I Believe in Christmas Magic

I know, I know Christmas magic won’t really make reindeer fly or an overweight bearded man slide UP a chimney…Santa is only a legendary figure and unfortunately that’s true whether you want it to be or not.  At some point we all succumb to the harsh reality that the North Pole really is just a hunk of ice at the top of the globe and that there aren't traffic-directing polar bears or toy making elves laboring away in an out of sight secret castle where hot cocoa flows like a river.  I get it, don’t rub it in.

Still though, I firmly believe that Christmas does hold with it a mysterious kind of magic, which if one would only believe in and harness, can make the fiction of Santa pale in comparison to the true story of Christ.

Christmas is the celebration of the giving of a most magical gift, mankind’s greatest gift ever received to be precise.  A birthday party that began some 2013 years ago and still being celebrated, now that’s a special magic indeed.  Now I know Christmas as we celebrate it today in Western culture is a far cry from the Christ-centered remembrances of early Christendom, but that doesn’t detract from my point.  My point is this, Christmas whether celebrated in the US, Europe, Australia or anywhere else on the planet is in its essence a celebration of Heaven’s greatest gift, Jesus, given to a dying and desperate world.  We may have mixed it in with some pagan solstice celebrations or some winter recognition or rituals of one sort or another, but it is still, as we celebrate it today, centered on that greatest of gifts.  It's a birthday party.   And we all celebrate those occasions in our own unique ways.  Whether you believe in the reality of Christ as the center of the celebration or not, guess what – by celebrating Christmas you are joining in our fun and joining in His party.

Last night we took a ride to the North Pole.  A ride on the Polar Express to be exact. 

It may have been a train that spends the rest of the year on less lofty excursions and sure, the North Pole we visited last night may have, in other seasons, been in Peninsula, Ohio, but last night in the hearts and minds of the children aboard the train we were there.  It was magic.

It's a Christmas kind of magic that allows a 10 year old who in his mind knows we're in Akron Ohio to suspend disbelief just long enough to allow his heart to take over and be transported to the North Pole.  It was the spirit of Christmas that prompted parents to smile and stare glassy-eyed through the foggy windows at the lights and painted cutouts and want just as bad as their children to be there in the moment, in the magic.  It may not have focused on the Christ in Christmas, but what does cake have to do with someone turning a year older?  It is part of the celebration.  It creates the energy that makes the Season bright and makes these moments memorable.  Who can, regardless of their religious persuasion, experience Christmas magic of this type and not have a favorable feeling about Jesus, of whom the Holiday is named.  Who can see the pure Joy in a child’s eyes as they open the gift they have been dreaming of and not, for at least a moment, feel the Joy that must have been in the hearts of the shepherds as they gazed upon the Savior’s face in the flesh on that first Christmas night? 

Christmas magic, if we look at it through this lens, can help us to understand the emotions that surrounded the birth of Jesus.  Think about the logistical nightmare of traveling, by donkey, hundreds of miles with a pregnant wife and no GPS only to find that there are no spots to sleep when you get there.  Contrast that with finding a parking spot, then navigating the mall in late December with a Christmas list of specific items for those you love and don’t want to disappoint. 

Think of God who knew what we needed, gave it to us with no strings attached and only asked that we accept it, only to be turned down by an ungrateful bunch of self-centered whiners.  Ever try to give a child new clothes or underwear as a gift under the tree instead of a toy?  A small sense of what God must feel.

There really are lessons that we can take from the commercialized Christmas that exists today, one needs only look out into the faces of the lost sheep at the malls or into the eyes of the child who won’t be getting even a full meal this Christmas let alone any nicely wrapped gifts under a brightly lit tree and you can understand why God gave us Christ, His son and why He showed us how to love the lost and care for the needy.  He knew we needed saving and that Jesus was the Savior we needed. He surely knew that we wouldn’t all like it either, just as we know as parents that our children need more than candy canes and marshmallow filled Santa chocolates to eat on Christmas, it doesn’t mean that they are all going to like a healthy meal.  There are lessons to be learned and gifts to be given and received even today, 2013 years into the birthday party. 

