Working Tourist

For the last several weeks I have put my job on hold to volunteer at a local winery during the harvest. In the months leading to this life changing experience, I begged the owner/winemaker to let me help. He cautioned me that the work would be hard and dirty. We would be working long hard days with little to no time for instruction but if I thought I could tough it out, he would allow me to help. I had no way to understand what I was really in for but I was excited nonetheless. I am a hard worker and am accustomed to long days, but it was as hard if not harder than they described it to be.

Those of you that may enjoy a good wine may have some idea of the time it takes for the wine to become the final product but until you are shoveling eight tons of fruit, preparing it for fermentation, you are unaware of the amount of human labor required. Arriving at quarter to six and picking grapes in the dark until the sun finally comes up, you begin to live life in the unglamorous, little recognized world of wine.

There is much that happens in the cellar before it goes to the bottle and I saw and did it all. Fermentation, pressing, barreling, racking, and cleanup. Constant cleanup. Everything is scrubbed and hosed down several times over. You get to a point where you don't even care how wet you are or how black your hands are stained by the grapes. (You have not experienced wine until you have had "harvest hands".) It was all so amazing I can hardly describe it in this tiny blog. But if you ever have the chance, take it. Jump in with both feet and go with it.

I was not paid for my time but I wouldn't trade the lessons I learned in that field, in that cellar, in that tasting room, or in that press (yes, in the press. it has to be cleaned somehow.) for anything.

Jobs Plan

I don't consider myself a politically driven person but I believe as a citizen of this country it is important to remain informed so when it comes time to vote, I can make an educated decision. Or at least know which way to hope for when I flip a coin. Either way, I do follow things as they happen and as you would have guessed the economy is at the forefront of many debates along with employment and taxes.

I had a thought the other day that might very well put an end to all of those issues. I developed my jobs plan in a single evening so if it has its flaws please point them out.

1-8-5

Each person should have one job, work it eight hours a day, only five days a week. I think the idea that there are no jobs is false. There are enough jobs, but those of us with jobs each have two or more to cover taxes and health care or simply because we as a society have been living outside of our means for so long. If we were able to work one job and be paid enough for it to allow us to live above the poverty line (16,000/yr) and within our own salaries, the taxes that we pay into programs like welfare and social security could be lowered and that little extra could be translated into new purchases to boost the economy.

That was way too heavy for this arena I know, but I thought it was an interesting, somewhat out of the box idea and thought I would share it.

I will leave you with this last thought:

When I was working as a high school custodian, there was a navy seal retired named Jerry that also worked with us. He was a great guy and a hard worker but he had a saying that never left me; "You work eight hours, you sleep eight hours, you have eight hours of fun." Sounds like a good plan to me.

When Life Hands You A Lemon

...make lemonade.
...trade the lemon for an apple.
...say "screw you lemon!" and bail.

There may never be a right answer to this particular question but one thing is certain; life is full of lemons. Either that, or all of you are sending me your lemons, which is quite thoughtful of you. Thank you. They were lovely.

I have always been a terrible car picker-outer. My first love was the 1978 Cadillac Sedan DeVille. Man, I loved that car. You know how some people say to look at the amount of time and money you invest in an area and see how much you really love something? If the car would have been a beautiful, intelligent woman, we would still be together today. Unfortunately for me, it wasn't. It was a car. One requiring a lot of attention. Needless to say, the old girl and I parted ways only in time for me to fall into another money pit: the 1993 Grand Prix.

It looked nice and far newer, but as was with many of the cars manufactured in the 90's, it was not up to par. I continued this pattern for the next ten years. I would buy lemons to replace other lemons. This only ever proved to be a sour choice. (come on. almost a year of writing and only one pun? let me have it.)

The older I get, the more I realize how the choices I make whether it is the car I drive or where I work or even who I choose to associate with, these choices have a greater impact on me in the long run. I loved my Cadillac, but if I had the cash in my pocket that I spent on that car to replace just about every part you can think of, lets just say I would not have to worry about making the rent for the next few years. If I had decided to join the Navy right out of high school, I would have been out and had health benefits by now. If I had decided to wait just one more year to really be sure I was ready to get married, we probably wouldn't have ended up together and I would have saved myself a lot of trouble.

But I am grateful for the lessons I learned by making the choices I made. I now know what I need in a spouse instead of what I thought I wanted in a companion. I went to college instead, realized it wasn't for me and had a great ten year carrier doing something I loved. And thanks to that old hunk of gold painted steel (that's right, gold.), I am not afraid of getting dirty under the hood of a car.

So what do you do when life hands you lemons? So far, I am simply thankful for them.

Banter

How much of a human's lifetime is lost to idle chatter? Banter is the forgotten moments of talking, small or otherwise, that make good moments in your life great. Without it we would spend that time with our friends and family, coworkers and aquaintences, in silence.

On the other hand, maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps that is something we are all missing. We have plenty of chances to talk, but how often are we encouraged (in a positive way) to be still and listen even when the other person is silent. We should be comfortable in our silence with each other. I think being still in the presence of someone else demonstrates true intimacy.

I love when people fall asleep on my couch or in my car. It shows me the person feels safe and comfortable.

If only we felt that safe and secure with those we banter with.

Please Don't Push Me

I am sure there are times when I refuse help I really shouldn't. When I go to lift something heavy and there is another guy in the room, I will sometimes refuse the offer to assist me in my endeavour. When I have been stuck on the side of the road due to a flat tire and while in the middle of changing it someone stops to see if I need a hand, I usually (always) let them know I am in control of the situation but thanks anyway. I know that these are people who truly want to make life a little easier on others, like me, who get in jams sometimes and could use another somebody to help them out. Thank you to those of you who are those people. You make a difference everyday. For those of you pushing the membership cards at supermarkets, give it a rest.

