kwundrow

I Paid for this Walk.

I occasionally walk our neighborhood with a couple other gentleman and today was one of those mornings. As I walked, I couldn’t help but notice the things around me. I walked on nice sidewalks, past parks recently mowed, with basketball and pickleball courts (the latest craze, but more on that in a different blog), playgrounds, and sports fields. I saw bike trails, clean tree lined streets, and crews treating the ash trees to save them from the ash bore beetle. If it had been Monday, I would have seen street crews picking up my rubbish.

So who pays for all of this? We do of course. We do that through are real estate taxes and our state and federal income taxes. We live in a great country, because for the most part, we are willing to pay into the cost of providing the services and protections we want, need, and all too often, demand. The problem is determining our “fair” share of that cost.

We are living in an era I dub the War on Taxes. The battlefield is the citizens’ definition of fair. We believe that taxes should be fair but in the same breath state that what my neighbor pays is fair, but that what I pay isn’t. It is a perception war. One political party stands against taxes altogether in a belief that if the wealthiest people were given the chance to pay less in taxes, they would spread the wealth down to the lower classes making their life better through the businesses and jobs they would create. The problem is businesses with the capability of doing this are owned by the shareholders who expect a return on their investment. This often traps the wealth at the top and the trickle down is exactly that, a trickle. Meanwhile, the other party proposes that the lower class needs the services and protections that will help them improve their lot, while the middle class needs a break on taxes so that they can fuel the economy by buying the goods and services the businesses provide. The issue here is that someone else must pay higher taxes to support that system by making up the difference. And the battle rages on. In the last decade or so, that war has begun to divide the country, and, in that divide, other ideologies are given fertile soil to grow and fester.

You and I alone cannot end the war, but we don’t have to continue to fight it. When I was still plying my trade as a tax planner, I would help my clients understand the necessity of the taxes they paid and the good those taxes could do in the hands of leaders who adhere to the practice of making common sense decisions. Decisions that benefit the country not just their position. I do not spend my time calculating the percentage of my income that goes to taxes, nor do I spend my time comparing what I pay to what my neighbor pays. I just pay them knowing that if I vote to elect leaders who will spend those taxes dollars wisely and oppose those leaders that would devote their time to cutting taxes and the programs that go with them, I just might continue to enjoy my morning walks through the streets, trails, and parks that my taxes helped to provide.

Next time you put your garbage and recyclables out to the curb, the next time you play pickleball in the park, or the next time you watch your children and grandchildren play soccer or T-ball on the neighborhood ball fields, ask yourself if it is worth paying your share of the cost? I answered the question for myself long ago. No matter the share I paid, in my mind, it was fair.

I have to go for another walk now, after all I paid for the views and they are worth it. I leave you with a picture of a state park treasure I recently visited, and they didn’t even charge an entry fee. I guess someone else paid for it with their fair share.

The Greatest Game

Posted on April 20 by kwundrow

So I went golfing yesterday. Why not, the weather was perfect, 39 degrees, light rain until it became heavy rain, and a 40 mph wind. The course was in good shape, just a little remnant snow in the sand traps that only made them more of a challenge, which is exactly what they were meant for. At least when I was down in them, the wind seemed less noticeable and the sand had absorbed the standing water.

If you are one of the rare breed of golfers who understand this, you might even be wishing you had been there. If you are not a golfer, you are wondering what in the world I was doing out there. So let me explain.

It would be easy to say it’s just a man thing, but that wouldn’t be true as there were several women out there as well. To think that only men are crazy enough to do this would be sexist. Women golfers can be just as crazy as their counterparts. There’s more to it than just being crazy. True golfers have a passion for the ssport that surpasses sanity. What other explanation would there be for driving out to your favorite course in a downpour, surrounded by lightening, saying I’m sure there will be a window and I can get in a quick 18. Quick 18, that’s another strange description of a round of golf, unless you feel four and a half hours to be quick. And why would these same golfers venture onto a course at midday, with temperatures just below the boiling point and a humidity index nearing the century mark on one day and then golf with the temperature nearing zero and winds gusting at cat one hurricane force the next day? In the case of the later, at least the humidity was down.

