged toes. But, he's alive, he still has his leg, and recovery is well on its way. Another prayer of thanks for prayers that have been answered.

And now, Tom and I have been given this award in recognition of our actions in saving someone's life. Awards are nice, but I've already received my reward;  Every time I see my neighbor walking upright, and smiling as we greet each other, I rejoice in God's work and happily embrace His miracles.

But really, what do I know!   

The aroma of camp coffee and bacon....

Dawn was just breaking and I was still lying in my bunk. Outside, I could hear muffled conversation, but was unable to grasp the words.....perhaps it was my typical early morning stupor, or maybe the early risers were just being considerate of those of us who were still abed.

Soon the aroma of coffee and bacon wafted into the room and I rolled out of my sleeping bag. Nothing like camp coffee and bacon to get one's juices flowing, and I'm no exception.

The morning was spectacular, and as I stepped outside I felt a pang of remorse that I had missed the sunrise. The remnants of an early morning fog still floated above the river, and we watched as a few boats drifted by with only the upper torsos of the fishermen visible from the shoreline. It was a surreal scene, and lasted just a moment before it was gone. I tried to capture it with my camera, but the mist had already begun to lift.....leaving only a picture of a boat floating on the still waters of the river.

It was our last day of a four day excursion to Arkansas. Each year our group tries to schedule a few days in May to float and fish the beautiful rivers where we find peace, friendship, and an opportunity to rejuvenate the soul. The experiences we've had along the way simply add fodder for the stories that grow along with our ages.



This year was no exception. We had two of us doing our infamous "snake dance" when a slithery friend decided to drop into our boat from a low hanging branch, and of course, my very own, soon to be classic, "slow motion swan dive" from the bow of the boat.......geez I'll never live that one down.



This trip, however, had fewer epic events than previous outings when we saw a deer fall from a cliff and nearly capsize one of our pontoon boats, or the eight hour late-night float in absolute darkness, or the time we decided that we would brave the elements and launch our rafts into the flood waters in spite of the signs warning us of the danger.  No, this trip was just about as peaceful as that last morning was beautiful. Good friends, good stories, and the scenic river views we all enjoy.

I'm already looking forward to next year's trip. Who knows what the future holds for us; certainly not me, for as everyone already suspects, What does Jack know!

"We" need to get that garden planted.....

"I think we should put in a garden this year" she said.....

Uh oh, here we go again, and I'm pretty sure that the word "we" will translate into a fair amount of work for "me".  "Yes Dear" I replied with all the enthusiasm I could muster. Of course that was months ago, and I hadn't really given it much thought since.

"We need to get some topsoil brought in so we can get that "raised-bed" garden started." she said....

Again, notice the liberal use of the word "we". So, I dutifully ordered a couple of loads of topsoil that was delivered last week. Then, I went to the lumber yard to buy the 2X12s needed to build the sidewalls for the "raised-bed" garden. Notice that this is turning into a construction project in addition to a gardening project.

"We'll definitely need to put a fence around the garden to keep out the rabbits, raccoons, and deer." she said.....

"I'll use the old dog kennel fencing, and just buy a couple of additional panels so it will be large enough to encircle the "raised-bed" garden." I replied, as I pondered how much those fresh tomatoes, peppers, and assorted other vegetables were going to cost per pound!

To date I've spent $300 for topsoil, $100 for lumber, $100 for fencing, and I've yet to commence construction on the actual gardening project. Meanwhile the cows need feeding, the calves need to be monitored, my clients are demanding my immediate attention, the rural water line needs to be hooked up, and the clock is ticking toward getting a garden planted......

I began to formulate a plan, and said, "Perhaps this weekend we can get everything completed and the ground prepped for the seeds to go in the ground. With the two of us working, I'll bet we can have it done by Sunday evening. What's that Dear?"

"Remember, I'm going to leave for Kansas City on Friday, and won't be home until Tuesday." she said as she began to pack......

Just an old man's perspective.....

First, let me be clear about something.....when I was young I was driven to be the best.

In sports, I wanted to be the best, but never quite was. In school, I wanted to be at the top of the class, but never quite made it. In business, I wanted to rise to the top, but never quite did. Boy, that sounds as though life has been one disappointment after another......

That's not the case at all, they were simply choices.

At some point reality set in, and I realized that there are limitations to what one accomplishes in life. Some are physical, some are mental, some are influences from sources beyond our control, and sometimes the limitations are self-imposed.

Age tends to put these things in perspective. Yes, I probably could have achieved more had I been willing to work a little harder, but that would have required sacrifices that I wasn't willing to make. There was a point early in my career when I felt that work was the most important thing there was. After all, it was the means to provide the "quality of life" we were striving to attain.......really?

Then, the kids came along. It took awhile, but soon the job was requiring sacrifices that affected the "quality of life" we were striving for as a family. Still, the career demanded that choices be made......

Do I take that transfer to the international division......the chance to really advance in the company? The answer was easy, my family came first and work took a back seat. The decision was no!
 
