Are you part of "the Recovery"?

Back when I was in college, I worked at a gas station. it was a decent job. i sold gas, snacks and bait. Sure it smelled a little fishy, but it paid and it gave me plenty of time in the afternoons and evenings to study a bit on the clock. 

One day a guy came in asking if he could park a truck in the side lot for a bit. He was a furniture distributor from High Point, NC. For those of you who do not know, High Point is a furniture Mecca. I'm not saying that people pray facing there, but there is an awful lot of top quality furniture made there. Folks in North Carolina tell tales of factory-direct deals and how lucky they are to live so close to the source.

Being a savvy guy, I saw an opportunity when this fellow showed up. Now I was neither rolling in money, nor looking for furniture at the time, but I still looked over the selection of furniture up in the back of that truck. it was stacked to the ceiling with couches and chairs, ottomans and tables. All of it was covered in plastic and smelled like a new car. Wow was it clean.


All of you can remember being in college. That first apartment was either furnished by mommy and daddy, or it was picked up a piece at a time off of the side of the road. Think back and we all can remember smelling the couch before calling our friend with the truck. Is that cat pee? Is it smoke? Will the ride in the back of the truck take care of it and "air" it out sufficiently? Still we would haul it home and drench it with Febreeze before throwing a sheet over it and calling it ours.

Not this time, I thought. The cornucopia of furniture I was staring up at in the back of that unmarked box truck was all new. It was exhilarating to think that I might also be able to buy (gasp) my first **NEW** piece for furniture and that I might at the same time be able to take advantage of those great NC deals.

So I did it. I selected a chair. A blue recliner was hefted down to me in the parking lot. I checked it over to verify the feel of the fabric and that no one had ever sat in it before. It was still covered in plastic and amazing to me. The money came out and changed hands. the gas station customers were backing up and complaining that the pumps were not working, but that did not matter. I was busy.

I half-stuffed the prize into the opened trunk of the sedan I was driving at the time and tied the trunklid shut. My responsibilities at the station hit me like a ton of bricks and I finished my shift in a more responsible manner. I never noticed when the truck left or whether it evaporated into a could of mist. It was not until the close of business that I remembered the chair still covered in plastic hanging out of the trunk of my car like some soft and cushy spoiler. I stole directly home and lugged it indoors.

The moment I bumped through the doorway, I hollered out to my (then) girlfriend to come and see my prize. Sharing in my excitement, we finally pulled the plastic off the chair and arranged it in front of the TV in a prime location. My longtime friend, a second-hand vinyl Barcalounger covered in an old blanket was stuffed into a corner; instantly forgotten. Then I sat down and kicked back.

Now let me tell you, friends, that I had made a mistake. I didn't know it until that moment, but I had made an awful mistake. They say "live and learn" and it is true. I learned something valuable that day, something we all should know. So today, I will impart the (costly) lesson I learned on you. Ready?

NEVER BUY A CHAIR WITHOUT SITTING IN IT.

Throughout the process of buying that chair I had never sat on it. I had checked the fabric, turned it upside down to ensure that real wood was used in its construction. I smelled it and made sure that it rocked and all, but I never sat down. It was the most uncomfortable chair ever. it was four or five inches too narrow, and there was a decidedly firm spot at the back of your knees where the padding was compressed. It did recline, but there was no options between laying down and sitting up. The arms were beautifully covered in blue velor, but they also were so square that you could set a beer down on them without threat of it spilling. It was just like somebody had covered a "This End Up" chair in fabric and made it recline. Hard and angular, but built to last.

I sat in that chair every night, too stubborn to admit that it was uncomfortable. But after a time, it was backed into a corner and the 30 year-old Barcalounger was brought back out. Even the cat did not sit in it, despite it being in an afternoon sunbeam. It was an epic Fail. One that I sought never to make again.

