New York, New York

Many years ago, when I was a shift supervisor at a manufacturing company, a group of us headed to the local watering hole for an after-the-work-week drink. We were assigned to evening shift, so we got to the bar around twelve-thirty in the morning, which feels just like five-thirty in the afternoon to anyone on nights. And, like the song says, “It’s five o’clock somewhere” so why not partake?

The bar was packed with the typical Friday night crowd and the din of a hundred different but simultaneous conversations flooded the place. It was so loud, my colleagues and I strained to hear our own conversation. The juke box was playing something, but who could hear over all that noise?

Until Frank Sinatra’s version of “New York, New York” hit the airwaves. This all occurred in Connecticut, which is close to New York, and a small enough state to be considered a New York suburb. Whatever the alliance, a few people started to sing along. Then a few more, and then, more still. All conversations ceased and soon the whole bar was singing along to every verse of “New York, New York” including my friends, and even me. We were all especially vigorous on the chorus. Or maybe it just seemed that way because, even if you don’t know the rest of words, anybody can belt out the name of the song.

No matter what our backgrounds, no matter what our cares, our worries, our own individual triumphs or failures, for three minutes and twenty-eight seconds we were simply one very loud voice in that bar that night. Singing along with Old Blue Eyes just as if we were the best of friends.

Once the song ended, the cacophony started in again as if nothing had happened. Now I know that what went on in the bar that night was no different than what occurs in countless other places all across the world on any given night. We start out as individuals, find some common thread to unite us, then promptly forget all about it.

Lawn Care

I once read that a weed is simply a flower whose beauty has not yet been realized. If that's true, then my front yard is the most misunderstood piece of property in the area.

In my zeal for curb appeal, I've tried most every brand of commercial fertilizer and weed inhibitor approved for residential use. I even thought about renting a crop duster once, but that seemed like overkill. I've reseeded, overseeded, watered and nurtured my lawn (lawn being liberally defined here) to try and establish more understood grasses that would stifle the growth of those pesky weeds. Instead, I got more pesky weeds.

After a decade of unsuccessful lawn care, I finally realized I had fought the encroachment of misunderstood flowers for far too long. A couple of years ago, I stopped buying fertilizers and grass seed in favor of a more rustic frame for the front of my house. And the results have been phenomenal.

If I look outside right now, my lawn is a patchwork quilt of purple henbit and yellow dandelions, which is great, really, because it's almost Easter and purple and yellow are seasonal colors. I've got some green mixed in there, too - some of it in the form of real grass - so the whole front yard is like peering into the bottom of a five thousand square foot Easter basket. Not everyone in my neighborhood is lucky enough to have that.

Plus, the money I've diverted from the purchase of lawn care chemicals was invested - in a new set of golf clubs. And the time freed up from playing in my lawn is now better spent playing on fairway lawns and smooth greens.

I've come to believe we should look at our lawns with the childlike wonder we brought into this world. Children know the benefits of a dandelion. They appreciate the beauty of the flower, not the weed. A child will pluck a few and bring them to her mother as a present from nature. Or they'll take great joy in blowing the white dandelion seeds to the winds, thereby propagating the species and ensuring there are many more dandelion delights in the days ahead.

Yep, I take immense pride in knowing I am ahead of my time. I'm taking that childlike wonder of my youth and realizing the beauty of the flowers growing among the sparse grasses of my front yard. What wonder, what contentment, what freedom.

I wonder if my neighbors look at it the same way?

Howard the Hummingbird

Note: I wrote this piece last fall after observing the real Howard in my backyard. Since these little winged critters are due back in less than a month, I thought it fitting to remember.

It’s September now, which means those mercurial winged summer visitors will soon be leaving for warmer climates. September, while marking the beginning of the next season, also marks the end of those aerial acrobatic feats I’ve enjoyed for the past five months. Hummingbirds seem to zip into our lives suddenly in late spring, then leave just as suddenly at the onset of autumn. I’ll miss watching them chase each other in wild dogfights all over my backyard. I’ll miss their loud chatter - louder than seems could be emitted from such tiny creatures. But travel they must, to follow the warmth and I can certainly understand their need for warmth. Maybe even the warmth of going home. It’s easy for me to think that this is their home – my yard, I mean. It’s another thing altogether to think home for them may be across the waters in some South American locale.

