Back to Work

Teachers experience a strange phenomenon each year. We hurry and rush to put away everything and leave for vacation at the end of the year (I have never been one to come back during the summer) and then we spend 8-10 weeks on vacation only to have it come to a crashing halt in late August (where I work). The first day is one of meetings and greetings, unpacking and unloading, and the opportunity to say "this is the year I'll . . ." all over again.

I really like the people I work with. I may not always agree with them, I may not always think that they are getting things done the way I would, but they are all really good people. I do not hang out with them very much after school hours (I have kids and they are who I belong with), but I could. A lot of them are people that I could just simply call good friends. They would be there to help me in an instant, and I would be there for them as well.

Our Athletic Director, a great friend, just got married last year, bought a house this summer, and he and the wife are thinking about having kids right away. I'll help him move. I'll go volunteer at the MS Bike 150 because his mom is afflicted, I know that he is someone that will always go the extra mile and always do the right thing. Tim was one of the first people I met at Ocean View, we were teaching the same class for the first time and we needed to figure it out. It helped that we held so many common interests. He is a great guy.

There are many others--Shane (shame), Jimmy, Jim, Jeneane, Alison, Heather, Casey, Tim B., Julie, I could go on but the list would just keep growing. These people make each and every day at work a joy. They always will lift you up, they always know where you are coming from, they always know how to make things more fun. I'm lucky. I've worked in places where that is not the case. I've worked in places that you didn't know who you could, or should, count on. That is not the case at OVHS. It has always been my favorite school, of the four I've been at.

When I got to work today it felt good. When I listened to out new principal, I felt good. When I was left to take care of my classroom it made me feel good. I saw a lot of happy people today. I found a lot of people who are ready to go this school year. I know that I am ultimately in control of my own happiness, however it is great to go to work and know that I will be greeted with smiles and laughs and stories to carry me through all 183 school days.

I'm glad that I'm unpacked. I know that I'll be able to pack away a number of stories from such a great group of friends. I also can't wait to pack up and be done for another year.

Karma

I'm a big believer in Karma, or at least the western idea of what Karma is. I've never studied Karma so I do not have an exact definition, hold on while I open another tab and get a definition. Thanks for waiting. Buddhanet.net gives the following definition, ". . . from a Buddhist point of view, our present mental, moral intellectual and temperamental differences are, for the most part, due to our own actions and tendencies, both past and present." In other words folks, if do good deeds you will be repaid with good deeds and vice versa.

I'm not sure why I believe in Karma. My guess is that more truly nice people are Karma-addicts then those who aren't so nice. I guess I like the idea that someday I get "paid" for the nice things I've done for people over the course of a lifetime. The fact is I don't need a payoff to do nice things (except the t-shirt for the volunteer things), I just want to help those who need it.

Case in point, the other day I was at IKEA, loading up another project for the house (it looks great by the way), when I noticed an older couple who were waiting for the dock guy to get all the way down to them and help them get the load into their truck. There was no way they were going to be able to get this load into the bed of the truck. It was a bed frame and mattress. She was in her early 50s and her father was in his 70s and walked with a cane. It wasn't going to happen for them. I loaded up my truck (5 minutes) and walked down to ask them if they needed help. Anyone of the 10 to 15 people who were loading up could have done the same thing. I decided they had better things to do then sit in the IKEA parking lot hoping that someone would get to them. They were grateful, a little shocked, but happy to be on their way.

I can't spend my time not helping out. It just seems silly not trying to brighten the day of people, including yourself. For people who have known me for a great length of time they understand that I'm a helper but they also know that I'm a sarcastic cynic who can also look at the 'other side' and play 'devil's advocate' just because it is in my nature. I'm tired of that nature. I do not want to be the 'and/or' guy any more. I want to be, and am trying to become, the 'and' guy. This and that. Hopefully through good acts it will all work out.

So if you are in need of an extra set of hands for your volunteer event, or stuck in the lot at IKEA, if I'm around I'll help. Karma says so.

Career Choices

I never intended on being a teacher. Not once. Was never on my radar. I was good at it in high school, middle school, elementary school, I'm starting to see a pattern. I seem to be good at explaining things in multiple ways to people. I seem to be good at letting people know that I truly do care about what they become. I seem to be good at commanding an audience. I never knew any of that when I was looking at careers.

I wanted to be on Sportscenter. I saw the very first one back in 1979. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. An entire network dedicated to reporting and talking about the things I loved best. I was a little more then a casual fan even at that age. I could tell you all of the Oakland Raiders by position and give you statistics on most. I could tell you who was in playoff contention in all of the major sports, I could tell you which college teams were likely to win it all (although I did not have Indiana St. with Larry Bird on my radar), in short, I could do it all when it came to sports. I was 9.

Throughout high school I knew that I was going to make it. I had a good voice for it, I had good timing, I could read a lot plays in a lot of sports, but I had no idea on how to make a go of it. None of my teachers asked. No one asked my into the counseling office to ask. I didn't know who to ask. I did some announcing for our basketball team. I did some voiceover work for the various sports and our TV Production class (the teacher would later tell me he had never seen /heard someone with such a sense of timing at that age--a lot of good that did me). But no plan. I figured you filled out an application and sent it in.

