Smooth Stones in a Brisk Stream

An Invocation

2012-02-13T04:38:00.001-08:00

As the sun sets:

let us collect our thoughts and give thanks this special day
and the ones that preceded it.

Let us pause to celebrate the gift of life.
Let us pause to celebrate the gift of family
Let us pause to celebrate the gift of each other.

As the sun sets:
let us give thanks for home.

Each one of us leaves our home every day:
We engage two (2) life journeys:
One personal of the heart and soul.
One public, of the body and mind.
It is our challenge to weave these two journeys into one path.

A path that can be shared.
But a path whose true purpose is in the service of others,
and in the service of children and generations yet to be born.

As the sunsets, let us give thanks!

11 February 2012

Winter's Early Entry

2011-10-30T09:17:00.000-07:00

It is not even Halloween and we have just had our first snow fall in Rhode Island.
Not much, but enough to cover the ground. It is bizarre as the leaves have not yet fallen and there is snow on the ground. They say that seasons are the perfect reminder of the arrow of times movement, but they are supposed to come in order.
But maybe there is a more important message as we prepare for winter and the holidays. Time is in fact accelerating. Maybe it is simply because this writer is getting older, or maybe, just maybe, life is happening more quickly. It probably does not matter much at all, but it is true just the same.

So on this cold, sunny New England Sunday, with snows first introduction, it probably makes sense to Seize the Day. It is really great to be on the right side of the grass, or in this case the snow. All the best!

Reflections on the Tragedy in Tucson

2011-01-11T05:44:00.000-08:00

We are taught that you study history in order to learn from it. To avoid repeating it.

This past weekend a mentally ill 22 year old young man attempted to assassinate US Congress woman Gabrielle Gibbons. In the process he killed six others and wounded many more. Efforts to attempt to 'understand the why' frankly are fruitless and unproductive. This lone gunman is deranged.

What is ironic is that the people who are killed, often have a louder voice as the result of their martyrdom. Maybe this is so apparent since I am old enough to remember the assassination of John F. Kennedy. To this day, I can recall with precision where I was when Martin Luther King and Robert F Kennedy were both gunned down. Maybe my Christian faith so diffuses my vision, that martyrdom increases the impact of the message. Jesus Christ was killed, and his message is global. A black South African man, Steven Biko, was killed in the late 1970s...his death contributed to the fall of apartheid. You cannot silence critical messages, life independence, freedom, civil rights, etc, by killing a single person. What is disturbing is that assassination has been a 'common tool' around the globe and throughout time. From Philip of Macedonia's death to Gandhi's death to Martin Luther King's death, we have not seen any real reduction in the number of attempts.

It is unrealistic to expect that mentally deranged people to understand that by killing or attempting to kill a person that they actually enable the rest of the community, or in some instances, humanity to actually hear the message and voice. But if is helpful for us to know that.

Clearly the human costs of this behaviour is staggering. These 'victims' are son, daughters, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, and neighbors. All of them pay a price for this 'evil' We, the larger community pay a very high price. We also lose our some of our innocence. These instruments of destruction are also people. That fact is often lost.

As to the tragedy in Tucson, specifically, it is my hope that we learn several lessons. Mentally ill people are mentally ill. We should preclude insane people from obtaining semi automatic weapons. The 2nd amendment protects the right to bear arms, but it is not without common sense prohibition. It is better to insure that the citizens allowed to bear arms---have guns--- be sane. If not, we will deny them their second amendment rights after we bury their victims and send them to jail.

Our prayers are with the family suffering at the hands of this most recent assassin. It is important however that we not let him kill our commitment to open, representative government. We cannot let him take away our innocence of home. We need to continue our lives as good citizens of this country and of the globe. We will be aware of how fragile and precious life really is.

The Window Seat Chapter 32

2010-08-28T04:41:00.000-07:00

June 10, 2010 United Chicago to Sacramento

It is one of those very long trips that is squeezed into a very short time. Have been invited to speak at the California Realtors Board of Directors meeting in Sacramento. So the trip is from the Atlantic to the Pacific for a 10 to 12 minute speech and a few other presentations. My time with the Californians will be limited to 36 hours including sleep time. It is probably the right amount for both of us.
In order to get there, I must leave from Green Airport at 6:30 am and connect in Chicago for a flight to Sacramento. My name is on a waiting list to upgrade to first class, (for free if there is room). What is really exciting is that I do get upgraded to seat 4D. Ok it is not an aisle seat, but a window seat. Yes I end up in the window seat. When I fly, it is my preference to go on the plane at the last possible moment. This is most contingent on my 'carry on' situation. If I have two pieces, it makes sense to go on as early as the 'system' allows. This day, my luggage is limited to a briefcase, but I am so excited about the upgrade, I join the other first class passengers.

After I am settled in a tall young man, with a military discipline, arrives at 4C. He is pressed and meticulous with his presence and his dress. Every hair knows its place and is at attention. We exchange greetings, He has a warm smile but there is a deepness in his eyes that does not reveal itself. He settles in and the plane takes off. Both of us are preparing for meetings and conversation is almost nonexistent. When lunch arrives, our work takes a respite . We have that data drop conversation in which you share your biography in chalk line fashion: no depth, just outline.

Michael works for a medical device company and is marketing director for their sales force He lives in Sacramento and he graduated from West Point. The last fact was obvious from the second you looked at him. He works out a lot to relieve stress and prides himself on staying in great shape. He is soon to turn 40, but you would date him a decade younger. When I asked about his family he shared that he had gotten married a year ago to woman he had met in the gym. She was in her late twenties and a great person. He also shared that he had two daughters 10 and 6. He softened so much when he talked about them. From the tenderness of the conversation, you knew there was more to the conversation. The obvious question just hung out there for a while: Where is their mom? After a while, Michael decided to go there. His wife had passed away three years ago having lost a war to brain cancer. He talked about how brave she was and how great the medical team in San Francisco was. His ten year old daughter knew her mom, but mostly in sickness. His 6 year old really did not know her. You could tell from the tone and calm that person had suffered a great loss, but was really an amazing, strong father. His decisions for life were focused on this daughters.

When asked as to how he copes, he paused for a long time. He finally said that he does what he has to for his daughters, and he does it one day at a time. It was apparent he struggles with it every day. His oldest daughter really looks like her mother, so there is a constant reminder. He also talked about how valuable sports were for him. He was an All American wrestler in high school and competed at West Point. He maintained that the training sports, and military provided him with the discipline to get through the tough times. In some ways, he was trying to convince himself.

We talked about life and mentors. We talked about parenting. We talked about dreams, loves, and losses. And then we landed. I wished him well and wanted to give him a hug, but it just did not happen.
We left the boarding ramp and our paths diverged, but I was more for having met him, albeit a brief meeting.

Father's Day 2010

2010-06-28T08:09:00.001-07:00

Father's Day 2010

It has been a very unusual father's day. Today I contacted a good number of my friends who are dads and wished them well. Today is very different. One might think this is due to the fact I am getting older, but seven years after my father's passing I have finally moved beyond the" void. " Do not believe that you ever truly recover from the loss of a parent or a loved one, for that matter. But somewhere in your life's journey, you reach a truce. It is a special place where you can celebrate the gift of the person, in this case my father, as a gift. Over the years I have written a fair amount about my father's absence.

This father's day, I should like to write about his presence. As I look at my hands typing on the laptop, I cannot help but smile. I am looking as his hands. They are unusual in that they are rough as someone who might work with the hands, would have. But these are the hands of someone who relies on his mind more than his hands, just as he had.

We are both very similar: introverts, who enjoy solitude; fathers, who treasure family; doers, who enjoy work; and adventures, who enjoy being home. For many years, if family members said I was just like dad or did something the way he did, it would not have been accepted as a compliment. That has changes so profoundly. Now that is a true, high tribute. As young adults we spend so much time distancing ourselves from our parents...as we get older we make the journey back. The same is happening with my children. Each is on a life journey unique to each. Our home is safe harbour, but each engages life in a unique way. The irony is I can see myself and their mother in them. The challenge to make sure that the steps are their own. We can provide advice when asked, but not without an invitation.

Our oldest son Matthew and his wife Christina had twins last fall. It has changed the family. It reminds us that the next generation follows. Life has seasons and so do we. My father was one of those people who was always 'of' the moment. Your first responsibility, every moment, was to your family. As I watch Matt and Christina, this father's day, my father's spirit and example is in Matthew. Twins tend to skip generations. My grandmother was a twin, my granddaughters are twins. Athletic ability does too.

My father was a great athlete, particularly in basketball and tennis. Matt is an equally talented and passionate athlete. Sports are a great classroom for life. One of my father's best lessons about being of the moment was very simple: "Keep your eye on the ball." Matthew is keeping his eye on the ball, and making points. His grandfather and his father are both proud.

If you take the time to look around while on your life's journey you can learn so much, and if you are lucky learn the lessons sooner rather than having to repeat them. You have heard about the wisdom of the life lessons that you learn in kindergarten. My father's lessons are also valuable: 1. look after your brothers and sisters; take care of your family, particularly children and parents; 2. always do your best; 3. leave things in better condition that when you found them, 4. be adventuresome: reach beyond the known; 5. live a life of purpose in service to others. Five ingredients for the recipe for a life well lived.
Happy Fathers Day.

Memorial Day Tribute

2010-05-31T18:30:00.001-07:00

This is a great tribute that was forwarded to me first by my friend and former Marine Mike Ricci...
One of my hero's
This will touch you:

MAY GOD BLESS THIS AIRLINE CAPTAIN:
He writes: My lead flight attendant came to me and said, "We have an H.R. on this flight." (H.R. stands for human
remains.) "Are they military?" I asked.
'Yes' she said.
'Is there an escort?' I asked.
'Yes, I already assigned him a seat'.
'Would you please tell him to come to the flight deck. You can board him early," I said..

A short while later, a young army sergeant entered the flight deck. He was the image of the perfectly dressed
soldier. He introduced himself and I asked him about his soldier. The escorts of these fallen soldiers talk about
them as if they are still alive and still with us.

'My soldier is on his way back to Virginia ,' he said. He proceeded to answer my questions, but offered no words.

I asked him if there was anything I could do for him and he said no. I told him that he had the toughest job in the
military and that I appreciated the work that he does for the families of our fallen soldiers. The first officer and
I got up out of our seats to shake his hand. He left the flight deck to find his seat.

We completed our preflight checks, pushed back and performed an uneventful departure. About 30 minutes into our
flight I received a call from the lead flight attendant in the cabin. 'I just found out the family of the soldier we
are carrying, is on board', she said. She then proceeded to tell me that the father, mother, wife and 2-year old
daughter were escorting their son, husband, and father home. The family was upset because they were unable to see the container that the soldier was in before we left. We were on our way to a major hub at which the family was going to
wait four hours for the connecting flight home to Virginia .

The father of the soldier told the flight attendant that knowing his son was below him in the cargo compartment and being unable to see him was too much for him and the family to bear. He had asked the flight attendant if there was
anything that could be done to allow them to see him upon our arrival. The family wanted to be outside by the cargo
door to watch the soldier being taken off the airplane.. I could hear the desperation in the flight attendants voice
when she asked me if there was anything I could do.. 'I'm on it', I said. I told her that I would get back to her.

Airborne communication with my company normally occurs in the form of e-mail like messages. I decided to bypass
this system and contact my flight dispatcher directly on a secondary radio. There is a radio operator in the
operations control center who connects you to the telephone of the dispatcher. I was in direct contact with the
dispatcher.. I explained the situation I had on board with the family and what it was the family wanted. He said he
understood and that he would get back to me.

Two hours went by and I had not heard from the dispatcher. We were going to get busy soon and I needed to know what
to tell the family. I sent a text message asking for an update. I saved the return message from the dispatcher
and the following is the text:

'Captain, sorry it has taken so long to get back to you. There is policy on this now and I had to check on a few
things. Upon your arrival a dedicated escort team will meet the aircraft. The team will escort the family to the
ramp and plane side. A van will be used to load the remains with a secondary van for the family. The family will be
taken to their departure area and escorted into the terminal where the remains can be seen on the ramp. It is a
private area for the family only. When the connecting aircraft arrives, the family will be escorted onto the ramp and
plane side to watch the remains being loaded for the final leg home. Captain, most of us here in flight control are
veterans. Please pass our condolences on to the family. Thanks.'

I sent a message back telling flight control thanks for a good job. I printed out the message and gave it to the lead
flight attendant to pass on to the father. The lead flight attendant was very thankful and told me, 'You have no
idea how much this will mean to them.'

Things started getting busy for the descent, approach and landing. After landing, we cleared the runway and taxied
to the ramp area. The ramp is huge with 15 gates on either side of the alleyway. It is always a busy area with
aircraft maneuvering every which way to enter and exit. When we entered the ramp and checked in with the ramp
controller, we were told that all traffic was being held for us.

'There is a team in place to meet the aircraft', we were told. It looked like it was all coming together, then I
realized that once we turned the seat belt sign off, everyone would stand up at once and delay the family from
getting off the airplane. As we approached our gate, I asked the copilot to tell the ramp controller we were going to
stop short of the gate to make an announcement to the passengers. He did that and the ramp controller said, 'Take
your time.'

I stopped the aircraft and set the parking brake. I pushed the public address button and said, 'Ladies and
gentleman, this is your Captain speaking I have stopped short of our gate to make a special announcement. We have
a passenger on board who deserves our honor and respect. His Name is Private XXXXXX, a soldier who recently lost
his life. Private XXXXXX is under your feet in the cargo hold. Escorting him today is Army Sergeant XXXXXXX.
Also, on board are his father, mother, wife, and daughter. Your entire flight crew is asking for all passengers to
remain in their seats to allow the family to exit the aircraft first. Thank you.'

We continued the turn to the gate, came to a stop and started our shutdown procedures. A couple of minutes later I
opened the cockpit door. I found the two forward flight attendants crying, something you just do not see. I was
told that after we came to a stop, every passenger on the aircraft stayed in their seats, waiting for the family to
exit the aircraft.

When the family got up and gathered their things, a passenger slowly started to clap his hands. Moments later more
passengers joined in and soon the entire aircraft was clapping. Words of 'God Bless You', I'm sorry, thank you,
be proud, and other kind words were uttered to the family as they made their way down the aisle and out of the
airplane. They were escorted down to the ramp to finally be with their loved one.

Many of the passengers disembarking thanked me for the announcement I had made. They were just words, I told them,
I could say them over and over again, but nothing I say will bring back that brave soldier.

I respectfully ask that all of you reflect on this event and the sacrifices that millions of our men and women have
made to ensure our freedom and safety in these United States of AMERICA .
Footnote:
As a Viet Nam Veteran I can only think of all the veterans including the ones that rode below the deck on their way
home and how they were treated. When I read things like this I am proud that our country has not turned their backs
on our soldiers returning from the various war zones today and give them the respect they so deserve.

I know every one who has served their country who reads this will have tears in their eyes, including me.

Prayer chain for our Military... Don't break it!

Please send this on after a short prayer.. Prayer for our soldiers Don't break it!
Prayer:
'Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the
selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen..'

Prayer Request: When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our troops around the world.

There is nothing attached. Just send this to people in your address book. Do not let it stop with you. Of all the
gifts you could give a Marine, Soldier, Sailor, Airman, & others deployed in harm's way, prayer is the very best one.

GOD BLESS YOU!!!

A Great Friend: John Veneris

2010-04-08T14:51:00.000-07:00

Try as we might, we can no longer hear this lion’s roar. John Veneris, husband, brother, father, son, NAR leader, mentor, teacher, but most of all, a dear friend died last week after a valiant struggle with lung cancer. For us, his family and friends, this is a devastating loss.

John is, (I am not yet able to say, was), one of those rare people who understood. He got it. Most people can see forests or needles; John had a great ability to see needles, branches, trees, forests, the ground, the water, and the sky. He also understood how interconnected they and we are.

I am a member of John’s REALTOR® family. We worked together on the Virtual Office Website project for the association in early part of the last decade. John was one of my most valued ‘touchstones’ with the group because he had a great skill for discernment. He would listen first, reflect, deliberate, and then decide. It made him effective and passionate in his conclusion. As challenging as the project and the subsequent events were for us as volunteers, one of the great outcomes was my friendship with John.

In the subsequent years, when I needed the truth…John was one of my first calls. He told it as it was. He was a great mentor and teacher for me. He was someone who knew when encouragement was required and also when correction was necessary. He was a true friend.

A year and a half ago, we shared a cab in Las Vegas at the national convention. We talked about life and family. He was so proud of his sons Nick and TJ. Two fathers celebrating our children. We shared the “wisdom” that decades of marriage to great women provides. Yes Dee, we agreed that we were still in need of improvement, although we were satisfied with our progress, even if you and my wife Susan knew better. John also said that my wife could pass as his sister Susan.

In hindsight, we talked a lot about REALTOR® stuff. John was a master at the business, the profession, and the organization. On every level his even, thoughtful perspective was understood.

He grew up with great life lessons: Leave things better than you found them, a hard day’s work is a good, honorable thing, and it is fair to be paid for that hard work. Honest and true principles just like the man himself.
He was so good at NAR, that his conversation about becoming NAR President someday made perfect sense. Without reservation I responded with enthusiasm to his suggestion:” John, you would make a great NAR President.”

But John’s real gift to us is how he cared and nurtured each of us. He helped us raise our game to be better than our best…to reach toward excellence. Not just in business, but in life. In truth, John is one of those people, who by example and instruction, makes me and those around him better people.
Today, the lion’s roar is missing. It is silent… and I try as I might that gentle roar, with the Chicago accent…is now memory.

It is silent and the stillness is unsettling and uncomfortable.

For all of us who have experienced the grief that comes with the death of loved one, there is nothing we can say that will fill this void in those who are left behind. But, one of the things I learned on my own journey through the grief process after my father passed away was that you learn to better cope with the void, and even begin to celebrate the gift of their life when the immediacy of grief begins to break. My prayer for John’s family is that it comes sooner rather than later. In the meantime, please know that John is in our hearts forever. He is more than what he did. Thank you for sharing your husband and father with his REALTOR® family… Please let us help you celebrate the gift of his life in ours.

The Window Seat Chapter 30

2010-01-28T20:18:00.000-08:00

United Chicago to Providence 13 January 2010 6:50

It was a cold winter Chicago day and I was ready to go home. While I like the concept of one day meetings, they can be challenging. This had been organized on little notice and was important. The trip out on Tuesday had been uneventful. We started our meeting the next morning at 8 am Chicago time so that we could finish at 3 pm to take evening flights home. Everything was working exactly per plan. Meeting finished. Since I left downtown before rush hour, O’Hare was only a half hour away. Checked a bag to make security easier. (Wishful thinking).

The first obstacle to getting home was Security. The line looked comparatively short, but only one station was open. It is prudent to have two forms of government issued identification so I travel with my passport and my driver’s license. The line crawled ever so slowly. The mix of people was in fact interesting. One of the people in line must have been 7 foot tall. His girlfriend/wife might have been 5’4” While they were ‘interesting,’ people’s reaction was more enjoyable. Most wanted to really look, but had been told as kids, do not stare. So must were involved in the ‘subtle scan.’ Pretend to be looking at the larger view, while focusing on a specific subject. It is a skill set you develop as a parent. How do you think you get ‘eyes in the back of your head.” When I line I study the passports the passengers hold. You can tell where they are from by the color and the symbol on the front. Today, there were lots of German, Canadian, Polish and Chinese passport holders in line. What was more interesting is that Spanish was the most common language spoken in the security line, not English. It was intriguing.

When I finally got through the metal detector, the TSA padded me down as I was wearing a sweater, The first time it happened on a trip to Europe fifteen years ago, it was unnerving. Post 9 11… whatever you need to do, do!

This particular night we are taking one of the smaller commuter planes to Providence.
As a result we are leaving from gate F12. You go outside and up the planes stairway to get on board. This night the seat assignment is 9C. After settling in a young Latino couple came down the main aisle. She sits in 9B, He in 9D, next to me. We exchange pleasantries. “Would you like to switch seats so you can sit together?” “Not yet” I cannot help but smile.

Chris is a mechanic for United based at San Francisco International Airport. He lives in San Jose. He and his wife and ICU nurse had moved to the Bay Area from Orlando about a year earlier. “Not one of our best decisions/” His accent, or rather his vocabulary, was distracting. It was difficult to place. “As a mechanic, are we travelling on a good plane?” Yes he insisted, because the plane was new and had been assembled in Canada. (A clue?) Chris had been raised in Canada as his father had been in the US Army and had been station in Canada. As a result he had dual citizenship. His wife was a British citizen who was living in London. I must have misheard. They had moved to the Bay Area and she accepted a job in ICU at a local hospital. Within 6 months of arriving, both of them had their work hours reduced from 40 to 24…full time to part time. As a result, his wife took a leave of absence from the hospital and moved back to Great Britain, at least for a year. Chris could not obtain employment in London, so they had a commuter marriage, at least for the moment.

I asked if they had any children, not yet. He added that they were trying, with a big smile. But he also added their living arrangement made it difficult. Not surprising given the fact that his wife was exhausted and sleeping.

Chris talked with me about national health insurance, comparing the Canadian, British and American strengths and weaknesses. We talk about airplanes and the cost of airplane parts. “That light at the end of the wing, the green one, costs $6000 on this plane/” He was animated and talkative.

This entire conversation happened before we took off. It also preceded our seat change.The passenger in the window seat wanted to switch with Chris, so I retained my seat and Chris and anonymous switched. Anonymous sat down with a grunt and proceeded to cough and sniffles for the 2 hour flight. Maybe he was sick.

We landed on time and I was home. Chris was meeting his brother’s family in Providence. (His brother had just been laid off by GTECH, but was doing fine).

We smiled at each other as we left the baggage terminal. We enjoyed our conversation, but both of us knew we would never cross paths again.

The Window Seat Chapter 29

2010-01-05T04:28:00.001-08:00

Southwest Tucson to Chicago December 13th

It is my last travel for the Association of Realtors for 2009 and the last for six weeks. It is not quiet full and we are going to be connecting at Midway Airport in Chicago. Originally, it was going to be a tight connection of 40 minutes, but we are gaining a lot of time with a tail wind at 39,000 feet.

I am in my favorite aisle seat, but this time we are in the front row so we can make the connection. My wife, Susan, is next to me and my son Ian is at the Window Seat. Tucson is a long way to go for a one day meeting, but the 2010 National Association of Realtors President wants to show off her home town. The meetings were productive and encouraging. The leadership team is really talented and accomplished.

Susan and Ian have joined me for the extra ‘personal day.’ They decided to go horseback riding. I on the other hand decided to do a long run in the 48 degree dry heat of the desert. They loved horseback riding. I loved the run. Solitary time by myself for 7.5 miles the day before the Tucson Marathon. It was special time and my best run of the year. Not sure why it was so awesome. The weather probably was a big contributing factor.

So we are flying Southwest as it is the only airline that has only one stop between Tucson and Providence. The flight leaves at 3:15 for Midway. This is particularly convenient as the Patriots game will be over before we get on the play. They need this win and they come through! It is great!

We get on the get on the play and settle in. It has been a relaxing couple of days that were much needed. December is always exhausting and this one would be no exception. Not sure how we fit as much as we do into one month.

The woman across the aisle from me finished the Tucson Marathon. It was her fifth one, four prior in Chicago, but she had hoped to qualify for Boston. The Boston MARATHON is still the ultimate, but for her today it was illusive. She did not qualify because the head wind was in her face the entire way. We talk about hydration and her rush to the airport to catch the ‘one Southwest flight to Boston. She shrugs and say not today, but there will be another day and another race. Oh how right she is.

My bride is pensive and immersed in her book. An avid reader, she consumes a couple every week. I am not as voracious. We had the best Thanksgiving we have ever had with two new health grandchildren: Nazare and Marie. Everything else is going well, but winter and its challenges are in front of us. Sometimes the warmth of the desert of winter re-enforces the reality of the cold of a New England Winter.

The man in the first row on the right is travelling with his elder mother. Some unfortunate person is between the two. He has had two rum and cokes although he acts as though it has been more. He and his mother continue to argue with the Asian man stoically between them. Susan says it reminds her of the movie Goonies. This guy will not shut up. It is ridiculous and very humorous. He knows more than his mom although she is not convinced. Fortunately, the tailwind is reducing the time in confinement to less than 3 hours. Know that this is just a playful bickering, but it is relentless. They do not agree on anything. They are at it again.

It reminds me of how fortunate I am. I am traveling with my wife of thirty years and my soul mate. Life has been very kind and very generous. She has been a great companion on our life’s path. We have been blessed with three great kids, an awesome family and amazing friends. Life has been, and continues to be very kind. Sometimes it is helpful to remember that. Today is one of those days. Hopefully tomorrow will be another just like today

The Window Seat Chapter 28

2009-11-23T17:29:00.001-08:00

United 679 Chicago to San Diego

We were involved in a rolling invasion of the 2009 Realtors Convention in San Diego. I was travelling first, my wife second, my son third, and the return was similar. The goal was to participate in the convention, but have good coverage for the day to day operations of the office. Half of the office team, including my son Matthew, were ready for our absence.

My highlight of the week, was my installation as President Elect of the 1.166 million member National Association of Realtors. It was a formal event and very exciting. Next November I will become President. This year I became the first alternative to a very talented and accomplished person: Vicki Cox Golder.

Often I wait to last call to get on the plane. It requires planning and a check in of all of your luggage. This day, I was organized and among the last people on the plane. Found my seat and instantly received a text from my friend Cindy Butts. “Just saw you getting on board, but not seating next to you, so I will not make ‘The Window Seat.” I smiled back at her. The smile was probably a bit Cheshire. The person next to me was not going to engage me in any conversation. He had earphones on and did not even look up as I sat down in my aisle seat. As a result, Cindy became my ‘seat mate, albeit a couple of rows back.

Cindy is the CEO of the Maine Association of Realtors. We have known each other for more than twenty years. She has always been one of the rare individuals who tell you exactly what he or she thinks: good, bad, or ugly. Do not ask for her opinion if you do not want one. Few people have passion for both ‘truth and excellence. Cindy is one of those people. During times of challenge for me during my leadership, Cindy was a person I would contact for advice. It was always measured and detailed.

Cindy is like many people who are professionally accomplished, but what makes her amazing is her ability to balance life: self, family, work, world and spirit. It is not easy, and in truth it does not come easy, but she finds a way. Maybe it is living in Maine and having to deal with “Down Easters” To sail in stormy water, you need to be present and quick minded. It is actually fun to hear her talk about the challenge of being a parent of teenagers, particularly a teenage son. Cindy always tries to do everything well, so it is very funny to have her ‘question’ swim meet attire’ for the parents. Tropical humidity inside a swimming complex, when the exterior temperature is sub zero, makes wardrobe choices a challenge. As a parent you are always told: “PLEASE DO NOT EMBARRASS ME MOM (or Dad)” Like the rest of us, that is always difficult to figure out.

So we travelled west from Chicago to San Diego. We had no conversation. I slept and read a greatly great book: Kane and Able by Jeffrey Archer. I had no conversation with my seat mate in the three hour trip. Cannot remember the last time that happened.