As much food as these little birds consume all the while they’re here makes me wonder how they could possibly make it all the way across the Gulf of Mexico on just one stomach of fuel. That’s a long way for something with a 1200 beat per minute heart rate. Just the energy it takes to keep that little pump pounding has got to be a number akin to the size of the national debt. Then again, it may be the adrenaline rush from knowing they are headed home that keeps those wings cutting the air.

But there’s this one guy in particular I worry about. Howard I call him. No, no particular reason why his name is Howard, it just is. First thing I thought of when I saw him. Maybe that means something and should be further analyzed, but I’m not going to do it. At least not in front of you. Anyway, Howard was a new hummingbird arrival this year, and he had put on some ounces over the summer, let me tell you. We always advise our kids that too much sugar will make them fat and I guess it’s the same for hummingbirds. If there is such a thing in the hummingbird world, then old Howard is a real porker.

I watched Howard land on his favorite hummingbird feeder and I swear the thing tipped toward him as he perched there. For certain, he was never in any hurry to leave, resulting in a lack of proper exercise which no doubt added to Howard’s girth. He’d while away the dog days by taking long draws of the red syrup and hanging out for a while just taking in the scenery and enjoying life. None of the other hummingbirds tried to shoo Howard away, either. I guess his size was intimidating to other hummers. Or maybe he had a reputation as a tough bird in hummingbird circles. I don’t know. I just know the guy could hold his weight in simulated nectar and never even let on that he was the least bit inclined to work it off. I also know that when this husky fellow has to vent, look out below! How could such a (relatively) small bird make such a big … well, you know.

The reason I worry about Howard is that, like I alluded to earlier, it’s a long way to South America. And over vast stretches of water with no where to light for a few moments’ rest. If Howard’s not getting any exercise now, how’s he supposed to get in shape for the journey of his life? Doesn’t he care about going home (or on an extended vacation, whichever the case might be)? Really. It would be like you or me preparing for the Boston Marathon by laying in front of our television sets, eating Krispy Kremes and washing them down with non-diet, full strength sodas by the liter!

I wish I could speak hummingbirdese. Maybe I could talk some sense into Howard before it was too late. Better yet, I wish I could come up with some kind of hummingbird treadmill or maybe a fan to offer Howard some wind resistance so he could do a little isometric flying and burn off some of that excess flab he’s carrying around. But I have a feeling Howard wouldn’t listen to me anyway, and he would probably use the treadmill and fan once or twice then put them in the corner to gather dust, or to be used as a sort of hummingbird shelf for storing whatever it is hummingbirds have a notion to collect.

Can hummingbirds get heart attacks? Can you imagine what would happen to something beating 1200 times a minute when the brakes are slammed and it goes to zero in an instant? That can’t be pretty. So what’s up, Howard? Don’t hummingbirds think of things like that? And doesn’t it just kill you to be surrounded by svelte young hummingbird babes and sleek hummingbird dudes? That should be encouragement enough to drop off a few grams at least.

But, Howard doesn’t look like a bird that would take advice from a human. I think he has already made up his mind. Oh, he’ll probably set out on that journey, all right. Instincts alone will make that decision for him. And I’ll bet the rest of Howard’s plan is wait and see. Wait and see if his weight will hamper the flight. Wait and see if he falls too far behind the rest of the hummers and loses his bearings. Wait and see if his chest starts heaving and struggling for every breath. Wait and see. Poor Howard.

I do worry about him. I hope he has a plan, and I hope it all works out just the way he wants. But what I hope more than anything else is that I get to see old Howard again next spring. Until then, Godspeed, Howard. Godspeed.

Waterworld

As most of us learned (or should have learned) in high school biology, over half the human body is made up of water. And, if our geography lessons took, we also found out that over seventy percent of the globe is covered in water. Pretty much all life as we know it depends on water.

A few years ago, a gentleman named Dr. Masaru Emoto decided to subject water samples to different thoughts and feelings through written and spoken words as well as through music. Now I know that sounds a little odd but stay with me in this. Dr. Emoto then froze the water samples, observed them through a powerful microscope and used high-speed photography to capture images of the ice crystals.

