Spent a good deal of time in the car recently.  Podcasts help pass the miles.  When I got tired of them, we turned on songs that were popular back in high school.  Nothing brings back memories better than music.  Memories always lead to reflections. Reflections was the name of the 1970 one hit wonder by the band called Marmalade. Knowing that, would make my dear friend Ron proud. (More on songs in a bit) The end of the calendar year also is a time for reflections. 

2025 was a year of drama, trauma, recovery and loss.  Not by me, but by those who are in my life or have crossed paths with me over the years.

My 95 year old mother tripped over her vacuum cord, refused medical care until it was too late, and ended up with three surgeries and three weeks in the hospital.   Probably the most gruesome wound I’ve ever seen.  It’s incredible she kept her leg and her life.  Prayer, an amazing surgeon and magnificent health care providers made the difference.   She has been banned from vacuuming anymore.

Besides that major event I found way too many people showing up in the local obituaries. Part of that is my age.  I’m older than I feel.  Co-workers and former co-workers, neighbors, new friends and old friends.  Doesn’t seem right, but its reality.  

Seals and Croft played on the car radio.  “We may never pass this way again.” So true.

Right before Thanksgiving I received a text letting me know a former classmate had unexpectedly passed away.  I hadn’t stayed connected to this lady.  Frankly, our paths never crossed. My former neighbor hadn’t stayed in touch either.  We both had a connection years ago.  For many years, my neighbor was a cheerleader with this lady.  I was involved with Student Government with her. Fortunately, my neighbor reconnected with this sweet lady two years ago.  They corresponded a few times and met in person a few months before her passing.  Her name was Mary.

Like the 1998 movie, there was “Something about Mary” that made her special.  She was always smiling. She had that cute smile that matched her twinkling eyes.  She loved all sports.  Very likely because she came from a sports family.  Her dad was a successful long-time college football coach.  She was a two sport cheerleader, but since baseball didn’t have cheerleaders she came up with the idea of being a “Bat Girl.”  She had a jersey with her name on the back and she knew what she was doing in her role.  Of course none of the guys cared she sat on the bench with the rest of us.  I have no doubt they jockeyed for the seat next to Mary.   She was always a positive force for any group she was part of.

My former neighbor, (who by the way is as beautiful of a person on the inside as she is on the outside) lamented to me how sad she was that so many years had gone by without keeping in touch with Mary.  I told her life happens.  Miles are not always ribbons to tie us together.  They are often coupled with many other things that keep friends apart. 

The silver lining I shared was indeed they had reconnected two years ago. The enjoyed time together in person just months before Mary passed. 

“Precious and few are the moments we two can share” came across the radio speaker.  So true. “Climax” had been spot on.

I too wish I had visited with Mary at some point over the last 50 years.  I also wish I could recall and reflect on more memories of our school days.

Over the years I have given many presentations and talks.  I doubt audience members will remember what I told them.  But what I really wanted was for each to remember how I made them feel. 

And so it is with me and Mary.   I may not remember specifics, but I do remember how Mary made me feel.  I felt joy and happiness being around Mary.  She was always positive. Mary ran for two student government roles (that I remember).  She won both elections.  Mary was a winner.  She was married for 50 years and had two terrific sons.  She left a legacy and a glowing ripple effect on those who knew her.

My neighbor told me she thinks of Mary as a star in our heavenly sky.  As I reflect on her shimmering blonde hair and her million dollar smile I think that is a shining description of a life well lived and a legacy for others to reflect on with their own smiles. 

Until next time….

I didn’t make a class reunion this summer. Come to think of it, I also didn’t make a fraternity reunion either. It’s not that I’m unsocial, a snob, afraid or ashamed to attend. It just hasn’t worked out with my calendar and travel schedule. Apparently about 20 percent of the class were able to attend. So I guess I wasn’t the only one not in attendance.

There are dozens of reasons why people do or do not attend reunions. Many want to rekindle old friendships. Share photos of kids and grandkids. See how classmates turned out. It seems to me with the onslaught of the digital age, knowing current history of just about anyone is at your finger tips. Distance is no longer a barrier. I would imagine people reach out to those they miss.

High School was a good time. Made a great many mistakes and learned a good bit. Then I moved on. I kept in touch over the years with a few special people. People who made a difference and continue to enrich my life.