The answer lies in the rewards of a good round of golf. There’s the obvious exercise one gets driving that golf cart. Don’t be shaming me, I still had to get in and out ninety to a hundred times, okay a hundred to a hundred and ten times. And then there’s all that shoulder exercise I get. And don’t forget the local flora knowledge I gain as I search through the underbrush and tree thickets, searching for the final resting spot of my drive. In this last case, proper identification of the poisonous plants versus the just plain irritating ones might determine a retrievable shot from a small contribution to the golf industry as I open another sleeve of balls.

So why do golfers seem to ignore the elements, no matter how cruel, to go hit that tiny white ball through eighteen holes, avoiding deep sand traps, ponds full of water, and deep dark woods? It’s the walk. I became a golfer the day I took a servers position in a local private country club. As one of the perks, I was allowed to play the course every Monday morning from 6:00 to 8:00 AM. All I had in my possession was an old wood shafted 2 iron, a sand wedge, and a novelty putter, but they were enough to get me around the course, or at least through a few holes. That experience was enough to hook me on a sport, that at 72, I still play even though I still don’t score much better than when I began. But it’s the walk. Every course is laid out different from the next, but they all have two prime objectives, the first is to challenge you with long holes, short holes, doglegs, sand traps, water and trees. The second objective is to accentuate the beauty of the location with long undulating fairways, so lush and green, followed up by a tabletop, tiered green set into a grove of evergreens or maybe stately oaks. The course begs you to walk it, to take in the views and the smell of new mown grass. This is what brings me back time and time again and begs me to not miss the opportunity to play a new course. The challenges forgive my occasional bad shot or even bad hole and the beauty rewards my willingness to play and allows me to forget the three or four golf balls I donated to the next golfer who finds them.

Golf is not for the faint at heart. It will punish your score almost as often as it rewards it. It will bring you out in days too hot to do anything else or so cold you have so many layers on that it’s difficult to even swing the club. It can wear you out or it can refresh your spirit. The true golfer finds the joy in the challenge and the beauty in the game.

I just noticed the clouds breaking up, temperatures up to 45, and the course is open. Time for a quick eighteen holes.

God, I love golf!

It has to be said

Posted on March 28 by kwundrow

I am always hesitant to write a piece like this as it seems so reactionary, but yesterday’s school shooting has again cast a terrible light on an issue that will seemingly never go away. The politicians and the naysayers will spin the story that the cause of this carnage is not the availability of guns but rather the criminal nature of the shooter. They will disregard the fact that access to an assault rifle combined with a deep mental illness made this shooting all too easy and all too inevitable.

So what, as a nation in mourning, do we do? What can we do? I will be the first to agree that the victims, children and parents, need our thoughts and prayers, but let’s not for a moment decide that those thoughts and prayers are somehow enough. It is utterly incredible that we have federal, state and local lawmakers that seem to have no problem banning books, music, art, or curriculums that offend them, but steadfastly refuse to consider banning assault weapons as that would be a denial of our basic freedom.

In the wake of the shooting, Representative Andrew Ogles (R-TN), who represents Nashville thanks to redistricting by the Republican legislature that cut up a Democratic district, said he was “utterly heartbroken” by the shooting and offered “thoughts and prayers to the families of those lost.”

In 2021, Ogles, his wife, and two of his three children held guns as they posed for a Christmas card with a caption that read: “The very atmosphere of firearms anywhere and everywhere restrains evil interference—they deserve a place of honor with all that’s good.”

My father was a hunter. I married into a family of hunters. I have countless friends who enjoy the sport of hunting, but none of these individuals ever once considered using an assault rifle in the pursuit of that sport. Assault rifles are useful for exactly that, an assault. An assault on an enemy stronghold. An assault by law enforcement in an attempt to protect the public. But never should an assault weapon be the choice of, or available to an individual assaulting school children or any other public gathering.

We do not need to accept the inaction of our elected legislators. We do not need to bend under the pressure of gun lobbyists. We can act, and we do it with our vote. If the majority of Americans favor, at the very least, restricting access to these weapons, why are lawmakers so deaf to those sentiments, and why are they still entrenched in power?