Years later my then girlfriend now wearing a ring, and I went around to reputable furniture stores looking for a dining room table for our new house. We were decidedly NOT going to buy off of the back of a truck. I also was NOT going to buy anything without sitting in it first. But we also were not rolling in the money either, so we still were looking for good deals.

After lots of driving and lots of walking and lots of sitting down in chairs, we found a set that we both liked and that we could afford. It fit the room well. It looked both formal and comfortable. It had two leaves and six chairs, so it could expand to accommodate guests and host reasonably sized dinner parties. It was wonderful, clean and new.

And it served us well for the past eight or nine years. But we have recently outgrown it and have been seating teenagers at the kids' play table on a regular basis. We needed a new one, a bigger one. So we looked at our finances, found that we were still poor, but through the miracle of debt consolidation, we could afford a new table and some other home improvements for only $20 extra a month.We were back in business!

Over the years we had picked out a supplier of heirloom-quality furniture nearby. It is an antique dealer who loans space to a furniture builder. We had actually picked out the size, the features, and the chairs in our "dream plan" years earlier, and this was our chance. We went, recently, to pull the trigger and realize our dream.

Now with 2 kids in tow we drove an hour to the store and compelled the owner to his post early on a Sunday morning. He was probably hoping to get back in front of the fire after the "browsers" left, but was pleasantly surprised when we declared that we were there to buy instead. We placed our order, priced it, and haggled little over the details. It wasn't until the credit card came out that he made a comment that still sticks with me.



"Oh, so you are part of the recovery, eh?" he said, looking me right in the eye. "I guess so," I replied, not thinking of what he really meant by that. It was later that i thought back to it. There have been all sorts of economic displeasantries recently. I myself have been through the ringer job-wise. This fellow immediately  brought it all into perspective. Here he was, standing in the middle of his large *heated barn on a cold spring morning in Vermont surrounded by *thousands of dollars worth of furniture and antiques. The business was not new, and neither was he, being otherwise retired. But he was doing what all sorts of other folks are also doing. Treading water, paying the bills, and hoping that the buyers would once again come in through the door.

And there we were. A family of four ready to spend some money. As the boy ran cars across the merchandise, and the little girl danced to Taylor Swift songs piped through mommy's IPhone, we went to task and probably made his week's profits that day. What is more, we set the chair builders to work as well ordering ten. We were doing it for ourselves, but in the process we helped our community get back on its feet, even if just a bit.

Now we are not sitting pretty. If Congress can not come up with a spending plan, my wife will be furloughed without pay beginning just next week. I am now a builder and also selling wood flooring, but neither of those careers is exactly lucrative, and both depend largely on others. But thankfully, money is still cheap and for those of us with good credit, it is still available. We decided to pay an extra $240 a year (over the next million years) and put a whole series of folks in the local community to work. For that antiques dealer we were part of the country's "solution" to this economic downturn.

For us, we are looking forward to the new table. And for those of you still interested, I sat in those chairs years earlier. I did not need to do it again. And you don't hit your knees on the table legs when you sit at it either.

Eat your Heart Out, Bradbury

We all read it back in High School. Farenheit 451, the blissful future all schoolkids looked forward to. The day when books no longer existed. No more reading forced upon us by work-crazed teachers who simply did not understand how much time we spent on our hair, or mastering that new trick shot on the basketball court. Back then, we equated reading with work. More specifically, work we did not want to do.

Since our high school days, reading has taken a whole different place in our lives. Now, we read to pass the time, to get a little time to ourselves, and escape. "Don't talk to Mom, she is in the middle of a book," Dad might say to a pleading child one Saturday afternoon, "What can I help you with?"

In adulthood, reading has also become a way to say something. It has become common practice for coaches like Duke's Mike Krzyzewski and Lakers Coach Phil Jackson to give out books before each season. These mentors-of-men often hand out the tomes as a way to teach others a valuable lesson. Even if the book was forgotten on the shelf for years, the day it was read, the lesson would still be just as true. The coaches found that they could impart life lessons through books, which have the unique ability to still stay just as fresh years later.

