It was a tough stretch a few weeks back for some iconic Baby Boomers. After a long and many would say courageous battle with cancer, Farrah Fawcett passed away. The Texas girl with the fabulous set of teeth who did more for the feathered hairstyle than The Six-Million Dollar Man did for slow-motion running burst on to the scene with her 1976 poster that became the best-selling pinup in history. That shot was considered somewhat risqué at the time, but when you see it again, it is tame by today’s standards. Hard to believe she was one of “Charlie’s Angels” for just the first season. To many, she will always be the Ultimate Angel. Maybe she is again.
Then, some mere hours after her passing, another Boomer of renown hit the deck. The self-proclaimed “King of Pop”, Michael Jackson, ended his time on this stage in characteristically controversial fashion. The news was abuzz with “was it a heart attack, an overdose, an accident? Did his doctor have something to do with it?” Of course, as in many stories such as this, we may never know the true cause of his demise. The world went into a weeks-long mourning (at least the news world) over the loss of an inarguably talented but equally tormented soul. Nothing can diminish the stamp he put on the face of music. His contribution to the genre of music videos may never be equaled. I stood as enthralled as the next person the first time I saw “Thriller” performed. He had a gift like no other. But, like many in that business, his demons managed to overwhelm any good he had to offer. There will forever be the questions regarding the nature and extent of his involvement with young boys, acquittals notwithstanding. Wonder will always exist concerning his bizarre physical transformation. And now, the allegations of his possible drug abuse.
The memorial to his life, televised live throughout the day and costing the cash-strapped city of Los Angeles a reported $4,000,000, just seemed to punctuate how skewed this planets values have turned during his tenure as pop icon. Every news outlet that could hustle a camera had its crews poised to capture the most minute overdone moment. And now that it is over, we will have a front-row seat at the sad drama of his family’s fight over custody of his children and control of his estate.
Then there is the story of Billy Mays. Born in 1958, this hard-charging guy from Pennsylvania, who got his sales chops hawking portable wash machines along the Atlantic City Boardwalk, takes an early exit from what was promising to be a fast climb to an iconic status of his own. A tag line on his website, “Life’s A Pitch, Then You Buy”, seemed to be ironically prophetic for the way he went out. For me, this man’s death was the saddest in the string. Regular guy hits it big, and then, kaboom, it’s over in an instant.
So it’s “Farewell, Farrah”, “Later, Michael”, and “Godspeed, Billy.”
Three very different additions to the pages of history.
(From "A Boomer's Journal". Suburban Journals of St. Louis, MO July, 2009)
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Friday, July 03, 2009
TO MOVE OR NOT TO MOVE... THAT IS THE BOOMER QUESTION
Remember that old cliché that the only thing constant is change? Well, this took on a whole new meaning the other Sunday when we watched a rainy afternoon’s worth of old home movies. How little the trees were 15 years ago! And where did all our neighbors go?
That kid in the movie riding her training-wheeled bike is now getting ready for college. Jill and I had legitimate dark hair. And how about that cordless phone! Looks like a walkie-talkie from an old WW II flick. But one of the things that struck us most was wondering how the holy heck we survived six kids in this house.
Speaking of this house, it has indeed served us well. But now, as littlest birdie gets set to fly, it’s a bit more than we need.
This ticklish subject of downsizing enters our conversation more and more these days, as it does for many of the Baby Boomer generation. Talk of moving brings many questions to this demographic as they leave behind the family homestead to enter condos, apartments lofts and active adult communities. This last is a fairly new idea in the housing market, offering amenities such as pool and spa, golf courses, card rooms and planned outings.
People are selling off their extra furnishings, gifting their progeny with their very own “Amazing Rubbermaid Tubs O’ Stuff” accumulated over a lifetime of kid-raising, and rolling the lawnmower down to the curb with a “Free” sign slung over the handle.
And maybe this is a good thing.
When our parents died, we had plenty of issues to contend with, not the least of which was what to do with their life’s accumulation.
My brothers and I still marvel at how much mom was able to squirrel into her small two bedroom retirement apartment. And Jill’s parents had a two-story house-full that took over a year to parcel out.
My bride’s semi-annual purging party will pretty much save our kids from that task. But there are just some things you can’t part with.
I’ve managed to hang on to a few containers of my past, in spite of her not-so-subtle hints to toss my Boy Scout badges and City Champ jacket.
