Being Significant

Okay, so I don't care for my day job. I'm not sure of the numbers, but I'm betting there are not many who do. That's why they call it a JOB, right? If it were something we enjoyed all of the time, we would pay them and it'd be called Disney Land (or some variation thereof). I'm not whining. I've got a job. I have insurance (with a wife and a fairly new daughter, that's pretty important), but I have no feeling of 'significance' where I am. Now, on the weekends, I'm an EMT, and there is that feeling of significance there. A feeling that you matter. That you've helped someone or changed a life. (not always, often times we are just a glorified 'taxi' as well, mind you.) If I could do this full time I would, but the money isn't there. Oh, if I were to go back to school and get my Paramedic License it would be more feasible; but the catch is, I can't go back to school because I'm too busy working my day job in order to survive. Therein lies the rub, right?

So, on my early commute this Monday morning to my day job, i am considering the above. I want to live a life of significance. It's not that I want to be rich or famous (not that I would kick either out of bed), but just to simply matter. So, as I'm quietly contemplating this, I get the small voice that whispers in my mental ear, "BE significant; wherever you are." This doesn't come in some booming voice from above. Most really big truths don't though; they come in that little whisper that rises like smoke from a hot ash and then disappears. I know this is profound to me, because of the simplicity of it, and the Small Voice from whence it came. Allow me to explain.

I currently live in a smallish town. It's not tiny; there is more than one stop light, multiple fast food joints, and more than one place to buy your groceries. It's not however, big enough for a Wally World, or for a taxi company, or a local TV news channel. This is not the town I grew up in, but it is where my grandparents lived the majority of their lives before they passed. My grandparents. a lovely couple. (aren't they always?) Bob and Veda. Bob was tall and funny; sort of "Jimmy Stewart-ish". Veda was short in stature, and quirky with a contagious laugh. These two lived a humble life. They lived in a small house on a small road in town. Nothing fancy mind you. My grandfather was a machine shop guy, and my grandmother was a waitress, although I only know that by the stories, as I never saw her work outside of the home. By the time I was around she had long since stop waiting tables. My grandparents taught kids in Sunday School. They drove the church bus, they served their God, and they served their fellow man. They have both been gone for quite some time now; and I don't think they ever realized when they were alive how many people's lives they touched. More than once in this small town, somehow it will get mentioned that I am the grandson to Bob and Veda. whether it be downtown in a shop or out and about getting a cup of coffee. The responses are always the same. "You're related to Bob and Veda?!" someone will ask with excitement and awe in their voice, "They were the most amazing people and they had such a profound impact in my life!" Yes, my grandparents were SIGNIFICANT; and I don't think they ever even knew it. They gave of themselves. Their time, their energy, their lives. I'm sure if they'd have had it, they would have given their money too, that's just how they were. In this small midwestern town, they are as close to famous as one can get. They made an impact on their small world.

I suppose my own self-lesson here is that one CAN be significant wherever they are. It isn't about doing it big, it's about doing it much. You don't need a stage at a major venue. Your life is your venue. All of those around you are your audience. Like it or not, it is what it is. You can have an impact on the lives you touch every day, the question is whether you want to or not. I want to. I want to have significance. I'm going to try to make a difference in my life. In my job that I go to every day where I spent too much of my time. In my home, with my family. With my friends near or far. I want to "Be Significant" wherever I am. This isn't a new years resolution. Resolutions are so difficult for me to manage. I'd like to think this can be something life changing, if for no one else but myself; and perhaps in turn, for those who's lives touch mine in the simplest of ways.

Goodbye Old Friend

 

Jacko.

I remember the day I brought you home. You were just a young buck. Four years old meant you were full grown in size and no longer a rambunctious puppy. I had spent hours at your shelter looking at other dogs and finally found you. You were just my style. Chilled, Easy Going, Smooth. I knew we'd get along beautifully. You had that gleam in your eye, and I knew you had some savvy; little did I know at the time just how smart really were. You came home leash trained, house trained and voice trained...I was pleasantly surprised. You even showed me that day that you would sit and "shake" paws for a treat. For a dog, you were a pretty "cool cat".

You enjoyed 'herding' my shoes while i was gone to work during the day. I'd come home to find them all lined up on the couch. You'd only eat the expensive ones, You had good taste, no one could deny. I thought shutting the bedroom doors would keep you from doing that, after all...you didn't have thumbs; how could you open the doors? But you did buddy...didn't you? You figured it out, and as irritating as it was, i must admit i was proud. You were smarter than I ever realized.

And Jack, what a great wing-man in my single days! As i said in the paragraph before, you had good taste. You would only flirt with the pretty girls. And you were so casual about it...they never realized you were my opener until they'd already been smitten by your charms. You were smooth, my friend...very smooth. You'd sit right up in the front seat of the Jeep...just like a regular person. You'd wink; and smile...yeah...we were quite a team.

