Hell of a Guy
Freedom of Press is limited to those who own one - H.L. Mencken

Friday, July 22, 2011

Wavering at 193 Days


I originally set my retirement date to February 9, 2010.  Then in July of 2010 I changed my mind, making my boss happy and me wondering if it were the wisest thing to do.  I have heretofore laid out all the reasons why I should retire, but then I did the same in 2010.  My new date of January 31, 2012 was set in stone, or was it paper-mâché?  I am at the wavering point once again, seriously wavering.

A decision will have to be made soon.  I cannot put the company through this vacillation on my part much longer.  I have to decide.  If I stay until January 31, 2013 I will have passed my 30th anniversary with the company.  Not sure that’s a reason to stay, but the money sure as hell is.  I am not under paid.

Conundrum!  I really have to give this some serious thought and let my company know my definite intention.  The problem is I don’t know what my intention is; I am afraid to retire, and scared to stay on.  Wow!  Who ever thought life could be so complicated?

Seems to me people have names for a guy like me - wimp, coward, pussy, blah, blah, blah.

And that is all I have to say about that…

Friday, July 15, 2011

200 Days and Counting…


You bet I am counting and keeping track of exactly how many more days I will work fulltime, “x-ing” them off the calendar one-by-one.  I am actually very much looking forward to January 31, 2012 my last day on the job.  Have I thought about putting it off another year?  Yes, but only very briefly.  There is a part of me, however, that is fighting my decision to call it quits – there is a tug of war going on in my brain.

Monday of this week I hooked up with my boss, my now retired vice-president of sales (the guy that hired me) and another region sales manager (the guy whose sales territory I inherited) at a hotel near Washington, DC.  They were there on business but asked me to join them for two nights.  It was a nostalgia fest.  Stories abounded, we all had them and shared them.  We laughed until we almost cried, with aching sides we just enjoyed the hell of out two nights being together perhaps for the last time as a group (but we hope not).

These guys are as close to me as my brothers.  I certainly have spent more time with them over the past 28 years then I have with my brothers, which is a shame, but it is the truth.  We have shared good times and bad; ups and downs; laughter and tears.  They are my mentors, my confidants, my friends and my family.  Their support of the years has been generous to a fault. 

My company has always promoted a sense family and teamwork from the very top all the way down.  I have made many, many dear friends during my tenure with it.  Some of people I worked with and who have retired comment on not missing the job, but very much missing the people.  I think I will miss both.

Mine is not a large company, so when I was made a region sales manager in 1986 I knew this job would be it for me, and I was more than okay with it.  I decided early on one of my duties was to develop future managers, and over the years many of my salespeople have received the company’s highest sales awards.  Six sales reps I managed have been promoted, in fact, my boss once worked for me.  Nothing has made me prouder than to see people move up in the organization.  I have always taken pride in my job and have never sought accolades.  I can look at myself in the mirror and love the guy I see there.

But now it is time for me to ride off into the sunset and turn this job over to someone younger and more energetic.  The business culture has changed, and while I hate to admit it, I have not.  It is time.

I got to spend a couple of nights with three guys I love.  We had our “cum-by-ya” moment, but fortunately I will see them again before the final day arrives.

I don’t know what will be the last day I see these guys before my final one, but I do know on that day the tears will flow.

And that is all I have to say about that… 

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

The Embarrassing Question…


There are a number of questions that prove to be embarrassing to the person posing them.  I have seen a commercial on TV of a guy and a lady on an elevator where the guy asks her when she is due, and she relies she is not.  Embarrassing!  How about the one where the young woman says to a guy, “I think you are the father of one of my children?”  He, in turn says, “Cancun?”  She is a nun and the teacher of his daughter.  Embarrassing!  Has it ever happened to you?  This actually happened to me about a year ago and I wrote this shortly after the incident.  I found myself in a situation wherein it was my turn to be forced into asking an embarrassing question.

The Nancy and I were out visiting one of the daughters for a weekend.  We always have enjoyed being in the house with her and the four kids and the cat and the dog and guinea pigs (while they are still alive), a surreal experience.  Actually the goings on in that house fit the picture I conjur in my mind of a mental institution and its inmates.

