kenisms

I Came to the Mountains

Posted on February 27, 2018 by kwundrow

It is the first winter in thirty eight years that I am not up to my eyeballs in tax returns. Yes, retirement is good. So what is a guy to do with this new found freedom? Go to the mountains of course. The thought of being able to ski after so many seasons on the sidelines was too much to resist. And so we were off, my wife Deb, my daughter Kathryn and her boyfriend Eli. For Eli there was the added excitement of skiing moutain terrain for the very first time. Considering Midwest skiing happens on hills not mountains and the serious elevation might be a whopping 600 feet of vertical drop, this was going to be mind boggling. And Eli was ready as were all of us.

We chose Winter Park for mutiple reasons. First and foremost, was a very fee reduced week at a condo provided by a former client and family friend. Second was the mantra I had heard. “You go to Aspen for the views, Vail to be viewed and you go to Winter Park to ski.” This was exactly what we were looking for and we found it.

We arrived on the Sunday afternoon of my birthday. Did I mention that this was also my birthday gift to myself. Having flown into Denver, we hopped a shuttle for the ride up to Winter Park, crossing Berthoud Pass at 11,306 feet of elevation. From there it was back into the Frasier Canyon area and into the village where we arrived at our condo. I owe it to my benefactor to sing the praises of her condo. Situated on the banks of the Frasier River and conveniently located in the center of town, we could want for nothing more. We can both see and hear the river rippling below our balcony and looking east we can see the front slopes of Winter Park Ski Area, beckoning us up. All around us the Rockies rise majestically to the deep blue Colorado skies. The condo is functional, comfortable and cozy all rolled into one. After a satisfying dinner at the quirky Henando’s Pizzeria and Pub, we are ready to plan our early morning rendevous with the ski hill.

Monday morning dawns clear and crisp. 10 degrees to start our day but promises of middle to upper twenties by midday. Absolutely perfect skiing conditions. The snow is fast and the air warm enough to ski in relatively light gear and the vistas, thanks to crystal clear skies….out of this world. From the top, we can see all of the Frasier Valley unfold below while the boundaries of the valley are encircled with 13,000 foot snocapped peaks. Thirteeners as the locals refer to them. We will start skiing at 9000 feet and reach 12,060 feet at the summit of Panorama Cirque. We refer to runs by the only measurement that makes relative sense to us, “that one was a three Cascade” This is a reference to the local ski hill back home and the only meaningful way we can compare the vertical drop.

The views are spectacular and the range of change from bottom to top can best be described by not only the elevation but the change in temparature. Shortly before noon we start our ride to the summit. At base the temperature is a balmy 29 degrees but by the time we approach the summit it has fallen to 2 degrees with a negative 10 degree wind chill. Of course we had cimbed 3000 feet to get there. Standing on the summit, we make the decision to take combinations of runs that will allow us to ski a continuous line top to bottom. Twenty minutes later we reach our lowest access point still a full “Cascade” above the resort base. We are winded and tired but smiling ear to ear. We skied non-stop for hours, each run evaluated for its nuances and our favorite features of the run. Closing time comes too soon but we feel we have skied hard and gotten everything we could out of our time on the mountain.

And this was day one. Tomorrow and for the next three days we will continue to soak in the mountains, the vistas and the skiing. Am I happily retired, at this point I can think of no better reward for a life long career of hard work than to be here in the Rockies on top of my world.

Heart Sick

Posted on February 20, 2018 by kwundrow

I have deliberately waited to write this piece. The emotions are still too raw. Last week while on vacation, I turned on the TV to view yet another senseless school shooting at Parkland High School just a stones throw from where we were staying in Florida. Fourteen innocent students and three faculty members were killed while over a dozen others were wounded by a self proclaimed “school shooter”. We will blame this on a muriad of reasons but the simple truth is that a willing individual had the tool to carry out his plan of destruction. But this is not the destruction of some inanimate object, it is the destruction of human life and the countless lives that life touched and would have touched. It is the destruction of families and friends and ultimately the trust that innocent students would be safe in their schools.

