Work: a retrospective

I told you in my last post I was going to be reflecting on my working life and recording some thoughts here. I also told you it would not be something I would expect you to read if you were not inclined to do so because it's probably way too much about me. Putting myself in the reader's place, frankly, I don't know if I would read it. 

So, feel free to skim or skip this installment entirely. It will not hurt my feelings in the least. 

Before I start, I will tell you I am one week into retirement, and it took me less than a week to make the joke about not knowing when I had time to work. 

I have filled my days with deferred projects such as taking old paint to the landfill, making a couple of trips to Goodwill and doing some straightening up in the garage. I still don't feel I am in a routine or rhythm yet, but I am confident I'll get there. 

I told Wife there are definite things I miss about work (mainly the people), but there are certainly things I do not miss. So far, the things I don't miss outweigh the things I do. 

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From age 16 through my college years, I had various jobs. I won't go into all of them here but will tell you my favorite was when I worked in Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado the summers of 1980 and 1981, which were the summers after my senior year of college and first year of law school, respectively. All of that probably deserves a separate post but suffice it to say this was my "adventure" job and not only did I have the time of my life and make some great friends, but I also grew up a lot. Again, I will save elaboration on this for another day. 

I majored in journalism in college, which was a liberal arts degree. With that, I had a lot of electives. I filled those mostly with English classes and even some music classes after I had all the basic stuff out of the way my freshman and sophomore years. I also got academic credit from working on the school newspaper and served in editorial positions my junior and senior years, for which I also received a very small salary. 

I loved working on the paper and appreciated all the opportunities it afforded me. The head of the journalism department served as publisher and advisor for the paper, and he became a good friend. My fellow editors and reporters were good friends too. 

But for whatever reason, I could not see newspaper work as a long-term career. And I never worked in that business other than what I did on the school paper. Looking back, I think maybe I did not have the passion for it to work the long hours, which would have included nights and weekends, that would have been required to work my way up and make a decent living. This is really past-tense speculation on my part, because I don't remember the reasons for many of the decisions I made at the time. 

I always had in mind that I would apply to law school. I had an interest in government and politics, and I thought it would be good to have some type of profession. I certainly did not have the aptitude for math and science to have been a doctor or dentist, or the analytical acumen to be an engineer. 

So, I took the Law School Admissions Test and applied to several different law schools. I went to college in Louisiana, so I applied to a law school there (LSU in Baton Rouge). I was an Arkansan, so I applied to the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville and also the University of Arkansas at Little Rock (UALR), which I ended up attending. I also applied to the University of Mississippi (Ole Miss) and I could not tell you why. Maybe I was covering all my bases in case some of them didn't want me? Who knows, but I don't remember even remotely considering attending law school in Mississippi. 

I got in all the schools but, as I said, I chose UALR. I had always been an Arkansan, and Little Rock was a couple of hours from my hometown, so it seemed a good choice. 

Law school was a shock for me. Although everything worked out and I am confident God was looking out for me, if I had it to do over again, I would not go to law school right out of college. I was woefully immature and unprepared. Besides that, I am embarrassed to tell you I really did not have a good understanding of what lawyers do, and there I was studying to be one. 

It is no exaggeration to say I was miserable that first year. I struggled with the classes and with making friends. Although I probably should have been considering internships or clerking positions, all I wanted to do was go back to Colorado for the summer. And that is what I did. 

Things got better during my second year. I still didn't love it, but I found my stride. 

Mid-way through my second year I got a job with a law firm, an insurance defense firm, and I worked for them through graduation. They were not, however, offering me a permanent position. 

Although I never knocked it out of the park academically, I managed to graduate. And I made some friends. 

I applied for a law clerking job with a circuit judge in Little Rock and that was my first job out of law school. 

I liked the job, and I liked the judge I worked for.  I did legal research and I even served as judge (appointed as a "special master" under a state law) on small cases. (The first time someone called me "your honor," I looked around to see who they were talking to.) 

Although there was no mandatory end-date, the life span for those jobs was generally a year to 18 months. 

After one year, however, I chose to marry rather than look for a job. But not long after returning from my honeymoon, I began to look for something else. I had come to know a number of lawyers during my time in the court and started to spread the word. 

I ended up leaving the court in December of '84 and going to work for a guy who became and still is one my closest friends. He had been a lawyer with the Arkansas Attorney General's office and went to work under contract with the Arkansas Insurance Department working on the liquidation of a very large Arkansas-domiciled insurance company. He needed another lawyer and he hired me. 

It was interesting work and, as I noted, I gained a close friend. Although he was six years older, we were both in the midst of starting families. In that respect, we grew up together. 

When I go back to Little Rock, whenever possible, I try to see him. We have gone from being young dads to being grandfathers. We always pick up where we left off. 

That job lasted three years and from there it was on to the practice of law in a law firm. By this time I had, in fact, learned what lawyers do. Unfortunately, I had also learned I cared little for it. I am by nature conflict-avoidant, and I spent a big part of my days fighting with people. 

Even with my distaste for the work, I developed expertise in finance and real estate law. My clients were banks and mortgage companies. I also did some family law work such as divorces and adoptions. Although the clients seemed to like me, I tended to get too personally involved with them. Let's face it, what they were going through was emotional and it was hard for me to separate myself from that. I tried to treat the divorces as business transactions, but that was difficult. (Interestingly, though, because of that experience, over the years as I have had friends who have gone through divorces, I have advised them to, as much as possible, treat it as a business transaction.) 

Through my work with banks, I got to know some people in town who had formed a small financial services company. They offered me a job as their general counsel. I won't bore you (any more than I already am doing so) with all the details, but we serviced mortgages, collected on debt and eventually got into auto financing. I did a lot of contract and transactional work and experienced less conflict than I had with my work at the law firm. I felt I had finally found my niche. 

This is the job that brought me to the Nashville area in late 1997, the one that I thought would be my long-term career. The joke was on me. In the spring of 1998, that company was in Chapter 11 bankruptcy and eventually went out of business. 

In what undoubtedly involved the hand of God, before I left the company (I stayed on a few months after the bankruptcy filing), the acting CEO at the time, a Nashville native, came to me and said he felt really bad for what had happened, that I had uprooted my family and moved to a new place for a job that was not working out. 