Any move would require some decisions. Even a math-challenged dude like me can figure out that it makes no sense to go smaller but keep a similar mortgage. We’ve considered condos and even renting, but that means no yard or basement for the kids to escape to when grandpa has had it with the eleventeenth screaming lap around the family room.
Our ideal getaway would be a ranch style with a yard and garage and finished basement, near highways and shopping and some nice restaurants, and within shooting distance of at least 3 cheap golf courses (I snuck in that last one, Jill). And honestly, we can’t imagine a life where the short-bus ride to the casino is the highlight of the week.
So do we stay or do we go?
This old neighborhood is looking better every day.
( From "A Boomer's Journal", Suburban Journals of St. Louis, MO July 1, 2009)
That kid in the movie riding her training-wheeled bike is now getting ready for college. Jill and I had legitimate dark hair. And how about that cordless phone! Looks like a walkie-talkie from an old WW II flick. But one of the things that struck us most was wondering how the holy heck we survived six kids in this house.
Speaking of this house, it has indeed served us well. But now, as littlest birdie gets set to fly, it’s a bit more than we need.
This ticklish subject of downsizing enters our conversation more and more these days, as it does for many of the Baby Boomer generation. Talk of moving brings many questions to this demographic as they leave behind the family homestead to enter condos, apartments lofts and active adult communities. This last is a fairly new idea in the housing market, offering amenities such as pool and spa, golf courses, card rooms and planned outings.
People are selling off their extra furnishings, gifting their progeny with their very own “Amazing Rubbermaid Tubs O’ Stuff” accumulated over a lifetime of kid-raising, and rolling the lawnmower down to the curb with a “Free” sign slung over the handle.
And maybe this is a good thing.
When our parents died, we had plenty of issues to contend with, not the least of which was what to do with their life’s accumulation.
My brothers and I still marvel at how much mom was able to squirrel into her small two bedroom retirement apartment. And Jill’s parents had a two-story house-full that took over a year to parcel out.
My bride’s semi-annual purging party will pretty much save our kids from that task. But there are just some things you can’t part with.
I’ve managed to hang on to a few containers of my past, in spite of her not-so-subtle hints to toss my Boy Scout badges and City Champ jacket.
Any move would require some decisions. Even a math-challenged dude like me can figure out that it makes no sense to go smaller but keep a similar mortgage. We’ve considered condos and even renting, but that means no yard or basement for the kids to escape to when grandpa has had it with the eleventeenth screaming lap around the family room.
Our ideal getaway would be a ranch style with a yard and garage and finished basement, near highways and shopping and some nice restaurants, and within shooting distance of at least 3 cheap golf courses (I snuck in that last one, Jill). And honestly, we can’t imagine a life where the short-bus ride to the casino is the highlight of the week.
So do we stay or do we go?
This old neighborhood is looking better every day.
( From "A Boomer's Journal", Suburban Journals of St. Louis, MO July 1, 2009)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
STOP AND SMELL THE SUMMER
Here is the latest column from the Suburban Journals, St.Louis, MO
**************************************
I have many gifts in life, not the least of which is the gift of time. My job gives me some summer days when I have really nothing to do. That is a bonus that I do not take lightly. If you ever get a day like that, or even a few hours, here are a couple of things that you might consider.
* Get under a tree, lie on your back, and observe the intricacy of the branches. Watch how they interact with the wind, how the sun shifts across the spaces, the shadows on the leaves, and how you can just barely make out a patch of blue here, a cloud there.
* Next time there’s a rainstorm, don’t be afraid to get wet. Be careful of lightning, and be somewhere where you can change easily, but try standing out in it for even a few minutes. You will laugh out loud at how totally drenched you can get in such a short time.
* Wake up before sunrise and turn east. See the horizon as it lightens, first pink, then pale blue, then into the days yellow. Close your eyes and feel the warmth grow as the minutes pass.
* Sit with a one-year-old and watch her eat a popsicle with only a diaper on (the kid, not you!). Fight the urge to wipe away that sweet goo rolling down her chin and drip-dripping onto her fat tummy. After all, it doesn’t bother her one bit. All she knows is how great that cold feels on those swollen gums. Marvel at how she fights to get that last morsel in the middle, by now a soft, slippery sliver that will not be lost. Then, when she hands you the empty stick… get her another.
