So we here we sit on the eve of another new year. Where has the 2004 gone?
Today I sit, pondering the year that was. I wonder how much better my life would be today if I had implemented all of my well-intended new years resolutions from last new years. Or how much more healthy, wealthy and wise if I had simply heeded my advice to myself over the past five new years.
About seven years ago, when I told my mother that Jane and I were thinking of having kids, she warned me: "When you have kids, time goes much faster." She was right. I've been a father now for about five and a half years, and that period of time is just such a blurr. I find it much easier now to plan ten or twenty years into the future now, because a decade no longer feels like infinity, the way it did in my younger days.
My uncle Oscar this week moved into a long term care facility. He will be 91 this July. Oscar agreed with my mother's thoughts about time, then he offerred some additional advice based on his own life experience (which is more than two times my life experience). Oscar said that I should expect time to slow to crawl after the kids leave home. For him, a year seems like a long time. He has lived more than thirty years in retirement, and has been fortunate to share that time with his beloved wife. He takes life day by day, with no big personal plans in his future. His life has largely been lived.
Losing ten pounds and "working out" will have to wait. I resolve that my resolutions this year will be ones that I will actually strive to keep: I want to be a better husband, better father, a more patient person, and a better provider. Oh, and I resolve to stop in and see Uncle Oscar more often, because even though it seems to me that I "just saw him," on his side of the time slip, it feels like he hasn't seen me in months.
I wish you a very happy new year!
Friday, December 31, 2004
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Vaya Con Dios, Tinkerbell
This week we have been learning about death in our family. No, we have not had a close relative pass on, but rather, the family cat. She had been sick for a while, vomiting and peeing all over the house.
This was our second cat to die in two years. The first cat just about bankrupt the family. I bought into the vets suggestions of surgeries, expensive foods, and medicines. After the first cat passed on and left me with a bill of nearly one thousands dollars to contend with, I decided that this was nuts. No more time off from work for afternoon trips to the vet. No more coming home to give a mid-afternoon antibiotic. I vowed that I would not allow the remaining cat to consume more medical services than my kids would.
So when the Vet began suggesting expensive treatments, urinalysis, behavior modification (mostly our behavior, not the cats), medicines, and possible surgeries, I remembered my vow: I made the tough command decision to have poor Tinkerbell put down.
I believe she thanked me for it. Her importance in our household waned in recent years, and its hard for an old cat to contend with the attentions of the young children. She had been getting a little snippy lately, and the oldest child has developed an alergy to the cat.
Tinkerbell had been like a member of the family, once. But now with a one year old boy crawling all over the house and sticking everything into his mouth that he can put his little hands on, the idea of hairballs, urine and vomit on the carpet began redefined the problem we were having. In the end, I had to conclude that she was actually NOT a member of the family, but a pet who had had a good life, and had come to the end of her road. Saving for college took precedence over saving the cat.
Thats why I bought the fish earlier this week.
I thought having an aquarium would take the edge off of losing the cat for the kids, and I was right. As best we could, we prepared the kids for the demise of the cat; we all said our goodbyes, fed her a whole can of tuna (her favorite! Starkist!) and then we went off to feed and ogle the new fish.
On the second day of owning fish, we had our first casualty: a white Molly female was found floating belly up. That brought up a discussion among the kinds as to whether Tinkerbell and the fish would be together in Heaven, or whether Tinkerbell was in Cat Heaven and the fish was in Fish Heaven. This remains an open debate (feel free to weigh in).
On the second day, the kids were thrilled that the Gold Molly had babies! Five of them to be exact.
On the third day, we were down to four babies, and today I counted three. Another discussion about Heaven seems inevitable.
Pets add so much to our lives. And at certain times of our lives, we can be as close to them as we are to any person. I don't mock people who are close to their pets. I have elderly clients who are very comforted by the love of their pets. At this stage in my life, with kids who were younger than my pets, I had different priorities: clean house, less work, more money.
The love of my kids keeps me going today, not the love of my pet. Right now, my wife and kids and a few fish are all I need. I am a lucky man.
Vaya Con Dios, Tinkerbell! No regrets.
This was our second cat to die in two years. The first cat just about bankrupt the family. I bought into the vets suggestions of surgeries, expensive foods, and medicines. After the first cat passed on and left me with a bill of nearly one thousands dollars to contend with, I decided that this was nuts. No more time off from work for afternoon trips to the vet. No more coming home to give a mid-afternoon antibiotic. I vowed that I would not allow the remaining cat to consume more medical services than my kids would.
