See you later alligator, after while crocodile...welcome 2011!

It is very nearly the end of the first decade of the new millennium.  It has been a rocky start to say the least.  Attacks, epidemics, wars and recession…not necessarily the stuff dreams are made of, at least not pleasant ones.  But if you look past the dust and doom there are some bright lights shimmering through.  Granted I am struggling to name more than a few, but I know they are there somewhere.  Perhaps the simple fact that we all have survived a decade filled with so much stress and struggle to see the turn of the calendar is a shimmering light in its own right.  Who would have thought as we ushered in the millennium, partying like it was 1999 we would soon be in a war against terror and that the top news story at Thanksgiving would be the science fiction scenes of digital stripsearches at airports… did this remind anyone else of the old Arnold movie Total Recall?  You know, if it keeps crazies with bombs off of my flight, you can see whatever part of me you like!

Life for most of us Gen X’ers has gotten a whole lot more complicated, though at the same time more wonderful, with families, mortgages, car payments, student loans out of deferral and yes, even careers starting to blossom.  Wow, the 30 somethings are not nearly as comfortable as I thought they would be.  And I thought I lost a lot of sleep in my 20s!

Still, I am an optimist.  I know that soon the economy will right itself, despite all the government intervention.  I know that our troops will slowly start to return home to their families.  I know that soon I will be able to trade this damn minivan in for an SUV!  Things will improve.  They always do.  And those of us who toughed it out and learned by mistake over the past ten years will be better equipped to walk through the doors when they finally open.   

This year I am trying to recall the wins, the smiles, the little victories.  Today I am reflecting on the good that I have been able to accomplish and the lessons I have learned.  Right now I am thinking of the three young men under my roof who are all a product of the past decade, and I am praying that the next decade brings a safer and more hopeful future to them.  

Remember, the future, for the most part, our future, is what we make of it.

As Arthur O'Shaughnessy put it;     

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;—
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

Happy New Year everyone, welcome 2011!

Merry Christmas Eve!

Hope you are all warm and cozy this Christmas eve morn.  We just finished breakfast, the boys are playing good together (must be the last ditch effort to get off the naughty list) and Tanya is busy in the kitchen making her contributions to our meal later today at mom and dad's.  As Bebo sang Christmas songs this morning I almost started crying.  I know, pretty sissy princess of me.  It just all hit me at once.  The emotion of the stress that strained family relationships puts on you, the longing to hug loved ones who are either gone from us due to death or too many miles.  The immense weight and anticipation of being confronted with yet another celebration of Christ's birth and feeling the debt owed to him heavy on your soul.  All of it hit me at once.  

Soon though, as I looked over and saw my oldest son helping my youngest with a toy he was trying to figure out, a very real sense of joy replaced the weight and I almost burst into laughter.  I get it.  The Lord came to reconcile us to His Father, but He also came to love us, to watch as we fumble around with the meaning of it all and find joy in the simplicity of children reaching out to one another.  Joy, not in the "stuff" that we burden ourselves with year after year, but in the embrace of a wife in the kitchen as she worries over how big the pecan chunks should be in the sweet potato casserole.  Joy in a simple, misspelled love note from a five year old.  Joy in the giving of oneself to those who need it, without the thought of whether or not they deserve it. 

Joy, pure, simple and Holy.

This Christmas please know that I love you and that I think of you all with a warm glow in my heart and a real smile on my face.


Merry Christmas!

Chris

Come he told me pa rum pa pum pummmmm...

I own a very nice Remo djembe drum.  It is one of my favorite "things."  I researched months online looking at different brands, sizes and styles before making the decision to buy it.  I felt like a kid on Christmas morning when it arrived and I quickly ordered kid versions for the boys so we could have our own little drum circle.  I had played in college with friends’ drums and always wanted one.  Now that I owned one it made me happy, but it did not instantly make me a percussionist.  I am a drum owner, not a musician.  I would liken it to the fact that I own a car, but I am not a professional driver.  It gets me where I need to be and historically I am a fairly proficient driver, but I am not about to step into a Formula One race car.  I am perfectly OK with my amateur status as a drummer.  I am satisfied to be an appreciator of music, not necessarily a performer.

Then came Noel, the man, not the Holiday.  Granted it is that time of year.  Noel came to our church this past summer as our new worship leader.  A ball of creative energy and musical ability he breathed new life into the worship services with upbeat song choices and contemporary arrangements, and the passion of youthful enthusiasm (he was fresh from the campus).  The fact that he is not only a talented musician, but a heck of a nice guy just added to my appreciation of our new worship dude.  So much so that after one of the first services he was involved with I felt the need to approach him afterward and complement him on it.  This led to a conversation about music, music styles, energy…and somehow about djembe drums.  I remember specifically telling him that I owned one should he ever need to use one in his arrangement of a song.  I also remember telling him I couldn't play it very well.  Apparently that part didn’t “stick”.

I got a call from Noel this fall; he wanted to borrow the drum for some acoustic songs he was going to be performing at an upcoming service.  I was excited to put the drum into service.  I was disappointed when I found out that he couldn’t talk the normal drummer into trying to play it.  It sat in his office for 2 and a half months.  I missed my drum.

Last week I got an email from Noel asking if I was willing to play on a few songs on an upcoming Sunday, this coming Sunday to be exact.  I have no idea what came over me.  I don’t know if it was Christmas spirit, guilt in knowing that he had wanted to have someone play it a few months back and it never happened, or maybe someone put something funny in my coffee that morning, but I said yes.  I started sweating almost immediately after hitting send.  I had not even seen my drum since September.  I have never played in front of anyone aside from my own kids or a bunch of hippies back in college.  I have never played along with a song in the comfort and anonymity of my own home, let alone along with a live band in front of an audience…at church.  What in the world did I get myself into?