I recall a line Tripper Harrison once shared with Rudy at Camp Northstar, “You make one friend a summer you’re doing good.” I think that’s quite true. It’s those one, two or maybe even a dozen people who you cling to as the years go by that make your life special.

Reunions can be a wonderful event for many people. As for me, I will continue to look forward to anyone who wants to reach out, come visit or share any information and joy about their lives. Whether our lives crossed paths in high school, college or the business world, I’m always interested in what may be going on in someone’s life. I wish everyone all the best as the months and years go by.

Until next time…

My dear friend George, who turned 100 last month, once told me: “Growing old, there’s no future in it.”

He has a point, but I’m still looking for that silver lining in my future.

Recently, while running errands on an extremely rainy day, I had the opportunity to buck the trend of old age and use it to my benefit. At my first stop, I stepped out of the CR-V into three inches of standing water. As an eight year old, I would have thoroughly enjoyed it, but as a senior citizen not so much fun. The cold water swallowed my sock and filled my left tennis shoe. It also gave my spine quite a shiver. The damage was done, nevertheless I jumped back into the Honda and moved to higher ground.

At my next stop, I figured I’d just take off my shoe and sock. Wring out the sock, dump the excess water out of the shoe and put them back on. And that’s what I did. My next stop was the supermarket. I tried to balance on a grocery cart, but the wheels didn’t make it easy. So I sat down on the ledge of the produce counter. I took of my shoe and turned it upside down. No water trickled out. Good deal, I thought. It must have soaked into the sock. Next step was to remove my sock and wring it out. While all this was happening, I was told this not a good thing to do in a grocery store. “It’s the kind of thing an old man would do.”

“What do you think I am?” Was my retort. I quickly wriggled my sock back on and slipped into my black canvas sneaker. With the shopping completed, we headed for the parking lot. Timing is everything and today the timing wasn’t good. The rain was pouring so severely you couldn’t see the cars in the lot. Waiting was an option, but not a long-term one. Not with frozen foods in the sacks and a 25 minute drive ahead.

I opened the umbrella and made a semi-mad dash for the car. Once there, I threw the umbrella on the passenger floorboard and flung myself behind the wheel. My left side was drenched, but I figured it matched my left foot in water consumption. I pulled the CR-V under the carport style over hang where the overfilled grocery cart stood waiting. As the rain was cascading off the overhang like a mini-waterfall. I methodically began loading the car. My peripheral vision felt someone standing next to me.

“Sir, you are not allowed to park your vehicle here.” Was the soft, timid voice coming from the short young lady. “But since you are already loading your groceries, it will be ok this time. Just don’t do it again.”

Her stern direction, didn’t match her size nor the twinkle in her eye.

I kept loading, a little faster now, and leaned down to her. “Oh sweetie,” I’m old, and I didn’t know I couldn’t pull up here in the rain.”

I was sheepish, apologetic and pretty pathetic. But I stayed dry, as did my groceries.

I closed the back passenger door and met my reflection in the window. This wasn’t the thirty something guy who would’ve had a much quicker quip and retort. This reflection was several decades later filled with creases and a sheepish grin.

I had done two things an old man would do and it wasn’t even eleven a.m. And I still had three errands to run. As rain continued to fall, I had already found a silver lining in my day. And it wasn’t in my wet sock.

Until next time…

Do you ever have a moment where something prompts a memory? The older I get, the more that seems to happen to me. A visual, song on the radio, a clip from an old movie or television show. They all take me back to another time. Not always a pleasant memory, but a memory just the same.

Last Sunday we celebrated Easter. I was waiting to hear “Christ the Lord has Risen Today” or ” Lift High the Cross.” Neither was sung. Instead “The Old Rugged Cross” was sung. Instantly, images of my late father sitting in his recliner belting out that hymn flashed through my mind. It was bittersweet, but the memory warmed my heart.

A few days later I was out on the lake. Near the spot where I relaxed sat a very old, withered buckeye tree. I had once known the owner of that buckeye tree. It brought back two distinct memories.

The first was when I was about eight. There was a buckeye tree on the street where my grandma lived. We would climb that tree and use a stick or toss a rock to try to get the buckeyes to fall to the sidewalk. We’d crack them open and save them in a Hill’s Brother coffee can after we had shined them to a clear sheen.