The thing is, that books do just that. they don't expire, and they don't wilt with age. They are just as good to read after ten or twenty years as they were when they were printed. It is great for books, but not so great for booksellers. There was a time in this country when there was a busy newsstand / bookstore in every town. As the car spread us out, bookstores consolidated into larger stores, spaced farther apart. Gone then was the neighborhood bookstore. As shopping malls popped up across the country, many of the independent bookstores were driven out of business by chains in climate-controlled shopping centers. Fifteen years ago, the  really big chains came through. Borders and Barnes and Noble sprouted up across the country and dealt a further blow to small booksellers with sledge hammer grace.

Still, somehow, small booksellers persevered. Singe stores, or small regional chains still eked out a niche in the shrinking market by adding coffee shops and really getting to know their local customer's interests. Some only dealt in used books, leaving the bestsellers for the big chains with their heavily discounted prices. Others became more like local historians, bringing together local authors, and regional histories with avid readers. It was a good thing, until the internet and Amazon came along.

In the past five or ten years, many local, independent booksellers finally threw in the towel when the internet giant Amazon.com came around. Amazon, dealing with publishers to get the best prices on books anywhere, could undercut all others, and what's more, they had literally everything ever published. Even with shipping, they had your book to you in two days, and there was no more going to three shops on a Saturday to find the book you could not live without. Lives were made easier and all was well, but for the independent bookstores.

Now there is an even more foreboding future for the little guys in the book business. It really began in earnest last year around the holidays. With proprietary names like Kindle and Nook, the e-book has come in to the market swinging. Even now, the ads are all over the radio, working hard to make e-book readers the "Tickle-Me Elmo" for adult readers everywhere.

They have their merits. E-books sell the works for less than the paper copies can go for. You don't have to drive anywhere to get them. If you want to practice your French or Spanish, you can literally flip a switch and there you go. Plus, you have free books made available through Project Gutenberg, and they are search-able. That is, if you just needed to know, you could download the complete works of William Shakespeare and then search out for keywords to find that the three witches were in Macbeth; Act IV, Scene 1.

But where will it leave the stalwart independent booksellers who have not succumbed to the onslaught of competition in the newly global book game? Some are calling it the digital dilemma. Where will the paper guys be left in an age where internet competition can undercut them by as much as 50% instantly, from the couch. They have been valued members of the community for decades. They have built up a loyal customer base, but lets be honest, the face behind the counter is only friendly in this day and age. There might not be much need for them in the future.

The transition will not be as enthusiastic as in Bradbury's novel. Kids may not be left with such trivia as the precise burning point of paper when the last paper book is removed from store shelves. But the end result might be just the same. It could be the end of the line for books. Whittled down from a neighborhood hot-spot, to a file; whizzing through cyberspace in a nanosecond. In Bradbury's story, learning was the enemy. Independent thought went against the rules, and reading was the harbinger of critical thought. In this 21st Century reality, some sixty years after the original hit the marketplace, critical thought abounds. Reading is no longer the enemy, but the book still is.

Back in High School, some friends of mine and I went out to an unpopulated barrier island on spring break. A bad gale blew in and stranded us. We had to burn a school copy of Lord of the Flies to keep warm that night. I thought it was strangely poetic. Perhaps when I am ready to buy my next e-book it should be Fahrenheit 451.

Not a Hunter

Way back in High School, they beat into your brain just how important time management really is in life. To give you an idea, I usually find the time to contribute to this fine body of work during naptime for my two-year old. I need to be quiet, can't leave the house, and writing fit in well.

Recently, though, I have been working on an old house, renovating it (leaving little time for writing). I am in the midst of mudding and taping the sheetrock, which just takes time. If you have not done it before, you should be aware that each coat of joint compound goes on finicky, and you can't really touch it until it is completely dry. The drying process should in theory take 24 hours, but in all practicality, it is taking longer. I still keep busy while the mud is drying because it is a big house, but honestly, there is no rushing it. Come back too soon and it crumbles under the weight of your tool.