Band practice was this past Wednesday.  I showed up with my drum and a bunch of butterflies.  I played along with the songs and just tried to keep up.  My hands seemed like bricks attached to the end of my arms.  I suddenly had all the rhythm of a lump of coal falling down the steps.  Not pretty.  Noel was gracious.  He spent some time afterward with me.  It didn’t really help.  My hands just won’t do what my inner Rasta tells them to.  Sunday is going to be very interesting indeed. Thank goodness this Sunday is also the children's musical presentation.  Maybe I won't look AS foolish in light of the other entertainment.

The “make a joyful noise unto the Lord” thing is all relative right?...I mean what’s joyful to one may seem like the awkward beats of a man with no rhythm right?!?

 

I am nervous, and a little scared.  I have never heard anyone boo’d off stage at church.  I just keep telling myself that I am a willing servant and I am going to play my best for Him. 

I have no talent to bring pa rum pa pum  pum….that’s fit to give our King,  pa rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum  pum….rum pa pum  pum….

Ho Ho Horns?

You know, even I have to admit that if you take a look at some of our recently fabricated Christmas traditions they are a just a little bit over the top at times…even for a 36 year old kid like myself.

I've found myself over the past week explaining why Santa uses reindeer when he could just Fed Ex the gifts to us on Christmas Eve, why our "shelf elf" Jingle has to fly magically to the North Pole each night to report the boys’ behavior to the man in red instead of just calling him on his cell phone after we are asleep to debrief him on the daily buzz, why we can’t just text our lists to Santa instead of writing a letter and putting it by the fireplace, and the best of all…”What’s the real Santa story Dad?” 

The coat makes the man.

Is it the Tim Allen story from The Santa Clause where Santa is just a poor chap who puts on the right coat at the right time?  Is it the Santa Claus the Movie version where an unsuspecting childless norseman gets lost in a blizzard and is rescued by elves who happen to inhabit a magical toy factory?  Is it the Rankin & Bass tradition that tells us of an orphan named Claus who is adopted by the Kringle family, who conveniently enough used to be the first toymakers to the king?   

You know what…I just don’t know.  But at least this is apparently not a new problem.

Krampus and Saint Nick visiting the home of some understandably nervous children.

As complicated and crazy as we have made the Santa story for ourselves over the past 20 years, it’s nothing compared to the stories of old.  Celts and Europeans have been spinning tales of Christmas visitations for a thousand years and some of them are more like Halloween tales than Christmas stories.

The one that caught my attention recently was the Hungarian legend of the Christmas Krampus.  The Krampus is apparently a part-goat-part human-part pure evil creature that accompanied Saint Nicholas as he went from town to town rewarding the good little girls and boys with gifts and love.  The Krampus’s job was to punish those who didn’t make the Saint’s list.  He was said to hide in the shadows outside the home of the bad children, waiting for the perfect time to snatch them up.  He punished the slightly naughty children by whacking them with birch twigs or pelting them with chunks of coal.  The more deliquent youths were shoved into the blanket he carried on his back and whisked off to the woods where he would either eat them alive (feet first) or kick aside a rock covering a doorway to the underworld and toss them in (presumably head first). 

  Merry Christmas Augustus and Helga…now be sure to do your chores so the evil goat demon doesn’t snatch you and throw you into Hell….wow.

Krampus merrily prancing down the street during a German Christmas parade...that's a harder image than Billy Bob as Bad Santa to get out of my head!  And you thought the cashiers at Kohl's on Black Friday were scary!

 

 It seems that legends, myths and stories surrounding the Christmas visitation of kids by larger than life mythical characters are historically screwed up... as part of the tradition of Christmas traditions.   

At least the story of Jesus birth is one that stays constant and true year after year, generation after generation.  And although king Herod is a pretty scary part of that event (if you read more than the greeting card snippit), even he doesn't paint the picture of a horrible horned goat man with a sack of screaming kids on his back ... but maybe that's where our ancestors got the idea?

Oh well boys and girls...be it coal in the stocking or Old Mr. Krampus hiding behind the shrubs next to the garage, you had better be good for goodness sake!

Thank goodness, it’s Thanksgiving

This year I am bound and determined to have a “Holiday Season” to beat all prior attempts.  It is going to be impervious to the usual schedule conflicts, family chaos, surprise guests, no-shows and uncooperative weather.  I am going to be merry.  My kids will embrace the joy of the season and fear the stealthy gaze of Santa’s elf.  The tree will shine brighter and the food taste better.  The drinks will be stronger and the hugs will last longer.  And it all starts with Thanksgiving.

I have so much to be thankful for this year.  Healthy kids who are (way too) full of positive energy, a new nephew who looks exactly like my brother (but cuter), a roof over our heads (that no longer leaks), a job that keeps me challenged and fulfilled (and very, very busy),  a church that “gets” the challenges of being the parent of young kids (sorry in advance for whatever happens at the Christmas Pageant),  a great community to call home (which we are quickly becoming an active part of) and great friends and family to share life with.  Good stuff.  Much thanks all around. 

  

Christ’s birthday will be the center of the celebration and we will surround ourselves with all of the magic that brings.  This always sparks a good conversation at some point from someone who asks, “How can you call yourself a Christian and then get so into the Santa thing?” I will preemptively refer to the previous blog post from December 2009 entitled “Just a clown at the party..." and get back to my eggnog, thank you very much.  Our kids know without a shadow of a doubt what Christmas is all about.

We will be jolly this year.  We will be merry.  Lights will be hung.  Trains will encircle the tree.  Chevy Chase will repeatedly kick ornamental reindeer and punch Santa on his front lawn while I reflect on which member of my extended family most resembles Cousin Eddie.  It is going to be a very good Christmas in the Blough household.  Those around us will be welcome (and sometimes shanghaied) to join in the caroling and merriment.   

But be warned…if you step on my porch, past the LED candy canes and nearly lifelike evergreenish garland with a bah humbug look in your eye…I will chase you back to your grinchy burrow faster than a 7-year old can open a loosely wrapped Nerf dart blaster.

Happy Thanksgiving and welcome to the season!

As GREEN as the grass is long.