He said he would do anything he could to help me and asked that I give him my resume, which he would share with others. 

The next day, I got a call from the chief compliance officer of a bank in Nashville. Later that day I was in his office for an interview. The next week I was offered a job in the bank's legal department. 

And thus began my career in banking, which became a perfect fit. A year after I went to work there, that bank was acquired by a bank in Alabama. The legal departments consolidated, with part of it being in Nashville. I stayed with them until 2005.

Again sparing the minute details, that year I went to work for another bank in another legal department. I enjoyed it a great deal, but there was one aspect of it that made it tricky. That bank was headquartered in Memphis, three hours west of Nashville, where I live. Rather than move to Memphis, I rented a tiny apartment there and commuted most weeks from Monday to Thursday, usually spending three nights a week there. I worked from home on Fridays. 

Remote working was not near the thing it is today, so my working offsite one day a week was a big deal. My manager and my manager's manger were both skeptical, but I proved it could be done and after about a year, it was a non-issue. 

I received no small amount of unsolicited feedback during those years from well-meaning people who thought the commute was too much for me. It taught me how important it is to mind one's own business. I knew I would not do it forever, but at the time it worked. I looked at it as an adventure of sorts. I loved my little downtown apartment. If it had not worked for me and for my family, I would have quit. 

I am sure I was less than polite to some of those who gave me the unsolicited advice, but I tired of hearing how hard it must be on me, because it wasn't. 

And I was right that it would not last forever. In early summer of 2015, after ten years of commuting to Memphis, I had dinner with the same person who had hired me in 1998, now the chief compliance officer of yet another bank that succeeded the two I had previously worked for. Near the end of that dinner, we had come to a tentative agreement for me to come to work there, this time managing a group of compliance professionals. 

By August I was there. Oh, and this bank was also headquartered in another city -- this one in Birmingham, Alabama, about three hours south of here. So, there would again be a commute. 

This one was different though, with much more flexibility, and my signing package included money toward the travel. A co-worker offered me use of his guest house when I was in town. That lasted for about a year and a half and after that I started staying in different Airbnbs, which was a lot of fun. After a couple of years, I was going two to three days a week, and usually out only two nights. 

In 2019, Younger Son moved to Birmingham and he and I worked out a deal in which I stayed with him. He got a two-bedroom apartment, and I helped with the rent. Then came COVID. 

When COVID hit in 2020, I came home to work, and I never went back. Since March of that year, I have worked 100 percent remotely. I have some thoughts on all of that which I will share another time. 

(By the way, when I took this job that also involved commuting, the nay-sayers mostly retreated. Or they at least kept their thoughts to themselves.)

Management changed a couple of years ago. My good friend that hired me retired, as did my immediate manager. But I still had a good team of people who reported to me, and I still mostly enjoyed the work. 

The past decade has been the best of my career. I have thoroughly enjoyed the work and the people and consider myself immensely blessed. 

Wife retired six years ago. She and I have been preparing for my retirement, and now it is here. Although the effective date is December 1st, I wrapped things up a week ago. 

I second-guessed myself a lot over the years. Maybe I should not have gone to law school, I would think to myself. Maybe all of this was something I was not cut out for. 

I will concede I was not well prepared for law school. I should have done more prior research about what I was getting myself into. 

I am leaving out plenty about circumstances surrounding the job changes and transitions, some of the stress and anguish that accompanied all of it. 

Today, looking back, I know some things. I am grateful for my legal education. Maybe my temperament was not that of a typical lawyer (certainly not a litigator) but knowing how things work from a legal perspective has proved to be invaluable on many occasions. 

Once I got into transactional work, dealing less with conflicting parties, I had found my place. And the past ten years, also working in a management role, has allowed me to use more of my strengths. 

At one time or another, I said to each of my three children that work is not supposed to be easy and that is why you get paid for it. Stress and uncertainly come with the territory. Learning to navigate that ends up being a big part of one's working life -- or at least it did for me. 

Throughout this post I have made reference to friends I made at work. Without a doubt, that has been the best part about it. More than anything else (other than the pay, of course) during my working years, I value the relationships I formed. 

I have also not gone into detail about the move from Arkansas to Tennessee in 1997. From the outside, I probably looked foolish moving myself and my family here. But I know it ended up being a wonderful place to live and Wife and I are extremely happy here. 

I will continue to look back, I am sure, as time passes and I settle into a new sense of normal. Right now, when people ask me how I feel since I have retired, I have a one-word answer: grateful. 

 

Day 1

 I wrapped up work about 11 a.m. yesterday. 

I was instructed to turn in my laptop and associated equipment (docking station, keyboard and mouse) at a local branch of the regional bank that has been my employer for the past ten-plus years. 

I would not say I was melancholy, but I was definitely pensive as I logged off for the final time. I was not just ending this segment of my working life but ending my working life in general. I thought back on all the years of working. I will post something soon that elaborates more on that. (I know you don't necessarily need to read that but humor me. It's cathartic.)

After turning in my equipment, I took Wife to lunch. We had a very nice time. 

After lunch, we ran a couple of errands. While we were in a store, I received a text message from someone with my employer, asking about the "travel charger" that goes with my laptop, the cord that is used when I am not hooked into the docking station. (Which was not on the list of items I was to return.) 

This was the perfect illustration of the current state of affairs. While I am being retrospective and even a little sentimental, they are wanting their cord. 

Yeah, you're welcome for the years of service and dedication. I'll get that right to you. 

And just like that, I was over it. As the saying goes, it's not personal; it's business. 

Today is the first full day of retirement. I woke at my usual time. I did some reading. Took some carboard to the recycling center. Threw away some stuff from work (all paper, mainly notes I have taken, no computer equipment). Some friends were leaving on a trip, and I took them to the airport. 

Now I am sitting in my favorite tap room, my first visit here in many months, writing this post. I will then do some reading. 

Tomorrow is Friday, the day before the weekend. The weekend will no longer hold the significance it once did. 

It's a new chapter, but one I think I am ready to embrace. 

