Time To Set New Goals?

What do you do when you lose the ability to dream? No, not the ones at night that feature you standing naked in front of a stadium full of homeless people trying to remember the words to The Star Spangled Banner. No, I’m talking about those life goals that you set for yourself when you were young that represented the vision and hope of your life. They provided the fuel that drove the engine, they gave you a target at which to aim, a guiding star on which to focus. Some of them fell by the wayside. You didn’t have the chops to become a Major League baseball player. It turned out that you hated politics too much to become President of the United States. But what happens when you realize that practically every other big dream you had…has come true?

In no particular order, here is a list of dreams I used to carry around with me when I was in college. It was folded up in my wallet and I never showed it to another human being.

# Marry a beautiful blond. 

# Start my own business, be my own boss

# Buy a nice house.

# Travel the world.

# Have at least two kids, a boy and a girl.

# Break 80 at golf

# Attend a game at Fenway Park.

# Write a novel.

# Earn $100,000 in one year.

Ok, that list was compiled roughly 35 years ago, so the 100K is dated. But everything on that list has been checked off. Although I don’t suppose I can say that I have “Traveled the world”, the world being a huge place and all, but I have seen an awful lot of it.  Do I break 80 every time out? Hardly. But I have 6 times so that qualifies.  And yes, I have written a novel, but it is unpublished and unread, and hand written on two spiral notebooks, but it does qualify as a novel in every other sense. In addition I have accomplished other things that I never put on the list, but are remarkable to me like, educating my children at two private, out of state universities.

All the smart guys I talk to about this say that the solution is simple…I need to set new goals. Ah, yes, new goals. That’s not as easy as it sounds. The problem lies in the fact that many of my goals are at cross purposes with each other. For instance, I would like to learn how to fly an airplane and eventually buy or lease one of my own. I would like to purchase a vacation home on a lake in Maine where I can live during the summer and then bequeath to my children as a legacy. I would like to spend a month in Florida every winter playing golf and attending spring training baseball games every day. All of these worthy goals require lots and lots of money. My business produces (most of the time) lots of money, so what’s the problem? Well, what do you do when you’re good at your job but that job has worn you out? It’s all you’ve done for 30 years and it has been very good to you, but you would really rather be a freelance writer. The stress associated with the financial world has had a cumulative effect on me that has taken a toll. But would the stress associated with being a working writer be any easier? Probably not.

Having stopped to read through this, it really sounds whiny. I have so much to be thankful for in the life I have. I suppose it’s time to suck it up. As my Dad used to say, “Even though the grass may look greener on the other side of the fence…it still has to be mowed!”

Lawlessness Epidemic In My Neighborhood!!

Woke up this morning, sat down at my usual perch looking down on the neighborhood through my upstairs paladin window, and witnessed the most lawless outbreak of greed and economic exploitation I've ever witnessed since..er..last year around this time. Yes, today is YARD SALE day in Wythe Trace. Below my window, a teaming mass of unequally yoked buyers and sellers were engaged in wild and unregulated commerce, and I dare say that more than a dozen of our nation's laws will be broken before it's all over.

My next door neighbor is fully engaged in this colossal class exploitation. I look down and see her driveway lined with all kinds of items...a car seat, changing table, crib,( guess they're done having kids). There are  several chairs, a table piled with lamps, bed linens and a treasure trove of primary coloured Fisher Price toys. (Kids sure do create junk). The cul de sac is choked with cars. A steady stream of bargain hunters are picking through the piles. Not a lot of BMW's parked in the street, mostly pick-up trucks and late model Nissans. What in the name of high finance is going on here? I'll tell you what's going on...unbridled consumer exploitation.

Will my neighbor provide the lady who just bought that old car seat with the original packaging it came in that will properly warn her about the potential choking hazards associated with that product?  No. Does there exist any limits on what Lilli can charge this poor helpless woman for this worn out death trap? No. The seller has all the power in this unregulated exchange. Lilli drives a hard bargain. Money changes hands. There is no paper trail, no bill of sale, and no taxation of any kind on this transaction. No sales tax, and no income tax on the capital gains of these exchanges. I am literally witnessing what looks to be a thriving black market operating in broad daylight, with reckless disregard for government regulations. What,...wait..is that a Henrico County patrol car pulling up to the curb? Finally!! Somebody, representing the law is here to shut down this enterprise. No, what the heck is he..? He's going to buy the bassinet? Great, not only is there tax avoidance, and consumer exploitation, now there's official corruption, the police turning a blind eye to this naked pursuit of profit. I've got half a mind to call the President myself.