* Read a book in two days. Keep it under 250 pages. Blaze through it like Mine That Bird shooting the rail at the Kentucky Derby. Escape into the characters, devour their world. Laugh, and cry. (I have a suggestion, but that would just be too much self-promotion.)
* Play 9 holes by yourself on a weekday. The crowds are back to work (sorry, guys), and you can be as bad as you want, with no pressure from buddies commenting on your shots, or worse, saying nothing as they suppress their grins as you smoke that egg hard right and a good 20 yards into the thicket. On the flip side, you also have no obligation to insincerely mumble praise at your opponents drive, even as you secretly wish it had hop-skipped just past the ladies tee. Playing alone is underrated, really. You can talk to yourself without fear of commitment to an institution, doing your own hushed commentary…”Anselm needs this slippery 15 footer for his first U.S. Open.” Or drop a few balls anywhere you want and keep hitting til you get it right. Then, after paring that #5 where you always go 2 over, just sit in the cart and let the waving breeze cool your forehead. Oh, and don’t dare keep score. No one would believe you anyway. Hey, it’s a practice round, dude.
Yeah, I know I’m spoiled. My wish for you this fine day is one of time, time to do something simple that adds to your enjoyment of this wonderful season called summer.
**************************************
I have many gifts in life, not the least of which is the gift of time. My job gives me some summer days when I have really nothing to do. That is a bonus that I do not take lightly. If you ever get a day like that, or even a few hours, here are a couple of things that you might consider.
* Get under a tree, lie on your back, and observe the intricacy of the branches. Watch how they interact with the wind, how the sun shifts across the spaces, the shadows on the leaves, and how you can just barely make out a patch of blue here, a cloud there.
* Next time there’s a rainstorm, don’t be afraid to get wet. Be careful of lightning, and be somewhere where you can change easily, but try standing out in it for even a few minutes. You will laugh out loud at how totally drenched you can get in such a short time.
* Wake up before sunrise and turn east. See the horizon as it lightens, first pink, then pale blue, then into the days yellow. Close your eyes and feel the warmth grow as the minutes pass.
* Sit with a one-year-old and watch her eat a popsicle with only a diaper on (the kid, not you!). Fight the urge to wipe away that sweet goo rolling down her chin and drip-dripping onto her fat tummy. After all, it doesn’t bother her one bit. All she knows is how great that cold feels on those swollen gums. Marvel at how she fights to get that last morsel in the middle, by now a soft, slippery sliver that will not be lost. Then, when she hands you the empty stick… get her another.
* Read a book in two days. Keep it under 250 pages. Blaze through it like Mine That Bird shooting the rail at the Kentucky Derby. Escape into the characters, devour their world. Laugh, and cry. (I have a suggestion, but that would just be too much self-promotion.)
* Play 9 holes by yourself on a weekday. The crowds are back to work (sorry, guys), and you can be as bad as you want, with no pressure from buddies commenting on your shots, or worse, saying nothing as they suppress their grins as you smoke that egg hard right and a good 20 yards into the thicket. On the flip side, you also have no obligation to insincerely mumble praise at your opponents drive, even as you secretly wish it had hop-skipped just past the ladies tee. Playing alone is underrated, really. You can talk to yourself without fear of commitment to an institution, doing your own hushed commentary…”Anselm needs this slippery 15 footer for his first U.S. Open.” Or drop a few balls anywhere you want and keep hitting til you get it right. Then, after paring that #5 where you always go 2 over, just sit in the cart and let the waving breeze cool your forehead. Oh, and don’t dare keep score. No one would believe you anyway. Hey, it’s a practice round, dude.
Yeah, I know I’m spoiled. My wish for you this fine day is one of time, time to do something simple that adds to your enjoyment of this wonderful season called summer.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
CHECK OUT THIS BOOK
A friend of mine, John Pearson, has published a novel about his first year as a teacher in the Texas schools. I have reviewed it here.
Check it out if you get a chance.
Take care. T
LEARN ME GOOD… A REVIEW
John Pearson has a future in stand-up comedy if he ever decides to leave the classroom. But from the tone of his stories in his book LEARN ME GOOD, it doesn’t appear that will be anytime soon. The kids he encountered in his first year teaching certainly supplied him with a wealth of material to spin his tales, all with a minimum of 10 laughs-out-loud each. And Mr. Pearson throws his own two cents in with each vignette, showing the reader that he has been bitten, and badly, by this “educamakashun thing.”