Our western adventure

It has been a whirlwind these past couple of weeks, returning from vacation and starting the real business of winding down my job (and career). 

Mixed emotions have abounded but, with each passing day, I have begun to let go of the past and deal with the fact that, for all practical purposes, I am yesterday's news at the workplace. And that is fine. Things will carry on just fine without me. 

Although my last day of employment is December 1st, I am going to wrap things up next week. Being an "Irish goodbye" kind of guy, I am thankful there will not be a long one

More on all of this at a later date. For now, I'll tell you a little more about our recent vacation. 

Our first stop was Jackson Hole, Wyoming and Grand Teton National Park. Jackson Hole is not a city, but a region. Jackson Hole Airport is inside the national park, and we flew into it from Salt Lake City, where we flew from Nashville.

The city of Jackson is a great little western town, and we stayed at a nice but rustic hotel in walking distance of the town square. 

The Tetons are a majestic mountain range and throughout the park there are gorgeous views from various perspectives. 

We did a day on our own and a day with a guide. The day with the guide was great, in that he had keen insight into the best places to see wildlife. We saw elk, moose, bison, prong-horn and a grizzly bear. 

Before we left Grand Teton and headed to Yellowstone, we went on a leisurely morning float trip on the Snake River and saw 21 (that's right, I counted them) bald eagles. 

Yellowstone was just as fascinating as I remembered from being there back in the eighties. The mountains, hot springs, lava pools and geysers provide nothing less than sensory overload. Like Grand Teton, we did a day with a guide, which was extremely helpful. 

I might add that both the Grand Teton and Yellowstone guides were extremely sharp. Both had college degrees (wildlife science and biology, respectively) and seemed to love what they were doing. We benefitted greatly from their knowledge and expertise. 

From Yellowstone it was on to Cody Wyoming, home of the Buffalo Bill Center of the West, five museums inside one building that had more information about the American West than one person could possibly absorb. We arrived early in the afternoon, and our admission ticket was good for the next day. 

Because I tend to geek out at museums and read just about everything on the signage next to the exhibits, I had to return the next morning to finish. Wife said she did not feel the need to do so, she being more the "flyover" type when visiting a museum. 

After Cody we crossed into South Dakota where we visited the Mount Rushmore National Memorial, Custer State Park and Badlands National Park. 

We were only nominally affected by the government shutdown. Our last day in Yellowstone was the first day of the shutdown, and it seemed most park rangers and employees reported to work that day in hopes the shutdown would be brief. (Yeah, right.)

The impact was minimal at Mount Rushmore and Badlands. Since virtually everything we were seeing was outside, the impact was negligible. I am sure, however, with the shutdown dragging on, the effects will be more significant. (Gee, wouldn't it be nice if Congress would do its job?) 

It was a great trip. The pictures don't do it justice and I am not much of a photographer, but I am happy to share a few here. Full disclosure: our Grand Teton guide took the picture of the elk. 

End of an era

Wife and I have been on vacation out west for about ten days. We started by flying into Jackson Hole, Wyoming and spent a couple of days in Grand Teton National Park. 

From there it was to Yellowstone, then eventually into South Dakota and the Mount Rushmore National Memorial, Custer State Park and Badlands National Park. 

It was a great trip, and I will post more about it later. 

For now, I want to share the news I received about 48 hours before leaving: I will be retiring, effective December 1st. I had been moving in that direction for early next year, preparing mentally and financially. As it turned out, my employer helped me along, and it has worked out better than I could have expected. 

Wife told me when she was retired that she knew it was time, and I would know when it was time for me. I have known for a while. It's time. 

Still, there is a twinge of sadness as I think of leaving my co-workers, as well as angst as I think of days without the routine of work. 

I can hear the words of my dad, who would say, "A man needs a place to go."

My place to go has been my home office for well more than five years, but the work has provided rhythm, routine and purpose, all of which serve me well. 

But as I said, it's time, and a new chapter will soon begin. 

Tragic beyond words

Until his murder earlier this week, I had never heard of Charlie Kirk. You could have put me under a heat lamp, and I could not have told you who he was, or what he stood for. His name was not even familiar. 

Of course, now I know who he was and what he stood for. 

From what I have read and heard, it is clear he and I would not have agreed on much. He was an ally of the sitting president, for whom I have no respect, and a darling of the president's group of supporters commonly known as the MAGA crowd. 

But he was a husband. A father. A son. A friend. 

And he was gunned down in broad daylight. 

At the time he was shot and killed, he was exercising his First Amendment rights in a peaceable manner, no less (and no more) than I am doing as I type this. 

For all of that, I grieve his passing. 

I grieve the increasing loss of the ability to have civil disagreements. 

I grieve for a country in which more and more, resorting to violence becomes a way to express an opposing view. This is but one example. 

Mr. Kirk's political and philosophical leanings, no matter how they may have differed from my own, have no bearing whatsoever on how I, a fellow human being and, according to what my faith teaches me, a fellow image bearer of God, feel about what happened to him. 

It is, simply speaking, an unspeakable tragedy. 

Changing seasons, but not yet

It is the last day of August, and we are now two-thirds of the way through 2025. 

It's very cliche-ish to exclaim, "how has this year gone by so quickly?!" or some such thing. The fact is, time flies (how's that for a tired cliche?), pure and simple. I don't know anyone in my age group who would argue with that. 

To be sure, there are days when time seems to crawl. Those early days with babies getting adjusted to life outside the womb, particularly with regard to sleep, come to mind. Wife and I experienced that three times, and although I well remember each of those times, they are but distant memories. 

I have remembered them well enough to be able to tell each of my children, as they became parents themselves, that "this too shall pass." And with each of my six grandchildren, it did.  

Speaking of the end of August, and moving into September and the fall season (still officially three weeks away), I always find it fascinating how we tend to rush things here in the U.S. For at least two weeks, in the high heat of August, Halloween costumes and decorations have been taking center stage. I will qualify this by saying I'm not much of a shopper, but I have been in the grocery store a time or two over the past 15 days, and I went into a Target store a few days ago. Halloween, pumpkins and fall foliage are alive and well at all of these establishments. 