So when the Vet began suggesting expensive treatments, urinalysis, behavior modification (mostly our behavior, not the cats), medicines, and possible surgeries, I remembered my vow: I made the tough command decision to have poor Tinkerbell put down.
I believe she thanked me for it. Her importance in our household waned in recent years, and its hard for an old cat to contend with the attentions of the young children. She had been getting a little snippy lately, and the oldest child has developed an alergy to the cat.
Tinkerbell had been like a member of the family, once. But now with a one year old boy crawling all over the house and sticking everything into his mouth that he can put his little hands on, the idea of hairballs, urine and vomit on the carpet began redefined the problem we were having. In the end, I had to conclude that she was actually NOT a member of the family, but a pet who had had a good life, and had come to the end of her road. Saving for college took precedence over saving the cat.
Thats why I bought the fish earlier this week.
I thought having an aquarium would take the edge off of losing the cat for the kids, and I was right. As best we could, we prepared the kids for the demise of the cat; we all said our goodbyes, fed her a whole can of tuna (her favorite! Starkist!) and then we went off to feed and ogle the new fish.
On the second day of owning fish, we had our first casualty: a white Molly female was found floating belly up. That brought up a discussion among the kinds as to whether Tinkerbell and the fish would be together in Heaven, or whether Tinkerbell was in Cat Heaven and the fish was in Fish Heaven. This remains an open debate (feel free to weigh in).
On the second day, the kids were thrilled that the Gold Molly had babies! Five of them to be exact.
On the third day, we were down to four babies, and today I counted three. Another discussion about Heaven seems inevitable.
Pets add so much to our lives. And at certain times of our lives, we can be as close to them as we are to any person. I don't mock people who are close to their pets. I have elderly clients who are very comforted by the love of their pets. At this stage in my life, with kids who were younger than my pets, I had different priorities: clean house, less work, more money.
The love of my kids keeps me going today, not the love of my pet. Right now, my wife and kids and a few fish are all I need. I am a lucky man.
Vaya Con Dios, Tinkerbell! No regrets.
Monday, December 20, 2004
Mike's Company
My friend Mike owned a software company that had a nice little niche market under its belt. At his peak, he had six employees, of which I was one. I worked for Mike as his marketing director for about seven months until Microsoft called me from the minors to the big leagues. Our parting was amicable, and we stayed in touch over the years. Mike probably earned about $125,000 a year at the company's peak. Not a tremendous amount, but a very good living in my part of the world. And there was the promise of greater riches as his company grew and thrived. He would often be invited to speak at industry trade shows and he enjoyed the attention and importance that his company bestowed on him.
Mike invited me to lunch recently. The small talk inevitably lead to business, and I learned that he is being forced into bankruptcy. A confluence of bad luck and bad business moves helped sink his ship.
A new competitor entered his niche market, seeing it as a growth opportunity. The competitor is profitable in another market and was parlaying that advantage to "grab market share" through aggressive pricing in Mike's market. Compounding Mike's problems were difficulties finding reliable employees. Being understaffed caused sales and service to suffer. Mike was the primary software developer for his company, but he was too often pulled away from development to solve problems in other areas.
Mike kept drawing down his line of credit at the bank. This kept the company going for about two years. But now, revenues are about half of what they were two years ago while his loan payment has increased. Now the credit is gone, forcing him to lay off employees that he can no longer afford. As employees are layed off, customers become even more dissatisified. Throw in some deadbeat clients that defaulted on large obligations (and which Mike had used to help collateralize his loan) and the slow downward death spiral his company had been on was now spinning out of control.
Mike didn't mean for this to happen. Not many people set out intentionally to land in bankruptcy. His eternal optimism that things were going to get better, that a big contract was right around the corner, kept him working those 16 hour days, forgoing vacations and salary during these tough times.
I would have expected Mike to be depressed, angry, maybe even suicidal. But he surprised me with his attitude. He is resigned to what he has to do next, and is maybe even a little excited as he anticipates the next chapter of his professional life. The bankruptcy is forcing a major change in his life which he probably wouldn't have been able to do on his own. He talks about spending more time with his family, and getting a nine-to-five job so he can be home evenings.
"So Mike, how is your family taking all this," I asked, remembering his two boys, ages 7 and 4.
"They'll have a good Christmas," he said. "My family will see to that."