As I have been working, such a monotonous job (lacking in measurements, squaring, planning, and other brain occupiers) has left me time to get to know all of the new radio stations, catch back up with all of today's big hits, and let old songs remind me of past times in my own life. It has been nice going back down memory lane. I have thought of trying to contact a few people I have grown apart from, but who has time for that?

The extra time has also let me think ahead.This weekend, there is a big Jeep club meeting and the (probably) last ride of the wheeling season. I have really been looking forward to both. The Vermont Jeep Association plans to elect me as their president, which is an honor, but the run afterwards has really been on my mind.

Every hour, on the hour they talk about the weather on the radio, more during drive time. On nice days, it goes by un-noticed. These days, for me, I am all ears. There is a coastal low moving up towards Vermont, and they are using the "N" word a lot. (Nor-Easter for the flatlanders out there). The Nor-Easter is great for skiers and snowmobilers, a churning winter storm that could potentially drop 2-4 feet of snow on the Green Mountain state. For me, however, looking forward to the last ride of the season in my open-topped old Jeep, I cringe at the thought of spending all day out in the woods, wet and cold. That doesn't mean I won't go, it just means that I will need to combine ski clothes with a fisherman's hat to make the day comfortable. Ugh. I probably will put the bikini top on for the day ( I haven't any other).

There is practically no chance of me not going. I have permission from the wife to leave her stranded with both kids all day. Such an opportunity is not to be overlooked. If the ride is cancelled due to high water or excessive trail wear, I would understand, but probably still spend the day wrenching. I have found the motor and transmission for some future Hot Rod project, but have been unable to find the time to pull it out of the motorhome it grew up in. I could work on that on Sunday, but I will probably have the kids with me, and so lifting a 351 and c-6 overhead and into the back of the truck is probably not the best family activity. The kids would definitely come home greasy and make for more laundry. Besides, it is supposed to rain.

A plumber I have been working with has been looking forward to deer season. For him, he gets a week pass from his wife, and is off to New York to find the big bucks. Apparently, the Vermont program of passing on spikehorn bucks has not netted the final trophies yet. So he goes away for a week with his brother and a few friends to persue a few extra (antler) points.

It is his yearly trip, a sign of the seasons, if you will. Kudos to him for finding the time. For me, there is always work to be done, or wheeling, or pulling an engine, or watching the kids, or fishing, or football, or...  Thank God I am not a hunter too.

Why is the grass greener?

Harvest time is beginning in Vermont.
Berry crops have been showing up in advertisements on the shoulder of the roads for the past month. The lettuce and beans in my own family garden plot have officially passed, and I am left with the kale my wife planted (and I won't cook), a bumper crop of basil, and the dreams my overflowing pumpkin plants now inspire.

Farmer's markets are in full swing, and a regular town event. If you ever want to see and be seen, dedicate a night and go down to the farmer's market for dinner. Eating your way through the various stands of raw and prepared foods is an awesome task, but somehow, eating more than a mouthful at a time before stopping to chat with a neighbor is the biggest challenge.

The question that prompted this week's post (after a well-deserved vacation south for this writer) was overheard being said by a non-gardener. "I wanted ____ and I thought I said it way back when, but we don't have any ___ now. I guess they didn't like my suggestion."

A children's story my daughter owns came instantly to mind. it is about a little industrious chicken who lives with a lazy dog, gabby goose, and a vain cat. Each of her roommates allows the chicken to cook and clean for the household without lifting a finger to help. When she finds wheat kernels along the road in springtime, she plants them and tends them by herself hearing only the chorus of "Not I" from her roommates when she asks for help.

Our unnamed non-gardener fits that bill to a tee.  "Not I" said he when the seeds were started indoors."Not I" said he when the garden needed weeding. Now, as the vegetables come in, he enjoys local cucumbers and the rest, but he still finds the time to look over the fence and wonder aloud why there are no pumpkins growing in his garden this year.

