July 26, 2013

I am wondering if, by nature, somehow, I am an eternal romantic.  Is it desperation for love, or a draw toward the understanding of universal acceptance?  Are we cognizant that we are ”all one” at the most primal level?  When you see a picture taken from a man-made satellite from past the rings of Saturn, looking back with a wide angle lens, do we not see the infinitesimally small importance of ourselves?

What else makes more sense than love?  Do we really exist in a glass, half full, or half empty?  Is there a yin and yang that must both be fulfilled?  Nay, I, the optimist, am totally swayed in the direction that there is a victor in the endo/exothermic, order vs disorder conundrum.  The first of all is love.

If not love, then what becomes the meaning of hope?

My Treasure Box

I remember as a child, having special treasures that belonged only to me, like memories that came with my creation, never to be totally understood by anyone but myself.

When I immigrated to Canada in 1973, I met a great couple, Andrew Smith and Penney Kome.  They took me into their home and help me tremendously in my acclimation into Canadian culture, as it were.

Although I have many stories about our experiences in the Ossington area and Pape & Gerrard, one stands out with regard to My Treasure Box.

Andrew was and is, extremely talented, nay gifted, in ways that are unique and require intellectual, and always refreshing understanding of our environment.  He taught me many things, one being the magical creations that can be made from Leather.

There has to be a love of the material that can be so artistically maneuvered and sculptured into so many designs and functions.  Andrew has that love.  And with that love, he handcrafted from creative mental design the most beautiful Treasure Box that anyone could possibly imagine.  The hours of personal pride, workmanship, and dedication to bringing pleasure to another human being, come together to be seen here. Notice the suede lining and handcrafted hinges with lacing – incredibly ingenious.

I have kept that Treasure Box for over 40 years, and thus it requires special remembrance to my past and future.

Today, I record the current contents, just because…

• • Sterling Silver Buttons for a leather vest that I once made, but didn’t use,

• • Military patch from Berlin, when I served in the US Military in 1967-1970

• • A piece of crystal that gave me rainbows that led to starting 17 years of manufacturing and wholesaling crystal giftware.  A heart-shaped crystal from Istanbul where I purchased crystal in addition to other places in the world.

• • Two gold plated cufflinks with the crystal that were one of a kind sample made for me as president of Lambda Crystal.

• • A CF bracelet that I made a donation to CF for and gave away for CF awareness

• •  A piece of carved stone I purchased in Northern Ontario to make into a piece of jewelry.

• • A piece of cubic zirconium that I purchased in Iri, Korea to make figurines from.

• • An “Attitude” pin that I gave away while developing businesses

• • Two collars-stays that I never use?

• • Two guitar picks, just for safe keeping

• • A 1997 D US penny, just because it was minted in Denver which might give it value?

• • A Canada/US pin that I wore in business

• • Two wedding rings, not sure why

• • A Harry Rosen cufflink box with a friendship pin my daughter gave to me in grade 3, a piece of pentagon-shaped crystal that was given to me in Egypt, a lock of my beard that Mary and Molly cut off in 1990, two blue cufflinks and a collar thingy.

It’s only memories!

Motivational

After weeks of trying to get a handle on reaching the senior level, not without many hours of soul searching, I have concluded that I feel no older than forty.  In many ways, I feel even younger.

On my fortieth birthday, I was in Seoul, Korea on a buying trip for Lambda Crystal.  Molly had organized the staff to sign a birthday greeting piece of paper and faxed it to me.

That night, the owner of a gold chain manufacturing company insisted on taking me out to dinner for my birthday.  It went something like this.

Mr. Park would like to buy you a drink for your birthday.  Because he does not speak English very well, I will be his interpreter.

As we arrived at the picturesque Korean restaurant with private, floor-seated, dining rooms, I was more than a little surprised when the waiter placed a 40-ounce bottle of Chivas Regal 18-year-old scotch on the table with one glass.  Now the tradition is that the host pours the guest a drink, and then the guest pours the host a drink.  As Mr. Park was enjoying his custom, I was chagrined by the lack of a shot glass for him.  As I picked up the bottle, the interpreter, shook his head and said, oh no, Mr. Frank, his drink is being delivered, that bottle is for you alone!

Well, needless to say, the night became much more animated as both of us attempted each other’s language, which kept the interpreter in hysterics, and my host and I were having the best time of our lives.

The point is that a large part of me is still wanting those adventures, not knowing how it will turn out, but just loving the journey.  I add this video as a reminder of the everyday stuff that we let harm our being.

It is always now!

Reaching 65

In less than three weeks I will reach the retirement age of 65.  Lately, I have been nearly obsessed with that fact.  What does it mean?  I never wanted to be here.  Sixty-five was for much older Jimmy to have to deal with.  I was supposed to remain the “Excess” nick-named character from high school, who completed the military, graduated from university and was supposed to never change.