Crazy crap goes on in that house.  The three boys always seemed to be in a pile in the middle of the floor.  The daughter very rarely appeared from her room, except to demand a ride to another venue.  Her room always looked as if a bomb went off in it.  Actually it would remind you of a dump.  But still, I am embarrassed by the question I had to ask.

During a morning meditation (you get the picture?), I created a mechanical failure of the plumbing kind.  It was, therefore, forced upon me to embarrass myself and have to ask the daughter for a plunger.  I managed to heap more crap on (or in) this house and stop up a toilet.  Having been forced to ask the embarrassing, I had lovely crimson glow about me.

But there are worse things, right?

And that is all I have to say about that…

Friday, July 08, 2011

Thoughts on Casey Anthony…


The verdict is in, the case is over and Casey Anthony will soon be set free, but free to what?  Her life is, for the most part, over.  She is a pariah, persona non grata, another OJ.  But, no matter what you and I think about this case, and especially that gorgeous little girl who is gone forever, Casey Anthony was judged by a jury of her peers and found not to be guilty.  The story has a truth, and just suppose it goes this way?

At about age eight Casey’s father begins to indoctrinate her to succumb to his desires.  Maybe he touched her, held her a little too close.  Over time the touching happened more often.  Perhaps he would climb into her bed in the middle of the night for a while, touching her in appropriately.  She’s just eight, and does not know this isn’t normal.  She afraid and says nothing, tells no one.  She hides from the truth, creates her own world, an escape from the reality of her life.  Over time, her older brother sees something, or heard something or is just a chip off the old block, and he begins to touch Casey (he admitted to it in court).  This abuse at the hands of her father and brother goes on for years.  Casey is numb to it, suppresses it, hides it, but does nothing about it.

Casey is able to compartmentalize her life.  Like Sybil (the movie), she created a world outside of the real one, one where she is comfortable to be Casey, and live as she would like to live.

Caylee is Casey’s joy.  She loves her more than anything in this world.  She is a good mom, a wonderful mother (testimony of a number of defense witnesses).

The family has a pool in the backyard of their home.  Caylee loves the pool, but is not allowed to go there unless her mommy, grandmother or grandfather is with her.  Caylee is two now, and getting bigger everyday.  She can open the door leading to the backyard with almost no effort.

On June 16th Casey and her father are at home.  Both are busy doing something while thinking the other is with Caylee.  Caylee has gone out the door to the pool and climbs down the ladder.  She cannot swim. 

Casey’s father finds Caylee floating in the pool.  There is no heart beat, no pulse.  Caylee is gone, he is devastated.  He finds Casey and begins to rant and rave about how this is all her fault.  He berates her, and tells Casey her mother will never forgive her for this, that she will probably end up in jail for negligence.  How could she allow this to happen?  But he loves his daughter and he comes up with an idea to save her butt.  They will hide the body so Casey’s mother thinks someone has taken Caylee.

Casey’s dad wraps the baby’s body up in plastic and places duct tape over Caylee’s mouth to keep it closed.  He puts the body in Casey’s car’s truck.

Casey is beyond consolation.  She stuffs this whole sequence of events the way she has the sexual abuse, and goes about her life.  She makes excuses as to why Caylee is not seen – Caylee is with her nanny.  Casey goes about her life, the “Bella Vita” putting out of her mind Caylee’s little body is in the trunk of her car.

Enter Jose Baez: his job is to convince the jury there are extenuating circumstances in the death of this precious child.  His best bet is a hung jury.  In his opening remarks he relates a story similar to mine, but shorter.  His whole case is to attack the other side’s claims and “so called” evidence.  The Prosecution is short on hard evidence and builds its case on “fantasy forensics.”  They lose, Baez wins.

I watched as much of the trial as I could.  I listen to the news of it, and often while in the car listened to the live testimony.  George Anthony came across to me as a liar from the very first time I saw him.  Casey’s brother, a wack job.  Her mother is a horse of a different color.  The whole family could be the poster children for the perfect dysfunctional family.

As the jury got instructions from the judge I told my wife if I were part of that jury, though I believe Casey is guilty as hell, and based on what I had seen and heard, I could not have voted her as guilty. 

There is much more to this story than ever came out in court.

And that is all I have to say about that…

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