Happy Birthday To My Wife

My wife turns 50 today. Whenever we go out with friends, she has proudly declared that she is the only one at the table who is .."still in her forties". Well, now she can no longer make that claim. She will have to endure a bunch of stupid "old" jokes today, but not nearly as many as I heard 4 years, 3 months, and 16 days ago when I turned 50. See, age jokes work much better on someone like me, someone who is a loud, trash-talking smart-ass. With someone like Pam you almost feel embarrassed to even bring up the subject. The hardest job in the history of comedy would be coming up with material for a roast of my wife. She is just so incredibly adorable, sweet, and kind...you just can't bring yourself to make fun of her. What would you do, tease her about her cooking? Uh..no...she is so talented in the kitchen she makes peanut butter and jelly taste like fine dining. I guess you could come up with a couple of wrinkle jokes...something like, " In today's news, reports are coming in that President Obama actually had something coherent to say about the economy, and Pam Dunnevant actually found a wrinkle today, proving that there is indeed a first time for everything." That way, the joke is actually about Obama so you don't feel bad about criticizing Pam. See what I go through?

50 or not, this woman is the best decision I ever made. Here are just a few reasons why.

1. Where I am often negative and cynical, she tries to see the best in situations and people.

2. Where for me, "flying by the seat of my pants" is a way of life, she brings order to my life by actually planning ahead a bit more than my routine 15 minute horizon. Her least favorite of my expressions is.."It'll be fine!" Because of her other-worldly organization skills and unmatched powers of risk-analysis, most everything HAS been fine for me and my family for the last 28 years.

3. The woman is a beast with any electronic, technological gadget ever made. I have no doubt that if she had security clearance, she could probably figure out how to command one of the government's drone spy squadrons from her i-pad.

4. Whenever there's a crisis, Pam steps up in an enormous way. Some are paralyzed, others fearful. But Pam swallows her fears and just gets it done. Whatever needs to get done is her target, and she doesn't rest until a solution is found. In the circus world there are show horses and work horses. Pam is a work horse.

5. Now, ok...I just referred to a woman who turns 50 today, as a horse. Even worse, I compared her to a circus animal, proving once again how clumsy I can be with words. My "fly by the seat of my pants" writing style is in desperate need of an editor. See, the thing is, my wife is gorgeous. Every time we walk into a room, she turns heads, especially mine. Tonight at Brio's will be no different. People, will glance up at her and think, "Wow, isn't she beautiful?" Then the men will look at me and think.."What's HE got that I ain't got??" The answer...I've got Pamela Jean Dunnevant, and you can't have her. Bruuhhhhahhhhh!!!!!!

Happy Birthday Sweetheart.

I Have A New Partner!

“If you were successful, somebody along the line gave you some help. There was a great teacher somewhere in your life. Somebody helped to create this unbelievable American system that we have that allowed you to thrive. Somebody invested in roads and bridges. If you’ve got a business — you didn’t build that. Somebody else made that happen.”
                                                                                              President Barack Obama

  I read the transcript of this speech. Then I searched for a video, figuring that perhaps the words above were taken out of context. But there he was telling a cheering crowd that essentially, it takes a village to start a business. As one of those business owners he was talking about, I feel compelled to respond, even though my opinions on this subject are about as important to the President as his views are to me.

When I chose to enter this business many years ago, I made an intentional choice. By choosing the path of the entrepreneur, I gave up any hope of security. I would never have company paid health insurance, an employer funded pension plan, paid sick leave, paid vacation, company provided office space, furniture or secretarial help. I would never have the security of knowing that even if I had a couple of unproductive weeks, my full paycheck would be waiting for me on pay day. The reason I gave all of that up?...I was crazy. I was crazy and arrogant enough to bet on myself. Besides, there were advantages to working for myself, first among them being, I liked the boss. I would never have to ask him for a raise, I would never have to ask him for time off. I would be free to make as much money as I was humanly capable of making. If I chose to work 70 hours a week, my income would invariably rise. If I chose to play golf every day, I would immediately see a dramatic decline in my fortunes. But it was all my choice. In the early days the hours were brutal, the level of rejection high, and my income was terrible. I would often lay awake at night wondering if I had made a huge mistake. At every turn there were obstacles to success. I almost quit a hundred times. But I didn't. Now, after 29 years, the gamble has paid off. I have built something of value and it has given me the one thing I always wanted most of all in the first place...freedom.