Personally, I think that Christ loves Christmas, and I believe that He loves seeing the magic it creates even if we don’t always attribute it all to Him.  It is a means to understand that which is beyond our normal mortal comprehension.  It's a way to get a glimpse at the feelings of Christmas in the Christ-centered sense.  We can’t teleport back 2000 years to be there with the Shepherds or the Magi in that stable, but we can celebrate and experience the magic and wonder of Christmas this year right in our homes. 

Merry Christmas as you celebrate in whatever way brings Joy to your heart and a twinkle to your eye, and if you want to bring a smile to the One whose birthday we celebrate, maybe light a birthday candle and sing Him happy birthday, after all He is allowing us to receive all of the gifts on His special day.

Goodbye Grandma, and Thank You for Everything

My grandmother, Ruth Blough was one tough lady, and one fantastic grandmother.

She was born in 1923, the smaller of a set of twin girls born to the Arnold family in a farmhouse in rural Wayne County.  She was tiny and I remember her telling me the story of her parents putting she and her sister in the warming cabinet above the coal stove to keep them warm.  She would tell me about chasing chickens and making their own dresses and the tough life they led in the 30s.  She always offset the stories of the tough winters and meager means with a smile about the way her father played the violin or the fun they had playing in the cellar or with the animals.  There was always this sense of balance with grandma.  Play, but after a bit of work.  Candy or cookies, “piecing” as she called it, but only after some celery with peanut butter or only long enough before dinner that we would still have time to work up an appetite. 

Playing was always serious business at grandma’s house.  It was our job when we were there.  She provided us a mission on days that the weather permitted.  Normally it was to head out, bundled in old wool hats and with bread bags on our feet (to keep them dry) with a BB gun in hand, with a mission to hunt down blackbirds.  She loved and fed every other sort of bird under heaven with the best thistle seed and songbird seed money could buy, but when those “damned blackbirds” bullied their way into the bird feeders she made sure they were met with armed resistance.    As a young boy with my posse of younger brothers and cousins in rank, this was a noble purpose to which I was well suited, and I took on the mission with gusto.  We cleaned out the birdbaths, we cleaned the many feeders around her garden-like backyard, and we learned to be aware of what grew around us and what it meant to cultivate and strengthen the “good stuff” and to fight against the things that were undesirable.  She was a strong woman, firm, no nonsense and unladylike in all of the best ways.  She could kick a ball further than any of us, she would get down on her hands and knees in the dirt to look at bugs we had found and she would sit and rock us when things didn’t go as planned on a mission.  She knew the value of dirty hands on children and we knew the love hidden in every deep wrinkle in her work-hardened hands.

On days that the weather kept us indoors there was no time for television.  We pushed around an ancient “push broom” and watered and cleaned her dozens of cactus pots.  I think she appreciated the tough exterior of the cacti and how challenging it was to keep them “happy.”  When the chores were done we pulled out “colors” and sat and created.  She drew right alongside us.  We played “poker’keeno” with pennies and always ended up abandoning the game at some point to see who could sort through the mountain of copper to find the oldest penny.  It was always an adventure no matter what we did, and she was always right there with us.  She was never just a spectator in our lives; she was our leader, our commander and our mission control.  She allowed us to shoot bow and arrows, throw rocks and build completely unsafe structures from old scrap wood.  She allowed us just enough freedom to feel dangerous and wild, as boys should.  I have her to thank for so much of who I am today and who I want to see my boys become tomorrow.

I am glad my grandma was not the “fancy one” of the twins, which for some reason she always seemed apologetic about,  and I am so blessed to have had a lifetime worth of adventure packed into Thursdays and Fridays at grandma’s.

I will miss you grandma, but my mission is clear.  I will get my hands dirty right alongside my boys and let them know the value of balancing work with some “piecing” here and there.  Thank you for investing so much of your life in us all, your grandchildren are all better people for having you as our commander and chief.  Love you.  Thank You.

Christopher John

Run your life to win the finish, not the race.

Life is about finishing strong, not winning the race.

Greyson and I winning the finish.

Last weekend, among a 20 year class reunion to pull off, YMCA Basketball and a weekend of trick-or-treating, my family participated in a charity run in Dalton, the Rich Dalessandro Memorial 5K/2Mile.  Going in I had no clear picture of what it would be like.  I know what the events are normally set up like, having worked a few for various organizations throughout the years.  I figured my wife, who was running the 5K with a friend, would take off and the boys and I would stroll along at a nice leisurely pace for the 2 miles, grab a bottle of water and wait to cheer on the Momma and her friend when they passed us on the way to the finish line.