Reaction was swift and filled with rhetoric. “Thoughts and Prayers”. I am not saying that prayers are not necessary but they cannot be the only response. And they weren’t. There was the usual knee jerk reaction that we need to arm schools, have more “shooter drills” and spend more money on school security issues. And again, I am not saying that these security issues haven’t become the new necessary protocal, though arming schools is an abomination. Our children and educators should not have to be trained to become an armed camp. In some ways they are being made the culprit for not being armed when they were in fact the victim. Lets not lose sight of this. The real issue here is the gun in question, the AR 15 assualt rifle. There is simply no reason for an individual to own an assault rifle unless you are in the military or law enforcement.

I live in a state where my legislators want no waiting period to buy a weapon. In addition, they would cut spending that specifically reduces the mental health offerings that are clearly another symptom of these school shootings. How can we in good conscience claim that we are addressing this problem when we make it easier to obtain a gun and specifically an assault rifle.

And here comes the standard disclaimer. I grew up in a family where my father had several hunting rifles and married into a family where sport hunting is a major activity. I have countless friends who are hunters and own guns for this purpose. I am not against these guns nor would I advocate for their unlawful siezure. That said, none of my family members owned or saw a need to own an assualt weapon. An assualt weapon has one and only one purpose and that is to efficiently kill another person. They are not hunting weapons. I know the push back will be the person who says but I only target practice or collect them. I am sorry but the collection of children targeted and killed in school shootings by the AR 15 has become epidemic. Can we really advocate that our right to own one supercedes their right to life?

We have banned fully automatic rifles. It is time to do the right thing. It is time to be courageous in the face of the cowardly use of and argument against banning the AR 15 as well. I can hear the argument and I’ll even pose it. If we ban them, what about all the ones still in ownership out there? My response, it is the first step and one that is sinfully long overdue. Only by stopping the proliferation can we ever hope to ultimately remove the threat. I applaud the students who are now stepping into the outcry. They show the very maturity and conviction that we sent them to school to develop. I only pray that we will not simply write their movement off. We need our lawmakers to listen but listening without action is a placebo.

The victims of these shootings were generally too young to even vote. They depended on us to do the right thing with our votes. I for one will not ignore that responsibility. I will continue to vote with conviction for those legislators that will take on the courageous battle for educated, sane and meaningful gun legislation. These are our children that these families are burying this week. To pretend they are not and to simply send thoughts and prayers without action is cowardly. For my own children and my grandchildren, their future must change.

Cattle Call…………. Or how I never found a line I didn’t hate

Posted on February 13, 2018 by kwundrow

We are flying today, well finally flying. Like any other airline trip, our morning began at oh four thirty or as Robin Williams coined it in Good Morning Vietnam, “it’s 04:30 as in Oh God it’s early.” We packed back up and moved on down to the lobby where we grabbed a coffee and got in line for the shuttle to the airport. I had spent the afternoon before on line pre paying our baggage fees and printing off our boarding passes. We are TSA approved and we are going to “fly”, pun intended, through the airport and unto our plane. At least that’s what all those pop up ads and on-line cues promised me.

We enter the terminal at 5:30, still A.M., to be greeted by the line I was sure I would get to skip. Oh so wrong Toto. We may have paid for them, but they still wanted to weigh our bags, especially since my wife’s looked like she may be traveling with her own small hotel. Twenty minutes later we are weighed in and under way once more. Remember how I said we were TSA pre-checked, no line for us, right? If you placed that bet, don’t play the lottery today. There WAS NO TSA pre-checked line in this terminal, only a line that snaked through five turns with dramatic long straight-a-ways designed for making new friends. I am soon conversing with persons of several nationalities, well, at least we nod a lot and look at each other’s watches, but I am pretty sure we are nearing BFF status. This line moves quickly…..and again you fell for that and now you should add “free” sales pitches to your list of things to avoid today. It didn’t, but 45 minutes later we reached the incredibly service oriented check in agent. I believe she said move it along while stamping my boarding pass as if it were a large insect destined for the promised-land and I was the steer it was riding on. I think I actually herd Rowdy Yates singing out “ride em in, herd em up, cut em out, move em in Rawhide.” (Don’t know that one, Google: Rawhide TV show)