He takes us through a school year that has a steady turnover of students, some for the better, some for the worse, and makes us hear the voices of children of all manner and ability who are crying out for a good educational experience. We meet Esteban, who calls out firmly and forthrightly each time he answers, even as he gets them wrong again and again, and Marvin, who likes to choke people “just a little”, and Re’Joice, who has to defend herself against the moniker that has been hung on her. And then there’s Mark Peter, my personal favorite. He had a way of making himself invisible, borrowing from the world of professional wrestling, no less. If you can survive a kid like him, you can survive anyone who may come your way in a career.
Amidst references to “Cool Hand Luke” and “Little House on the Prairie”, John Pearson shows us that he understands this business and is going to ‘keep on keeping on’ to figure it out. It is clear the his future students will be the better for it.
As the main character Jack Woodson would say to someone who forgot his name, “Nice job, Barry.”
You have to read the book to find out what that one means.
Tom Anselm, teacher and author
YOU’RE NEVER TOO OLD FOR SPACE CAMP
Booklocker.com
2009
LEARN ME GOOD
lulu.com
2006
Check it out if you get a chance.
Take care. T
LEARN ME GOOD… A REVIEW
John Pearson has a future in stand-up comedy if he ever decides to leave the classroom. But from the tone of his stories in his book LEARN ME GOOD, it doesn’t appear that will be anytime soon. The kids he encountered in his first year teaching certainly supplied him with a wealth of material to spin his tales, all with a minimum of 10 laughs-out-loud each. And Mr. Pearson throws his own two cents in with each vignette, showing the reader that he has been bitten, and badly, by this “educamakashun thing.”
He takes us through a school year that has a steady turnover of students, some for the better, some for the worse, and makes us hear the voices of children of all manner and ability who are crying out for a good educational experience. We meet Esteban, who calls out firmly and forthrightly each time he answers, even as he gets them wrong again and again, and Marvin, who likes to choke people “just a little”, and Re’Joice, who has to defend herself against the moniker that has been hung on her. And then there’s Mark Peter, my personal favorite. He had a way of making himself invisible, borrowing from the world of professional wrestling, no less. If you can survive a kid like him, you can survive anyone who may come your way in a career.
Amidst references to “Cool Hand Luke” and “Little House on the Prairie”, John Pearson shows us that he understands this business and is going to ‘keep on keeping on’ to figure it out. It is clear the his future students will be the better for it.
As the main character Jack Woodson would say to someone who forgot his name, “Nice job, Barry.”
You have to read the book to find out what that one means.
Tom Anselm, teacher and author
YOU’RE NEVER TOO OLD FOR SPACE CAMP
Booklocker.com
2009
LEARN ME GOOD
lulu.com
2006
Sunday, May 31, 2009
NEVER GIVE UP, NEVER GIVE UP...NEVER. NEVER. NEVER. NEVER.
A few years ago, I saved a life. No, I didn’t pull a baby out of a burning building or give someone CPR. Nothing that dramatic. All I did was pick up a little worm that was struggling across my patio and lay him (or her?...how can you tell?) in the soft wet grass. I wrote about how this seemingly insignificant act had great meaning for that oligochaete. The reason I bring this up today is that I swear I saw him (her?... how do you tell?) the other day under the patio chair and I do believe he/she/it nodded as if to say “thanks” before squirming into the yard.
There are some days we may feel just like that worm. For some reason known only to that Big Gardener in the Sky, we find ourselves struggling across some tough pavement. The sun may be beating on our backs. The concrete is getting dryer and we are starting to think it would be a whole heck of a lot easier to just shrivel up and quit. Maybe it doesn’t look like anybody is going to come by and lift us up into that cool lawn.
This may have hit home for those of us in the Boomer demographic. We are seeing our investments, if we have any, taking a nose dive unprecedented in modern economic history. There may be a lay off involved, and the subsequent deleterious effects of the ending of medical coverage, danger of mortgage default, and the sheer loss of something meaningful to do with our days. It could be a decline in health…hey, we ain’t getting any younger, sports fans. Or troubles with grown children, for whom we never really stop being mom and dad, no matter how old or far away they may be. Of course, we seasoned citizens have no corner on this market of difficulties. Those raising families face equally challenging issues such as child care and schooling and what the heck to feed this gang of mongrels who will not get off my leg for one sweet second so I can sneak downstairs and do a load of laundry before we all end up wearing plastic bags to church!
