When I Grow Up

A young boy, or even a young girl for that matter, has dreams of being several different things when they grow up. Very few individuals are so extremely focused, that they end up being what they dreamed of at the age of ten. Grandpa was a diesel mechanic and the patriarch of our family, so of course I want to be just like Grandpa. When I was old enough to start helping work on vehicles, I realized this wasn't really my cup of tea. I stuck with it for as long as I could possibly tolerate, but I was still searching and dreaming. I helped my uncle for a short time, in his auto body shop. The only thing I enjoyed about that was the paycheck, and being located half a block away from Orsi's bakery. I mowed some lawns, and also worked for a lawnmower repair shop. Didn't really care for the repair shop. It was too much like automotive repair, plus the owner was a screaming, raving, lunatic, who liked to hear himself yell, not only at employees, but an occasional customer. I needed the money, so I stuck with it until just before graduation. So now I've graduated, and I'm unemployed, with not a clue in the world what direction I want to take my life. I couldn't afford college on my own, and didn't have any scholarship offers, because I was just a mediocre student with mediocre enthusiasm about school. So here I am wondering what I'm going to do with my life. At eighteen, its time to stop dreaming, and start acting. It just so happened, a friend of mine informed me that his dad needed some extra help. His dad was self employed and was a tilesetter. I wasn't one hundred percent sure what was involved, but I needed a job, and was willing to give it a try. It was very hard work, but rather fulfilling at the time. So I stuck it out, and am still doing it today. Since then, I've taken an interest in custom concrete work. As a tilesetter, part of our job training is working with concrete on a smaller scale than an actual concrete guy, but an important and necessary part of our job requirements. So I now dabble in custom concrete countertops, fireplaces, furniture, anything you could possibly imagine outside the normal realm of concrete work. But, for the last several years, I've started making my own Italian sausage. I was able to formulate a pretty good recipe from two different sources, and have been pumping out (literally) some decent sausage. I've had several people tell me I've missed my calling. One person wanted to back me in a business venture, and claimed he would purchase my product on a regular basis, and be willing to pay more for my product than other sausage out on the market. Things like this get me thinking. I'm 45 years old now,... what do I want to be when I grow up. There's the responsible side of me that keeps me going to work each day, and fulfill my creative side, and there's the adventurous side that wants to try something new, whether it be sausage making, or.... sausage making. I'm just wondering if the 'road to sausage' is going to become like assembly line work. I'm not built for that. But could I do it long enough to build a business, and then sell it for a ridiculous amount of money? Maybe. In the meantime, I digress.

Textually Active

It took me awhile, but I finally caught on to text messaging, and have found it very useful. So now I use 3 of the multiple features on my phone:) It comes in handy when you need to ask someone a question that usually requires a 'yes', or 'no' answer. I occasionally have to deal with a couple of individuals throughout the day, who, once they have you on the phone, you're captive for the next 15 minutes. They blab non stop, and say the same things over and over. Sometimes I get off the phone with them, and think, "What was the answer to the question"? For people like this, only texting should be allowed. They have to make it short and concise. I am fully aware that texting while driving is illegal, and in the past, I've been guilty of such criminal activity, but now I try to wait til I'm at a destination, or at the very least, stopped at a red light, before I respond. Some may consider texting the 'only' way to effectively communicate these days. It may be quick and to the point, but it loses the sincerity of the human voice. For instance, a person may be hesitant to tell a lie face to face. It's a bit easier over the phone. Texting has taken the guilt completely out of it! Think of your grandparents' generation. When they were young and dating, they would actually take the time to sit and write a letter, or send a card with their feelings and sentiments. Years later, they can still dig that card or letter out of the closet, and feelings of endearment may come over them again, as it did so many years ago. Todays texters, do you think they look back on the text messages from years ago, and get to relive those magical moments? Nope, your mailbox if full - time to delete. So the more we're attached to inanimate objects, the less the world has to practice loving and showing consideration for one another. All I'm saying is, the more technology advances, and the general populace embraces it, I feel there's a price to pay. Texting definitely has a benefit, but human contact is far superior. There's a time to shut your text hole, and open your pie hole.

The Weekend

Most people work for the weekend. You start hearing TGIF on Thursday afternoons. And this is true for the majority of America that works a 9 to 5 job. Self employment, on the other hand, plays by a different set of rules. Your 'weekend' is going to vary drastically from the established weekend everybody else follows. Let me explain. This particular weekend, I have to go look at a job this afternoon. These folks are in a hurry to get their bathroom whipped into shape so they can put it on the market to sell. Once we iron out a few details, they're going to pull the trigger, which means the ball has just been putted on to my green. If my work load were a little heavier at this moment, I would be there Sunday morning, tearing their bathroom apart, getting it ready to put back together on Monday. Self employment is not bound by 9 to 5, Monday thru Friday. You tackle it as it walks through the door. The work comes and goes in waves. Sometimes tsunamis. I hardly ever work a 40 hour week. If we're slow, 30. If we're busy, as much as 70 to 80. Holidays are just another day. I have, at one time or another, worked on every single holiday. It's not that big of a deal to me, but the people who are enjoying their day off with their families, you would think the last thing they would want, is to hear power tools being run in their house on their holiday. Self employment can bring some rather big challenges concerning work load. There has been stretches where I've worked 35 - 40 days straight, with no days off in between. Unfortunately, there have been days where I did not see my children. Up and out the door early, home by 11 PM. On the flip side, there have been weeks where my children are sick of seeing me and ask, "When are you going back to work Dad"? Then there's the dreaded paperwork. I hate paperwork! My desk is a constant clutter. I feel as if I'm shifting piles from one location to another, just so I can feel like I've accomplished something at my desk. Computers were originally designed to greatly reduce the amount of paperwork involved in running a business. I think its just added another layer of work to the secretary, namely me. You have to record things in a computer, and keep hard copies in case your computer crashes, or, the IRS wants a peek at what you've been up to. Many times, weekends are spent, what I like to call, 'Doing my homework'. So now that I'm finished ranting about 'Living the Dream' of being you own boss, I'm putting on my game face for the day. Enjoy the weekend all! It is Saturday, right?