I just bought a cordless electric lawnmower.  I do need a lawnmower technically since I sold my only working lawn mower at this fall's yard sale.  It was a mower I utterly loathed, a mower I sort of inherited by default from my inlaws while they were renting and I had storage space.  The mower was just not my style.  Self-propelled.  Fancy gadgets like speed control and a bagger.  My mowers had always been of the simple $99 variety.  Motor, deck, blade, pull the cord, push the mower...add gas and oil when it seems like a good idea.  Round about a year into the storage of previously discussed mower my old faithful cheapo mower became...injured.  I tried to mow too close to the fire hydrant in our front lawn and snagged the sparkplug wire.  Pulled it clean off.  Sure I made a half-hearted attempt to find a replacement at Ace and Lowe's, but I couldn't find a match.  That's when I fired up the fancy red beast.  It was complicated.  Like a small car with too many buttons and dials.  It confused me.  But it did mow the lawn.  Not much better than its simpler and significantly lower priced cousin, but it did get the job done.  After the initial week I vowed to get my mower fixed.  I justified the use because hey, aren't you supposed to start up and run a motor every so often?  

The next week rolled around and I wheeled big red out of the shed again and got the lawn mowed...then again and again, all the while my mower sitting in the back of the shed collecting dust, and life jackets and a soccer goal...and whatever else got thrown over that way.  It was soon out of sight and out of mind.  One sunny Saturday my inlaws stopped by to visit, unexpectedly, and saw me out back mowing with what my father in law had specifically touted as "the best mower we've ever owned."  They asked how it was mowing for me and all but gave me their blessing to use it whenever I needed to, once I emphatically explained my predicament with my "recently" broken down unit.

To make a long story short, after that encounter I became more cavalier about the use of the red blade.  I figured I would just use it for the remainder of the season and fix my mower over winter, it's what the professionals do.  Seemed like a good plan until one Thursday evening in late October.  On that fateful night I was hurrying to finish mowing the front lawn so I could get inside and out of the cold.  I was mowing the ditch, careful to stay clear of the greedy fire hydrant when in a cloud of dust, dirt, grass and smoke the mower came to a sudden and violent stop.  Silent and still smelling of burnt oil, the mower just sat there and stared up at me.  I was scared to pull it back for fear of the worst.  Had I cut too close and somehow caught a hidden root or underground pipe of some kind.  Was there a rock I hadn't seen?  Nope.  I had lowered the deck in hopes that this might be the last time I had to mow the ditches for the year and had dug up about 4 inches of sod.  The blade of the mower was bent down, unnaturally.  It looked like an athlete who had their knee folded in on itself.  You just knew it's career was over.  I limped it back to the shed, the ditch only half mowed, looking around to see if the event was witnessed by anyone.  Nope.  I was safe.  Now I just needed to figure out what to do when my inlaws decided they were ready for their mower back!  I soon found that the riding lawnmower could get plenty close to the ditches if need be.


As it would turn out, the mower just needed a new blade to be functional again.  It never really mowed all that well after the incedent, but i was just happy I could use it.  We ended up selling that home and moving around Thanksgiving that fall.  The house we bought has no ditches and a relatively small yard so I stored the original mower and that spring fired up old red.  At first it seemed willing to play along.  Having sold our rider with the house it was my only mowing option so it got weekly use.  First the cable that engages the self-propelled mechanism broke, no biggie.  I just unhooked it.  I never really cared for a self-propelled mower anyway.  Next the main plastic housing covering the engine fell off.  No worries, I didn't mind mowing with something that looked and sounded like Mad Max would have used it to trim around the Thunderdome.  Then the wobble started.  Apparently the blade I had put on was not as well balanced as the one I ruined.  Hey, whatever, for an hour I can put up with almost anything.  Then the unthinkable happened...my inlaws bought a house.


I suddenly had to come up with one of two things; a way to repair the now mangled mower, or a new mower that they would like just as much as they had this one.  To make a long story short, I went with the latter.  It cost me more than I would ever personally pay for a lawn mower and forced me to admit the abuse that their mower had endured.  In the end it was a house warming gift and a clear conscious rolled up into one.  Now I could really give this piece of junk the treatment it deserved.  I mowed it hard and put it away wet.  Then, in a spontaneous act of desperation I wheeled it out to the front lawn the day of our community yard sale.  It felt good.  Like finally breaking up with a girl that your parents had warned you was bad news.  

The person who purchased it for a whooping $35 seemed like the type of man who was able to take on a project.  This did leave me with a dilemma though.  There was still a month and a half of mowing to do...


My neighbor was generous enough to lend me his mower.  It worked the way a mower is supposed to.  No wobble, no loose cables, no smoke and no random screaming.  I thought I could make it through the lawn mowing season and look for a mower in the spring, when the sales are in season.  I never expected that I would happen upon a dusty, long forgotten box on the upper "clearance floor" of Lehman's Hardware.  The same store where not even a year earlier I had happened upon a Tilley hat.  Good surprises abound at Lehman's.  After some brief and pleasant negotiation on just how "clearanced" this "one of" piece of lawn technology could be we settled upon a price that was mutually agreeable.  It seems that the store had thought of dabbling in the lawn equipment business briefly but that they had pulled the plug before ever really giving it a shot.  The mower I had found was a relic of that endeavor.  It was the only one they had ordered, and would be the only one they would sell.  That alone makes the whole transaction feel special for some reason.  Like when the used car salesman tells you the story about the little old lady who only drove the car to the market and to the hospital to volunteer, only this story was true.  I got a deal.  


I'm looking forward to mowing my lawn.  Hopefully tonight.  It will be like mowing again for the very first time.  I am doing my part to help the environment too.  I've never really been "Green" before.  Feels a little nerdy, but a cool kind of nerdy.  Like the first kid on the block with an Ipad.  Only this can mulch.

Grandma will finally be at Christmas this year...