And in my online popups, everything imaginable with pumpkins appears before my eyes, specifically pumpkin spice lattes and Oktoberfest beer. I am not a coffee drinker, so the PSLs hold no interest for me anyway. The Oktoberfest beer? Maybe, but not yet. 

In the South, I guess we are so exhausted by the heat when mid-August arrives, we subconsciously believe if we start with the fall optics, the weather will turn cool, and summer will be in our collective rearview mirror. 

And maybe it even works sometimes. For the past few days, we have enjoyed a nice break from the heat, and I am writing this outside on my back porch. 

But as much as I have enjoyed it, I know it will not last. I have no doubt we will be back in the 90s before summer breathes its last around here. 

So, for now I'll pass on the Oktoberfest brews and reach for a Miller Lite should I need a refreshment break. 

But I better not let too much time pass if I don't want to miss the Oktoberfest offerings altogether. By the end of September, it will be all about the winter ales. 

Summertime, and the living is easy?

I don't recall when school started when I was an elementary, junior high or high school student, but I know it was not as early as it starts around here today, which is the first week in August. 

We might have started the week before Labor Day, or maybe the day after Labor Day, but I believe it was right around that. I always thought of the school year running from Labor Day to Memorial Day, with three months off in the summer. Breaks during the year consisted of a couple of days at Thanksgiving, two weeks at Christmas and a week in the spring. Maybe a day or two at Easter. 

As I recall, even spring break was not a thing until I was in high school. 

When my children were in school, things got started more around mid-August. When my last two were still in school, after my oldest had graduated, the school district proposed a more balanced calendar, with school starting earlier, maybe even late July, with more breaks during the year. 

I joined with other parents in vigorously opposing it, and at the time, we prevailed. Over time, however, those who favor an earlier start date have gotten their way. 

I always liked summers with my kids, and two months just seemed like such a short time. 

But today, school starts the first week of August. Summer break is two months instead of three. There are all kinds of breaks, including a weeklong fall break and a full week at Thanksgiving, and other days here and there. I suppose parents have become accustomed to this type of calendar and schedule. 

With so many families having both parents working, those breaks during the year must present challenges. Being long removed from it, although I would still favor a three-month summer break, I don't get worked up over it anymore. (But if I had a vote, it would be for a later start date.)

My grandchildren who are in school, in Alabama and Georgia, respectively, all started back this week as evidenced by the adorable pictures below.  It seems the earlier start date is a thing around the South. 

Summer is an interesting season in that even other institutions seem to take breaks. (Although not in banking, the industry I have worked in for more than a quarter-century.) Our church's regular pastors take a rest from the pulpit for a couple of months. We go to two services instead of three because more people seem to be traveling, not in town for church. 

People will say, "how is your summer going?" I don't recall being asked that about fall, winter or spring. 

There is some assumption, even if I don't have children at home and I'm not going by a school calendar, I am enjoying some kind of relaxed schedule. 

When I think back on this summer, I will, of course, think of my knee replacement surgery, which was seven weeks ago now. Recovery and rehabilitation continue, and I am doing well. 

But I wouldn't call it relaxing. 

250 years

Next year our country will celebrate its "semiquincentennial," and you have to admit that does not exactly roll off the tongue.

It's the term used for commemorating 250 years, and for the U.S. it will be the 250th anniversary of the signing of the United States Declaration of Independence.  

According to my cursory research, there will be commemorative coins and stamps, and various activities and celebrations will take place leading up to July 4, 2026.

I will date myself here, but I was around for the last big event like this 50 years ago, "The Bicentennial," which was a lot easier to say than semiquincentennial. In fact, it was the year I graduated from high school and much of our graduation memorabilia contained patriotic memorabilia and symbols. After all, we were the "Bicentennial Class."

I can't tell if this 250-year commemoration is going to be the shindig the Bicentennial was. 

Longtime (and blog) friend Kelly and I were part of a "Bicentennial Chorale," a group of a dozen-or-so singers chosen from our top high school choir. We wore period costumes and while I believe the intent was for it to be a group that supplemented the big choir and sang a few patriotic numbers here and there, it took on a life of its own as we sang all over the area at other schools, churches, civic clubs, business meetings and parades. 

By the time the year was done, I believe we had performed close to 100 times. (My memory might be a little fuzzy, if not exaggerated, but I do remember being very busy with this group.) 

We sang the typical patriotic songs like "God Bless America," America the Beautiful" and "This is My Country," but as I recall, we also performed a little one-act play with some original music. Again, the memory is faulty. 

I know we had a lot of fun and enjoyed singing around town. It was a different time, of course, and who knows what a "Semiquincentennial Chorale" would look (or sound) like?  

Post-surgery

This is Day 5 if you count my surgery day, last Thursday, as Day 1. That day was pretty much a blur, and I made an idiot of myself coming out of anesthesia, apparently suggesting to the nurse trying to wake me that I would be better off dead and asking if she might slip something into my IV to make that happen (I do not remember this)! 

I do not deny that, for a few minutes, I probably felt that way, but I did not mean to be unkind. By the time I left, I was asking about her children and family and trying to assure her I am a decent person. I also complimented her in my patient satisfaction review. 

How is this for modern medicine? I was in the surgery center at 8:15 a.m. I was home with my new knee at 2:30 p.m. Crazy. 

I am probably going to go into this more on my Substack, but suffice it to say I came through surgery OK, and I am doing OK now. The pain meds are good, and I have been receiving outstanding care from my wife and three adult children who have each taken a shift to help her, for which she and I are both grateful. 

The pain was and is as bad as I was told to expect, and Days 2 and 3 were rough. Really rough. Day 4, yesterday, I began to have glimpses of hope, and I have those same glimpses today. I had my first visit to physical therapy several hours ago, and it took Wife and Older son tag-teaming to load me up in the car, get me there, deposit me inside and bring me back home. 

PT went well (it hurt) and my therapist says I am where I should be. Keep doing the exercises, he said, and "work through the pain."

I guess I don't have much choice about that. 

Seriously, I want to get better, and I want to walk normally again, so yes, I will work through that pain just as hard as I can. 

