Chairs of Love and Music of the Heart

It is the day before my birthday, just another day and another birthday. Isn’t it bizarre that we celebrate the birthday of the birthed and then to overlook the work of the mother? For whatever reason however, the mood that has wrapped me like a blanket is one of raw emotion…a sense of loving, a sense of being loved, a moment of purpose, and a moment of profound gratitude. My kids tend to tease me as some who enjoys action movies and romantic comedies. (By the way, Sarah Bullock’s new one, the Proposal, was very funny). In other words I tend to be sentimental and nostalgic. It is a chronic condition whose symptoms are becoming more ‘severe’ as I get older.

It is late afternoon…the weather is perfect: 78 degrees, bright sun, blue water, and a light breeze. It does not get much better than this. As I am writing this, the movie August Rush is on in the background. Have seen it a couple of times. Each time the movie ends for me with salted tears. Today will probably not be any different. The story is about two musicians who spend a night together. An accident results in a coma for the woman cellist. She becomes pregnant and gives birth to a son. Her father signs the newborn away to an orphanage. August is a musical prodigy, like Beethoven, and 12 years later he “looks” for his parents though his music. It is a clear presentation: music is his passion and the language of his love. The movie is about the search. In the end, his music does ‘find’ his parents.

On one hand, it may seem sentimental and trite, but that would be selling the movie and its message very short. It is the contention of the movie that everyone is given unique talents that must be discovered, developed, and dispersed. Potential talent is not wasted; it is just fallow, unharvested. Human beings have an innate ‘need’ to strive and soar. It is that well from which things like competition, passion, perseverance, and excellence all spring from. Ironically, we celebrate prodigies in academics, sports, music, etc. But we tend to overlook those prodigies of human caring. There are rare people, whose entire life ‘purpose.’ is in the energetic, effusive care of others. These people are as important as the great athletes, musicians, intellectuals, business people, etc. These are the people who ‘teach’ us what being human is really about. These are the best parents, husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, brother, sisters, friends, neighbors, and people.

Take the time to ‘see’ these people around you. Let them teach you how to be more passionate as a human being. It is ironic that the more you share and love the more you are loved and appreciated. Who says there is no cosmic balance?

It has been a long tradition within my family to do special things for the people you care about. It takes many forms. One of my favorite ‘gifts’ has been the ‘chairs of love.’ It is a lot of work, but it is a great gift. You buy an unfinished chair. (My preference has always been rocking chairs). The chair is painted and personalized. Symbols, colors, quotations, memories are ‘marked’ onto the piece. It is not a formal work of art, but rather a ‘life quilt’ chair. My immediate family has made more than a dozen. Each is unique. Each attempts to celebrate the life of the recipient. My wife and my children made one for me. The base color is Chinese orange. It is bright. But it is the quotations, the sketch of Don Quixote and the symbols that give it such meaning. In our family, the rocking chairs are expressions of love.

So in this time of economic challenge, remember to celebrate life purpose: to be a caring person. Maybe we can also learn to live lives of ‘service’ to others. At least, we can learn to hear the music of the heart.

The Window Seat Chapter 24

June 30, 2009 Southwest Flight to BWI

Originally, the plan was to be on a 5:35 PM flight to BWI for a one day series of meeting with Obama administration people on health care reform. By the time my work was completed, the 6:05 was the next best option. Ticket changed and I gained a half hour to make the flight. Check in was easy, but security was ridiculously slow and tedious: one lane, one very long line, and some new trainees. It was becoming stressful as we were not sure we would make our flight. These were unfounded concerns, as the weather in Baltimore was a mess and we were going to be delayed. Once we got to the gate, we were told we would get and update at 7 pm. The potential passengers all scattered in the terminal with the expectation they would now have an hour to eat. That was particularly bad advice, because 20 minutes later; 6:25 we were called back for immediate boarding. Friday’s was providing Styrofoam for the passenger to take their yet to be served food onto the plane. We hustle onto the plane, and take our seats.

Sit down in the aisle seat of the exit row. A business man, about my age sits in the window seat. We exchange greetings, but both of us expect the middle seat to be filled. Ironically, it was not. Almost every other seat in the plane was full.