My grandmother passed away yesterday morning after many years of declining mental and physical health.  Unfortunately for all of us she was in Florida while the rest of the family was back "home" in Ohio.  She was a wonderful woman and I remember her bright smile and how empty it felt not to have that smile at holidays those first few years they decided not to make the trip back up to see us.  It hurt as a grandchild and it hurt us as a family.  I know she would have wanted to be here if she had the choice.  Now that she has passed I hope she will be able, finally, to see the smiles on her great grandchildrens' faces and feel the love that family brings.  I miss you Grandma.

I know you’re in a far better place but tears started welling up when I saw your face.

A picture taken long ago, at a more simple time in a happier place. 

The smile I remember and the time slows down.  I can smell your perfume I remember the sound of your voice.

I remember you letting me drive when we rode in your red car.  Not too fast and not too far.

I remember the pink candy always filling the dish on the hutch.  We could always take some, but not too much.

I remember the cherry delight always finishing family meals. I remember the first Christmas without you here and how empty that feels.

I remember and I miss you.  But we have all missed you for years now.  Talking on the phone was never enough anyhow.

I wish you could have been with us each Christmas.  You used to love Easter, too.

I wish you could have known your great grandsons; you would have loved fishing with them too.

You were so far away from all of our lives and the love we wanted to share.

There were so many times over so many years that I wish you could have been there.

Now that you are free from the sadness and pain I know you can smile again. 

I know you can be anywhere now.  It makes me feel better somehow.

I hope that you will look down and be a part of our lives, it will be so nice to finally have you there.

Of Heaven and Costa Rica

My older two sons have been asking a lot of good questions lately about Heaven.  They want to know the details.  How it works in plain language.  They want the real life down to Earth explanation of everything;  how old you are when you’re in Heaven, if you get any older while you are in Heaven and things like whether or not you can still see the people who are on Earth when you die, can you talk to people and meet new friends in Heaven, do you fly around or do you walk?…you get the point.  Being that I am a person who truly believes Heaven to be a real place, a place where I plan to spend eternity with those who love God and without the pain and heartaches of this life, I want to give them an answer to their questions that strengthens their faith.  What I am finding is that it may end up strengthening mine in the process. 

I want to give them answers that help them to believe in something that they won’t see until they get there.  Something that they have to just trust is better than they can imagine without having a concise story.  Pop culture has done me no favors in this endeavor. Some say streets of gold, some say rivers of light, sometimes it looks like a city of glass, sometimes big overstuffed clouds cluttered with fat winged babies.  Tough to make a rock solid mental image out of all that.  I get it.  I get the confusion.  I’m thrilled with their questions and the interest they have in God and Heaven and how it all plays out.  It makes me feel like my wife and I are doing something right.  I am terrified however that the answers I might come up with for them will somehow scar them for life.  What if I create a mental image for them of a Heaven they don’t care to visit?  For me the “I’ll just find out when I get there” approach has seemed to work best, but that does nothing for a 5 year-old’s curiosity.  Then I remembered my brief love affair with the mystical far off land of…Costa Rica, and then I got even more concerned with my answers.

I have never been to Costa Rica.  I did however meet a young woman at a training session from Costa Rica a few months back, she was a bright, charming woman with an easy way about her that contrasted boldly against the burnt-out over-stressed drones that we all turn into in the Midwestern United States.  Something about her seemed different, exotic.  So the second day of the seminar a few of us asked her where she was from, originally.  Costa Rica, she told us.  She told of the wonderful climate both meteorological and political.  She told of the diverse wildlife and the diverse culture.  She told about beautiful tropical beaches and also about the mountains and rainforests.  It sounded like a pretty cool place.  Once she explained the low cost of living and the vast opportunities for ex-patriots to make a lavish living on modest means, it sounded downright magical.  I did some research and watched some YouTube travel videos and realized that yes, Costa Rica does seem like a great place to escape to…maybe.  It also has spiders the size of rats and rats the size of small dogs.  There are poisonous snakes in the trees and alligators in the rivers.  It borders some…let’s just say “democratically challenged” neighbors geographically and has more than its fair share of active volcanoes.  Though the landscape is diverse and beautiful, there really is not all that much of it that is developed, be that good bad or otherwise to the standards we are used to here in the US.  It is not the perfect place it looked to be at first blush.  I soon went from being able to see myself taking my family to Costa Rica for an adventurous new life filled with sun, surfing and safari to being glad that I am settled in and safe in Ohio, where family is close and things are familiar.  This brings me back to my explanation of Heaven to the boys. 

 How do I keep them on that high that I felt when I thought I had discovered the perfect place?  

How do I paint the picture in their heads about Heaven that I feel in my heart?  

How do I keep them from picturing the spiders, snakes and volcanoes?  

Ok, that’s Costa Rica and not Heaven, but again, you get the point.  It comes down to having faith that Heaven is wonderful because Jesus told us that it is.  How do you explain faith to a five and seven year old?  The dictionary defines faith as “belief that is not based on proof” and I have explained that to them, I think they might get it.  But when I tell them to just have faith that Heaven is a wonderful place, it feels like a cop out.  Heck, Disney World defines itself as a magical place better in a 60 second TV commercial than I have done with Heaven in an hour.  

The struggle for a good explanation of Heaven continues…it’s really challenging me to define my own belief in what awaits as well.  I am hopeful that the boys will teach me a thing or two by the time this is all said and done.  I’ll keep you posted.

2 Corinthians 5:7 (NIV)   “We live by faith, not by sight.”

Today is International Credit Union Day; celebrate by exercising your freedom to choose!

Freedom of choice is something most of us in the US take for granted.  We have hundreds of different restaurants to choose from.  We have dozens of auto manufactures competing for our garage space.  We even now have multiple Smartphone platforms to choose from to access the thousands of apps out there to spend our time on.   We are used to having choices in everything we do.

Most non-credit union people out there would feel that they have that same freedom of choice when it comes to their banking options, but if they only consider banks to do their banking do they really?  Banks, even under different names and different sizes all offer pretty much the same product, for the same reason…profit.