Well, in good taste or not, I should relate the rest of the little chicken's story. She weeded, then she cut and thrashed the wheat. She carried it to the Miller and brought back home the flour. She was the one to bake the loaf of bread in the fall, and it was she alone that ate it in a house full of the smell of fresh bread. The lesson my daughter takes away from the story is to lend a hand when asked.

For me, I think the message is to keep your mouth shut if you don't plan on helping out along the way.

The last time I was down in the farmer's market, I overheard someone comment on the high price produce was fetching as compared to the supermarket down the street. Growing it is not an easy task. Time and energy are valuable commodities. If you are willing to invest in it, a pumpkin can be had for the cost of a seed. Otherwise, just pay what the farmer is asking for it.

Don't mention it.

The bumper sticker that had obviously resided across the back of the rusty Honda for some time read "I'm a Vermonta, I do what I wanta."

Originally, it called to mind all of the other classic Vermont sayings. "You can't get there from here." "Go right up the road a ways... you can't miss it." And the like. But this one was different. It called to mind the individuality and independent nature of Vermonters. We might just be the most stubborn state in the union.

We really do what we want to. We saw a need, and passed first-in-the-nation same-sex spousal benefits. When Governor Davis saw the clutter and trash lining Vermont's roadways back in the 70s, he shut down the interstate and motivated the entire state to clean itself.

Vermonters way back in history have really done what they wanted too. We were not one of the thirteen original colonies, we were still making up our minds at the time. Most folks don't know it, but Vermont is one of two or three states that was at one time its own country. The Republic of Vermont was a short-lived, but important part of the state's history of independent-mindedness. For more information, a trip to Windsor, Vermont, would be in order.

That independent nature really shows its head in the little things. A recent trip to the lake with a friend on his new-to-him $500 speedboat shows it well.

Of course, the boat started when he first tried it, but then it sputtered and wouldn't start again. The boat's battery was dead, and getting a jump start on the water is a bit more difficult than in the Wal-Mart parking lot. So, while his first mate made a run for a second (hopefully fully-charged) battery, he was left literally holding the boat alongside the dock, hoping to not be in the way as others used the boat launch.

The first mate's trip was only fifteen minutes or so, but that left a lot of comings and goings at the boat launch. Everyone who passed by was concerned. One couple coming in off the water loaned a spare battery and the boat came alive again. He ran it for a minute to charge the first battery, and gave it back.

"Don't mention it," they said. "We've been there before. That is why we carry a spare battery."

A concerned husband and father was milling about, waiting for his wife and kids to get back on their maiden voyage around the lake in a new paddleboat. A friendly conversation sprang up which led to an offer to go out on the powerboat and have a look around the lake, once the first mate got back.

Now, no one would suggest that a new boater on his first time out in a new (and very used) boat would be the best candidate for a rescue mission after a paddleboat, at dusk. But, we were testing the motorboat anyway, and keeping an eye out for the yellow boat was not too much trouble. We saw them at dusk, still quite some ways from the boat dock. They were tired, but still moving.

We exchanged messages and tried to tow the little boat, but ended up pulling it sideways and almost swamping it. It was tense there for a minute, but we untied in time and everyone was still right side up. The little boat paddled to a landing nearby, and we continued on our way, making one last trip around the lake testing the steering and pumps.

By the time the motorboat pulled up to the boat launch, the family was safely ashore and they stopped by to say thanks. We didn't even recognize the boaters without their life jackets, and were caught off-guard when they approached us. We were busy trying to get the boat situated on the trailer and out of the water in the dark. For us, I think the chance to help had been a failure.We almost swamped their little craft and they ended up paddling in themselves. For the boaters, however, we must have seemed like a lifeline, with lights and a motor as the sun was going down.

As we were tying the boat down safely on the trailer before heading home, a teenage boy in a too-cool-for-me ball cap abruptly called out, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," we said, hardly looking up from our work. It wasn't until later that it really sunk in. For him to come up to total strangers like that really speaks volumes. We were only doing what any Vermonter would have. We were just doing our part. That night, it made a difference.