College life was even worse. In the higher education system there was no emphasis on getting to job. I met with two counselors (one at Delta and one at UCLA) who did nothing more then check to make sure that I took the right classes to transfer and the right classes to earn a degree. There was never any talk about a job much less a career. If you wanted something to happen you had to make it happen on your own. You had to have the nerve, the spine, the cajones, to go out and 'Just Do It'. That wasn't me. Outside of my time at Delta, which I knew was a pit-stop, I never worked particularly hard in any class. I think my final transcript from UCLA is every range of 'B' grade work you could ever imagine.

I fell into teaching. I was engaged and couldn't stand the people I worked with at ALLSPORT. I thought ALLSPORT was my break. A sports photography studio/sales team that worked with just about every magazine in the world. The chance to go to every major sporting event in the world was literally possible. I couldn't stand the people I worked with. I had no one who would give me directions. I had no clue what to do. I had never held a 'real' job, I had always been around books (thanks you library systems), so I had no idea what any of this was about. I was never good at asking for help, so I didn't.

I watched my soon to be wife go through her credential program. It seemed easy. It seemed like something I could do. It had so many upsides, steady work, a lot of time off, everyone needs a teacher, what was there not to like. I knew how to deal with people, especially teenagers, so why not? I became a teacher because it seemed like the right thing to do. I wasn't afraid of it at any time. My master teacher told me that he would watch me the first few days just to make sure, and he said he would be around the building if something came up. I didn't see him again after the first five minutes of the first class. He told me at the end of the day that he would be wasting his time, and mine, if he were to try to give any advice at this time.

I've tried to leave teaching. I've seriously tried on three separate occasions. Resumes, interviews, even job offers. I even took a job as an Assistant Principal because I thought I was ready to move beyond the classroom. I was wrong. I went back to my classroom (it is not mine quite yet, I've got some work to do to make it all mine) yesterday to drop some things off and get ready for the upcoming year. I had no idea how any of it was going to make me feel. I didn't know if there would be any fear, any remorse, any what ifs. It was cathartic. It was as if the room knew I was supposed to be there.

I never really made an informed decision when it came to my career. I know now that I never really had to.

Tolerate, I Don't Want to Tolerate

It is hot. Today it was 95. Yesterday it was 91. Tomorrow is more of the same. I don't like it. I like to bathed in a comfortable atmosphere that allows me to not concern myself with the conditions. I don't mind the cold, rain doesn't bother me, but don't make me too hot. It is funny after growing up in the Central Valley of California where 100+ degrees can be the norm, that I can no longer deal with it once it gets up to 85.

My house does not have air conditioning. A large number of houses in Orange County, southern California really, do not have A/C. I live 4 miles from the beach in two separate directions. I should not need A/C. 355 out of 365 days a year I do not need it at all. It is those 10 days that I remember each and every year. Those 10 days that drive me crazy.

I went to Lowe's last night and purchased a portable A/C unit. In fact, I bought 2. I'm only using 1 of them at the moment, the nighttime temperature has been low enough to get the fans in the windows and get the fresh air in. This A/C unit has provided a nice little oasis in the house. It has given us a room to sit in and be comfortable during the day. We only need it for the next few days since we will be back at school next week (where even though we have had to cut everything else in the budget, we have not had to cut A/C yet). The wife and kids are watching a movie as the sunset happens, as I write, and as the rest of the world starts to cool off.

It is funny how the idea of tolerance works for people. For me it isn't about simply putting up with someone or something, it is the ability to actual live with that someone or something without wanting to tear them/it to shreds. I have come to the point in my life where I no longer will simply tolerate whatever it is around me. This has been part of my change, part of my growth, part of my new beginning.

When I went into work today, for the first time since summer started and the first time as a teacher NOT an administrator, I knew that I couldn't just tolerate what went on any more. If I need something, I'm going to get it. If I think a student can do more I will not tolerate them not doing more. It is not about confrontation it is about not settling for the mediocrity that so often comes with tolerance. I know better then to settle. I don't want to settle, I want what I believe is the best for me, my family and the jobs I must undertake each and every day.

Don't tolerate. Don't settle. Don't allow yourself to be in the easy rut that some of us dig and never get out of.

The End of Summer?

Cal said he was ready to go back to school today. He is a 7th grader this year and he has had his fill of laying around playing video games, reading (at least 100 books this summer), and hanging out with friends. He is simply ready to call it done. Kylie is not much better. Even though she has spent most of the summer with her best friend Melinda (they have played together at least two days a week), she too is ready to go back (3rd grade is exciting). That leaves Krista and myself. We are parents, breadwinners, homemakers. There is no such thing in our world as too much summer.

The end of summer is always an interesting time. You try to cram in one last trip or get yourself that one last goody, finish that one last book, you just want to go out with a bang. I'm never ready for the end of summer as I have never had a job that required me to be a full time worker during that time. Most of my life has centered around the summer. At one time I actually thought that I needed to have a job to keep myself busy during the summer. I'm glad that I've gotten over that. I'm glad that I have found things to keep myself satisfied.

I can't help but think that what life would be if I would have continued down the path I was on. My focus was so different just a few months ago. My life has gone through such a massive shift from constant cynic and worry wort to optimist and thinker (not obsessor). It took a point in my life where I didn't know if I could make it to and from work. It took a situation where I could not work with the people I was directly in charge of. It took a situation where I had to look at the way I wanted to live the rest of my life. It didn't take long once I took a look at my family picture and saw the faces of those who matter most.