The second memory was from this very tree. The owner of the tree used to tell my kids “If you put a buckeye in your pocket when you take a test at school, you will get a good grade.” He would follow that up with “It also will help if you study.”

My kids never heard the second part, but they would frequently carried a buckeye in their backpacks on test days. Two wonderful memories from simplier days long ago.

I find myself sitting on the swing out by lake much more often these days. It’s an escape and a location that allows me to contemplate about a variety of topics. Everyone needs a place like this. I suspect many of you do have a special spot to ponder your past or future.

Just the other day, the sun was setting fast, the breeze was slight and the lake had a particular shimmer to it. I picked up my phone to check the forecast and Spotify came up. What do you imagine began playing? The Eagles, “Peaceful Easy Feeling.” Coincidence? I don’t think so. It was a memory and the timing was incredible. The song lyrics from 1972 were perfect for the moment.

I don’t second guess when memories like these pop into my head. I just try to relish and enjoy them. And wish they would happen more often.

Until next time…

Spring time in the Carolinas is a magical time. I realize spring time is magical in many places. Here, however, it is extra special. I recall in the north, Spring was a mixed bag of a warm day, a rainy chilly day or a blustery day too windy to go for a walk. Flowers would pop out of the ground and then be covered with a heavy frost or even snow. I know in Northern Wisconsin it could snow well into May.

Things begin popping in the Carolinas in March. By St. Patrick’s Day the dormant brown grass turns green. I tell visitors that is all by design. When April rolls around the dogwoods and Azaleas are painting the landscapes with pink, red, fuschia flourescent colors. The forsthyia bushes are a bright sunshine yellow and usually complement the edge of yards and roadways.

So if this is the good, what’s the bad? Well if you’ve ever lived around pine trees you already know. It’s the pine pollen that covers anything and everything for days on end. Sometimes even weeks. You can sweep your porch and patio, cover your outdoor furniture or even your sportscar, but the yellow persists. Once it finally subsides then here comes the pine tree seedlings. They literally come by the thousands. Sweep the sidewalks and an hour later they are back. Wake up in the morning and another several thousand cover every outdoor surface. You can’t ignore them because they crunch up when you walk on them and bring them into your homes.

By the time the pollen is gone and the seeds have subsided the colors turn from their gorgeous palatte to their usual green. The colors are overwhelming, but it all happens too quickly. You want the beauty to last forever, but it doesn’t. Nothing does.

My dear friend and co-worker turned 100 last week! He still works 20 hours a week. He still drives his own faded blue Toyota Corolla and still does his own grocery shopping. His skin is thin, his back is crooked and his gait is measured and slow. Remarkably his brain, wit and charm is as sharp and beautiful as if he were 25. He takes every day one at a time. Recently he asked me why he is still here. “That’s easy,” I told him. “You have people here who need you to continue to bringing them joy. And God still has plans for you on earth.”

He smiles, rolls his eyes a little and sighs. Sure he has aches and pains, but he takes the good with the bad and that’s what makes him so beautiful.

Likes the azaleas and the dogwoods, he won’t last forever. Nevertheless, we are blessed with each day our world is made more beautiful by the colors of Spring and the presence of this Centagenarian.

Until next time…

As you go through life you are bound to encounter certain people who are larger than life. I’ve been blessed to have this happen several times. Today I wanted to focus in on a man I met over 30 years ago. I was a nobody and he was a somebody. But from the first day I met him, he treated me like I was the most important person in his life.

As luck and fate would have it, he eventually became one of my bosses. Working with him every day made my job exponentially more fun. He had a proven record of success and he graciously shared his expertise with everyone.

His success was based on his ability to communicate. His command of a room was exemplary. Whether it was a conference room or an arena, he had the listener captivated. He inspired, motivated and made you want to be a better employee. More importantly he drove you to be a better person. Before Jordan came along, I (and many others), wanted to be like Mike.

I could share dozens of stories of Mike’s ability to motivate, to lead by example, and to achieve successful results. He often reminded me of a swan. A swan will glide across the water with pure grace. Under the water the swan is paddling madly, but above the water that fury goes undetected. Mike handled his role the same way. Never showed stress and always looked in control.