So, are you keeping up? I know I am as I have had plenty of time in line. We are now finally in the line to disrobe for the TSA. Thankfully, I get to leave my shoes on. But then that’s about it. As I step into the scan booth, I have a metal knee so I get the deluxe treatment, and why doesn’t it show up on the X-ray as opposed to the box around my private area, the technician asks me, no that’s far too kind compared to what she actually says as she loudly proclaims “pull your pants up.” In my head, I imagine the “old man” added to the end of the request. My only response at this point is that you should’ve left me keep my belt if that was the hoped for result. A delightful pat down later and a retrieval of my personals and we have cleared line four of the morning. Good thing we arrived a day before our flight…. Alright…. that’s a little sarcastic but I’ve had two cups of coffee this morning and for a non-coffee drinker, that is sufficient to carry me well past witty and deep into the realm where only sarcasm can exist. And as the ad says, “But wait, there’s more.”

We arrive at our gate, the last one in Terminal 3, wing L, gate infinity. We find two seats, park our weary feet, and are immediately informed that the flight has been moved to the other end of the terminal. We are nearly trampled as our now terribly familiar cattle drive, stampedes toward the new gate, only to find out our plane is now departing, and there is a bit of ironic word usage, a half hour late and I just blew past the breakfast stop. Oh well, now I have additional time to go back for breakfast. I am committed to something fast so I head back down the terminal to those friendly Golden Arches. What could go wrong, its fast food and I figure heavy on the FAST part. I could believe that but I would be wrong. It was anything but fast, though thankfully the line of hungry cattle was friendly or at least equally sarcastic and that seemed the same as friendly. I need to describe the scene. There is a middle-aged gentleman ordering food, cell phone held six inches from his face, screaming into the phone about his credit card that has been denied for the fourth time this week. I am so glad he has decided to hold us all here as his jury of peers offering us the chance to decide on the guilt or innocence of some poor service person on the end of that cell phone shout out. I and the woman next to me have already found the credit card agent innocent of all misdeeds and are even considering her for a humanitarian award. Meanwhile, the cashier is loudly shouting out numbers to the milling cattle herd. My new name is number 482. I am feeling the love for sure. I hope I get the “happy meal”.

Eventually served and fed, I am back down to the gate arriving just as they call general boarding for our flight. Not to be left out, and certain the plane will bolt away from the gate without us, my wife motions me into, here it comes, our next line. And to make it all that much better, once we cleared the boarding pass scan line we are on a jet way that leaves me fearing that our plane is already parked at the Orlando Airport and we are walking there on this jet way maze.

All stories must come to an end, ironically, just as all lines do, but this one had one more twist. In a saga that couldn’t have gone any other way, our plane taxied out to the runway where we were informed we would be returning to our gate as some still unnamed crew member had not properly filled out their paperwork. Of course…it had to end this way. It would have been anticlimactic if it hadn’t. In a twist of fate, I wonder if the unnamed crew person is now destined to their own line, applying for unemployment benefits.

We are in the air now and soon the snow and cold will be left behind, traded for a week of sun and sand, I just hope that I can find a line somewhere because God knows, I am a line standing, gold medal Olympian at this point.

What can one person do……….