A new U of Chicago Harris/AP-NORC poll shows majorities of U.S. adults support restricting gun purchases, including tighter background check laws and a ban on AR-15 style weapons. Fewer support allowing people to carry guns without a permit. When asked, “Do you favor, oppose, or neither favor nor oppose each of the following policies?” Eighty-five percent of U.S. adults said they favor a federal law requiring background checks on all gun buyers; 83% back a federal law banning convicted domestic abusers from buying a gun; 75% favor making 21 the minimum legal age to buy a gun nationwide; 59% back a nationwide ban on the sale of AR-15 style semiautomatic weapons. Only 29% say they would support state laws allowing people to carry guns in public without a permit.

The failure of the majority of our lawmakers to take action in light of these kind of polls and their resulting statistics, begs the question, who are they really serving? They are not serving me.

My thoughts and prayers ARE with the parents who yesterday lost a child, with those who lost a friend, with the City of Nashville, and for that matter, with each and everyone of us who yesterday lost another slice of our freedom to feel safe.

The Friends We Make

Posted on March 18 by kwundrow

I have been getting over a bit of writer’s block lately. Plenty of thoughts, but just not connected. In the midst of that, a title came to me and after a lot of searching for inspiration, I think I am ready to tackle this piece.

Deb and I just returned from some long awaited travel. We started the winter with a two week stay on Kauai and Maui in the Hawaiian Islands, returned home for a quick two week catchup, and then went down to Cancun for one more week. Hopefully you are not judging me for my irresponsible galivanting, but we had saved up for this and Covid-19 had left us longing to start traveling again. Regardless, we took both trips looking forward to the memories we would make. And we made memories.

These two trips, in some ways similar, had marked differences. Hawaii was activity driven. With my faithful travel master friends, Larry and Annette along for the journey, we never lacked purpose on any of the days. There were waterfalls to hike into, zip lines to tackle, whales to watch, and fish to snorkel among. Every day had a hike planned for at least part of it. Cancun, on the other hand, was meant for soaking up sun, walking the beach, and eating at a different restaurant every day (we were in an all inclusive so why wouldn’t we). Where our purpose in Hawaii was exploring and, as it turned out, exercise, Cancun was about down time.

We met random people throughout our stay in Hawaii, but they were usually “one and done” as we moved on and so did they. Cancun was different. As it was an all inclusive resort, it was like being held in this exotic, beautiful, prison. There was no need to venture outside of the walls and the food and the guards were incredible. The offshoot of this kind of vacation is that all the guests are traveling in the same circles. We were all there together and seeing a couple multiple times a day was the norm and offered the chance to make new friends, which we did. Though there were multiple couples, Chris and Sammy, Kristy and Chuck, not Paul (inside joke), half the state of Nebraska, and a very friendly group from Green Bay, Wisconsin, there were two couples who deserve a shout out.

Marcello and Julianna from Sao Paulo, Brazil were there to do a recommitment of their marriage vows on the occasion of their fifteenth wedding anniversary. We met them one of our first nights. They had come into one of the lounges and Julianna’s beautiful wedding dress caught our eye. Something told us they were looking for company. They had, like us, made the trip alone. As we started a conversation, we discovered that Marcello was able to speak some English but Julianna could only speak her native tongue, Portuguese. After spending some time apologizing to each other for not being able to adequately speak each other’s language, it was decided that we could fill in most of the gaps and we would not let it get in the way of what instantly felt like a friendship in the making. By weeks end, I was improving my very limited Spanish, and Marcello, his English. We had spent hours learning about each other and forming a friendship that just might, with the help of Facebook, last beyond our week in Cancun.

On night two of our stay, we sat across from a couple playing cards and talking with each other. As is the way with me, my incessant belief that people want to join in a conversation, I asked what game they were playing. That is all it took. By the end of the evening, we were making plans for breakfast the next morning. Erin and Alex, as it turned out, were from St Louis, a city we visit often and, by the end of the week, a city we now had a new reason to visit.

In our every day lives, we pass by so many Marcello and Julianna’s, so many Erin and Alex’s, but we never get to meet. When we travel, it seems so much easier to take the risk and start that conversation. In the case of Marcello and Julianna, we had to overcome the language barrier, but I will tell you that the challenge made the friendship all the sweeter. With Erin and Alex, the conversation was easier, but we still had to take the risk and put ourselves in play. In both cases, we formed a friendship that just might last long after the vacation ended. That is, of course, if both sides make the effort to keep the conversation going.

