A bright future

I ran into Kenny McMillan Saturday afternoon. He and I were best friends in high school and it was really good to see him. Kenny’s family is one of the most prominent in town (the Parkers—Parker Ford and Parker Real Estate, the Williams—Williams Furniture and Clover Hill Dairy and the McMillans—McMillan’s Country Basket Supermarket and McMillan Bros. Funeral Home) and being Kenny’s friend got me my first job as a bagger at Country Basket.

We talked for awhile and he told me that the family had decided to shut the business down in a couple of months because of changes taking place which do not make the future look good. He said that people are really starting to follow the government guidelines for healthy living and are eating foods that you would not even have known existed ten or even five years ago.

I guess I can understand that. It takes a lot of money to carry inventory and now there are expanded items and brands in almost all food categories—low fat, no fat, low sugar, no sugar, low salt, no salt, low carb, no GMO, lactose-free, gluten-free, organic, no wheat, free-range poultry, grass fed beef. Not only does it cost a great deal for the inventory it also is expensive to expand shelf space to hold the new products.

I told Kenny that working at the Country Basket was an important start for me and that I was sorry to hear about the closing especially since Jeannie and I never liked shopping at Mayer’s Market. Kenny stopped me and said that Country Basket isn’t closing; Country Basket is doing very well. The family had decided to close McMillan Bros. Funeral Home because with the government endorsed and mandated life style and dietary changes people are never going to die.

Remember, not all

“Oh no, look, It’s coming down” and the world watched as Gustave Eiffel’s tower which had stood in Paris since 1887 crumbled into a pile of twisted metal that looked like the pictures of the Hindenburg disaster in 1937. And there could have been no greater shock until at the sound of an explosion the cameras swung around to show a massive black cloud rising above the Louvre Museum which had held priceless antiquities and art masterpieces from around the world.
“Oh, my god, they’ve done it”, and the new live images showed a destroyed Big Ben and Parliament Building in London and smoke rising above the rubble that was once St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. The shock of seeing these world landmarks come down was greeted with sighs and comforting statements that they were only buildings and that few people had died or were injured and then a shopping mall in Des Moines and theatres in Buffalo, San Antonio, Portland, Tampa, Milwaukee and Atlanta were hit with bombs and gunfire killing 3000 people and vegetables were poisoned at supermarkets throughout the American south killing thousands.
The countries which had been attacked shuddered and the citizens waited in fear until finally the people had had enough and started to stir. As the level of the people’s anger rose those who had been taught well jumped up as one and in a mighty voice screamed out, “not all Muslims are terrorists”.

Next time

“We’ve decided to drive after the trouble we had getting a flight out for Thanksgiving” Aunt Ruthie said when I asked when we could expect her and Uncle Dan for their Christmas visit.
Their Thanksgiving flight was late, you see, because the inbound flight from St. Louis was late because the inbound flight from Milwaukee was late because a storm in the Pacific Northwest had delayed the inbound flight from Portland or someplace and you have to understand and the airline did say, “we apologize for any inconvenience.”
We should not have to understand anything. We pay good money to be transported by air and then have to put up with delays with lame explanations and lies and extra service fees for baggage and crowded planes and no leg room (unless you pay a little extra for an additional two inches) and overbooked flights (“I’m sorry, we’re not going to be able to get you out on the 10:30 flight because it was overbooked but we can get you out at 4:15 on a flight with a 3 hour layover in Albuquerque…”) and we just shrug and say okay because even though we’ll arrive about ten to twelve hours late at least we’ll get out and what else are you going to do?
But then I guess we’ve decided that it’s all about going a thousand miles per hour and isn’t it modern and ever so glamorous and we want to go fast but it takes forever to get through security and it would have almost been faster to drive like Aunt Ruthie and flying is just a miserable way to travel.
“Next time try the train” said the Southern Pacific Railroad’s roadside billboard of the 1930s. And the trains ran on time and they were comfortable and they ran in all types of weather and we let them go because, you know, flying is so very fast and so very modern.