Posted on February 4, 2018 by kwundrow

Our church is in the middle of a four part educational class led by Kathy Michaelis that sheds light on racial discrimination. My wife and I were in attendance and the effect of the class is profound. I am hoping that you are not sitting back finding reasons to not read my blog today. Reasons like “I would never discriminate” or “I am not racist” or “Here we go again”. I will be the first to deny any leaning toward discrimination and I am betting that better than 99% of the people I call friends and aquaintenances would say the same. The problem is even when we don’t actively discriminate we support a system by our silence or inaction, that inheritantly does. The system doesn’t intend to, but the truth is that after over 150 years since slavery was abolished with the 13th ammendment, a clearly unequal playing field still exists. Even when we have laws to guard against it, the system has a long way to go to be equalized. For reference to the divide between net worth for African Americans and whites I will ask you to check out this YouTube video: Race: Power of an Illusion “The house you live in”. It will go through how lending and building expansion was skewed to make it almost impossible for African Americans to own property let alone create equity. Equity in our economic society is what in most cases describes the majority of our net worth and allows us to create leverage for our purchasing power.

Kathy used this video in week two to highlight the inequitable policies of the building boom of the post WWII era and how the result of those policies are still felt today. I consider myself history smart, but the revelations were not only shocking but almost depressing when I am forced to ask the question “but what can one person do?” As a class we passionately discussed this question. The conversation was at times overwhelming. It is too easy to ignore the realities of life as it exist in our society. It is too easy to pretend there is no such thing as “white priviledge” or worse yet to defend it as something we have earned. Don’t take this the wrong way. White priviledge is not an insult or a statement meant to elicit guilt. It is just a fact and as such, gives me a head start in the race. There is an activity described as “the race for the $100 bill”. A $100 bill is laid out and the participants are asked to line up for the race to see who can get to the bill first. Before the race begins, the starter states that “if you come from a stable family with two parents” take one step forward. If your parents both have jobs, take another step forward. If you know where your meal will come from tonight, take yet another step forward. And so on. White priviledge becomes painfully obvious. By now you are getting my point. We can blame poverty or education. You can claim that they don’t take the initiative. You can find a hundred reasons to hide behind but the truth of the matter is that the race was never fair. They started late and have to take off from behind the line. Whether you believe in profiling or not, the percentage of blacks incarcerated is completely disproportionate by any statistic. And when that incarceration creates yet another child growing up in a single parent home, well you get my drift.

So what can a person do? I have my opinion and I am compelled to share it if only for the hope that someone will take it as a place to start. I think that there are four things that we can do and is at least a place to start.

One, we can act individually. We can take the initiative to help even one individual to get ahead or at least get up to the starting line. If we are in the position to make a life changing decision, like hiring, then consider stepping into the role.

Two, we have a vote and we must exercise it. But here is the rub, just voting to vote accomplishes very little. We must be educated to the campaign promises and the pressures of the party line on the candidates we choose. At times we must be willing to make sacrifices with our vote. I once told someone that if I wanted to get elected the first promise I make is to cut your taxes. No one wants to pay taxes but it is a sacrifice that is demanded of those who can, to provide the revenue through taxes that ultimately protects, preserves and improves the society, culture and infrastructures we live and thrive in. On this front I have a clean conscience. I have voted in favor of referendums that would raise my taxes. I have looked for and supported candidates that would favor programs and laws that would seek to provide for and improve the lives of those in need even when it meant I would see my taxes increased. I don’t relish paying the taxes I pay but I do it without complaint and feel better for it.

Three, donate and volunteer in the programs that will take us in a better direction, assist those unable to overcome their inherited plight and ultimately begin to truly level the playing field for all. If you have the financial resources, give generously from that head start that you had. If the financial resources aren’t there, then donate with your hands and feet. Either way or both ways, your actions are a start to the long road ahead. If it took 150 years and this is all the farther we have come, there is plenty of work and unfortunately, time ahead of us.

And four, educate yourself and anyone else that will listen. Start by sharing this blog, but don’t stop there. Volunteer to repeat this process in your church or school or any other organization. There is a wealth of information out there and the education process has to be nurtured. At the very least, assist schools when they broach the subject, be supportive with your time, dollars and your vote.