We are home now and the world is back to passing us by on the street, but what if we just once in a while mustered up the courage to talk to that person across the aisle or at the next table over. Who knows whether or not that is a friendship waiting to be formed. Don’t be afraid to take the chance. After all, can we ever really have too many friends?

72 years and a cloud of smoke

Posted on February 25 by kwundrow

Appleton Post Crescent

February 1951

Mr. and Mrs. Clarence Wundrow of Rt 4 Appleton, Wisconsin, announced the birth of their first born son at 2:25 AM on February 25th at St. Elizabeth Hospital in Appleton. The baby boy named Kenneth, apparently by the attending nurse, weighed in at 8lbs 8 oz and joined the family previously ruled over by two earlier sisters, Karen, aka Peaches, and Kathleen, aka Kay also both named by same said nurse. Kenneth will now attempt to take his place on the family farm and attempt to survive the bossy nature of his two siblings.

As time passed, Ken, Kenny to his parents and absolutely no one else, was joined by another brother, Karl. Ken and Karl were to become fast friends and thick as thieves. There was no challenge that once thrown at one brother by the other wasn’t met by the other, no matter how great the danger. In time, mom and dad Wundrow would add two more brothers, apparently just to keep the two sisters in check.

Kenny would eventually become Ken, enter high school, and graduate summa cum average. Woodstock was in full swing that summer as was the Vietnam War. Ken wanted UW Madison, mom and dad, wanted Fox Valley Tech. A compromise was struck and Ken was off to Wisconsin State College at Oshkosh, later UW Oshkosh. He entered as a science major, apparently aiming to be a scientist, and left as a math teacher with a degree in education. Seems the counselor thought he’d make a better teacher than a scientist. That, or the fact that scientists didn’t get draft deferment status.

Loyal Middle School (Loyal, Wisconsin) needed an interim math teacher and four years later, Oregon School District (Oregon, Wisconsin) did as well. Twenty-five years later and an illustrious career in education coming to a close, Kenneth Wundrow, EA. sold his blossoming tax business to the highest bidder, left teaching, and entered what would be a tax and financial planning career.

Now entering his sixth year of semi-retirement, and because a reasonable number of people still feel he has a little bit of wisdom left to share, volunteers as a business mentor. When able to say no, he travels the “world” with his wife of forty-two years, Deb.

And that’s it. seventy-two years summed up in two or three paragraphs. Some where along the line I have grown a little over four feet and gained roughly 180 pounds. I’ve added two beautiful, incredibly bright daughters to this world (Bailey and Kathryn), inherited two well appreciated son-in-laws (John and Eli) and at last count, two incredibly sharp grandchildren (Jackson and Adela) with a future draft pick to be named in June.

Life IS good and on this day each year, I want to thank the countless number of friends who wish me happy birthday, support me in my endeavors, and generally make living so worth well. Age is just a number and whether or not I like mine being such a big one, I will savor all the years that have passed and wisely spend all the ones that remain.

My Bucket List of Thrills

Posted on February 2 by kwundrow

I long ago created a list in my mind of the five daring feats I wanted to complete in my lifetime. They were in no particular order at the time, to jump out of a plane, parasail, paraglide, bungee jump, and zip line. The first one that I accomplished was to jump out of a plane. I had a friend in the Air Force and while visiting him in North Carolina, he informed me that he had begun a skydiving school and wanted to take me up. The following day, I mustered up my courage, listened to the lesson, practice jumped off a picnic table (not sure that was convincing), and the next morning I was crowded into a plane full of skydivers. Back then, they were not doing tandem, so I would be jumping alone and being a beginner, would come out of the plane at 10,000 feet on a tether. The tether being what would pull my chute at the end of a 200-foot freefall. I steeled my courage as I approached the open door of the plane and then summoned my innards to stay put. I not only managed to exit the plane, there had been some doubt, but I thoroughly enjoyed the rush and then the reassuring opening of my chute and the reasonably gentle ride to the ground. Number one was off my list.