Do I continue to perform duties that I find distasteful just to keep my paycheck, or do I speak out against the policies? My integrity commanded me to speak, so I did!

A career change was soon required, but where do I start. I turned to my faith and friends, and soon things were back on track!

A few years ago my annual physical identified some areas of concern. Suddenly, health became an important part of my life, for without your health everything else is at risk. Do I change my lifestyle or continue as I always have? The choice is easy, make the change.

Life is full of sacrifices, and choices. Some of mine appeared difficult at the time, but as I look back they shouldn't have been that hard. Had I considered the truly important things in life, Family, Faith, Friends, Health, and Integrity the answers would have been crystal clear. Or at least I now believe that to be the case......but after all, What Do I Know.

The five balls of life story is from James Patterson's book, Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas. He didn't include Faith, which I've added to the mix......how can you not include Faith in every decision.

It's the life of a rancher.....

Yesterday morning dawned crisp and cold, but the sun was rapidly making headway against the chill. By nine o'clock breakfast was a distant memory, the chores were complete, and I was at work in my office. As I walked to the kitchen to refill my coffee I stole a glance outside......and there she was.


She was all alone, standing on a small rise not far from the house. The rest of the herd was still milling around the feed bunk, searching for that last crumb of food that by now was long gone. She, on the other hand, had wandered off by herself to find a perfect spot to give birth.


I was transfixed as she walked in small circles, settled down in the tall grass, and two minutes later, stood up again. She alternated between standing, lying down, walking in circles, and generally trying to find a level of comfort that only ends when the labor is complete. It wasn't the first time I'd viewed the process from afar, especially with these mature cows who've been through the experience many times.


I watched for awhile, then retreated to my office to make a dent in the heap of paper that needed to be sorted into more manageable piles.....neatly stacked so I could pretend that I'd made progress. But, the lure of new life drew me back to my viewpoint. An hour later she was still struggling, and I decided to make a visit. As I got into my coat and boots I saw that she had finally completed her arduous task. She was busy cleaning her new baby, so I decided to give her some time to bond before I ventured outside to check the results.


There's something about the birth of a new calf that still gives me a small thrill. As I walked across the pasture I anticipated the moment when it would struggle to its feet and seek both nourishment and comfort from its proud mama.


Something was wrong. The calf was lying too still and too awkwardly......not a good sign. Mama was still licking and nudging it as she tried to somehow will it to live. Alas, it was not to be.


It's not unusual to lose a calf, but it's always sad. I've had many years where we were 100% successful, but not this year. This was the second death and we've only just begun the season.


I could lament the loss of productivity and the loss of dollars, but quite frankly, it's the loss of life that bothers me the most. I hate to see the mournful look in that mama cow's eyes when it becomes evident to her that there is no life in her baby. Then, for a few days she will traverse the pasture, lowing in a sad and lonesome manner that's almost human.


Some will say that it goes with the territory, but if that's the case, I don't much care for the territory. I'm hoping for better days ahead, and for short memories of the bad times.


If you're going to be a rancher you have to deal with the bad and the good. I understand that, but nowhere is it written that you have to like it......I certainly know that I don't!  



 

Listening, a lost art....

I spend a great deal of my time listening....

I listen to business clients as they share their most treasured secrets; their fear of failure, their fear of change, and their fear of the great unknown.

I listen to community leaders as they struggle for answers to declining populations, to declining tax revenues, to businesses closing their doors on what was once a thriving Main Street, and a fear of the great unknown.

I listen to school superintendents as they lament the lack of funding, the lack of parental involvement, or worse, too much parental interference, the declining enrollment, and the fear of the great unknown.

I listen to young people who see too little opportunity in their future, too many obstacles between them and where they want to be, and a fear of the great unknown.

Of course you see the common thread is fear. Fear paralyzes our ability to act. Fear takes away our confidence so that we prefer the discomfort of where we are instead of the unknown, even though the unknown may hold great treasure.

So I listen, listen with all my heart and soul. And after I listen, I speak to what I've heard. If you've listened first, and truly heard what was being said, you've then earned the right to speak.....not before.

My job, as I see it, is to help people cope with their future and take away some of the unknowns. If we can get past the fear, the decisions become more manageable, the future less intimidating, and the course of action less uncertain. Whether you're a business owner, mayor, school principal, or student, we're all faced with tough decisions.

Conquering fear sometimes requires nothing more than a sympathetic ear; A friend to whom we can share our concerns and who does not pass judgment. Such friends are to be treasured. They help us through the tough times and are there to listen when we need to talk.

I get paid to listen, but to be honest, I'd do it for free and often do. My clients are just friends yet to be confirmed, and their well-being is important to me. I hope they feel the same, but as always, What do I Know.

High heels and pointy toes.....

Has it really been  fifty years since Beatle Mania descended upon our fair land?


Boy, do I remember that evening when we all gathered around our little black and white television, tuned it to the Ed Sullivan show, and watched intently as Mr. Sullivan introduced the latest singing sensations from England.