The solution starts with individuals. Think of yourself as that seed you put in the pot of soil. If you command the seed to grow and then ignore the whole thing, odds are it won’t. If on the other hand you water it, even fertilize it and at the very least pay attention to it, you just might see it succeed. Please remember that dispair is the last step on the road to giving up. Don’t dispair, believe that you are not alone and take the first step in the other direction.

The Hotel Room …. or how we became friends for life

Posted on January 25, 2018 by kwundrow

I had two cups of coffee this morning. One cup leaves me talkative but two cups and I’m sarcastic. I thought I ought to take advantage of that and write this next piece. You’ve been warned of my sarcasm if you intend to continue reading.

Years ago, fall of 1986 to be exact, my two year old daughter was going to a sitter just a few doors down from us. When I was dropping her off one morning, there was a new father dropping off his two daughters. We exchanged hellos and that was that. A couple days later, My wife and I attended a neighborhood casino night. We were new to the neighborhood and not knowing anyone there we attempted to mingle while playing casino games. At the end of the gaming session and prior to the auction for prizes, I noticed the new father I had met at the sitter and realizing he hadn’t known anyone either, introduced him to my wife. He in turn introduced his wife and we boldly joined them at their table. The auction was rolling along when a room for a weekend at the Embassy Suites in Milwaukee came up for bid. We had been looking for a quick get away, so my wife and I started bidding on the room with our play money winnings. The bidding soon passed our total. About to bow out of the action, our new found neighbors offered to throw in their meager winnings and we offered up the entire works on our next bid. Now I fully expected to be immediately outbid, or should I say, hoped we would be outbid. After all, we really didn’t know our partners in this bid let alone intend to share a suite with them as our first date. And you guessed it. No one bid. I was the anxious owner of a Milwaukee hotel room with let’s be honest here, total strangers. For all I knew they had been forced to move after a recent stalking charge leveled by their previous neighbors. Worse yet, they would turn out to be swingers and my wife and I …. well we weren’t … aren’t. Disclaimer here, my wife worries that the reader will get the wrong idea …. well don’t.

I decided the best course of action would be to graciously hand the room over to them and formulate our early exit. And again you guessed it or you figured out there wasn’t much of a story if they accepted my offer. They were already setting a date with my wife for our hotel stay. Now I WAS convinced this couple was either crazy or desperate, possibly both. Before I could make up excuses, like I snore loudly or I prefer to sleep in the nude, I don’t but I thought it might scare them off, unless of course they really were swingers, we were scheduled to all head down to the Embassy Suites that very next weekend.

The weekend came and my wife was actually looking forward to our “group date”, which made me begin to worry about her as well, after all, I had only known her for nine years and maybe she was really good at keeping secrets. We had decided to bring our daughter with us, as had they, but I was still wondering how this would work? At this point, my detail planner wife explained that it was a suite, implying, though adjoining, two rooms. We would take one and they could have the other. All I had to worry about was hitting it off conversationally. My anxiousness was reducing.

Arrival in Milwaukee. The suite turned out to be a shared bedroom and sitting area with at least a separation of sorts between the two areas. Remember how I said we brought the kids. The three of them were already thick as thieves from the common sitter we shared. And again you guessed it. They all wanted to be together in the sitting area on that wonderful fold out couch that only three kids under the age of six could not only love but share. And that left us right where it turns out BOTH couples had thought wasn’t going to happen …. sharing two queen beds in the same room. Thank god for wine and a mini bar.

It has been over thirty years since that night. Not only did we survive our time together …. turns out they were as nervous as we were …. our families traveled together many more times in the years that followed. Through multiple moves by our friends, first to Chicago, then back to the Madison area and eventually settling in the St. Louis area, through our children’s graduations and two of their weddings, and even through grieving the passing of Doug’s wife Carol two years ago, we are still and always will be best friends. It is clearly not the same without Carol as part of the “Bob and Carol, Ted and Alice” running joke of our first meeting, but nothing can break up a friendship forged by sharing a room as your first date.