The horn

You really don’t hear it during the day. I guess when you’re sitting there on the train there are too many other sounds and distractions or you’re just too busy watching the world pass by to hear it.
But at night as you sit in the coach dozing or lie in your bed in the sleeper you hear the soft horn leading your train. At night outside there is nothing to see but the lights of farms and small towns and cars on the highway running alongside the railroad right of way. You can’t tell if you’re in New York or Ohio or Kansas or Arizona and so you drift off with only the horn of the engine marking the passage.
Then one night when you’re back home lying there and the bedside clock changes from telling you the time to telling you how long until you have to get up you hear a train horn on the other side of town. You know it isn’t your train and that the sound is probably pulling cars filled with coal or containers or automobiles but as you hear it crossing after crossing it becomes your train’s horn and you fall off to sleep in bedroom C, car 3901.

Finding a solution

Not long after the introduction of the internet it became obvious that instant information was available on almost every subject. The person sitting there at the computer could find details on all types of products and services with the only problem being that there never seemed to be a way to know if all options were being shown.
It wasn’t long though before we started to see exchanges pop up, such as EBay, which matched buyers with sellers who offered the full range of products being sought. EBay made it possible to find those special shoes for an upcoming wedding, Angie’s List helped you find a guy to clean the gutters and with EHarmony you found your soul mate, who I’m sure, was out there looking for you.
I started to think about how these exchanges have changed the way we do business and deal with each other and then I wondered why nobody has used this same exchange idea to address a major problem which plagues the country. We expect there to be a solution for almost every problem so if there is a solution why not develop an exchange to speed up the process of finding that solution and eliminate the problem?
I have seen estimates that range from 650,000 to over 3.5 million Americans who are homeless each year. Whether it’s 650,000 or 3.5 million it’s too many so let’s do something about it.
Then it hit me. Why couldn’t we create an exchange that would match up the homeless with those who can help? It shouldn’t be that hard and so I created a website to make that match possible. Here’s how it works: the homeless person simply goes to a public library, gets on line on the new website, punches in some location information and then he or she is linked up with a real estate agent who has listings of the thousands of homes available in the area.
Another problem solved. Thank you, Al Gore for creating the internet.

War stories

“How have you held up all these years?” Brian asked as he approached Hillary. “Being under sniper fire on the tarmac must have been terrifying.”
“It was and I think about it all the time but I’m doing alright” she said reaching out for his hands. “We were under sniper fire but your helicopter got hit. That must have been terrible.”
“It got pretty bad but it I knew we’d get through it” the anchorman said grimacing as if the bullets were coming right at him, again.
“So did I, our armed forces are the best in the world.”
The two American icons walked together hand in hand about ten steps ahead at a distance where no one in the party could hear their conversation. Were they continuing to talk about their war experiences and how they had put their jobs, their careers and their very lives on the line as true public servants? The others walked behind and gave each other looks which acknowledged being in the presence of true American heroes.
One could only imagine the deeply personal insights that they were sharing. It looked very serious as they stopped, turned toward each other, looked solemnly in each other’s eyes for a few moments and then released their hands and gave out a tremendous laugh as Hillary threw both arms in the air and screamed, “What difference does it make?”