Banks may call their products by different names or have unique taglines, but they all focus on the same bottom line.  Like fast food burger joints.  One might have arches and another a crown but at the end of dinner they basically sell the same product at basically the same price to basically the same demographic.  Sure, the prize in the kid’s meal changes from time to time but you can always still get fries with that. 

Credit unions are like a Chipotle restaurant stuck in the burger joint mix.  We might not have as vast a menu and there are not as many of us out there, but if you look at the quality of what we offer, you can taste the difference.  The long term effects are far more positive dining at a place that serves fresh, simply prepared food.  The long term effects of dealing with a credit union are positive as well, less debt and increased wealth.  Facts prove it.  Wastelines and wallets don’t lie.

So this year, for ICU Day, celebrate the freedom of choice that credit unions give people.  We allow the members in our markets the freedom to do their banking a different way.  We allow them the freedom to have a vote, and a voice.  They have the freedom to choose among themselves who will lead them on the board.  They have the freedom to be treated as an owner and not just a number.  They have the freedom to choose people over profits.  It is why we do what we do and why October 21^st 2010 will certainly be a day I feel very proud of my credit union and the hard work we do day after day for our members.  Viva para la elección!

Where did all of the good conversation go?

As I walked through the grocery isle with my 18 month old son, discussing coffee and the finer points of its history and social importance in our culture it occurred to me that I need more adult conversation.

Not that I didn’t think that my son was worthy of this important bonding time, I just don’t think at his age he gives a hill of beans that even though darker roast coffee has a richer flavor it is in fact lower in the content of the all important caffeine component, as the caffeine is literally “burnt off” in the roasting process.

It occurred to me that perhaps this conversation, often interrupted by him throwing items out of the cart or randomly pulling them off of the nearest shelves and throwing them into the cart; “no thanks G…we don’t really need any orange marmalade today”, that I don’t have the chance…EVER…to just sit and chat aimlessly anymore about anything to any adult anywhere…

In college there were countless hours spent at coffee shops solving the world’s problems, amidst the occasional bout of studying.   There were the hours spent on a barstool chatting up with good friends about all of the things we would do once we had our degrees in hand.  There was the wonderful time my wife and I used to spend talking about all of the what-ifs ahead of us, before the kids and work zapped every last ounce of energy from us and left us with the ability to barely produce a half-hearted “G’night honey” before rolling over and passing out. 

Yes, life as a 30 something father of 3 just doesn’t include enough opportunity to talk about meaningless topics to adults in meaningful ways.  It’s something that will change, I know.  It is seasonal.  It too shall pass and there will come a time when I will have so much time to chat that I may actually run out of things to talk about…

Unlikely…but hey, so were all of the solutions to the world’s problems…until then, the kids will just have to put up with the occasional lecture about things not pertaining to them... and long drawn out stories about way back in the day, when their daddy was cool and the conversations were plenty.

Bring it on...I'm a DAD

I was asked last week if I “could” organize a panel of small to mid-sized credit union CEO’s to sit in at a conference this fall and discuss how they are handling the current regulatory burden put upon us by the powers that be.  My answer; a simple “Yes, of course”.  I think this sort of open discussion is great.  I always walk away from the panels feeling like I have both gained insight and given some advice.  One of the few win-win opportunities left in this “me me me“ world.

This morning it hit me that the professional who asked me to organize this panel of peers asked me not if I was willing to do this, WOULD I…but if I was capable of doing it or COULD I.  Had I consciously considered his real question, my answer would have differed a bit, especially after this morning.

My lovely wife is an RN and as such she on occasion will work the odd hour shift.  This morning that happened to be a very early shift, up and out of the house before any of us were awake.  This left me to get up, shower and get myself ready for work, get my two school aged boys up and ready for school and get the baby up and dressed and ready to go off to spend the morning with Grandma.  Once dressed we all had to get breakfast, find shoes and jackets and then the backpacks for school.  Once that was all complete we had to get loaded in the minivan, making several trips back in to the house to grab a forgotten pair of shoes for the baby.  Then we had to go back in to get a forgotten bunch of silly bands.  Then I had to go back in and grab my coffee and Nalgene bottle of water…all while the rain poured down. 

 

All children were successfully delivered.  All children made it to their destinations with the appropriate accouterments and accessories.  All of them were on time.  No tears were shed.

So…to answer the question more specifically…CAN I get a panel of professional, educated adults in my field of expertise and made up of my peers together in one place and at the same time to discuss a mutually agreed upon topic for an hour…HELL YES I CAN, I’m a DAD!

When I married my wife I officially became a cat owner.

I didn’t mind Meka when we were dating and actually grew to love her once she was officially a member of my household. She was a playful and unique cat. Even at around 15 years old she looked like a kitten at times.

From the time I met Tanya, Meka has just always been part of the package. Most of the time a good part. Over the past 12 years she had put up with 7 moves, a rambunctious dog who thought she was half toy-half companion, 3 crazy kids and unfortunately, less and less attention from Tanya and I.

This morning, after a lot of discussion and tears, we had to say goodbye to her. It was her time.

Last night, after lying in bed for a few minutes it hit me that it was her last night with us. I went downstairs and found her sitting in the living room, staring at the wall. I brought her up and put her in bed with Tanya and I. She purred as Tanya sobbed and pet her. I pretended to be asleep.

When Meka sensed that Tanya was falling asleep she hopped off the bed and back down to the hardwood floor with a familiar thud.

I’m not sure why I felt the need to, but I grabbed a piece of paper off of my nightstand and crumpled it up. Paper balls have always been Meka’s favorite toy. When we pull out the couch to clean under it there are always a few small paper balls she has played with and then batted under, just out of her reach. I crumpled the paper up and she immediately was at my feet bouncing like a kitten. I threw the paper into the corner of the room and listened to the familiar sound of her talking to it and swatting at it. Usually I would get punched in the arm or at minimum chastised by Tanya for letting Meka have a ball before bed, knowing that the meowing would keep us awake for the next 4 hours as she played. This time, not a word. We both listened to Meka playing, talking to the ball, pouncing on it. I even got up at one point and threw it down the stairs for her, knowing the noise would continue as she played with the paper ball from step to step. Finally after an hour I picked the ball up and we got some sleep.