I moved on after a few years, but we always kept in touch. He never forgot a birthday, a promotion or just reaching out to check on me. When my son was born, Mike was like an uncle. He took my son to the movies or out for ice cream. Mike organized a group to go to Tennessee for a Vols game more than once and included everyone’s kids on the trip. A memory neither me or my son would forget. Mike and his beautiful wife even flew 1000 miles to attend my son’s wedding.

I’ve tried to paint a picture of a successful man who has touched thousands of lives and made a difference. He did this by always being positive. His attitude never waivered no matter the circumstances. Over the years, he has met all of his health challenges with a “glass half full” persona. There has been no mountain too high for him to scale.

He has been a role model in every sense of the phrase. You could never leave Mike without him making you smile So allow me to tell you a story that always makes me smile. I hope it will make you smile as well.

We had just left a restaurant where all the wait staff were magicians. The menus were handkerchiefs used as props by the magicians. They were collected after we ordered. So we thought. Following the delicious meal and table show we walked out into the chill of a biting January wind. Our little group was walking behind Mike when he turned and said, “I have a magic trick of my own.”

He began waving his hands in front of his stomach and then dropped them to his fly. With a deft touch he unzipped his pants to a gasp from the female in the crowd. Then with an “Abracadabra and a Voillee” he began pulling something out of his trousers. It was the menu the waiter was supposed to have collected from each of us. This may not seem funny to you the reader, but to us it was Mike at his finest. Never missing a chance to provide his audience with a memorable moment. I’ll never forget that magical evening, capped off by Magic Mike.

That was just one example of a man who has given so many memories and so much of himself to every person he has touched. More than 30 years later I am still learning from him. We should all want to be like Mike. God Bless you Mike.

Until next time…

Have you ever been inside a washing machine? No? Neither have I. But sometimes I feel like I am. These days, I go to bed feeling like my brain has been jammed into a load of dirty, smelly clothing. Then it’s tossed around with suds and water to a point I can’t keep my head above the moisture. Then comes the spin cycle. In many regards, this is the worst part. Following this stage the garment is pulled from the machine. At this point, you do your best to make what came out of the machine look and smell better than when it went in. I’m fairly certain this is where someone or something came up with the name “spin.”

Rarely are things exactly as we are told. Most things come to us following the media spin cycle. I am being kind when saying I take everything with a grain of salt. Frankly, today I have a hard time knowing what is a fact. Whether to affect a viewpoint or produce clicks, statistics and story lines are manipulated to tell the story the writer wants to tell.

I rarely watch news of any kind because each network has their own spin. As bad as the media is, politicians are equally horrible. A politician admitting they are wrong about anything doesn’t exist. Here are more examples of spin in today’s world:

• An incorrect news story runs on the front page of a newspaper. It is proven to be false. A few days later on the back page of a different section of the paper a correction admitting certain facts were incorrect appears.
• An interview is conducted on a broadcast. The interview is edited to create a story that wasn’t the intent or crux of the interviewee’s message. The interviewee complains and is accused of sour grapes, or being a liar.
• Facts about a certain subject (climate change, unemployment, inflation, illegal immigration, etc.) are told only from one side. The reader or viewer must decide and discern what they want to believe.
• If you believe something someone else doesn’t believe you may be labeled.
• Labels have always been a way to silence people.

Conspiracy Theorist, Racist, Phobic, Denier, Hoaxer, are just a few examples of the labels permeating the lexicon. They are used regularly and often flippantly. They have lost their impact and relevance.

Between the spin and the labels we now find ourselves in the most divisive times of my life. So what do we do about it?

This spin cycle reminds me of pulling a sheet from the washer. Sometimes it is so twisted and gnarled it is unrecognizable as a bedsheet. It takes time to unwind, pull and straighten out. This is what we need to remember as the media spins and the labels are projected.

• Review the data and make your own informed decisions
• Don’t believe everything you read, see or hear
• Don’t lose faith, but verify your resources
• Understand the root cause and effects of the information presented before you. In other words what is the reason behind the intent of the story. Who is trying to be influenced?
• Don’t be silenced
• Believe in your convictions and in yourself.