To serve you better

When I first read about a proposed increase in water rates I was outraged. It seemed like The Water Department, “Your City Water”, just took an increase.
That last increase was to be used to upgrade the system with a new filtration plant, new water lines and new meters which would reduce labor costs and help the department monitor usage to find leaks and “…move “Your City Water” into the twenty first century” and now they want more money?
But then I guess it was something that needed to be done after all the last major infrastructure improvements were made some fifty years ago and so alright the water is clear and I did get a notice a while ago about a slight water usage increase that let me know that the upstairs toilet was leaking.
But now I’m wondering whether all this water monitoring capability is a good thing. Maybe it’s gone too far. Yesterday I received a letter from Your City Water:
Dear Your City Water customer
As you know from the literature that we sent out about the recent improvements to the water system we now have the ability, using the new digital meters and computer algorithms, to analyze water usage in order to find and repair leaks in the system thereby cutting costs for you the consumer as we work to conserve water and protect the environment for everyone.
We have reviewed water usage for your residence at 1557 Oak Tree Avenue and have noticed a spike in water use over the last six months with most of the additional water being used between 11pm and 7:00 am. Our reports show regular nightly water flows of 1.4 gallons (indicating toilet usage) at 1:00, 2:30, 4:10, 5:30 and a double flush at 6:45 am every other day (all times +/- 15 minutes).
The gang down at Your City Water believes this frequent nighttime toilet usage may indicate that an elderly gentleman at your address has developed an enlarged prostate and recommends that he see his physician or health care provider as soon as possible. Also, someone at your residence might want to think about adding a prune or two to his or her diet.
Very truly yours,
Your City Water
Lou, Judy, Frank, Bernie and Cindy

That’s what I call service, maybe too much service. It’s a new day.

Time stands still

There is nothing more wonderful than holding your first newborn. It’s such a very special time in both of your lives. The little eyes, the tiny fingers and toes, the softness, the smell and the warmth of that tiny infant. As you look at the sweet little face you know there is nothing you wouldn’t do for that precious child and you wish that you could hold the baby forever. You don’t see the changes and before you know it the baby is smiling, then crawling, then babbling and then walking. The baby grows so quickly and there is nothing that you can do about it.
But hold on, there is a way to stop time. There is a way to make time stand still. When the baby becomes a child sit down at a table and play Candyland. Time stands still.

I think she’ll like it

“Merry Christmas, may I help you?”
“Yes, do you carry ladies sleepwear?”
“We used to but with the way prices are going up even The Dollar Store can’t find articles in the dollar range.”
“I didn’t think so, thank you.”
“You might want to check in intimate apparel.”
“The Dollar Store carries intimate apparel?”
“We have a few items mostly just pieces of string.”
“Really. That will work. How much are they?”

Not quite Hallmark but not Woolworth’s

Standing in line at the supermarket I glanced over at the cover of a magazine which proclaimed, “Have the very merriest Christmas ever” with a picture of a lovely family sitting down to dinner while a fireplace roared in the background and the opened gifts lay neatly around the Christmas tree. There was dad in his red sport coat and mom wearing pearls and the kids all smiling just like at our house when I was a kid except we didn’t have a fireplace and Dad didn’t have a red sport coat and Mom didn’t wear pearls and the gifts were all over the living room.
That idyllic picture made me think about our Christmases which included special family traditions that wouldn’t quite fit into the “Have the very merriest Christmas ever” picture. It made me think of the classic short story by O. Henry with the ironic ending, “The Gift of the Magi”.
Each year at our house a large cardboard box would come down from the attic with the tree stand, the lights, a wreath, two boxes of glass ornaments and a bag with the Christmas cards my mother had received from friends the previous year.
She would sit there at the dining room table and go through the cards to determine who would receive one of our cards this year. I remember the smile on her face as she said that eliminating the Murphy’s and the Cook’s and the McMahon’s and a few others because they didn’t send us a card last year meant that she had exactly enough cards for this year. Sort of culling the card herd, I guess.
And then there came the sound of the mailman making his deposit in the mailbox, which included a card from the McMahon’s, (Art, Lucille and Morty), followed by a groan from my mother.
“You’re going to have to go to the store for more cards” she said and so off my dad went.
“All they had left were these cards and my mother gasped at the price on a box of twelve not quite Hallmark but not Woolworth’s cards.
“Well, as long as I’m going to send the McMahon’s a card I might as well send cards to the Murphy’s, and the Cook’s and the Duncan’s” and so she did and three days later when the mailman filled up the mailbox there were cards (the good ones, not quite Hallmark but not Woolworth’s) from the Murphy’s (Dick and Dorothy), the Cook’s (Ed and Marge) and the Duncan’s (Pete and Joan).
And so the friends who weren’t quite good enough friends to get a card from my mother ended up receiving the nicest cards of all from her. Is that an O. Henry story or what?