As for his wife, I know that she has never been much of a risk taker. He didn't speak much of her. Hopefully they will come through this intact.
Todays lesson: A person can find or lose themselves in times of adversity. Planning beyond the adversity can keep us focused on what is important.
Mike invited me to lunch recently. The small talk inevitably lead to business, and I learned that he is being forced into bankruptcy. A confluence of bad luck and bad business moves helped sink his ship.
A new competitor entered his niche market, seeing it as a growth opportunity. The competitor is profitable in another market and was parlaying that advantage to "grab market share" through aggressive pricing in Mike's market. Compounding Mike's problems were difficulties finding reliable employees. Being understaffed caused sales and service to suffer. Mike was the primary software developer for his company, but he was too often pulled away from development to solve problems in other areas.
Mike kept drawing down his line of credit at the bank. This kept the company going for about two years. But now, revenues are about half of what they were two years ago while his loan payment has increased. Now the credit is gone, forcing him to lay off employees that he can no longer afford. As employees are layed off, customers become even more dissatisified. Throw in some deadbeat clients that defaulted on large obligations (and which Mike had used to help collateralize his loan) and the slow downward death spiral his company had been on was now spinning out of control.
Mike didn't mean for this to happen. Not many people set out intentionally to land in bankruptcy. His eternal optimism that things were going to get better, that a big contract was right around the corner, kept him working those 16 hour days, forgoing vacations and salary during these tough times.
I would have expected Mike to be depressed, angry, maybe even suicidal. But he surprised me with his attitude. He is resigned to what he has to do next, and is maybe even a little excited as he anticipates the next chapter of his professional life. The bankruptcy is forcing a major change in his life which he probably wouldn't have been able to do on his own. He talks about spending more time with his family, and getting a nine-to-five job so he can be home evenings.
"So Mike, how is your family taking all this," I asked, remembering his two boys, ages 7 and 4.
"They'll have a good Christmas," he said. "My family will see to that."
As for his wife, I know that she has never been much of a risk taker. He didn't speak much of her. Hopefully they will come through this intact.
Todays lesson: A person can find or lose themselves in times of adversity. Planning beyond the adversity can keep us focused on what is important.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
The Discordant Flight Attendant
Forgive me for my lack of inspiration today. This was my first day back in the office after spending four nights in Virginia, about eightly miles outside of Washington, DC. I was there for training. This was only my second trip this year, and on Dec. 31, my "Preferred Traveler" status with Northwest Airlines evaporates and my tush will probably never feel the comfort of a first class airline seat ever again.
Last year, while working for Microsoft, I logged nearly 50,000 miles of airline travel, although several of my colleagues logged twice that. Frequent travel was one of the reasons I left the world's largest software company earlier this year and embarked on my new career as a financial advisor.
Even though I love traveling, I've never thought the transportation experience was much fun. In the year that I have not traveled, I see that the government and the airlines have actually managed to make flying more tortuous. The lines at security are longer than they were a year ago. The searches are more tedious and invasive. Northwest Airlines now requires me to check myself in, all the while airline employees gossip and giggle behind the counter (did you know that Marcy at the Northwest airlines desk in Dulles is having an affair with a co-pilot?). The flight attendents are rude, the flights not on time, and the luggage handlers even managed to destroy a present that I had stored in my luggage. I thank God I no longer must travel on airlines for a living. Although I love traveling, I hate flying. Actually hate is such a strong word -- but its the right word. I really despise flying.
Upon boarding my return flight from Dulles to Minneapolis, I waddled to my seat on the plane only to come across a Northwest Airlines flight attendent severly scolding an elderly passenger about the weight of her carry-on bag. The woman, who was a short and could hardly speak a word of English, couldn't lift the bag into the plane's luggage rack. She had apparently tried to get help from the discordant flight attendent. He had set firm limits on the assistance he would provide, and was only offering to help her lift the bag. He failed to grasp the root of the problem, which was she was just too short to lift the bag into the bin. His scolding really made me angry, and the aisle of the aircraft was blocked while this jerk was making his big fuss. The woman was upset and apparently not understanding what the problem was.
I had to do something. "I'll be happy to help this lady," I said. The flight attendant shot me his best who-the-hell-are-you stare. "That's not the point," he said condescendingly. "Her bag is too heavy!"