We both loved the outdoors, didn't we buddy? We hiked and camped all over the place. California coast, Mexico's Baja Peninsula, The Arizona desert and mountains, Up on parts of the Appalachian Trail, and many nights deep in the forest of Manistee. You'd walk point on the hikes, Stand guard at night, and even got me UN-lost a time or two out there in the wilderness. I owe you big for those times buddy...You saved my neck more than once; walking a dangerous canyon or sleeping in bear country. You truly were this man's best friend.

Time flew by us, Jack. We both got older and didn't want to admit it. I brought you home when you were four. You would have been sixteen next month. That's a good old age for a canine. It's difficult to say that; half the time you seemed more human than dog. We got old though. We both got grey hairs; and a little hitch in our giddy-up...The only problem with that is...your hitch was much worse than mine. I noticed that you started to be pained more. Getting up and laying down started to be difficult. There was the ever-present limp there on one of the front legs or the other...that, and the sad look in your eyes that told me it was getting to be time to let you go. I didn't want to, for all of the selfish reasons that exist. Years ago, however, you and I made a deal. I promised you I wouldn't be one of those dog owners who let their animal (man's best friend) live too long in pain and misery. It wouldn't really be living, merely existing.

Action Jackson, I miss you. It's been a week now since we had to tell you goodnight and goodbye as you took that last sleep. You went down gently and swiftly, at my feet, as I held your head. You, my friend, will be sorely missed. Every adventure, every run around the yard or the park, all of the travels and trails...I will forever take you with me in spirit. You were special, since day one. There will never be another Jack. Enjoy the Big Trail where you are...keep an eye out for me, as I'll look for you to guide the way (like you always did here) when I get up on that Big Trail myself someday.

 

 

Grand Bend

     Summertime during my youth often found me in the quaint little tourist town of Grand Bend, Ontario, Canada. My maternal grandfather built a cottage there in 1957. It's got everything needed for a long weekend away from the rat race. It's a gently-sloped A-frame with 3 bedrooms and one bathroom. It's got a cozy little kitchen, a small dining area and a large living room/sitting area.
     While it wasn't my FAVORITE place to be in the summer (one station on the tv, had to beg my parents for money, couldn't drive, etc.), it wasn't without its charms. Within a stone's throw (literally) was our private beach along Lake Huron. The cottage was built in a small gated community called Southcott Pines in the Pinery Provincial Forest. The small lakeside community boasted small summer houses and cottages just like our and winding roads, streets, and lanes that were all connected. You NEVER got lost.
     Some of my favorite things to do there were to go fishing off the pier at the end of River St. for lake perch, ride my bike into town to check out the locals and the little seasonal boutiques and shops, go to the arcade, and play a quick 18 at the Village Green miniature golf course smack in the middle of town.
     Over the years, the Grand Bend experience evolved with my life. The cottage could sense when I was in my angsty early teen years and made my bed softer and harder to get out of and lowered the expectations of my parents to hope that I would. The beach knew to grow and stretch to accommodate my need for long walks. In college, I'd bring small groups of friends over there and the cottage knew to somehow always have a light on on our drunken stumbles home from town.
     My last trip there was from August 10-12, 2001. A few weeks before the horrific events of September 11th. After that, passage into Canada became more and more troublesome. What used to be a few friendly questions at the customs booth turned into scrutinizing looks from border guards wearing tactical vests packing some serious heat. Kinda turned me off of our friendly neighbors to the north.
     Years passed. I became a husband and a father. Life got too busy. It was a hell of a lot easier when everyone who went to the lake house worked, in some capacity or another, for the educational system. Summers off. Easy. Not this guy. To this day, I have a job that requires my presence 5 days a week, 52 weeks a year.
     A few weeks ago, my parents mentioned they were heading to "the Bend" and asked if my wife and kids and I wanted to join. The guest list included my folks, my sister, her husband and their 2 girls and hopefully us. Well, I bootstrapped last Thursday and Friday off of work. To hell with it. It'd been 11 years and I wanted to see the beloved beach house. My wife grabbed her passport, I grabbed my enhanced drivers license and the kids' birth certificates and we split. 3 hours later (customs was a breeze) we were pulling onto Shoreline Drive and into the driveway of the beach house. What a relief... nothing had changed. We unpacked and I showed my wife the beach I grew up on. Within minutes, we were picking rocks and even found some beach glass. I knew this trip would be the best thing for my soul. I was already feeling my heart swell in a good way.
     For the rest of the weekend, we all swam in the aqua blue water of Lake Huron and we shopped the downtown area and those who were old enough drank beer and liquor and played Scrabble. We ate Canadian junk food (dill pickle-flavored Doritos, I swear!) and reminisced about prior trips in the Bend.
     The minute I set foot in the door, I knew I wanted to come back in late fall to shut the place down and start doing my part to put in a little sweat equity into the cottage because, after all, it took such good care of me growing up.

