Hip hip horray it's Christmas Vacation...

For the past several years my wife and I have hosted her family for a big, extended and usually exhausting good old fashioned family Christmas.  Air mattresses are inflated, beds are given up, and usually at some point feelings are hurt.  It is just part of the fun.  

I grew up in the same town that both sides of my family had occupied for at least 4 generations, so this was all a very new and frightening experience for me.  As much as the Griswold family is part of my Christmas tradition, the past few years have resembled the Christmas Vacation movie just a bit too closely, minus the SWAT team and kidnapping. 

We knew this year going in that this was sure to be an interesting one.  21 Days before Christmas Granny-in law fell and broke her hip.  2 days before the event Dad-inlaw has surgery on his wrist and shoulder.  Brother in-law and family leave Tennessee only to run headlong into an ice storm on the way to Ohio...my thoughts were that "hey, for these guys it can only get better from here on out."

As it would turn out, it got a whole lot better for us all.  This is the 4th Christmas we have hosted my entire in-law side for Christmas.  This is the 4th time we have had 10 extra people and a dog at our home for several nights.  This is the first time that I can actually say on record that everyone had a good time without fearing coal in my sock for telling a lie so close to Christmas.


It could be that I finally have the hang of hosting a big old-fashioned family Christmas.  It could be that I finally have learned to embrace that sacrifices it takes to turn your home into a full service all inclusive Christmas themed resort.  I actually enjoyed myself.  I loved it to be honest.  I even got the chance to try my hand at cooking the roast beast, turkey to be more specific.  And it was actually delicious.  My fear of the dried out shell of a bird that Clark cut into was replaced by the joy of receiving several compliments from the group, even though they are quick to remind me that they are "ham people."

The children actually played great together, there were no broken bones or stitches, just a few broken toys and some mysterious shards of glass.  Not bad considering there were 7 kids running through the house for 3 days.

 

Meals were all edible and most were even memorable.  New recipes attempted were all a hit.  Absent were the usual arguments about how much nutmeg is necessary here or who's recipe this really is or who spent more on their respective contribution to the feast.  It was all laid out before us like a well oiled catering service and was just as scrumptious.  The leftovers will surely carry us well into the coming week, one of the spoils of hosting. 

All in all it was a great weekend.  The house has now been all but put back together, the beds stripped and towels washed, and it actually seems a bit too quiet around here to be honest.  

Maybe next year we'll go for 4 nights...or maybe invite more of the extended family...we were sort of missing the "Cousin Eddie" aspect this year...

Then again, there is something to be said for tradition, and sanity. 

Just a clown at the party...

I finally heard it this year. Usually I hear it much earlier in the season, but I've been buried in work recently and haven't been out and about as much as usual. The phrase that I am referring to is this...it can be put in many different ways...but when boiled down the jest of it is:
"Santa is Evil and has stolen Christmas from Jesus."

Now, I grew up, Thank you Mom and Dad, in a Christian home. I went to Sunday school voluntarily (most weeks) and I now have an active and relatively mature Faith. I have a healthy respect for God and a very real relationship with Jesus Christ.

I also, admittedly have a thing for Santa.  Kris Kringle.  Father Christmas. I love the history, the story and the magic that he represents. I love the memories from my youth that he conjures up and the sparkle in my own children's eyes when they see him now. I believe that Santa adds to the celebration and that he represents the love and giving nature of God, who, after all gave the very first Christmas gift Himself 2000 plus years ago.

I liken Santa at the birthday celebration of Jesus to a clown at a kid’s party. The clown ads to the excitement and makes the party more special and more memorable. The clown does not take away the focus from the "birthday boy/girl", he ads to the festivities.

Santa is merely a clown at the party. The tree is like the cake...and the gifts, well that really isn't a stretch; except that because of the ultimate sacrificial love for us, Jesus has allowed us to receive the gifts at His birthday party. Try to talk a 6 year old into that and they will learn very quickly just how special Jesus' love is.

So, I guess I am just trying to justify my Santa fetish. I do understand the point of the argument. I do see the danger in focusing on the commercial Christmas. I guess I am of the opinion that anything that helps to make the biggest birthday celebration in history a little more magical is a pretty good thing. Giving generously to remember the Greatest Gift of All is not a slap in the face of Christmas...and Santa celebrating Christ's birth by building an army of Elves in a secret workshop somewhere North of the Arctic Circle and then delivering the fruits of said Elves’ labor via a herd of airborne reindeer to the homes of sleeping children who have worked for the previous weeks to be more nice than naughty doesn't bother me a bit. Santa, like me, is just trying to add to the celebration of Jesus.

Happy Birthday Jesus! Bring on the clowns!

Tis the season to be merry...

It may just be me...but the lights seem to be a little brighter this year, and no, it isn't because some of them are LED.  Maybe it's the economy; people are looking for a positive distraction from job loss and foreclosures.  Maybe it's the build up; retailers have been pushing Christmas since the 5th of July. Maybe it's that everyone saw "Christmas with the Kranks" or read "Skipping Christmas" last year and realize now that there is no use avoiding it...and if they have to do it they might as well throw an extra strand on.  I honestly don't know what it is.  I cannot deny though that when I drive around town there just seems to be more twinkle.  And that my friends, is a very good thing.

In my 3 and a half decades milling around and tripping over the bumps on this planet I have never experienced a time when the world could use a good Christmas as much as we all can now.  I'm not talking about a big Christmas.  We had plenty of those in the 80's.  I'm not talking about an extravagant Christmas.  We had those through the 90's.  I'm not talking (although the retailers would argue otherwise) about an expensive Christmas.  We have those every year.  The Christmas I am talking about is the magical... children singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, cut-out cookies and hot cocoa, red and green everywhere, send out some cards to distant relatives, plan a family dinner (and invite ALL the family), get your butt to church, find an advent wreath and learn which candle to light first, Twas the Night Before Christmas reading, celebrate the fact that this IS Jesus Christ's birthday party... good old fashioned Christmas.