Since the lady and the bag were between me and the flight attendent, I quickly picked up her bag and stuffed it into the luggage compartment. I expected the bag to weigh half a ton, but it was hardly an effort to pick it up. "Not heavy at all. I'm glad to help" I said, closing the overhead door.
The Flight Attendant about flipped out. His jaw dropped and he started sputtering nonsense as I sat down in my seat and fastened by belt. I thought for a moment that he might have me arrested. I spent the next two hours enduring his stares. If you can believe it, he tossed a bag of pretzles at me to show me how upset he was. Secretly, I took a little pleasure in his anger.
At the end of the flight I helped the woman get her luggage down. I smiled and said to her, "Your bag is not heavy at all." She returned the smile, clearly grateful. She made in known to me in her best English that she had presents in the bag and so didn't want her bag to be checked.
When I got home, my kids greeted me like a returning hero. My daughter had drawn me pictures, and even bestowed upon me her ultimate expression of love: a birthday party. No it's not my birthday, but whenever she wants someone to know that she loves them, she pretends to give them a birthday party. My wife played along, so I arrived home to blown up balloons and colorful streamers. Returning home for me has always been the best part of traveling.
Today's cliches: There's no place like home, and, No good deed goes unpunished.
Today's advice: Rather than fly, consider driving, calling or video conferencing. If you must fly, avoid Northwest Airlines like the airborn virus that it has become.
Last year, while working for Microsoft, I logged nearly 50,000 miles of airline travel, although several of my colleagues logged twice that. Frequent travel was one of the reasons I left the world's largest software company earlier this year and embarked on my new career as a financial advisor.
Even though I love traveling, I've never thought the transportation experience was much fun. In the year that I have not traveled, I see that the government and the airlines have actually managed to make flying more tortuous. The lines at security are longer than they were a year ago. The searches are more tedious and invasive. Northwest Airlines now requires me to check myself in, all the while airline employees gossip and giggle behind the counter (did you know that Marcy at the Northwest airlines desk in Dulles is having an affair with a co-pilot?). The flight attendents are rude, the flights not on time, and the luggage handlers even managed to destroy a present that I had stored in my luggage. I thank God I no longer must travel on airlines for a living. Although I love traveling, I hate flying. Actually hate is such a strong word -- but its the right word. I really despise flying.
Upon boarding my return flight from Dulles to Minneapolis, I waddled to my seat on the plane only to come across a Northwest Airlines flight attendent severly scolding an elderly passenger about the weight of her carry-on bag. The woman, who was a short and could hardly speak a word of English, couldn't lift the bag into the plane's luggage rack. She had apparently tried to get help from the discordant flight attendent. He had set firm limits on the assistance he would provide, and was only offering to help her lift the bag. He failed to grasp the root of the problem, which was she was just too short to lift the bag into the bin. His scolding really made me angry, and the aisle of the aircraft was blocked while this jerk was making his big fuss. The woman was upset and apparently not understanding what the problem was.
I had to do something. "I'll be happy to help this lady," I said. The flight attendant shot me his best who-the-hell-are-you stare. "That's not the point," he said condescendingly. "Her bag is too heavy!"
Since the lady and the bag were between me and the flight attendent, I quickly picked up her bag and stuffed it into the luggage compartment. I expected the bag to weigh half a ton, but it was hardly an effort to pick it up. "Not heavy at all. I'm glad to help" I said, closing the overhead door.
The Flight Attendant about flipped out. His jaw dropped and he started sputtering nonsense as I sat down in my seat and fastened by belt. I thought for a moment that he might have me arrested. I spent the next two hours enduring his stares. If you can believe it, he tossed a bag of pretzles at me to show me how upset he was. Secretly, I took a little pleasure in his anger.
At the end of the flight I helped the woman get her luggage down. I smiled and said to her, "Your bag is not heavy at all." She returned the smile, clearly grateful. She made in known to me in her best English that she had presents in the bag and so didn't want her bag to be checked.
When I got home, my kids greeted me like a returning hero. My daughter had drawn me pictures, and even bestowed upon me her ultimate expression of love: a birthday party. No it's not my birthday, but whenever she wants someone to know that she loves them, she pretends to give them a birthday party. My wife played along, so I arrived home to blown up balloons and colorful streamers. Returning home for me has always been the best part of traveling.
Today's cliches: There's no place like home, and, No good deed goes unpunished.
Today's advice: Rather than fly, consider driving, calling or video conferencing. If you must fly, avoid Northwest Airlines like the airborn virus that it has become.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)