We spent time talking about his job and family situation. He works for a food service company that is based in Paris. “They know how to enjoy life and take care of their people.” He was on the road every week traveling around the Eastern Seaboard. He goes to Paris once a quarter. What was quickly apparent is that this guy really loves his work.
That is so rare now.

We talked about his 16 year old daughter and her life plans: college and beyond. My seat mate had gotten a divorce from his wife. He had been very generous so that he could have full custody which was his priority. Every daughter should know the unconditional love that this father had for his daughter. She was Dad’s life joy. He was also working hard to prepare himself for her departure to college and then her departure into adulthood. He knew it would be very difficult.

The conversation moved to books. He was an avid reader. In passing I mentioned “The Unforgiving Minute” by Craig Mullaney. He said that his father, a former Marine, had just read it and loved it. I shared that I had gone to the same high school, Hendricken that Craig had attended, years apart. I had just been at a book signing with Craig’s classmates. It was the most subtle of transitions, but the book lead to the real subject at hand: his father and their relationship: There was distant between them, although both were working on it bridging the void. It was hard as his father graduated from the Academy, done multiple tours in Vietnam, etc. “He is just not a warm in touch with his feelings kind of guy.” It was my chance to share: “You really want to clear the air and share what you feel. You never know what will happen. It is hard to work on the relationship when he is gone. If you have something to say, say it. I was fortunate, as I did not have any unfinished business with my father, when he passed. Most people are not so lucky.” When I stopped talking, he paused and said: “Thank you.”

You do not know how important or unimportant each life contact really may be. Make sure to engage them as you may be much better for the interaction. Often the person giving the advice is really the student. It was in this case: I can finally celebrate my father and my relationship with him, rather than wallow in death’s loss. It has taken over five years to get ‘here.’ It was my seat mate, in the window seat, who ‘showed’ me where I was.

It was ok that we were over an hour late in arriving. The time had been well spent. Both of us got off of the plane in a better ‘place.’

The Watchful Realtor 2: Mars, Venus and Something Simply Called Stupid

“Mars, Venus, and something simply called Stupid.” This chapter has less to do with real estate and more to do with the difference between the genders.

As a young child, my family and I lived in California, Oregon, Washington, and Kansas. In each one of these States, pickup trucks are more than just functional transportation. They convey the pioneer, rough and rugged, attitude of the West. They are ‘can do’ vehicles. Therefore it is really not surprising, that I have always thought that a pickup truck would be a great ‘spare vehicle.’

My ‘need’ for a pickup truck has become more apparent recently: college dorm relocations, junk runs, and a personal residence that is now full of ‘stuff.’ This has been amplified by my recent, nostalgic Pendleton Blanket spree. The memories of my youth in the great West are becoming like the images in the rear view mirror. As time move on, they are getting smaller and smaller. It may be silly but the lessons of youth, particularly those of boy with his father and grandfather, become more important as they become more distant: the time spent learning to shoot a rifle, or hiking, or sitting around a camp fire. These were times, that for me, we were powerful lessons to be of the moment and responsible for and to myself. These were times when you could ask your father or grandfather just about anything. These were times when you learned how to be a compassionate and strong man.

At a recent visit to Jim Cazzani at Passport Motors, I mentioned to him that I would like to buy a ‘junk trunk.’ “Something cheap but in decent shape” He asked me how much I wanted to spend. “Under $2500.” He laughed and asked if I wanted wheels too. The conversation ended with him saying he would keep his eyes open. Three weeks later he called and said he had a truck.” It was under $2500, albeit barely. The truck he had found was a 1994 Chevrolet Silverado with 116,000 miles on it. It was a Rhode Island-Florida truck. It was in good shape with an extended cab and a lined truck bed. My only question was what color. It was maroon. I said I would take it. “You do not what to drive it or see it.” “No Jimmy, you have checked it out and that is good enough for me.”

When I saw the truck it was perfect. In some ways, it was more exciting than my Saab, the Porsche, the Audi, etc…well not as exciting as the Alfa Romeo, but it was very exciting. We did all of the paper work and I drove off in my FIRST pickup truck. It has been great fun and I got 15 miles per gallon with my first tank. Simple joys.