Don't worry about fancy, worry about family.  Don't worry about re-gifting, worry about giving.  Don't worry if you can't afford to give a lot of gifts, worry about giving the gift of time and a little of yourself.  Bake cookies and deliver them in person to some neighbors or relatives you might not see often enough.  Have some people over for coffee and cookies and enjoy their company without worrying if you have dishes in the sink or laundry that needs folded.  Call someone whom you love and share a Christmas memory you have of them from years ago.  Find an "angel tree" somewhere and buy a gift for a complete stranger...you get where I am going with this.  Do the things that make you sigh when you accidentally flip to a Holiday movie on the Hallmark Channel.

Remember...Santa is watching.

It just seems like the world is crying out for a good, wholesome, homegrown Christmas.  Where Christ is the center of attention and there is more joy in who you are with than what you will get.

There is a heightened sense of urgency this year...we are already 2 full rows down on the advent calender.  I have already watched Christmas Vacation...twice.  Jingle the Elf has already fallen off the wine rack atop the fridge and had to be placed ever-so-carefully to a safer place, on the Christmas tree with tongs... as not to touch him and spoil his Christmas magic...

...the game is afoot...the clock has started...time is running out...

But the lights... you must admit ...they are shining brighter this year.

Only 15 days left until Christmas.  And I plan to make the most of each one.

It's the most wornderful time....

Ahh...the days are brisk and sunny, the nights are cold, and the mornings are downright freezing...it must be December in Ohio.


We stayed true to our tradition and put up the tree and all the trimmings on Black Friday. Enjoyed Orrville's Home for the Holidays later that night and spent the rest of the weekend enjoying family and lots and lots of food.

The kids welcomed our Elf, Jingle, back from the North Pole and run downstairs each morning now to see where he's hiding. He flies back to report to Santa on their behavior each night while the boys sleep and then repositions himself in a new spot around the house upon his return. It’s amazing the lengths that adults go to just to prolong that Christmas magic for their children. I love it.

With a 9 month old who is mobile and into EVERYTHING we are passing on the ceramic village this year that usually gets built under the tree and are waiting to set up the model train until the boys downright beg for it. Keeping little G from pulling the entire tree down on top of himself is work enough for now.


We did set up a Playmobil Nativity under the tree...really cool, part toy, part teaching tool to help the kids keep in the forefront that amidst all the twinkling lights and make believe, Christ's birth is the reason for the magic, and the greatest gift ever given.

I enjoyed my first viewing of the classic Christmas Vacation this week...I'll watch it at least 4 more times before Santa takes his big ride. For some reason I relate all too well with Clark Griswold.

23 more days until Christmas. Time to break out the red sweaters and eggnog...

either get off or help pull

Generally speaking I’m a pretty easy going dude…at least from outward appearances. I get along just fine in public. Make friends fairly easily and overall play very well with others. I enjoy a good conversation and like small talk as much as the average guy on the street. I would say that my patience is good, for the most part, and that I am very capable of tolerating a pretty high level of stress…

This being said; I think I might be ready to go postal...Go ballistic. Go rogue.

As Popeye put it so eloquently… ”I’ve had all I can stands, I can’t stands no more!”

People are getting to me. They are getting under my skin and inside my head. They seem to be coming out of the woodwork just to pull out in front of me and then step on the brakes.

Is it me…or has someone turned the volume up on ignorance, short-sightedness, negativity and closed mindedness.

Sure, they aren’t known by those names when they're out on the town, in street clothes.

They come dressed up in tweed jackets with labels like conventional, traditional, cautious, and conservative.

They come with a side of “that’s not the way we do things around here” or “we tried that back in ’83 and it didn’t work, why would we try that again?”

They usually travel in groups, because their attitude is viral. Contagious. Easy to catch and hard to get rid of.

They are the voices from the right of the room that always have to bring up past failures.

Past struggles and missed marks are the center of attention for them, not present successes and certainly not the future. They're obsessive about clinging to the downside of any news and the naysayers of any potential changes, positive or not.

Real change is their underlying fear, though I rarely hear them admit it.

Now, don’t read into this that I am a liberal rebel nutcase who wants everything turned upside down just to have something new to view. Though I have been known to look at the “what ifs” and “why nots” more often than the “why bothers” in life, I am not a card-carrying Democrat (or Republican for that matter) or a sign wielding protestor. At least not yet.

I do believe that the future belongs to those who have learned (and it is a learned skill) to embrace progress and change…I also believe in the value of positive changes made by those who were the entrepreneurs and pioneers of yesterday. In other words, just because it’s old doesn’t mean it’s broken.

But if it IS broken, whether old, new or otherwise…don’t expect me not to try and fix it. That's what I do. Don't show me something dirty unless you want something shiny there when next you look.

What I will not do however, is sit by and let the curmudgeons complain about all of the “radical” new ideas out there today and tell me how “terribly liberal” our society has become, simply because they have failed to pick up their feet and move along with those of us moving forward. If you are going to get off the rollercoaster, that's fine, but don't scream at me from the ground while I'm in the middle of a triple loop about how I am going too fast and how you prefer to keep both feet on the ground.

Someone has to keep this world moving, growing and evolving and it's usually those of us who are pulling the weight, pushing the load…and it seems to be done lately with the naysayers sitting on top telling us to slow down.

Autumn reflections...

I love the fall. Autumn. The smell of the leaves and of the fireplaces fired up for the first time…the apple cider and the crisp morning air. The football games and hay rides and sweaters and pumpkins. It’s one of my favorite things about Northeast Ohio.