Busy Busy Busy

Summer is here, and the time is right, but why on earth do we do it to ourselves? We literally get so excited with the warm weather that we try to fit it all in.



Lots of folks get so caught up in the longer days and welcoming heat, that they run themselves ragged. Up in the morning, they run out for coffee, then back home for breakfast and to read the paper, before gathering the family up for a bike ride, or trip to the lake catching lunch on the run somewhere in between. Then it is off to dinner and a movie. It is manic, but it is summer, right?

Wouldn't it be better if we treated an average weekend like we do vacation? I'm not talking about a 'bicycle trek across Russia' vacation, I am talking about a 'sit by the pool' vacation. For our family, when we go on vacation, we plan a few activities over the course of a week, but we also schedule a lot of inactive down time too. That is what recharges our batteries the best, a little good for nothing time wasting and enjoying the moment.

So why do we feel the need to fill every moment with another activity, another something to run across town to? If the key to relaxation is actually relaxing, why not relax? When the heat is on outside, why not sit in front of a fan and act like it was a tropical breeze? Sure, you would need to use your imagination, and the kids would surely start complaining after a few minutes, but then a beautiful thing would happen (I hope). They would begin entertaining themselves. They would all of a sudden get up the gumption to drag out the hose and water the yard as they jump through the sprinkler. Sure they would drag grass into the house on wet feet, but we are relaxing. As soon as it dries, we can sweep it up.

Its summer, the heat costs you nothing, and if you have ever torn a muscle or been to a physical therapist you know, heat relaxes. So, give in and get with the relaxing. Let yourself.

Be a 'Giver'

Time is a funny thing. It is the commodity of our life. It can be spent in exchange for money. It can be spent in exchange for pleasure. We bargain with our time, and divide it between things that are important to us. The most difficult thing may be balancing our time.

Balancing our time between what we want to do, what we need to do, and what we should do is a constant challenge. Is it even possible these days to make time for others? Giving away our precious time for other people, even strangers, is perhaps the most valuable gift we can give, especially if we do it right.

The TV evangelists and charitable organizations might beg to differ. They might say that giving our money would be better. I disagree. I would even say that if we really cared about a cause or an organization, we would volunteer our time.

The best thing about giving away our time to a cause we care about is that we invariably don't do it alone. Nobody really wants to go be with a bunch of strangers, even if the folks you meet volunteering are just about the friendliest bunch ever. That is why we bring the whole family, or at least a good friend with us. Bringing someone along makes the volunteer time more fun personally, and it doubles (or even quadruples) the amount of work that an organization can get done. It is a Win-Win! All of a sudden, what we thought of as a nice way to give back, becomes a fun time for us and our friends or family.


I started thinking about it last week when some Jeeper friends of mine let the off-road community know about a trail system in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom that had been over-used. The Vermont Jeep Association (Group of Jeepers who care) is a member of Tread Lightly! We adhere to their goals in order to keep environmental impacts of four wheeling as low as possible.We do not over use trails, we do not just spin our tires in the mud. We do, however, still get out there and have fun.

When the club learned about the overuse and trash that had accumulated, the volunteer spirit came out. All sorts of folks volunteered to make an organized date, bringing pickup truck beds to fill with trash, and work gloves to repair the trails. It is not too often that the off-road community steps in to work on public land, which is what makes this special.

What we do for the land is also great, but no matter what net impact we might have on the land, giving our time is the greatest show of support. It shows that we really do care about the land, and Tread Lightly! ideals. Just making time to do what we can is the best way to give back to the communities we live in, and love. We are choosing to spend the time for others, not playing golf, or swimming with the kids.

But ya' know what? We'll have just as much fun doing work as we would have at a barbecue. The food might not be as good (PB&J vs ribs), but spending that time with friends is the important thing, and the best way we can give back.