I didn't need the President to tell me how important it is to "give something back". I learned that lesson as a child first from the Old Testament concept of "gleaning" set forth in the Book of Ruth, then in the New Testament parable of the Good Samaritan. But mostly I learned it simply from watching my parents live their lives. Although they never made much money, they were always giving to others. My Mother's "give-away fund" became famous where I grew up. The command in the Bible to give wasn't a function of one's wealth or ability to give, rather, it was a universal command meant for all of us. So, the President's assertion that those of us who have been successful must pay more to the government so THEY can help others sounded strange to me. Isn't that what my
top 5% income has already allowed me to do? Because of my income and the freedom it has earned me, I have been able to devote untold hours to working with the young people of my church. I have been able to chaperon trips, donate scholarship money to send many kids to camp, make countless contributions for others to go on mission trips. All of this has been the direct result of the blessings of successes I have had in a business that I started from scratch, and whose income has resulted in me being among a group of Americans ( top 5% ) who already currently pay 58.66% of all income taxes paid in this country.

The President minimizes my own responsibility for that success by pointing out that somewhere down the line I had a teacher that inspired me. I did. Actually I had more than one inspiring teacher. The best one of all was probably from the 5th grade...Mrs. Winston, a black lady who rode me mercilessly and constantly harangued me for not doing my best. To this day I remember and am thankful for the life lessons she taught and the inspiring way she taught them. As I recall, two of my fellow students in that class went on to become convicted felons, Mrs. Winston's powers of inspiration not withstanding. The President also points out that every day I drive to work on roads provided by government. He's right. As a matter of fact, just the other day I was driving to work and pulled up to a government provided stop light where I saw a gentleman take a swig out of a Pabst Blue Ribbon can in between intense nose-picking sessions at 7:30 in the morning. No doubt, he was headed to his highly successful business enterprise just like me, since we both were using government provided roads. I wonder which one of us paid more taxes to the government so they could provide that road and that stop light?

Still, the President said something that struck a chord with me. He kept talking about we're better when we are "all in this together". It caused me to start thinking. If he's right and I really didn't build my business myself, that there were lots of others equally responsible for my success, and in fact, we are all in this together, then that must mean that I have lots of silent partners out there, first among them, the government. Well, since my government "partner" takes 31% of my profits, isn't it only fair that I send them a bill for 31% of my expenses? Below is a partial list:

$4875 for office furniture, the purchase of which help create or save jobs in the cheap, wood veneer office furniture industry.

$56,000 for Errors and Omissions insurance coverage to protect me from lawsuits brought on by angry customers and their pernicious ambulance-chasing lawyers. Although I've never filed a claim, this is the tribute that I have been required to pay to stay in business.

$19,200 in yearly operating expenses to keep the doors open here at my office.

I know times are tough right now at the U.S. Treasury, but if nothing else this President has taught me the importance of making "investments" even when the National checking account is overdrawn. So I'm sure that my new "partner" won't have any problem coming up with his fair share of my company expenses. After all, I pay him MY fair share each and every month, even if I have to hit my home equity line to do it.

So, Mr. President, as soon as I get your check, you can count me as a new convert. You'll get my vote this November...as long as that check clears.

My Brother, and Two Sisters

Grief is a mysterious condition. I am in the process of reading two books on the subject, neither of which are particularly helpful, since neither author knew my mother, the loss of whom can't possibly be plugged in to a ready formula for recovery. For me it has been part sadness, part regret, but mostly bouts of paralyzing melancholy. Generally speaking, sitting around for hours pondering deep questions about life and death leads to no good, turning you into an inert mass of bone and tissue incapable of summoning enough energy to make a ham sandwich, let alone go to work. So, you try to fight through the reflection impulse, and get on with life. Some days have been easier than others.

But not all bouts of reflection are created equal. For example, if you're laying around in your pajamas for days contemplating why the sun rises in the east and sets in the west instead of the other way around, well, therein lies madness. However, if you find yourself reexamining just how wonderful your brother and two sisters are, it can be time well spent. The four of us are different in so many ways. But the similarities are remarkable and flow mostly from the fact that we all had the same mother. Now that she has gone I have found myself paying closer attention to my siblings, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mom in the process.