Fall is a great reminder that change is a wonderful thing. Transition is a natural and necessary part of life. Summer was great with the hot days and poolside conversations. Margaritas and laughing kids running through the sprinkler on a Tuesday afternoon. But every good thing must end and there is wonder to be found in the time in between. Yes…it does mean that winter is on the way. Yes…it does mean that soon the grill will be packed away and the gas bill will reach triple digits…but not just yet. The fall is a golden yellow, orange and red reminder that we can’t be in such a big hurry to rush into the next chapter. There is an almost otherworldly beauty in this momentary redecoration of the landscape. Time seems to slow for just a moment and things just feel good.


Of course this whole peaceful warm fuzzy feeling is derailed when you are dealing with a house full of whiny, sneezy, snotty, fevery, coughing, wheezing sick kids…


But it is a great time nonetheless…

Happy fall…

Old friends...

What is it about some friendships that just never seem to get stale? While some friendships, regardless of their longevity, seem to need constant care and grooming, these old friends see you as the same person they knew when the friendship was young and vibrant.


My wife and I just recently had a fantastic dinner with some friends whom we have not seen in almost a year. Prior to that it had been nearly two years...and yet they were as familiar, as close and as comfortable as in the years we spent in close proximity. Was it the experiences we shared when the friendship was young?  Is it the common interests or ties we share? I don't know what it is but it is undeniable, some friendships just have staying power. Some friendships can span a lifetime, with such minimal effort that you run the risk of taking them for granted, but please don't make that huge mistake. They are like the tent stakes that keep all four corners on the ground when the storm hits. You may not notice the tent stakes when the weather is calm, but you sure would if they weren't there when the winds came.


Good friends don't need constant grooming. They don't need "dressed up" for and they don't expect to always see you at your best (although they do bring out the best in you). They make you instantly feel like yourself, even after months of forgetting who you really are. They believe your crazy stories and more important, they believe in you.


Even more impressive, these friends make you want to reciprocate all of these things to them, thus making you a better person and friend in return.

I have thousands of acquaintances in my life; I have hundreds of friends and dozens of good friends and just a few really good friends. Those few know who they are. Some are new to my life; some have been in my life for years, some decades. All are loved.


Life is too short to live without them.


A year is too long to go between seeing them.

Some things heard recently in the Blough house...

The flu hit us early this year...and hit us all.  This gave us a LOT of time to spend stuck in the house together, not that it's a bad thing...but it does tend to make one a bit slap-happy...

Here are a few memorable quotes from our time in quarantine...

After watching the movie Thomas & the Magic Railroad I was channel chasing and came across The Hunt for Red October.  After about 5 minutes of watching Sean Connery running around the sub Caedon turned to me and said, "The Submarine Conductor lost his sparkle didn't he Dad..."  He sure did Caedon...good observation...now let's see what's on Noggin?!?

"You don't look good honey" I said, "you don't have any color this morning."  Brody's response: "Well candy is has a lot of color...can I have some candy?"

"Let's have quiet time guys, daddy's head is really pounding"  The boys response: "Ok Dad...but can we play our drums for quiet time because we already watched a show today."  Sure boys...why not....

"Stop running your truck into your other toys!  If you don't have any respect for your stuff, maybe I should give your toys to some other kids who need them?!"  Response, very graciously:  "Well...you can give them these ones, they're broke."

"Brody, how do you feel this morning buddy?"  "I is still feeling sick....but not if we going to Grandma's...just if we going to school."

"Caedon, does your throat hurt?"  "No Dad...only when I cough...or talk..."

And my favorite...after being up all night with a feverish, kicking and coughing Brody beside me in bed...I asked him, "Did you sleep good last night?"...already knowing that he hadn't.  His response was:

"I think I did..but I don't know why you keep waking me up?  That is mean to wake me up Daddy..."  

Sorry Brody...my body was in the way of your feet, knees and an occasional elbow...how thoughtless of Daddy...

The Boy and the Universe

When once a boy stood at the edge of a field

The Universe stopped for a moment and said

Pardon me son, have you thoughts now to run, to play and skip and to race

Not me, said the boy, for I cannot see past the hand right in front of my face

My eyes are not right and the sun is too bright, I would stumble should I try to race

The Universe paused, filled with sadness and said,  come, lift your hands to the sky

And with that the boy did as the Universe said and the winds began to fly

The boy lifted off as the sky breathed in and the air swirled around the boy’s feet

He rose above the field, the trees and the land

He rose above homes and lemonade stands

He rose above oceans and into the clouds where he felt the cool dew on his brow

He opened his eyes and a smile grew wide as he understood his new friend's intent

He saw the kind eyes of the Universe and the Universe looked down at the boy

Both locked in a gaze that lasted for days and filled both their hearts with great joy

The Universe explained, with sadness and pain, that he understood the boy’s lament

For the clouds fogged his sight as they swirled around the world and he could not easily see

The boy understood, said he was sorry and promised to watch for clear skies

And the Universe was happy and put the boy safely back down in the field, satisfied

And when clear skies came the boy ran to the field and squinted his eyes to the sky

And he waved hello from the field below, looking into the Universe's eyes

The Universe looked down and smiled at the boy and warmed his face with the sun

And the boy lived his life always feeling quite proud that he and the Universe were one

October 15th is International Credit Union Day!

I know it is not a holiday that is on many calendars. It hasn’t made it to the “Hallmark Holiday” status. Nobody (aside from those of us in the industry) will be throwing a party for it or sending a card. But that doesn’t mean that International Credit Union Day is a day that should go unnoticed.

At the Wayne County Community Federal Credit Union we serve anyone who lives, works, worships or attends school within Wayne County, Ohio. Some might see that as limiting. We see it as an advantage. We only focus on what matters to the people of Wayne County. We strengthen the people and communities in Wayne County and fill the specific needs of Wayne County…and we are great at it.


We have around 4500 members, just under $34million in assets and we spend 100% our time and our resources putting as much value as possible back into the lives of those members, and in the community we share.


