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.

http://www.smugglersnotchantiques.com

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.

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.

Difficult Decisions

Andy Gibb (of Bee Gees fame) during his solo career once said, "Love is higher than a mountain, Love is thicker than water." He was right, of course. Love really does hold us all together, and it really does make the world go around. Love has certainly kept my head above water, and kept me moving in the right direction on more than one occasion.Were they only dependent on love, many decisions would be a lot easier to make.

I was talking to my father the other day and he told me the story of how their beloved cat died. Tigre' was a fun-loving tortoiseshell tabby that my sister got when she was still a girl. It was her cat, and even though there were two russian blues in the house as well, Tigre's outgoing personality really made him the center of attention. He had been diagnosed years ago with diabetes, requiring insulin injections daily. 

As my father put it, the insulin was no big deal. Catch the cat with the needle in hand and it was over in a second. It guaranteed his health. It was an easy thing to do. When, Tigre oddly stopped eating, the family kept a close watch on him to see when his appetite would return. A day passed, then two. Finally he brought the cat to the vet. 

Let me stop here and say that I have tremendous respect for veterinarians and vet-techs for their training and expertise. They are important members of our community, and I value their advice and the care they provide our pets. 

In the case of Tigre, the vet ran some blood tests and did everything possible to find out why Tigre was not eating. They sent my dad and the cat home feeling better, but still worried. He was dead the next morning. Everyone was hurt by the loss of a beloved member of the family. Tigre will be missed. 

What won't be missed is the vet's bill. The final visit ended up costing nearly a thousand dollars. It did not change the outcome. It couldn't. Still, they needed to be paid for the work they did. And they should be, it was owed to them. But it left my dad wondering if it was right.

Some of the most difficult decisions we ever have to make are regarding our pets. Pets are not people, of course. They are covered with fur, have tails and cannot speak and tell us what is wrong. They are animals, and we love them, but they are animals. 

MACY

Because they are animals, I have never been comfortable treating them like they are people, whether they are a loving member of the family or not. I have endured doggy-breath, never taking the vet's advice and having their teeth cleaned. I know that lots of folks swear by the process, and that is their right, but I have never, and probably won't in the future. When my dog locked jaws with a pit bull and proceeded to break her teeth, the vet offered to take them out, but sensing no suffering in the dog, I declined that as well.

I always make sure my dog, Macy's, vaccinations are up to date. I always give her heartworm treatments in the summer (it is Vermont - no bugs in the winter). I have kept tabs on her weight, and made sure she got plenty of exercise. I do take care of Macy, but I am forever conscious of the fact that she is a dog.

So when she got a lump on her chin, I did my homework, looked online and followed the home-therapy advice. I cleaned it and disinfected it, and watched it to make sure it did not get worse. It did. So I took her to the vet in town to get it checked out. They recommended just removing it before it got any worse, and I agreed. Then I got the bill for the visit, and the estimate for what it would cost to have the procedure done.

Wow. (That just about covers it.) The estimate was between $400 and $700 to take a thumbprint-sized mass off of her chin. It was a difficult thing to see as the receptionist went over it with me. Our family is not sitting on so much disposable income, that a bill like that is easy to pay. In shock, I went home to talk about it with my wife.

The vet had said that it might be cancer, and that they would have to send it out to be tested to make sure. They needed to keep her for the day, give her pain medication and put her under for the mass removal. We were forced into the discussion of what we were willing to pay for our dog's health and comfort. We discussed her age (10). We talked about whether or not we would actually give her cancer treatment should the lab tests lean that way.

It is hard to talk about restricting care for someone that you love, but, unfortunately, love is not the only thing to think about. Am I a villain? Is it wrong to vary healthcare by species? Will I be looked down upon by those who might use feline acupuncturists or doggy dentists? Perhaps my view, that my dog is a dog first, then a member of the family, is antiquated. My view might date back to the time when euthanasia of an old dog might be carried out in the back yard with a shotgun. I am nowhere near that savage, but I must admit that paying the bill after losing a friend seemed wrong when my last dog needed to be put down.

Pets are blessed with short (relatively), happy lives full of catnaps and bouncing balls. They are treated like the emperors of the household. They never have to work, or worry. They only need to love us. If care for elderly animals were dependent on only love, they would have enough stored up in the bank for specialists to be brought in from abroad. Unfortunately, it isn't. Unfortunately, these decisions also factor in money and life expectancies. Does that mean that we love our pets less, absolutely not. Does that make us mean?
Maybe.


To let you know, Macy is undergoing the mass removal, but we don't want to know if it is cancerous or not. We decided to let her live out her remaining days with as much happiness and love as possible, and meet her end, if God decides, naturally. We are having the lump removed once. If it comes back, we will love her just as much with it on her chin.