Whatever the burden, we may be looking for that somebody to pick us up off the steamy pavement. Whether this comes in the form of a kind word, a favor, or a few bucks to tide us over, the help would be welcome.
Still, none of this may happen. Then, it just takes perseverance. As in all things, bad and good, this situation we find ourselves in is temporary. And like good old Mr. or Mrs. Worm (does anyone out there know how you can tell?! Seriously!), we need to just keep on wiggling, hoping for that lift, but willing to crawl it out if need be.
In 1941, during the worst period of the German bombing of Great Britain, Winston Churchill spoke to students at his former school. That speech became one of great inspiration and hope to the beleaguered English citizenry.
His words can be ours, as we fight the good fight against what may seem like insurmountable odds.
“Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never.”
(from "A Boomer's Journal, Suburban Journals of St. Louis, MO May, 2009)
There are some days we may feel just like that worm. For some reason known only to that Big Gardener in the Sky, we find ourselves struggling across some tough pavement. The sun may be beating on our backs. The concrete is getting dryer and we are starting to think it would be a whole heck of a lot easier to just shrivel up and quit. Maybe it doesn’t look like anybody is going to come by and lift us up into that cool lawn.
This may have hit home for those of us in the Boomer demographic. We are seeing our investments, if we have any, taking a nose dive unprecedented in modern economic history. There may be a lay off involved, and the subsequent deleterious effects of the ending of medical coverage, danger of mortgage default, and the sheer loss of something meaningful to do with our days. It could be a decline in health…hey, we ain’t getting any younger, sports fans. Or troubles with grown children, for whom we never really stop being mom and dad, no matter how old or far away they may be. Of course, we seasoned citizens have no corner on this market of difficulties. Those raising families face equally challenging issues such as child care and schooling and what the heck to feed this gang of mongrels who will not get off my leg for one sweet second so I can sneak downstairs and do a load of laundry before we all end up wearing plastic bags to church!
Whatever the burden, we may be looking for that somebody to pick us up off the steamy pavement. Whether this comes in the form of a kind word, a favor, or a few bucks to tide us over, the help would be welcome.
Still, none of this may happen. Then, it just takes perseverance. As in all things, bad and good, this situation we find ourselves in is temporary. And like good old Mr. or Mrs. Worm (does anyone out there know how you can tell?! Seriously!), we need to just keep on wiggling, hoping for that lift, but willing to crawl it out if need be.
In 1941, during the worst period of the German bombing of Great Britain, Winston Churchill spoke to students at his former school. That speech became one of great inspiration and hope to the beleaguered English citizenry.
His words can be ours, as we fight the good fight against what may seem like insurmountable odds.
“Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never.”
(from "A Boomer's Journal, Suburban Journals of St. Louis, MO May, 2009)
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
IS LIFE FLYING BY OR IS IT JUST A FIG NEWTON OF MY IMAGINATION?
Sometimes is just seems like life is flying by. Before you know it, it’s Friday again. Maybe it’s a function of having a big family, or maybe it’s just the phase we’re going through. For some reason, I expected it to be different.
They say that when you hit age 40, you’re over the hill. So I guess being two decades past that, I must be slipping down that slope at a pretty good clip. When I was younger, I wondered if it would slow down some, you know, as the hair thinned and the knees creaked as much as my rocking chair. But no!
Which brings me to our youngest child’s graduation. Yeah, The Joanster, little Joansie, Joana Wee, has finished high school with flying colors and is soon to be a Tiger. Our baby is a woman!
How did this happen, all of a sudden? Wasn’t it just the other day she put on her sisters two-piece, plucked the resident cards from the junk drawer and strolled 3 blocks down to the local pool. At two years old. Jill came home and said, “Hey, where’s Joanie?” Did we panic? Is the Pope German? Running along Halls Ferry like we were on fire, pleading with people walking their dogs, hearts constricted like the Grinch’s. Thank God the life guards knew us and didn’t turn us into Social Services.