Yes, that “technically” explains a lot of the morning, but there was so much more to it for me.

We stretched together before the race (well I at least made it look like I was stretching) and there was a certain nervous energy in the air that made the dance music and commotion seem amplified even more.  The crowd of participants numbered over 800 and was a mix of true runners in the front quarter and varying levels of couch potato from there back.  I made sure we were in the back quarter.  The plan was for me to run with Greyson, who is 4 and a half and to walk and/or or carry him whenever he needed a break.  The older two boys I figured would start out strong and would be whining by the 1 mile mark.  They proved me wrong.

The coordinator of the event got on the bullhorn and gave us the starting instructions and the race was on.  Music blared and people shuffled, waiting for the space to open up to get in a full stride.  The boys were unsure what to do at first, it was a race…but nobody seemed to want to run?  I explained that they needed to let the runners pass and that we would start running when we got into the open.  By the quarter mile mark we were able to run a bit and the crowd thinned out to other young families with kids running and some older adults who were walking it.  At the half mile mark the older two boys ran back to G and I and asked if they could run ahead and catch up with Mom.  “Of course”, I instructed, “but be careful and stay out of the other runners’ way.”  

That was the last I would see of them until we crossed the finish line.

With them having run ahead I was able to focus solely on Greyson and the experience we were having.  He was determined.  He firmly gripped my hand and set the pace, which was actually a decent jog for my old legs.  He took at least 4 strides for every one of mine and his shoes hit the pavement hard.  I looked down after a quarter mile and he was visibly tired.   “Ok, break time buddy, want to walk or get on my shoulders?”  He chose to walk, still firmly gripping my hand.  He looked upset.

“What’s wrong G?  Do you want to sit down?”

“No, I wanted to win.”  He looked up with huge eyes, welling up with tears and true disappointment.

It was hard not to start laughing, but I composed myself, took a deep breath and a look into those big glassy eyes and told him that we are not running the race to win it, we just want to finish strong.

“But it is a race Daddy, and we are losing.”  He was angrier now than sad.

I walked us over to the curb and picked up the little man.

 

“Look at all of the people in front of us, now (we turned around) look at all of the people behind us.  We are not winning, you’re right, but we sure are not losing either.  We are going to finish the race and do our best and if we do that we are winners, Ok buddy?”  He seemed to calm down a bit and looked up with a determined smile, “Let’s run now Daddy!”  And we did, for another quarter mile.

A while down the road, after walking quietly for a bit, I looked around us.  There were several women slowly jogging ahead of us, there more for the camaraderie than the exercise or competition.  There were a few older couples, holding hands and briskly walking behind us.  Probably a hundred or so ahead and the same number behind were visible along the route.  I started thinking about the race’s namesake and what I had heard about him and what a good man he was, right up until the end, when cancer had cut his well-lived life too short.  I recalled the story I had read about his sister, brother-in-law and father who had organized the race as a way to keep his memory alive in the community he had loved and to raise money for others who were struggling with the disease.  Then I started thinking of those I had lost to cancer in my life.  I thought of my Aunt Bonnie who had been such a great influence on me as a boy, always with a laugh and smile, quirky in the best of ways.  I thought about how much she loved life and how much she missed in seeing her two sons grow into men, and how much fun she would have had as a grandmother to the two boys she never had the opportunity to meet.  Then I thought of her father, my grandfather, who fought cancer for several years before it took him from a family he loved.  I thought about how much my boys would have loved going to his workshop.  I thought of the things he would have taught them and the things they could have made together.  I started to well up a bit and realized I hadn’t checked in mentally with Greyson in a few minutes.  I looked down and asked him how he was doing and could tell he was getting tired.  I stopped for a second, scooped him up and put him on my shoulders.  We started walking at first, then a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old passed us on the left.  Greyson said “Run Dad, like she is.”  And so we did.  She was wearing a pink coat and dark sweats and was running back and forth, filled with the kind of energy that makes adults jealous and the kind of joy that makes God smile back.  I picked up the pace a bit and G started laughing and going into the “go horsey go” chant.  