Things don't always go as planned; thoughts on an emergency room

I am on a work team of about 30 people. A few of us are in different parts of the country, but most are in Birmingham, Alabama, our company's HQ, which is drive of a little less than three hours from here, south of Nashville, where I live. From 2015-2020, I drove to Birmingham most weeks and stayed one to three days. 

Since March 2020, I have worked 100 percent remotely, and I consider myself fortunate. If I were younger, I would want to be in an office setting more, but being in the sunset of my career, this arrangement works beautifully. It's not like I'm climbing a corporate ladder, trying to advance and/or need face time. The computer is fine for any face-to-face I want to have. 

Infrequently, however, I will drive to Birmingham for a meeting. It is less often now, and until this week, I had only been down once this year. 

This past Wednesday, there was a team outing. The group I am part of was going to lunch together and to a minor league baseball game. I thought this would be a good time to go, and I was looking forward to seeing my Birmingham teammates in the flesh, including the three people who report to me.

A bigger draw to Birmingham than my job are my younger son, daughter-in-law and one-year-old grandson who live there. My plan had been to drive down late Tuesday, spend the night with them, work a couple of hours from their house Wednesday morning, then go meet my group for the day's activities. 

Well, things don't always go as planned. I woke early Wednesday morning with significant pain in my lower left side. left lower back and groin area. As I got up and moved around, it only worsened. 

Somewhere around 15-20 years ago, I had kidney stones. I remember the pain as near unbearable, and over (about) a five-year period I had a couple of different procedures to get rid of them when I was unable to pass them on my own. 

I figured that was what this had to be. I hated to be a burden to my son and daughter-in-law who were getting ready for work, but I also knew I was going to have to have some help. I informed my son about 7:15. He got his wife and son off to work and daycare and whisked me off to an emergency room. 

It was a free-standing emergency facility, not inside a hospital, but affiliated with one. 

I walked right in and the only people I saw were the employees behind a window. No hurrying and bustling around like the emergency rooms, or emergency departments, we see on the TV medical shows. 

A guy behind the window had me fill out a form. Within five minutes he took me back to a room and had a nurse take vitals. 

About ten minutes later, as the pain was worsening, the doc came in, a fellow of about 40 or younger. Two young women (I presume who were students) came in with him and they took notes. He did not introduce them. 

He introduced himself as Dr. So-and-so as he shook hands with my son. He then offered his hand to me, which was awkward because I had a blood-oxygen meter on my right forefinger. 

I told him what was going on. I told him I had had kidney stones a long time ago and the pain was reminiscent of that. He asked if I had seen blood in my urine or sensed burning during urination (sorry for the detail), to which I answered no. (I remembered this had happened once with a previous kidney stone but not another one). 

He said, as he was turning to leave, "we'll do a CT scan and get you something for pain." I asked if the "something for pain" could come quickly and I think he said, "mm-hmm" but I could not swear to it as his back was to me by then. 

The pain worsened as I waited. My son went out in the hall and asked the doc if they could get the pain medication going. He said the doc did not look at him and just said, "we will get in there soon."

I became nauseated and pulled a trash can over because I thought I was going to be sick. At this point the tech who would do the CT walked in and said, "this is not good." He must have distracted me enough that the nausea passed, but he got a "barf bag" for me just in case. He was kind and compassionate and got the CT done in about ten minutes. 

Shortly after getting back to the room, a nurse came and drew blood and started an IV with pain medication. It was heavenly and the pain soon subsided. 

About 15 minutes later, Dr. Personality reappeared and said, "you don't have a kidney stone," to which I replied, "Huh."

To which he kind of raised his eyebrows and shrugged. 

He asked me a couple more questions about location of the pain. I told him about my wife's experience with shingles a few years ago and he said, yeah, it could be possibly shingles and if it is, you'll break out in a rash. 

I told him I had had the shingles vaccine, and he said, well, then shingles is less likely. 

I then told him about my knees and my upcoming surgery which would be on my right knee. This pain was above my left leg, but I told him both knees were troublesome. To this he said it could possibly be "referred pain" from my knee.

"So should I talk to my orthopedic?" I asked him. 

"Yeah, probably," he replied. 

He then said, "give me 20 minutes." 

"Uh, to do what?" I asked. 

"To get you out of here," he replied. He would discharge me with a pain prescription. 

Before discharge someone from the business office came and collected my insurance information and my co-pay. She was perhaps the most engaging person I met that day other than the CT guy. 

The same nurse who had taken blood and installed my IV came in and gave me some papers which she told me nothing about. She disconnected me and told me I was free to go. (I later looked at the papers, which described my visit, with instructions to return under certain conditions such as running a high fever. None of this was communicated to me orally.) 

I went back to my son's house and went to bed. The IV pain medication was still in effect, and I went right to sleep. Within a couple of hours my son had had the prescription filled, and I took one of the pills and slept off and on throughout the afternoon. 

One of the times I was awake, I called my ortho's office here and received instructions to come in the next morning and see the physician's assistant. I left Birmingham early the next morning and met my wife at the doctor's office. They did an x-ray of my hip and back. 

The P.A., who is great and who I have been seeing periodically over the past 18 months as I have done physical therapy, received injections and moved toward this surgery, said all looked good with my hip but there was definitely some advanced arthritis in my back, and I had probably done something to irritate that, which was causing the acute pain. 

She said, eventually, I would probably want to have an MRI, but that would be in the future and my main focus should continue to be on the surgery I will have June 19th. She had a nurse give me a steroid shot, sent me home with a steroid prescription and said to call her this Monday if I was not considerably better. 

I am already considerably better and have some peace of mind knowing this flare-up was caused by the overall skeletal problems I have been having that have led me to this upcoming surgery. I am glad I have not had a recurrence of kidney stones. 

Going back to the emergency room experience, as I was walking out with my son, out of the corner of my eye I saw the doc sitting at a computer at a desk maybe ten feet away from me. To give him one last chance to demonstrate that he might have cared in the least, I yelled over at him and said, "Thanks, Doc."

Without looking up from the screen, looking at me or changing his facial expression, he said (or mumbled), "You're welcome."