My brother, Donnie and I are roughly ten years apart, he the oldest and I the youngest. He is taller, heavier, and slightly louder than me. He taught me how to play baseball, introduced me to the Beatles, and gave me one 30 minute guitar lesson when I was 11 and then left me to my own devices with a piece of junk 5 string acoustic that he had outgrown. He has two masters degrees, and an amazing ability to store and recall the lyrics to practically every song recorded since 1950. He has been a prolific song-writer, and the most natural musician I've ever heard. At mom's funeral, he calmly sat down at the piano and performed a medley of two of her favorite songs that he had put together in his head, and with no music in front of him, sang them in as clear and beautiful a voice as I had ever heard from him. Under the circumstances, a virtuoso performance, graceful and dignified. I marveled at his composure.

My sister Paula is closest to me in age, two years older. I followed behind her at school. My teachers would always stare at me for an awkward moment and then ask," Wait, you're not Paula's brother, are you?" Upon answering in the affirmative, their faces would always stiffen, then they would smile, as if to say.."Then, why are you making C's and throwing paper airplanes in my class??" Years later, working with the youth group at our church, whenever I would tell the kids that Mrs. Roop was my sister, instantly, their behavior would improve, and I would earn instant credibility as a teacher. Paula is the sort of person who brings solutions with her when she walks into a room. She is a clear, decisive thinker, with no patience for incompetence. She has strong and well stated opinions about everything. I see so much of what was great about my mother in her.

Whenever I told the kids in the youth group that I was "Mz. Linda's" brother, my awesomeness score on their Cool-O-Meter went off the charts. When I told adults this, they would laugh and say something like.."Of course you are!!!" I never really knew what that meant, but I was sure it was good. Linda is the leader, the alpha male of our family. It has always been so. The cruise director makes the plan and sees to it that it is executed. If you added up all of the self-sacrificing things that the rest of us have ever done for Mom and Dad, it would probably be less than what Linda does in an average month. As a nurse, much of the burden of their care has fallen on her. Linda loved Mom with not only her heart but her hands and feet as well. She has taken her loss perhaps the hardest of any of us. But there's no self pity with Linda, just a renewed devotion to Dad's care, and a determination to keep the family focused and together. Amazing.

How Cool Would My Life Be With A Beethoven Soundtrack?

When I was 15 years old and terribly naive, I joined the Columbia House Record Club. The add in Sports Illustrated told me that merely by joining I could pick out 15 albums FREE. After that I would have the "opportunity" to receive an album every month thereafter for only $7.99 plus shipping and handling. If I didn't want any more albums I could just say so and that would be that. What an awesome deal!! Of course, over the next three years I spent a fortune in postage, shipping back unordered and unwanted albums..it was a nightmare, actually. However, the experience did have one side benefit. It introduced me to Ludwig Von Beethoven. Lest you think that I was a 15 year old geek, let me explain.

Ordering my 15 free albums was a blast, but harder than one might think. In 1973, I was in the tank for the Beatles, Crosby Stills & Nash, The Eagles, Linda Ronstadt etc.. But when I had picked 14 albums, I saw that I could get a giant collection of the complete works of Beethoven on vinyl and although it filled 9 LP's, it would only count as one. Well, I was no classical music devotee, but I had heard of him and thought he looked like a world class bad-ass. On a lark I ordered the collection.

I was instantly mesmerized. What was the deal with this guy? All of the paintings I could find showed this brooding maniac with wild hair and dark, raging eyes. Everything I read spoke of his chaotic mood swings, most accounts hinting at mental illness, and after listening to his music for a couple of weeks, I believed it. The same guy who could write something as stirringly beautiful as the second movement of Pathetique "http://www.youtube.com/embed/klZYv-f9kCE" could turn around and write the profoundly disturbing second movement to his 7th Symphony. I'm telling you, if a movie is ever made that features a wedding between Darth Vadar and Cruella DeVille, this is the music that will be playing when she walks down the aisle! At the 1:57 mark I can practically hear whining Dalmatian puppies "http://www.youtube.com/embed/mgHxmAsINDk"!! The fact that he was deaf by the time he wrote this piece only adds to the beguiling cocktail that is Beethoven..an exotic mixture of madness and genius.