The association had made arrangements for a ride from the airport. I invited Cindy to join us in the car to the Convention Center. My luggage came out quickly. As we waited for her luggage, she joked that hers would be the last off of the plane. She became more uncomfortable with the wait. It did not matter. She suggested I go ahead. “No thank you. “Finally, her luggage arrived, not quite the last. We made our way to the Convention Center. In the course of the next several days, we saw each other rarely among the 20,000 attendees. But we knew each was working for the best of Realtors.

It is really great to be with people who encourage you to be your best self. Cindy Butts, is a one of those great life gifts. She is also a great friend.

An Invocation

2009-11-23T04:29:00.001-08:00

New England Regional Caucus
15 November 2009
San Diego, California

Invocation:

Let us calm our minds,
collect our thoughts,
and touch our hearts.

We have gathered here,
at the edge of the Pacific,
enjoying each others company,
before we face New England winter.

We live in a part of the world
where time is marked and logged by seasons.
We face each knowing
another one will soon follow.

We also know that time is limited.
We are only given so many seasons,
so we have none to waste,
none to ignore.

What we do have is each other.
We can and will endure winter
knowing we are together.

As we prepare for these holidays
may we give thanks
for each other,
for our gifts of faith,
for the privilege of being alive,
and for comfort of this common path.

The Window Seat Chapter 27

2009-10-26T21:16:00.001-07:00

October 21, 2009

Usairway’s 1:00 P.M Washington’s Reagan to Providence

The trip had been impromptu. The Senate Banking Committee, chaired by Senator Dodd, had called a hearing for October 20th, on the State of the Housing Industry.
The National Association of Realtors welcomed the invitation, particularly given our commitment to extending the $8000 First Time Home Buyer Tax Credit which expires on 1 December 2009. The Association President was home in Texas. The President-Elect was speaking in California. The third choice, the Vice-President was available and an hour away. So I was ‘selected’ to present our case.

It has been my privilege to testify before various committees of Congress over the past couple of years. It is a fascinating process. You provide ‘written testimony’ at least 24 hours before speaking. At the hearing, you typically are one of many witnesses. Most often you are part of a panel. Such was the case on 20 October. The first witness was Senator Johnny Isakson of Georgia. He presented the Dodd Isakson amendment to extend the $8000. After his presentation, various Senators asked him questions. The committee is large with 23 members. About half were there at the beginning of the hearing. As the witness was a member of the Senate, the interchange was very cordial.

Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, Shaun Donovan, was the second witness.
He spoke at length and then was questioned. The difference in the questions and in the tone between the Democratic and Republican members of the Senate was profound.
The Senator from Kentucky, Bunning, really went after him, the administration, and the FDIC. It was a great confidence builder, when you were next on the schedule.

My panel included an economist from the Bankers Association, an economist from the Home Builders Association, and an affordable housing advocate from Connecticut. Each of us was given five minutes to making an opening statement, which recapped our written testimony. Just below the microphone, there is a digital time display and three lights, green, yellow and red. From 5 minutes to 1, the light is green. From 60 seconds to O, the light is yellow. At the end of 5 minutes, the light turns red and proceeds to count the seconds of you overage. Chairman Dodd was generous with the time. In other hearings, witnesses have been cut off mid sentence. In fairness, you know, BEFORE hand, that you have only 5 minutes.

Our panel began to speak about 1 hour and 55 minutes into the hearing. We continued until 2 hours and 50 minutes. The statements were somewhat predictable. Upon completion of my testimony, Senator Dodd, suggested the next time I testify before Congress that I be more ‘definite” in what I wanted Congress to do. The chamber laughed. It is hard for me to speak on these issues without passion and immediacy.

The questions were actually more valuable than the statements. It is where the conversation moves to substance and detail. With the exception of a critical remark from Senator Bunning, it went well. (He had asked about the National Association of Realtors recommendations for the GSEs: Fannie Mae and Freddy Mac. He did not like the answer that they were meeting, later in the week, to come up with recommendations. They have been meeting for a year, and will have recommendations in the next two weeks.)

At 12:30 we left the Senate Office building. The rest of the day and the next morning were spent lobbying and encouraging other Realtors to do the same. Forty Realtors had flown in from all over the country to speak to members of the House Ways and Means Committee and the Senate Finance Committee. Dinner responsibilities included thanking the Realtor volunteers and repairing for the ‘Hill visits.’ At breakfast, we did the same.

At mid day on the 21st, my work in DC was over. A 1 pm flight had a seat for me on it. The Reagan airport was fairly quiet. Security was quick and uneventful. At the appointed time we board a shuttle to take us out to the commuter plane lot. Usually, the bus is full, this day it was not even ‘half full.’ We boarded the plane. My aisle seat 3B was ready. After many flights this year with overfull planes, this was strange. There were no passengers next to me, on either side. None in front of me, none behind me. Most passengers were in window seats. No one was within ear shot. Had someone sent these passengers a memo, do not sit next to Ron, if you want some privacy?

The engines revved, and we had left. As I sat alone, somewhat comfortable in my silence, I could not helped smiling at life’s ability to teach: You must take it as it come, for you are not in control. You can only control how you react. It is so frustrating that it takes many years to begin to understand the lesson. The window seat was empty because many of my life’s travelling partners had already departed, my grandfathers, grandmother, and father. Their seat was empty. But that did not prevent me from talking with them. Each took a turn in the seat. While all of the talking was mine, they heard everything. It was not an empty seat after all.

My Mother's Eyes

2009-10-08T20:04:00.000-07:00

It is an early morning with a full day on tap. John Mayer’s song Say and Cyndi Lauper’s song Time after Time are the inspiration for these words. Am always so surprised how music is such a powerful catalyst for emotion in me. Music has wrapped my entire life as blanket. Sometimes in challenging times, it may have been a wet, cold blanket…but it always with me; most often providing entertainment, on occasion release, and on rare occasions it enables me to experience the Divine. It is an amassing cipher.

This morning, music is the spring.

One of my very first sites as a newborn was seeing my mother and my father. While absolute recall of the moment is not really within my grasp, their faces are what I remember from my earliest childhood. More precisely, I remember their eyes. My father’s eyes are now only photographs and memories. My mother’s however are still very much a part of my life.

Both of my mother’s parents had beautiful eyes, too... My Grandmother Brophy has to most unusual color of eyes. They were an opalescent deep blue-aqua marine. You could not miss them, even through her glasses. Her eyes expressive, revealing eyes….You could see how she felt and what she believed in her eyes. My mother’s eyes are similar with communication and are a beautiful blue in color

It is true that life’s path shares some of its route on one’s face, but the eyes themselves are a constant. It is strange how the face changes but the eyes are a timeless window to the heart.

Recently, my mother had cataract surgery. She is celebrating the amazing improvement in her vision. She does not need to wear glasses except to read. What was really amazing was seeing her eyes again without sunglasses or regular glasses. You can see into her heart.

Overall, life has been very kind to my family.. We have worked hard to develop our skills and appreciate life’s gifts. We have also cared for each other intensely.

We have seen joy, and celebrated it.
We have seen loss, and have endured it
We have seen challenge, and faced it.
We have seen opportunity, and pursued it.
We have seen purpose, and engaged it.

There is in these words a life lesson. The Bible reminds us to honor and respect our parents. The contemporary version of the message is to celebrate the gift of your parents. Say what you need to say.

So look into the eyes of your mom and dad. Maybe you do not verbalize it…but let them know you love them. It will mean a lot to both of you.

The Window Seat Chapter 26

2009-10-03T04:32:00.000-07:00

September 28, 2009

US Air Providence to Charlotte

It is an 8:20 flight from Providence to Charlotte. This is a quick overnight assignment for me with the North Carolina Association’s Annual Convention. The meeting is in Savannah. Yes the meeting is in Georgia, not North Carolina. My assignment is to bring the National Association of Leadership Team’s message and greeting to the Board of Directors and to the Past Presidents. For any of you in volunteer organizations, you know how challenging a meeting of past presidents might be. May of this group of ‘pasts,’ however, are good friends. Will be on a plane home before 9 am tomorrow morning.

Today, I am flying on United’ Star Alliance Partner, US Air. The plane is a full size plane with a three three configuration. It is Monday morning, and a surprising number of ‘tourists’ are on the plane. Not a lot of business people. After correcting a mix up with my ticket, new boarding passes are issued and I take my seat in 20C, on the aisle.

The male flight attendant is having an edgy day. “You are only allowed to put one item in the overhead. We are very full today, and if you put small items overhead, we will not have enough room. Then we will be late leaving because we will need to check the baggage. This will cause us to be late and WILL result in missed connections in Charlotte.” Maybe I just relate better to the carrot than the stick, but this is the approach. He repeats the same ‘instruction’ three more times. Maybe his ‘threat’ worked as there was plenty of room in the overhead bins and everyone was settling into there seats.

Next to me was a nice couple who did not speak. They point to the seat, silently asking me to get out of there way. She took the window seat, he took the middle seat. They did not say a word to each other. I said hello and received a nod. This will not be one of the window seat conversations that I most enjoy.

As we settle in, my favorite flight attendant comes back on: “The cabin door is now shut. If you wish to travel will us, you will not turn off all electrical devices….anything with an on and off switch.” (I cannot be the only one who wants to turn him off). Everyone complied and we did not leave anyone behind.

Have decided that this is a good time to continue reading Dan Brown’s the lost symbol. It is excellent. My seat mates say nothing, until beverage service. He says “orange juice and water.” They are served without looking up or over. Looks like I am going to get a lot of my book read. I do. (Pretty sure my seat mates are husband and wife; maybe they have taken a vow of silence between them).

As the plane lands, the flight attendant comes back on to thank us for flying US and a special thanks for following instructions. What happened to stopping when you are ahead? Thank you for flying US Airways would have been enough. (Maybe he was a Falcons fan. Ok, I really do not know what is going on in his life…but enough).

It was noteworthy that we left almost 20 minutes late, but still arrived on time. The real criteria for successful flying is arriving, arriving safely, and arriving on time. We did all three.

As we disembarked, my seat mates remained silent. My connection, hopefully with conversation, waited at gate E9.

In a crowd of silence

2009-08-31T21:30:00.000-07:00

It is a beautiful summer day in August, August 30th to be exact. The weather is exceptional. In 2009, we have been squeezing the few days of great summer weather in a wet cloudy season. This is clearly one of them. It has been a very wet and humid summer in Rhode Island. This day began gray and turned to bright and blue.

Our immediate family has gathered to commemorate the one year anniversary of my first grandson’s birth and death. It is amazing that it happened a year ago. It is till somber and sad, but it is becoming ok. Myles’s father and mother are expecting twins in December. Our loss, and the life lesson that this event taught us, are becoming more understandable. He is in a safe place and we move on because we must. We take less for granted and the Thoreau comment about “sucking the marrow out of life’ is becoming so much more important. For a time we each wrapped ourselves in a cocoon of sorrow. It was natural and instinctive. We have morphed again, and are ready to assume the new life of a human butterfly. We are no longer spectators of grief, but rather the writers and actors of our own lives. Time may not heal, but time does comfort.

As we stand at the gravesite of Myles and my father, I am struck at the number of people buried at St. Patrick’s cemetery. Almost all of the sites have granite markers. Various colours, shapes, sizes with date spreading over 150 years as best I can tell. In some ways,it mirrors their lives: people of different sizes, shapes, appearances, wealth, age, etc. The names: Murray, OConnell, Carcieri, Metzger, Jones, Callahan, .etc. are almost all of European origin. It was distracting that some of the not yet dead spouses had their names on the marker without the date of death. I guess some people what to know where their final destination will be. Maybe I am more interested in where my soul will find a home, rather than my ashes, but this is a place where you can have your last word.

It is a great time of day, the gloaming as we gather. It is the time when the sun is low in the western sky, but has yet to set. It is strangely a very quiet time of day. Work is done and night is almost at hand, but not yet. It is a special time to be in the cemetery. No haunting here, just stillness. The sound of the water in the distance, and cars traveling down the road, create a white noise. This cemetery knows silence, minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, month after month, year after year, generation after generation. As I look at the hundreds of monuments, often with more than two people ‘addressed,’ it becomes apparent that this is the most densely populated part of town. Yet still. Yet quiet. Bodies are not the only things buried here. So are thoughts, dreams, joys, sorrows, brothers, sons, sisters, daughters, mother, fathers, husbands and wives. The most important thing buried here is voice, the language of love. It is lost in the silence of the gloaming. Oh how I miss those voices.

The Window Seat Chapter 25

2009-08-17T13:26:00.001-07:00

July 9th Reagan National to Providence US Airways 3:10 PM

It was a quick trip to Washington DC to ‘meet casually’ with the Senate Committee on Small Business on Health Care Reform. The Committee is chaired by Senator Mary Landrieu of Louisiana. Nine stakeholders were asked to share their perspective with the committee. It was a valuable invitation for me as a Realtor on behalf of our members: more than 300,000 Realtors have NO health insurance at all. A significant number of additional Realtors have limited insurance. When one overlays that most Realtors work on a contingent fee and are self employed, the issue becomes complex and very important. Our members want and need health care reform.

To be at the hearing by 10 am on the 9th I had flown down late the night before. With air travel so unreliable, it is prudent to travel with some room for error, or better yet room for correction: (with another flight between you and the last workable “ETA” estimated time of arrival). Unfortunately, that is no longer simply prudent, it is now required. Have appreciated air travel my entire life. That is no longer true; air travel is a necessary incontinence. Airlines regardless of brand have left customer service at the curb. They cannot handle to demand, are inept at problem solving. and are unsympathetic to their customers. (That has been my experience this year with Delta, US Airways, and United). Maybe the others are better, but I would not bet on it.

After a restless sleep in a non-descript hotel room: yes, another beige room, I met with my preparation team at 8 am. It was quite interesting, because Washington has its own language and health care reform has its own vocabulary. It requires the kind of focus and attention that my Constitutional Law Course at Holy Cross required thirty years ago. We review our talking points and the approach. The setting would be a panel discussion which would require initiative on my part to participate.

Meeting began. Senators Landrieu, Snow, Bond, Shaheen, Wyden, and Hagan were there. Most had long opening statements reviewing the importance of reform. Of the nine ‘stake holders,’ DC vocabulary, only two of us were small business owners: me and a manufacturer from Louisiana. The conversation was rather direct with most of the lobbyists articulating their group’s priorities. Participated passionately: “Many Realtors, especially in Rhode Island rely on the Hope Insurance Program: I hope I do not get sick.” That said, Realtors want health care reform, but believe that cost control must be part of the solution.

Enjoyed the opportunity to share our group’s needs. My closing included an observation that it was difficult to speak to this issue, because it was hidden from most Americans by the use of language. It was hard to understand what was really being said and the use of code words made it difficult to explain even to our own members. Senator Shaheen concurred that even the Senators had a hard time understanding: “Senator that is not very comforting.” was my response.. At the very end, there was an opportunity to suggest that the ‘public option’, the government’s own insurance plan, need not be a make or break issue in the health care reform debate. If we need to give it up for reform, then so be it.

The meeting ended and I was back at the security gate at National by 2 for a 3 pm flight. As I am getting into line, Senator Reed is also in the line. We greet each other, and frankly I am surprised he remembers me. We finish the ‘screening’ and make our way to the gate. He is on his way to Providence for Senator Dodd’s sister’s wake and funeral. We talk about my trip and health care. He listened closely. We also talk about the housing market and the challenge of price stabilization with so many foreclosures and short sales. It was very gentle. It was the kind of conversation with your Senator or Representative that you really appreciate. He listened and I listened. It was a discussion of public policy and the true nature of the market. There was an understanding that policy, and lack of policy, is a choice. There was also appreciation for the complexity of our problems and our solutions. But woven into the conversation, that these problems can be addressed and ultimately solved: no blind optimism, just the kind of determination that we needed to get through this and that we would. It was frankly pragmatic and encouraging.

We both got onto the plane to make our way home. His visit home would be overnight. He sat toward the front; I sat at 18C, an aisle seat near the end of the plane. As luck would have it, there was no one in the window seat. I had had my window seat conversation at the gate..

Matthew and Christina Wedding Toast 25 July 2009

2009-07-26T04:55:00.000-07:00

Matt & Christina:

(It has been a tradition in our family for the grandfather or father of the groom to make a toast. My Grandfather, John Brophy did at your mother’s and my wedding 30 years ago).

This is an important day and a special occasion:
Important because Matt and Christina, from this day forward,
you are married, connected, one.
You are no longer simply with each other,
You are now ‘of’ each other.

It is a special occasion because we your family and friends witness, celebrate and seal this marriage.
We too are making a vow to protect you, your marriage and your
children. We do that freely and without reservation. This too is the union of the larger families: The Perieres, the Martins-Phipps.

Matt and Christina we love you.

It is fitting that this union is happening here at the water’s edge.
The sea, just as marriage and life, will have great ranges of experiences: Spectacular days like today, and stormy days like Thursday. Tides ebb and flow. Life and marriage will be too.
But your love will be the constant.
Your loyalty will be the shield.
Your family will be your safe harbour.

Your marriage will be built on trust:
You are handing each other your hearts. Be gentle and kind.
You are placing your dreams at each other feet, tread lightly.
You are placing your most precious treasure, time, in each other’s time piece
Do not take a day,
an hour,
or a minute for granted.
What you have in each other is a gift from God.

As parents, you do not choose your kids.
They choose you before they are born.
Matthew thank you for choosing your mother and me.
Christina, thank you for choosing Matthew as your husband.
We could not have chosen a better wife for him.
Thank you both for giving us Miles and siblings yet named.

May you bring out the best in each other.
May you take life as it comes.
May be you be your best selves.
May you live to see the smiles of your grandchildren’s children.

Finally we celebrate the beginning of your new journey:
Remember to listen to each other.
Listen then speak.
IF you do it right, you will be listening more than speaking.
It is time for us to listen to the heartbeat of your lives together.

God Bless and Good Luck Matthew and Christina.

Chairs of Love and Music of the Heart

2009-07-09T01:30:00.000-07:00

It is the day before my birthday, just another day and another birthday. Isn’t it bizarre that we celebrate the birthday of the birthed and then to overlook the work of the mother? For whatever reason however, the mood that has wrapped me like a blanket is one of raw emotion…a sense of loving, a sense of being loved, a moment of purpose, and a moment of profound gratitude. My kids tend to tease me as some who enjoys action movies and romantic comedies. (By the way, Sarah Bullock’s new one, the Proposal, was very funny). In other words I tend to be sentimental and nostalgic. It is a chronic condition whose symptoms are becoming more ‘severe’ as I get older.

It is late afternoon…the weather is perfect: 78 degrees, bright sun, blue water, and a light breeze. It does not get much better than this. As I am writing this, the movie August Rush is on in the background. Have seen it a couple of times. Each time the movie ends for me with salted tears. Today will probably not be any different. The story is about two musicians who spend a night together. An accident results in a coma for the woman cellist. She becomes pregnant and gives birth to a son. Her father signs the newborn away to an orphanage. August is a musical prodigy, like Beethoven, and 12 years later he “looks” for his parents though his music. It is a clear presentation: music is his passion and the language of his love. The movie is about the search. In the end, his music does ‘find’ his parents.

On one hand, it may seem sentimental and trite, but that would be selling the movie and its message very short. It is the contention of the movie that everyone is given unique talents that must be discovered, developed, and dispersed. Potential talent is not wasted; it is just fallow, unharvested. Human beings have an innate ‘need’ to strive and soar. It is that well from which things like competition, passion, perseverance, and excellence all spring from. Ironically, we celebrate prodigies in academics, sports, music, etc. But we tend to overlook those prodigies of human caring. There are rare people, whose entire life ‘purpose.’ is in the energetic, effusive care of others. These people are as important as the great athletes, musicians, intellectuals, business people, etc. These are the people who ‘teach’ us what being human is really about. These are the best parents, husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, brother, sisters, friends, neighbors, and people.

Take the time to ‘see’ these people around you. Let them teach you how to be more passionate as a human being. It is ironic that the more you share and love the more you are loved and appreciated. Who says there is no cosmic balance?

It has been a long tradition within my family to do special things for the people you care about. It takes many forms. One of my favorite ‘gifts’ has been the ‘chairs of love.’ It is a lot of work, but it is a great gift. You buy an unfinished chair. (My preference has always been rocking chairs). The chair is painted and personalized. Symbols, colors, quotations, memories are ‘marked’ onto the piece. It is not a formal work of art, but rather a ‘life quilt’ chair. My immediate family has made more than a dozen. Each is unique. Each attempts to celebrate the life of the recipient. My wife and my children made one for me. The base color is Chinese orange. It is bright. But it is the quotations, the sketch of Don Quixote and the symbols that give it such meaning. In our family, the rocking chairs are expressions of love.

So in this time of economic challenge, remember to celebrate life purpose: to be a caring person. Maybe we can also learn to live lives of ‘service’ to others. At least, we can learn to hear the music of the heart.

The Window Seat Chapter 24

2009-07-08T04:02:00.000-07:00

June 30, 2009 Southwest Flight to BWI

Originally, the plan was to be on a 5:35 PM flight to BWI for a one day series of meeting with Obama administration people on health care reform. By the time my work was completed, the 6:05 was the next best option. Ticket changed and I gained a half hour to make the flight. Check in was easy, but security was ridiculously slow and tedious: one lane, one very long line, and some new trainees. It was becoming stressful as we were not sure we would make our flight. These were unfounded concerns, as the weather in Baltimore was a mess and we were going to be delayed. Once we got to the gate, we were told we would get and update at 7 pm. The potential passengers all scattered in the terminal with the expectation they would now have an hour to eat. That was particularly bad advice, because 20 minutes later; 6:25 we were called back for immediate boarding. Friday’s was providing Styrofoam for the passenger to take their yet to be served food onto the plane. We hustle onto the plane, and take our seats.

Sit down in the aisle seat of the exit row. A business man, about my age sits in the window seat. We exchange greetings, but both of us expect the middle seat to be filled. Ironically, it was not. Almost every other seat in the plane was full.

We spent time talking about his job and family situation. He works for a food service company that is based in Paris. “They know how to enjoy life and take care of their people.” He was on the road every week traveling around the Eastern Seaboard. He goes to Paris once a quarter. What was quickly apparent is that this guy really loves his work.
That is so rare now.

We talked about his 16 year old daughter and her life plans: college and beyond. My seat mate had gotten a divorce from his wife. He had been very generous so that he could have full custody which was his priority. Every daughter should know the unconditional love that this father had for his daughter. She was Dad’s life joy. He was also working hard to prepare himself for her departure to college and then her departure into adulthood. He knew it would be very difficult.

The conversation moved to books. He was an avid reader. In passing I mentioned “The Unforgiving Minute” by Craig Mullaney. He said that his father, a former Marine, had just read it and loved it. I shared that I had gone to the same high school, Hendricken that Craig had attended, years apart. I had just been at a book signing with Craig’s classmates. It was the most subtle of transitions, but the book lead to the real subject at hand: his father and their relationship: There was distant between them, although both were working on it bridging the void. It was hard as his father graduated from the Academy, done multiple tours in Vietnam, etc. “He is just not a warm in touch with his feelings kind of guy.” It was my chance to share: “You really want to clear the air and share what you feel. You never know what will happen. It is hard to work on the relationship when he is gone. If you have something to say, say it. I was fortunate, as I did not have any unfinished business with my father, when he passed. Most people are not so lucky.” When I stopped talking, he paused and said: “Thank you.”

You do not know how important or unimportant each life contact really may be. Make sure to engage them as you may be much better for the interaction. Often the person giving the advice is really the student. It was in this case: I can finally celebrate my father and my relationship with him, rather than wallow in death’s loss. It has taken over five years to get ‘here.’ It was my seat mate, in the window seat, who ‘showed’ me where I was.

It was ok that we were over an hour late in arriving. The time had been well spent. Both of us got off of the plane in a better ‘place.’

The Watchful Realtor 2: Mars, Venus and Something Simply Called Stupid

2009-06-23T03:28:00.001-07:00

“Mars, Venus, and something simply called Stupid.” This chapter has less to do with real estate and more to do with the difference between the genders.

As a young child, my family and I lived in California, Oregon, Washington, and Kansas. In each one of these States, pickup trucks are more than just functional transportation. They convey the pioneer, rough and rugged, attitude of the West. They are ‘can do’ vehicles. Therefore it is really not surprising, that I have always thought that a pickup truck would be a great ‘spare vehicle.’

My ‘need’ for a pickup truck has become more apparent recently: college dorm relocations, junk runs, and a personal residence that is now full of ‘stuff.’ This has been amplified by my recent, nostalgic Pendleton Blanket spree. The memories of my youth in the great West are becoming like the images in the rear view mirror. As time move on, they are getting smaller and smaller. It may be silly but the lessons of youth, particularly those of boy with his father and grandfather, become more important as they become more distant: the time spent learning to shoot a rifle, or hiking, or sitting around a camp fire. These were times, that for me, we were powerful lessons to be of the moment and responsible for and to myself. These were times when you could ask your father or grandfather just about anything. These were times when you learned how to be a compassionate and strong man.

At a recent visit to Jim Cazzani at Passport Motors, I mentioned to him that I would like to buy a ‘junk trunk.’ “Something cheap but in decent shape” He asked me how much I wanted to spend. “Under $2500.” He laughed and asked if I wanted wheels too. The conversation ended with him saying he would keep his eyes open. Three weeks later he called and said he had a truck.” It was under $2500, albeit barely. The truck he had found was a 1994 Chevrolet Silverado with 116,000 miles on it. It was a Rhode Island-Florida truck. It was in good shape with an extended cab and a lined truck bed. My only question was what color. It was maroon. I said I would take it. “You do not what to drive it or see it.” “No Jimmy, you have checked it out and that is good enough for me.”

When I saw the truck it was perfect. In some ways, it was more exciting than my Saab, the Porsche, the Audi, etc…well not as exciting as the Alfa Romeo, but it was very exciting. We did all of the paper work and I drove off in my FIRST pickup truck. It has been great fun and I got 15 miles per gallon with my first tank. Simple joys.

About a month later, I am at the Mid Year meetings of the National Association for Realtors. One of my long time friends from the Association is Bob Snowden who owns a huge ranch with thousand of acres in Wyoming. He is a great guy with several pickup trucks. I am telling him about my pickup. He asks about the mileage. “It’s just a baby.” He asks if I have a picture of the truck. I quickly pull out my I phone to share not one but SIX pictures of my ‘new’ truck. “Ron that is in great condition and that was a great buy.”

I am feeling really proud. As this conversation is going on my wife Susan is listening and watching. She has been surprised at how much I am enjoying the truck. She likes it too, but not for what it represents, but rather what it can do. As the conversation with Bob winds down, and we finish admiring the photos of my ‘baby truck,’ Susan asks if I have a picture of her, (my wife of almost 30 years), in my phone. Bob smiles, as if to say, of course he does. Susan on the other hand knows me. Now my truck and I are in sinking in stupidity. As I stumble, suggesting that my phone is fairly new. It is apparent that this lame excuse will not help. Susan has a quick solution. “Take my picture.” The picture I now have in my phone is one of her hugging, not me, but rancher BOB. My wedding anniversary is coming up soon, and it will not surprise me if my anniversary gift is a picture of her driving the truck.