Until next time…

It’s getting to be that time of year. Harvests across the Heartland are in full gear. Leaves are turning red and gold and Thanksgiving is less than a month away. One of several symbols of Thanksgiving is the Cornucopia. In Latin Cornucopia means horn of plenty. According to mythology baby Zeus was being cared for and fed by the goat Amalthea. Zeus broke off one of her horns. That horn began supplying him with food everyday. And from that myth the “horn of plenty” came to symbolize prosperity, wealth and abundance.

We live in a country of abundance. When compared to the rest of the world, as a country, we are blessed beyond comprehension in many, many ways.

Unfortunately, when I think of that symbol my mind does a complete 180. Our country is not filled with the goodness of the Thanksgiving Cornucopia. It seems to me it’s filled with:

• Division through ideology
• Media cannot be trusted or trust at your own peril
• Hate and ignorance permeates many of our college and university campuses
• A wide open border, leading to crime and a massive drug problem
• Corrupt, lying, greedy politicians who lack integrity
• Inflation is eating away at the paychecks of our hard-working Americans

Frankly, I could go on and on, but the Cornucopia is already overflowing. We do have abundance, but it is abundance of enormous challenges and uncertainties.

We are in a time where civil discourse is rare. Seems to me we can no longer agree to disagree. If we disagree one of us is wrong. This division grows larger as world events occur. The middle ground no longer exists and it is destroying the fabric of our society.

So many media outlets are major drivers of this division. Video, audio and print mediums are all to blame. People watch, listen or read what reinforces their beliefs and allows them to fortify and embolden their views. Reason and logic seem to have disappeared. Sound bites, headlines, chants and rhetoric override facts, Frankly, it is nearly impossible to believe anything you hear, read or even see. Not being able to rely on media for truth makes everything worse. It divides are society and our country. Maybe to the point of no return.

The media has had a huge hand in shaping our country’s education system. From Kindergarten all the way through our colleges and universities we have watched changes taken place for years. The long term affect to our country has the potential to be devastating to our future. Every generation looks to the next generation with hesitation, trepidation and concern over where they will lead the country. I know my parents were concerned and now it is my turn to carry that same concern. Sadly, I think my concern holds far more grave consequences than ever before.

Without getting political, I believe it is safe to say the southern border is not closed. It is open and out of control. As Americans, we have no idea what this is doing to the backbone of our nation. Statistics tell us what the drugs flowing into our country are doing to our people. The loss of life and the present and future cost to our country is incalculable at this point. This predicament certainly brings to mind a haunting phrase we may come to rue, “The Enemy is within.”

So who can we trust to stop and turn around many of these problems? The first response is usually your government. But in the case of the United States, I’m afraid that’s not the answer or the solution. We’ve known for a long, long time, politicians cannot be trusted. All too often they come into office poor and leave office extremely well off. Immediately, I think of the late Harry Reid as a prime example. I know there are dozens more just like him. Other politicians are already wealthy and that wealth propels them into office. Wealth not only generates more wealth, but also breeds something far more insatiable…power.

We see that power in politicians who stay in D.C. too long, who are beholding to far too many special interests and who ignore their constituents in lieu of their own insatiable desire for more and more power. As with the media, I personally do not feel comfortable trusting my government and its leadership to have my best interests in mind.

To top all these issues off, we are now dealing with inflation that is stifling growth, small business expansion, home buying, and without being dramatic…the American Dream. Pensions are not meeting the inflation rate for retirees. Wages for the average workforce are not increasing to meet mortgage rates, the high price of food, gas and utilities. Increasing property taxes, insurance premiums and higher education tuition are additional crushing levers to Americans.

Yes, this cornucopia is overflowing in a very bad way. Can we rely on the media, our education system or our legislators? I want to believe we can, but I don’t want to be naive and my gut and my wallet tells me we cannot. So what can we do?

• We need to do our own research. We can’t rely on others to feed us their side of a story
• We have to think strategically. Whether it is financially in our own homes, or at the ballot box. What is best for our family and our country needs to be a guiding principle.
• We need to hold our local, state and federal officials accountable. We need to ask hard questions and follow those up with harder questions. All too often we aren’t bold enough to hold others accountable. That must change.
• Above all else, we need to have Faith. There are reasons we are where we are in this world. Only our deep and rock solid Faith will pull us through this “Cornucopia of Despair” to one of joy and abundance.

If it’s got to be it has to be up to you and me….