After a few more minutes the extra weight of G on my shoulders, and more so the fact that I hadn’t run in a LONG time, became too much for my knees.  I stopped, pulled him off of my shoulders and started walking, slowly.  The little girl we had been running behind came to what appeared to be a mother or grandmother and grabbed some water.  She spoke with her briefly and then took off her pink stocking hat.  Under the hat was a pale pink head, as bald as could be.  I never had the opportunity to get any closer than that too her and didn’t get the chance to talk to the woman who was acting as her support crew as she ran around the course, and that’s Ok.  I saw the joy and energy she was full of, despite the struggles that I am sure she has faced and will face in the future and I was reminded of how lucky I am in this very moment.

At that very moment I was healthy enough to run, I was holding the hand of a strong and healthy 4 year old, his two strong and healthy brothers were sprinting to the finish line and their mother was striding along at a healthy pace beside a good friend up ahead. I am truly, and fully blessed.

My assumption is that the little girl is battling some form of childhood cancer, perhaps leukemia, as is the focus of the charity run we were in the midst of, and I am sure there is pain and bad days and treatments that are horrendous but for the time I got to be in her presence, she was as nimble as ballerina and glowing like a princess.

I picked G back up and placed him back on my shoulders and ran with purpose about another quarter mile until we got to a school where we had to turn and run around the school drive and campus.  G wanted to run and we ran from there to the water station at the half way point.  We danced a bit to the music the DJ was playing, had our cup of water and then took off.  The rest of the race was spent alternating slow jogs and walking, talking about the houses we were passing, whether his brothers had caught up with the Momma yet, and what we would do later that day.  G was tired, my knees were killing me, and the rain was starting to come, but we were healthy and we were happy to be a part of the action. 

When we came around the final curve there was about a 300 yard straightaway to the finish line.  Greyson lit up,  grabbed my hand hard and yelled “Come on Dad, we gotta win this part!”

I agreed, we picked up speed, and we did exactly that.

Thank you to the Dalessandro and Fratena families and all who organize the race each year.  It was perfect.

  

Life Lessons from the Humble Ginger Snap

2 cups of flour (can be gluten free)

2 teaspoons baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons ground ginger

1 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground cloves

¾ cup (11/2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted and cooled

¼  cup sugar plus more for rolling

½  cup molasses

1 large egg

I have looked the internet over for a good, old world recipe for the beloved ginger snap cookie.  There are a lot of variations and styles that run the spectrum from soft and gooey to hard as a rock.  Some have fancy gourmet ingredients like mango, quail eggs or lime zest, some are as simple as 5 ingredients.  They ALL however have two common ingredients, that make them ginger snaps, ginger (obviously) and molasses.  These two ingredients are the foundations upon which any respectable ginger snap is built, and they are the basis of the life lesson that I think we can all take from this simple, and yet noble snack.

Technically speaking, ginger is the aromatic and spicy root of the ginger plant, a rhizome. It can vary in color from red to white, but in the US is commonly yellowish.  It is considered an Asian herb native to southeastern Asia specifically, but is being grown worldwide today as the health benefits (anti-inflammatory, gastrointestinal, antioxidant) of this superfood are become more widely known.  Its regularly making appearances in tea, in candy, in dietary supplements, in Asian inspired dishes at restaurants and yes, as always, in ginger snaps.  Its flavor is unmistakable and its health benefits are undeniable.  Ginger rocks.

Molasses is a bit more complicated, but is more “home grown”.  In the South it is commonly referred to as “first syrup” when it is first processed and is produced from real sugar cane. The cane is harvested and its leaves are stripped off, then it's crushed to release its juice.  The juice is then boiled to crystallize the sugar.  When the syrup is boiled a second time, it then becomes molasses, technically, but is bitter and not the dark color we would be used to. It takes a third boiling to produce blackstrap molasses, which is what we would normally use in today’s recipes.  It contains much less sugar that the first syrup, as much of the sugar is crystallized and removed.  It is called blackstrap not just because of its dark color, but because it is so thick, especially at cool temperatures that when you stick a spoon in you don’t just get a spoonful, but a sticky, slow-moving strap of goo that follows.  What it does contain though, aside from a lot of rich flavor is a pretty impressive amount of vitamins and several minerals.  Just one tablespoon of blackstrap molasses provides up to 20% of the daily value of calcium, magnesium, potassium and iron!  Molasses is some pretty sweet stuff, in more ways than one!

