Parallel Universe

  

In a parallel universe moss and dandelions are prized, and mole hills are considered a luxury. As I walked down the driveway this morning to pick up my Sunday newspaper I accidently stepped into that universe for just a moment, and as I looked back at the house I realized that I have the nicest yard on the block.

Easter Morning

  

When I realized it was Easter this morning I ran to the refrigerator, flung open the door and yelled at the eggs “Run for your lives!” They just sat there looking up at me like the light was bugging ‘em or something. Just goes to show you can only help those who are willing to help themselves.

The Rite of Spring

  

Ah, the smell of fresh cut grass! Yes that’s right, today was the opening day of lawn mowing season here at Johnson Manor. It’s that special time of year when I hop on the old Cub Cadet, shift the lever from turtle to rabbit speed, pull out the choke and turn the key to begin the initial harvest of spring. Fuel and adrenalin surge as I feel the power of the machine with its twenty horses rumbling beneath me, and I feel my farming ancestors as they channel through my veins. Then with the mighty tractor’s finely tuned engine revving and its newly sharpened blades spinning in unison, I drive onto the lawn where I immediately begin flinging chipped rocks and bits of lost reading glasses all over the yard as the goats and donkeys run for cover; and then I pause to wonder, as chunks of rubber dog toys ricochet off the back of the house, why any engineer worth his college degree would design a riding lawnmower with only one beer holder.

C.E.O. Position Available:

Large American Corporation seeks C.E.O. with right qualifications. Applicant must be willing to accept obscenely large salary, benefit, and bonus package in compensation for slashing the wages and benefits of hourly employees, and eliminating hourly positions when and wherever possible. A successful applicant is one who can place short term profits above the long term health of the company, the community, and the environment. A successful applicant is one who favors modern marketing techniques over personalized service or quality products to maintain a strong customer base. The moral inability to deny a family a home, deny a woman her rights, deny a man his dignity, or deny a child a doctor may disqualify any applicant from this position. If chosen for this position you will be granted a chauffeured limousine, a company jet, and a seven city condo package. If you do not already have a trophy wife, one will be appointed to you at orientation. Large American Corp. is not an EEO employer. Wealthy white male psychopaths encouraged to apply.

Man Alive

  

I take my camera with me almost everyplace I go, but not inside the grocery store. After the photo opportunity I missed today however, I may have to reconsider that policy.

This morning I pulled into the WinCo Foods parking lot to pick up some Chinese mustard, sesame seeds, and dog food (No, there’s no correlation between the first two and the later item.) After parking the truck I set my camera behind the passenger seat as I always do in such places, and walked toward the entrance. As I approached, out of the store walked a white haired man who I would guess to be at least seventy five years old. He was pushing one of those big WinCo shopping carts about half full of groceries, and behind him walked a woman who I assume was his wife.

About ten feet outside the store the old man began pushing the cart faster and faster, leaving his wife behind. Then he put one foot up on the back of the cart, and gave a couple good shoves off the ground with the other foot, sending the cart and himself flying downhill between two rows of parked cars. My immediate reaction was to reach for the camera that I wasn’t carrying at the time, and as much as I wanted to run back to the truck for it, I knew the moment would be lost if I did. And so I just stood there and smiled as I watched.

The man with his thin gray hair flapping in the wind zoomed down the incline for about thirty yards, and then he and the cart gradually slowed as the parking lot tipped slightly uphill. When he stopped, he was just feet from his car, but barely within yelling distance of his wife, who continued to walk unperturbed toward her husband. What was she thinking, I wondered. “Damn you Harold! Why must you act like such a child?” or was she thinking “There goes my hero” and remembering a time when the wind blew in both of their faces. I certainly hope it was the later.

I continued to watch as he loaded the groceries into the trunk, pushed the cart to the cart corral, and returned just in time to open the car door for his wife. Yes I wished I had my camera, but the story will have to be enough. What a picture!

While shopping I realized that my new hero (the seventy-some year old kid) could have parked much closer to the store if he wanted to. There were plenty of spaces available. I bet he parks in that spot and takes that life affirming cart ride every time he and his wife go grocery shopping. And what a good wife he has. It’s not every woman who would walk that extra distance just so her husband could take such a joy ride. Leaving the store I imagine that he must have been a race car driver, or crop duster in his younger years… and yes, then I took a little cart ride of my own.

  

My Own Way

  
Please teach me nothing.
Let me find my own way.
Let me make my own mark on the wall,
Below the millions who have come before me,
Above the millions who behind me crawl.

Please show me nothing.
Let me use my own eyes.
Let me contemplate the world I see,
Here in the moment, from the my own perspective,
To witness and imagine what could be.

Please sing me nothing.
Let me hear my own song.
Let me hear the music of the land,
From melodies that blow through windy canyons,
To beating waves that crash upon the sand.

Please give me nothing.
Let me earn my own way.
Let me find a way to show my worth,
To add coin of gratitude for my time,
For all the days I walked upon this earth.
  

The Wall Street Doughboy

  
The Wall Street Journal reported that Hedge Fund Manager John Paulson earned a record $5 billion in individual income during 2010, so I got out my calculator and crunched the numbers:

$5 billion in one year is equal to $13.7 million per day, or $571 thousand per hour, or $9.5 thousand per minute, or $158 per second. But wait, those figures are only valid if you consider him to be at work 24-7-365. Hey even this guy’s got to sleep and spend some quality time with the family, so if you recalculate those numbers based on a 40 hour per week salary (including golf meetings and paid vacations) the amount he was paid for his invaluable services in 2010 was in excess of $2.4 million per hour, or $40 thousand per minute, or $667 per second.

Yes I know, most weeks Mr. Paulson probably puts in more than his 40 hours at the office/golf course/yacht club, but as all of us who've been in management know, when you go on salary you get screwed, so let’s cry some crocodile tears for poor John. Go ahead, go get your Kleenex, and when you get back I’ll show you some fun comparison’s between John’s life and ours.

Fun comparisons:
The average human heart rate is 70 – 80 beats per minute.
...John gets paid over $500 per beat.
The average person blinks every 4 seconds.
...For John that’s $2,668 per blink.
It takes 45 seconds to microwave a hot dog.
...That’s $30 thousand to wait for the ping.
If it took you a minute and a half to read this, collect $60,000.00
...Oh wait, if you’re not John Paulson collect zero.

Important tax note:
80% of John’s earnings were paid in capital gains, so luckily his tax burden will be minimal, and if Republicans get their way, soon capital gains won’t be taxed at all. Won’t that be nice? Maybe then John can go out and buy that small country he’s always wanted.