Let me say this. At my age, I see a fair number of physicians, physician assistants, nurse practitioners and nurses. I have written about this in the past. They are almost all great -- caring, compassionate, patient people who take time with me and answer all my questions. I am pro-healthcare and owe a great debt of gratitude to the folks who take care of me. 

Which is why, when I come across a guy like the doc in this emergency room, I am taken aback. If you read back over my narrative, you can see I largely had to ask him questions to find out any course of action that would be taken. 

I understand he is a "hospitalist" who is not going to have expertise in urology or orthopedics, but one would think, working in that setting, he would know enough to talk about my options without my having to drag it out of him and, for god's sake, would have the slightest hint of a bedside manner. 

I am concerned about my health, but I am not a hypochondriac. Believe me, I consider every option possible before I visit a hospital emergency room. But when it is a true emergency, as this was, isn't that what it is there for? 

Oh well, lesson learned. 

The good news is I am OK, and although I am not looking forward to it, today all systems are go for June 19th and knee replacement. Hoping for no intervening setbacks. 

Getting ready

My knee replacement surgery is scheduled for June 19th, three weeks from today as I write this. 

I started going to physical therapy more than a year ago, and I have continued to do the exercises. I am also riding a stationary bike several mornings a week and going to our local recreation center and using a resistance machine. All of this, according to my surgeon, should help with my recovery. 

I am following closely my blogger friend Debby who, from where I sit, seems to be making a remarkable recovery, already walking unassisted, if I am reading correctly, at two weeks. 

The last time I saw my doc, he told me he would schedule a CT scan to get a better view of my knee. I did not question him, as I figured he knows best. Anything that will help him be more precise, I am in favor of.

My insurance company, not so much. Per a recent letter from them: "Based on the information we have, this CT scan is not medically necessary." According to them, it is medically needed "when there are certain x-ray findings . . . and you have hardware in your knee from a previous surgery."

With neither of these being true, they are nixing coverage of the CT. 

My doctor was copied on the letter. I emailed his office yesterday, reporting my receipt of this letter and asking what I should do. While I have not received a response, a little while ago I noticed on the patient portal that the appointment for the CT, which was to be 9 a.m. Monday, June 2nd, is no longer there. I have other appointments Monday -- a meeting with the Physician Assistant, a "Total Joint/Spine class" which I assume will fill me in on what to expect, and blood work.  I guess we will discuss the CT scan and whether we will appeal this decision. 

I am pretty anxious about the surgery. I contemplated out loud to Wife yesterday as to whether I am doing the right thing. I am walking better, I told her, and if I were to lose some weight and periodically get the injections, I could be OK, I suppose. 

As she has learned to do after 40-plus years with me, she listened and was careful with her response. She pointed out how long I have been dealing with this, and that it's not like I made some rash decision. 

And she is right, of course. 

So that is where I am. I suppose I am ready to face it. The surgery will be on a Thursday morning and if all goes well, I will be home that afternoon.  My first PT appointment is already scheduled for the following Monday. 

All thoughts and prayers are greatly appreciated. 

*********************

My son-in-law's cancer journey continues. He is three months out from surgery, and all things considered, he is doing pretty well. He is back at work, and he can sit for lengthier periods of time. I won't go into all the complications he has experienced but suffice it to say it has not been easy. But over the past few weeks, he has shown much improvement. 

There is good news and not-so-good-news from recent scans and blood tests. His scans (CT, MRI, full body PET) show "no visible evidence of disease." The blood tests, however, indicate the very likely presence of microscopic cancer cells in his body. It was one of these particular blood tests that detected the presence of cancer in his colon again last fall, which resulted in his surgery in February. 

For now, he goes on with life and continues to heal. And he waits. We all wait. There will be more tests and scans in late June. For a few weeks, however, he and his family can enjoy each other and the relaxed pace of summer. They are thankful for that. 

I am reminded of the verse Kelly has at the top of her blog page: "For we walk by faith, not by sight."

Oh hail no!

Have you ever witnessed a hailstorm? They are fascinating forces of nature, and I have seen about three in my life.

In the south Arkansas town where I grew up, my dad was an independent insurance adjuster, meaning he worked under contract with different property and casualty insurance companies to work and settle claims made by their policyholders. Car wrecks and fires were his "bread and butter" so to speak, but the occasional storm was a big boon to his business. He carried a ladder with him to climb up on roofs, with roofing damage being some of the main claims to come from storms. 

Not long after he had bought out a partner and gone completely on his own, a hailstorm hit our town. I am guessing I was 14 years old at the time. It was late afternoon and only my mother and I were at home, and it sounded as if someone was throwing rocks at our house. 

The hail was golf ball and baseball sized, and it was remarkable. When the storm was done, I went out in the yard and picked up a few of the hailstones to put in the freezer so I could show my dad when he got home. 

He had been in a nearby town during the storm and knew nothing about it until I showed him the hailstones. 

His phone started ringing that night, and he and my mother (who worked with him) worked almost around the clock for the next six months settling storm claims. 

Yesterday afternoon about 3 p.m. I was at home alone, working in my upstairs office, and I heard sounds reminiscent of those I heard more than 50 years ago. Rocks hitting the house, pelting the windows. 

While it was not as intense as the one from my youth (there were golf ball sized stones, but most were the size of a large marble) this was a strong storm. I opened the back door and watched and listened. 

I had parked my truck in the street because of a visitor in the driveway earlier in the day, and my car that I need to sell was also out. There is no damage I can see, surprisingly. 

I have not been on my roof and will not be climbing up there, but plan to call my insurance agent to ask him to send an adjuster early next week to inspect for damage.

Here is a sample of what happened here yesterday: 

Procedures, surgeries, etc.

This aging stuff gets tricky sometimes. 

Yesterday it was a colonoscopy, the third one in my life. I am on a more frequent rotation because of a history of polyps, and even though my doc told me yesterday everything looked fine, I should schedule another one in three years. 

As anyone who has experienced this procedure knows, it's not the procedure itself that is burdensome (other than the inconvenience of taking a day off work to go to the surgery center, and assuming everything turns out well) but, rather, it's the preparation that is unpleasant. But it's necessary so you arrive for your procedure, uh, "cleaned out," if you will. 