Where I live, like so many of you out there, the loyalty cards to supermarkets have become points of pride. I know one guy (and probably more) who has seventeen loyalty cards twisted onto his key ring. One for the gas station near the house, one for the gas station near work, one for the grocery store, one for the other grocery store that has that brand of hot dogs I like, and so on. So much for loyalty. But this is not where my story is headed.

Today I was asked if I possessed such a card for the particular store I was shopping at. I said no and proceeded to hand the cashier the twenty dollar bill I intended to pay with. When I answered "no", she stopped, looked at me almost out of pity and said, "Why not? It's free." I told her I was not interested. She was not going to let it go. "But you could save a lot of money with one. You should get one. Here, I will let you fill out the information card right here and I will turn it in for you. Now what did I do with my pen?" Once she let me get a word in, I explained this was a one time purchase and that I do not shop regularly in this store. Now I had hurt her feelings. She scanned the item and with a look of disappointment, handed me my change.

I am sure she was only trying to give me a leg up in this rough economy, but if I say no thank you, please continue to let me purchase the item I came in for and leave without the additional harassment. Don't push me into making a commitment of loyalty I do not intend on keeping.

Meet Cute

 A man and a woman sit quietly across the room in a popular coffee shop. They notice each other right away but are both too shy to introduce themselves to the other.

He pretends to not notice her and attempts to read his paper, drink his coffee, and mind his own business but can not help himself to a second look, and then another. She glances his way just for a second wishing for the chance that their eyes will meet but he quickly ducks his head into the world news section to avoid any discomfort.

She, disappointed, returns to the simple plot mystery she had found in the seat next to hers on the subway. She was only interested in the book because it had no front cover and the pages appeared to be leafed through over and over as though it was at one time someones favorite. She loved the idea that something that was once so precious to another was now hers to enjoy.

A small round man enters the shop and marches straight to the counter. He makes a point to the barista that he comes into this shop all the time and has never left satisfied by the service offered. The woman, weary from the day of dealing with this same type of customer since four in the morning, takes a deep breath and promises him the coffee of a lifetime. A few minutes pass and she has his special ordered small latte with extra sprinkles. He takes the lid off and sees the extra sprinkles he had ordered in the shape of a happy face He is overwhelmed. He looks at her, and slowly a tear forms in his eye. She smiles at him and he at her and then he turns and walks away out the door.

Having witnessed this scene of human emotion in an otherwise bland little coffee shop, the two strangers once again exchange looks from across the room. He gathers his courage and leaves his paper behind. He walks up to her and asks what she was reading. She responds with the title. He smiles and says, "I love that book. I had a copy, but I lost it today on the subway."

(just a little fiction to get you thinking)

Candy Wrappers

When I was about nine, I started making a little money doing extra chores around the house. We never had an allowance so what I only had money for the extra things I would offer to do. I would earn two dollars for each side of the car I washed (if a sibling was helping, this made splitting the money easier). I could earn ten dollars for mowing the lawn, five for shoveling the snow from the driveway, fifty cents for taking the dog on a walk, and so on. I soon found out that with that money I could buy something I always wanted: to be the envy of my brothers and sisters.

Every now and then I would take whatever money I had earned, double tie my shoe laces and head up to the Dollar General. I would head straight to the candy aisle and go nuts. Twenty giant lemon heads, ten feet of bubble tape, three pounds of pixie stix and on and on the list would go. When all was paid for and I made the journey back home, the other kids in the family would swoon. Everybody wanted a taste. And I was happy to share as long as my ego was stroked for a minute or two.

What was left over after the feast of course was the pile of wrappers. A stack of paper and plastic picked and licked clean of the sweetness that it was once wrapped tightly around. The excitement had faded and the experience enjoyed in the moment but it was over and all we had to show for it was the time we shared and the heap of paper to remind us of it.

When one gets divorced you encounter an interesting dilemma. What do I do with all my pictures? That was my life. I was there and I lived it. Those were my experiences and my memories. So do I keep the remnants of the good times or throw away the tangible memories of the life I once shared with someone? Will I ever want to share them with anyone else and if so, why would I?

Do you keep the pile of wrappers to remind you of the sweetness you once tasted or do you simply look forward to the next opportunity to create more memories?

Uncle

Do you know why people cry out "uncle" in an effort of submission? It is because when a baby is born and one becomes an uncle (specifically when one becomes an Uncle Joe) you loose all sense of self and are completely surrendered to that child.

I do want to apologize to you regular readers as I have been less than consistent as of late, but I will blame that on the wrinkled thing that will soon enough call me Uncle Joe.

This is not the first time being an uncle for me. I have been Uncle Joe before to not only nieces and nephews but also to close friends and their kids. For me, whether called out in excitement or pain or while begging to stay up just a little bit longer to have a snack, the name cuts me to the quick. And I love it every time.

To be an uncle is more to me than just having another member of the family or being the sometimes babysitter. I  love walking into a room and hearing the surprised voice of a toddler cry out to me. I love getting cards in the mail addressed to Uncle Joe. Just the thought of the kids who know me as that makes me smile brings a glint of tears to my eyes.

I have written before about the fact that I love kids. Know what I love even more? Being completely available for them at a moments notice no matter what.

Mackenzie
aka: heart thief

Looks like another one has stolen my heart.
I give up.
Uncle.