I will be celebrating the day by going to Waynedale High School and teaching 3 separate senior high classes the ins and outs of credit, but this isn’t just a one day thing for us. Two out of every three credit unions in Ohio provide some form of free financial education to their communities. That’s more than 350 credit unions and communities that are strengthened because we know that the best financial tool out there is knowledge. Over 60% (and we are among them) of credit unions offer free one-on-one counseling to anyone, member or not, because we know that it is not right for those who know the least to get taken advantage of the most.

Credit unions are a true community asset. Not a flashy one. Not a loud one. But a strong and stable one.


A credit union focuses on people, not profits. A credit union is not a building or a business. A credit union, when you boil it down, is a group of people, a cooperative, a community.


Wayne County is lucky to have several strong credit unions in our community. The Wayne County Community Federal Credit Union in Smithville is one of them. We might not be a household name (yet) but I assure you that in the households of our members, we are a source of strength, stability and pride.

Happy International Credit Union Day!

The list

As I drove around town last week, listening to NPR as usual, I stumbled onto an interview of Rosanne Cash. The interview was focused on a list that her famous father had given her when she was 18 years old. The list contained the 100 country songs that her father considered to be the most influential and crucial songs in country music and implored his daughter to get to know the songs intimately as they were the backbone of his musical heritage and hers. She admitted that at first she was unimpressed but gracious at the gesture. As the daughter of Johnny Cash she was swimming in a sea of country music and musicians and this seemed merely another drop in the ocean.



As she grew into her own musical identity she said that the list began to make more sense to her, along with the giving of the list, especially coming from her father. As she revisited the list several times over the following decades she realized that what her father shared with her was a part of his musical soul, his country DNA, a legacy that she shared with him both as a daughter and a musician herself. For years she resisted the urge to record any songs from the list in fear of being accused of “trading on her father’s name.”


In 2007 she revisited the list. Her father was now passed and she felt a need to feel the connection to him that the songs represented. In the years following she began to seek out and become intimate with the songs that made up the list and eventually began the work of recording a few of the songs herself. Not covers of the songs. Not her father’s renditions. She recorded the songs as her own and felt ownership of them, after all her father gave her the list, it was her property and recording the songs was her birthright. The CD was released yesterday, October 6th, 2009. Here’s what she said about it:


It is perhaps the only record I could have made at this point in my life, and it is deeply thrilling and very emotional for me to claim this legacy in this way, and, after a lifetime as a songwriter, to showcase some essential and truly great songs as a singer, an archivist, and as a daughter. And mother. This list now goes to my children.


I must admit, I am not a huge country music fan, though I am a fan of many of Johnny Cash’s classics. I’m not at all familiar with the music of Rosanne Cash. I simply find the story behind the list touching. As a parent it makes me think a lot about what “lists” I want to leave for my children. Would I leave them all the same lists? Would I cater the lists individually for each? What type of list would make up my musical DNA?


As I sit and think about it, the task seems like one that would have to be dealt with very circumspectly. I wouldn’t want to have it misinterpreted. I would want to have it represent who I am.  Would it be books?  Music?  Movies?  Places I've been? I have no idea...but I am going to start thinking about it.

If you were to make a list what would you include? Who would you give it too that could possibly decode it. Break it down. Use it as a means to know more about who you are and what’s inside your soul.

For some reason it makes me want to watch the movie High Fidelity. 

It seems there's a John Cusack movie for every occasion. 

Interesting stuff.

Waiting for the other shoe is a waste of time...

A week prior to our wedding in June of 1999 my wife Tanya and I were invited to go to camping with the maid of honor and her boyfriend near his home town of Inthemiddleofnowhereville. We were excited to get away from the wedding planning craziness and looking forward to the pending engagement of the couple as it was to take place that night around the campfire. We met up with some friends and loaded our gear in the back of the boyfriend's brother's pickup and headed off toward the campground only to veer off the side of the road, down a ravine and into a very stout tree going around 50 miles per hour. Tanya and I weren't wearing seatbelts, as the truck we were passengers in had none. We were thrown first into the windshield and then out of the passenger side door and onto the forest floor. Specifically into a huge patch of poison ivy, poison oak and thorns. Tanya had torn ligaments and cartilage in her knee and had broken her arm just above the elbow. I had a severe concussion and glass in my head.

The driver spilled his beer.

Tanya ended up in the emergency room of one hospital, I ended up getting a helicopter ride to another and once I woke up the next afternoon, we were 130 miles apart. We wouldn't see each other again until the rehearsal dinner. The wedding still went on and was beautiful. Tanya had a sling that matched her dress and I itched from head to toe thanks to the poison ivy. We were alive and we were married.

The honeymoon is when reality hit. Tanya was on serious pain meds to deal with the broken arm that still hadn't started to heal and the knee that still required surgery. (that would make for a wonderful first Christmas together as husband and wife) The Carnival Destiny as large as it was, still managed to roll with the motion of the ocean and that, along with the pain meds, made for a very irritated and nauseated bride. The constant itching and the nauseated, irritated wife made for a great time for me as a new husband. I spent hours on our balcony watching the water and wishing this was just a bad dream, realizing that I had just vowed to love Tanya in sickness and in health, but not really expecting the sickness part to start quite so soon. To put it bluntly, it sucked.

To be completely honest the first year of our marriage stunk. Tanya had several surgeries and months of rehab and I was stuck somewhere between home health aid and therapist as we tried to figure all of this out. I was angry, she was angry. Not the best of times.

BUT...we worked through it and learned to love each other at our weakest and worst.

The medical bills piled up and the "settlement" that we were promised by a crack attorney fizzled out to amount to around a third of what we owed. Another great lesson we had the privilege of learning right out of the gates. Finances are a hard thing to deal with as newlyweds, try adding $40,000 of medical debt to that lesson. It sucked.

BUT...we worked hard and paid it off after 6 long years and in the meantime learned to budget and live on less.