We often talk about being able to spend time with our families and then coming up with 1001 things to do when the time permits us to be with our family. I've spent a lot of time with my family. I've been able to enjoy time with them as a group and as individuals. I've been able to talk to all of them about what they really want to do in the future and they have been able to watch the change in me take place. It has simply been an amazing summer.

Summer is ending because we all have to go back to school. What has taken place this summer with my family will never end. It is one of those events that you absolutely know has made a change in your life that you will be able to point at forever. It was the time when I started figuring out who I am, what is really important and what is not. I'm a better person now then when I started off this year. I'm looking forward to school because I have a very clear plan of what to do and when to do it. It isn't often that this takes place, but I sure am glad that it happened this summer.

To Do List--Still?

I have been able to get so many things done this summer simply because I tried. I learned how to put up insulation and drywall. I played with stucco. I painted. I decorated. I hired the right contractor for the job (not the cheapest). I still have 5 days until I'm officially back at work and I could, no make that will, get some more things off 'the list'. But why oh why does the list still exist?

The list is there to remind me to keep moving forward. The list is my way of learning more about myself and more about the way I can grow. Much as writing has become something that gets my thoughts out of my head and on to something else, the list makes me think and move forward. I love the list because I am excited to get to the next task.

I spend the time in between projects, like today, looking and planning for the next one. I'm pretty sure I'm going after the kids bathroom next. It will take a week and will be so impressive afterwards that no one will recognize it. Once that is done I'll hit up the whole house fan that is on order. I really need the weather to cooperate (not like it hasn't been a very temperate one to begin with) so that I can get into the attic spaces and insulate. Then comes the big one--painting the house.

A few people have asked me why I choose to do these things instead of hiring someone. I want to do these things. I want to have control over all of it. I want to be able to determine the way something looks because I say so, not because some contractor or designer comes in and says it has to be this or that. It is much like what my wife has done with the skating apparel, she makes it now because she knows she can and she knows she can do it the way she wants. In the end it is a money saver (after you hit the payoff time) but it isn't always about the money. It is about the desire to learn how to do it for yourself that really matters the most.

School is looming around the corner. I'm not upset I'm going back to work, I'm disappointed that I don't get to spend the additional time I want working on the list I've created for the house. The list that I get to take care of, and whittle away or add to, but the list is something that I will never forget or walk away from.

12 Days

Its been 12 days since my last post. It is almost like I forgot how to write. You get into a pattern with habits, I've been told 21 consecutive times is the magic number for the habit to stick, and sometimes with new habits (diets and working out especially) it is hard to maintain them. I'm back to writing, 5 times a week (more if I have it in me), just as school comes around the corner.

Over the last 12 days I have done the following:

Cleared out my Grandmother's apartment

Gone to my Grandmother's Memorial

Put together a new sewing machine setup for Krista in our bedroom

Moved the computer to the kitchen/office area

Donated a sideboard

Moved cookbooks and china to the pantry shelves

Gone to Goodwill (I think 8 times counting the trips for Grandma's)

Put together a new entertainment cabinet

Installed 2 new tv's

Installed 1 home theater system

Hung new curtain rods and drapes

Bought new linens

Finished the outside stucco repairs

Repainted the little holes all over

Had the modem moved

Had the asbestos ducting taken out

Had a new water heater and furnace installed

Volunteered at 2 events

Signed up to teach online classes

And did all of the other things that go along with being a parent and member of society.

I guess I've been busy.

It isn't about the busy. It is about the rebirth of my soul. All of these things are about me being better. They are things that matter to me when it comes to the building, the fixing, the making it work. It isn't about the stuff, in fact there has been more going out then coming in. I have become comfortable with getting to be able to do for myself what I didn't think I was going to be able to do for myself. It has been a long time in the making.

I don't have a traditional spiritual center. I'm not a member of one particular religion. I believe that it is important to find what it is that makes you work that makes that spirituality work. I have finally figured out that I like to see things put together. I like to see things work. I like the simple and elegant. I like the fact that my kids know right from wrong, and take the right path almost all of the time. I know that kindness works, that it is okay to help a total stranger, that it is better to give then receive, and that in the end you will be paid back for your good deeds in ways you never imagined.

These are not revelations. These are not new ideas. These are ideas that I have been able to finally identify as being cornerstones in my life. These are the things that matter and these are the things that I know will make my life and the lives of those around me much more complete.

While I've been off from writing I've had a couple of people ask when I was going to write again. It is a great feeling to know that some of you out there read this. I'm glad. My 12 days are up and I'm back at the keyboard again.

Stories of My Father and Brother and Brother and . . .

My dad is a talker. That is an understatement. Any one who has ever met my father has heard a story from him. He has never met a stranger, he has never not had something to say. The reality is my brothers are all the same. We all have something to say and we usually say it. I am the quiet one, although my friends at work would tell you different.

I'm writing this entry as my father and oldest brother are telling stories about everything. Yosemite, traveling, books, wine, you name it it will be talked about. There are mini-arguments on the way, "it went was on the way to . . .", "if you say so, I'm not going to get in an argument on this", it is part of the segue of the conversation. It allows them to move from topic to topic without having to depend on the events of the day or news or gossip. The conversations have been said before but allow each person an opportunity to relive that memory one more time.