So why in the world would I spend time writing about ginger snaps and especially ginger and molasses? 

Because we could all learn a lot from the reputation of these two ingredients and it would benefit all of us to add these characteristics to our lives.

We all need to live life as spicy as ginger, but as slow as molasses.  Plain and simple, just like the ingredients themselves.

Life is meant to be lived, to be enjoyed and to be adventurous and yes, to be spicy.  The spice of life can be whatever makes you feel alive, whatever gets your energy levels up and whatever brings out the best in you and those around you.  You can spice up life by being in a career that invigorates you and enlivens the ideals and parts of your personality that make you come alive. You can spice up your life through relationships that encourage you to be the best version of you there can be and that push you to go beyond safe and easy.  You can spice up your life by living to serve others and to see the light in the eyes of those whose life you add spice to.  Whatever it is that adds flavor and zest to your life, find it!  It is only through keeping your life spicy that you can truly have a life fully lived.  Leave out the ginger and you lose the spice that makes live worth living, the snap!

The spicy part makes sense.  It's fun and it coincides with a thousand self-help books and motivational speakers. I get that it is nothing new and not as easily maintained as we would all like.  Usually it goes in spurts and then there is a recovery time and it gets tough to get that energy again to keep that spice sustained, I get that.  This is where the molasses comes into the picture, you need both to make a good ginger snap, remember.

Molasses, for all of its flavor and potential energy, is not nearly as spicy and exciting as ginger.  It is not sexy or sought after.  It isn't advertised as an ingredient (at least not very often).  But without it a ginger snap would lose its snap and its unique flavor.  A life lived fully can’t be one that is lived out of control, peddle to the floor 100 mph.  A life full and rich and spicy can only be maintained and the spice sustained if it is lived…s   l   o   w   l   y.

Living slowly is not living a sluggish, lazy or boring lifestyle.  It's living intentionally, consciously and under control.  It is choosing face to face contact even when it takes longer, because it is more meaningful and the people you love are worth it.  It's taking time to ask the tough question when someone needs to come up with the answers, even if it means it will take a while longer.  It means sitting down and playing with Legos, even though you would rather get the lawn mowed because that time will not be there again next year.  It is living intentionally OUT of the fast lane.  It is quality over quantity in schedules; it is face to face and heart to heart versus Facebook posts and 140 character tweets.  Living as slow as molasses allows us the opportunity to add more spice.  It allows us the time and the mental bandwidth to taste what we are cooking, and to adjust the recipe while there is still time, before our lives are done baking.  It is OK to slow down, it is permissible to pause, it is wonderful to take back control of the one element that we can never replace, reuse or replenish, time.

I love ginger snap cookies.  I love the favor, the simplicity, the fact that they are often gluten free but above all else the reminder that they give me each time I see them to live my life as spicy as ginger, but as slow as molasses.

Just Keep Swimming...Just Keep Swimming

Dory, what a good example of a persistent and good-natured, good Samaritan attitude.  She may not be the brightest of fish in the ocean, but you have got the appreciate her "just keep swimming" attitude.

I wish I were more of a Dory sometimes.

Sometimes it is extremely tough to keep swimming.

Sometimes the water gets dark and murky, and it gets hard to see where you're going.

Sometimes the rocks are too close together to fit through.

And sometimes you just get tired of swimming in circles.

There are so many opportunities in my position as a credit union leader to positively impact the lives of others.  I help members through the products and services I develop, and sometimes directly in being able to sit down with them and literally solve problems.  I help our team by trying to motivate them to be the best that they can be, keeping them focused as much as possible on the member.  I try to always look out for those in my ocean, doing whatever I can wherever I can to help them get to a better place.  I try to guide them through the dark water and past the rocks.  I try to do it with the same attitude as Dory.

To be honest though, I sometimes feel dead in the water.