Parasailing came next. I had arranged a family trip with my wife and two young daughters to Mexico. On day two of our trip, the parasail boat pulled up to our beach. The girls were definitely game, my wife was not, but after a brief negotiation, more so with my wife than the boat driver, we were harnessed up and getting ready to be launched from the back of the boat. My daughters were first and went tandem. Watching from the back of the boat I caught myself wondering why I had had to wait so long to do this. They sailed for some time and eventually were winched back in and then it was my turn. They hooked me in and away I went. Some seventy feet in the air, I felt an urge to show off for my daughters. I would pull on the harness and swoop from one side and then back to the other. It was on one of these graceful swoops that I looked down at my harness and suddenly realized that I was hooked to the tow rope, not with a locking carabiner, but rather a simple S-Hook. I decided it might be time to sit still, very still. Again, I survived, and the experience was well worth the time and the money. Number two had been completed.

It would be another thirteen years before I got a chance for my next bucket list feat. My older daughter and I were in Columbia visiting my younger daughter who was spending the summer in an internship for study abroad. We had barely settled in when my younger daughter informed us that she had arranged a paraglide adventure for later in the week. Paragliding, unlike parasailing, is done without any connection to the ground. It is in actuality, flying sans an engine. We would at least be flying tandem with an experienced pilot, interpretation here, a thrill junkie. Our glide would take off from the edge of a three-thousand-foot cliff, ten-thousand feet up a mountain. Our lesson, all five minutes of it, consisted of three commands that our non-English speaking pilot had learned, possibly sometime during the five-minute lesson. The first command was “walk”, the second was “run”, and the third was “sit”. I was ready, or so said my daughter, and the pilot said “walk”. So I walked, waiting for the next command, to run, all the while noticing that we were terribly close to the edge. “SIT” screamed the pilot. My mind, already racing, was asking what the heck happened to “run”. Fortunately for both of us, the pilot was so forceful in his command, I sat! And in that instant, we were airborne. For the next fifteen minutes we literally soared like a bird. We would turn on edge and drop several hundred feet only to turn again and gracefully sail upward on the updrafts coming from the valley below. There are no words to describe the sensation. The flight ended far too soon. As I checked off number three, I promised myself I would find some way to do this again. Unfortunately, that hasn’t happened, but then I’m not done yet.

This morning, as I awoke to our third day on the Island of Kauai in Hawaii, I was greeted by Larry, our traveling guru, with “Do you want to go zip lining? There is an opening if we get there in the next ten minutes.” My response was immediate, “Of Course!” or some slightly more colorful version of that. We got to the Koloa Zip Line Company in time to join our group of fellow zip liners. We would be doing eight different zip lines ranging in length from 400 feet to the last one at 2,600 feet, half a mile. We were told that on the last zip line, we would hit a speed of 54 miles per hour. I was stoked (apologies for the obvious reference to my age). I was also nervous, but that soon turned to excitement. With each zip line accomplished, confidence grew. Where there was hesitation on the take off for the first zip line, it became wanting to go before the guide was even ready to let you go on the remaining lines. Each line offered the chance to try a different technique. Though I balked on the first chance to go superman (on your stomach, arms outstretched in flying mode), the next chance up, I agreed, got strapped in, and took off. Our guides were incredible, they kept us safe, challenged us to try new techniques, and bonded us as a group. As with paragliding, it ended all too soon. I had flown over a valley, a gorge, and canopies of trees. I had a blast. Number four, done.

I still have number five out there. My wife says, “And that’s where it will stay!”, but we will see. I have climbed a mountain, made it to the top of Half Dome, albeit via the trail and cables, and have so far accomplished four out of the five thrill feats I decided on so long ago. Each one of these had an element of fear that I needed to deal with, but I have found that by spending less time thinking about the what ifs and more time thinking about the sense of accomplishment and the ultimate reward of the experience, the easier it is to take that first step; the first step out of the plane, the first step off the boat, the first step off the cliff, or the first drop onto the zip line. In every case, the rest was a piece of cake! A delicious, exciting, and rewarding piece of cake.