I will miss our cat. I am not a “cat person” and I can’t say that we will ever own another one. Maybe someday, but not soon. The boys want a dog, and we will get one at some point, but not for a while. I think the quiet house at night will be a good reminder of our friend Meka. It will be hard for Tanya for a little while. The boys will take a few days to notice. I’m pretty choked up when I think about it right now, but I know we did what was best for her.

The day will come when the last paper ball is found under a piece of furniture. It will be a month from now. Tears will be shed.

The worst part of being a pet owner is also the best part, you really grow to love the animals in your life, and the worst part of loving anyone is letting go.

Happy Campers

There is no better way to spend a brisk fall evening than sitting with friends and family around a crackling campfire.  There’s an intimacy and a certain magic to it.  The world outside of the fire’s orange glow seems to disappear. The smell of the smoke engages the part of an overworked brain that triggers an urge to tell embarrassing stories and laugh at people whom, in normal circumstances, are just not that funny.

I love this scenario.  I often paint the scene in my mind, sitting at my desk when office life gets too stressful.  I guess it’s my “happy place”.  I can’t pinpoint when the first time was that I experienced camping and the campfire, but whenever it was it made an impression on me.

I didn’t camp outdoors much as a kid.  Once in a blue moon my Dad would begrudgingly drag out the old canvas tent and set it up in the backyard for a birthday or summer weekend, most of the camping was of the “blanket over stacked couch cushions” kind.  I would imagine I was deep in the wilderness and able to survive with nothing but my keen survival skills and a small plastic bag of peanut butter crackers. 

I wasn’t a cub scout either.  I didn’t need to be.  I had seemingly endless woods to explore all around my house and parents who were brave enough to let me take Spike, the mutt and a backpack of full of army surplus out for hours at a time.  I learned to fish in the local farmer’s ponds.  I learned to hike on deer trails and learned to hunt with a Daisy single pump BB gun.  The only patches I earned were the ones sewn on the knees of my jeans or the old army ones I begged my Mom to sew everywhere else.

I was lucky enough to fall in with a cheerful band of outdoor pirates / mountain bikers in college and really fed my camping bug.  We often stayed out at the fire until the sun came up, the wood ran out or the bottles were all empty.  Being out in the woods was just what you did when classes were done for the week and the snow wasn’t flying.  The rest of the winter was spent anticipating the first trip of spring.  It was a great way to pick up chicks too.  Cool girls like dirt, that brings me to my next stage of camping.

My wife grew up camping with her family in a pop-up.  She has lots of memories of setting the camper up, playing around the campsite and of course time around the campfire with her family and church groups and friends.  When we started dating it was the dead of winter, so I had to wait until that spring to put her to the test.  That first camping trip with her was great, and really helped seal the deal.  She was beautiful, strong-willed AND loved the outdoors.  Definitely a keeper.  We spent most of our time off over the next few years camping either in Michigan, Northeast Ohio or around the Lake Erie Islands.  We even tried a spring trip to Colorado and found that camping in the mountains in March in Northern Colorado is not quite the experience we expected. 

Once our kids came along we continued to camp fairly often, but it did mean we had to make some changes.  First we invested in a bigger tent, then better equipment, then cots.  It started to feel like we were gypsies moving a caravan from town to town and less like we were escaping the stress of stuff to get out into nature.  We were just bogged down with baby baggage.  Suddenly now instead of a tent and sleeping bags with a few key tools we had to pack cots and cribs and toys and a heater and a fan and diapers and clothes and an extra cooler of the juice and the milk and the baby food.  We used to be able to pack everything in the trunk of my small convertible and head out for a week, now we were completely loading an SUV, including a car-top carrier for an overnight stay.  It was nuts.

The last few years we camped a total of 3 times.  It was sad.

Then we realized that perhaps it was time to consider that we didn’t have to “rough it” to get back out in the woods.  We started noticing pop-up campers.  We started getting online and researching pop-up campers.  Finally last spring we went out and bought our pop-up camper.

Our pop-up, set up for the first time at "Camp Grandpa"

It has all of the necessities that make camping with kids possible, without the luxuries that make you feel guilty about it.  There are comfortable beds, there is no bathroom.  There is storage for all of the stuff, but there is no furnace.  It has a small gas stove, but no air conditioning.  It is the perfect compromise.  Even with the unbearably hot summer we had this year and the ever increasing demands at work, we still managed to get out and camp 5 times so far, and fall has just begun.  I am excited again about getting out and camping.  I love that when I grab my hat and put it on it smells like a campfire again.  Granted, the bottles are full of baby formula now and not tequila and I usually get woken up at the crack of dawn by my little men instead of sleeping in, it’s still camping, and I am loving every minute of it!

Greyhounds for everyone or bust!

A recent training session on lending gave me the opportunity to reflect on some of the more off the wall loan experiences I have had over the past 13+ years of working in finance.  It is absolutely amazing what you get to see as a lender.  Applying for a loan and borrowing money puts a person in such a vulnerable position that you get the unique opportunity to see people operate in a way they don't often act in other circles.  It also lets you see just how crazy some of us are.  Here is one of my favorite examples of the latter.


While working for a consumer finance company, fresh out of college, I had the chance to get to know a gentleman with an almost obsessive love for dogs.  Greyhounds to be more specific.  The wire-thin near starvation look of these gentle creatures just melted this otherwise gruff auto worker's heart.  He always came in to see me with a greyhound shirt, greyhound hat...once I am almost certain that he was wearing a necklace with a gold greyhound on it.  A little over the top yes, but nothing compared to some horse people I have met, but that's another story altogether.  Anyway, the wardrobe is not what makes this guy stand out in my memory, the fact that he took his love for these mild mannered speed demons to a level few would have the nerve to, makes him memorable.