Less than 2 months after we were officially free of the debt from our car accident Tanya started having sharp pains in her side. She went in to the ER and they found several large stones in her gall bladder. No big deal, arthroscopic surgery is a piece of cake and she would be back on her feet chasing our 3 year old and 1 year old around the house in a couple of days. No such luck.

The surgeon who performed her operation sliced open her intestine and closed her up without repairing it. She spent a night in the hospital (where she was an RN) in excruciating pain and agony only to be told by the nurse that she was being too dramatic and that most people don't have this much pain, she must just not be strong enough to handle it. Right.

They discharged her, I brought her home and by that evening she was literally half dead. I drove her to the ER of another hospital only to find that she was in the process of going septic and her organs were starting to shut down. That night was the longest of my life as she groaned and shook in the ICU. They were to perform emergency surgery first thing in the morning to open her up and see what was going on. I thought again about loving my wife in sickness and in health.

The surgery was a success, but the recovery was hell. She was suffering from massive infections and an incision that spanned the length of her abdomen. We were on the critical care floor for a month. I say we because I rarely left her side for more than a few hours. I will never forget the way it felt to be trapped in the hospital. I would try to make the best of it, making the slow strolls down the hall carrying two IV poles as romantic as possible. Bringing movies in to watch together for "date night". It sucked.

BUT...we became a team during those long weeks. I surrendered myself and served her in whatever capacity she needed. She surrendered her pride and relied on me for even the most mundane of tasks. Our marriage not only survived, but thrived. My faith was strengthened as I began to feel God's hand in my life and in Tanya's healing. Our boys were at my parent's house and I tried to see them daily, they made frequent trips to the hospital to visit once Tanya was moved out of ICU and her vitals stabilized but it is a painful thing to see a mother separated from her children for 2 weeks and an even more painful thing to see a 1 and 3 year old try to process why Mommy is crying and why they can't hug her and why she doesn't come home to be with them. The recovery in the hospital was physical; the one at home over the next six months was emotional.

BUT...we learned that we can survive. That life is not fair or just. We were both off work for a total of 2+ months during this time.


Again, we found ourselves buried in a mountain of medical bills. This time we couldn't even find a lawyer who would take our case. Because Tanya lived through it we just didn't have a strong enough case. We were told, to our faces, that had she died they would have been happy to take the case. Thanks, you heartless wretches.

Anyway, Tanya recovered, she was able to deliver a beautiful baby boy last spring and all is well. Crazy with a house full of boys, but it is well. What we have found though, and the reason for my writing about this at all in this forum, is that it has created a habit in our way of thinking. A filter that all of the good things get pushed through. A feeling that at any moment, especially when things are going very well in our house, that the other shoe is going to drop. I have no idea where that phrase originated and frankly I don't care. I have realized over the past few months that living with that feeling of impending doom is a waste of time. A waste of energy. A waste of the gift of life that we have been given. It sucks.

There may very well be other tragedies that hit us. Life isn't fair or just. But to focus on that and not on the great times that daily brighten our lives defeats us before we ever step out onto the field. My kids will hopefully never remember the time that Tanya spent in the hospital or the tough months afterwards. At times I wish I could forget too. As I write out the checks to pay the bills now over 3 years old that are still hanging over us from that ordeal I find it hard to forget.

BUT...that doesn't mean we are doomed to repeat this cycle. Life happens...and right now I write the checks with a certain bit of pride in knowing that we have been through it before and we can do it again. We won. We were a team, and a damn good one at that. We will need every bit of that teamwork over the next 20 years to raise our boys into good, strong, Godly men. I am tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I think instead I'll look for opportunities to run around barefoot and crazy. With sand between my toes.

I will however be driving us to the beach myself...with my seatbelt on.

Where the wild things are...

One constant, no matter the economy, weather or season, is that boys will be boys. My two oldest sons are true examples of the rough and wonderful world that adolescent males live in. Their world is ruled by monster trucks, fishing trips and wrestling matches. They survive on peanut butter and jelly, chocolate milk and cookies they sneak from the counter. There is no worry about coordinating clothing, what color socks they are wearing with what color shoes or whether their hair is combed or teeth are brushed before heading out the door, in fact if it's a nice summer day they really don't mind running out the door wearing nothing at all. Boys will be boys.


In this world of hand sanitizer, plastic coated sealed and sterile everything, GPS on every dashboard so Heaven forbid we won't end up in uncharted regions and cell phones connecting people 24/7, I wonder sometimes what "wonder" there really is left for my boys out there. How far are we really apt to let them roam and explore when we can get online and find in five minutes any sex offenders lurking out there in our midst? How long a leash will we allow them when the news is filled every night with stories of abductions and murders and monsters? In this over sanitized and sensationalized world we live in how far can I let my boys go to explore the world they are growing up into? Are there really any wild places left within the reach of their grubby little hands?

I remember my childhood all too well. I would pack up a bag with my fishing gear, pocket knife and a canteen and head down the road to the nearest farmer's pond, creek or woods a few miles away. Sometimes I road my bike sometimes I hoofed it, but it was me, alone. I was probably 10 to 12 and had the freedom to just head out and explore. I was blessed to live out in the country and had what seemed like limitless range of woods, fields and water at my disposal. There were "hunting" trips with my trusty Daisy BB gun and my dog Spike that were every bit as exciting as anything Ted Nugent ever sang about (minus the big game) and fishing trips that found me in ownership of more fish than I could carry home, let alone fillet and cook. Yes, in my pre-teens I could actually clean a fish. My father taught me well. I'm sure if hunger required it today I could still do the job...but I have to admit, it would take a lot to make me do it. The sense of convenience and cleanliness has overcome my wild side.