Dreams Can Come True

Posted on January 31 by kwundrow

Growing up on a small Wisconsin dairy farm in the 50’s, I constantly had chores to do, among them, cropping the fields, stacking the mows, filling the cribs and silos, and the main one, milking twenty three cows twice a day. Because my dad always believed that music would keep the cows content and that they in turn would produce more milk, meant that he would play the radio with the station tuned to WGN out of Chicago. This was an am radio station with a wide assortment of music, news, and talk shows. Thus, I and the cows were treated to a wide variety of programming. Two of my favorite programs were Let’s Go Fishing and Hawaii Calls. Let’s Go Fishing, as the name implies, was a half hour show about fish and catching them. The catchy little tune they would play, totally intended that pun, has never found its way out of my brain; “Let’s go fishing, for a day and a half, and a half a day, for a day and a half a mile.” Don’t ask me why they ended it with “mile” and I will leave the melody to your imagination. The second program was entitled “Hawaii Calls”, a show that took you through the music and stories of the Hawaiian Islands. As I listened, I would imagine one day getting to go there, but to my ten-year-old self, it seemed an impossible dream.

This memory has remained so vivid to me, and I have recalled it countless times over the years. I am happy to report that sometimes the impossible dreams of our childhood do in fact come true. As I write this blog, I am sitting in the Denver Airport waiting to board our flight to Hawaii. We will be spending the next two weeks Island hopping between Kauai and Maui. I say waiting, waiting because our flight is delayed for a technical issue, hopefully one that has nothing to do with the guidance system as I really want to get where we are meant to be. If not, I fear I will have the wrong wardrobe packed. Though this is not my first trip to Hawaii; Deb, my daughters, and I made the trip in 2008, it will be looked forward to no less than my first one. This time, my wife and I are traveling with two dear friends and looking forward to a shared experience as we explore the attractions and enticements of the Islands. There will no doubt be several Mai Tai and other fruit laden cocktails mixed in with hikes, waterfalls, and dinners on the beach.

Travel has always been an integral part of who I am. It started all those years ago as I poured over my National Geographics and listened to radio programs like Hawaii Calls. During my college years It grew into trips outside my home state. Eventually, it took me both north and south of the border and even across the ocean. It has introduced me to new friends and new places. It has allowed me to experience the cultures of people very unlike me and my travels have created memories everywhere I went.

It was just a radio program that planted the seed, but now, all these years later, Hawaii actually is calling and by the way, we just got the call to board our plane.

Aloha

Anticipation

Posted on January 10 by kwundrow

19 days, 15 hours, or as my grandson Jackson would say, 19 more sleeps. That’s what the widget on my phone is telling me as it counts down to our Hawaii trip. It has kept me optimistic through these cold dreary days of winter as we prepare a little more each day for our departure and greatly anticipated trip to the Islands. As much as I can’t wait to trade emails and meetings for sand and sun, the anticipation of the trip and the excitement it generates will not be overlooked. Just as joy is in the journey, anticipation is that joy.

Anticipation: the act of looking forward. especially : pleasurable expectation. They looked forward with anticipation to their arrival. Carley Simon felt strong enough about anticipation to write a song about it. My intent is to convince you that it’s the anticipation of things that brings joy to the waiting.

I am, as my readers know, a very visual person. From the moment we began our planning I was already there. I could see the aqua blue water, the lush tropical jungles, the palm trees swaying in the breeze. Hell, I could feel the sand between my toes. The fact that there was still better than six months to wait only enhanced the anticipation and that only heightened my awareness and spiked the excitement. The first part of my trip had begun, the anticipation of what it could be was setting in. I knew that anticipation would make the wait bearable.

Life is a constant process of anticipation. The anticipation of that surprise birthday party you just know they are planning. Meeting that special someone on a first date. A family wedding with all it’s planning and tension. The first day on a new job or just that first cup of coffee in the morning. My wife conditioned me to that last one and now I wake up dreaming of it. If you aren’t recognizing and savoring those moments of anticipation, well you just aren’t living. Just as the story is read between the lines, true joy of living is between those moments of anticipation. Anticipation is the hopefulness that allows us to tackle each brand new day, each brand new opportunity, life’s next adventure.

I will be brief today as I believe I have made my point. To truly enjoy the next adventure, one must embrace the anticipation that comes before. I will look at my cell phone tomorrow and the days remaining will be down to eighteen, eighteen more days of anticipation. I will trade waiting and impatience for that anticipation any day. Afterall, why hurry the process of getting there when all it will do is start the countdown of the days I will be there. Hawaii awaits me, what awaits you?