Thank you Embassy Suite. From that night forward, Doug and Carol and their family became an integral part of our family’s life. Without your donated room to that casino night thirty “odd” years ago, my wife and I would never have discovered one of the most likable, family oriented and adventuresome couples with whom we have spent a lifetime.

To quote someone “Ain’t life funny sometimes.”

The Four Words

Posted on January 22, 2018 by kwundrow

My office is finished and I finally have my space back (see “Stuff…or How I Won the War”). In honor of, or maybe in obligation to, I decided I better write on my blog since I used that excuse to get my wife’s permission to remodel my office…okay man cave.

I have of recently, been involved in several events that caused me to reflect on a list of words that help define my attitudes. These four words can harm or heal depending on how they are used and in that lies the danger of their misuse. Whenever working with a new staff member, I would make sure they understood how I viewed those words, and to this day, the ones I remain closest to can recite them back. It is just that they were and are that important to me.

The first word is a limiting word when misused. The word is “just”. Now when something is just, that is a desirable thing. But, when one describes what they did as “just” something, it limits them in both their stature as well as their own perspective and self expectation. I all too often hear someone say “I’m just a support staff worker.” This would be to say that as a team member, their position is somehow unimportant. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Without that “support staff member” how does the rest of the team accomplish their share of responsibility to the team and its mission. Take as an example a surgeon. Now that doctor could emerge from surgery patting him or her self on the back for the life that they single handily saved, but what about all the others involved. What about the anesthesiologist who kept the patient both calm and sedated so the doctor could operate? And what about each and every nurse involved in the process leading up to, during and following the surgery. Without their care and assistance, where would the doctor or the patient be? And for that matter, what about the sanitation worker who picked up and disposed of the doctor’s garbage cans that morning? I doubt I would have wanted the doctor worrying about that while he or she performed my surgery. No one should ever be a “just”. Remember that the next time someone asks you what you do. I’m not just a retiree, I am an expert in the art of time use and efficiency while juggling the demanding schedule of a person with the remainder of their life to spend well.

My second word can be just (yes I used it but properly) as limiting. “Fine” has always been a word that when used as the response to “how is” something, leaves me worried that is was anything but fine. Again, I will admit that the word when used properly has good connotations. Fine art comes to mind unless you really meant it was just so so. When the word “fine” is used in any situation, the inflection it is spoken with is critical. The word is all too often used sarcastically or at least dismissively. You ask your wife how she liked the flowers you bought her and her response is “they’re fine”, believe me, the fight you thought you were using the flowers to apologize for is anything but over. There is certainly a counter attack brewing and in all likely hood, you’ll never see it coming. I warned people I worked with that if they asked me how I was doing or how my day was going and I responded “it’s fine”, walk away and live to see another day that might in fact be at least better. At the very least, don’t offer to fix it and certainly, not me.

My next word is in the vain of a descriptor. It can advocate for change or it can inflict guilt or shame. The word is “disappoint”. I have always believed that to tell someone they are a disappointment is close to the worst thing you could say. You have taken them to the lowest emotional level and undoubtedly given them little help in how to correct it. Had you explained that what they “did” was the disappointment, well then there is hope. I can always be careful to not do that again or possibly redo what was so disappointing. Things can be disappointing, people shouldn’t be. The taste of a particular food or the outcome of an event can be disappointing, but that can either be avoided as in the case of food, or hopefully will come out better next time. If a person is a disappointment, the message is that the person is now to be avoided. I will admit that even I have let the word slip and that some of my readers may feel I am being a bit dramatic, but as long as you know how I will take it, this particular blog might be disappointing, but hopefully you didn’t mean I was.

The last of my four words is “never”. Don’t use the word to describe a promise that might not be attainable as in “I’ll never do that again”, because odds are you just might. Avoid using it as a sense of finality as in “that’s never going to happen”. You very likely won’t be around long enough to ever know if it didn’t. “Never” implies that there is no chance for change as in “you are never going to get me to eat that”. Change is inevitable and most of those things I told my parents I would never eat, well I have, and in some cases, raw oysters as an example, have become a delicacy. The finality of the word is “just” too much to promise and might turn out to be a “disappointment”. Here’s where you get to say, “okay fine.”