There is a life lesson here. Have a picture of your wife and family in your phone before you celebrate any other toys, particularly trucks, cars, big screen TVs, Red Sox tickets, Celtics games, or the second coming of Tom Brady. It makes life easier.

The Window Seat Chapter 23

2009-06-06T08:09:00.001-07:00

Delta Pensacola to Atlanta

This was one of those quick business trips in which the travel time was almost longer than the meeting time. I was on my way back from the Alabama Association of Realtors Leadership Meetings. Really enjoyed the group and learned a lot of new marketing techniques to sell in a ‘bad’ market. They are having similar frustration to ours.

To get home, my route involved two legs, one to Atlanta and then Atlanta to Providence. Unfortunately, Delta and the other ‘legacy’ airlines are trading out the full sized planes for the commuter jets that hold 40 to 70 people. They are small and uncomfortable. Every time I make an airline reservation now, I look to check on the type of plane. The smaller planes are just not optimum. This day our chariot in the sky would be a Bombardier 300. It was only going to be a 45 minute flight so it would be ok.

As I boarded the plane, I tried to rationalize my anticipated ‘discomfort’ with the thought that this is part of the ‘greening’ of airline travel. Smaller planes, more people, equal less fuel and less pollution. It also equals a less pleasant travel experience. The size of plane was most apparent when I had fight to get my computer bag into the overhead compartment. It was more like a glove box.

Found seat 6B on the aisle. Smiled with the thought that it should be 6 B .75 The seats are small, but you worry a lot about who may sit next to you. My worries were unfounded as this fairly slight ‘mature woman’ founds her way to 6 A. I was a bit distracted as she looked like a small version of Scottish songstress, Susan Boyle, and she had an English accent.

We said hello. She decided that it was ok to talk with me. Here is her story:

She was born in a town just north of London, but moved to the United States in 1971. She had five sisters and three brothers. She had been married, but was now divorced. One daughter lived with her husband and new granddaughter in Atlanta. She was on her way back to London to have fun, but also to deal with the health issues of two of her sisters. Her youngest sister, 51 had struggled with breast cancer for five years, but was near the end. Her oldest sister was in the middle of a similar battle. This was all shared in the first breath.

Barbara was her name and she worked in a hospital managing medical records. We talked about the changes in record keeping and the move to all digital records. What surprised her, was that the older doctors actually worked through the change, but it is the younger Doctors, who wanted someone else to enter the information into the system, that we making the change harder. ‘Their time was more valuable.’

We talked about her trip to England. She would have to deal with her sisters’ illnesses, but she was also committed to having some fun. She wanted to go on the Ferris wheel in downtown London. “You can see half of England on clear day.”

Her younger sister, who was so sick, had some mental issues. It was actually good because she did not really understand the terminal nature of her disease. Barbara thought it would be much better to face death without knowing it was coming. (My gut was not in agreement. We all know we are going to die, or do we just spend our lives ignoring or denying the obvious. If you do not know it is coming, are you really facing it?)

One of the interesting comments was that medicine was more innovative in Britain, because the Doctors could try different protocols. Getting into the health care system and getting diagnosed might take more work, but once into it, there were more options. This was not my understanding of the British system, so I listened with great interest.

Our flight arrives late, and my connection would be tight. Hers would be easy, but she was not looking forward to the 8 hour flight. We said good bye. No actually I said goodbye, she said “off you go.” And so I did.

The Watchful Realtor

2009-05-24T14:31:00.001-07:00

This is the first installment of a series of true stories that I have witnessed, enjoyed, and on occasion engaged in my 30 years as a practicing Realtor in Rhode Island. To protect the innocent, and not always innocent, I have changed the names, but the stories are true. The details may not be as precise. You would, however, be hard pressed to make this stuff up.

Bailey

One of my most bizarre experiences in Real Estate involved a dog named Bailey. My office had been working with a family that was moving into East Greenwich from Cowesett. It was a family with three children and an old golden, named Bailey. The family selected a home in Cedar Heights. It was a great house, with four bedrooms, two and half baths, on a three quarter acre home site. It was heavily treed, so much so that you could not really see the neighbors. One of the appeals of this property is that the yard was large so Bailey would have lots of room to play. Did I mention that Bailey was very old and could hardly move? The yard was supposed to give him another life. Do we have dogs and cats confused? Dog people, like my wife, tend to be exuberant about their canine family members. This family was among the most dog focused we had ever met.

The negotiations were simple. This was so long ago, that the inspections may have been limited to termites. Everything about the transaction was routine. It was going along perfectly.

Two weeks before closing, the buyers call, very upset because Bailey has died. We feel badly, but not sure why they are calling the Realtor. (Are they looking for a sympathy card or flower?) They are calling to ask if Bailey can be buried in the backyard of the home that they are buying. The request was to ask the listing agent to ask the seller if we could bury the dead dog in the backyard. To the listing agent’s credit and the sellers understanding, we were able to work it out, provided that Bailey was buried ‘beyond the landscaped area in the woods.’ A memorial service with the entire family was scheduled and held and Bailey was buried back in the woods behind the house. Bailey was laid to rest and the family would be closing in 13 days.

Or so we thought. The seller gets an angry call from his immediate rear neighbor. “What are you burying in my backyard?” Apparently, Bailey family interred the dog on the neighbor’s yard. No one knew where the property line was located, so a survey was hired to determine if Bailey was buried on the appropriate property. The conversation as to who would pay for the survey became very challenging. In the end the new home owners, in the hopes of not having to move Bailey paid to have the property survey.

The property lines were marked and corner bounds were established. Unfortunately, Bailey was on both properties. As tempers had flared and everyone was upset now, professional ‘diggers’ were hired to exhume Bailey and re buy him on the appropriate lot.
It was a good thing, because Bailey was decaying and the smell was overpowering.
Incidentally, the digger had dug the new hole first, so Bailey was not exposed to the elements for to long. Ultimately, the property was closed and the family moved into the home. Do not remember which house is Bailey’s final resting place. Am very confident that in the past 25 years his family has moved away.

The moral of the story: No good deed goes unpunished. And if you our going to dig in the backyard make sure you are digging in your own yard.

The Window Seat Chapter 22

2009-05-09T07:11:00.000-07:00

Chicago O’Hare to Lexington Kentucky

There is a real difference when travelling from airport hub cities to other hub cities versus traveling from non hub cities to non hub cities Airport consolidation and the challenged economy limit choices and increase costs. One of the Regional Vice Presidents from Kentucky asked me to speak to their meeting a year ago. The invitation was inviting as I had never been to Kentucky and my calendar had almost no commitments beyond the critical ones: my wedding anniversary, my wife’s birthday, the kids birthday, Easter, Christmas, the 4th of July. This was a one day event in horse country. Cool.

In order to limit the time the trip required, the travel schedule was to arrive after 9 pm on United from Chicago. The plane was what the industry calls a Commuter Jet. It is not surprising that the airline industry does not do what the car industry does, define the SIZE of the plane. This was not a sub compact, but it was definitely a compact. It is amazing how many people, with small luggage can get on the plane…The overhead bins bear striking resemblance to the glove compartment in my car.

I sit down in 5C…Hope that I have the row, if you would call two seats that are smaller than Fenway seats, a row. The last person gets one the plane, cell phone is his ear, and points at the seat next to me. He is loud. The flight attendant watches as my seat mate continues his conversation for EVERYONE to hear. The flight attendant approaches me and asks if I would like to move to the row behind the exit row as I would have the row to myself. Quickly, I move. My soon to be former seat mate continues a conversation and proceeds to move to my former seat before I am out of it…

Take my new seat, and just before the door to the airplane closes, a young man comes barreling down the aisle. He has a laptop, a beer, and a sense of great relief. “I was in the bar man, on the phone with a buddy…almost missed this connection.” He was one his way to visit his girlfriend in Lexington. As soon as he sits down and buckles up, the flight attendant comes buy, sees the beer, and says with a smile: “Is that what I think it is?” My new seat mate finishes the last gulp of bear and says” Not sure what you think it is, but it isn’t anymore. (You cannot bring open alcohol onto a plane because you would then not have to pay $6 for table wine).

We settle in. Mark is on this way to Lexington to visit his girlfriend of 2 and half years. The conversation is very light banter. Just fine with me today. He looks very athletic and says he plays baseball in a couple of leagues in Pittsburgh. Guess he is thirtyish. He mentions that he loved baseball his whole life. “Did you play in college?” He had received a baseball scholarship 12 years earlier, but was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. He talked about the diagnosis and how he had to replace his baseball scholarship with academic ones. He graduated with honor and has a great job with a transportation company. With a few leading questions, he spoke unusually openly. We talked about the disease, his expensive drug protocol, issues with twice a year colonoscopies, cancer within his family and more. When you face your own mortality before you are really an adult, it strips away pretense and privacy. Two of his comments were strikes of a tolling bell: “At 18, I was really depressed when I was first diagnosed, and wondered whether I should bother going on… I have answer that question.” and “ I know I am going to get cancer, just want to postpone it as long as possible.” Both comments were delivered without wrapping paper of emotion.

Eventually, we moved to talk about his upcoming weekend with his girlfriend in Lexington. They had met in Jacksonville, Florida, his home town. She was from Lexington. They were very serious…In fact serious enough that he would wear the powder blue sear sucker suit she had purchased for him with the pink striped shirt to the horse races over the weekend. “That better not get on facebook, or my baseball buddies will never let me forget it.”

While they were serious, he was working to learn to trust people again. He had been engaged to be married before. He thought it was perfect. They had even purchased a home together. His job required travel and it was hard on her. She would always ask if he was alone. A few years ago, she called him on her way home to tell him that she would be gone when he arrived. She had met someone else and was moving on. He talked about the betrayal and the hurt. “I knew something was wrong, just not what.”

He had no contact with her until her new boyfriend committed suicide and she wanted to reconnect. It was hard for him to say no, but it was necessary. Now he was with a woman with a loving family, with whom he hoped to create another loving family.
He will do well at it.

This was one of those conversations that you really enjoy. Here is someone who has faced serious life challenges, who does not just endure, but engages. As we landed and our paths diverged, we had created a connection: common travelers, for 1 hour on life’s pilgrimage.

The Window Seat Chapter 21

2009-05-08T04:23:00.000-07:00

Washington to Providence April 8th

It was a last minute mad rush to make the US Airways flight at 1:20 rather than waiting until the 4:30. Fortunately, I had my luggage in hand and got to the gate at 12:55. There was only one seat left and it was mine... amazingly it was an aisle seat. At 1:05 we got onto a shuttle bus which brought us to the 50 person commuter Jet. Somehow I was one of the first people on the plane. Found my seat 2 C. Settled in. This was a very quick trip as I had come into DC after diner the night before to do 19 television and 4 radio interviews between 6 am and 12 noon on the 8th. I was filling in for the President of the National Association of Realtors. who could not make it to D.C. due to some health issues. Nothing like bathing by fire. The interviews were fine although I was exhausted.

One of the last people on the plane was a tall young man. He looked like a college student with that well dressed Banana Republic uniform. Kaki pants, striped shirt, blue jacket and golf hat. He quickly took his seat. We shared pleasantries. Always like to talk to the people around me since 9 11. He was an undergraduate student in one of the best schools in DC. He lived in East Greenwich in Signal Ridge and had gone to Hendricken. It was my assumption that he was going home early for Easter, but he was not. He was going to home to be with his family as his uncle, 51, had just pasted away. He opted not to elaborate, other that to say the family was really upset.

(As he and his family are from East Greenwich, I will leave the details out. It is easier to share life stories of people who are not our friend, neighbors or relatives).

We talked about school. life, career options, happiness, and more. Inside I was smiling broadly as he reminded me of my self at 19 20 years old. You may remember it as the time when you knew the most and were most generous with your information. It was one of those conversations when information and knowledge were infused with wonder and exuberance. The freshness of the vision and the crispness of thought are trademarks of the age and the station of life. We talked religion, families, teachers, and aspirations.

As the conversation continued, there was a strange familiarity. Have you ever been in a situation, where you know you do not know this person, but you do? It was discomforting…how do I know this kid? Was he a friend of my daughter or one of my sons?

As I get older I ask more questions, and tend to offer fewer answers. When your ‘life-sight” ages, you will find it hard to be absolute and binary. You recognize that life’s fabric is a colourful quilt. At 19 and 20, your vision, ironically, tends to be binary…dark and light. Not sure if it takes 50 years for everyone to develop good ‘life sight,’ but it is a very valuate sixth sense. Incidentally, I just found out that I had it… Can you imagine what life would have been life if you had learned to use that ‘sense’ in your twenties?

The conversation with the person in the window seat continued until we landed. Then we thanked each other for the time together and set on our separate life paths. Was already at the next “station’ in my life tracks as I descended the escalator to baggage claim. As soon as I arrived at the bottom of the stairs, someone called my name: “Ron” I looked up and saw a friend from many years ago. She and I had graduated from the same College. I preceded her by fewer years than her appearance suggested. She is one of those rare people for whom time’s second hand leaves no marks… It was great to see her after so many years. Then I realized that she was my seat mate’s mom. Now I know why he was so familiar.

She started to introduce us. “Mom, I already met him…I sat next to him on the plane.” “Are you going to write about him…” I smiled . I expressed my condolences on her family’s loss and congratulated her on her son: “He is a fine young man.” She has a lot to be proud of. It is a great life achievement to raise a child of purpose and caring. She and her husband had.

The Window Seat Chapter 20

2009-04-22T20:10:00.000-07:00

CHARLOTTE to PROVIDENCE

It had been a quick trip to Florida to the National Association of Realtors Resorts and Second Home Symposium. As my wife is involved in the group, it was fun because we were able to travel together. Meetings were great and in a beautiful setting in Naples, but we were only able to spend about 90 minutes on the beach. Was excited to swim as it was my first ocean swim of 2009.

One our way back we connected in Charlotte. All the flights were being delayed by weather. Ours to Providence was no exception. The plane at least was a regular sized plane Airbus 320 with three seats on each side of the aisle. I took my aisle seat and Susan sat next to me. The plane was full.

As we settled in the seat across the aisle from me was occupied by a restless, blond, wiry man. He was about six foot tall with blond hair. He was texting on his I phone. When asked if he liked his I phone, he said he loved it. My wife was reading a book and was already at home. So Mark and I started a long conversation, whose true intent was to help the time pass by…to fill the void until we arrived at home. As a high school kid, we would describe it as: “shouting the s…” Mark works for a medical information management company. He had been trained as a physical therapist, but loved his work now, although he travelled more than he preferred. He lived in southern Massachusetts with his wife and two children 11 and 9.

I noticed the cycling magazine in the seat pocket and asked about it. That is when the conversation accelerated. We found at that we were both triathletes. He is still racing, I was and am not. It was amazing how many people we had in common. Triathletes are a strange breed. We compared bikes, races, success stories and failures it was really interesting. He is at the same age that I was when I did Ironman in 2000. He was in a similar life place: free enough to pursue a very individual goal. Completing an ironman requires lots of time and discipline. It took me four years in order to being able to complete the event and do it safely. He was looking to do the same.

He was preparing to race the Boston Marathon to raise money for the Jon Blaze Foundation. Jon was the triathlete who was the first person diagnosed with ALS to complete the Hawaiian Ironman. He was from Seekonk. It is ironic that something like triathlon, that is so physical, so human, and so ALIVE, could also be the stage for something so tragic as the death of a thirty-something, special education teacher. I shared the story of my brother in law, Scott Carlson, another Ironman triathlete, who also died of ALS. It was also ironic, that I ran the Boston Marathon in 2000 to raise money for ALS research for Scott.

It was as if I was looking at myself 9 years ago. This guy is in top physical shape as was I. He had a specific goal, as did I. He was looking to better understand the whys of life, as was, (and am), I.

What was intriguing is that we found the most common bound in sharing the failures of experience within our mutual sport. Triathletes KNOW what is required to complete an ironman, so there is an instant respect. But they also know that getting there is about trial and error. It is also about humility. I shared one of my favorite life lessons with Mark:

When I was on the last loop of the run at the Florida ironman, this woman was coming up on me. She too had completed the 2.4 mile swim, the 112 mile bike, and was at mile 18 of the 26.2 mile marathon. When she reached me, I pick up my tempo to stay with her for a while. She was strong and I was exhausted. She told me this was her third ironman this year and her 9th overall. She was on her way to her best time ever…This she shared as she started to inch away from me. I knew she was older, so I asked her: May I asked you a personal question: How old are you?” Expecting her to say 55 or so, I almost stopped altogether when she told me she had just turned 67. A great grandmother was whooping my butt.” Mark and I both laughed. We knew that was not just the nature of triathlons that was the nature of life. There are always people smarter, faster, better, older, younger, etc. Life’s journey, just like ironman, is a very interesting adventure. Moreover, when ever you think you have it ‘in control.’ you will get knocked off your horse. Humility for triathletes is always a challenge.

Mark left the plane planning to run long the next morning. I was planning to run short and slow.

The Window Seat Chapter 19

2009-04-19T04:32:00.001-07:00

March 4th 2009 Providence to Chicago O/Hare

Providence’s Green Airport is typically busiest between 5:30 A.M and 7:00 A.M. The baggage screening machines have been moved out of the Main Terminal and are no longer visible. As a result, even during the busiest time of day, it does not feel very business. As there is one security point. There is always a bottle neck. This day was no exception as I navigated the logistics to catch the 6:30 flight to Chicago. March has always struck me as month with the most number of first time flyers. It may just be that at the end of winter, your patience for anything is waning, especially in this economy. This particular day was no exception. There were lots of travelers wandering without direction within Velcro lines. The Transportation Security Agency people are polite, but not particularly quick this day. It is early and everyone would benefit from some caffeine.

After my identification is checked, line 6 looks like a good option. Not to long with a couple of business people who have done this before. Once I commitment the line stops with a person with liquids, jewelry, etc, who has not travelled in years. It really is not that long, but it is an arid desert when it comes to patience at 5:50 a.m. Most people this particular morning awoke on the wrong side of the bed. Ironically, the people in line are saying nothing. It is one of those moments of ‘quiet frustration.’ Eventually, it is my turn. My computer, my computer bag, my cell phone, my belt, my unpolished shoes all make it through the x ray machine. My body follows and the process of collecting my things and putting myself back together begins. Strange how it seems to take longer to ‘redress’ than to undress.

Decide that I could use something to drink and a Chiai tea at Starbucks sounds great. Another line, but this one is easier to handle with all of the great ‘sights and smells.’ It is now 6:10 and Gate 9 is my new temporary address. Almost everyone here is travelling alone and the only conversation to be heard is body language. It borders on vulgar: Leave me alone. Normally; there is civility of greeting and politeness. This particular morning, Rhode Island’s reputation for being unfriendly, is well deserved. Still do not know really know why, but I think I’m catching the same virus.

After high status passengers, Global and 1K, board the plane, it is my turn. Like the plane as it is a recent Airbus 319: three seats on each side of the aisle. Guess where I sit? You are right, the aisle seat 7D. Settled in without spilling my Starbuck’s, I find my sense of humor is improving. Down the aisle comes a short, muscular man, mid 30’s, with a smile and with purpose in his step. He did not get the memo this morning. He is polite, patient, and happy. He takes the window seat, introduces himself, while making himself comfortable. Just as he settles in another, smiling, thin and tall young man comes to his seat between us. He is not quite as happy, but almost. We introduce ourselves to each other.

Plane etiquette has specific rules: Certain questions are appropriate, some are rude, and others are stupid. In the latter category, is where are you going today. Obviously, we are going to Chicago. The real question is what is the final destination. For both of my row mates, the destination was Hawaii. Now I was really jealous. My trip ended in Chicago…High temperature 21 with a wind off of the lake. Honolulu’s forecast was 81 degrees, great beaches and better surfing. The window seat traveler was going to the North Shore to surf for a month. He was a single, hardwood floor finisher, whose passion was surfing. He was going to paradise, for a month. Ok the smile and sunny disposition were warranted. The traveler between was a soft ware engineer, on his way to Honolulu to work on a military computer installation. He would have four hours of free time before he would come home. “But that is better than none.” So there you had it, the only two sunny people on the plane were in my row. They each had reasons to be sunny on one of last gray winter days in Rhode Island: They were on their way to endless summer. Not bad at all.

The Window Seat Chapter 18

2009-03-01T14:44:00.000-08:00

Southwest BWI to PVD February 4th 3:30.

Was really excited that my one day meeting had ended two hours early and I was able to catch the 3:30 flight rather than the 5:20. Arrived at the airport and everything was on schedule including my Flight. Did not have any luggage to check in. Had my briefcase and not much else. It is the way I like to travel: “Have computer will go anywhere.” It is also really great when you are going for one day.

Fortunately, the 737 was not very full. Yes, I scooped an aisle seat 10c. The seat in the middle was empty. The window seat was occupied by a slight, academic looking young man. He was one of those people whose youth would place him anywhere from 20 to 35. The only true hint of ‘adulthood.’ was the wedding ring that he consistently twisted on this figure. We exchanged pleasantries and proceed to wrap ourselves in the blankets of our individual lives. He was highlighting some report that appeared to be a print out of a power point presentation. I was reading The Invention of Air by Steven Johnson. He finally asked about the book and we started one of the great conversations about books. He was very well read. When asked what he did, he explained that he was an attorney by training, and had left a prestigious Washington DC law firm to work for a ‘Consulting firm.; He loved the new work because he was not in a cubicle anymore. “Consulting is very collaborative which is what I prefer.” We talked for a while about law. We laughed about the fact that Supreme Court Justice Ruth B. Ginsberg changed the vocabulary from sex biased cases to ‘gender discrimination cases.’ The conversation was entertaining.

He seemed surprised, that as ‘a country Realtor.’ that I knew anything about the Supreme Court. When queried, he shared that he had gone to Brown for his undergraduate studies and to Harvard for law. He was originally from New York, but loved Providence, except for the weather. Washington DC is as far north as his ‘climate criteria’ would allow. He was on his way back to Providence to spend a couple of days with his room mate from Brown University. The room mate was from Cranston and his family was in the restaurant business. In classic Rhode Island fashion, I knew the name of the restaurant and knew of the family. He smiled and confirmed that it was so Rhode Island to know the specific person. “That just would not happen in New York…and you would not think to ask, because there is no way you would know some random person…” We both laughed. He spoke briefly about his room mate with the innocent exuberance of a great life-time friendship. The majority of the conversation was, in the end, about his room mate, his time in Providence, and his work.

What was most interesting is that aside from mentioning his parent in New York he did not talk about his family at all. He was effective and steering the conversation to the ‘neutral subjects’ that he was comfortable revealing. Furthermore, I did not feel comfortable about asking him about his wife, partner, or immediate family. It just was not in ‘acceptable realm’ of social interaction. Then I remembered he has been trained as an attorney. He was forthcoming, illusive, polite, cordial, and an easy conversationalist. But clearly there were bounds. The flight ended. We walked out of the airport and out into the separateness of our respective lives, having never stepped over the line.

The Window Seat Chapter 17

2009-02-28T04:29:00.001-08:00

The Virtual Window Seat:

Thus far my near encounters of the human kind have general taken place on planes and in one instance in a car. There is a new arena of personal encounters: social media sites: www.facebook.com, www.myspace.com, to name a couple. I have been on face book for a couple of years. As you may recall, it cause a great uproar in my family when I asked my children if they would be my ‘facebook friends.” They all agree after Ian explained to his brother and his sister that you could turn on the privacy setting. Dad will not know or see much of anything, other than your profile picture. At least one, if not all three have the privacy setting turned on. Truth be told, I really do not want to know all of their facebook life details. Do believe that I caused the three of them to think about how public and permanent the site actually is. It remains a family conversation item, and the kids consistently tell me that I am obsessed with the site. That may be true, but it is an amazing tool.

As to encounters of the human kind, it has really surprised me who public and open the information is. My facebook friends share many very personal details of their lives. From relationship status, (Still do not understand “It’s complicated”) to their travel plans, health issues, work challenges, and parenting woes. It you listen, there is NOTHING that is not discussed in the medium. You are not anonymous so there is not mask to hide behind, and yet people pour out their hearts. You can ‘poke people,’ or send them special ‘gifts, thoughts, etc). The main vehicle of public person to person communication is “The Wall” You can write on my wall and I can write on your wall. Can say just about anything and all of your friends can see what is said. It is very wild. Maybe this is the ‘collective consciousness’ that Teilhard de Chardin suggested in the 1950’s. Other people can participate in the conversation by writing on your wall as well.

Right now there is this question that is permeating www.facebook.com right now: 25 Random Thinks about Me. Essentially, you make a list of twenty five things about yourself. They can be childhood secrets, athletic achievements, passions, business accomplishments, favorite body parts, friends, foes, and ANY thing else you like. Several of my friends completed the list and then “tagged me.” The tag asked me to read their list, comment, and complete my own list. For about a week, I resisted. Being a cautious baby boomer, I completed my list off line first and slept on it. Do I really want to be ‘public’ with my list? The next morning, after reviewing the list, I copied, pasted, published and tagged my list. It was actually a lot of fun. While personal, and more intimate than I expected, it was a fun way to tell the people you love how much you care and to share ‘hidden’ sides of yourself. Am quite confident that I will not be included in my children’s list of 25 Random things, “but I must tell you it is worth doing. Just remember it is public. Michael Phelps may not be able to do anything in private without photographs. On Facebook, you can hold the camera, adjust the focus, and share what ever part of yourself you want. Just be ready for conflicting photos and thoughts. It is at best always a conversation.

So if you are not doing much flying or bus riding. Check out www.facebook.com and take a window seat. You will amaze at what you see. Just be careful what you show. It is a window for Pete’s sake.

Reflections on the Inauguration: January 20th, 2009

2009-01-28T08:11:00.001-08:00

January 20th, 2009 Inauguration, Washington, DC

It was a day of great contrasts. Winter in Washington can be bitter and raw. This was one of those days. Yet there was warmth of heart that ignored freezing toes, noses, ears and fingers. The number of people in attendance was amazing. Yet each of us was an individual witness. It was historic yet in noteworthy way it was an ordinary day; extra-ordinary and ordinary in the same moment.

The day before, my Susan, our daughter Caite and I were at the recently reopened Museum of American History. We were there to see the Ft Henry Flag and the Ipswich House. Those were both interesting. Do know which states were the 14 and 15th States admitted into the Union. The flag had 15 Stars during the War of 1812. (Ok I knew Vermont was one of them, but I guessed several others before finally coming up with Kentucky).

We spend a significant amount of time in the Lincoln exhibit. It was striking how human he was. We saw the hat he wore when he was killed. Our 16th President was amazing. He was tortured by the effort to keep the union together. The emancipation proclamation might not have ever been issued. He needed a victory in the War. Thank God that Antietam gave him the divine sign he sought. It was powerful to watch the people studying the exhibit and the document.

Before we left we stopped at a strange exhibit. It was a Woolworth’s coffee counter..
The same kind that we remember at Newport Creamery. Four swivel seats. They looked ordinary, unremarkable. But these were ‘white’s only’ seats. Four young Africa Americans sat in these seats waiting to be served as a protest. They held vigil, (less than fifty years ago), for 6 months before they were finally served. It is embarrassing that this was our country such a short time ago.