Until next time…

I recall a few years back, my son, who is normally in back of the camera as a producer, was doing the sports anchor job on Father’s day. Tiger Woods was winning the U.S. Open that Sunday, but what I recall most about the eight minutes of the broadcast was his opening line. “Happy Father’s Day to all you dads, and Happy Father’s Day to you too dad.”

In the movie, “Home for the Holidays” Charles Durning was sharing one of his important memories with Holly Hunter over the course of their lives together as father and daughter.

“Ten seconds tops, great moment in my life.”

That was exactly how I reflect on that moment in my life.

I had the same sense of pride when I walked my daughter into the arms of her husband on their wedding day.

Despite my many faults as a father, the kids turned into terrific adults.

As I reflect on fathers and their offspring just prior to Father’s Day 2023, an eddy of flashbacks spin through my head.

I recall Big Ed. A charismatic, generous man who was neither big nor imposing. Ed, the father of one my dearest friends always made me feel like a member of the family. As a teenager, and then as an adult with children of my own Big Ed always made me feel at home.

I’ve heard stories of another father who lost a leg in World War II and went on to farm and raise enormous, record setting pumpkins. His son, a veteran and a very important mentor to me, was astute and frankly brilliant, when he sat down with his dad one day and video recorded his dad retelling the highlights of his life. What a treasure that must be! I’m sad, I didn’t get to meet him myself.

And of course there is Father Frank, who I have written about many times before. Frank was not my father nor a Catholic Priest, but had a profound effect on my life. I wasn’t alone. With eight children and countless mentees along a forty year career, Frank’s legacy will live on long after I am gone.

Three brief examples of fathers. One I knew well, one I never met and one who really changed my life. Which brings me to my own dad.

For nearly all of his life, he was the guy who wanted to be active. He was a golf and a hunter. A hard worker and a guy who loved to laugh. Dad wrote poetry, historical prose and songs.  He wasn’t a great singer, but it didn’t stop him from belting out tunes.  He was an artist, had beautiful handwriting and was an award winning pumpkin carver.

Ray Kinsella built a baseball diamond in Iowa in an attempt to have his father walk through the cornfields just long enough to “have a catch” with him one more time. I could and can relate.

My dad enjoyed playing catch with a baseball or football, but there was an unspoken stipulation.  He had to be able to catch the balls without much movement.  If it was too low or too high he would feign an attempt and the ball would scoot or sail by him.  You than had to go get it while he waited. He wasn’t necessarily as much lazy as he was clever. It taught us all to hit our targets.

Dad was at his best when it came to a crisis. He handled drama, hardships and tragedy as well as anyone. His quiet, steely resolve got him and his family through and past tough times. Whether it was recovering from a broken leg or collar bone, the loss of a friend or family member, or other family drama, you could look to him and learn how to handle each challenging situation.  It’s that inner strength I hope I have learned.

My dad didn’t go out of this world the way he or I would have wished. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t pleasant. But like he lived his life, he persevered until he could go quietly without fanfare or drama. I certainly don’t miss the way he suffered at 93, but I vividly remember the many memorable days we shared in the back yard, on long car vacations, at a baseball stadium, or on the golf course. I am thankful and blessed with those memories. Happy Father’s Day Dad!

Until next time…

The first move a teenage boy usually makes on a girl is to hold her hand. I wasn’t there, but I suspect that was the case for my dad and mom. Particularly, on that sunny day at Miller Park when, as my dad describes, mom was wearing black shorts and a yellow blouse.

I don’t recall them being big on public displays of affection. Maybe a kiss good-bye in the mornings before dad went to work, but I do remember hand holding. As a matter of fact, there are photos of them holding hands as they walk the crowded streets of St. Louis following another Cardinal winner.

I’ve seen them walk hand-in-hand on a Florida beach and on trails in Rocky Mountain National Park. And many people will remember them walking to their car following a grandchild’s ballgame.  Lawn chair in one hand and their other hands clasp together.

A simple act of love.  Holding hands.  And so it was the last day they held hands.  Dad lying in bed and mom holding his hand. She sat there stroking the back of his hand and relishing the strength and warmth in his grip.  It gave her great comfort and I imagine it gave dad the same comfort and confidence to let go one last time and reach out for the hand of his Lord and Savior.  A fitting transition for a couple of teenagers who spent more than 75 years holding hands.

Until next time…