Mother Tongue

Last night, over dinner, I was talking with a friend about the English language, and what would be considered proper 'English'. In other words, what 'English' is considered to be spoken correctly, or as close to correct as possible. The 'English' spoken in Great Britain is who we have to thank for bringing English to this country. So technically, it's the older, possibly original, English spoken by anyone. Does this mean those of us in the Midwest have an accent? We're all very well aware if you travel to different portions of this country, you're going to hear different accents and nuances in the English language, some subtle, some not even recognizable. My friend brought up an interesting point. He says 'fact'. I don't know that for sure. The 'English' spoken in the Midwest is the most recognizable, and is the easiest form of 'English' to actually learn. Then there's the Aussies who have bastardized the British accent to the point of making the language funny. And how about those Irish? To me, it sounds as if they're just making up words to fill in the blanks, because they don't know the proper 'English'. The Cajun people, I don't even know where to start, but they are fun to listen to. So if the English language is so diverse, and seems ever changing, how about other languages? Do they have the same identity crisis? The French spoken in Quebec, is it the same French spoken in France? The Portuguese used by the Brazilians, did it survive the trip across the Atlantic, or has it morphed into a dialect? I just want to know who is speaking correctly, and who needs speech therapy.

Proceed With Caution

If anyone knows me well, you're aware of my 'less than enthusiastic' attitude toward soup. I am not a fan, and will not push the 'LIKE' button - usually. I'm not a total hater of all soups, just the ones that don't taste good, or the ones where ingredients are floating in a bathtub of broth. Many people feel you can turn any ingredient into soup. "Hey, a leftover cheeseburger! That would be good with rice and celery". I just threw up a little as I was writing that. So many soups have ingredients that are hidden or mysterious,... until you put it in your mouth. I don't appreciate the tofu that looks like a noodle, or a chicken part that is diced so you can't distinguish the fact it's a piece of liver. Recently someone was disappointed when they found out the jalapenos were actually okra. I will admit, I do enjoy a hearty, thick soup that could really be eaten with a fork if I so choose. The list is short though. Chili is acceptable, along with beer cheese soup. A friend makes a steak and mushroom that I actually crave. I'll have to sit and ponder this for awhile to come up with others. There's a few I don't mind if I doctor them up before entering my mouth. Sometimes sour cream does the job, or a whole handful of crackers or potato chips to soak up the bath water. If you invite me for a meal, I'm not going to cry about being served soup, but I'm probably going to eat a peanut butter sandwich when I get home, to actually fill my void. I know when times get tough, I may be brought to the reality of broth with a rock in it, but that's where imagination will have to fill in. If I paint tines on my spoon, maybe that will trick my brain. My stomach, I don't know.

In A Hurry?

So last weekend, I needed a few things at the grocery store, for a get together. As usual, I try to squeeze the most minutes out of my day. So I thought I would pop in to a grocery store on my way home - one I don't usually shop at. Stupid, stupid, stupid idea! First of all, I'm not sure where everything is located, so I have to spend extra time searching the aisles. Second of all, it's a Saturday, which brings out every non - English speaking person, AND their twelve relatives in tow, plus every old person at the wheel of a motorized cart. It's like a demolition derby, south of the border! Simply put - CHAOS! So I quickly maneuver the aisles with speed and precision, dodging motorized carts trying to take my knees out, and leaping over crying, snot - nosed kids, laying in the middle of the aisle, acting as human speed bumps for the motorized retired NASCAR racers. I've procured my four items, now time to plan a strategy for the checkout and exit. Squeeze between the big butted person bending over to pick up the screaming, dirt faced, toddler, and the old guy in coveralls, who wreaks of cigarette smoke, and kitty litter, dodge another cart that just ran into a display of Captain Crunch, juke the guy who looks like he's in as big a hurry as I am, and jump into the 'Express Lane', where only individuals with twelve items or less, are allowed. Then it comes to a screeching halt! The two women at the front of the checkout, have a whole basket of groceries, enough items to occupy three 'Express Lanes'. They must have misunderstood the sign, and messed up on their addition. If you can only count to twelve, then you have to start over, which means you have twelve items, twelve items, and eight items. That apparently qualifies you for the 'Express Lane'. But wait, they almost forgot the coupons! And to slow the whole process down, the older one (the one without the dentures), is doing all the communicating with the checker, which means the checker is only understanding 25% of what's being spoken. Top that off with a checker who's obviously 'less than thrilled' to be there, and you now have the slowest checkout line in the store. In fact, the line next to us shoved three individuals, with fully laden carts through, in the same amount of time it took to get the 'dream team' of two women through. Instead of saving precious seconds, it probably cost me fifteen minutes. And of course, Murphy's Law dictates that since I had to use the bathroom in addition to being in a time crunch, this was surely to occur. Lesson learned? Probably not. One positive thing that came out of this excursion - I got caught up on all my super market tabloids:)

Stumped

Double-sided tape is a wonderful invention, but which side to use?