We have currently moved from traveling in the south to two sets of books that were in this house for ever. The American Heritage and Great Books of the World, or something like that. It is the walk of nostalgia that I think is much more important then having the nostalgia itself. This is the importance of the living memory. It is the exchange of the information, it is the exchange of the laughter, the nuance, the remembering of the details.

We have moved from the books into what we should put on the floor. It was a quick segue, abrupt, it caused a rift. We are working back towards the story that we have been working on, what to do with my parents and the amount of stuff in the house and what should stay or go. This is the constant story that has been going on over the last few weeks (or years). We are working on this story on a regular basis. It isn't as enjoyable as the stories of the past.

My brothers are all in sales, of one type or another so it is in their nature to tell stories. It is important to be able to tell the story in order to keep the sale on the line. We all have the ability to tell the story that are client want to hear. We read people and find out about them in order to come up with what we really need to hit them with in order to make sure that the story is about them. In fact the story is more important then the sale. The sale puts money in your pocket, but the right story puts even more money in your pocket. It is the ability have people find the common ground, to make them feel as though you are just another part of the family.

The reality is we all tell stories. The stories are incredibly important to who we are as people, it identifies our qualities as people and allows us to relate to one another on a much different level. It does not matter if you hear or tell the story over again, the story is important because it is the connection that binds us together as a society. It is the details from the stories that makes us remember why we did something, or why we went somewhere, or why we trust a certain brand of a certain whatever. It really is about the story.

We are finally back to the story. We have come around full circle again. The story is more important to us because we don't lose the story we just tell it over and over again.

Money Lessons

I can't think of anyone I know who does not worry about their financial health. It is a normal thing to do because much of our lives are spent dealing with money. It could be the acquisition of wealth, paying down of debt or the consumption of items. It is about money. I can't think of too many of us who wouldn't have immediate plans for more money if it came into our lives, and I can't think of too many of us who would love to never have to worry about it ever again.

When I was in high school, and I mean just starting at 14, I knew I had to make some money. I was the youngest, and academically brightest, of 6 kids. There was no such thing as a college fund. I was not going to get a scholarship playing water polo, and I had already learned to not ask my parents for money for anything. If I was going to get something I was going to have to earn it.

My first job was as a truck washer for my brother Kelly. He owned a local courier service and in order to maintain a good corporate image the trucks needed to be clean. I would wash the trucks (I think it was 5 or 6 including a big UHaul type) for $40 bucks. It seemed like a fortune. The work was sporadic in the fall because of water polo tournaments, horrible in the winter because of the weather, and pretty regular in the spring. It wasn't much, but it was money in my pocket.

I moved on to becoming a bus boy at Lyon's with the help of my brother Kurt. I was making minimum wage $3.35/hr (remember those days) and trying to befriend the kitchen staff so that I would not have to use the meal plan at work (if the cooks liked you they would mess up an order for you to eat). I hated cleaning up after people and doing the dishes. The money was better but I just couldn't endure the work. I couldn't figure out how to put it behind me. 6 months later I was gone.

I landed the best job of those early years in the library. I was a page, a book shelver. It was great. I worked 19 hr. weeks during school (which bumped up to full time in college), it started at $5.75/hr (when I left for UCLA I was up to $10/hr), it was air conditioned (a big plus in Stockton summers), and I could tune out all of the things around me. It was a great job. I really enjoyed working there and really enjoyed the people I got to know over the years. When I went to UCLA the first thing I did was go to one of the libraries for a job.

During this time I saved. I saved so I could pay for classes, my car, my insurance, anything that I needed I saved for. I missed a lot of things (at least I thought I did) during those years. I didn't go on a lot of trips to ski or to the lake or river. I had to work. I didn't go out as much at night as some of my friends. I had to work. I knew the meaning of opportunity costs at an earlier age then most. I had to work and I had to save.

I put myself through college. I'm proud of that. I've never missed a payment on anything, ever. I'm proud of that. I've never been in a situation where there was not some type of fallback position available if money got really tight (and it did). I learned the lessons associated with money and hard work. I also hated the fact that there were always choices to be made.

I think about money today as well. I don't think about it as much as I used to. I've come to understand that I will always make sure that there is dinner on the table and a roof over the table and kids in clothes at the table. I also know that money is not the be all or end all of the world as we know it. If I want to be comfortable now I will make that choice knowing that in the future I will also have to make a choice. I still hate the fact that I have to make that choice but in the end I know that everything will work its way out and that I don't have to keep my mind on my money and my money on my mind to make things work.

Art

I'm sure I didn't understand art as I was growing up. I was drawn to certain things, but I didn't understand why. I've been able to really figure out what I like and why I like it as of late. It is a very strong feeling. It is a connection that is hard to explain to those who don't get art. It isn't about the understanding of certain pieces or looking for deeper meaning, it is about understanding what it is that you enjoy and understand about art that makes it work.