I remember hiking for hours in the woods finding old trails and sometimes just making my own. Exploring long forgotten hunting shelters and junk piles that always held treasures of some kind or another. My parents didn’t worry about me (much) and I had no fear of anything except maybe the occasional muskrat trap. I was independent and free. It was my own little "Into the wild" experience played out again and again throughout those golden years before varsity sports, the opposite sex and a driver's license clouded my pubescent brain.

If I could go back and feel that freedom and wonder again for just one afternoon, I would give almost anything to do it. I want to be able to remember it well so that it can hold equal weight to all the fear I have now of what might happen if my boys explore past my grasp. Just maybe if I remember how much it meant for me it'll be enough to push me to let go, just a little, so that they can feel the same way I did. Free to explore. Free to find their own paths.

I don't know if my parents were intentional about it or they were just happy to have me out of the house for a few hours, but I am forever grateful to have had the chance to go out and explore the world around me. I hope I have the courage to do the same for my boys. I hope to experience it with them and teach them what I can remember about it, but mainly I want them to experience it for themselves and tell me about it in their own words.

I want them to feel wild and appreciate the world the way it was before we safeguarded and sanitized it. That raw and dirty world is the one I want them to get to know, filled with fish scales and sparrows and even some poison ivy, scrapes and scratches. I just hope they find it before it’s gone, on their own terms, just like I did. I'll even share my old canteen with them just as soon as I can find it.

Smile, this economy loves you!

I’m in no way a sadist and I hate seeing people hurting, but it has been very interesting watching people react to the economic stress and cultural changes that have taken place over the past 12 months.


The reactions I’ve seen have run the spectrum of clearing out the house and leaving in the middle of the night; to buying up every “once in a lifetime” deal that comes into view thinking that “now’s the time to buy for those who have the means to do it.” Most though fall somewhere in between. Most people are exhausted at this point and just plain tired of reacting. Like the end of a long day at an amusement park, the continued adrenaline rushes between long periods of waiting have left us punch drunk and groggy. The emotional roller coasters have taken their toll and left us woozy. Take us to the IMAX to watch a 3d movie of the ocean and suck in some AC or drive us home, we’re done. We just don’t want to do it anymore.


Even good news seems to have lost its luster lately. The market reacts slower to positive information now than it used to. People just seem jaded and indifferent to the whole show. Mainly because at this point it all just seems like a show. What’s more real, watching middle-aged desk jockeys get thumped by a giant hammer on a reality show or watching yet another bank who took in all the government aid its fat pockets could hold only to pay out billions to its executives in bonuses. It all seems like bad TV to me. Frankly, I am ready to change the channel, and I am in the finance industry.


The people I’ve gained the most inspiration from throughout this year of economic turmoil are the ones who have embraced it as a chance to change things. The people who have seen their share of misfortune and have turned it into opportunity. Families who have downsized over-indulgent lifestyles to simplify things and do more with less. Individuals who have networked with other individuals to share their resources and thus a little bit of themselves to help out. People who have found that long- lost ability that we all have innate within us to survive. Adapt. Unite. Businesses that have been at the forefront of reinventing themselves and streamlining their shape to better react to the curves, to put themselves in a better place than they were a year ago can immerge stronger than ever when things turn around. And they will turn around.


This has been a truly global event. This will be in the history books. We will live through it. We will be better off for it. Anything that doesn’t kill us will make us stronger.


Be open to the changes that are taking place. Be active in the process. Be vocal about your thoughts and share your ideas. A person who sounds no voice when the problem is being solved has no right to one after the fact to complain. That’s my take on it. I’ve been guardedly optimistic thus far. Now I’m tired of keeping up my guard.


I’m ready to just be optimistic.


Good news anyone…or will I just have to create some myself?

CU's are turning around the life rafts...

I know that in this day and age just having any job is a blessing, but I am compelled to write today because of the special blessing I have to be part of the credit union movement. I know that this may not be the most exciting thing I write about to most of you, but I am passionate about what I do.

I am privileged to be the chief executive officer at a community chartered Federal credit union. I love my career. I love my members. I love the CU movement. In this tornado of economic mayhem the past 18 months, CUs have been doing whatever it takes to keep on doing what we do, taking care of our members and strengthening our communities. I like what Arthur Levitt, former Chairman of the US Securities and Exchange Commission said, "This country is going through no less than an economic revolution." I'll buy that. In my position at the helm of my small ship I have seen things that have never before floated to the surface. These times give new meaning to the term "uncharted waters."

Still, through all of the turmoil, all of the bad news and doomsday prophesy out there, credit unions have continued to be that bit of good news that the media brushes under the rug. With the age old "if it bleeds, it leads" attitude, the failed banks (one after another), the mortgage debacle and all of the painful foreclosures that followed (and continue to), the Madoff madness and the catastrophic credit crunch...it all takes a big fat front seat to the roughly 8000 credit unions that are still lending (over $1.4 BILLION dollars worth so far in 2009), still working hard on loan modifications and mortgages that help keep good people stuck in hard times in good homes, and still paying above market rates to people who are saving their money and we are keeping that money safe by investing it with SAFETY as our main concern instead of profit. Seems that slow and steady really does win the race sometimes and that companies motivated by greed will eventually have to reap what they sow...who knew???

It seems that in these troubled waters, credit unions have become the Coast Guard, the first responders to the crisis. We have stepped in and helped fill the void in credit when the banks decided to shut off the valve. We as an industry have actually increased our flow, made our terms easier, made our members stronger and turned on the lighthouse for the communities we serve because we as an industry know that doing ordinary things in uncertain times leads to extraordinary outcomes.

The cooperative nature of credit unions and the fact that we are people focused and not profit focused is what makes it work, what makes us tick and what keeps us going strong when others are sinking like rocks. Big rocks.