I have been reintroduced to Beethoven recently with my discovery of Spotify, Pandora and the like. When I heard the 7th for the first time in probably 10 years the other day it occurred to me how much more interesting and dramatic my life would be if I had Beethoven blasting away as my soundtrack. I drive to DMV to renew my drivers license, pull into the parking lot, get out of the car and see the line of dreary, resigned citizens curling around the building, and instantly the second movement of Symphony number 7 pounds into my ears! Driving down interstate 64, I crest a hill at 80 and realize that I have just raced through a speed trap?.."http://www.youtube.com/embed/_4IRMYuE1hI"! Or, its Christmas Eve and suddenly I realize I have forgotten to buy anything for Pam. In a panic, I race over to the mall, darting from one store to the next trying desperately to find what I need before all the stores close. What's blaring through every speaker at the mall? Why, THIS,http://www.youtube.com/embed/yWaouJ6ufLE of course.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no classical music authority. Much of it I like, but some of it I find tedious and repetitive. But for me Beethoven transcends classical music. He's just a tortured guy who gifted the world for all eternity with some of the most incredible music ever written. Somebody asked me once if I could have dinner with any three people in all of human history, who would they be? My answer then, as now...The Apostle Paul, Thomas Jefferson, and Ludwig Von Beethoven.

Natural Born Squirrel Killer

I hate squirrels. They are a menace to life, and the scourge of my back yard. They have spent the better part of 15 years trying to discover new and more contemptible ways to gain entry into my attic. I have been on a personal mission to wipe them off the face of the earth, or at least my little corner of it, ever since. I hired a company called "Bee Bat & Bird" who assured me that they were equally adept at eliminating squirrels from my property, that I should not be concerned that the word "squirrel" was not on their business card. The fact that squirrels didn't fit with the alliterative "B" theme in no way suggested that they did not view them with equal disdain. Well, 12 months, and $300 dollars later, the Bee Bat & Bird bunch had managed to kill exactly one FLB ( furry little bastard ). That's when I took matters into my own hands. I drove over to Target and bought myself a Daisy Powerline 35 and a box of ammo.

I'll never forget my first "kill". Pam and I heard diabolical scratching noises from the attic one night. I knew it it was at least one, possibly two FLB's up there, so I grabbed the Powerline 35 and slowly cracked open the door to the stairs that led to attic. I flipped on the light and there he was hanging stupidly from the side of a 2x6 rafter not 15 feet directly above my head. With a momentary rush of adrenaline and maniacal glee I squeezed off a shot, hit the FLB in the side of the head, and he fell dead as a doornail directly at my feet. For an instant, I felt like a hardy pioneer man protecting his family from marauding Indians. Then, with a glove-protected hand I placed the beast in a gallon-sized zip lock bag, threw it in a Ukrops bag and placed it in the trash can for curb-side pickup. Just like the pioneers used to do.

After that there have been two or three other victories, the best one coming when I nailed a FLB in a mid-air jump between branches of a pine tree out back...not me, the squirrel. But lately I have been in a slow burn over the latest FLB outrage. Back in early May I sat out my little garden of a couple of squash plants, a cucumber plant and my prized Early Girl tomatoes. All summer I have lovingly tended to them, watching them grow, waiting patiently to enjoy fresh sliced tomatoes in July. This one particular grouping of tomatoes had been a thing of beauty...a cluster of eight, all getting ripe together. It was going to be a feast. Then, one morning I went out on the deck to check on them, they were only 2 or 3 days away from harvest time. Then I saw it, the sickening evidence, the three ripest, most beautiful tomatoes on the vine had a hole the size of a quarter taken out of them by FLB teeth. Deviously, under cover of darkness to hide their foul deeds, they had crept up on my deck and ravaged my prized tomatoes. Tiny black ants now were cleaning up behind them, and my rage was rekindled anew. I have spent the past few days firing off shot after shot. My backyard is what is commonly referred to in squirrel-killing circles as a "target-rich environment". Despite this fact I have as of this writing been unable to send even one FLB to his eternal reward. I have winged several, only to see them scurry off to the safety of the neighbor's yards. I am undeterred. I will not rest until every FLB in Wythe Trace learns to associate 3308 Aprilbud Place as a place of pain and death, their killing field.
With my Daisy Powerline 35 at my side, I know I will prevail!!