These two exhibits were the perfect preface to the inauguration of the first African America President: Barack Obama. We arrived at the security lines on Tuesday at 8:30 and waited in lines until about 10:30 to take our seats. Security was present everywhere, but we all felt safe. The process was polite, but not efficient. (Keep thinking they should hire Disney every four years to make it ‘visitor friendly’ and quick). This day there were very few complaints. We had a seat at a watershed event in the history of our nation and our people. Strictly on the surface, it was note worthy. The President of the United States, for the first time, is an African American. Racial shackles that precluded opportunity have been unlocked and discarded, forever. The Dream of American Opportunity, that any one could one day be President, was realized. You could not help but think the Martin Luther Kings, a American Martyr, was smiling in heaven. He had poured his last measure of life into this cause and into us. Now the ultimate symbol of achievement had been earned by an African American.

But then when you overlay, the gift of this person Barack Obama, it was almost surreal. It was overwhelming This was a man, a high educated thinker, who embraced discourse and science over belief. He understood the brilliance of founding fathers vision.

Everyone in the crowd was excited about the change. When President Bush and Mrs. Bush were introduced a wave of boos and jeers emanated from the rear by the Washington Monument, and like a wave moved forward. It was awkward.

The formal program was beautiful and spiritual. From Aretha Franklin's singing of the national anthem to the benediction, it was inspiring. The speech will be discussed for decades and has been etched into the American psyche. Barack reminded us that we are American, not just Democrats or Republicans. Christians, Jews. Muslims… Non believers. What was most powerful to me, was the line: “we have chosen hope over fear.” This is particularly meaningful for us here in Rhode Island. Remember: we are the 13th State and our motto is hope. Maybe the confidence of our new President can empower and encourage us to make our State a lighthouse in these perilous times. Just a thought.

The Window Seat 16

2009-01-25T16:41:00.000-08:00

Delta Providence to Atlanta

Mid January 2009, this will be an overnight trip to Louisiana via Atlanta. Legacy carriers love commuter jets. They are the buses of the skies. Delta is particularly enamored with these uncomfortable chariots of the sky. 6C was my seat and my row acquaintance was already in his seat 6D. He was a mature, a late 50 year old man with a smooth Southern accent. He introduced himself: “Hi I am Alex” … from Macon Georgia. Alex explained that he worked for the Army on a base in Georgia, was on a training trip to Framingham Massachusetts, and was traveling with a fellow worker. The efficiency of the exchange, while polite, almost suggested that the conversation would end with rank, branch and serial number. But it would be exactly the opposite for the next three hours.

Alex had the gift of story telling. He told his story in several distinct chapters: his professional life, his family life, his time in Vietnam, and his life with his cat. While the chapters wove together both in subject and narration, it was important to the story teller to have it neat, crisp and self contained. Each was organized with a rare meticulousness. Then I remembered Alex had worked in logistics for over 40 years.

Alex loved his work, his country and his family. He had spent several years in Vietnam in the late 1960s. His tour included cities I remembered from the news as a young child: Da Nang, Quang Ngai, Hua, and Nha Trang. He was wounded in battle twice, for which he received Two Purple Hearts. “I was just doing what soldier do for one another and for their Country.” When he returned home, his parents particularly his mother was very proud of him. Every time she introduced Alex she would start by saying, “This is my son Alex who earned not one, but two Purple Hearts in Vietnam.” She had died about ten years ago. Alex placed one of his Purple Heart medals in her coffin, because it had meant so much to her. He still has the other. They are Turtle Dove Purple Hearts, each one half of the other. The tears were streaming down his face. He really misses her. His father, 93 is still alive in an assisted living facility. He is doing ‘pretty well.’

Sometimes you want to ask questions that you know are better left unasked. (Do you have children?) It did not seem so, so the question was introduced differently: Do you have a family? YES, I live with my cat Boo. Boo was eleven years old but had made travel difficult. He did not like to travel and waited by the door until Alex returned. “It is stressful for both of us.” The contrast was striking. Here was this decorated soldier whose family member was not a German shepherd or a Black Lab, but was an old black cat named boo?

Alex wanted to talk more about Vietnam. “Have you been to the Vietnam Memorial in Washington? I saw the travelling Memorial a few years back.” Yes I had. “One of the kids who enlisted with me, Ronnie Jones, is listed on the wall. He was from Macon, too Next time you go, will you look him up.” Yes, but when did he die, I asked. The memorial lists the name of every soldier who died by year of death. With tens of thousands, it would be hard to find. He said that it would have been 1967 or 1968. I agreed to find him. Alex wants to get there before he dies. “Think I will have time.”

Every Memorial day he goes to the Veterans Cemetery to Ronnie Jones’ gravesite. “I had wanted to meet his mom, because my mom had told me it would mean a lot to her, particularly since I knew him.” For almost 30 years, "I had gone and never met his mom." In 1997, while paying his respects, there were several people around the gravesite, he asked one of the people is Ronnie’s mom here. “Why yes, she is seated over there.” They met. She was so appreciative that Ronnie was remembered. (By anyone other that her). Every year since then Alex and Ronnie’s mom meet on Memorial day at his gravesite at 11 A.M. “It is not much to do to thank someone who gave his life for this country, is it?”

The Window Seat 15

2009-01-12T14:17:00.000-08:00

Hertz Rental San Mateo to Vallejo, California November 1998

“How it felt.”

Alright, I am exercising some ‘literary license’ as this window seat is a in a car, and this is anything but random. But this is a true story that has not been told:

My family is from San Francisco, California. Both of my parents were born there and in fact on my mother’s side of the family, I am a fifth generation California. Most Californians were born elsewhere. My mom’s parents lived in Redwood City and my father’s father Herbert, and his wife Evelyn lived in San Mateo. In Bay Area vocabulary, both lived on “The Peninsula.” The Grandparents had lived in the same houses, respectively, since I was very young. My family moved almost every two years, so the grandparents’ permanent houses had a grounding value for me. There was a sense of place. As an adult, my wife Susan and I always made it ‘home to San Francisco at least a couple of times a year. We had different rituals with each set of Grandparents. We also made it a point to bring our children whenever possible.

My father’s birth mother, Alice, left my Grandfather Herbert and his three sons when my father was very young. It was one of those family subjects that is only referenced in whispers, with no opportunity for further detail. My uncle Ross was about 6, my father was 4, and Roger, the youngest was just over a year. It was the late 1930s and the family was living in San Diego. My grandfather, who was a newspaper man, needed a wife and mother for his three children. He met, courted and married Evelyn Cass. The three boys always called her “Hon.” It was short for “Honey” which is what my grandfather had always called her. In 1940, they had a son together names Randall. (Ok there were other letters in the alphabet and I am sure that it was difficult to keep the four boy’s names straight when they all began with R. Fortunately the alliteration ended with my R).

With that as a preface, Susan and I usually took Hon to the San Francisco Zoo, Sea World, Yosemite, Carmel, etc when we visited. Always ready for any adventure, Hon loved to travel and explore. My grandfather preferred to stay at home reading and writing.

It was November 1998 or maybe 1999 and my grandfather had already passed. Susan, Hon and I traveled in the Hertz rental car from San Mateo to Vallejo, to Sea World. It was about 2 and a half hours assuming no serious traffic. I drove; my grandmother sat in the passenger seat, the window seat, and Susan sat in the rear. The conversation on the way up was very light with Hon asking questions about her grandchildren. She was patiently listening to our challenges dealing with three high energy children. She smiled and said it was nothing like her experience with the ‘boys.’ “Your father was the more responsible and industrious, but they were boys…” She finished the thought with a laugh of satisfaction that she had actually survived them.

We had a great day at the Park and saw everything. At the time she was 80ish, and kept up with us the entire dime. By the way, ‘a lady will finally share her age, when she reaches her 8th decade”} It was late afternoon and we began the trip home. Without prompting she started to talk about her life with my Grandfather and his sons. It was admirable that she married a man with three young sons. Hon explained that it was a different time when you had fewer choices and you made the best of them. She laughed at the question “How did you feel about it?” anytime it was asked. “You spend too much time analyzing your feelings, rather than doing what you are supposed to do. It could be finished long before you are finished thinking about how you feel.” She was always very caring, but not particularly expressive with her feelings. She was the kind of person who would pick you up when you fell; give you a quick hug, and then get you back to you task. Coddling was not part of the program.

So I asked about my Uncle Roger who had died as a young boy. She explained that she had really raised Roger from the time before he could talk. Roger was an easy going child who followed his older brothers. Roger was born in 1937. When the Second World War broke out, it was a frightening time. It was time do ‘what you had to do.’ Tom Brokaw’s book the Greatest Generation captures this resolve when. Evelyn Cass lived it first hand. With rationing and three hungry boys she became creative and resourceful. They never went without, well sort of. Going to bed, without dinner, was engaged as a 1940’s incentive program for the boy’s behavior. By all accounts, the results were marginal.

In 1944, Roger came down with Scarlett fever. Because if was so contagious, he was quarantined two and a half hours from home. He was six. As gas was rationed, my grandfather and grandmother could only go to see him once a week. At the time there were few drugs to treat the disease. Over the course of several weeks, he became sicker and ultimately died. As she is telling the story, the tears are streaming down her face and our faces as well. The suggestion was that they were not there when Roger died. “He was such a fun kid….I really MISS him… I still think about him.” There was a long silence as we all caught our breath She then continued: “You see, at the time the world was a war, and everyone was suffering loss. At the time, you did not complain. It was something you just lived through….I lived through it, but it still hurts… (over 50 years later). “Your grandfather told your Uncle Ross, your father, and Randy, he was not even four…but that was that…We just moved on. You just didn’t talk about it at that time, you just went on. This is the first time; I have ever talked about how it felt…” Her words faded away. I could only imagine how my father felt. He was ten and lost his six year old brother.

We finished the rest of the ride home in silence. A family story had been shared with more than the facts. It was shared with how it felt. My grandmother “Hon” was an amazing woman who knew what she need to do, and did it. I was grateful that she sat in the window seat.

The Window Seat 14

2009-01-06T03:00:00.001-08:00

Southwest December 7th Baltimore to Austin

It was one of those great ideas that seemed really optimistic and ambitious as it unfolded. My wife and I wanted to be among the first Rhode Islanders to obtain the National Association of Realtors newest designation: GREEN. Realtors value education and experience. Obtaining designations is one was of furthering that agenda. Some designations take months and require courses as well as transactions. The new GREEN designation is for member committed to working with clients and customers who look to be more environmentally neutral in their lives. The goal is to help educate consumers on ways to reduce one’s carbon footprint and to use renewable, sustainable materials. The designation requires a two day core course and a one day elective. The core course must be taken in a class. Both my wife, Susan, were excited to take the course. It had been offered to one group before us in Orlando, but we were unavailable. We found the last course offered in 2008 in Austin, Texas, December 8th and 9th. We knew it would be busy and inconvenient, but concluded that it would be fun. Incidentally, Austin was one of only four State Capitols that I had never visited. Bizarre, but true.

In Maine, it often said that you cannot get there from here. Well getting from Providence to Austin is possible if you have lots of time. In order to get there for the class on the 8th, we left mid afternoon on the 7th. Flight to BWI for our connection was easy, in spite of a 1 hour delay. We sat in the exit row with an open seat between us. It was not helpful as it led us to a false optimism about our next flight. We arrived at BWI with twenty minutes before our next departure. Fortunately the departing gate was just next to our arriving gate. We were flying Business Select, so we were in first ten to board. Now remember, it is Southwest: great people with OPEN SEATING. It should be renamed: TAKE WHAT YOU CAN GET SEATING. My wife likes to be in the front of the plane so she can get off more quickly. I prefer to be in the rear or exit row where you have more room. On this flight she prevailed and we sat in the very first row. She wanted the window, and I wanted the aisle. We left her bag in the seat to dissuade any potential row mates. It did not work. The largest person, to get on the plane, had a similar strategy to my wife’s. Be near the front so you can get off sooner, and so that you will need FEWER steps. “Is that seat available?” Reluctantly, I confirmed. NOW we had a real decision. Should I move and be in the middle or should he be in the middle. My wife was unhappy with me, that I did not move to the middle and I was unhappy that she decided not to move to the middle either. He plopped in the middle and encroached into both of our seats.

The flight is a three hour flight. Efforts at small talk were dismissed. He had his book, his snack, his IPod, and his seat. Susan was squished against the window and I has leaning out into the aisle. We settled into our respective discomfort for the flight. He fell asleep and started snoring. Not just a little snoring, it was really loud. So loud that the flight attendants came by to see what the noise was. He had a great flight sleeping, for most of the trip. He awoke on descent to Austin. He turned to us and said he had had a great flight… and so short. Neither of us had had the same experience. We gathered our things and made our way to the door of the plane. Then I noticed that my arm, my right arm was wet from my flight with the big man. Susan laughed hysterically. At least someone was amused.

Fast forward: we took the course and passed the exam. I have completed the elective course and have obtained my GREEN designation. The irony is that way in which I obtained the designation, was not Green at all. I flew to Texas to take the course. Oh well, need to take the course to see what I had done wrong. Will do better next time, And will sit in the rear of the plane on the Aisle of course.

The turn of the Page: A Christmas Story

2008-12-22T03:47:00.000-08:00

It is December, just before Christmas in a cottage in Southern Vermont. Clark Burton is alone, save his dog a Siberian Husky named Aloof…Loof for short. Just a week before Christmas, and the decorations are limited to a Red Christmas Candle in the window. Clark had enjoyed a full life, now comfortably ensconced in his 76 year old body. He had moved up to the family’s ‘vacation’ home three years ago at the passing of his wife, Christina, (Tina). The weather was particularly cold with a generous covering of white. The nights had been particularly quiet, but amazingly bright. A full moon on the white snow produced a light that resembled daylight. Clark has always enjoyed the bright nights in the mountains. Among his favored sounds, that of the wind brushing the tall trees with playful persistence.

Never sure whether it was his gender or his personality, Clark had always enjoyed time alone. He treasured his wife, his children, his grandchildren and friends, but he also needed time away from people and stuff. Most of the family accepted it, although theyreally did not understand it. Why do you want to be away from everyone? Any attempt to explain it; end up offending the questioner, which was absolutely the opposite of intent. “Some people draw their life energy from others, other people draw that energy from inside…the well needs time to refill on occasion….” No explanation ever really gets beyond leaving one with the feeling that Clark does not want to be with him or her. It is one of the awkward nesses of social interaction where you can not see beyond yourself. It is always about ‘me.’ For Clark, it was always about drawing himself together. He withdrew from life’s intensity to regroup and refresh. It was his rhythm his entire life. People who knew him well understood.

With that personality trait, some people thought it was ‘fair’ that his wife of fifty years had pre deceased him. It was not. He longed for her everyday, although her presence was evident in every aspect of his life, from what he saw in the cottage to the warmth of her memories. He had been told that he would be fine one year after she had passed. It was not any easier. It continued to bear a striking resemblance to a tooth ache. It would flare up, but the dull pain was always present. This dull ache however, was not limited To his mouth. It radiated from his heart, and just like his blood, it flowed cold through his entire being. Clark chuckled to himself, that winter was actually welcome, because his sad heart found a brother in the cold of winter. They found comfort in each other’s void.

Clark had taken Loof for a walk and was making his way back to the cottage at the stillest of hours, the glooming hour. He could hear tires crunching the snow on the narrow country road in front of the cottage. Who would be coming to visit this hour less than a week before Christmas? His children, the four of them, would all be at their various homes getting ready and organized for the holidays. His grandchildren would also all be living their respective lives. It struck him that in the age of facebook, texting and cell phones, that everyone was more reachable, but also more disconnected from each other. He smiles recalling treasured hugs, some recent, but most just warm, distant memories. He was drawn back into the moment by the sound of squeaking brakes, bringing a car, just out of sight, to a stop at his cottage.

Picking up the pace to greet his quest, Clark moved through the snow. Loof barked not recognizing the car or the passenger. As Clark cleared the trees, he could see the car, a Mini Cooper with Rhode Island plates, was his granddaughter Rebecca’s. As she opened the door, a smile warmed the cold. She had long auburn hair with emerald green eyes and a smile that lit the dark. Tall and athletic, she was a beautiful young woman who had collected the best genes in family pool. Bec as everyone called her was glad to see Clark, Pops. Clark never liked the name, but it was welcome. “Come on in and we can warm up.” Bec it is great to see you, but shouldn’t you be at home helping everyone with Christmas?”

The conversation zigged and zagged. It was a great catching up time, but clearly she wanted to talk about something. Then Clark asked about Paul, Bec long time boy friend. She started to cry…”We have broken up.” “We do not want the same things…” It was a conversation that Clark had had more than fifty years ago. It was a conversation that he had listened to from his children. It was the conversation that happens when two people try to weave the yarns of their lives into a single blanket. His face, warm with love for his granddaughter, disguised the smile of his heart. This was a threshold moment for her. This was that moment when two people decide to step from being individuals to becoming one, in life and in love. Clark knew that if lives were to truly woven together, this forging had to happen. He also thought about the number of times that the conversation produced a break up before a forging. “Why are so many of life’s lessons painful.”

As Clark listened, he prepared a light dinner for the two of them. The conversation went on for a couple of hours. He listened as Bec convinced herself that they needed to be together. He had perfected his listening skills over the years. A few well placed questions would always be better perceived that opinions. About 9 o’clock, Bec got up and started putting her coat on. “Pops, you are right. I need to go see Paul right now and work this out. You are the best. I love you.” “But I did not do anything,” said Clark.

“Yes you did Pops; you listened and help me find my path. You carried me for a moment. The moment I needed most. Thank you.” Do you want me to come with you Bec?” She smiled, “No, but why don’t you come home with me to Christmas dinner…its has been three years since you came home for Christmas…”

He thought for a moment and initially said no….How would I get back? I would be in the way? I enjoy being alone….But all of his objections died in the warm embrace of his granddaughter’s eyes. It was time for him to step over his threshold and go back to the family for the holidays. It was time. It is what Tina would want. It was as it was supposed to be.

He grabbed a few things and the next thing he knew; he was in the car on the way to Rhode Island to celebrate a homecoming, his own.

The Window Seat: Chapter 13

2008-12-12T07:36:00.000-08:00

United: Austin to Dulles 10 December 2008

Mid week flights are frankly pretty easy this time of year. Wednesdays in particular are a good choice as fewer people are flying and most travelers mid week are experienced travelers. Many are business travelers. Was on my way back to Rhode Island after a one day meeting in Austin for the Leadership Team of the National Association of Realtors. The weather was pretty rugged for Austin. It has snowed the night before. It was just a dusting, but the staff in the hotel was planning to stay overnight, ‘just to be safe.” In New England we would have described it as non sticking snow. It was not a snow storm.

So with that as a backdrop, we assembled at gate 23 at 4 pm central standard time to leave on the 4:33. In new air travel ‘style’ this was yet another ‘commuter plane: small and efficient. Found my seat, 7C quickly. You guessed it: an aisle. Before I was settled a young man was at my heals to get into his seat at 7D. Crew cut, wire rim glasses, and a definite military purpose, were his first introductions. He settled in quickly and was very organized. Everything was placed for convenient future use. It was quite fun to watch.

Shortly there after another man came down the aisle as called over to my seat mate: “I have 7D…you are in my seat.” My face was probably a bit to transparent, as he added, are you sure you are in the right seat?” My seat mate pulled out his ticket and said, 7D. “I am in the right seat, my seat.” No edge, but very clear. At this moment I am smiling inside. Possession is 9/10th of the law. It is also 9/10ths of airplane etiquette. My misplaced seat mate waited until everyone got on the plane and ‘found’ a seat. Given his edginess, I did wonder if he would have been more interesting to talk with during our 2 and a half hour flight.

The seat mate in possession of 7D was actually rather funny and talkative. He spent three years in Portsmouth New Hampshire in the Navy. He loved it. No longer in active service he now worked for a firm that did ‘legal discovery.’ He was in charge of case research. Particularly unusual, Jackson was one of those rare people who really enjoyed what he did. It was fun to meet someone else he enjoyed his job as much as I enjoyed mine. He had one of those young faces, somewhere between 25 and 40. The fact that he had a motorcycle magazine suggested he was younger than I expected. He told me he was going to get a motor cycle soon as they are a great value. No need to buy new: You know you can find bikes that are a couple of years old with less than 500 miles on them.” The Yamaha that he wanted was worth about 10-12k new, but he was looking to buy one a few years old at 5-6k. It would be just to go to and from work, 6 miles each way, and for a couple of hours on the weekend. Seeing his wedding band, I asked if his wife was ok with this. “No, but she’ll get over it. We have been married 15 years---she is used to me.” So this was his mid-life crisis. No this is definitely not a crisis, but rather a life passion.

In two and a half hours you can learn a lot. At 40 years old, he has four children: a 13 year old boy, a ten year old girl, a three year old and a five month old. Their hands are full, but they are working it out, especially with the older children helping out with the youngest. His oldest child has learning disabilities, attention deficit, etc. They had tried home schooling for a couple of years, but that was really demanding on the parent-teachers, in this case his wife. His daughter however was advanced. Seriousness entered the conversation. It was really hard for his son to have such an advanced sister. Everything for her was easy and everything for him was hard. “Am not sure that it will ever change…..” There was a resignation in his voice…” You do your best, but it is what it is.” It is one of those rare moments when a parent shares his heart for his son: hopes, aspirations, fears, concerns, and anxieties. It was, also, one of those rare moments when you know that your unconditional love may not be enough for your son. You want your child to be safe, happy and live a life of purpose. Will it be? Am I doing enough? Is this right? But just as we fell into that very dark, private cave, he caught his footing and we stepped back into sunlight. We went back to safe guy talk: the motorcycle. He found another he preferred.

Later in the flight he initiated more conversation. We talked about guys, men being ‘dogz.’ These were his words. We commiserated that political correctness had limited a lot of comments. We both have been married long enough to have funny stories about how stupid we were with what we said, particularly about how other women look. We concluded that all other women look very nice, but never REMARKABLE.’ Experience had given both us the necessary education to appreciate the comment. We landed in D.C. and both stepped back onto our respective life’s paths, never to share the road again. So is the way of life.

It is said that people come into your life for a reason. Sometimes the ‘intrusion’ is very brief, 2 and half hours, among 8,760 hours that make up this year. Sometimes the lesson is lost at the moment, sometimes not. Jackson reminded me of how special my father was. But more importantly, Jackson reminded me of how complete my life’s purpose is because I am a father. ‘Being a father has changed me for good.’ That lesson is a great Christmas Gift!

The Window Seat: Chapter 12

2008-11-20T12:07:00.000-08:00

Southwest 2:40 PM Providence to Baltimore, Sunday November 16th, 2008

It was one of those rare days when I arrived at the airport early. It was to be a quick trip, down to Annapolis, Maryland overnight to speak to the Maryland Leadership team. It was going to be quick and fun. Dinner with my hosts had been moved up to 5 pm so that some of us could go to the Washington Red Skins Dallas Cowboys game. Did not check my luggage so I could walk directly from the plane into the car of one of my hosts. It was well planned and organized. It was not to be. Southwest Airlines had equipment problems that resulted in a 50 minute delay. My hosts in Maryland understood and were polite, but were not impressed.

Was one of the first on the plane and proceeded down the aisle to the only 2 seat option in the exit row. A very attractive African-American flight attendant was standing against the window in the open space in front of the three row seat. Her face lit up with a bright, warm smile. We greeted each other, but both of us were frustrated with the delay. She was on here way home. Another passenger was complaining and wishing that Southwest flied into Dulles. We both looked at him. It was my responsibility to explain to him, that Southwest does, in fact, fly to Dulles. The once friendly passenger was really annoyed now. The flight attendant had been with Southwest for 3 years and had worked for AT & T for 25 years. She was really delightful. She was one of those people who had ‘known’ a lot of life, but took it in stride and enjoyed each day as a gift. She had always worked in customer service. “Generally, people are kind and considerate, but some are always miserable.” The plane filled and she told me that I would need to pick someone to take the seat she was ‘guarding.’ The plane was going to be completely full. Everyone coming down the aisle was not a match.

In the last group of ten or twelve passengers was a striking Chinese American woman, probably in her mid 20s. I glanced at the flight attendant who looked at me with amusement and a bit of disbelief. The young women stopped at my row. “The seat next to me is open, if you would like to take it.” She politely said yes. My flight attendant was going to make sure there was full disclosure: “HE chose you!”

My window seat companion took her seat. We spoke briefly. She was on her way ‘home’ to Washington DC. after visiting a college friend in Providence. I was fairly confident that she was in her mid twenties, but definitely not positive, so the logical question was not what school are you going to, but rather “What do you do in D.C? “I am a student at George Washington University. Actually, a graduate student getting my MBA.” She was fascinating. She was studying to work in sports management. She was a squash player…”Do you know what squash is?” “People outside of New England tend to think of it strictly as a vegetable,” We both laughed. Her undergraduate program was completed at Wellesley College, whose famous alumnae include Hillary Clinton. It is still a single gender school, women only. She really enjoyed George Washington. Had one sister studying to be a physician, following the family tradition. Her mother, aunt and uncle were all annestisiologists; fortunately, her older sister took care of that family requirement. Her parents were divorced. She was very close to her mother, but her father a CPA, was a good father. We talked about where she was celebrating the holidays. She did not know what to get each of her parents for holiday gifts. I suggested that she might consider a letter thanking them and telling them how much she appreciates them. “Have you ever done that?” No…. As she reflected, she said they ‘should’ know that. “But do they?” We agreed that they would really appreciate it.

Somehow, this window seat passenger decided that the interviewer should be interviewed. She began to question me. Most of my conversation concerned my wife and children. I talked a length about how awesome they are. When she heard that I had been married for 29 years, she smiled: “You still love her, (my wife Susan).” I smiled and admitted that was so very true.’ We talked about the ebb and flow of relationships, but how a great love is like the ocean. It has tides and seasons, but it is deep and wide, but it is always there. She smiled again. We both agreed that we are very lucky human beings.

Somehow her questions led to the fact that on Saturday night, I had attended the dedication of the new Dukakis Center for Urban Studies at Northeastern. She then revealed more: “I went to law school there” Ok, you are a lawyer too. Now the questioning maked more sense. We laughed that she and her sister had it covered: the doctor and the lawyer.

Given how forthcoming our conversation had been, I asked if she was in a relationship. No she was not. She had broken up with a boyfriend of long standing. However, she had a rescued lab that she lived with, but no serious boyfriend. (Have you ever noticed how beautiful, unattached, women usually have a great dog?) We laughed about a quotation I had heard recently: “He had all of the attributes of a dog, save one, loyalty.” She thought that quote fit for a lot of men, particularly some of the ones she had dated.