About a month later, I am at the Mid Year meetings of the National Association for Realtors. One of my long time friends from the Association is Bob Snowden who owns a huge ranch with thousand of acres in Wyoming. He is a great guy with several pickup trucks. I am telling him about my pickup. He asks about the mileage. “It’s just a baby.” He asks if I have a picture of the truck. I quickly pull out my I phone to share not one but SIX pictures of my ‘new’ truck. “Ron that is in great condition and that was a great buy.”

I am feeling really proud. As this conversation is going on my wife Susan is listening and watching. She has been surprised at how much I am enjoying the truck. She likes it too, but not for what it represents, but rather what it can do. As the conversation with Bob winds down, and we finish admiring the photos of my ‘baby truck,’ Susan asks if I have a picture of her, (my wife of almost 30 years), in my phone. Bob smiles, as if to say, of course he does. Susan on the other hand knows me. Now my truck and I are in sinking in stupidity. As I stumble, suggesting that my phone is fairly new. It is apparent that this lame excuse will not help. Susan has a quick solution. “Take my picture.” The picture I now have in my phone is one of her hugging, not me, but rancher BOB. My wedding anniversary is coming up soon, and it will not surprise me if my anniversary gift is a picture of her driving the truck.

There is a life lesson here. Have a picture of your wife and family in your phone before you celebrate any other toys, particularly trucks, cars, big screen TVs, Red Sox tickets, Celtics games, or the second coming of Tom Brady. It makes life easier.

The Window Seat Chapter 23

Delta Pensacola to Atlanta

This was one of those quick business trips in which the travel time was almost longer than the meeting time. I was on my way back from the Alabama Association of Realtors Leadership Meetings. Really enjoyed the group and learned a lot of new marketing techniques to sell in a ‘bad’ market. They are having similar frustration to ours.

To get home, my route involved two legs, one to Atlanta and then Atlanta to Providence. Unfortunately, Delta and the other ‘legacy’ airlines are trading out the full sized planes for the commuter jets that hold 40 to 70 people. They are small and uncomfortable. Every time I make an airline reservation now, I look to check on the type of plane. The smaller planes are just not optimum. This day our chariot in the sky would be a Bombardier 300. It was only going to be a 45 minute flight so it would be ok.

As I boarded the plane, I tried to rationalize my anticipated ‘discomfort’ with the thought that this is part of the ‘greening’ of airline travel. Smaller planes, more people, equal less fuel and less pollution. It also equals a less pleasant travel experience. The size of plane was most apparent when I had fight to get my computer bag into the overhead compartment. It was more like a glove box.

Found seat 6B on the aisle. Smiled with the thought that it should be 6 B .75 The seats are small, but you worry a lot about who may sit next to you. My worries were unfounded as this fairly slight ‘mature woman’ founds her way to 6 A. I was a bit distracted as she looked like a small version of Scottish songstress, Susan Boyle, and she had an English accent.

We said hello. She decided that it was ok to talk with me. Here is her story:

She was born in a town just north of London, but moved to the United States in 1971. She had five sisters and three brothers. She had been married, but was now divorced. One daughter lived with her husband and new granddaughter in Atlanta. She was on her way back to London to have fun, but also to deal with the health issues of two of her sisters. Her youngest sister, 51 had struggled with breast cancer for five years, but was near the end. Her oldest sister was in the middle of a similar battle. This was all shared in the first breath.

Barbara was her name and she worked in a hospital managing medical records. We talked about the changes in record keeping and the move to all digital records. What surprised her, was that the older doctors actually worked through the change, but it is the younger Doctors, who wanted someone else to enter the information into the system, that we making the change harder. ‘Their time was more valuable.’

We talked about her trip to England. She would have to deal with her sisters’ illnesses, but she was also committed to having some fun. She wanted to go on the Ferris wheel in downtown London. “You can see half of England on clear day.”

Her younger sister, who was so sick, had some mental issues. It was actually good because she did not really understand the terminal nature of her disease. Barbara thought it would be much better to face death without knowing it was coming. (My gut was not in agreement. We all know we are going to die, or do we just spend our lives ignoring or denying the obvious. If you do not know it is coming, are you really facing it?)