I've been to three art festivals so far this year. Comic-Con is a feast for the eyes on many levels. What impressed me the most was each artists ability to pay attention to line and detail. There are so many bits of expression that go into drawing comic book art that it is important that the artist is able to catch the subtleties of the emotions, things like the difference between hate and abhorrence. It is a very difficult craft that only a few really ever make a big name out of. We were able to bring home a couple of sketchbooks by two guys who really impressed me tremendously. Scott Williams, who was the head artist for The Dark Knight, has that ability to draw fluid and clean lines that go well beyond the rest of the crowd. You can feel the energy in his work. The other was an inker (colorist) whose name escapes me at the moment. His ability to discern and mix warm and cool colors to create overall scenes is passionate.

I never would have used these words about art, much less comic book art, even as little as a year ago. I did not have the understanding that I needed to make that connection. To get the pieces to speak to me. It has simply become part of who I am now. I can do more then appreciate art now, I can tell you why I like something and why I don't.

On Sunday we went to two of the Laguna Beach art fairs. Art-A-Fair is for artists of all types. This is art that is geared, mostly, for adults. We saw watercolors, oils, acrylics, photos, sculptures and the like. Landscapes, still life, street scenes, and the eclectic. One particular artist truly inspired me. He created pieces from glass and steel into large Japanese influenced pieces. A mirror he made that depicted bamboo was particularly touching. It wasn't the realism as much as the light that the piece created. It was serene and powerful. It spoke a message that was pure and clean.

The Sawdust Festival is a bit more folksy then Art-A-Fair. You have garden gnomes, toe rings, art glass, jewelry and the like. Another mixed media artist, one fusing wood, glass and steel, really had me hooked. He had created a piece that looked much like a Frank Lloyd Wright House (form and function) and a Monterey Cypress, those found off the coast near Big Sur. It was clean in its lines. Precise. It flowed smoothly from one medium to another with no break in message.

I've arrived at this point in life because I am ready to. I understand that art is important to me because I value certain things about it. I can see the beauty in the symmetry that can be created as well as the daunting challenge that asymmetry can bring to the forefront. I used to be scared of art. I would only comment on those things that landed in the mainstream because they were exactly that. I have finally learned what it is that I like and what it is that speaks to my soul. It is a great feeling to have those things go together for the first time.

The Transfer Station

I went to the dump today, excuse me, the refuse transfer station in order to transfer the refuse from my parents house to wherever it is that it will end up. This was different from the landfill, er, other transfer stations I have been to over my lifetime. In fact at one point in time it was a great adventure (other then the smell, oh the smell) for a youngster to see all of the things that people would consider trash.

Today's trip was a simple drop off. Old mattress and box springs, rotted out cabinet, a couple of odds and ends, and old aluminum shelving unit. 20 minutes to get there, 2 minutes to empty the truck. That will be $10.25 please. All this for trash. It will be recycled, at least what can be was already being gaffed and taken aside by the workers there. The cabinet, the shelving unit, they went off to the other end of the station. They were the lucky ones. They were the ones who would get to live another day. They still had one of their nine lives left.

The others just end up in the big giant pile. This is the one that the bulldozer come over a scoop up the refuse, bring over to the pile and dump. They have some of those giant earth movers with the waffle stomper wheels that just run over the pile minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day. It is the punishment for the refuse, their last breath crushed out of them in a smelly pit of morass. It is the haves and the have nots. Actually, it is just a big pile of smelly crap.

I'm hoping that there are no metaphors for life in here. I don't want this to be the way that anyone is treated. As an English teacher I must read into what I have just put down. It is the nature of the profession. I think I'm wrong. I think it could be about those of us who get the chance to live again and again. We are able (or allowed) to reinvent ourselves and overcome the challenges that we are presented with. I also think that there are those who are simply thrown into the pile and run over by whatever forces occur. They do not, or have not learned, or never had, the ability to learn how to be part of the other pile. They were not able to conquer the challenges but instead they succumb to the obstacles that they encounter.

My father and I went from the dump, oops, transfer station to the Emergency Food Bank. We had four cases of cookies and a large can of Pork and Beans to donate. I have never been to a food bank before today. It made me think about this parallel between what happens at the transfer station (which really takes on a new meaning when applied to us) and what goes on with those around us. The food bank was busy the entire time we were there. Individuals, couples, families, of all walks of life trying to make sure that this was just a challenge for them not an insurmountable obstacle. It felt good to know that we were able to give something back to help those folks stay out of the transfer station.

Stamina Building

I tend to think about what others need quite a bit. I've never missed a meal. I've never gone without clothes or shelter. I've never been in a situation where I couldn't get it taken care of (whatever it might be). I know some people who have gone through these stages. I know of some people who might need the help. What is important is to take care of any of those people around you so that each of us might get the help we need.

My parents are now the oldest living members of the Dornbush/Cochran clan. They are in their 70s and by their own admission, are slowing down quite a bit. They can't stand not being able to do the things that they want to do, quilting and model railroading, for the short amount of time that they can. It is not the good old days when these were all day affairs for them. They do not have the stamina. The recent dealings with my grandmother have not made things any easier for them.

I've spent the last couple of days trying to give my parents back some of their stamina. They were not in a position to move an out of an apartment, take care of all the changes that go along with a death, finalize all of the medical billing, and still run a life of their own. The apartment is empty. The keys are turned in. The billing is done. The changes in address and power of attorney are done. My parents are close to getting their lives back.