When all is settled at the end of the day sometimes there is just no current left to move me on.  The ocean gets dark, and still.  When you are in constant motion doing what you can for others it seems that most others fail to realize that there are times that you need someone to swim beside you as well.  

Sometimes I need motivated.  Sometimes I need someone to set things right in my little part of the ocean.  Sometimes helping others avoid the deep waters leaves me to go back through them on my own.  It gets dark and cold by yourself when the water is deep.

Dory didn't seem to mind, and I do my best to stay focused on the paths that will put me where I am most needed, to help others and to keep things moving forward.  It is good work and I am well suited for it.

Still though, sometimes it would be great to know that someone out there is looking out for me when the fisherman's nets get close and the rocks are jagged.

Until that fish swims along I will just keep swimming...just keep swimming...

A Tale of Two Priorities, Bank versus Credit Union

When we opened our branch office a year or so ago I had several local leaders ask me, “So why should I care that a credit union is moving to town?”  My answers always centered around the fact that we are focused on strengthening the people in the community and how we support local businesses and interests.  I always mentioned the fact that we really care about our members and that we want to be an asset to the communities we serve.  I never really had a concrete example of how a credit union impacts a community vs a bank that didn't feel too warm and fuzzy for the businessy types.

Until now.

My wife and I are looking at homes.  We are nearly finished remodeling our 100 year old fixer-upper and are ready to sell and to move into a home younger than we are, with a little more yard for the boys to run wild.  In the process we have become almost obsessed with pulling the Ipad out after the kids are in bed and looking through the MLS listings.  In our community there have been a whopping 4 homes that have been perpetually listed that meet our criteria.  I like one, the wife likes one, and neither of us love the other two.  Last week we went to see my wife’s potential house of choice.

As we approached the home I noticed what appeared to be ice running down the siding UNDER the porch roof.  Odd.  I thought maybe a spouting issue.  Then my wife noticed that the ice was also on the INSIDE of the window…

As the Realtor opened the door she pushed against something hard and we all leaned in to find out what was in the way.  What we saw was all of the laminate wood flooring up in waves across what used to be a beautiful foyer.  We pushed our way in out of morbid curiosity to find that the house (a Bank-owned house) was flooded.  The water was never turned off, as the heat had been, and the pipes had burst. The drywall had fallen off of nearly every inch of the ceiling, the lighting fixtures hung from the electrical wires and junction boxes.  The beautiful maple cabinets held up the edges of the kitchen ceiling and water laid a few inches deep on the tile below.  My wife opened the basement door to find that the fully finished basement was flooded up to the ceiling and almost to the top of the stairs.  It felt like we had just walked into a home on the Jersey Shore, post super-storm Sandy.  The mildew and mold that had already started to take hold made my nose and eyes swell painfully by the time we pulled back onto the road.  The Realtor was almost in shock.  It had been listed by a big city agent from out of town and had been foreclosed on by a large national bank.  The house was a complete loss.  Not because of any negligence on the part of the prior owner, but because said bank didn't spend a few dollars to have someone come out and winterize it.  A wonderful family home destroyed.  This is not an isolated incident, it is an outright epidemic, as I will expand on in a bit.

This is a pretty stark contrast to the one and (hopefully) only foreclosure that we have experienced at the credit union.  After working exhaustively with the family who had gotten behind on the mortgage that we held, rewriting it for them at the going rate with no fees and allowing them to live in the property nearly 2 years without making a full payment even once, we ended up buying the modest but well built ranch home back at Sheriff’s sale last October.  When we finally got the deed in November I personally went with the local Sheriff and inspected the property.  They were happy to oblige.  The deputy chatted with me as we walked through the house and stated that he has never understood why the banks don’t have the department do this, he stated that he usually gets calls from the neighbors of these homes once they have become eyesores, targets for looting or havens for unwanted squatters.

Within a week I had a contractor meet me at the home and we started the process of renovation to bring the home up to par with others on the market.  Nothing major, paint, carpet and minor repairs.  It cost us a little and took around a month to get it all done, but the credit union owns this home and we want the buyers to know that we take pride in our reputation and our community.  I personally, the credit union CEO, washed, swept, carried out trash, loaded up furniture and shoveled the driveway, multiple times.  Why? We want to help preserve the property values of the homes around this one.  We want to attract a quality buyer to a quality home.  We want to be an asset to the community.  We want to do what it best for the people in our community.  Now the difference is becoming more clear.  