Savor the anticipation.

Headed Home: The end to a twenty-three year run

Posted on December 3 by kwundrow

My wife has lovingly referred to it as my tour. There was the Wisconsin tour, the Mississippi tour, and now the Iowa tour. Lest you get excited, there were never amps to be lugged about, press agents, or even screaming fans, no, it was my tax gig. For 23 years I have held sway in over 30 cities in three states as I taught tax law and planning to my faithful tax planning students. I hopefully educated them on at least several new tax codes, gave them some hot planning tips for managing their clients and employees, and maybe even provided a little entertainment mixed in with the lecture. Along the way, I visited multiple casinos, far too many hotels, and even learned a little Cajun. I visited at least half a dozen universities and witnessed the aftermath of two hurricanes, several tornadoes, and multiple blizzards. I met over 1500 tax planners, EA’s, CPA’s and attorneys and made friends with most of them. Today, as I sit in Ohare International Airport, I thought it appropriate to jot down a few passing thoughts as this phase of my life comes to a close.

I just finished an in-person presentation in Sioux City, a pretty little city tucked neatly in the corner of three states; Iowa, Nebraska, and South Dakota, which in its early years, served as the railhead for some historic cattle drives. It is not my true final gig as I have one more in-person to be held in Ankeny, Ia, and then one more on-line performance in a couple weeks. When that last one concludes, it will be in fact my very last one ever. The groupies say that I will be back, but I am no Brett Favre or Tom Brady. I have been saying it was my last year for the last six years, and this time it really is. I know that a year from now, I will miss the stage, I am after all a true ham when you give me the mic, but I won’t miss all the late-night drives, many done in rain or snow, the prep work, and the nervousness the nights before and the mornings of. I may appear cool, calm, and collected, but anyone who tells you they don’t sweat a little as they take the stage, is, shall we say, bullshitting.

I started this little career back in the year 2000, when the owner of the firm I was working for, turned down the request to be the speaker for these tax schools. He instead sent one of my mentors, Phil Harris, to hit me up for the job. I still remember a nervous Phil sitting down across from me and making the most tenuous job offer ever. It didn’t help much when he started out with “you aren’t my first choice.” He went on to tell me he would offer me half what he had intended and just a two-hour slot. I, being full of myself, needing the revenue, and just plain hopeful that I would impress him, accepted the job. Two hours turned into a half day, and by year two, I was the entire second day of a two-day conference. Along the way we built a two-way trust between Phil and I, and we became the two-man show known as Tax Insight. Phil gave them the theory and the law; I gave them the planning and the practicality. We wowed our crowd with famous hits like, The TCJA, Qualified Charitable Deductions for Everyone, and the ever-popular Passive Activities and You.

Six years ago, as I was ready to hand over the mic to younger talent, Phil became ill and within a year had passed away. Thus began my run of one more year’s. I was devastated by Phil’s passing and knew I had to stay on with the transition, year one, and then the attempted sale, year two, gifting to Iowa State University, year three, Covid-19 forcing us to move on-line, year four and five, but as year six approached I had to redraw the line in the sand, With that decision, year six would be, with acquiescence to my wife, the farewell tour. We even entertained making up shirts with the names of all those cities our tour had passed through, but saner minds prevailed, and the shirt idea was nixed.

It has been, despite my whining here and there, a spectacularly great decision. I learned much along the way; taxes, business planning, the histories of people, places, and things, and even some odd tidbits, like always make sure you know where the wipers and light switches are on your rental car especially when driving through Mississippi in the dark. As I leave, I want to thank my co-workers who unbegrudgingly filled in for me back at the office while I galivanted around the countryside, my boss who not only put Phil onto me, but gave me the time off to do it, and especially to my wife, Deb, who supported me, cheered me on, and eventually even became my paid handler, coincidentally the best I ever had.

But all things do come to an end, and this will be my swan song. I am extremely proud of the work I have done and will be forever grateful for the experience. If there is a lesson here for my readers, never be afraid to take the chance. You just might surprise yourself as to what you can accomplish and where the decision might lead.

Thankyou Phil

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kenisms

Wanderings of my mind.

Author: kwundrow