The conversation trailed off. In a few minutes we would be just like leaves in the wind…blown in different directions… What struck me was the irony of this time.
Here was a beautiful, educated, intelligent woman who has not ‘found’ anyone yet.
Or rather has not’ been found.’ In this age of instant communication and interconnectivity, there is a great disconnection. Are Myspace, Facebook, and the like, digital worlds, that lack a human heart? Has our transparency resulted in emotional hibernation for a generation? Why is it so hard for twenty-some things to find some one? Is she right that most men are irresponsible, self absorbed ‘dogs?’ For a brief moment, I have the privilege of sitting next to a great young woman. She does not ‘need’ anyone else, but would be a great person with whom to write a life story.

We landed. Said good bye. Like leaves in the wind…

The Window Seat: Chapter 11

2008-11-13T05:50:00.000-08:00

Southwest Orlando to Providence November 10, 2008

This Monday is very unusual. Over 20,000 of my Realtor friends and I had gathered in Orlando for the 2008 National Association Convention and Exposition. It was very exciting with great speakers, a huge exposition, and special events. There were many special moments, particularly seeing my friends, but the highlight of the weekend was Lance Armstrong. He spoke at the General session on Saturday afternoon. My wife Susan and I were among the thirty or so people who had the opportunity to speak with him personally and have a picture taken with him. His talk was powerful about life, his disease, and his fight against cancer, all cancers. Lance is a world class athlete, obsessive, disciplined, tenacious, single minded, and arrogant. He is a Texan’s Texan, a guy’s guy, etc. He has been a hero of mine for years, not just for his seven times conquering of the Tour de France, but for being a Cancer Survivor who is not just living but attacking his real competitor, the disease. We waited in line to see him. I congratulated him, and encouraged him to keep doing what he was doing. He wanted to put Susan between us for the photo, but she knew that I wanted to stand next to him and she probably enjoyed disagreeing with his agenda. (Foolishly, I recommended that she read his first book and she hated it and him….to arrogant). His talk strictly re-enforced her opinion. I was more impressed and virtually speechless when we stood together to take the picture. Susan asked, why didn’t you talk to him? In my mind, everything that needed to be said was. He would not remember me and there was nothing that I could say that would really matter. This was one of the moments, when you were a spectator in your own life. It was also one of the moments, when the Mars/Venus thing is most apparent. Lance is about victory on the bike, over cancer, and in life. He has the personality of a winner. His relationship with his ex-wife, or his ex-girl friend, Sheryl Crow, etc are incidental. Our understanding of them is limited to the lens of a celebrity camera which at best is unreliable. And even if all of the ‘bad stuff” is true, he is still a victor. And for the record, he was late to our session because one of his daughters got sick on the way to the airport and he turned the car around to bring her home to her mother rather than sending her back alone in the car. (Susan still thinks he is a jerk.) Oh, by the way, still waiting for the picture with anticipated excitement.

So this is the preface to my trip home on Monday afternoon. Got a ride from the Peabody hotel to the airport with three other Rhode Island Realtors. We left at 1:20for a 4 pm non stop flight home. There was a delay on the thruway which results in our taking the back roads. We still get there before 2. The lines at Southwest are long, but we navigate. Flight cancelled. No explanation available. We can wait until 7 or piece together an alternative. Piece we do. By 2:05, with boarding passes in hand, I am off to Gate 123 for a 2:50 flight to Baltimore. Am really glad that I have a clear pass, as the security review is instant. Am also glad that I have purchased a full fare ticket, as I had changed it on the way down, and there was not change fee.

Hop on the plane in the exit row on the aisle. Surprise, Surprise, Surprise! A casually dressed man walks down the aisle with earphones on and steps across me to sit in the window seat. The flight attendant is in the row behind me and we start talking. The crew is based in Orlando and this is their first flight of the day. They will sleep in El Paso tonight, but will be home tomorrow. My row mate is listening to music and is at best uninterested in the rest of us. Say hello. He responded with a nod. Flight attendant asks about my I phone. She says she is having difficulty with the sinking with her Dell, vista computer. Similar are my problems, but the phone is great. My row mates looks up and suggest it is not the equipment but the users. OK…. Some woman comes down the aisle with a suitcase that everyone else knows will not fit in the overhead bin. Three different people try to help her. Same outcome. It will not fit. Flight attendant explains that it will be checked and she will take it to the front. The suitcase rests in the middle seat of my row. By the way, this is a good technique to discourage other passengers from sitting there. It works. Luggage is checked. We are checked into our seatbelts and we are off.

In the subsequent 2 hour flight, my row mate and I have no words. He watches a movie with his headphones on. He has one of the computer screen films that prevent you from seeing what he is looking at. I read, interrupted by his loud laughing. We land, get off the plane and disappear into different oceans and worlds of humanity. It is strange and disappointing, but maybe, just maybe, he knew I wanted to write about him. He left in anonymity, but I still had seen Lance. It was a great trip!

4 Letters, A Fax and A Funeral

2008-10-21T07:51:00.000-07:00

My best friend Mike has traveled home to Rhode Island to bury his mother, Barbara Ricci. She was a strong willed woman, born in the early 1930s. She was proud of her Irish stock and a mother of five boys. One had died in infancy, the other four all accomplished, proud men. In many ways, she left on her own terms and after a long hospital stay. She also left behind her husband of 55 years, Pete. Her husband worked to provide shelter and food. It was Barbara’s ‘job’ to convert the house into a home and the food into a lifetime of memories, lessons, and celebrations. She was really accomplished at that. If you needed to be strong to raise four boys, she was like steel. Sharp wit and on occasion a sharper tongue, she knew who and what she was. When she was angry she was loud, but then just like a passing thunderstorm, it passed. Then the sun came out and the rainbow appeared. Barbara was one of those rare constants in life: always there when you needed her, direct, candid, caring, and brusque. I, personally owe her a great debt of gratitude because gave me a great life gift, a best friend, Mike.

Her son is eleven years younger than I am. We met swimming. We became friends and I had the privilege of ‘mentoring’ Mike. Despite his Mom objections and concerns, with a significant amount of encouragement and support from me, Mike went West and created a new life for himself in Boulder Colorado. He built a successful triathlon coaching company, D3 Multisport; married Melanie; and had a daughter, Hope. His mother, who always said she wanted to make sure “Michael” was settled, before she passed, saw that and more. Hope is the perfect name for her granddaughter.

As with all great friendships, each person ends up with more than they contribute. It is the best example of the whole being so much more than the sum of the parts. Mike has been a great listener and sounding board for me for years. Through his direction, I was able to train injury free and complete an Ironman. (My Boston Marathon time was only 10 minutes faster than my Ironman Marathon time---he knew my capabilities much better than I.) Each time we talk or see each other, I am reminded how great a life gift he is. Thanks Barbara!

After Barbara’s funeral Mike was helping his brothers, organize his mother and fathers things. She had as most children of the great depression, saved quarters, one from each state for each of her sons. She was a woman who was not owned by things, but rather owned a life of rich memories. The few special personal possessions were clearly marked as to whom would enjoy them next. What she leaves behind is amazing.

Mike found a drawer in her desk. In it were four letters and a fax. These were written witnesses to who she was and what she meant to the people who loved her. Each was delivered at a life ‘fork in the road.’ The first was from her son Kevin when he left Rhode Island to move to Maryland. It was a thank you letter and an explanation. She saved it. The fax was from her son Kevin announcing the arrival of her first grand daughter, noteworthy given Barbara’s five sons and six grandsons. (The story is that it was sent to her place of work, and one of her co-workers told her what the fax said before she saw. It did not matter to Barbara, she was a proud grandmother). The third letter was a letter from my friend Mike when he left for Colorado. He told his mother, that he would always be her son, regardless of geography. While he was leaving Rhode Island, the memories of home were warm and wonderful. He had learned unconditional love from his parents. He had also learned choices have costs. He had learned to be a man. He particularly wanted his mother to know that he was traveling to discover his life. He was not leaving to leave, but rather to explore. Barbara knew already, but the thank you obviously meant a lot.

The third letter was from me. In some ways it was an apology, as I had really challenged Mike to seek his future. His mother was not impressed. How can you go West without a job, a home, etc? “You do not know anyone.” It had been my suggestion that this was an experiment. He had no responsibilities and this might be the only time in life that he could just go. If it did not work, Mike could come home, but he needed to do this. It would be sad to be an old man and look back and say: “I had a chance, but did not take it.” I also shared with her how much I had learned from her son. What was striking and a great life lesson, is that he taught me that people younger than I could teach many great life lessons. In short, I thanked her for raising a special person and a great friend. I also told her not to worry.

The fourth letter was from her daughter-in law after she and Barbara’s son had divorced. It was a great thank you to Barbara for being a great mother-in-law and a great grandmother. It was a special thing to do, and a lesson. Divorce changes many relationships, but it not required that divorce end relationships. The marriage may end, but the family can still be a family.

There is a larger message in this story: Take the time to celebrate the gift of each other. Take time to thank those people who we live with and see everyday. It is important to appreciate friends and family, and it is important to be appreciated. Finally, you do not know how much a simple phone call or a short thank you note will mean to another person. It is an honor to be a witness to a great mom. It is an honor to be a friend of her son. It is an honor to have known Barbara Ricci!

The Window Seat Chapter 10

2008-10-11T16:01:00.001-07:00

Delta Airlines Atlanta to Panama City, Florida 2 November 2000

The last window seat acknowledged there are rules over conversation among men. This time, I am going to ignore the rules. I am writing about my best friend Jeff. We had trained for triathlon races for years together and had trained seriously for 2 years to complete the Florida Ironman: 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike and then a 26.2 mile run. We were on our way to the race site on the Gulf of Mexico. It was a Thursday midday flight and we had connected in Atlanta. We were traveling very light because each of us had shipped our bikes to the race site. What was really ridiculous is that we were both paranoid as we each sent two bikes. If one did not arrive or arrived damaged we were ready. When you train two years for one race and you are a triathlete, obsessive-compulsive behavior is a mild symptom of the ‘disease.’

We got in the plane. Physically, I was in the best shape of my life. Was ready to go. Jeff was also in amazing condition. He is an only child. He was a challenge in school and found sports to be his strength. Hockey, body building, martial arts were all mastered by Jeff. He entered the military and was selected to train and serve in Special Forces. Average was not acceptable. Exceptional was the requirement. (Special Forces are the soldiers, who when asked, say if they tell you what they do, they will have to kill you). Ultimately, he became a police officer in Cranston. He still is today. We had met while swimming at the Kent YMCA. He started swimming in my lane. He was physically intimidating with a perfect physique. He was not as fast I as I was, but he motivated everyone to swim faster. Oh, by the way, he had just started swimming a couple of years earlier. If it is in his sites, get out of the way. He typically wore black, had black terminator glasses, and drove a black Jeep. He was intimidating and not approachable.

The not approachable part made it interesting to me. If you are a boomer, you will remember the “Mikey will do it” commercial. The other swimmers in the faster lanes decided that Ron would “do it” and talk to Jeff. Almost no information was shared. Did get his name and that he was a cop who lived in Warwick. He was not comfortable being the questioned, he was normally the questioner. It was actually, in hind sight very, funny. We were most unlikely friends.

The plane was a typical commuter: two seats on each side of the aisle. Jeff had led the way to our seats. Stopping along the way to introduce himself to the attractive flight attendant. She welcomed the attention. He introduced me as his bigger, older brother---both were true but not appreciated by me. He was bigger than life. If you asked, he would say his body was his best feature. It is true that he was in perfect shape. He treated his body like the conductor of an orchestra. He knew what each instrument, each muscle, could and would do. He conducted his body as if it was a world class orchestra playing Beethoven perfectly. He said it is” not how fast your are, but how good you look.” He could have been cast in Troy as Achilles. (Ok this was 8 years ago).

What is ironic is that he was wrong. What makes him awesome, was not how he looks, looked, but rather his personality…more specifically how much he cares. Ok, he is obsessive compulsive, impatient, judgmental, critical, and absolutely sure of his opinion. (The best athletes are all of the above, too). But for the people he cares about, he really will take the bullet. He is the kind of best friend who would do whatever you asked. He may question your decision, but you would know that he would absolutely do what you asked. He embodies loyalty…

We talked a lot on the short flight. Did not discuss the race, but rather we discussed life and parenting. Both of us worked hard to be good parents. We laughed at the fact that our children would rather hear from anyone else, other than us. Furthermore, we volunteered to talk with each other children. Each of us knew instinctively, that we would be most impressed by those people who respected and honored our children. Jeff has been a rescuer, friend, listener, father, and an uncle, to each of my children. If something happens to me, he will be there for my wife and my kids. I will be there for his family as well. Our friendship is also a witness to our children. The conversation so bizarre given what we about to do…It had nothing to do with the race. In the two years of preparation, we had talked the race out. There was really nothing more to say about it. It was time simply to do it.

Jeff is a fierce competitor, but he is so much more than that. He is one of those extremely rare people who challenge you to be your best self. He can get your to grasp life well beyond your reach. He encourages you to put it all out there, in the race and in life. Ironman is a great place to learn some great life lessons. The most important lesson for me was that great friendship makes you a better person: “Who can say that I have been changed for the better, I do believe that I have been changed for the better, because I knew you… I have been changed for good.” (From the musical Wicked)

We arrived in Panama City. Ready for our physical challenge. The trip was ultimately a success. We both finished the 2.4 mile swim, the 112 mile bike and the 26.2 mile run. While it is also true that we raced the same race, but only saw each other at the beginning and the end. In life, we have been by each others side in times of great sadness and great success. He is one of life’s best gifts. We celebrate good times, and lament bad times. We tend to laugh a lot of the time. What is true is we will be there for each other. That is what best friendship is all about.

The Window Seat Chapter 9

2008-10-07T09:19:00.000-07:00

The Window Seat: Number 9 United PVD IAD Sunday September 14,2008

It was another easy overnight speaking engagement. In truth, I have really come to enjoy the overnight travel. Typically, I leave late morning and arrive at my destination mid afternoon. Have a chance for email, phone and computer work. Then, in the evening, my work begins. Typically, I bring the greetings and the update of the National Association of Realtors to State or Regional gatherings of Realtors. My talk is typically between 10 and 25 minutes, although sometimes, I teach for an entire day. Typically I do this twice a month. It is not along time away and I often learn more than I share of teach. (Good teachers and good speakers, are always learning, students of life, students of their craft.)

This trip was a simple overnight to the Ohio Association of Realtors State Convention. Columbus, the capitol was my destination. Incidentally, there are no direct flights to most destinations from Providence. So my mid morning United Flight was scheduled to leave Providence at 9:59 for Dulles (IAD). I would connect in Dulles. The goal was to be dressed and at the Podium in Columbus at 4:00 pm. There was no room for error or delay.

Group 1 was called after all of the travelers with real Status were on board. It was another commuter jet: two seats on each side of the aisle. It was small but ok. This flight would be less that I hour. As there was no room for error, a carry-on was the strategy of the day. Gate bag check in is actually pretty effective. Kept my briefcase, but left the bag at the end of the boarding ramp.

Quickly found my seat 10 C and was soon joined by another passenger. He was a typical business passenger with briefcase and Bluetooth. He was still talking on the phone as he took his seat. As to the conversation, it was clear that he was talking with his wife. As he settled in he said hello it was clearly his expectation to enjoy the trip in isolation, suspended animation. I thought about leaving him alone and not engaging in conversation, but it was Sunday morning, my book was unavailable, and another flight faced me. He was a reticent conversationalist, but would answer questions when asked.

We talked about regular things. Have you ever noticed that ‘polite’ conversation have rules similar to football or soccer. There are in fact boundaries. There are lines. Do believe that there are gender rules. For men the rules are pretty precise, for women the lines are blurred. A man can ask another man about families, politics, sports, work for these are all appropriate topics. Personal history is also acceptable if it is about your children. But, there are limits about your heart and about your wife, significant other. You can talk about how beautiful she is and what she does, but do not talk about how much you love her. Among close male friends you can talk about sex and good looking women, but there to there are limits. (Was surprised to hear my wife’s friends speak with such detail about their sexual experiences).

My seat mate was named Dana. He was born and grew up in Gresham Oregon. He was surprised that I knew where it was and that I have lived in Oregon. Twice. He had spent some of his childhood in Hawaii and his adult life in Los Angles and Seattle. He now lived in Uxbridge Ma. He was trainer for software company’s sales people. He was on his way to Las Vegas. Dana had a wife who had grown up in New England, so he ended up here. His eleven year old son was a great life gift. As he talked about parenting he share the story of his three older children with his first wife….Each was accomplished and was safely on his or her life path. The conversation was fluid, gentle and caring.Dana enjoyed his work, but loved his family. Then he made one of those great passing comments. You know that comment, the excellent sound bit or the exclamation point: “When I was young, I enjoyed being a husband and father, but I was not really there….I traveled extensively for work, but even when I was home, I was not always there…Now I am really there, or I guess here.” It was one of the those comments that stepped beyond the rules. He was being truthful and open. He stepped out of bounds.

The conversation continued, each of us celebrating our children….it trailed off as the plane prepared for its final approach. We landed, disembarked. Remembered the rules. Said goodbye. Neither expecting to ever see or engage the other. Just another casual conversation. One of the thousands of random conversation of life, now ended.

It did get me thinking. In this time of global challenge, financial turmoil, and numerous personal challenges, it seems that we have all decided to go it alone. It is ok to complain about life’s challenges: work, job, financing, housing, etc. But we never seems to try to solve problems, to help each other. Maybe we talk about changing the rules. Maybe we can start talking about life’s problems and challenges so that we face them as team mates rather than competitors or solo marathon runners. Is winning everything? Isn’t this the time when collaboration rather than partisanship should be our approach? The stakes have been raised, but we the players are still playing the same game. It is time to start problem solving together without assumptions and maybe without the confines of artificial rules. Or maybe it is time to have not rules at all. Lines and limits are made to step beyond.

The Window Seat Chapter 8

2008-09-11T05:02:00.001-07:00

United IAD to PVD 12:30 PM

We had just gotten off a non-stop flight from Denver. We had awakened at 4 am to get a 4:30 ride, and catch a 6:15 flight. The first leg was uneventful and we slept s bit, but we were really tired from the lack of sleep.

Normally, I turn my phone on as soon as we hit the ground. This morning, my grogginess was overriding, so I did not turn the phone on. We had landed at Dulles and everyone changed from Denver mindset to Washington DC mindset and things moved more quickly. The last flight home was on a commuter jet from Terminal C. We checked the screen and confirmed that it was on time, leaving at 12:30. It would be a quick, one hour flight. Then, my traveling partner, my wife Susan, turned on her phone. There was a text message from our son Matt: “At Kent, call Caite.” Kent is the local hospital and Caite is his sister and our daughter. Matthew and Christina had gone to a weekly check appointment for their eight month of pregnancy that morning. Susan quickly called Caite….who was so upset that she could not talk….Caite what is wrong? Through tears and unconnected words, the message is relayed….The baby, Miles Jameson, is dead. Susan tries to mine more information, but Caite is unable to provide more detail. Christina and Matt are at Kent hospital, and she will have to go through labor. Susan ends the phone call. The tears are streaming down both of our faces…We cannot breathe and have a very hard time understanding what is going on. This is a dreadful dream, it must be a dream, and no it must be a nightmare.

Susan gets in crisis management mode. She steels herself and starts strategizing. When we land, Aaron will meet us to take us directly to the hospital. Luggage will be delivered home. She calls her close friends for help. All of the business issues are also organized.
When we land each step is being planned.

Before we get on the plane to Providence, we are both working to get details and incidentals out of the way. The plane is a small commuter: one seat on the port side of the plane, two seats on the starboard side. We take our seats: 9 C and D. There is no B.

We fly in and out of DC fairly frequently. It generally takes one hour. In all of the years of flying, this one hour flight was the longest. As soon as we turned our phones off, time was suspended. The flight attendant started the safety briefing. I hear it so much, sort of like airplane version of: The Our Father. It was said every day of parochial elementary school, I can recite it unconsciously. Maybe I should be praying….this cannot be happening.

We taxi for what seems like an hour. 12:37…ok it is five minutes and we take off. Neither of us is saying anything. We both know how devastating it will be for our son, Christina, and our families. The anticipated birth has been cause for a rolling celebration for the family. Now, three simple words change lives forever: “He is lost.” As we travel, north along the coast, I look out the window next to Susan. I see nothing. I hear nothing. Yet, I feel everything: the rumble of the engine, my heartbeat, my breathing, and the tears on my cheeks. We hold each others hands…This will be the hardest thing we have had to face as a family.

We are above the clouds…Is this where my grandson, Miles now lives… How do I hold him or talk to him? Does he have any idea how excited I was to teach him? Does he have any idea how much I wanted to be just like my Grandfather Brophy was for me?
All I can think about is the loss and void. Cannot begin to comprehend how great the loss for Christina and Matt will be. Then I start asking the Noah and Job question:
Why God, Why? No answer. No comfort. No reason. No purpose. Only loss….

About twenty five minutes later, Susan moved squarely into maternal protection mode. We need to follow the plan. “Aaron will pick us up at the airport. He will take us directly to the hospital…” We were organized, but not prepared. We were not ready, but engaged. We were heartbroken.

We talked briefly about how disappointed Matt would be. We talk about the why. It was a conversation of sighs... Then we were quiet… It was the longest hour.

We landed in Providence. Walked off the plane. Waited for luggage. Met Aaron. Arrived at the hospital. Plan in motion: Then we saw Matt and Christina.

Please wake me up from this nightmare. But this is real and I am awake, holding my son in a river of tears.

The Window Seat Chapter 7

2008-09-06T07:21:00.001-07:00

United 8:25 to PVD ORD 20 August 2008

It was a quick trip to Chicago from Green Airport on a lazy, summer morning, in August. It was especially lazy as the flight left PVD at 8:25 rather than my normal 6 am flight. It was a 737 or Airbus 300 plane: three seats on each side of the plane. Checked luggage was the order of the day today as I needed two suits for the next 36 hours. As a result, my carry on was limited to my briefcase with my treasure: a dell laptop. You probably do not realize it, but most business people have almost all of the digital information that makes up their lives on their laptop. It is life library: passwords, account numbers, emails, calendar, letters, reports, power point presentations, music, photos, movies, and everything else. This one inch thick note book is a repository of my life. And yes, it is password protects. Some time I forget the special key, but most days I remember.

Settle into the aisle seat 7 D. The plane fills up quickly. 7 E and 7 F are filled with a man and a woman who were speaking Spanish. She was in E, he was in F. Thought it might be limited conversation, because no English was spoken. I asked politely, in English if she could help me ‘find’ my seatbelt. She was sitting on it. She responded, in English,” yes, certainly”, with a big smile.

When asked where she was going, she explained that she was on her way to see her father who lived in Tampa Florida. “This flight is to Chicago, is this the quickest way to get there?” No, but it was less expensive. She had just graduated from Johnson & Wales Culinary Arts School. She was in the middle of a job search, but hoped to end up at the Marriott. She was a pastry chef and really enjoyed making ‘small elaborate pastries.” They sounded delicious. As we talked about baking, she was politely attentive. I enjoy baking, but this was a conversation between a ‘wanna-be’ and a master. Imagine asking a Florentine painter what ‘ingredients’ to use to brighten a painting. In other ways. It was
like asking Tom Brady, how to throw a football? The answers were as elementary as the questioner. It is actually an inter change that happens all of the time. In this case I was the first grader talking to the PHD.

She was excited about going to see her father, but very nervous. Asked why, she explained that she and Jose, another Pastry chef graduate from JWales, had been married four months ago and her father did not know. She had eloped with Jose and she really loved him. “What do you mean he really loves you?” The question was more important than you might imagine. As a father of a daughter, you want your daughter to choose well. So the question was less about Saedy, and more about Caite. “He is one of the few men, that I have ever met who treats me with respect and like a treasure.” Obviously, Jose gets it. She is a partner, and a gift. It was really amazing to hear her say it. She did not know how much it meant to me. “Saedy, you deserve that love and respect.”

We had two hours, and conversation filled most of it. Jose watched initially to make sure that it, meaning me, was ok. Eventually, he fell asleep.

Saedy was born in Guatemala. When she was very young her parent immigrated, legally to the United States. Initially they settled in the San Francisco Bay Area, but ended up in Tampa Florida. Tampa really has been her home. Two years ago, while she was away at school her mother died suddenly at 47 years old. Saedy misses her profoundly. Her mother had come up with her unusual name. She was very nervous about telling her father that she was married. He had never met Jose.

Not sure why I asked, but the next question was: “Are you planning to have children?” She looked closely, and spoke softly. “We are pregnant.” She was very excited, but not sure how she would tell her father, or even whether she would tell him. “I’m 9 weeks along. If telling my father goes well, then I will tell him about the baby. If not, I will tell him later. Her voice trailed off as she pondered her father’s reaction.

We talked about being a parent. Saedy is ready and hoped to be as good of a mother as her mother. If it was a girl, she would probably name the baby after her mother, if it was a boy she would combined her name with her husbands: Josae. She beamed with the exuberance of an expectant mother. A future of promise is near at hand. She smiled brightly.

As soon as we landed, all of the cell phones came on. Each person left the common experience of the plane, and quickly stepped back into his or her own life, totally separate from everyone else’s on the plane. I, however, had the privilege of celebrating a Saedy’s life and future. It is a special gift.

The Window Seat: Chapter 6

2008-09-02T21:51:00.000-07:00

United DFW to IAD 13 August 2008

Plans change and airlines change plans. Expected to leave Dallas much earlier but it was not to be. The new airline schedules and the efficiency of airline cancelations delay my departure. In truth, August is one of the best months to be in Rhode Island. If there is an ideal convergence of events, people, weather, water, beach and activities in the Ocean State, it always seems to happen in the Eighth month. This one is no exception. Dallas and August are not representative of that convergence.

On the way to the airport, Dallas Ft Worth International, the driver shares with the passengers that the airport is about 20 miles long and about 5 miles wide. “The airport covers 110 square miles!” Rhode Island, the whole state, covers 1000 square miles. Ok.
Point taken: everything is BIG in Texas. Eventually, I made it through security and to the gate.

Onward to the plane, another 2 x 2 commuter. The plane is the opposite of Texas: It is really small. I am really glad that I have frequent flyer ‘status’ so that my seating group is one, after the elite flyers, particularly in small jets Settle in and a small leprechaun like character in a large, straw, cowboy hat is coming down the main aisle.

His seat is next to mine. He quickly settles in and says hello. Cannot tell about his accent at first, Australian? South African? Kenyan? Shortly there after, he introduces
Himself: “Daryl from Johannesburg, South Africa.” We talk for a while. Imagine he is my age, but he is in fact older. Right now he works in South African for a financial company managing accounts. The description was complete, but my difficulty hearing through his accent, aggravated by my total ignorance of the type of financing
management he was engaged in, made comprehension, mine, limited. ( Ok…I do not know exactly what he does).

One question led to another. The answers became more and more intriguing. “Have been in Texas for about 3 weeks.” “Looking for a job in Midland or Upland.” Well looking to get a job as a preacher in a United Church of Christ congregation.” “In the States, preachers are paid a living wage, in South Africa it is a part time job, and the wage is terrible.” “Spent three years in divinity school in South Africa in the early 1990’s.” He asks if I am Christian, yes and explain, my Jesuit up bringing. He listens with a huge smile which takes the place of the hat he has now removed.