I know I advertised only four words, and I do reserve the right to add others, but there is one more piece of speech that generally leaves me agitated. It’s actually an acronym for a phrase, FYI. I always wish the speaker would have found a different way to tell me they were sharing information. The FYI statement seems to feel condescending at best. It sort of speaks for itself in saying, if this was really important, I would have found a very personal way of sharing it with you. It all too often comes off as a power statement from the person uttering the FYI. How about “for the sake of clarity” or maybe “because this might be helpful” instead of the “just FYI because I guess YOU missed it.” If I want to get information to you, I want it to feel like a gift or maybe even a secret piece of information I wanted to share with only you.

In concluding this little diatribe of mine, I will share a story about a similar experience with my oldest daughter, Bailey. She was about 3 or 4 years old at the time. We were headed to the grocery store the day after Easter. I remember it was Easter because the whole issue started with her big plastic Easter egg full of goodies. Upon opening the car door in a crowded parking lot, mostly refined gentile ears, her egg dropped to the pavement and cracked open. Nonplussed, Bailey all too loudly declared, “s**t, I dropped my damn egg.” Needless to say, I was mortified, well at least embarrassed, and promptly explained that those were “bad” words and shouldn’t be used. Bailey quickly reminded me “but daddy, you say them too” and now I am really embarrassed. Once back home, Bailey immediately got to work. In no time at all, she had formed a list of words we could no longer use. Topping her list were three words, “but”, “crap” and “junk”. Now I knew she meant “butt”, but (no pun intended) she didn’t differentiate. For quite sometime, I found my colorful description of things severely curtailed, and I had to find a new way of defending my point without the use of the word “but”.

Words are powerful tools. They can hurt or heal. They can advocate change or leave us hopeless. They can convey a message or imply a demand. I am a writer at heart and I can only hope that today I have chosen my words carefully.

Thanks for reading.

Cycle of Fear…Nervousness part II

Posted on January 11, 2018 by kwundrow

As a frame of reference, that is my three year old grandchild climbing in that wire tunnel. Now his ability to conquer fear is his lack of experience. To a three year old, “what could possibly go wrong, Opa?”

It’s been awhile since I worked on this series. I guess I was “fearing” trying to finish it and my “anxiousness” got the better of me. The truth is, I got distracted. Life has kind of gotten in the way and more pressing blog posts were required. But I’m back on track.

Ironically, I am about to do another public presentation. I am past the fear, after all it is a topic that is near and dear to me. I am even past the anxious stage for the most part, the date was set and the outline has been made. All that’s left is for me to step up in front of the crowd. Am I nervous, yes. No one truly knows how the first words out of your mouth will be received. That is the state of “nervousness”. Your fear at having to step out or into your act has subsided, somewhat, and that feeling of being anxious has also calmed down. It’s just a little voice in the back of your brain asking “are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” Your answer, if you’ve made it to this point, is “do I really have a choice?”

All that is left is for you to push back that voice in your head and step into the light. You really can’t turn back very easily at this point. For me, I have found myself on the strut of an airplane 4000 feet up ready to jump, or strapped into a harness connected to an over sized kite running headlong toward a 3000 foot cliff, or grabbing the cables of a 60 degree, 800 foot climb to the top of a mountain, or even just stepping out onto the stage in front of four hundred people. In every case, the answer for me was “no, I don’t have a choice.” I really couldn’t turn back, so I pushed back the nervousness with that last bit of commitment and I was there.

I will never tell you this is easy. If it were, there wouldn’t be the next stage, excitement. I will also tell you that it doesn’t get easier each time you try it. You just move through the stages faster and that’s thanks to experience. Just convince yourself that you are going to go through with it and walk fear back with reassurance, reduce anxiousness with preparation and finally tell nervousness to fuel your energy.