See ya 'round the Bend...

- Easy

P.S. To get more information on Grand Bend, feel free to follow these links!
http://www.grandbend.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Bend

I really hope you get a chance to see it for yourselves someday.

Far too long, or "An Eventful Summer"

Since being on an apparent and unscheduled sabbatical from writing, I currently have a few minutes to scribe some recent events.

First: Summer.
     My in-laws live in northern Michigan, about 15 miles south of the Mackinac Bridge. My wife (who's a stay-at-home mom) had the brilliant idea to take the kids and visit her folks for the WHOLE OF JULY. Luckily, I work in a flexible environment at work and was allowed to use some personal time to get every Thursday and Friday off in July. Yep, I worked only Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays (yes, I'm employing the use of the Oxford comma now) every week in July and spent the rest of my time in the northern Lower Peninsula. Adventures included daytrips to Grand Marais on the southern shore of Lake Superior, trips into the Upper Peninsula to check out the kitschiest of kitschy roadside attractions and days spent lounging on the small beach behind my in-folks' (new word!)place on Douglas Lake.

Second:
     I've become complacent which means I've put on a few extra pounds. Wife and I are starting a rocking diet on Monday in which, if done right, results can - and have - included the loss of 50 lbs. in as short as 3 months. I'll post my progress once I start seeing results. Posts will include quantifying details so everything can be put into context.


Until then...

- TBE

P.S. Starting this fall, I'll be writing under a second pen name. While writing about all things mens' fashion, I'll be assuming the pseudonym Harris Tweed. Just a head's-up. Everything else by me will be written under The Big Easy.

Q.O.T.D.

This quote comes from someone in my office at work:

"3 words that define the Accounting Department...We Suck At Math".


Perfect...

Meeting Unpreparedness

We need to have a meeting to schedule other meetings. That's what the agenda should have said.
However, the agenda DID actually have topics listed. The meeting request went out yesterday morning. I got it, just like everyone else. Why wasn't anyone prepared with any answers, only other questions?
Why did we waste an hour of everyone's time only to schedule followup meetings (so everyone can get the information together they should have gotten before THIS meeting) so that we can have resolutions on issues and a plan going forward?
Just for laughs, i googled 'what's the purpose of a business meeting?'
Let's see...answers.com says the purpose of a meeting is: "to share ideas and express different thoughts." Wow, okay, now lets go hug a tree and think positive thoughts. I'm sure that will get something accomplished. Give me a break, that's a therapy session not a business meeting. Isn't a meeting to find RESOLUTION to an issue?  a 'coming together' of minds in order to accomplish a specific goal?

Okay, laughs are over for the day.  I must prepare for my next meeting...

Grateful

I am so thankful that I do not have to kiss anyone's ass

testing 1, 2, 3

The major assumption in blogging that what we write, or what anyone writes, matters.  In other words, what I have to say has some value to me or to someone else.  This is a huge assumption since, anymore, I find little value in what most people have to say most of the time.  That is, I am  finding that I care less and less about things.  What I am saying is more about a reaction to things rather than simply an overall outlook toward the world.  For me, it's really about remaining calm and rational in the face of people and things....issues.... that I find annoying, which in my increasingly technocratic/bureaucratic work life, is a lot of people and most things.

My buddy Joe often wonders if there is a pill out there that we could take to sooth this process.  Scotch can work for this, but you can't have scotch all the time, they say it leads to a variety of problems. 

So regarding whether or not this matters to anyone, I guess I don't care about that either.  And this is the whole point of the blog-os-fear, we shouldn't care how we are received, I guess what matters is that we get it out. So, I guess one of my mottos is, who cares.

Last night my buddy Jason and I were drinking Eagle's Rare bourbon, which I highly recommend, and we were saying that our goal anymore when we interest with people is to say something positive - to be positive about something.  We feel there is a culture of negativity right now, I was telling him about this woman who rags on people endlessly, and not only does she rag on adults, she gets down on kids.  It's amazing to me.  She's the type who, if you gave her 1 billion dollars, she would find something to bitch about, something negative in it, freaking unreal.

I have two teenage children and an 11 year old and we pass this ethic along to them because we find a lot of negativity among young people as well.  Really terrible culture of trashing people.  Oh please don't get me wrong, I will engage in some Dennis Miller meets George Carlin-style ranting here, but this is my general outlook, at least these days.

So, to summarize, blogging is self therapy, I can't afford real therapy.  Who cares what anyone thinks of this?

Q.O.T.D.

"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends. To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Soulshine...

Its better than sunshine; better than moonshine; damn sure better than rain.