This man, we will call him Joe, decided that after 30 years or so working for a Toledo based auto manufacturer, he was ready to retire and pursue his passion.  (Let this be a cautionary tale to those who have dreams of a post-retirement career that turns their hobby into a job) Joe had saved up a considerable amount of money over the 30 years of putting cars together and he knew precisely what he would spend it on, greyhounds.  More precisely, racing greyhounds.  Even more specifically, retired racing greyhounds.

Here was his business plan, more or less:

1. Purchase a decommissioned Greyhound bus.
2. Convert bus into mobile kennel to house greyhounds.
3. Drive mobile kennel to dog tracks, wherever they may be.
4. Convince owners at the race track to allow him to "rescue" their older dogs.
5. Fill the bus with these dogs.
6. Socialize and care for said dogs until they are ready to be adopted.
7. Drive the mobile kennel to pet shops and fairs to set up a greyhound adoption center.
8. Adopt out the greyhounds, clean the cages, repeat.

Joe had a dream.  Joe had some money.  Joe had no idea what was in store for him.  He found the bus.  I made him a loan to purchase and renovate the bus because based on his credit and money down, it was a decision well in line with the criteria for approval.  I underestimated just how badly Joe had underestimated just how badly things could go.  

Joe spent upwards of $20,000 on the bus.  Joe never checked on what licensing requirements are involved in running a mobile kennel adoption center for retired racing dogs.  Joe never consulted with a veterinarian to see what costs may be involved in getting these often neglected creatures healthy enough to be adopted into loving families.  Joe never considered another very important fact.  Not everyone considers greyhounds to be the cuddly, loveable creatures he does.

  Things went terribly wrong for poor Joe.  His first rescue mission resulted in him being forced to negotiate terms with the track and dog owners for the retired dogs, paying more for each of them than he could ever hope to adopt them out for.  Then there was the issue of shear volume.  Joe anticipated a few dogs rescued from each track along his trail of canine freedom.  First track, over 30 dogs.  Then came the reality that many of the dogs were not healthy, were not at all socialized and were certainly not housebroken.  Vet bills nearly broke him within the first month.  Feeding and housing the herd of scrawny savages did finally break him a few months later.  Things didn't end well for Joe or his dogs, as most had to be adopted out through the local humane society and other rescue groups.  In the end Joe was left with nothing but the memories and a very foul smelling bus, which was in turn repossessed and sold for pennies on the dollar.


I'm not sure there is a moral to this story, but if there was it might sound like this:

If you have a passion, that's great.  If you are willing to sell all of your worldly possessions and jeopardize your family's future to pursue that passion, be sure you have a well thought out business plan; and it helps to not have that passion involve dogs.

One man's treasure...

I've heard the old adage a hundred times, one man's junk is another man's treasure.  Good stuff.  Very wise.  I get it.  

In my neighborhood Thursday morning is trash pickup.  That means that Wednesday night is the night when the garbage pickers make my junk into their treasure.  Call me crazy but this concept fascinates me.  I am awestruck by the bold disregard for social norms and the willingness to voluntarily pin on the stigma that goes along with diving headfirst into a dumpster or sorting through the recycling bin beside my trash for a "special" bottle.  From what I have noticed they seem to like the "good stuff"...wine bottles mainly.  I did notice that they took the empty Black Seal Rum bottle that was left in the bin the week after vacation.  The Dark & Stormies I made were great, but I don't think the empty bottle will really do anyone a bit of good.  If I were a paranoid type I might assume that they are collecting evidence of my vices and "evil ways", storing them up for the possibility that I might someday make a run for church elder or something.  I can see them popping up from a middle pew, bottles in hand shouting out the names my sins..."and on August 19th, 2010 I picked up an empty bottle of Shiraz and 4 empty bottle of Guinness....shame on YOU!"

It actually makes me take a second look at the recycling as I drag it to the curb.  I look it over to see how I have done the prior week.  Some weeks I have to actually grab a few "good" bottles and put them on top to be sure the pickers don't think I've switched to the cheap stuff.  I wouldn't want to tarnish their image of me.

I hear the familiar sound of the old Dodge now...I better go prepare my offering.

Get Your Hands Out of My Member's Savings Accounts!

After taking the crazy month of July off of blogging, I have decided to get back on the writing wagon.

 Let me start by saying that I am a big fan of the NCUA, for the job it has done in the past, keeping credit unions operating safely and  member's deposits secure and insured.  I even appreciate them stepping in over the past few years and making the corporate credit unions step up and be accountable to their member credit unions for the assets they manage.

Alas, the love affair is over.  Now...I'm mad.

Last year, as a part of the plan to "stabilize and recapitalize" corporate credit unions the NCUA snatched over $175,000 from MY members. (we are just under $40 million in assets...just imagine what the tab was for the $1 Billion shops!)  Most of these members have never heard of corporate credit unions.  Non of them have ever deposited a penny in a corporate credit union, and non of them were given a say in the decision to "give" this money to the NCUA to use as they saw fit.  The corporate credit union that we deal with (there are over 20 nationwide)is well capitalized and run conservatively, as it should be.  

Now I understand the need to strengthen the corporate credit union system.  The corporate credit unions act for credit unions as the Federal Reserve Banks do for the banking industry and yes, as a natural person credit union we do rely on them for processing and clearing.  They are a necessary and vital part of the credit union machine.  We dealt with it, we made budget changes to manage around the giant hole it left in our earnings.  We did not cry over spilled milk, even though the puddle was huge.

We planned for more NCUA antics this year...but I underestimated their greed.

This June the NCUA took another $42,000+ from my members.  Again with no real explanation and without the courtesy of a thank you.  We had budgeted for this.  This September the rumor has it we will see an even bigger request.  This one I didn't see coming.  Another giant handout to secure the NCUA's insurance fund, used for covering credit unions who have fallen below what the NCUA considers to be soundly capitalized, therefore "failing" in their eyes.  Very few credit unions actually "fail".  Most are forced to merge with a stronger credit union who then absorbs the members of the failed institution and adopts them as their own.  Think Brady bunch, with less polyester.  Often this is actually a positive from a member's perspective because it can open the door for more products and services then their previous credit union could offer.  This isn't always the case, but I try to look at the bright sides of the cooperative movement when possible.