I know that my parents are in need. I also have noticed how well they are taken by their children. As a family we always rally around when the cause is needed. We call, we help, we get together. We don't always communicate outside of this. I have been able to notice just how much support, some physical, some emotional, some moral, that they have gotten from their kids. We will always continue this, and it is my hope that we will take better care of them so that the rest of their days are worry free.

I'm not sure who the worry free is about. I'm not sure whether it is for them or whether it is for me. I want my parents house to be taken care of in the manner that I take care of my house. I want to be able to see my parents yard to be the envy of all the community. I want all of this for my parents and I want to be the one who takes care of it. I want my parents to be able to quilt and railroad without worrying about all of the other issues that come up in a household no matter how old you, or your house is.

I guess what I really want is for my parents to be able to have that stamina, or at least feel like they do, to do what they want to do each and every day of their lives. Like all good exercise programs it starts out small and gradually builds itself into something large. I'm hoping that I am helping them to build a strong foundation.

Stuff and the Purging of Stuff

My in-laws have actually made the term "Dornbushing" into a word that means "the random and apparently capricious act of disposing any item that might possibly not be of any use in the near or foreseeable future." You can use the word as "dornbushed" as in "he dornbushed my soda" as well. It is something that I do. I just can't deal with having things around that serve no purpose or that might some day years from now, serve a purpose.

I like to lead an uncluttered life. I want a minimal amount of things in a space. I don't want it to not have a function beyond just its form (all furniture such also have a storage capacity as well). I'll get rid of things on a pretty regular basis if I know that they are not passing the 12 month test. If it hasn't been used in 12 months it is a pretty good indication that it is not going to be used in the next 12 (or the next 12 . . .) either. I have been wrong, I have made mistakes, but I can't think of any that really stand out.

Some people think of me as ruthless. A stealer of memories. I don't need the object to hold the memory for me. I hold that in my head and in my heart. I don't even take a lot of pictures. I want to remember those moments for what they are as they happen and as I remember them at that point in time. I know that I do not come by this genetically at all.

My parents keep a lot of things. 100s of cookbooks, 1000s of N-scale trains, 50+ little houses, a fabric store worth of material, and the list goes on. They have gone through the items and gotten rid of them as the years have progressed. Their retirement gave them the opportunity to finally have a collection of something. It was no longer about meeting the needs of a hungry populace, it was a chance to be a kid and have that something that you always wanted.

I can say that I have wanted stuff. I like electronics and cars, the big ticket items, but I rarely upgrade them. I'll pay for skates for my girls, I'll make sure Cal can earn money for something he wants, but I will cheapskate myself from time to time. Lately, working on the house has allowed me to splurge on myself without feeling like that was what I was doing. It has something to do with an inner drive to make it better because I know I can.

Each time I get the opportunity to pass something on I often think about what the item might bring in terms of monetary value. I've posted some items on Craigslist, I've made a bit of money on the garage sale circuit. I really enjoy taking loads to Goodwill or other organizations that I know will repurpose and reuse this material for the sake of those who don't have it like me. It is like a year round Christmas effect, the giving never stops.

I'm in charge of emptying my grandmother's apartment. We have done a great job of going through the keepsakes, making sure that children or grandchildren or greats, got something that they might of wanted. We have also been able to take care of a great number of folks in need. I've been to Goodwill twice, I'll be at the women's shelter tomorrow, and back at Goodwill, and at my sisters, all in the name of spreading the usefulness of this stuff to those who need it. I'm enjoying this opportunity to "dornbush" all that I can.

Advice of My Father

My father has always been willing to throw in his two cents when the occasion called for it. In my younger years it was more of a ninety mile per hour fastball, but as he and I have aged, it has changed to more of nice slow pitch softball lob. It is interesting how time and distance can change the relationship we have with our parents.

Chuck told me to get the degree, it won't matter what it is in just get the degree. So I did. I didn't have a clue what I would do with an English degree (thank you Krista for stepping in and showing me teaching), but I followed his advice. When I had my truck stolen he told me to do something smart with the money. So I didn't. I bought a VCR and a stereo. I don't have either of them anymore.

When it came to getting married he didn't have to say too much. I had watched over the years how he and mom had interacted and had a pretty good idea of what was needed to make things work for the long haul (my parents have been together for 50+ years). I did wonder how the two of them put up with each other on certain occasions, but I knew that if I followed the example that was in front of me, work hard, say thanks and I love you, and be thankful for what you got, that I was going to be okay. It has been this and a lot of other things that have made my marriage (16 years not 17 as reported in a previous post), has done well so far.

When it came to kids he was no help at all. He had six. Mom was in charge of us as kids (until we reached right around 12) and dad was working to feed us all. He could balance everything you could imagine but it was not like he was rushing to be part of every grand kid that came along. He wasn't going to change a lot of diapers or feed a lot of babies, wasn't his thing. We didn't make a formal "we're trying to have a baby" (aren't you always?) so when we found about Cal, he offered his congratulations and was happy for us. It was genuine, it was meaningful, but there was no real advice attached to it. It was another pretty simple recipe, work hard, play and say thanks, and be thankful for the love you have for them and vice-versa.