One of the interesting comments was that medicine was more innovative in Britain, because the Doctors could try different protocols. Getting into the health care system and getting diagnosed might take more work, but once into it, there were more options. This was not my understanding of the British system, so I listened with great interest.

Our flight arrives late, and my connection would be tight. Hers would be easy, but she was not looking forward to the 8 hour flight. We said good bye. No actually I said goodbye, she said “off you go.” And so I did.

The Watchful Realtor

This is the first installment of a series of true stories that I have witnessed, enjoyed, and on occasion engaged in my 30 years as a practicing Realtor in Rhode Island. To protect the innocent, and not always innocent, I have changed the names, but the stories are true. The details may not be as precise. You would, however, be hard pressed to make this stuff up.



Bailey

One of my most bizarre experiences in Real Estate involved a dog named Bailey. My office had been working with a family that was moving into East Greenwich from Cowesett. It was a family with three children and an old golden, named Bailey. The family selected a home in Cedar Heights. It was a great house, with four bedrooms, two and half baths, on a three quarter acre home site. It was heavily treed, so much so that you could not really see the neighbors. One of the appeals of this property is that the yard was large so Bailey would have lots of room to play. Did I mention that Bailey was very old and could hardly move? The yard was supposed to give him another life. Do we have dogs and cats confused? Dog people, like my wife, tend to be exuberant about their canine family members. This family was among the most dog focused we had ever met.

The negotiations were simple. This was so long ago, that the inspections may have been limited to termites. Everything about the transaction was routine. It was going along perfectly.

Two weeks before closing, the buyers call, very upset because Bailey has died. We feel badly, but not sure why they are calling the Realtor. (Are they looking for a sympathy card or flower?) They are calling to ask if Bailey can be buried in the backyard of the home that they are buying. The request was to ask the listing agent to ask the seller if we could bury the dead dog in the backyard. To the listing agent’s credit and the sellers understanding, we were able to work it out, provided that Bailey was buried ‘beyond the landscaped area in the woods.’ A memorial service with the entire family was scheduled and held and Bailey was buried back in the woods behind the house. Bailey was laid to rest and the family would be closing in 13 days.

Or so we thought. The seller gets an angry call from his immediate rear neighbor. “What are you burying in my backyard?” Apparently, Bailey family interred the dog on the neighbor’s yard. No one knew where the property line was located, so a survey was hired to determine if Bailey was buried on the appropriate property. The conversation as to who would pay for the survey became very challenging. In the end the new home owners, in the hopes of not having to move Bailey paid to have the property survey.

The property lines were marked and corner bounds were established. Unfortunately, Bailey was on both properties. As tempers had flared and everyone was upset now, professional ‘diggers’ were hired to exhume Bailey and re buy him on the appropriate lot.
It was a good thing, because Bailey was decaying and the smell was overpowering.
Incidentally, the digger had dug the new hole first, so Bailey was not exposed to the elements for to long. Ultimately, the property was closed and the family moved into the home. Do not remember which house is Bailey’s final resting place. Am very confident that in the past 25 years his family has moved away.

The moral of the story: No good deed goes unpunished. And if you our going to dig in the backyard make sure you are digging in your own yard.

The Window Seat Chapter 22

Chicago O’Hare to Lexington Kentucky

There is a real difference when travelling from airport hub cities to other hub cities versus traveling from non hub cities to non hub cities Airport consolidation and the challenged economy limit choices and increase costs. One of the Regional Vice Presidents from Kentucky asked me to speak to their meeting a year ago. The invitation was inviting as I had never been to Kentucky and my calendar had almost no commitments beyond the critical ones: my wedding anniversary, my wife’s birthday, the kids birthday, Easter, Christmas, the 4th of July. This was a one day event in horse country. Cool.

In order to limit the time the trip required, the travel schedule was to arrive after 9 pm on United from Chicago. The plane was what the industry calls a Commuter Jet. It is not surprising that the airline industry does not do what the car industry does, define the SIZE of the plane. This was not a sub compact, but it was definitely a compact. It is amazing how many people, with small luggage can get on the plane…The overhead bins bear striking resemblance to the glove compartment in my car.