What the NCUA is doing now, and will likely continue to do for the foreseeable future is wrong, it is self defeating, and it is at face value downright scandalous.  They are in essence taking the very capital away from the natural person credit unions they they are insuring, making us all weaker and less stable because, they say, we are weaker and less stable.  They say they need this additional capital because the capital ratios of credit unions are falling, but they are falling in large part because of the money that the NCUA is siphoning off.  It's easy to make up the rules of the game as you go when you don't give the players a voice or a vote.  The credit union industry is based at its core on cooperation and democratic control.  We give our members the right to vote and to actively participate in the governance and direction of the credit union.  I think that in the true spirit of the institution they are charged to protect, that the NCUA should give each credit union under its jurisdiction a vote.  They can give us the facts, explain why they need the money and put all of their cards face up on the table.  Give us time to look at our hands and then let us cast a vote.  Then WE are the ones who are on the hook to explain to OUR members where their money went, if we see that it really is needed in Washington.  The NCUA is in place to protect the deposits of credit union members.  Period.   It is an entity that is in business FOR credit unions and therefore, our members.  The least they can do is ask the members of the credit union movement to give their input, insight, and vote as to what they want to happen with THEIR hard earned money.

I will continue to run my credit union for the benefit of my members and NOT as a vehicle for funneling assets to Washington.  The NCUA, I fear, has become just another cog in the bureaucratic machine, losing the desire to listen to the people they protect.  They have caused us to tighten our belts to the point of wage freezes and cuts to programs, stifled growth and stopped momentum for a much needed expansion even though there would be no need for any cuts without the assessments.  Come Hell or high water though they WILL NOT keep us from serving our members who after all, own every penny of the assets we are stewards of, and that the NCUA can't seem to keep their hands off of.

Be a Jet Ski - Article by Kelley Parks

This is an article I was quoted in from a conversation we had on CU Watercooler about the advantages of being a small credit union.  I like using the jet ski vs. Titanic analogy.  First off, jet skis are FUN and produce a great mental image of a fast, exciting ride (which the CU industry certainly is at this point in history) they are close to the water (just like a small CU is close to our members) and they can be quickly maneuvered around obstacles. The "big bank" industry certainly is akin to a comparison with the Titanic. (especially the historic "too big to sink" theory)...hard to steer and to stop once it picks up steam and able (and willing) to plow through and over anything in its way. 

Chris Blough, CEO of Wayne County Community FCU, had a brilliant quote on Liquid Lunch, 

 “Small Credit Unions need to be like jet skis. We’re not the Titanic. A jet ski would see the iceberg.”

I love the spirit of innovation in that statement. Small is nimble, and with the right thinking and some iron will, can speed right past all the other boats in the ocean.
Are you a Titanic or a Jet Ski? Is the spirit of innovation alive in your credit union?
Here’s your test:
Are you a Titanic?
You are trying to serve first class and third class all on the same boat. You believe you should be all things to all people. After all, with 17 CD options and 6 Checking Accounts, you’re bound to connect with someone.
You don’t take action because you think you are too big to fail. You have meetings to have meetings. Sub-committee has become code for “vacation in my head”.
You fail to plan for enough lifeboats. You don’t know how to react in an emergency. I mean “growing income” isn’t on the marketing calendar this month?
Or are you a Jet Ski?
You’re not afraid to get wet. You know that perfection is a mirage and experiments can be messy, but you’ll jump in and try because that’s the only way to discover your true potential.
You easily maneuver around obstacles. You’re a creative problem solver. Behind every challenge you see opportunity. While others wait for the water to stop rocking, you speed past them. Decreased budget? More regs? Bring em’ on. Big waves just make you jump higher.
You get right back on as soon as you get knocked off. You realize that it takes hard work and action to get results. You realize that mistakes help you learn and grow.
But most importantly, you aren’t afraid to make waves.

Where did my good little boy go...

It seems that the gestation period for unruliness of a Blough is 15 months.

Greyson has now turned, as did his brethren, to the darkside. 

There shall be no more quiet relaxing mornings with him lying on my chest while his brothers are still asleep.  No longer will the happy little footsteps echoing off of the walls of our home bring with it the anticipation of a giggling little angel.  Grey has now officially become ORNERY!

God bless us and help us all.

God gave you two ears for a reason...

I have come to realize that amidst all of the amazing things we can do in this modern age...we have lost some things along the way.  The ability to use a rotary phone.  The knowledge of how to do simple math without the aid of an electronic device.  The ability to concentrate on a single topic for more than 45 seconds...and oh...what was the other thing...oh yea, we have completely forgotten how to listen.

We are so busy doing everything we seem to think we just HAVE to do that we rarely slow down long enough to collect our thoughts or listen to what the people around us are telling us.  Our spouses are telling us to look them in the eyes and connect with them once in awhile.  Our children are telling us that they are growing up right in front of our eyes and we are missing every last second of it.  Our friends are telling us that they would rather have us sitting across the table from then than texting us from across town.  The people at work are trying to tell us that they want to know who we are and what really makes us tick, not just what our Facebook site says we did the last time we actually took a day off.  We have killed our attention spans with gadgets, gizmos and high speed wireless thingamabobs.  It's a fact Jack.

When is the last time you went for a walk with someone and left your cell phone at home.  How often do you unplug and walk away from technology long enough to feel the sun on your face and watch a bird fly from a tree.  When was the last time you asked a young child what was on their mind and then listened attentively without pulling out your phone and checking for messages or rushing them along so you could turn the TV back on.

Let's face it.  We have become terrible listeners with the collective attention span of a common housefly.  Worse.  Houseflies are pretty persistent.

So unplug.  Offer up both ears and all of your senses.  Your friends, spouse and kids are worth it.  Besides, the phone in your pocket is outdated anyway and what they have to say is real-time.  Click.