Then there’s the next one up. Mary Pat is marrying in November. Huh? Little MP, the kid who regularly donned pink snow boots and stocking cap to watch TV… in June. The athlete who should have never been allowed to run cross country, since her face always turned redder than Mark McGuire’s before Congress. THAT Mary Pat?
And did I mention the wifey is retiring. Wait just a minute here, sports fans. I got four years on her! Just kidding, since she has fought the good fight for a long time, and is definitely in line for this move.
The flip side of all these significant events, once you get past the amazement and the tears and the “Huh?’s”, is that me and that retired lady will be empty-nesters in a couple of months. The recent grad thinks that maybe we’re being a bit too giddy about this prospect, even as she “stresses out” about moving on and out. And maybe we are, but it is hard to contain our glee. It feels like a long, slow, deep breath, followed by a smile of gratitude, and accomplishment. Theirs, and ours, really. Just a memory are the years of doing the happy dance after finding a dollar in the dryer, or cashing in the coin jar to get milk and formula. Gone but not forgotten are the long nights of wondering if one child would ever stop throwing up, or another would ever get home, or still another would ever find their path.
At 60, I guess I’ve put in a good 75% of my allotted time. A glance at my own high school classlist shows a few who can’t say that. So, trust me, I’m not complaining.
But maybe I need to borrow a line from Captain James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise if things are going stay at this warp speed.
“Scottie, I need more power!”
(COURTESY THE SUBURBAN JOURNALS OF ST. LOUIS, MO MAY, 2009)
They say that when you hit age 40, you’re over the hill. So I guess being two decades past that, I must be slipping down that slope at a pretty good clip. When I was younger, I wondered if it would slow down some, you know, as the hair thinned and the knees creaked as much as my rocking chair. But no!
Which brings me to our youngest child’s graduation. Yeah, The Joanster, little Joansie, Joana Wee, has finished high school with flying colors and is soon to be a Tiger. Our baby is a woman!
How did this happen, all of a sudden? Wasn’t it just the other day she put on her sisters two-piece, plucked the resident cards from the junk drawer and strolled 3 blocks down to the local pool. At two years old. Jill came home and said, “Hey, where’s Joanie?” Did we panic? Is the Pope German? Running along Halls Ferry like we were on fire, pleading with people walking their dogs, hearts constricted like the Grinch’s. Thank God the life guards knew us and didn’t turn us into Social Services.
Then there’s the next one up. Mary Pat is marrying in November. Huh? Little MP, the kid who regularly donned pink snow boots and stocking cap to watch TV… in June. The athlete who should have never been allowed to run cross country, since her face always turned redder than Mark McGuire’s before Congress. THAT Mary Pat?
And did I mention the wifey is retiring. Wait just a minute here, sports fans. I got four years on her! Just kidding, since she has fought the good fight for a long time, and is definitely in line for this move.
The flip side of all these significant events, once you get past the amazement and the tears and the “Huh?’s”, is that me and that retired lady will be empty-nesters in a couple of months. The recent grad thinks that maybe we’re being a bit too giddy about this prospect, even as she “stresses out” about moving on and out. And maybe we are, but it is hard to contain our glee. It feels like a long, slow, deep breath, followed by a smile of gratitude, and accomplishment. Theirs, and ours, really. Just a memory are the years of doing the happy dance after finding a dollar in the dryer, or cashing in the coin jar to get milk and formula. Gone but not forgotten are the long nights of wondering if one child would ever stop throwing up, or another would ever get home, or still another would ever find their path.
At 60, I guess I’ve put in a good 75% of my allotted time. A glance at my own high school classlist shows a few who can’t say that. So, trust me, I’m not complaining.
But maybe I need to borrow a line from Captain James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise if things are going stay at this warp speed.
“Scottie, I need more power!”
(COURTESY THE SUBURBAN JOURNALS OF ST. LOUIS, MO MAY, 2009)
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CLASS OF 2009
(I will be posting the biweekly columns that I write for the Suburban Journals of St. Louis. They appear courtesy of that publication.)
What a crazy time of the year is springtime.
A quick look at our calendar has us booked for nearly two outings every weekend, not to mention the preschool graduations and baccalaureate and birthdays and end of school celebrations during the weekdays. Not that I’m complaining, since every happening is one of joy and accomplishment.
One of the most significant of all spring events is the graduation ceremony. With each, there is the requisite commencement address. That word, “commencement’, has always intrigued me. It’s very meaning shouts” new beginning.”