Recently Chuck had some advice for me. He told me to make sure that you go and do the things that really matter in your life. If you want to go so place, go some place. If you want to experience something, experience it. If you want to have something, have it. It wasn't about planning a future. It wasn't about how to manage your money. It was about living. It was the most direct advice I think he has ever given to me. Go out and live my boy, go out and live.

As your parents age they do start to turn to their children for advice. For my parents that means 6 kids and 6 spouses. What a headache it must be. I know that they value our opinions and our help because they thank us and say they love us. I've offered some advice to them, just like all of the others have as well, and I hope that it is something that is as important to them as the idea of go out and live my boy, go out and live.

Helyn Cochran 1914-2009

This is the third, and last, time that I will write specifically about my grandmother and her life. She was a wonderful person who always had advice for you, if you asked, would always write you a letter, and loved getting them too, and never once in her life did she back down from a hard days work. Grandma Cochran will be missed and remembered as all people should.

As you can see from the dates Grandma lived through some pretty amazing things. She started her life with the Great War only to move into the Roarin' 20s and then headlong into the Great Depression. From what I understand, and was told, Grandma's life during these early years were much like that of other Americans. There were some bad times, there were some good times, but most there were times that you and I would call normal.

She was well educated, very bright, somewhat precocious, and always thinking. She married once, to Ruzell 'Mickey' Cochran, a bond that would last them a lifetime. They brought three wonderful children into the world, Sydney, Michael and Leslie. Each one of whom was so different from the other. The expectations from Grandma was always the same for each one of them, do your best, try hard (or harder), and always be honest to yourself and those around you. Each learned the lessons well. Each had wonderful families.

My oldest brother Keith, my sister Kim, and my eldest cousin Colleen, all have a much different perspective on Grandma from the rest of us. They can recall the younger version that was always lively and on the go, traveling, working, always ready to play. I did not know this version first hand. By the time I got to know grandma she was still traveling, albeit not as often (though always eating at McDonald's because it was something you could count on), she doted on her husband (except when he made her angry-which was not too often), and she kept amazing amounts of records and correspondence with people from all over. This was a lesson that she stressed to me over the last few years that I have truly taken to heart.

In grandma's apartment there is a box with pictures and her most prized possession. It is something that she put together, something she created, something that told the story of her life and the lives of those around her. Grandmother compiled a family history album in order to preserve the memories of what was happening in her world as each year passed. It has photos and family trees, it has some clippings and stories of how life was and it has a copy of every holiday letter that Grandma ever wrote. She was the Christmas newsletter before there ever was such a thing for the rest of the public.

In each letter she managed to say something about each family member, no matter their age, any travels, any tribulations, and each one of them was strangely familiar yet utterly unique. My wife and I were in charge of packing the apartment last week when we came across the lengthy tome once again. I skimmed through it a little, noticing the details in the writing (it is kept in a very ordinary large three ring binder), and the fact that even though she never really used showy language she was always a good story teller in each and every letter.

I'll miss the letters with Grandma the most. Even though it wasn't a conversation on the phone, which is immediate and direct, the letters we exchanged over the years (especially the last three or so) were so full of great details that it was better then any phone conversation I would ever be able to have with her. We were able to get the essence of what we wanted to say down to the word, instead of the prattle that can dominate a phone conversation. We all knew that grandma was fading from this earth as the cards became less frequent (you got a card for everything in grandma's world), and the letters did not come as often.

For her 95 birthday I made sure that the kids made her a nice birthday card, and I included some of my posts, and I made darn sure that there was a letter in there for her to sit and enjoy. I know that grandma enjoyed that last letter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Helyn Cochran June 24th, 1914--August 3rd, 2009. Mrs. Cochran passed peacefully in her sleep at the Hospice House of San Joaquin County after suffering a broken hip and femur. She passed away on her terms, as always, and leaves this earth to join her husband in the after. She is survived by her daughters Sydney Dornbush, her six children and her thirteen great-grandchildren, and Leslie Flaxington, her four children and her two great-grandchildren.

Although I no longer have any grandparents living, I know that I have all of them to thank for the person I am today.

Helping Man's Best Friend Help Others

Today was my first adventure into volunteering for an event that I have no connection to at all. I simply knew that I wanted to do more for those who are afflicted or disadvantaged, and come up with a few new T-shirts in the process (see earlier post). I had no idea what to expect and no idea what I might be asked to do as a volunteer.

My wife decided to accompany me on this venture. This is a big deal not because my wife does not want to help out, but the event needed us to be there by 6:30 (in reality we should have been there at 6:00) AM. It was great to have someone come along on my first adventure. We showed up at 6:30 went to the volunteer tent and we were not on the "list". I had contacted the event host director directly and he did not relay this information on to the volunteer coordinator. She was a bit lost as to what to do with us.

We put ourselves to work by meeting with Roy, the event host. This is his cause. It is for those of all walks of life who simply are not having a good time of it. This was his first big event, a 5K run, with dogs, called Paws for the Cause. Roy had us set up a table with literature about the organization, and then he turned us loose on whatever else was needed. We both take the initiative and very rarely stand by to watch others do the work, so when we were done with the table we moved on to the Registration Tent.

At any running event, the Registration Tent is the nerve center of all the action. This is where people check in, get their running bib, goody bag, and most important, the T-Shirt. It is always busy at every event because there are always those participants who decide at the last minute that they will go ahead and do the run. When we got to the table it was well staffed and running smoothly. We were a bit stymied.