If you are reading this and are a part of a credit union, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Tell your friends and family, this is not a secret society or exclusive club...we want to help as many as we can get into the lifeboats. The way the banks are handling it reminds me of the Titanic. 20 life rafts paddled away from the ship as it went into the cold dark water, most barely half full. 300+ souls bobbed in that water in life jackets and screamed for help as the rafts continued to paddle further away. Only one of the rafts paddled back to the people, and only after nearly all of them had succumbed to hypothermia. They waited too long. They ignored the screams.

The banks are turning their backs on the very people who they made these mortgage loans to, just a few years ago. They are unwilling to work with families desperately trying to get back on track and stay in their homes. The little bit they are willing to do is too little and far too late to really be of any use.

In many areas that have been hit the hardest with foreclosures credit unions are going in full force, trying to work with members to get the financing they deserve and at terms that are fair and honest.

If you are reading this and are not part of a credit union, get online and find one in your area. No matter where you live and work there is a credit union that serves you. Sometimes it takes a little work to find us. We don't have a branch on every corner and don't spend millions on advertising, but we are there, and the only reason we exist is YOU.

Halfway to 70

Me, 34 1/2 years ago

It was bound to happen eventually. Being the oldest cousin, oldest sibling and one the of the oldest in my class all through school, eventually I knew I would reach a point in my life when I would actually feel old. Now I am certainly not saying that 35 is in any way old. (I have seen first hand proof that old is a state of mind more than a state of being) I said that I would get to a point in my life when I would FEEL old. And boy do I ever feel old. In the words of Indiana Jones, "It's not the years Honey, it's the mileage."

It's been an eventful 35 years. I can only imagine that if the next 35 years are as eventful, by the time I reach 70 I will indeed BE old, not that 70 is old, it just happens to be twice my current age. It started off slow enough, elementary school and the brief moment of freedom that is childhood, but then comes middle school and then sports and high school and then dating and then college and then everything that college brings and then it begins to snowball into marriage and family and career and poof...you're 35.

A decade of marriage, 3 kids, a few houses and about twice as many cars and a couple of pets later and here I am at a halfway-point of sorts. Part-way to old, again, not that 70 is OLD. I hear 70 is the new 50...and I look farward to every day along the way to get there.

Anyway, my career is going well, family is growing and wonderful, life is full. Very full. Post Thanksgiving unbutton your pants full. So full in fact is life that my birthday blog is being written on the 8th. Thus is life when you are living in a house where the adults are outnumbered by the kids and the calendar is too full to find the time in it to schedule a meal with your wife or even to sleep more than a few hours. I truly feel lucky at the moment to simply remember what my name is and where I parked the car.

After 35 years I would expect to be able to pass along at least a few nuggets of wisdom...sorry, but this is all I have to pass along at this point:

Life is Good. Thank you Bert & John Jacobs for Jake and Rocket and their simple but profound truths.

Less really is more. After spending my entire birthday cleaning and organizing my garage (my choice) I have come to realize that "STUFF" clutters your life and that quality really does trump quantity. Anything that hasn't been used in 12 months is most likely NOT a necessary item. And also...one man does not need 27 screwdrivers.

You can't choose your family, so be very careful when choosing your friends. The people you spend time with have a huge impact on your life and on your perception of "how it is"...so when you can choose, choose wisely! I try to fill my life with people who challenge me to be better and who see the glass as half full!

Take a chance, make a decision. I tell my team this all the time, and it's almost always true. You are better to make a decision, even if it ends up being the wrong one, than to do nothing or put off a decision until later because you're scared of being wrong. I've taken a lot of risks in my life and my decisions haven't always turned out to be the best ones, but I have always regretted a decision NOT made more than one that in retrospect might not have been right.

There is very little upside to worry. I have seen worry destroy lives. It is unproductive, unattractive, unhealthy and self- destructive. When you feel overwhelmed with worry you can't see the solution, you can't see the light. What will happen will happen, we can't control everything, we CAN control our reactions, and worry is about as useless a reaction as you can find.

Look forward to tomorrow! Although none of us are guaranteed another breath, odds are if you go to sleep tonight you WILL wake up in the morning. If that IS the case than DO SOMETHING GREAT with tomorrow when it comes! I try to end each day, as exhausting as it may have been, with excitement for the next day. Right now my youngest son is 6 months old and his bright-eyed smile is the best wake up call in the world. He is happy not because of anything specific that today brings, but just because today is here. After 35 years I just wish I had the simple optimism of an infant!

This toddler will self destruct in 9..8..7..6...

I never thought my little Boo Boo would scare me. Sure there were the peek-a-boo games when I pretended to be surprised. That was just an act. My middle son has the ability now to scare the snot out of me. The worst part is I think he knows it.

About the time he turned four he started having complete meltdowns. Not "terrible two" type of meltdowns, full on drop your drink and hang on to the counter tantrums. The Super Nanny kind. The kind of tantrum that you see in the middle of Walmart on an hourly basis, thrown by someone else's child. The kind that makes you want to peel your skin off and walk away from the whole ugly mess. Tantrums that melt whatever thoughts were in your troubled brain prior and make it impossible to think for an hour afterward. Bad, bad, bad.

I don't know what started the process. We moved this past fall, added a third boy to the family this spring...maybe one or both of those big events triggered the trouble. Maybe he realized that he is now the middle child. Maybe he figures this is a way to get to spend some one on one time with us...I have no idea what started it, my concern at this point in time is how the heck do I end them. I need to end this insanity before I start throwing my own tantrums right beside him. Before I track down that band of gypsies my parents used to threaten to sell my brothers and I to when we acted up as kids. Where are those gypsies anyway. Now that I'm a parent I would think that I'd be privy to the contact information. Where's the "Gypsy Hotline" to call when you have kids to sell, bad ones.

Now I know my son isn't a bad egg. I know he is still the sweet little man who follows me around the garage with his own little hammer just looking for the chance to help Daddy with a project. The one who used to tell me "I love you so much I going to pop you head off." Ohh...hmmm...maybe I should have read into that a little more...maybe that is precisely what he is attempting to do when he hangs on my shirt screaming at the top of his little lungs.