Back in 1997, a writer produced a famous graduation speech. It started out with the words “Wear Sunscreen.” I read through it yesterday, and found it impossible to improve upon. But here’s what I would say, if given a chance.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Class of 2009”.
Albert Einstein, that famous mathematician was also quite a philosopher. He once said “Not everything that can be counted, counts; and not everything that counts can be counted.” And this from a guy who made his living from numbers.
Another fairly famous guy by the name of Jesus had something to say about worrying, something we all do even though we know it does absolutely nothing to change what happens. When he talked about the birds in the air getting their supper, he was telling us to chill out. Most of the awful things we think will happen seldom do.
I learned way too late in life from my mom and mother-in-law and wife to never pass up a chance to be nice to somebody. A kind word, a simple compliment, even a pat on the back. And the corollary to this is “Smile so much people will wonder what you’re up to.”
I am also learning to try everyday to do my best, knowing that some days, that may not amount to a whole heck of a lot. But on others, the ones that work, my head can hit the pillow wondering just how I could possibly top this day.
Don’t dress in the dark, or at least lay out your socks the night before. Put a hat on in the winter. And always wear clean underwear. The Joaquin Andujar Maxim, Youneverknow, holds true here.
Old Abe Lincoln was right. Honesty is the best policy. Sometimes, your integrity is the only thing you can call your own.
If you want to excel, practice. A lot. Very few of us are so gifted we can just wing it. There is a reason Tiger Woods plays so often on Sundays.
Strive to love, but also strive to learn to accept love, for it is the essence of life that is too often invisible to the eye.
Never pass up an opportunity to hold a baby.
And remember that the three most welcome words in any speech are “So, in conclusion.”
So, in conclusion…
Trust in a Higher Power, what ever you may conceive that to be. You may stray from this in the coming years, but know that He is always there, peeking out of the blinds, waiting for your headlights to come down the street.
And, oh yeah… the “sunscreen” thing?
That, too.
What a crazy time of the year is springtime.
A quick look at our calendar has us booked for nearly two outings every weekend, not to mention the preschool graduations and baccalaureate and birthdays and end of school celebrations during the weekdays. Not that I’m complaining, since every happening is one of joy and accomplishment.
One of the most significant of all spring events is the graduation ceremony. With each, there is the requisite commencement address. That word, “commencement’, has always intrigued me. It’s very meaning shouts” new beginning.”
Back in 1997, a writer produced a famous graduation speech. It started out with the words “Wear Sunscreen.” I read through it yesterday, and found it impossible to improve upon. But here’s what I would say, if given a chance.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Class of 2009”.
Albert Einstein, that famous mathematician was also quite a philosopher. He once said “Not everything that can be counted, counts; and not everything that counts can be counted.” And this from a guy who made his living from numbers.
Another fairly famous guy by the name of Jesus had something to say about worrying, something we all do even though we know it does absolutely nothing to change what happens. When he talked about the birds in the air getting their supper, he was telling us to chill out. Most of the awful things we think will happen seldom do.
I learned way too late in life from my mom and mother-in-law and wife to never pass up a chance to be nice to somebody. A kind word, a simple compliment, even a pat on the back. And the corollary to this is “Smile so much people will wonder what you’re up to.”
I am also learning to try everyday to do my best, knowing that some days, that may not amount to a whole heck of a lot. But on others, the ones that work, my head can hit the pillow wondering just how I could possibly top this day.
Don’t dress in the dark, or at least lay out your socks the night before. Put a hat on in the winter. And always wear clean underwear. The Joaquin Andujar Maxim, Youneverknow, holds true here.
Old Abe Lincoln was right. Honesty is the best policy. Sometimes, your integrity is the only thing you can call your own.
If you want to excel, practice. A lot. Very few of us are so gifted we can just wing it. There is a reason Tiger Woods plays so often on Sundays.
Strive to love, but also strive to learn to accept love, for it is the essence of life that is too often invisible to the eye.
Never pass up an opportunity to hold a baby.
And remember that the three most welcome words in any speech are “So, in conclusion.”
So, in conclusion…
Trust in a Higher Power, what ever you may conceive that to be. You may stray from this in the coming years, but know that He is always there, peeking out of the blinds, waiting for your headlights to come down the street.
And, oh yeah… the “sunscreen” thing?
That, too.
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