One story of how banks versus credit unions impact the community is becoming more concrete.

Bank owned properties in the US are at an unheard of all-time high.  Much higher I fear than the statistics show.  According to some studies the majority of them are actually being held off of the market, sitting vacant strategically to lessen the impact all at once to the banks’ bottom lines. While this is borderline criminal, it is certainly underhanded and unfair to those living in close proximity to these homes.  Below is a link that speaks well to this issue. 

Shadow Real Estate - from realestate.aol.blog

It is a systemic failure in the banking system, an oversight of gargantuan proportion on the part of regulators and is every bit as devastating to the communities that these banks serve as it was to Wall Street when the loans for the purchase of these homes originally defaulted.  Banks are not being held responsible for the maintenance and security of the homes they own.  They are relying on creative accounting and property insurance coverage to lessen the impact of these losses to their books, in essence, manipulating their assets and thus, stock prices.  Isn't this what the Federal Regulators are in place to prevent.

My wife was deeply saddened that the beautiful family room that she had fallen in love with online was now covered in fallen sheet rock.  I am deeply disturbed by that fact that this is one, very typical, example in a mountain of neglected bank owned property.   Communities need to recognize that these banks SHOULD be held responsible for the maintenance and expedient sale of these homes.  After all, what kind of neighbors would they be if they just let them go...

Not the kind I want in my community.

Happy Birthday to a Hero

I set pretty high standards for people.  As a result I have never had many “heroes” per say that I have looked up to or idolized.  People have always tended to fall short of my expectations in some way.  I learned that sports figures don’t measure up when Magic Johnson, one of my favorite childhood sports figures fell from grace after an extra-marital affair left him with a tarnished reputation and AIDs.  Not a fun way to find out athletes don’t make good role models. (or talk show hosts)

I also don’t idolize Hollywood.  I realize that there are many talented actors and actresses, and I can certainly appreciate their art.  I enjoy a great movie as much as anyone, but still they are just people and unlike most of us their flaws and missteps end up more often than not on the evening news, or at least Entertainment Tonight.

Artists and writers have always held a notable spot in my heart, but it doesn't take much more than reading past the dust jacket bio to realize the inherent personality and lifestyle flaws in these folks.  Still, part of me has always felt akin to this group and who knows, maybe if I ever dedicate some time and energy I might be able to connect myself to them in some way someday.  Still though, they are not my heroes as much as I do enjoy their vision and their craft.

I absolutely love music of all genres but I don’t even need a paragraph to explain why musicians are not on my hero list.  I would gladly rush the stage for a chance to shake hands with Paul Simon or high five Dave Matthews, but they are certainly not my idols or heroes.

Today though, there is someone who I do feel that I could put on a bit of a pedestal and not get any arguments from people, not even from that school teacher voice in the back of my head that starts listing the chinks in the armor of most people.  And conveniently enough today is her birthday.

Jennifer “Jenni” Reusser is a local hero in my eyes, and I am not alone in this thought.  Jenni is the Orrville Area Chamber of Commerce President, but her influence and heroism go far beyond that.  She is active in nearly every aspect of the Orrville community, from church to business, school to city she works tirelessly to lift us all to a higher place.  She has eyes that are open to the good in everyone (and that is tough in a small town) and not closed to even the most closed-minded.  She offers a perspective that comes not only from her collective experience, but from her very loving and open heart.  She truly cares about those who are under her influence, and that list includes most all of us.  Jenni has brought together seemingly polar forces and calmed storms that could have taken a hurricane’s toll.  

She is not only the great communicator and tailor of the quilt of Orrville’s business community; she is truly its loving caretaker.  Jenni speaks from her heart, but not to pacify, and never in half-truth.  She tells it like it is and looks for ways to build up, not condemn, those who have strayed from the pack.  I have a great deal to learn from this amazing woman, and a great deal of respect for all she does.

Happy Birthday Jenni!  I truly hope this is your best year yet.  You continue to honor us with your leadership, amaze us with your talents, guide us with your wisdom and encourage us with your cheerleading.   

Thank you!