I know that this is a phase, like all the other parents tell me as they laugh to themselves, knowing that their kids are already long past it. Still, to live in fear of the pending eruption of a new tantrum is like building your dream house next to an active volcano and watching it all the time looking for signs of the next lava flow. Right now we are living in Pompeii. I've seen the documentary, I know how the story can end. I want more than anything for my son to just fight through this on his own and find a way to deal with his anger.

My boys are a passionate gang. "Spirited" is the way a nice old lady at a check out counter once put it. "Your boys sure are spirited aren't they?" I didn't take offense to it. I actually like to tell people when the boys are being boys that my wife and I are raising "free range children." Now for the most part we do have a pretty good discipline system in place and the boys know the rules and our expectations. They are, for the most part, respectful little gentlemen. I know from experience that they will have the next 15+ years to learn how to walk in a straight line and color the sky blue and the grass green. I want to encourage them to think outside the box and play and be as creative as possible now so they can remember how to later, when most others have forgotten. The creative minds are the ones who change the world. I'm not too humble to admit that I want my boys to be those kind of people.

For now though, I just hope I can find a way to get through to my precious little time bomb that these tantrums are not the way. Do they offer yoga for 4 year-olds? Can I get him into anger management classes after preschool? Does he need help finding or realigning his "chi?"

Many more of these explosions and I am going to have to create a rubber room somewhere in the house. Don't flip out...it won't be to lock him in...it will be for the rest of us to escape to.

Mother Mother Ocean

What is it about the water that washes away worries?

The very second the boat starts away from the dock, in that split second between when my sandal leaves the weathered wood until it finds its footing on the deck of the boat all of the weight of the world just floats away. Granted, I usually find it shortly after returning to dry land, but for those golden hours afloat I am living one wonderful moment at a time.

It’s been a few years now since I last had the chance to get out in my boat, kids tend to get in the way of selfish endeavors, but there was one summer in particular that I truly found my sea legs and my pirate soul. The previous year I had resurrected a 40 year old Starcraft runabout powered by an equally classic or as most people would say, old, 1958 Evinrude outboard. The boat was, and still is, a mighty fine piece of work.

The summer I really fell in love with the water was in most respects a pretty tumultuous one. The company I was running was bought by a larger one, which in turn was bought by an even larger one which was unsure what they wanted to do with my little slice of the pie. I spent most days reading memos written more at me than to me and doing my best to read between the lines to try to figure out what would become of us. I was paraded around to several mysterious suitors who one after another decided my company was either too small, too large or just not the right fit, all the while being yanked back and forth from meeting to meeting listening to people who as far as I can figure were in charge of quantifying the human value of treating people with respect vs. the collateral damage of giving mass quantities of good people the proverbial axe. I would later find out that when it comes to large “National” companies, the axe always tips the scale. But that’s a story for another night. Tonight I’m longing for the lake.

My saving grace that summer came in the form of solitary voyages on a nice quiet local lake. I would get to the point that the rubber band in my head would start to twist a bit too tight, and if the sun was shining, I’d head out for an emergency appointment with a “client” grumbling on the way out of the office about "last minute" this or that...The fact that I generally had accumulated 45 hours by Wednesday let me do this without much guilt. I would head home, get out of my suit and into my shorts and T-shirt and grab a cooler and my sidekick Eli the super-mutt. We would leave a quick note for my wife hook up the boat and take off.

By the time the trailer tires were on the street Jimmy Buffet would be telling us stories of life and laughs on the water and Eli, with his head out the window would remind me that this was not a trip to be taken lightly, this was serious escapism and it was what he lived for, this and the Frisbee.

Once we got to the boat ramp we were both in the zone. We were like a well practiced pit crew. We both knew our roles and communicated with few words. I would pull off to the prep lane, go through the mental checklist…drain plug in, cooler in, battery hooked up, fuel tank full and primed and cell phone out of my pocket (just in case). I would then back into position and ease down the ramp like a seasoned pro, Eli looking back at the boat as if he were my spotter, ready to bark if the trailer started to go astray. When the boat was in far enough I would pull the emergency break and the two of us would head out and jump on the dock. Eli would wait until the boat was loose from the trailer and tied off and then would jump in and assume his position as first mate, keeping a weathered eye on the horizon. I would pull the rig up to the parking lot and head back down to the dock, a pocket full of milkbones for my fellow sailor. We would shove off and leave all the stress of corporate mergers and acquisitions on dry land. We never brought a fishing pole and rarely swam, intentionally at least. We just put the old motor at a nice smooth idle and would cruise the lake. I always had a Buffet CD in the player I had installed on the old vessel and had a supply of Captain Black’s Cherry Cavendish at the ready under the dash with my pipe. Eli would pace around on the deck for the first 30 minutes or so, checking the boat out for seaworthiness and making sure I had remembered everything, mainly treats and tennis balls and would then find a comfy spot in the sun beside me. Damn I miss my friend Eli. We didn’t have enough of these voyages before the kids came along and the boat just became something to move when I mowed. The memories of these trips are so vivid though that if I close my eyes tonight I can still smell the exhaust of the old outboard and feel the soft fur on Eli’s head as I reach over and pat him between the ears and tell him “good day on the water eh boy?.”

Eli is gone now. The boat is covered and parked behind the garage with expired tags and flat trailer tires. My boys will enjoy her. She’ll sail again. Same old captain, eager new crew. Same old destination. We’ll step off dry land and into a world where worries are nowhere on the agenda. The big decisions will be where to sail to next and who gets to drive the boat. Jimmy will be telling us stories about island life and we just might have to fly the pirate flag now and then. If I’m lucky my crew will settle into comfy spots in the sun after walking around the deck for awhile and feel the water move beneath them. If I’m lucky they too will fall in love with the water and find their sea legs. I’m looking forward to shoving off.