We soon came upon the next important piece of any charity event, the secondary fund raiser. This is sometimes a silent auction, other times it is a straight donation, and the most popular is a raffle for some type of donated prize. My wife and I, and another volunteer Sue, were now in charge of selling raffle tickets. 1 for $5 or 3 for $10. I can still hear it echoing in my ear from saying it for the better part of the morning.

The problem with raffles and runners is one of logistics. Runners very rarely carry anything with them that is not running related. They just don't carry cash. The good news this morning was the fact that many of them had their dogs with them which meant that they had to carry quite a bit of other "stuff" to make sure that Rover, Bubbles, or Roscoe were well taken care of. I was here to volunteer and this was the task. It wasn't something I was really looking forward to, but I wanted to help this organization and its cause, so I started into the huckster role of the carnival barker.

My wife and Sue were recruited to the timing of the event. This was a hand timed event, most of the bigger events give you a microchip to attach to your shoe, it is amazingly accurate because it does not start your time until you cross the start line and touch the finish line. I was stuck selling tickets. Part of the problem now was the lack of people to sell to. My customers were running for the next 3.1 miles. Most of them would finish in well under an hour and then they would take off. No sale. Profit lost. No additional funds for the program. I needed something else to do, but what?

I quickly moved to breaking down boxes and getting the registration tent ready for cleanup. I was asked to deliver a box of gifts and prizes to the emcee tent, hosted by a local DJ and former Angel baseball player. I wanted to turn over the tickets to those who were supposed to be doing this in the first place. The group who signed up to be here at 8:00 AM to make sure that more money was raised for the cause. The Laker Girls. That's right, I was doing the job of the Laker Girls. In fact, I'm sure that I was responsible for more sales then they were. No spandex for me thanks, just good old fashioned hard work.

I finished up at the finish line so one of the other volunteers could take his family to breakfast. I was in charge of getting the bib tear off, the ID so that people could check their time for the race. The folks who were finishing at this time, the 1 hour+ mark, were not worried about their time. They were there to go for a nice walk with their dog and friends and support the efforts of the organization. Every person I met this morning was doing their very best to make sure that the efforts of the organization were first and foremost in their minds. At least every person but one.

I had the opportunity to interact with the one person who apparently had other things to concern herself over. In the Registration Tent, we give away T-Shirts, that way the vendors and sponsors can get the extra advertising that will have little to no effect on whether or not someone uses their business. Races usually have a few Smalls, some Mediums, and a lot of Large and Extra Large shirts. It is always a first come first serve situation. You really want a small or medium, get there early. This lady wanted her small. Despite the fact that all of the volunteers working the booth apologized for the fact that we were already out of smalls, and that we had no control over the ordering process, when she was asked what size a second time she still said small. She complained to us. She wanted to rant. We apologized, gave her a medium and sent her on her way. I hope she had a good race. I hope that she had as good a time as the rest of the participants and the volunteer staff. I know that I can't wait for the next time I volunteer. By the way, I got a Large and so did my wife.

Home Sweet Home

Vacation was a truly great time. It certainly wasn't about the destination (Stockton is not the garden spot it once was), but it was about what went on while we were there. We were greeted with open arms and warmth and a loving family atmosphere that allowed us to really concentrate on the good things that needed to get done.

We stayed with my best friend Matt and his family for the first couple of nights. It was an amazing experience to have such openness and "my house is your house" really mean it. Leah, Matt's wife, simply took us all in and made sure that we were treated better then you ever could be treated in a four star resort. Everything was taken care of and we didn't have to worry about a thing.

The best part was the fact that Adam and Jacob, the eight year old twin boys, took such good care of my kids. They warmed up to Cal and Kylie as if they had been playing together all their lives. It was a special bond, something that simply happens not something that requires any effort. They all just hit it off. They kept each other entertained and out of trouble and out of all the adults hair. Krista and I were able to get some important work done at Grandma's and my parents', and Matt and Leah were able to just 'be' without the constant thought of how do I keep the kids entertained now, feeling.

We left Matt and Leah's on Wednesday night (their 9th anniversary) and moved over to Susan Thomas' (Matt's mom) house. I have always been welcome here, fact is I spent just about every Friday night in high school at this house. Susan did not care that we showed up at 9:00 pm, she didn't care that we were taking off early to get work done, it just didn't matter. She had us set up in the best Bed and Breakfast you could ever imagine. We needed nothing. We asked for nothing. We received the world.

We don't travel a lot. We don't like to travel because we don't like hotels. It just stinks. You get treated like a piece of meat and you never get the opportunity to really be "at home". There is never the opportunity to be at rest because you never really know what is going to happen in your room or while you are out. Our last two experiences have been the only way that I really want to travel any more. Two year ago we were able to rent a house and cook and clean and run it the way we always have. This last time, staying with great friends and family really gave me the perspective on relationships that I haven't really experienced before. It is something that I know is more important then anything else you could imagine.

Nothing is better then being at home, at least in my family. We like to experience new things but we really like to be able to do things our way. This last trip to Stockton was like a trip home. Thanks Matt, Leah, Adam, Jacob, and Susan, we couldn't of done it without you.