Daryl’s life story is like most everyone else’s. Great joy, some deep sadness, but overall nothing less that ‘rewarding.” He is trying to pursue his passion: preaching. He has made money and raised his family. All of his children, three are in their 20s, so now he can do ‘his thing.’ Joshua, the eldest son works in South Africa as a money exchange manager for a major financial institution. He and his wife have a son, Liam, who is about
2 years old. They have another on the way. Daryl ‘loves’ being a grandfather. Among the most satisfying jobs a man can have. Limited work, with all the joy and benefit he can handle. “Young children are proof positive of unconditional love, particularly God’s unconditional love.”

His second son, Durc, is also working and very serious with a woman. Expect that they will be married within the next year. He has a great job and travels extensively. Probing
Questions did not provide any additional information about the job. Wonder if he is involved in some security service?

His youngest child is a daughter named Danielle Mae. Daryl lights up when talking about her. “I love each one equally, as a father should, but she is so much fun…She was
Supposed to come with me here, but could not leave work.” He talked at length about
Having a grown daughter and how proud he was of her. We discussed the cosmic balance that God has in place when he gives fathers daughters. It is really quite remarkable. Daryl continues, “ I love my sons, but my daughter melts my heart… Guess that is what daughters do.” As a father of the most awesome daughter on the planet, yes this planet, I agree with him.

When you fly over on hour, conversations with seat mates, by definition, ebb and flow.
During one such ebb, I picked up the book I was reading, The Snake Charmer. Daryl wanted to talk about the book. But you can answer a question that ends the discourse.
Which is exactly what I did. So it may not be fair for me to be interviewing and when the tables are reversed that I am not as forthcoming. But truth be told, we had talked for more than an hour. That is a really good commitment for someone, who on occasion suffers from, Social Attention Deficit Disorder. (My wife more than compensates for my weakness). When you spend much of your life with customers, clients, etc, in a very public and social way, on occasion you loose focus. It is not personal. It is not about you. It is about being human.

Before we landed, Daryl and I wished each other well. We congratulated each other on the gift of becoming Grandparents. We deplaned. A short time later, as I passed through
The international terminal to my connection. Daryl was seated at the gate for South African Airlines Flight to Johannesburg. He was alone and speaking with no one.

The Window Seat: Chapter 5

2008-09-01T04:49:00.000-07:00

Window Seat 5:

United ORD to DFW.. August 10th

Chicago’s O’Hare Airport is always neck in neck with Atlanta’s Hartsfeld Airport for the title of busiest in the United States. As with every competition, how you count influences the outcome. Most airports are judged by the number of people who pass through them.
Ironically, our two busiest airports are significantly less busy than other global airports, particularly Heathrow in London. As I fly United Airlines most frequently, O’Hare is most often the ‘connecting hub.’ It is also notorious for delays. Often the question is not whether you will be delayed, but how much. Such is the order of commercial air travel in 2008.

On Monday, August 11th, my leadership responsibilities for the National Association of Realtors required I travel to Dallas Texas for a 1 and a half day meeting. (Have you noticed a pattern, Dallas in August, and Anchorage in December?) Was excited that the forecast was for a temperature less than 100 degrees for my visit. My flight from Providence arrived on time and the flight to Dallas was also scheduled on time. Things are looking up.

Upon arriving at the Gate, I realize that the plane is a Brazilian built commuter plane. Small and efficient with a 2 seat by 2 seat pattern. No real first class or business class to pass through to find my seat 10D. At the gate they are looking for volunteers to go later. When asked, later is clarified: Later is tomorrow. Check my ticket to make certain I have a seat assignment. You really do not want to arrive at the airport without a seat assignment. You will be the first casualty of bumping. They start boarding and tell the people without seat assignments to be patient. “ All Standby passengers, please be advised there are no seats. You will need to take a later, (tomorrow) flight.”

Group 1 is called and I quickly find 10D. Relieved it is an aisle. Seats on this plane a A window, B aisle, no C, D aisle, and E window. Maybe it is United or maybe it is the Brazilian manufacturer. It is still distracting.

One of the last groups to board the plane is a woman and two children. The genetic link is undeniable. She is their mother. The boy and girl both look about 10 or 11. They are seated behind me is 11D and 11E. The mom is in 10E.

As we settle in, she explains that she will need to keep an eye on her 10 year old twins.
We exchange pleasantries. She obviously wants to talk, but I am in the middle of a good book. Ok, you will argue that there is universal balance and turn about is fair play. It is my turn to listen and to answer some questions. “ Hi! My name is Catherine….”

Before we have left the ground, I know that she grew up in Wisconsin. Her husband works for a major hospitality chain. They currently live near Palm Springs and are relocating to Dallas. While she has a relocation package, they have decided to rent the California property and to try to buy an inexpensive home in Plano or McKinney Texas.
The most important criteria is that the price be great. Sound familiar. She is very stressed about the move and will need to purchase by Friday, August 15, 2008 so see can move in by September 2, 2008 for the start of school.

She asks what I do… Explain that we have a family real estate company in Rhode Island that my mother started when we moved into Rhode Island in the mid 1970s. I explained that I was going into my Junior year. My family situation growing up was similar to hers. Yes, one of the reasons we worked with corporate relocation is because it is what we knew best. Generally, we talked about the challenges of relocation, how is becomes more difficult when you get older, and its impact on children. It was a frank and direct conversation. She and her husband were both approaching 50 and the moving was getting harder. More so on them, but hard on the kids too.

She then pulled out a notebook. “Can you share some strategies for buying a house in three days?” Yes, however, my advise is general. While licensed in Rhode Island and Massachusetts, I do not have a Texas Real Estate license. She agreed. Gave her several points: How to search for undervalued properties; How to find out how motivated sellers are; How to negotiate a great opportunity; What to include in an offer for maximum impact; What to avoid; How to be well represented by a Realtor; How to close quickly; etc. We had a good time. She talked about her agent and how good she was. The Agent, Yvonne Jeans, works for a friend of mine Virginia Cook. “You really know her?” Yes have known Virginia for years. Recommend that the relocation buyer from California give Yvonne the flexibility to make it happen for her.

For the entire two hours flight we talked. She spoke very quickly and asked many questions. She needed more than a friend today. She needed a trusted advisor. You may think that I am talking about real estate, but know. The best Realtors, help people through transitions, not just transactions. My role today was to help her transplant her entire life to Texas. For those of you who have never moved more than 100 miles away, this may seem incidental. It is not. When my wife and I teach relocation courses, we use Elizabeth Kubler-Ross steps of dying as a guide to the emotional steps within relocation.
Catherine was going through the process. She was beyond anger but was far from accepting. She talked about the advantages of the new position her husband would have.
“It is a major step up.” And while she did not say it, it is not an ‘appropriate conversation within corporate relocations, she was weighing the pros and cons of the move. Yes, she will be in metro Dallas, most likely by the 2nd of September, but she was asking herself a question: What happens if we do not go? What if my husband commutes till the new year? My house is not sold, Do I really want to rent? What will the tenants do the my house? How hard would commuting be? My husband works long hours now, what if we had him every two weeks for three days?

These are tough decisions and tougher given the nature of the relocation market and corporate America. Catherine is a special person, who is going though a tough transition.
She will survive and the kids will probably thrive. But mom, the protector will worry….

The Window Seat: Chapter 4

2008-08-19T06:17:00.000-07:00

United PVD to ORD August 10, 2008

Have never figured out why outlining airports all schedule flights to leave at the same time. Why can’t they spread them out? It is not very busy, but United has flights going to both IAD, Washington Dulles, and to ORD, Chicago late morning on August 10th, 2008. Without any intended precision, I arrive at the gate as they are boarding Group 1.
As I look out the window, taking my place in the queue, I see it is one of the new smaller
commuter planes. Ok, not that small, a 2 seat by 2 seat design, but small none the less.
United has a great option in economy, called economy plus. For a fee, coach passengers can get an extra half a foot of leg room. It is really great. It is not, however, available in the commuter jets.

As we board, the United ‘gate keeper’ is asking for volunteers to go later. They are over sold. The response of the group is non-plus. This is a time that being a frequent flyer with something called ‘status,’ is of real value. My seat, 10C is safe. Group 1 is on board.

As soon as I take my seat, the person in the window seat arrives. He quickly settles in and probably would prefer to cocoon himself, but I say hi and ask where he I going.
He is on his way home to San Francisco. Having been out for the last two weeks on vacation, he and his partner had been bumped yesterday. “Couldn’t you sit together?”
He gave me a long look. “No. Not only are we sitting apart, he is on separate plane with a different airline. He gets home several hours after I do.” There was a sharp edge of frustration. We settled in for the trip to Chicago.

After we leveled off at 38,000 feet, the conversation ensued. He was 41 and a counselor for a company that specializes in workers compensation rehabilitation. He loves his work. Born in Mexico, he grew up in San Diego. He was the oldest of five children.
His partner had grown up in North Attleboro and was a real estate stager. They lived in San Francisco near Noe Valley, a short distance from where I was born. We celebrated the city and its people. He complained, with cause, about its costs.

It was a fascinating conversation. We talked about life, choices, and the incidentals.
You could tell he was in counseling. He would ask as many questions as he would answer. He would also wait for confirmation before proceeding. His best listening skill was that he sought confirmation that he understood what I had said. The ‘rules of the game’ were transparent and clear. It was a fun conversation.

His father had left his mother, left him and his four younger siblings, when he was seven years old. “It has taken me years to forgive him. Recently, I forgave him. “He talked of his mother with a great warmth and respect. She never blamed us for her challenges. Furthermore, we always put us, her children first. “She is my hero.”

The military was his future when he was 17. Mother’s permission was required for him to enlist. In some ways he grew up during those years. It was after he left the military that he really began to seek self understanding. One of his discoveries was the fact that he was gay. “We talk about coming out, but it really more of a becoming whole. We accept who and what we are.”

His family was great and very supportive. All but one sister, she had ‘discovered’ religion and her new found land was based on a literal reading of the bible. Ultimately this lead to a confrontation. If she could not accept who he was, then they would not have a relationship. This was his ultimatum. For many years that was the case. Now, however, the void is lessening and there is communication.
His sister is beginning to accept who he is. “I am still me!”

We talked about religion, politics, and more in the safe anonymity of random airplane travel. We commiserated about how difficult airplane travel was and laughter about the random nature of seat assignments.

We talked for the entire 2 and half hour trip to Chicago. He rarely traveled and was concerned about the connection. With a little instruction and direction, he was ready to tackle the big airport. Just after we landed we realized that we had not introduced ourselves. We had become good friends without names. It was as if Anonymous was the screen. We shared that last piece of personal information. Out of respect to my new friend, he will remain nameless here. There are a lot a really great people out there if you just say hello.

The Window Seat: Chapter 3

2008-08-17T13:40:00.000-07:00

This year air travel is much more difficult. More flights are delayed or canceled. The cost of travel is much more expensive and the connections are really inconvenient. Sometimes you think that they individual airline traffic designers try to make it as hard as possible to get from point A to B. Providence to Baltimore via Cincinnati? Hmmmm.

On Memorial Day weekend 2008, the plan was to visit my daughter who was enjoying her second semester abroad in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She had left the first part of February and would not be home until the 5th of July. It was the longest that we had been apart from each other since she had been born. (BY a LOT). Originally, I was going to join my wife the first of April and visit Patagonia. Yes it really is a place, not just a brand. Ok I made a BIG mistake and decided not to go because of a business decision.
We had listed the most expensive property of a very particular seller and the property was to be introduced to the market the 1st of April. Long story short, that did not happen, but I had already cancelled my portion of the trip. My wife went and she and my daughter had an amazing time with unbelievable pictures. My responsibility during the trip was working and taking care of the dogs.

Early in May, my daughter had gotten physically sick and then really homesick. She asked if I could find a way to get there. I did.

On the Thursday, May 22nd my reservation on a Delta flight from Providence to Atlanta was confirmed. Delta is one of my more common carriers. Most days of the week the afternoon flight leaves at 3:20 PM. This day it left at 2:50. Yes it was on my ticket, but
I did not look at it. Yes, you guessed it. I missed it. The plane had not left the gate, but they closed the door. It was SOOOOO frustrating.

Next day, Friday May 23rd, we start over. Made the 3:20 flight for a connection in Atlanta. Flight 11 to Buenos Aries was going to be full and leaving at 9:50. It was a Boeing 767 which is a huge plane and great for long flights. To get to Argentina, frequent flyer points were the currency of payment. For 100,000 point, my seat was an aisle in coach. Got on toward the end of the boarding process. Most everyone was speaking Spanish and most of the passengers were young. When I choose my seat on line,37B, the window seat, 37A, was empty. When I arrived it was unoccupied. It was very encouraging.

Everyone was settling into their seats and I was rather excited about the idea that I would have two seats to myself. The flight attendant comes on and says we are about to close the cabin door, please take your seats, etc.

The last person on the plane is a young woman with long wispy hair rushing to take here seat. She is loaded down with a backpack, a computer bag, a large purse like thing, and what looks like a beach bag. Not sure how she does it, as she is about 5 foot 4 inches tall and ‘fragile,’ but she is also carrying a Starbuck Coffee, hot and Grande. Who drinks coffee before taking an 11 hour red eye? Of course her destination, the last open seat on the plane is next to me, 37A. There is no room for all of her stuff and the flight attendants, two, come to help ‘secure’ her stuff. Before she has her seatbelt buckled, the main cabin door is closed and we are underway.

Sometimes when you fly, you just want to be alone and in the case of red eye flights you want to sleep. That was not going to be the case. As soon as the buckle was fastened, Samantha introduced herself. Very rarely have I learned as much about a person in less than five minutes. She was 20 years old. On a scholarship at MIT in quantum physics.
She lived in the San Fernando Valley near Los Angeles. “Have you every heard of it? Yes I am a valley girl.” She had just broken up with her on-again, off again boy friend from Pepperdine. “Gorgeous, but she did not like being tied down.” Wanted to keep her options open since she was going to Argentina and her friends told her the guys were really good looking there. Normally, I would ask questions of my seat mate, but in this case, nothing was required. She was going to be a junior this fall, but was doing a 6 week program in Argentina. She was very excited and very animated. My thought was, how I am I going to get any sleep, sitting next to a 20 year old toddler.

Five minutes into the conversation, she needed a breath. Never being able to leave well enough alone, I asked if she spoke Spanish and asked her where she was staying. “No, do not speak Spanish, but know a few words….Can you believe it, I’m from Southern California and do no speak Spanish.” She did not know where she was staying and did not know if anyone would meet her at the airport, but it didn’t matter. She would figure it out. (Hope her parents did not know that).

As we stepped over the threshold from the first hour into the second of an 11 hour flight, my concern became terror. Would Samantha ever stop talking? I saw her IPOD. Eureka! Had just gotten my own. Would she be able to teach me how to use it? In less than five minutes, a new skill set was added to my resume: IPOD operator. What was really exciting is that the conclusion of the lesson was followed by both us getting lost in our respective, separate musical universes at 33,000 feet. The noise reducing earphones that each of us had, hers were Boise, mine less expensive Sony, were awesome. She offered me a pill to help me sleep, she had plenty. No thank you, but PLEASE feel free to go ahead. IT IS A LONG FLIGHT.

Shortly, there after, sleep blanketed her and I followed. Many hours later, still two hours out of Buenos Aires, we are awaken by the smell of coffee. Not sure why we need breakfast when we are still so far out. But it is offered. Samantha is 37A does not stir…Maybe those pills really are a good thing. Two hours later, during final approach, Samantha awakens. “Those pills really work. This was such a short trip.”
We bid each other good bye, but I gave Samantha my daughters Argentina phone number. My daughter will not be impressed if she has another displaced American to mother.

Off the plane, through immigration, and into a new world. Samantha has already met two other students, male, who will shepherd her to her new Argentinean home. “No worries.”
Except for her parents 

The Window Seat: Chapter 2

2008-08-16T23:26:00.000-07:00

It was a cold morning. Weary eyed travelers, we were passing through security at the Casper Wyoming airport. Our scheduled flight, on United to Denver, was on time. Wyoming is a great state at the end of the Great American Plains and the heart of the Rocky Mountains. Some of the most beautiful views on the planet are located on here: Yellowstone Park, Jackson Hole, and the Grand Tetons, to name a few.

Wyoming is a pioneer State. It is ironic that people from elsewhere think it is a great place to get lost. While in one sense that may be true, there are thousands of square miles of open, uninhabited, plains, steppes, foothills, and mountains. The people, who live here, know what is going on.

On December 7th, 2006, my speaking assignment for the Wyoming Association was complete and home was my destination. It had been a difficult trip, because this trip included two speaking engagements; one in Anchorage Alaska on the 4 of December and the other on the 6th. My time on the ground in Alaska was only 20 hours, including the time speaking. Anchorage is difficult to get to, but Casper is really difficult. In the vocabulary of Old New Englanders, “you really can’t get there from here,” but I did.

Our plane was a small commuter plane. One seat on the left side of the plane, two seats on the right. Arrived at 5 AM, (thank God, it was 7 am Eastern Standard time) for the flight. Upon arrival, United had one person and there were three people in line. All of us were processed quickly. None of were particularly aware of anything or anyone else.
We were waiting for the TSA’s to open. From 5:10 until 5:40, a few travels joined the four of us at the gate. From 5:40 until 5:50, a plane full of people arrived. Obviously, they knew the drill.

At 5:52, we were led out onto the tarmac to the plane. We all hustled as it was cold. This is the kind of cold that blows right through you. It the kind of cold that causes you to question the need for direct gate access to planes in Florida, but the need to go out into the elements in Wyoming. Seems to be a lot of those things in life.

Took my seat, on the aisle, and a young soldier was seated at the window. Tall, his knees touched the seat in front of him, he was awake. He looked like he was just out of high school. His uniform did not disguise the fact that he worked hard to stay in shape. His name was sewn in to his uniform: CHASE. He seemed restless.

We settled in and I introduced myself… He his name was Joshua, but his friends called him Josh. Accent sounded life Kansas or Missouri. He was a member of the Wyoming National Guard and had been for 7 years. He was 26 years old. He was one his way back to Iraq to rejoin his battalion. This was his third tour. The information was all mechanical. Some things, he could not talk about. Could not tell me specifically, where he was going or the true nature of his work, but he did share a lot of simple information.

Along the way, I asked about his family. He quickly shared that he lived with his younger brother, in Casper. In fact he has stayed with the Guard to earn enough money to support both of them. His brother left ‘home’ upon graduation from high school. Now is his second year of a culinary arts program, he would graduate very soon and Joshua would be able to put some money away. Everything he was earning now went to take care of David. The absolute loyalty to his brother was transparent. We live in a world of contrasts: A seasoned soldier with a tender heart, an absent brother with a daily touch, a significant sacrifice with a great benefit. The story was about paying it forward, but within the family.

Never knowing when to leave well enough alone, I asked about his parents. The pause was uncomfortably long. While the conversation about his brother flowed generously, now each word came with the reluctance of melting ice. The Wyoming weather entered our conversation. It was cold and labored. His parents had thrown him out when he was 17. Joshua declined to share the details. He had made is way to Wyoming, was tired and decided to stay. His only contact with his family was with and through his brother.
His brother has had no contact with his parent either in four years. Josh had grown up in Kansas City, but his parent has left there and moved to Oklahoma City just after his brother had left. The information was relayed without emotion. It was simply a data drop.

Could not help asking if his parents knew about his work for our country and his tours of Iraq. He answered simply: No. Do they know what you are doing for your brother? No.
A couple more questions, each answer was one word, without detail. At this point, we were on final approach to Denver. The conversation waned. Cannot help but feel badly about the situation. Thank him for his service to our country, but more importantly congratulate him on being a great person, particularly on being a great brother. For the first time in the conversation, he smiles….”Ah that’s nothing… I can still beat the s--- out of him.” We land and pass through the maze of airport gates, tunnels and terminals through the travel roulette. We think we know where were are going. We only know our next port of call.

He did not realize it, but he left a mark on me. Relationships are fragile. Be careful with the people you love. You can apologize for what you say, but you really cannot un-speak the words. The bell cannot be un-rung. Your grandmother was right, if you do not have anything NICE to say, do not say anything at all. Thanks Josh.

Thoughts and reflections: Family and Friends

2008-07-26T13:40:00.000-07:00

Lately HBO has been re-running one of my favorite movies. Fried Green Tomatoes. The movie is about two great friends who grow up and live at a Whistle Stop in Alabama. Set in the 1930s and the 1970s it is clever presentation of life in the South. It is a series of parallel story lines about people in each time period. The cast is quiet talented from Mary Louise Parker, Kathy Bates, Mary Stuart Masterson, Chris O’Donnell and Jessica Tandy. So few people have the privilege of a friendship of the depth and breathe of the main characters. It is a witness to one of the best truths of being human.

It was released in 1991. What made the movie so powerful for me is that it was the last movie that I saw with my Grandmother Laura Brophy. Although she was not a real movie buff, she agreed to go see the film with me and my wife Susan. There were a couple of scenes that made me uncomfortable. You remember the first time you watched a television show with a “making-out’ scene while your parents were in the room. Just imagine it with your Grandmother! It is strange how those awkward feelings never really leave you, regardless of your age.

My grandmother actually really enjoyed the movie, but she thought some of the ‘vocabulary and the adult scenes,’ were totally unnecessary to the story line. They were an intrusive ‘distraction.’ The reaction was absolutely predicable, even the choice of words.

Within a few years she was passing over. It was one of my life’s greatest lessons. She taught me how to celebrate a full life, prepare for death, and making a gentle exit. Her last week was very difficult for her and for me. Her health was failing. She was in her early 90s and she was staying at my Uncle Jack’s home in Pleasanton, California. On Friday, she asked if her parish priest could come by to give her communion and sacrament of the sick. As a preface, she decided she should have privacy to have her last confession heard. My first thought was: for what did she need to ask forgiveness? Is this really necessary? The entire confession lasted less than two minutes and 90 seconds was needed for prayers. I smiled.

It was a calm and restful afternoon. Her breath was very swallow, although the breathing was not really labored. Short and slow.

When I had made the original plane reservation, my plan was to stay a week and take the red eye home to Rhode Island. Late Friday afternoon during a quiet moment, I let my Grandmother know that I was going to extend my stay to be with her. She looked at me sternly and said: You have a family who need you; it is time for you to go home, our time is at an end. Respect was an absolute requirement in our family. She was the matriarch. She was in control. This was not a conversation. This was an instruction. My eyes filled with tears and left to pack.

After a light dinner, we said good bye, or rather so long. She told me she was proud of me, reminded me of my life’s purpose, and sent me on my way. Mundane things followed: dropped the rental care off, checked into the airport, made the plane and flew East. Before I landed, just after midnight she passed away. My mother called me upon my arrival in Rhode Island. The call was unnecessary…I had known. Laura Brophy, born in San Francisco September of 1906 had gone home. Her life lessons, and lessons of dying with dignity, were left for me to remember and retell. She now one of my navigation stars. Family and friends are the treasures of life…the other stuff is just that stuff.

The Window Seat

2008-07-22T19:26:00.001-07:00

Professional responsibilities require that I fly a significant amount. Most of my flights are in the continental US….here is one of my recent stories

Don Nguon:

It was commuter Jet, Continental, I think. I was late getting onto the plane because of the connection, but I made it. Not sure why, but whenever possible I sit on the aisle. I am a large person so it is always easier. On this flight back to Providence, a young Asian man was already in place and well organized in his seat, a seat by the window. Slight both of height and body, he greeted me with a broad and warm smile. It is unexpected, and disarming to be greeted so warmly by a stranger. Instantly I knew that this would be an unusual trip.

Most of my trips are short ‘rides’ to Chicago or Washington DC. The majority of my ‘row mates’ are professional business people. It is really surprising after 9.11. how many of these people live in the quiet sanctuary of their assigned seat. So many people, particularly on the East Coast, take their seats and engage in the social interaction of a scuba diver. As a student of people, sometimes I wait to see what they will do, other times I invade their sanctuary and introduce myself. Broad is the range of reaction. Some people are disinterested, some are annoyed, some are surprised, and others are really looking to ‘socialize.’ Plane seats are like Forest Gump’s life analogy of a box of chocolates: “You just don’t know what you will get.”

My favorite ‘row mates’ are almost always young adults. As a middle aged father, it is impossible for me to ignore these young people. It is impossible for me to avoid encouraging them. This life is a gift and should be treasured, celebrated, and engages. Everyone has rough spots, but some times we all need encouragement. Not sure that Don needed encouragement… but I was willing.

Don had emigrated from Cambodia with his parents and his younger sister during the reign of the Khmer Rouge and the killing fields. His story was very intense. Despite being a family of means, all was lost. They had spent months on a refugee camp on the Thai-Cambodia border. Shell, bullets; hopes, tears; death despair; squalor, hunger; are his best friends. His stories of night raids, dead friends, and the overwhelming fight for survival are amazing. What strikes you is the respect for the experience. He wants to remember, recall, and retell. He wants to talk about the sacrifices of his family… Ultimately, he made it to America, settling with his family in Providence. He graduated from Classical, graduated from college and now works for Texas Instruments as an Engineer.

With great tenderness he talks about his mother, who died a couple of years ago. The reverence has the richness of a great wine. He made his mother a promise that he would finish raising his younger sister and get her through college. She is there now, a sophomore, and he is paying for her school. He only has a couple more years to go, and then he can focus on himself.

We talked about his religious life. He is a Buddhist. It was fascinating it lead to a conversation of lives of purpose. Why are you here? It was a great conversation.
His primary focus, right now, is his sister and her education. But his more global purpose is to improve literacy in his native Cambodia. He had already set up a foundation to raise money to identify, train, mentor, and compensate teachers. He was already underway.
He showed me pictures of his visit to his homeland and some of the kids he was ‘teaching.’ He is going make a difference is so many lives. Rather than feeding people with money, he is given them an awesome tool of self-sufficiency: literacy. The Board of Directors is formed and they are fund raising already. His dream is becoming a reality for many people.

What I was witnessing was the best of the human spirit. He was a young man, less than 30 years old, whose focus was well beyond him self and his family. It is a goal that I to strive to reach, too.

So there are some morals in this story. Next time you fly, introduce yourself to your neighbor. Engage them if they are willing. You may be very surprised at the conversation and the lessons. If you want to help Don teach Cambodians to read: you can reach him at: donnguon@dhamagosnaramofri.org

Home Coming

2008-07-08T16:24:00.000-07:00

Sunday evening, July 6th, 2008: The holiday weekend is coming to a close. This Fourth of July was a great holiday, because our daughter, Caite, returned from her junior year abroad in Argentina on July 3rd. She had left for South America in early February. This has been the longest time that she, or either of her brothers, has ever been away from home. Her homecoming was really awesome. We met at the airport and a four day homecoming party began. First family and immediate friends met of Thursday. Then the larger community of friends, classmates, neighbors, etc. welcomed her over the 4th, 5th and 6th. Did not realize how many people she knew. This social utility called facebook is amazing. It really broadens ones sphere of influence.