I fully expected, AND, I thought I had a plan to retire; meaning that I had more money coming in than going out, and I no longer had to exert myself to keep it going.  That was my goal.  Life is what happens to you, while making other plans, pertains to my life, thus far.  One conclusion that I have come to, over the last myriad, nightmarish, doldrum of melancholy thoughts, is that I must change my thinking.

I am happy to state that, as has always been, my glass is more than half full.  Not that I am a naturally optimistic person.  I have coddled melancholy to the point of depression on many an occasion.  It is just that I now seem to feel like I no longer have the luxury of sitting on the fence when it comes to planning the rest of my life, starting from here.

What are the questions that people ask as they are getting closer to retirement age?

• • Are my affairs in order, have I sufficiently protected my assets for the maximum benefit of those close to me?

• • How healthy am I and how long do I expect to be mobile to enjoy other than a sedentary life?

• • What are some of the regrets thus far, and what can I do over the next 30+ years to make amends, correct, lay-to-rest, replace with joyous events?

• • Is there some blueprint for what’s left of my life.

• • Have I started, or finished my “bucket list”?

• • Have I answered, lately, what’s really the most important thing in my life?

• • What can I do to avoid being some cranky, solitary, old man that people feel sorry for and don’t want to be around?

• • What can I do to pass on what I have learned to family and the world?

As I was growing up in semi-rural Ohio, I was often drawn to older folk, mainly due to their stories.  I was memorized by tales of their youth, many in far off places, like Chicago,or New York.

As I grew older I looked to older wiser parents and grandparent-types to learn how to deal with middle life. Suddenly, I am supposed to be one of those older wiser elders!  Well, what if I don’t want to take on that responsibility of having the right answers?  It’s just a lot of added stress that I did not even want as a parent.  There are no rule books on life, and frankly (I am allowed to say Frankly all I want), I have tried many times to ask for forgiveness over permission anyway.

So many times in my life, I thought things looked really bleak and melancholy, then only to discover that things were not even remotely as bad as I thought.  That’s what I have come to call the Beauty After A Storm.  You know, when the air feels so clean and charged with positive energy.  There is just such a rejuvenating feeling, like walking through a wheat field, in the full moonlight, with just the right amount of dew on the wheat to make you laugh as you walk because it is just too silly to be doing that.

Life needs to be a song in every moment.

What started out as preparation for Molly’s father’s, then her mother’s funeral, got totally out of hand.  Looking back, given today’s technology, it seems like such a feudal attempt to describe a person’s life by presenting a few pictures in a frame.

Which got me to thinking; how much of a mess would I be leaving for my kids to have to clean up? It seemed like some unfinished business that one is supposed to plan for in later years.

So we decided to scan every picture that we had ever taken, and believe me there were hundreds. I lovingly transferred every VHS and Sony 8 cassette to digital.  I scanned every legal document that could be lost or damaged.  I know I got obsessed, but once I got started, It became an addiction.  Then, there was the organizing.  How does one fracture their life into recognizable snippets that can make any sense except to the person living it?

Somehow, eventually, we had to figure out where to store all this personal data. We went from gigabytes to terabytes in very short order.  Then there were the tech issues, like huge losses of data from hard drive failures and “OMG”, I just hit the wrong button. All the reconstruction was so painful at the time.

Where does one store this kind of information?  How is it best inventoried and filed?  With the radical changes in technology, is there a best app, or IP address to provide the cross-referencing for photos, documents, videos, sources?  It became a project with enormous Ganz chart potential.

From here it became a hobby of exciting, enjoyable future.

Today I became a grandfather for the first time.  So many negative clichés had previously come to mind – old man, senior, autumn of life.

 

I had no idea how much fun it could be.  Sure, you’re shelling out even after they leave the nest.  (Man IS the only animal that lets them back in, by the way.)  But when I bought the first present for a newborn grandchild, I was totally hooked.

Today, Molly and I went to a large toy store, the kind that movies are made about.  (I could imagine the shelves coming alive at night.)  I couldn’t help but smile.  I recommend that everyone take the time to experience that feeling.  I immediately became a lifetime member of the store when they offered to wrap it for free.

Headed to the hospital, my mind raced with memories of the past.   Like the day Mary was born.  I remember the weather, and when we arrived at the hospital – the day of Grey Cup in Canada – almost spiritual.  I remember the look on Heather’s face, Mary’s mom, as she was nearing delivering – “You bastard, you caused this!”

I thought about all the times I could remember about Mary growing up.  They became Reflections in my mind.

Reflections of the way life used to be.