For my first one, about 15 years ago, I took pills for the preparation. Not bad, and they did the job. 

For the second one, pills had fallen out of favor, and I was prescribed some nasty, chalky liquid. Yuck. 

For the one yesterday, everything was over the counter, mixed with Gatorade, and it wasn't bad at all. I hope this is still the preferred method when I have my next colonoscopy. 

Typically for me, there were three polyps, but the doc seemed unconcerned. Guess I'll see him again in three years. 

I suppose yesterday, getting an IV and being briefly anesthetized, was the warmup for the big act, which will be June 19th when I have knee replacement surgery. This has been coming for a while, and although I don't look forward to the surgery, I do look forward to being on the other side of it. 

My knees have been deteriorating for years, and both seemed to get significantly worse a couple years ago, which led me visit an orthopedic surgeon. He initially prescribed physical therapy. That, along with riding a stationary bike and getting really good steroid injections, helped considerably and the pain level is better than it was. But I am bone-on-bone, and at some point, the benefit of the exercises and steroids will diminish. 

So, I am starting with the right knee in June. If it goes well, I will eventually have the other one done. I have a lot of walking to do. 

And while we're on the subject of medicine and surgery, I will update you on my son-in-law. His surgery was February 27th and, not unexpectedly, his recovery has been rough. Slowly but surely, however, he is getting better and has recently returned to work. 

We will be holding our collective breath as he continues to have scans and lab work, fervently hoping and praying this awful cancer is gone for good. Any prayers in that direction are greatly appreciated. 

All in the family

Some 16-ish years ago my older son, who at the time lived in Dallas, asked if he could entrust to Wife and me his 2000 Chevrolet Silverado pickup truck, the one we had bought when he was in college. 

He loved that truck, but with a job that required a fair amount of driving around the Dallas metropolitan area at the time, it had become impractical for him. He was going to get something more economical. However, he did not want to part with his truck, affectionately known as The Green Machine. 

He would like us to keep The Green Machine, pictured here, at our house on a temporary basis and at some point, he would get it back. I told him I would be glad to do that. 

The Green Machine

I hardly remember details, but somehow, he got the truck from Dallas to our house just south of Nashville. 

Having never been a truck owner, I had not known how much I would enjoy having one. Whether it was picking up bags of mulch, a piece of furniture or the year's Christmas tree (when we still bought a real tree), its uses were many. (My friends quickly learned how handy it was too.)

Older Son eventually moved to Atlanta, about a four-hour drive from here. I figured it would only be a matter of time before his truck would be going back to its original owner. 

During the time I had the Green Machine, it developed some quirks typical of aging vehicles. I put some money into it to keep it maintained since I was the one using it. 

A few years ago, Older Son bought a 2016 Chevy Silverado for himself, a much-updated version of The Green Machine. He said he planned to retrieve The Green Machine someday, but said he was still happy with the entrustment arrangement if we were. 

Our housekeeper told us some years ago if we were ever interested in selling The Green Machine, her husband would be interested and asked if we would give him first shot at it. We explained we did not have the authority to sell it but would keep that in mind. 

After some discussion and negotiation, the following recently occurred: 

Older Son upgraded to a later model GMC pickup. 

Green Machine was purchased by our housekeeper's husband and driven from our driveway.

I am the proud owner of the above described, formerly-owned-by-Older-Son 2016 Chevy Silverado pictured here. 

My new-to-me wheels

While things do not always go as planned, they work out nicely sometimes. 

SIL update

My son-in-law had his surgery February 27th here in Nashville at the Vanderbilt Cancer Center. 

To recap, he was diagnosed with colon cancer in November 2023 at age 37. He is now 39.

He soon began a treatment regimen that included radiation and chemotherapy. That took him to spring of 2024. Scans showed some shrinkage, but he would need to have surgery to remove all of the cancer. 

He had that surgery in late June last year and recovered over a period of about six weeks, after which he went back to work and lived a fairly normal life. 

He continued to have scans, however, and in late October one of those showed some "activity" in the area of his previous surgery. He was referred to a surgical oncologist at Vanderbilt (up to this time, all of his care had taken place in Huntsville, Alabama, where he lives). She referred him for a biopsy which took place in December, and it confirmed that there was a new tumor. He would have to have surgery again. 

This surgery was extensive, taking a little more than nine hours. At the end of the surgery, the surgeon was encouraging, saying she felt confident she had removed all the cancer and confirming there was no spread of it anywhere else in his body. 

Post-surgery has been brutal with a number of complications. Over the past couple of days, however, we have seen signs of improvement and have reason to be encouraged. 

My daughter has been staying at the hospital with him but has gotten a couple of breaks in which she has driven home (about two hours away) and slept in her own bed, the most recent of those breaks being last night. 

Their three children have been with us part of the time, with their other grandparents and with other friends in Huntsville. My daughter is bringing them back here today and they will be with us this next week, which is their spring break. 

When discharged, my son-in-law will likely come here. There are many moving parts to this ordeal, and we are as prepared as we can be to assure he is well cared for while he is with us. Of course, our daughter will be right by his side and for at least part of the time our grandchildren will be here. 

I have explained this rather factually, not incorporating the emotion, fear and stress that have been major ingredients. Perhaps I will elaborate on that another time. 

For now, I want to thank you all for your support, concern and prayers which are greatly appreciated. I will give another update soon. 

Flu, anyone?

It seems the flu has been especially bad this year where I live.

Knocking on every piece of wood around me, I can say I am fortunate enough not to have had to deal with it. I've had my chronic sinus stuff, and I will spare you the details. I'm seeing my allergy and sinus doc March 17th, an appointment I have had for more than two months. By then I am sure I will be symptom-free, but I'll see her anyway. 

She determined two years ago, after sticking all kinds of things in my back, that I do not have allergies, but boy do I have "chronic sinusitis." But there I go with the details I promised to spare you. 

Overall, health-wise, I am doing fairly well for a man of my advanced age. I have two bad knees, but I have an excellent orthopedic office that helps with me with physical therapy and a wonderful steroid injection until I can get the first knee replaced, hopefully around May or June. 