Among the homecoming events was a flagpole dedication ceremony in our neighborhood. It was really very simple with a pledge, the raising of the flag, and the singing of the national anthem. One of our neighbors is a Sergeant in the Marines. He was here representing the men and women in uniform who are serving this country. Three more of our neighbors are serving this country.

Over the weekend, I also had the chance to watch the John Adams, HBO special. Among the more powerful messages of the series is the unlikely success of our founders. When you look closely at history, it is nothing short of remarkable, that thirteen loosely linked colonies were able to prevail in their unilateral separation from the greatest nation on earth: Great Britain. Our founders took a huge risk on a gamble of historic importance and lousy odds, and won. A fledgling democracy has become the most powerful nation on earth.

The transition over 232 years from an idea to this nation is the product of huge sacrifice. Note the number of people who died directly and indirectly over the course of our history. When you count the number of families who ‘gave.’ in many instances a ‘full measure of sacrifice,” it is staggering. Millions of Americans have died for our freedom. The privilege is awesome, but in truth the price has been very expensive. Freedom is earned. As one reflects on our form of government and the civil liberties that we enjoy, one ought to also think about the price of these privileges.

This weekend there were a lot of families who were not together celebrating the holiday. Someone in their family was not just in uniform at some military post around the globe; they were standing guard and protecting our freedom. While we tend to measure a year in months, 12, weeks, 52, days, 364 minutes, 525,600; we forget to quickly about those who ‘spend’ their days and nights at post.

The last several months have been challenging for me to have my only daughter so far away. She was a student in a far off land. She was not ‘in harms way.” She was not really ‘at risk.’ She was an American, spending her Junior year in South America. Yet, her mother and I longed for her return. I cannot help but feel for the families who’s son, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers or fathers are in harms way, standing watch and taking action to protect this awesome gift of freedom.

Happy 4th of July.

The Whispers of Horses: Bruce Wolf

2008-04-19T15:15:00.000-07:00

This afternoon in meadows just below the snowline in the majestic Rocky Mountains, the horses are unusually restless. It is spring 2008 in the Mile High State. The white slopes are giving way to mountain flowers and the warm embrace of April.

The horses are restless. Is it a thunderstorm? Is it a cougar?

This is a special time in the mountains. Spring is a time of rebirth, of making a new. The rivers are full with runoff of the melting snow. The nights are still cold, but the days are warm. The smell of sweet grass is everywhere. It’s time of planting, a time to move the herds into the high meadows.

The horses are restless. Is it a tornado? Is it a bear?

Yesterday, a very fine friend of ours and of the horses took his last ride on his best horse. Tall in the saddle, he rode one with the horse. The horseman and his horse in a carefully choreographed ballet left on a long drive, his last ride. Listen closely and you can hear the distant, quieting sound of the hoofs on the trail. Listen carefully; it is getting quieter and quieter. The sound is getting lost in the late afternoon wind.

Before our friend Bruce’s shadow disappears with the setting sun, it is necessary and appropriate to recall this fine person. Each of us is on a journey of self understanding and of service. The best travelers learn from their journeys. They discover why they are here and live lives of purpose and focus. Bruce was an experienced traveler, who knew who he was, what he cared about, and why he was here. He understood every journey is many steps taken one at a time.

For us, this ‘traveler’ was also a great teacher. He was a guide who steered me and many others away from washed out trails and waterless routes. He knew the territory. Bruce had a great talent in his approach to people and life: listening, reflecting, and then acting. He was neither provocative nor inconsiderate. Maybe the scale of the Rocky Mountains taught him his humility. Maybe some of his great talent in listening was the result of his life experience with his non human friends, his horses. Together they spoke a language of great reverence and respect. Bruce and his horses knew life was struggle, accomplishment, and season. A time to sow, a time to harvest, a winter to bear, and a time to pass. Bruce knew when the trail’s end was near.

The horses are restless. Is it a storm? Is it bear?

Some people say the right words, but do not walk on the right path. In fact some people do not walk on any path at all. They are static in their own lives. They are spectators watching their lives unfold from a distant. This was not true of Bruce. He rode and climbed his path. He lived a full and whole life. While we his friends, family, particularly Mary, will be unable to ignore his absence, in time we hope to recall the fullness of his life rather than the pain of our loss. We also have a great horseman watching us, a quiet guide leading us from the great beyond. Yet we will know he his with us each step of the way.

The horses are restless. They must know something.

You might remember a great Jon Denver song: Eagle and the Hawk: It is brief, but it is a great song about the Rocky Mountains:

“I am the Eagle …I live in high country
in Rocky Cathedrals that reach to the sky. …
Share in the freedom I feel when I fly.

Come dance with the west wind and touch on the mountain tops
Sail o’er the canyons and up to the stars.
And reach for the heavens and hope for the future
And all that we can be, and not what we are.”

Bruce is free and reaching heaven. He is a North Star, a West Wind, the Warm Earth, a cold alpine stream, and a majestic mountain top. Bruce is infused in the world around us. We just need to look and listen. The best tribute we can possibly pay to Bruce is to keep him in our hearts and minds. To pay forward the best of him, his love and his passion, for they transcend time, body and space.

The horses are restless. Can you hear their whispers?

One of their best friends and one of ours too, has seen his last sunset. So long Bruce, till me meet again…

A Well Educated, Debtor Generation

2008-03-19T21:48:00.000-07:00

All things in life are situational. If you are in the situation it is important, if you are not then the issue is not. It is fascinating that the human mind is ‘programmed’ to notice the out of position. Think about the fact that we will notice one domino out of order and are almost totally unaware that 99 are in ‘perfect’ order. Have you also noticed that as soon as you start to look for a card, or better yet as soon as you purchase a new car, it is as if everyone else decided to be the same car or quiet possibly the same color. All things in life are situational.

This is a very long introduction to a challenging issue: the cost of higher education.
Our third child, of 3, is currently a junior at Boston College. Her two brothers have graduated without any student loans. We are working to achieve the same result for our third child. That has not been easy. Boston College costs more than $50,000 PER YEAR. What is really amazing is how much higher education costs are and the fact that the majority of it is financed. The average graduate of a four year university graduates owes approximately $26,119. A good portion of this group is comprised of commuting students. They typically live at home. When you look at New England education costs, they are among the highest of any region in the country. One local private university reports that 60% of its graduates owe in excess of $100,000 upon graduation. Those loans can have terms of 15 to20 years. What is amazing is that this is for undergraduate education and does not include any post graduate cost. The average medical school graduate debt is $100,000. These numbers are significant.

Recently, a newspaper article talked about the financial situation of two, typical, recent college graduates who each owed $60,000 and wanted to get married. They had planned to borrow the money for the wedding, approximately $28,000, which is the national average. What is really thought provoking is that these two individuals will owe $148,000, ($74,000.00 each) at age 26. This not a mortgage secured with real estate. So the follow up question is when will they be able to purchase a house? Will they rent for years? Incidentally, if you decided to rent and 1995 and your colleague at work decided to purchase a house, by 2007 your net worth would have increased to just under $5000, Your colleague would have a net worth, on average of $184,000. (Source National Association of Realtors.)

In researching the details for this article my web search on wedding cost really distracted me. The national average is $28,800. Now things definitely cost more in East Greenwich than many other places. The average wedding cost in East Greenwich is $46,940 versus $27,070 in Warwick according to the costofwedding.com. So if the cost of education does not deluge you, the cost of a wedding migh

Extra-ordinary with the Ordinary: Merilynn Foss

2008-02-27T07:53:00.000-08:00

On occasion, time passes us by. On occasion, the moment is gone. On rare occasions, the opportunity is not lost. This week a good friend and a great mentor of mine passed: Merilynn Foss. Some people mark you in ways that you really do not appreciate at the time. It is amazing how powerfully a few words, a hug, a smile, a shrug can be a true tipping point on someone life. Merilynn had that ability. Some people complain about the cards they are dealt. Some people lament the half full nature of life. Some people are spectators in their own lives. Merilynn was none of these. Merilynn responded to life with extra-ordinary impact to ordinary events. That is a talent. She shared that impact with those of us who worked with her.

Merilynn has been one of my mentors over the past 18 years at NAR. She was one of my first Liaisons. In fact it was her job to ‘explain’ to me that we did not have ‘agenda-less’ meetings or forums at NAR. She was an outcome person who understood that the process was critical to outcome. Quiet, collaborative, deliberate, and confident were her leadership trademarks.

One of the most powerful lessons Merilynn taught me was a transition meeting for Dick Gaylord in Sacramento, California several years ago. At dinner, I was complaining about the fact that my wife’s parent still had a room at their home for her in case things did not work out. (My father-in law still ‘slips’ my wife $20.00 bills to do something special for herself). Merilynn shared her experiences and challenges in life. She asked, but she knew, if I had a daughter. I said yes. She suggested that it might be helpful to put myself in my daughter’s shoes. You have a great father in law who has shown your wife and you ‘what unconditional love’ is. It would serve your daughter well to know the same. She will be a stronger person. Merilynn went onto to say that you need to tell the people you love that you do love them. Do not miss the opportunity. The conversation is still vivid. For several years, the plan was to send a thank you note to let Merilynn know how much the lesson meant to me. That moment almost never happened.

In January, we were at the Strategic Planning meeting together. It was the first time I had seen Merilynn in nine months. She was fragile, but looked ok. At dinner, we had the opportunity to talk and I thanked her for her lesson in California. I am a better father, particularly to my daughter, as the result of the conversation. The opportunity was not missed.

Last Thursday, Merilynn and I shared the elevator in the Intercontinental Hotel to the Leadership Training Presentation. She looked tired. When asked how she felt, she answered with her normal response. “Fine. Thank you for asking.” We exchanged pleasantries and talked about the Strategic Planning meeting in January. It was a ‘matter of fact’ conversation. It never occurred to me that this fragile, giant of the mentor was sharing her last words for me. She ended the conversation. “See you in D.C.”

It is fitting that Merilynn was from Montana, from Big Sky Country. While her loss makes our hearts heavy, it is the gift of her life that we need to celebrate. We have known a great person. She lived the good life and fought the good fight. She was an extra-ordinary woman. Tonight when I look to the sky, to thank our maker, I will be looking for a new star, a new guardian angel. It is a Big Sky, but Merilynn’s star is bright. So when you find the star ‘Merilynn’ let it guide your journey.

Ron Phipps
27 February 2008

Presidential Thoughts

2008-02-19T15:03:00.000-08:00

It is the 18th of February. Today is a National Holiday: President’s Day. From just about every source this is a winter holiday and a great sales day for just about everything from walkmans to cars. How much does it really focus on the ‘purpose of the day? Have you noticed that even sales ads talk about the Washington Day Sale or the Lincoln Day Sale?

Maybe that is a bit less true for Rhode Islanders because we live in the 13th colony. Maybe not. It is not merely appropriate, it is in fact necessary to take at least a moment and celebrate the people who were Presidents of this great, but young democracy. It is also somewhat ironic that we live in area where many of the players who fought for our freedom were born, raised, lived, and ultimately rested. How many of us drive by the Varnum Armory, the Varnum house, Nathaniel Green Homestead, the Kentish Guard Armory, and the numerous other physical witnesses, monuments to those who fought for our freedom without any awareness. Most of us would have to admit that we have never even been in these buildings. Sometimes history is just facts, dates and characters. But history is so much more, it is our pedigree, and it Rhode Island it is so present.

So in the Spirit of the Day, it is fitting that we share just a few stories about our Presidents:

Abraham Lincoln was so unlikely a President. He was awkward, unattractive, and from the farm. By the way he was a Republican. He ran first on a platform to ‘Vote Yourself a Farm.’ The idea was to grant, or give land to people who would go West and settle. If you have the chance, you should read Team of Rivals, by Doris Kerns Goodwin. It is a great book about a great President. She provides the Presidential Hero with a heart, with soul, and with flesh. Sometimes the nature of history is that is not personal or real. Maybe that is the result of our place in time in this visual-digital age. It is striking that unless you go to the place where the event happened it does not resonate as real. Abraham Lincoln’s resolve and greatness are powerful when you walk in his footsteps.

During the initial years of the civil war, the Union was not doing well militarily. In late 1862, the armies of the confederacy were fighting in the North, and under General Lees command had some impressive victories. One of the most important battles of the civil war was near the Potomac River in a town, Sharpsville: Antietam. The battle was fought on one day with over 100000 soldiers in the theatre. In the course of twelve hours, the most horrific battle of the war was engaged. It was a make or break battle for both sides.
The early part of the day involved a cornfield. Toward late morning, so many soldiers on both sides had died that you could walk across the entire field without ever touching the ground. Mid-day witnessed huge losses in an open field with a stage road in the middle. The name of the road at the end of the day: bloody road. Ultimately, the Union prevailed, but due to the North’s commanding General, McClellan, and General Lee escaped and the war ensued. Military scholars argue that the battle was inconclusive, but the Union took if as a victory. Most noteworthy was the number of casualties. Over 23000 soldiers were killed or wounded on that single day more than D-Day, and any other day in United States Military history.

What made the victory so important was the agreement that President Lincoln had made with ‘his maker.’ If they won at Antietam, he would issue the Emancipation Proclamation. They did indeed win, and Lincoln kept his end of the agreement. United States history was forever changed.

Shortly, there after another major battle was fought in Pennsylvania: the Battle of Gettysburg. It was more costly that Antietam. In the course of three days, General Meade and General Lee conducted a military chess game of heroic proportions.
In the end, Lee would retreat, the Union had won, but over 51000 were casualties.
In the course of the civil war approximately 620,000 people died. In 1860 the population was 27.4 million plus 3.9 million slaves for a total of 31,443, 321. Approximately 5% of the population was killed during the war.

This context is important for understanding the resolve of Lincoln. Would we be able to sustain a similar effort today? Arguably war has changes and dead is still awful, but a price was paid for freedom and our union. Imagine going to Gettysburg in 1863 to the dedication of the National cemetery expecting Lincoln to speak for at least an hour. The person before him, Edward Everett, spoke for 2 hours. Lincoln’s speech was 256 words. The photographer had not even set up before Lincoln had left the stage. What a great Presidential lessons: quality over quantity.

As a nation, we have delivered some great Presidents. As we engage the selection process for another one, it is important to study our history. The choice makes a real difference. So March 4th, ignore the media’s suggestion that the Rhode Island primary is irrelevant and your vote more so. Get out and Vote for our next President! Maybe he or she will be a great one.

That time before the day begins

2008-01-28T04:39:00.000-08:00

It is that time in the morning when night is waning and the tide of the day is waxing. It is that time when the house is most quiet. The dogs have yet to wake. The kids have yet to stir. Mom and Dad have yet to rouse. It is the morning version of the gloaming; the late afternoon time when the sun wanes and the night waxes.

As a morning person, this is a favorite time. It is when the excitement for the potential of the day is greatest. It is the time when stock is taken. It is the time when you treasure that everything works. The time when you appreciate that you are still alive .The time when you look at your wife and your children as they sleep, your heart and soul are overwhelmed with warmth. It is the time when life’s prayers are said and often answered.

It is also the time when the remains of the night present themselves. Thoughts of yesterday’s unresolved issues and unsaid thoughts are yet to be forgotten. Yesterdays frustrations and anger are still recent memories. In this time of real challenge, life’s hurdles are higher and require more attention to overcome. This is the time of day to ‘park’ issues.

It is a time of pause and reflection, a time to promise change, or at minimum to be a better person. It is the time before television, email, text, mobile, alarm or laundry. It is a time when the only sound left is the rhythm of your breathing. It is the time before the paper, before coffee, and before tooth paste. It is the time of prep and pause. It is the time before the race, before breakfast, and before the rest.

While most in my family are probably like you, night people, there are a few people like me who are morning people; who love this time before the day. While we are taught to be patient with those who are not morning people, humour us with our enjoyment of the time of the day without a name. Is it intriguing that there is no name for this time of day? Maybe it is because so few people are awake, much less care. But for the awakening minority a name would be a great thing: Maybe it should be called the gleaming, or maybe “the coming.” What ever we decide to call it, it is a very special time of day, at least for some of us.

Martin Luther King

2008-01-22T06:52:00.000-08:00

This week we pause to acknowledge the life of a great American: Martin Luther King. He is a great example of someone rising to the challenge. Think about the impact of his life on the fabric of this country. Truth be told, this society speaks to equality of race, creed, gender, orientation, and opportunity, but we have not yet delivered. When you look at the disparity of salary between men and women, as an example, we have yet to reach parity. But we have made progress, particularly in education and housing. Both are imperative stepping stones to reaching true parity.

We also make huge assumptions that today are not all that different from yesterday. My mother, Joyce Phipps, started Phipps Realty just after my family moved into Rhode Island, 1976. She reminded me that women, purchasing homes, much less owning and running their own businesses, were in fact the exception rather than the rule. The facts that she had graduated at the top of her class in college and that she had significant business experience was irrelevant. She was a woman. One of her first clients was a recently divorced woman who wanted to buy a home. In the mid 1970’s none of the local banks was willing to give her a mortgage without her getting a job, any job. The facts that she had significant deposits, (in excess of the value of the sought mortgage; that she had dividend incomes, and alimony, were not sufficient to offset the need for a job. One banker suggested that she work at Newport creamery. They found private funding to buy a home. Do not underestimate any Realtor, regardless of gender, at getting the transaction closed. What is surprising about this story is this was thirty years ago, after the major wars for equal rights were fought and WON.

This may seem incidental, but it is not. Our bundle of rights, as argued in the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights, has evolved. The first voters in the United States were male land owners. There has been a change. It is also a change that was won with blood, sweat, tears, voice and persistence. There are voices of truth that cannot be silenced. It just has taken along time for them to be heard.

The main point is that we all benefit from the march to freedom and equality. It makes this nation a better place to be a citizen. It makes this place one that enjoys great freedom.

Additionally, sometimes we are blessed with the right person for the time. Sometimes the right person is really reluctant. When the protest and marches began in Montgomery Alabama, Martins Luther King was 26 years old. He was a new Pastor in the community.
Several leaders had approached several other Pastors to lead the protest. They had declined. Martin Luther King had declined initially as well. But one of the savvy organizers decided to have a strategy meeting at Dr. Kings church. He was drafted into the protests, reluctantly. Many times he attempted to step away, but he was driven and drawn to his sense of responsibility.

He is witness to for all us to treasure our freedom and to fight for parity. He is also a human example: Sometimes we hesitate, then make the right step, followed by yet another. All of us, regardless of ancestry, gender, orientation, etc. live in a better America, because he was born in our time and place.

A re-incarnation of Sport's Heroes of the Past: Tom Brady

2008-01-15T07:29:00.000-08:00

Still waiting to see if I believe in re-incarnation, but there is true evidence that some of the strength and courage of the past is re-asserting itself in the present. It can and is often said that we are products of our time. True also, is the fact that one is judged in the context of their time. Much has been written about the greatest generation, the men and women who fought the 2nd world war. What an example: Work hard and sacrifice for your country. Do the right thing. Do it well. Let your actions speak rather than your mouth. Most things need not be said…

The Flag of Our Fathers was a witness to last element. Do what you need to do and go home. Can you imagine one of these soldiers with a web page ‘sharing’ all of their personal experiences in self absorbed aggrandizement. I think not. Another stellar example of this strength of character is exemplified by the response of Lou Gehrig to his diagnosis: He is facing a dreadful, fatal disease. When he announces his retirement he simply says that he had gotten some ‘tough breaks.’ He is a hero, not just in sports, but as a human being.

May it is this recollection that makes the 2007 2008 achievement of Tom Brady, quarterback of the New England Patriots so impressive. Much will we memorialize about the records set. The success is nothing short of amazing: an undefeated season first since 1972; most passaging yardage ever in single season; and numerous other records were crushed.

But we are witness to something much more impressive. We are witnessing a great life lesson: A team achievement that speaks for itself. The Patriots have not talked to trash of contemporary sports. Maybe it is more impressive given the historic context. Just watch Roger Clements 60 minutes interview. Nothing more needs to be said about context.

But there is a more to this story to this story. We are witnesses to one of the greatest sports hero’s of all time. Tom has set virtually every record possible. But what makes is a stellar sportsperson is his consistent acknowledgement that this is a team achievement.
He is the quarterback. He sets the tone and makes it happen, yet he shares the credit with the team and the coaches. This is how a real sports hero does it.

A couple of summer ago, one of my friends was working out at a gym on Block Island. Tom came into the gym, alone to work out. He asked if he could work in with the people already working out. Most of his contemporaries would have had ‘advance’ people remove everyone so he could work out alone. This guy is real and aware of other people.

While he is human and makes mistakes, as we all do, it is really exciting and hopeful to see a great sportsperson show us how to win brilliantly and graciously. A game and a Super Bowl yet to play, but Tom Brady has already won this sports fans ultimate respect.

A loss of hearing….

2008-01-07T19:46:00.000-08:00

As we age, our hearing diminishes. Sometimes it is physiological. While in many relationships, it may not be a true factor. It may be ‘selective loss or conscious loss.’ Ok sometimes we are spectators in our own conversations. We not only ignore the person who is talking to us, but we are not conscious of what we, ourselves, are actually saying. Sometimes we do not know what we are saying. Call it data drop. Do you find yourself day dreaming in a conversation with one individual? No malicious intent. Just a lack of hearing. You just are not present and accounting.

It is also true that what we hear changes as we age… Our taste in music is now dated….the golden oldies are our favorites. Moreover, these are not the standards or the classics. What is really entertaining about being “MAWC”middle aged with children, is ‘discovering’ a new artist of whom your kids have never heard. (They absolutely cannot be impressed with the musician…they must save generational face). Do you have a sense of accomplishment because you know how to use an Ipod? Better yet, weren’t you smug when you asked your kids about www.pandora.com? Yes they were already plugged in, but you found it without them? Yes, score one for the ‘unplugged’ generation.

Have you also noticed that certain songs ‘transport’ us back to a specific place and time. Stair Way to Heaven always brings me back to my Junior High School Prom. It’s a Morning in May always brings me to Senior Prom. “Dinah” is a song that my grandmother used to sing… She had a great big band voice like Lena Horn or Judy Garland. Every time it is played, I smile. While in college, my wife, a gift guitarist, and I were wedding singers. We sang at many. The most common request in the late 70’s and 80’s starts “He is now to be among at the calling of your hearts, rest assured this troopadore is acting on his part….there is love.” Yes you remember it too.

Recently, you probably read the story about Dan Fogelberg’s death. His follows George Harrison’s, John Lennon’s, and others.. Do you remember when Karen Carpenter or Eva Cassidy or Mini Riperton died? What is interesting is that the embrace of their voices live forever, even if their hearts are silent. Their voices are immortal, even if their lives have ended. (What a business: musicians can earn royalties even after they are dead).

While one may debate whether sound ‘lives forever,’ one cannot ignore the digital preservation of sound. What is ever more exciting that our loss of hearing, or recollection of sound, does not diminish or compromise voice and music. So next time the music is a bit loud, or you hear a baby cry, or you hear the wind in the trees, celebrate the sounds of home. Enjoy the music of your heart and the harmony of life. Listen to the beat of your own heart. It is really amazing, even if there is a loss of hearing.

Five, Five, Fifty

2007-12-14T01:07:00.000-08:00

As we age we are supposed to notice patterns and trends a bit sooner than we do when we are young. It is in a way ironic that as our hearing and sight loose some of their sharpness, that we have better ‘hearing’ and better ‘sight.’ Apparently, life’s lessons are supposed to compensate for ‘costs’ of aging.

Another unrelated thought: does where one is born, where one is raised and when one is raised have real influence on the person. Some might argue that these facts are incidental to elements in the nature-nurture argument that this time so engages. Do not agree with this premise. How can one ignore the importance of these elements? We agree that there is a tipping point in the world for each element. A butterfly’s wings can change the climate. We are witnesses to the direct effect of the moon on the tides, and the sun on our temperature. Where we are born is not just the place where our human clock was set, it is the place where time and place merged within us. If that were not important enough, where we were raised is also powerfully influential. Doesn’t living at the beach, or in the mountains, in a city, in the suburbs, or in country have some influence in who you are? Some may argue that the internet and television has flatted out the difference of life experience. This is simply not true. One born in Africa will have a radically different experience that someone born in France. Does not the geography, the climate, much less the environment ‘mold’ our experience? Doesn’t the person raised on a farm know a different world than then person whose eggs are born in Styrofoam? You need not be into astrology to acknowledge that the universe is organized into some mathematical principles that govern our lives.

This past Wednesday December 12th 2007, in the earliest hours of the morning I slept less than five miles from the place of my birth, St. Mary’s Hospital San Francisco, California.
(Maybe, as my wife suggests, I have too much time and too much self-awareness, to come up with this stuff, but I do). Reflection produced an observation: Five days, five months, and fifty years ago, I was born. This may seem incidental, but it is not. In sports and life, there is a score. The natural selection process impacts us as a species and as individuals. In any game, and in life, there are in fact measures. We can pick and choose which ones are important to us, but we have tape measures for everything.

So why does five, five, and fifty matter?

Truth be told it is what the Italians call ‘memento morale’ a reminder of our mortality.
We are here on earth for a fixed amount of time. While most people live longer lives than their great grandparents, it is also an absolute truth that we do not live forever. It is also true that we have life beyond this one, whether in heaven or in a re-incarnation. Both are from this author’s perspective ‘true.’ But there is a more important message here: we need to be engaged in our own life. So many people are spectators in their own lives. They watch themselves from afar. How bizarre… it is your life and yet you are not alive in your own body. It is also easier said to be ‘fully of the moment,’ but it needs to be done.

This is not about numerology, pre-destination, or philosophy. This is about being human and of the moment. We have a fixed amount of time here. We need to make sure that we are spending it wisely. ‘Living a life a purpose’ is not about arrogance, mine being more important than someone else’s, rather it is respecting the inherent value of life itself. What are we going to do with this treasure? Will it be one that adds value to world, one that subtracts value from the world, or one that just takes up space? As we venture into another year, let us do so with purpose in our step, awareness in our mind, and compassion in our heart. Happy New Year 2008!

Our Toast to The National Association of Realtor's 100th President: Richard Gaylord

2007-11-28T04:44:00.000-08:00

Joel Singer, CEO of the California Association, and I delivered this Toast at the 2008 Officers Installation in Las Vegas:

The National Association of REALTORS is just like a great symphony. The music that we collectively create enjoys great volume, intricate rhythms, and breathtaking harmony. The balance between instrument and voice is inspiring and heartwarming. Although our volunteer leaders select the music and provide the brilliant sound, it is the orchestra, our professional staff, who bring it to life.As we celebrate and salute our friend Dick Gaylord upon his installation as the 100th President of the National Association of REALTORS, we all recognize that great conductors inspire and liberate the best in all the people they touch. Through compassion, energy and enthusiasm they transform inspiration into excellence. Few individuals have inspire as many people as Dick Gaylord. He has and will continue to conduct our symphony and to perfect the relationship between volunteer leaders and dedicated staff. Let us raise our glasses to salute Dick and all of organized Real Estate's professional staff. Let us seal our commitment to an extraordinary pursuit of the perfect REALTOR sound.
Labels: 2008 NAR President, Joel Singer, National Association of Realtors Toast to Staff and Dick Gaylord, Ron Phipps

Happens-Chance: Random Lessons of Life

2007-11-28T04:35:00.000-08:00

There are many life lessons to learn: some more important than others. Among the most important is that relationships, friends, family, business, etc are among the most critical.
Sometimes when you are pretty confident and excited, the forces of life converge to remind you of your, minor place in the Universe. Humility is a great thing. No one has ever gotten anywhere without help from others. Sometimes funny things just happen.