My older sister was not enthralled with the young Brits, as she still idolized Elvis Presley, however, the rest of us were quite curious to get a glimpse of these dashing young lads. My dad, whose musical tastes leaned toward Hank Williams and Ernest Tubb, was quick to state his opinion.


"They only know three chords and three lyrics, and repeat them over and over."  Then, he went back to reading his latest Mickey Spillane thriller, while I too, tried to figure out what all the fuss was about. Little did we know that it was the dawning of a new era known as the British Invasion.


Soon thereafter, youngsters in our town began to emulate everything "British"; the clothes, the hairstyles, and the Cockney accent.......with a Midwestern twang, of course.


Paul White owned the local shoe store, and my mother worked for him. I was a young teen who should have been at the forefront of the movement to embrace the Beatles as the greatest thing ever; I was still lukewarm to the idea.


One day my mom came home with a box under her arm and said, "Paul ordered a few pair of these "shoes" to see if they would sell. He sent a pair for you to wear to school to see what the kids think."


"Mom, those are just plain ugly! I was looking at a pair of half-boots, with pointed toes, high heels, and zippers up the side. "I will not wear those to school and be laughed at all day."


But, with a little persuasion, and because of my fondness of her boss, I relented. The next morning I pulled on the first pair of "Beatle Boots" to grace the halls of Roosevelt Junior High......


It was with much trepidation that I walked through the doors that day, but almost immediately I was engulfed by my friends.


"What are those? Are those the same boots that the Beatles wear? Did they come from England?


And, of course, Mr. White's favorite question of all, "Where can I get a pair?"


He was a marketing genius, and soon, everyone in our school was sporting half-boots with pointed toes and high heels......


The fad was relatively short-lived, and it wasn't long until most of us returned to more comfortable footwear. It wasn't the last time I played "guinea pig" for Paul, but it was definitely the most notable.


Perhaps it's time to recreate it for the fifty year anniversary. Now where are those boots...... 

But really, who's keeping track....

As a part of my "job" I write a weekly column. Some weeks it's a chore to sit in front of the computer and come up with 350 words that fit together in a cohesive, yet informative and entertaining, way. Other times it's a struggle to condense all that I want to say into the allotted space.

Never, I repeat, never do the words jump from my muddled mind to the computer screen in the way that I intend.

Sometimes I pray to simply be in that "happy place" where all things align themselves into perfect order, and where I'm fully satisfied with the result. But, to date, I've written 245 columns, and have never been totally satisfied with a single one. Just this morning I was reviewing some of my past work, and couldn't resist the temptation to edit and rewrite nearly every paragraph.

I can't decide it it's because I'm a perfectionist or it's just my obsessive compulsive nature forcing its way out of the tightly sealed box where I keep it securely locked away. Nah, I'm not obsessive nor compulsive about anything......

Two hundred and forty-five weekly columns; nearly five years (actually it's 4.71 years); eighty-five thousand seven hundred and fifty words (approximately); four hundred and ninety hours (two hours per column).....and so on and so forth...

But really, who's keeping track, certainly not me.

My partner and I recently developed a website for our company.....it's pretty cool, even though I know nothing about how things like that work. If I truly was obsessive and compulsive, I'd constantly be meddling with it; changing this and tweaking that.....sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Our marketing advisor has suggested that I write a weekly column, or blog, for the website. She says that it will help to give our clients an insight to the personal side of things......now that's a scary thought!

I'm considering it!!

Another deadline, another struggle with words, logic, sentence structure, content, ideas, advice, and writers' block........what am I thinking!

As usual, not thinking leads me right back to that "happy place" of What Do I Know.

Another piece of America's lost.....

Earlier today, for the first time in a long time, I donned a suit and tie.


For years it was a regular routine, rising early and dressing appropriately for a workday requiring such attire. I don't miss it much, and I rarely feel the need to dig deep into the closet for the aged suits that hang near the back. My work, such as it is, doesn't require that I march to the beat of the corporate drum, nor that I "dress to impress" or "dress for success". Neither my clients nor my cattle seem to care much what I wear.


I often chuckle when I receive an invitation to a meeting that identifies the dress code as being "business casual". I suspect that my idea of casual dress is somewhat different than their intent. In fact, I've been known to say that I'm probably the only one attending who has to dress up to get to the point of business casual.


Occasionally, however, I find that it is necessary to revert to my old ways, and today I was dressing out of respect. Respect for the passing of another dear friend.


In today's society it seems to me that everything has gone to "business casual", including the most somber of events. The sanctuary was filled to capacity, but dark suits and white shirts were in short supply. There was a time when every man there would have been sporting nearly the same suit; dark gray or blue, spit polished shoes, black of course, and a white shirt.


Today, if it had not been for all of the other old-timers, I would have almost felt out of place.


Guess I'd better get used to it......don't like it much, but I suppose I'm the one who's out of step.


It reminds me of the words of an old country song, "This is the last cowboy song, the end of a hundred year waltz, another piece of America's lost....."


I think we've lost more than just a piece of America.......but, as always What Do I Know.