What he found was astonishing. The crystals varied in shape and color depending on what the water samples had been subjected to. For example, the photo on the right is of a crystal formed by water that had been drinking up Mozart while the shot below it is a water crystal on heavy metal music.

More interesting still are the two photographs below, the first of which is a crystal formed from water that was labelled "You make me sick." Take a look at how that one compares to the bottom right photo of water that was drowned in a sea of love and gratitude.

Dr. Emoto says that water from clear springs and water exposed to kind expressions generally show "brilliant, complex, colorful, snowflake-like patterns" while polluted water as well as water exposed to negative thoughts form "incomplete, assymetrical" patterns with "dull colors."

Having a difficult time fathoming all this? Read on:

Recently, researchers at Stanford University made a big splash when they discovered that water is not quite what we all thought it was. It had long been assumed that four water molecules got together to form a sort of pyramid structure with a triangular base - a tetrahedron. After examining X-rays of the little rascals, scientists found that concept was all wet. Most water molecules seem to only attract two other water molecules and form strong bonds with them in a ring and chain fashion.

I emphasized most because not all do. William Tiller, a former Stanford scientist says that "water can indeed have its properties and hence its structure changed rather easily." His review of over 100 different studies concluded that water is "a 'zoo' of mixed sizes of molecules." Professor Giulia Galli of the University of California Davis said that "in a tube ... holding 60 to 80 water molecules, interactions with the wall of the tube might change water's structure."

So if water molecules can be so easily persuaded to change structure and interact with other media, maybe the idea that they can react to suggestions, well, holds water. A Los Angeles company, H2Om (yeah, Om - like the mantra) is betting on it. They take bottles of spring water and claim to alter the structure within by labelling it "Love" and "Perfect Health." Nice entreprenurial move there, guys. But who's to say they're skating on thin ice?

I know this: we are all made up of water. Fifty to sixty percent water. Seventy-three percent water if you're a baby. And if Dr. Emoto and the Stanford team are right, what do you think we accomplish if we look in the mirror and say, "man, I look old" or "I'm too fat." Or what if we say something mean to another person? Are we completing some self-fulfilling prophecy for that individual? On the other hand, think of how good it feels when someone tells you they love you and you sense they really mean it. You know the warm feeling that seems to encompass your entire body. Could it be the reaction of millions of water molecules interacting with the words you heard? Makes me wonder.

And by the way, did I tell you I think you're great? No, really. I like you a lot. I'm thankful for you. Why not put on some Mozart, crack open a bottle of spring water and float in a sea of love and gratitude? You deserve it.

Floating Feather

Sometimes I feel like Forrest Gump. By the sheer luck of being in the right place at the right time, I've managed to run into or meet some famous people over the years. And, with the exception of two occaisions, I wasn't looking for them - they just sort of showed up ... or I ran into them - literally.

The late governor of Missouri, Mel Carnahan, was giving a speech at a conference I attended at Lake of the Ozarks. I had to participate in a phone call to the office and ended up missing most of his speech. Afterward, I was rushing off to another part of the conference, rounded a corner of the building and all but collided with the Governor. He was obviously startled but, probably realizing I was a registered voter, regained his composure, stretched out his hand and offered a friendly if tentative hello. Guess he didn't know I voted for the other guy. I didn't tell him, either.

Once, at an auto show in Chicago, I saw Muhammad Ali and his entourage. It was back when he was still in the ring. They say the camera adds pounds, but not in Ali's case. He was much bigger, much taller and much stronger than he ever appeared to be on television.

Airports are great places to hobnob with the rich and famous. While waiting between flights at varous airports, I've spotted the likes of Joe Namath, Bart Conner and Dr. Christian Barnard. I also ended up seated next to Rep. Roy Blunt - twice.

One of the two times I sought someone famous was at another conference I attended. This one was in Atlanta and Elizabeth Dole was a keynote speaker. After the speech, several people went up on stage to meet her so I joined them. She was nice. Warm, friendly, conversant, looked us square in the eye and greeted us with both her hands extended.