The National Association of Realtors has approximately 1.4 million members in the Fifty States and 4 U.S. Territories. This past week over 30000 Realtors met in Las Vegas for their National Convention and to celebrate the beginning of the organization’s Centennial Year. Yes, the National Association of Realtors was formed 100 years ago in Chicago. Its purpose was to improve the professional and ethics of ‘brokers and agents.’
This year a good friend of mine, Richard Gaylord of Long Beach, California, (also a fellow 2003 Regional Vice President), was installed at the President. The position is a one year voluntary position. Over 2500 Realtors were on hand for his pledge.

When my wife and I arrived in Las Vegas there were some problems with our registrations. Our tickets to the Installation and International Night had been already picked up. There was actually no concern about it because NAR senior staff is always ‘taking care of logistics’ for volunteer leaders. Staff advised me that we were at table 11. You should also know that the other 2003 Regional Vice Presidents were going to be seated at tables 11 and 12. When we arrive, RVP Carole Horn said that she ‘needed’ to introduce me to someone. As I glanced, there no seats at the table for us, but I followed Carole’s lead: “Ron Phipps, I would like to introduce you to Ron Phipps and his wife Jenny”. Ok…I thought I misheard. Excuse me; you are Ron Phipps, too? Ronald J. Phipps is a Century 21 Agent in Las Vegas Nevada. Obviously, Rhode Island is my home State. The moment was awkward as we did not have enough seats. My namesake offered to move to another table, but convenience prevailed. Two of my RVP classmates moved to the next table and we made room for the 2 Ron Phipps families. The conversation that followed as really quite enjoyable. We compared family histories and shared contact information. Strangely enough, neither of us knew our family history with any real precision beyond three generations back.

The other Ron and his wife are moving back to her homeland in Singapore in two months. The odds that we will see each other again are in fact remote, but what we did was uncover a relationship that we did not know. We have exchanged emails and thanked each other for a delightful evening. It was in every sense of the word happens-chance, a chance meeting for both of us. But it cannot help but remind you that we are all related. Maybe it is 6 degrees in the rest of the world and less than 3 degrees in Rhode Island, but we are at the end of the day ‘connected.’

But there is in classic fashion was more. My fellow RVP’s wanted to remind me, that despite my advancement in NAR leadership, that my replaced was already in the wings.
Ronald L. Phipps.

You are just like your father!

2007-10-25T07:11:00.000-07:00

Recently, one of my client and I were talking about the expense of our children, mine adult, his almost adult. We agreed that it is expensive to be a parent and that our children had missed some of the lessons we had had growing up: Pick up after yourself, turn out the lights when you leave the room, do not bring the car home without any gas, leave the room in the same condition you found it, call home to let your parents know you are alive, be frugal, pay your parking tickets, etc. My client, Jim, and I started to laugh because we had no problem coming up with an endless list. Both of us had worked with our fathers as adults. Both of us had been the beneficiaries of a significant volume of advice. We both knew each other’s fathers and, truth be told; our fathers were cut from similar cloth. The conversation continued and I complained about going around the house and turning off lights in the ‘unoccupied rooms.’ I turned off fifteen lights. Jim howled and said Ron you are becoming your father. We both laughed. He was right.

There was a time when the comment would not have been a compliment. My father was a special person, but comparisons to him were simply not appreciated. Maybe it is because we now acknowledging the fourth anniversary of his death on the 6th of November that I am able to smile at his lessons. Maybe it is also a time when I can finally admit that I am very much like him. (By the way he would not approve of this article, to personal and the use of ‘I” is inappropriate).

Have you noticed yourself saying things that your parents said to you as a kid: You weren’t born in a barn, were you? Just because everybody else is doing it, is not a good enough reason. Reputations are hard to repair. You are not an only child.

But there is in fact a larger lesson. We are fortunate to have parents. We are really fortunate to have parents that instill life purpose in us, who taught us first hand to love each other and love life. Every religion has a precept about honoring, respecting ones parents, but nature includes the reciprocal side of that directive: Provide and nurture your children. Some may want to discuss the merits of how much ‘stuff’ we provide for our children, but the real lesson we learned to provide love and life purpose from our parents. If we were well nurtured and loved, we make better parents. The math is so basic, but so often overlooked. As a species, we need to have and nurture our children, their children and their children’s children. It is our first and most important responsibility.

So it comes full circle. If I am becoming my father and saying thing he used to say, it is not a bad thing, it is a really good thing. So laugh at yourself and celebrate your Mom and Dad

Fifty Years of Harmony

2007-09-24T17:05:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, we stopped in for a drink with good friends at the Von Trapp Lodge in Stowe. We had been enjoying a great, late summer day on the recreation path, so we were dressed more causally that one might have expected, but we just going to have drinks. Our attire was noticeable when we walked into the lobby of the hotel. Vermont generally is pretty casual. Clean jeans and work boots are appropriate in almost all instances. Tonight, however, the lodge was overrun with grey haired gentlemen. All were wearing blue blazers, khaki pants, blue or white shirts, and striped ties. We took our seats in the lounge and people continued to pour in. After we had been served, thirteen of the blue blazers stood up by the fireplace. Moments later we were witnesses to delightful accapella music… The richness of the voices and harmonies were simply delightful. Music always sounds better at the Von Trapp Lodge.

Two wives of the singers were sitting next to us, so we asked what the group was. With peacock pride, they told us that these were the Whiffinpoofs of Yale 1958. What made the story more intriguing was that they had only recently re-united. They left Yale 49 years ago, and tried to regroup last year. Unfortunately, they could only find 12 of the 13. Worse yet, there had been reports that the 13th had in fact died. In the age of information, the group began the search. Almost all of the group had lived full complete and successful lives. The missing one had in fact, not. After an exhaustive search they found that the thirteenth was in fact alive, but living primitively on the street.
Time had been kind to 12, but arduous for one. Like chalk lines at a crime scene, the detail were not forthcoming, but the ‘crime’ of life was well outlined.

But that is not the end of the story, the Wiffinpoops worked together and got the 13th off of the street and back on his feet. He was lost and now was found.

They sang three songs together with the discipline of there successors 49 years later.
As they prepare for the golden anniversary of their harmony, they also celebrate the fact they are all alive. They breathe the same air living on the same planet. They share a common heart: from happens chance to musically harmony and from a common bond to common ‘wealth.’ So next time you drive through New Haven on Route 95, look to the North, and congratulate the Whiffinpoofs of 1958. Their harmony is not just of the voice, it truly of the heart.

Don Brennan--- A Tribute from Bob Ruth

2007-08-08T04:43:00.000-07:00

In sports, and the endeavor known as triathlon, the most attention is usually given to the few people with the capabilities to win the race or place in the top 3 in their age group. These select few individuals, gifted with a rare combination of talent and athleticism, are able to push themselves beyond the normally defined boundaries of human endurance. They often have athletic capabilities and a personal focus that puts them in a category above all other athletes in the race. They are special. They compete to win. They possess extraordinary discipline and focus, often to the exclusion of everything else. They are sometimes called type A Personalities . Many people call them gifted. These intensely competitive people often define their worth by their standings in the races they enter. They not only win the events but they earn the accolades of the other competitors as well.

The people who finish in the latter stages of a race, near the end of the field, are at a different spectrum. For the back of the field resonates with the stories of competitors whose participation in the event is not to win , but to rise above a barrier , or their current situation, or make a statement that defines who they are . These people are just as extraordinary and gifted as the type A’s who compete to win, perhaps more so. The competitors in this group often race after overcoming major obstacles, or with personal challenges known only to them. Perhaps they are racing to ease the loss of a loved one or to celebrate a victory over a debilitating disease like cancer or a mid life heart attack. The central theme with many of these people is that they accepted and met a great personal challenge often in the face of insurmountable odds. Don Brennan was just such a competitor.

You see, not everyone can manage a hedge fund, conduct a symphony, be a captain of industry , play baseball like A-Rod, or win golf tournaments like Tiger Woods. Not everyone has the ability to do extraordinary things in full view of the public . Some people are gifted in different ways. They have extraordinary perseverance, the ability to see things through in the face of major difficulty. They are not categorized by what they accomplish, but their accomplishments create a new definition of who they are, and in turn, they help us re-define who we are, or who we would like to be. They enrich us by their participation in this game we call life.

Don overcame the obstacles imposed upon him by a debilitating disease that gradually robs its victims of most of their physical skills. The disease progresses gradually in some, rapidly in others, but most assuredly in a continual path in all the victims it grabs hold of. How he was able to continue competing in a sport like triathlon , finish 6 Ironmans, and all those marathons with Parkinson’s disease is simply amazing. He simply refused to let something like Parkinson’s disease limit his enjoyment of life. He chose to march to the beat of a different drummer. He chose to live his life as fully as possible, to celebrate his inclusion in the human race, and in so doing he enriched me and all of us, immeasurably.

Yes, we will certainly miss him. We will miss the warmness of his smile, the sincerity of his greeting, the sparkle in his eye. We will miss seeing him toe the line in a race, waiting for the gun to go off so he could push back farther the boundaries that he refused to define him. We will miss seeing him at the beach in Narragansett after a swim, with a towel draped around his shoulders to ward off the chill . A few years back, I raced with Don and I saw him near the end of the race plodding on toward the finish line. It was late, and many competitors had finished, and packed up to go home. Many people would be discouraged to be far from the finish, but not Don. He gave me a wave and let me know that he was just where he wanted to be, enjoying another race, another beautiful day in his beautiful life.

In a different place and time, and for far different reasons, Oscar Wilde issued a statement that I would like to share with you that I believe encapsulates the essence of the spirit of this wonderful man :

“It will be a marvelous thing-the true personality of man-when we see it. It will grow naturally and simply, flowerlike, or as a tree grows. It will not be at discord. It will never argue or dispute. It will not prove things. It will know everything, and yet it will not busy itself about knowledge. It will have wisdom. It’s value will not be measured by material things. It will have nothing, and yet, it will have everything, and whatever one takes from it, it will still have, so rich it will be. It will not be always meddling with others, or asking them to be like itself. It will love them because they will be different. And yet while it will not meddle with others, it will help all, as a beautiful thing helps us, by being what it is.”

MAYBE

2007-08-05T05:51:00.000-07:00

Maybe it is simply this birthday. Maybe that this is our daughter’s twentieth birthday… and she is our youngest. Maybe it is that the most important role in our lives, that of parenting, is changing from one of active engagement to one of first resource. Maybe it is simply an acknowledgement that our time here is fixed, is limited... Maybe it is the closeness of recent losses. Or maybe it is the acceptance that my father’s time, or more importantly my time with my father, is over…

Last week, I received a call from a triathlon friend, Don Brennan. Have known Donnie for almost fifteen years. For most of that time he has suffered from Parkinson. Triathlons were among the passions of his life. He had competing, against great physical odds, all over the country. AFTER he was diagnosed, he completed 6 Ironman. I was content to do one. Completing an Ironman is a great personal accomplishment, a great life goal.

Over the years, Don was one of a very small group that was a long timer. He stayed with the sport. Many people enter triathlon, train for several years, then move on to another ‘passion.’ This sport tends to attract obsessive-compulsive individuals. Oh, and they then to be pretty arrogant too. Lots of type A personalities are at the starting line.

What is interesting is that you get to know people really well while training for triathlons. Obviously, training partners really get to know each other. But the larger community is very close. Don was an important piece of that ‘trained’ glass picture. Over time his disease challenged him in ways that Ironman did not, and in ways that he could not overcome. Yet everyone looked out for him. When we were swimming the buoys at Narragansett Pier, we would always make sure that he make it back to the beach. We appreciated that he wore a wet suit, because he could always turn over and the suit would help him afloat. Sometimes he would ask us to help put him on his wet suit, or to tape his feet to the pedals of his bike, or to help him up when he fell. He was so appreciative.

What was intriguing is that Don kept track of us. He looked out for us. He knew how we did in the races. Often he called to thank us for something really incidental, but he also called to celebrate our successes, both on and off the courses.

On Wednesday last, Don called to ask if I and our mutual friend Jeff could come to the Wild Dog Triathlon to walk across the finish line at his last Triathlon. He had it figured out. He could do the half a mile swim. He would be taped into his bike for the 11 miles, and he would use a walker to complete the 3.1 ‘run.’ We spoke for a while. This would be his last race, and he wanted us to be with him, his training partners when he completed his very last race. He reminded me that this is the race I started 13 years ago, and he wanted to finish his career at the WILD DOG. He also said he is really grateful for all his tri-friends. “I really love you guys.”

On August 4th, Don Brennan arrived at Colt State Park to practice his swim at 6:30 am. A woman helped him get into his wet suit and to zipper it up. He thanked her for the help and ventured into the water, just as he had done thousands of times before. He needed to get ready for the race. He had invited his friends to be there, when he finished, he simply could not disappoint them or himself. He was going to finish the Wild DOG and then take a picture with his friends at the finish line.

About 7:22 Don was found floating in the water. Efforts to revive him were unsuccessful. Don Brennan stepped over life’s finish line doing what he loved. He will be greatly missed, not merely for his achievements, but rather for the passion he brought to life and his friends. No it is not maybe, Don Brennan was a true Ironman

Spring Recommended Reading List 2007

2007-05-10T04:29:00.000-07:00

Have Read some Great 'new' books recently:

Plato: Republic, C.D. C. Reeve: Translated from the Greek

Rand, Ayn: Atlas Shrugged

Fuld, Leonard: The Secret Language of Competitive Intelligence

Widener, Chris ; The Angel Inside (My Favorite).

Hicks, Ester and Jerry: The Law of Attraction

Scott, Susan: Fierce Conversations

Lereah, David: All Real Estate is Local

With hammers swinging, locals help Hurricane Katrina victims

2007-04-14T20:11:00.000-07:00

Matt Bower, Daily Times
04/14/2007

WARWICK - The cold weather yesterday wasn't enough to stop the hammers of Ron Phipps and a crew of more than 50 volunteers as they worked to complete a "house-in-a-box" to help survivors of Hurricane Katrina.
Once the house is complete, it will be shipped to the Gulf Coast for assembly. It is just one of 54 planned homes being built for survivors of the hurricane through a national campaign known as Operation Home Delivery, the brainchild of Phipps.Phipps, a Warwick resident, board member and past president of the Rhode Island Association of Realtors, said the plan came to him after speaking with a close friend of his, Marine J. Danny Cooper, an executive officer with the Alabama Association of Realtors."We were at a meeting in Washington, D.C., about six months after Katrina had hit and I said to him, 'So is everything back on track now,' and he said to me, 'Oh no Ron, disaster is starting to unfold now,'" Phipps said. After learning from Cooper that families in the Gulf Coast region were still struggling and dealing with the effects of Katrina, Phipps started to work with the National Association of Realtors (NAR) and Habitat for Humanity to come up with a way the agencies could help those families."We have a relationship with Habitat where we typically build one house per year with them, but for this cause we decided to do one per state," he said. Phipps said using the Operation Home Delivery program, the National Association of Realtors encouraged realtor associations throughout the country to sponsor and build a new home for victims of Katrina."It was really important last year when [Realtor associations] raised $70,000 in each state, especially for Rhode Island, because there are only 5,200 Realtors here, so that was a big deal," he said.Phipps said it costs $75,000 in materials alone to construct one "house-in-a-box," but he said realtor organizations across the country have raised more than $4.6 million with $270,000 coming from Habitat for Humanity. Every penny goes directly to the victims in need, he said.Phipps said there will be 54 houses in total; one from each state plus four more for four extra territories."I may have initiated this cause, but the Rhode Island Association of Realtors and NAR made this inspiring campaign possible," said Phipps, the New England-endorsed candidate for the president of the National Association of Realtors in 2011. "By combining our compassion, our vision and our sweat, I knew we could do something meaningful for Katrina victims."Phipps said not all of the houses will be built outside the area, as some Realtor associations, such as those in Massachusetts and Connecticut, have gone down to the region and helped build homes on site."Realtors have hearts of gold. We're in the shelter business, we're fixers and we're doers," he said.That good-will spirit was on display in New Orleans during a Realtor convention when thousands of Realtors donated their time to help the city, according to Ken Libby, owner of Stowe Realty in Vermont and vice president of the New England Region of Realtors."Twenty-eight thousand Realtors volunteered 8,600 hours of their time to help rebuild the city," said Libby.Phipps, who also visited New Orleans, said the level of devastation there was overwhelming. If one were to take all the houses in Vermont and shipped them down to the Gulf Coast, that number would be equal to the number of homes that were destroyed in the hurricane," Libby said."When you go block after block of empty, destroyed houses for miles, you can't help but have a great sense of loss. The thought of not doing anything about it doesn't even cross your mind," he said. "The lesson of this project is that we'll positively influence the lives of 54 families with the work we're doing."Phipps said he was there when a mother and her two daughters moved into the first completed home that was built in New Orleans last November."I felt like a proud parent to see the looks on their faces," he said. "People came together to do great things and everyone shared in the responsibility of making that happen."Phipps led volunteers from the Rhode Island Association of Realtors and from the Providence Chapter of Habitat for Humanity in a "wall-raising" ceremony yesterday morning to commemorate the program, which started in February 2006, he said."All houses will be built and delivered by the end of 2007," he said.
©Kent County Daily Times 2007

Rhode Island Realtors Build Habitat House for Gulf Region

2007-04-14T06:40:00.000-07:00

Phipps drives to build homes for Katrina victims

Written by SIBIELSKI, REBECCA
Thu, Apr 12 07
By REBECCA SIBIELSKI

“This is what realtors are all about. We are in the shelter business,” says Ron Phipps, national director of the National Association of Realtors (NAR).
Phipps talked this week about his involvement in building houses for Hurricane Katrina victims through a project called Operation Home Delivery. Phipps, along with the Rhode Island Association of Realtors (RIAR) and realtor associations across the country, is lending his hands to bring relief to the victims.
Phipps, the driving force behind the project, became involved shortly after he was appointed an NAR liaison for housing and diversity. He was attending an orientation at the Washington, D.C., headquarters about a month after Katrina when he bumped into a friend, former Marine Danny Cooper.
Cooper told Phipps that the disaster was continuing to unfold after the storm had passed. The impact was felt and the strong, stoic Marine cried as he put into words the overwhelming human loss.
Phipps, deeply affected by the aftermath of Katrina, began to work closely with the NAR to create a national program encouraging every realtor association across the country to take part in raising funds to build a new home for survivors, with the objective to build 54 homes by December 2007.
Faced with an estimated $3.75 million budget, a leadership committee consisting of volunteer realtors from all around the nation joined together to come up with a way to raise money. The Realtor Relief Fund agreed to contribute $5,000 per house and The Realtor Foundation donated the remaining amount with money they collected for charity.
To date there have been 48 houses funded with six more to go.
Today and tomorrow (a tent has been erected so that the work can proceed in the anticipated snow and rain) from 7:30 a.m. to dusk, volunteers from RIAR will join forces with Habitat for Humanity Providence Chapter in building a new “House-in-a-Box” that will be shipped to one of four locations in the Gulf Coast that were affected by Hurricane Katrina. Starting today participants will begin preliminary work on the houses and on Friday they will put together the exterior of a house to determine that the measurements are exact. The house will then be disassembled and shipped to a location to be erected in either Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi or Texas. Beginning at 10 a.m. on Friday, Phipps will lead more than 30 RIAR volunteers in commemorating the event with a “wall-raising” ceremony at their parking lot, 100 Bignall St. in Warwick.
Phipps said that although he may have proposed the concept, it was the hard work of thousands of realtors that made the project possible. “The process took a long time and it was a lot of work, but we all made it happen,” said Phipps.
Phipps, along with other participants, has left messages on the houses he has worked on. The date, place the house was built, good luck notes and other inspirational messages will stay on the exterior until the house is completed.
When the idea was first proposed, some people questioned what difference 54 houses would make when there was an estimated need for 100,000. Phipps’ response was simple. “You have the ability to positively alter the lives of these families. When you see a little girl holding her doll in her arms, ready to move into her new home, you can’t help but be touched by what you’ve done.”
Chelo’s Bar and Grill, Big Fish, and Dunkin’ Donuts will provide food and refreshments for volunteers. Anyone interested in participating in the event can contact the RIAR at 785-3650.

My Recommended Reading List

2007-02-26T15:12:00.000-08:00

As my reading has been intense lately, here is what I am recommending:

As the Future Catches You: How Genomics & Other Forces Are Changing Your Life, Work, Health & Wealth by Juan Enriquez

The World is Flat, A Brief History of the Twenty-first Century, by Thomas Friedman

The River of Doubt, Candice Millard

A Great Improvisation, Stacy Schiff

RFK, Evan Thomas

The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver

Zorro, Isabel Allende

No God, But God, Reza Aslan

The Lost Painting, Jonathan Harr

Guns, Germs, and Steel, Jared Diamond

The Pilgrimage, the Paulo Coehlo

Brothers Karamazov, by Dostoevsky

The Global Village and Rhode Islanders

2007-02-22T05:15:00.000-08:00

This is not what you think it is or what you think it should be for that matter. As the global village becomes smaller and more interconnected, Rhode Island enjoys a unique place in the world. Rhode Islanders are more unique than their home. The evidence is overwhelming… Rhode Islanders are still Rhode Islanders wherever they are. They share a common language and a socio-cultural experience. Travel anywhere in the world and Rhode Islanders have RHODAR (aka rhodah)…They find each other regardless of the situation and the geography….”Jeit.”

Our family business is real estate, fertile ground for Rhode Island stories. My mother started Phipps Realty thirty years ago when our family relocated into Rhode Island. Among my mothers first Associates was Sandy Messing, mother of Debra Messing of Will and Grace. The stories of new office are hilarious. Sandy had to climb into the bathroom window to open the door, because she and my mother had locked themselves out. Or better yet, the tow truck operator landlord did not recognize Sandy’s new car, so he towed it---while she was talking on the phone fifteen feet from the car. The only separating her and the car was the plate glass window that she was facing.

My roommate from College was taking a train to Telluride, Colorado and hears two women talking with thick Rhode Island accents. He turns around introduces himself and asks if they know me or my family. Of course, one of the two women went to school with my sister Denise…ok it is Anne Denise and she will want me to include that she is significantly (six years) younger than I am. As my roommate said, you cannot miss Rhode Islanders.

Several years ago I had traveled to Washington DC staying near Regan National Airport. While going out for a late afternoon run along the Potomac, a woman who looks vaguely familiar begins running near me at a pace similar to mine. A few minutes later, as she passes me she says by the way or you Ron Phipps? Yes I am and she lives ten blocks away from me in Rhode Island.

It is amusing to be in Naples, Florida where the Rhode Island reunion is bigger than most high school reunions. Furthermore, everyone knows everyone and all the non-Rhode Islanders know where Rhode Island actually is.

Among the more humbling experience was during a trip to San Martin. My wife and I were on one of the most beautiful beaches on earth: Orient Beach. Part of the beach is a clothing optional beach. No, they were not optional for me. My wife persuades me to take a walk. Most people are speaking French and it is a great place. As we make our way back to our things, someone with a Rhode Island accent yells Ron. I really do not want this person to know me, and I really do not want to see him without clothes. We start to walk faster and my wife says, why are you ignoring your name. “It’s not me.” He calls out again: RON PHIPPS. Slowly I turn to say hello, praying that this guy has his bathing suit on. He does… Thank God!

With most of the world, there are six degrees of separation between any two random people. In Rhode Island is it closer to one and half degrees of separation. Rho-dar
is the Rhode Island version of hometown GPS. Rhode Islanders always find other Rhode Islanders regardless of where they are. Invariably if you meet another Rhode Island they will ask if you know so and so. The conversation continues until there is a common acquaintance. It is intriguing and noteworthy, that the conversation focuses on people and relationships, not places. This is a home that is about people not things. So next time you traveling the world, let your Rho-dar go to work!

Ron Phipps February 2007

Carpe Diem: You do not know what you do not know!

2007-02-20T10:20:00.000-08:00

It is good that you don’t know what you don’t know.

This conversation is born of respect and of humility, neither of arrogance nor hubris.

As ones hair grays and the arrow of time accelerates, it is fascinating how much better we understand the costs of life. When we are in our twenties it is intriguing how carefree and risk-orientated we are. As we age, and particularly as we have children, life’s lessons become more persuasive. Perhaps it is also the “memento mores,” the reminders of our mortality that actually ring a bell that we finally are capable of hearing. For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for me.

Maybe it is when you get to that age when you read the obituaries everyday to see which of your friend’s parents have died, but are not surprised when some of people just a little older than you are there. Maybe it is also, that your body is no longer an unbreakable, endurance machine. When you run, or bike, or swim, or maybe even when you walk, your body reminds you of its ‘humanness.’

This past several months have been a time of great reading: Looming Tower, No God But God, Brothers Karamazov, and the Life of Robert F. Kennedy. One cannot avoid the fragile nature and brief nature of our time here. One also cannot ignore how close we have been and are now to our potential demise, not just as individuals, but rather as a people, and more importantly as a species.

This is a long preface to a couple of thoughts. While we do not know what we do not know, it is about time we learn. We can no longer feign ignorance about our inability to deal with the finite nature of our time here. My grandmother passed recently, by father three years ago. (His death is still an open wound; his loss a nightmare from which I still hope to awaken). Both of these are chimes on life’s clock reminding me that this is it. The lesson is clear; things and money are both replaceable. Time is not. ONCE it is spent is it gone. We need to treasure time… Once spent, it is gone.

Regardless of your religious belief, your political persuasion, your economic status, or lack there of, death treats all equally. Recently, a public speaker was commenting that in this country, all of us our born equally, “and some of us just stay that way.” It is also worth acknowledging, that we all die equally. At the twenty-third hour and the sixtieth minute, our clock stops. So does everyone else’s clock. It is a cruel irony of humanness that we are all the same in birth and in death. Some of us are better prepared than others for each event, but the fact of both is the same.

The inherent message of this reality is two fold. First if there is something you really want to do: do it. Do not put it off, because you can be only certain of the time you have at this moment. Make sure that it includes celebrating your family and friends. They share life’s path with you, it is important that you thank them. The second piece is to make sure to leave something positive behind. With very few exceptions, when we die the hole we leave is very much like the hole we leave in bay after swimming. It fills in instantly. Several books have talked about the impact of one thing on the course of human history. The Tipping Point articulates the impact of the final straw that changes weather, history, life etc. With that much potential impact, it is not a privilege, but rather a responsibility to leave something positive behind. Whatever that is should not be limited by this author’s limited perspective. You need to make the most of your time and your life; to be authentically who you are; and to leave something positive behind. That requires that you be a participant in your life, not merely a spectator. The other observation is that a little good deed can have staggering impact.

Take a deep breathe today, celebrate the gift of your life, and make a positive difference for good.