If that one goes well, I will have the other one done as soon as I can. However, my anecdotal information suggests folks who have the first knee replaced wait at least a year until they go in for their second one. 

My doc who will perform the surgery said I can expect not to like him for about three weeks post-surgery, and after that I should start to see some improvement. So, we will see. 

Back to the flu. I'm not sure everyone who says "I am down with the flu" really has it. Some of them recover way too quickly to have had what I think of as the flu, or influenza, which lasts about ten days if I remember correctly. 

I am not judging, I am just speculating. If you're sick, you're sick, and who am I to make a diagnosis? 

Anyway, I only remember having the actual flu, in which it was diagnosed as such, one time. 

It was February 1984, and I had just returned from the jewelry store to select the diamond that would go in the engagement ring I would give my soon-to-be fiancé on, yes, Valentine's Day. 

Before you start rolling your eyes at how hopelessly romantic I was, let me say it was as much a coincidence as anything else. We knew we were ready to take the big step and I thought, well, why not do it on Valentine's Day? It could have just as easily been July, and I might have chosen Independence Day. Now that I think about it, though, it was a nice touch, wasn't it? 

Anyway, I do not remember the exact date, but sometime in early February I had gone to the jewelry store and picked out the diamond and paid for it. I left it there to be set in a ring. I would go pick it up in a week or so. 

I had this queasy feeling when I got home from the jewelry store, and I told myself that was to be expected considering the big purchase I had just made and the purpose of said purchase. 

Later that night, however, the chills came. I called into work and said I would not be there. I went to visit a walk-in doc who diagnosed me with the flu and told me to stay in bed for at least a few days. 

I had the typical cold symptoms, fever and achiness. Not to be dramatic, but it hurt to move. 

Wife (who was not Wife at the time, but you know who I am talking about) wanted to help. I told her I had plenty of food and water and it would be best that she stay away. I don't remember how the conversation went but somewhere in there I think I hurt her feelings, even though it was not my intent. 

(I have heard men, in general, are grumpy when they are sick, but that's an unfair stereotype and I will not promote it. But in my case, it was probably true.)

I tried going to work one morning before I was truly well. It was my first job out of law school, clerking for a circuit judge. The case coordinator who ran the place took one look at me and told me to go home and come back when I was over it. 

That same day I went and picked up the ring. I could not stop looking at it, and hoped its intended recipient would receive it graciously when the time came. (We had stopped talking for a few days.) 

I finally got better and called the person who would be the recipient of the ring. She was on the cool side, but I managed an apology, and I suggested I would be feeling better by Valentine's Day and maybe we should get together. 

The rest is history. She came over that night. She forgave me. She said yes.

That was 41 years ago. We married in August of that year. 

I hope those of you reading this are in good health and have avoided this year's flu outbreak. 

If not, get plenty of rest and tell your Significant Other you'll see him/her in about ten days. 

Southern weather

People are going to think this is the most boring blog ever, with the last two posts being about the weather. 

I'll try to do better. Most of my friends here follow me on Substack where my writing is more interesting. I keep things a bit more light-hearted here. 

But back to the weather. This past Sunday afternoon, when it took a warm turn, I was sitting outside in shorts and a tee-shirt. Wife, on the other hand, was inside in sweats sitting by the fire. She either had not received the memo or was in denial. 

Blog friend Becki (Field Lilies) has recently written about the approaching change in seasons (it will be spring in about six weeks) and the ambivalent feelings it stirs in her. She looks forward to springtime but is not sure she is quite ready to be out in the yard with the plants, garden, etc. (I hope I paraphrased accurately, Becki!)

I posted a reply to her blog telling her I have some mixed feelings also because when spring comes, I feel guilty that I am NOT out in the yard with the plants, garden, etc.! About ten years ago I worked a yard service into the budget, and I enjoy being outside looking at the fruits of their labors! But I feel a little guilty about it. 

As you know from my last post, we had a big snow here in January and I thoroughly enjoyed it. We do not have particularly harsh winters here in Middle Tennessee, and snow is always a big deal. It helps that I usually don't have to get out and go anywhere in it, but after a day or so of snow, even it has not begun to melt, the plows and salt trucks have cleared things enough that I can drive if I need to. 

I have some friends who have begun to go to Florida for at least part of the winter months, choosing to opt for the warmer climate. I think Wife might enjoy that and, in the coming years after I retire, should she wish to do that, I would try it for a season. But I would never want to do it every winter. I like the changing seasons. 

Personally, I would sooner go to the mountains of Colorado for the summer (escaping the heat) than the beaches of Florida for the winter. But, of course, to each his/her own. 

And Wife and I do have a little trip to Florida planned in a couple of weeks. We are going down for opening weekend of MLB spring training and will see three games. When we get back, it will be almost time for our son-in-law's surgery. I'll post more about that later and humbly ask for your continued prayers for him. 

Hoping you are enjoying the weather wherever you are. You might as well because you can't do anything about it! 

Snow Day

We had some of our coldest temperatures of the winter last week. The TV weather folks kept promising a "winter storm" Friday. Schools announced they would be closed and all kinds of events were canceled. 

We were prepared. We had plenty of provisions so did not join the crazies at the grocery stores clearing the shelves of bread and milk. We made sure our outside faucets were covered and kept water dripping at night. 

When we woke Friday morning, there was little more than a dusting and Wife said it had ended up, typically, being a non-event. But she was premature with that. By the afternoon snow was falling steadily, and I think we ended up with somewhere between 5-6 inches. 

We are far enough south that snow is a big deal, but we get enough snow and ice that our local governments have, over time, become prepared for treacherous road conditions. They get the plows and salt trucks in operation pretty quickly. By mid-day Saturday we were able to get out without any problem. Truth be told, we could have probably driven Friday had we needed to. 

By mid-morning our adult children and grandchildren were sending pictures of their own snow days in Atlanta, Birmingham and Huntsville. Not to be outdone, Wife and I ventured outside ourselves for a brief period of time. 

While it is sad to have a snow day without children to enjoy it with, it is nice to have one we can enjoy without worrying about having to go somewhere. 

These pictures were taken after most of the snow had fallen, out our front door and on our back deck.