The other time I sought someone famous when when I was twelve. Bobby Kennedy was running for president and was visiting my hometown. My folks took me to the street where his motorcade was slated to pass. I was painfully shy in those days, so it must of taken everyone by surprise when I ran after Kennedy's car hoping to get an autograph. In what seemed like a surreal moment that passed in slow motion, I reached out and Kennedy reached back. I couldn't quite keep up with the vehicle but I remember we made eye contact, his famous hair seemed lighter than it did in photographs and our fingertips touched just before the secret service agent in Bobby's vehicle gently pushed me aside and the motorcade moved on.

I don't travel as much or attend as many conferences as I did during my human resources career, and I have no desire to chase any motorcades. So it's not clear whether I'll run over other governors or spot athletes in airports in the future. But you never know when the wind will blow that white feather in your direction.

Pennies from Heaven

I heard this story some time ago and I wanted to blog it. Problem is it's been a while and I can't recall who originated the story or even if I got all the details right, but it's still a good story:

A couple of people shared walks on occasion, discussing anything that suited them. One of the two made certain to stop anytime he discovered a dropped coin along the path. He would look at the coin a moment, then smile broadly and slip the currency into his pants pocket. Everytime he found a coin, he would repeat the same ritual - stop, pick it up, study the coin for a moment, smile, then slip the coin into his pocket.

After several such stops, curiousity overtook the companion and he had to ask why the apparent joy of finding currency that was sometimes only a penny. The coin collector explained, "Each time I find a coin, it's a reminder that God is thinking about me." Sensing the companion's confusion, the collector turned a coin over and pointed to the words, "In God We Trust." "It's stamped on the back of every coin," the collector said. "Doesn't matter the denomination, I'm in His thoughts."

Ever since I first heard that story, I make a special effort to retrieve any discarded coins I come across. I put them in a jar at home, and the money eventually finds its way to a local church. Both acts make me feel good - getting a chance to pick up the coin, and getting a chance to pass it on.

The Old Hardware Store

I like going to Lowes or even Home Depot as much as anyone else who enjoys building projects. But there's just something about that small, family-owned hardware store that harkens to another era. I've been in a few that occupied old brick buildings with creaky wood floors so worn by traffic that you just have to wonder how thick the flooring is anymore. Others are in more modern structures, metal framed and tin roofed for durability. Most all of them have nails sold in bulk instead of in neatly packaged, windowed boxes. And if you just need one or two bolts to finish off a project, they'll usually tell you it's on the house, "just come back when you need something," they'll say.

That friendly service is hard to beat. Shortly after I moved to the town I still live in today, I had to replace a heating element in my hot water heater. I had a replacement element in-hand, having purchased it, then put off the project for no real reason. When the time came that everyone in my house was tired of rinsing in cold water after a nice, lukewarm shower, I set about replacing the element.

Now, if you've ever replaced one of those things, you know that the best tool to use to loosen the old one is, well, a hot water heater element wrench. It's not anything complicated, just a metal tube shaped at one end to receive the element nut and with slots for a cross piece on the other end. The cross piece makes the loosening and tightening process alot easier. So, the thing is, I couldn't find my wrench and had to buy a new one. Problem was, it was 6:30 on a Saturday night.

I called the local hardware store and asked how late they'd be open. Bob, the owner, told me he had actually already closed - at 5:00 pm - and that he was just finishing off some paperwork. He asked me what I needed and I told him. "Just come on down to the store," he said. "I'll look for you and open up. We'll get you squared away."

I was amazed. An hour and a half past closing on a Saturday night when old Bob would probably much rather be going out to dinner with his wife, he waited for me to show up and buy a six dollar tool to fix my hot water heater. Now that's service!

Sure, I still hang out at Lowes from time to time, and I buy a little lumber there. But when it came time to replace the whole hot water heater, I went to get one from Bob. And when I needed to rent a power washer, a twelve foot ladder and a set of floor jacks, Bob got my business. In fact, Bob's gotten a lot of my business over the years. And he's apt to get more. Not a bad trade off for opening up shop to sell a six dollar part. Oh, did I mention? Small town hardware store owners have excellent business savvy.