If you’ve made it this far, the last two stages are lined up and they are the pay-off for the effort; excitement and energy. Stay tuned and I will get to these two next time.

Thanks for reading and always, thanks for trying.

Stuff… or how I won the war.

Posted on January 7, 2018 by kwundrow

It’s strange how stuff can take over our lives. If you’re not careful, one day your office turns into the family storage bin. I had run a business out of my home for twelve years, offering my clients a professional and comfortable place to meet with me and benefit from my services. At least I’m pretty sure they benefited or why did they keep coming back. About twenty years ago I merged my practice with a local firm and my office was soon sitting vacant. Oh I still tried to keep it as an office, but I was losing the battle.

It seemed the stuff of life was running out of space in the rest of our house and just like that it began its relentless take over. It must have happened late in the evening when we had retired to our bedroom and then, in the darkness of night, the stuff would creep downstairs and take up position in my office. On the occasions when I would stop into my office, I would sense it getting smaller but I couldn’t quite identify the invaders. For awhile they hid in the closet and under the desk and this alone might explain why in my complacency, I hadn’t noticed them. They are sneaky, that stuff of life, and I think they breed. No other explanation could adequately explain how suddenly they were under the bed too. Wait, the bed? When did an entire bed sneak in here? I couldn’t even find a room in the house from which it might have escaped. And yet it had clearly taken up residency and now the stuff was hiding under there.

As the years passed, the office was overrun. There was no corner that the invading army hadn’t claimed. If only there had been a United Nations of Offices to come to my rescue, I would still have an office and the insidious Army of Stuff could have been held within its borders and my office would still be a free nation. But of course, I was too late to the war and my office was gone.

But wait, there is a happy ending. Retirement left me without an office and my old office would need to be reclaimed. I rolled up my sleeves, and yes, opened my wallet, and the war of reclamation was begun. It has taken several hard fought months but the invading horde has been soundly defeated and sent packing. Off to Goodwill and Restore and any other Nation of Stuff that would take them in. Oh there were casualties, as there will always be in these type battles, but in the end my office has been restored and is thriving.

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As testament to its existence, I decided to write this piece. My office, once the work place of a multitude of IRS forms and then the land of unrelenting stuff, is now my writing office and yes, semi man cave. Tomorrow I will build a moat at its entrance and employ some stout guards to patrol the perimeter. Stuff, TAKE NOTICE. If you try a counter attack, YOU WILL BE REPELLED. This office is mine. Long live the King.

Cancer Sucks

Posted on December 29, 2017 by kwundrow

I am sure that if you have suffered with cancer or had a loved one or friend deal with this disease, you will agree with me that cancer sucks. I have lost several close friends to cancer and have had many others left to deal with the treatments. Yesterday I lost my brother-in-law, Horst Klemm, to this awful disease. It is personal and it is painful.

Horst was a cornerstone in our family. He was a mountain man who would hunt elk in the mountains above his home in Bishop, Ca. He was a rancher as each year he would take their horses up to the mountain meadows. Horst was a fisherman with many a catch to brag about each year as he and my sister would travel to Alaska. He was a craftsman who built and remodeled hundreds of homes in and around the Owen’s Valley. He was a husband and a father and the best grandfather anyone could hope to know. And through it all he faced his cancer with courage and determination.

It could be said that he led a great life and accomplished much. But that would be an excuse for leaving us too soon. Cancer respects no time frame, no family dynamic, no age or importance. It takes its victims indiscriminately. It took Horst and he will be missed dearly by his friends and family.

Cancer sucks. It always has and it always will. I for one will support with my resources those working for its cure. I challenge all who would read this to do the same. For those of you who have been directly affected, I know you already do. For those who have never been affected, do so in honor of the good health you enjoy.

I will miss you Horst. I will miss your caring nature, your rugged approach to life and the wisdom you always so graciously shared with us all.

Godspeed Horst.

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