I sit down in 5C…Hope that I have the row, if you would call two seats that are smaller than Fenway seats, a row. The last person gets one the plane, cell phone is his ear, and points at the seat next to me. He is loud. The flight attendant watches as my seat mate continues his conversation for EVERYONE to hear. The flight attendant approaches me and asks if I would like to move to the row behind the exit row as I would have the row to myself. Quickly, I move. My soon to be former seat mate continues a conversation and proceeds to move to my former seat before I am out of it…

Take my new seat, and just before the door to the airplane closes, a young man comes barreling down the aisle. He has a laptop, a beer, and a sense of great relief. “I was in the bar man, on the phone with a buddy…almost missed this connection.” He was one his way to visit his girlfriend in Lexington. As soon as he sits down and buckles up, the flight attendant comes buy, sees the beer, and says with a smile: “Is that what I think it is?” My new seat mate finishes the last gulp of bear and says” Not sure what you think it is, but it isn’t anymore. (You cannot bring open alcohol onto a plane because you would then not have to pay $6 for table wine).

We settle in. Mark is on this way to Lexington to visit his girlfriend of 2 and half years. The conversation is very light banter. Just fine with me today. He looks very athletic and says he plays baseball in a couple of leagues in Pittsburgh. Guess he is thirtyish. He mentions that he loved baseball his whole life. “Did you play in college?” He had received a baseball scholarship 12 years earlier, but was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. He talked about the diagnosis and how he had to replace his baseball scholarship with academic ones. He graduated with honor and has a great job with a transportation company. With a few leading questions, he spoke unusually openly. We talked about the disease, his expensive drug protocol, issues with twice a year colonoscopies, cancer within his family and more. When you face your own mortality before you are really an adult, it strips away pretense and privacy. Two of his comments were strikes of a tolling bell: “At 18, I was really depressed when I was first diagnosed, and wondered whether I should bother going on… I have answer that question.” and “ I know I am going to get cancer, just want to postpone it as long as possible.” Both comments were delivered without wrapping paper of emotion.

Eventually, we moved to talk about his upcoming weekend with his girlfriend in Lexington. They had met in Jacksonville, Florida, his home town. She was from Lexington. They were very serious…In fact serious enough that he would wear the powder blue sear sucker suit she had purchased for him with the pink striped shirt to the horse races over the weekend. “That better not get on facebook, or my baseball buddies will never let me forget it.”

While they were serious, he was working to learn to trust people again. He had been engaged to be married before. He thought it was perfect. They had even purchased a home together. His job required travel and it was hard on her. She would always ask if he was alone. A few years ago, she called him on her way home to tell him that she would be gone when he arrived. She had met someone else and was moving on. He talked about the betrayal and the hurt. “I knew something was wrong, just not what.”

He had no contact with her until her new boyfriend committed suicide and she wanted to reconnect. It was hard for him to say no, but it was necessary. Now he was with a woman with a loving family, with whom he hoped to create another loving family.
He will do well at it.

This was one of those conversations that you really enjoy. Here is someone who has faced serious life challenges, who does not just endure, but engages. As we landed and our paths diverged, we had created a connection: common travelers, for 1 hour on life’s pilgrimage.

The Window Seat Chapter 21

Washington to Providence April 8th

It was a last minute mad rush to make the US Airways flight at 1:20 rather than waiting until the 4:30. Fortunately, I had my luggage in hand and got to the gate at 12:55. There was only one seat left and it was mine... amazingly it was an aisle seat. At 1:05 we got onto a shuttle bus which brought us to the 50 person commuter Jet. Somehow I was one of the first people on the plane. Found my seat 2 C. Settled in. This was a very quick trip as I had come into DC after diner the night before to do 19 television and 4 radio interviews between 6 am and 12 noon on the 8th. I was filling in for the President of the National Association of Realtors. who could not make it to D.C. due to some health issues. Nothing like bathing by fire. The interviews were fine although I was exhausted.

One of the last people on the plane was a tall young man. He looked like a college student with that well dressed Banana Republic uniform. Kaki pants, striped shirt, blue jacket and golf hat. He quickly took his seat. We shared pleasantries. Always like to talk to the people around me since 9 11. He was an undergraduate student in one of the best schools in DC. He lived in East Greenwich in Signal Ridge and had gone to Hendricken. It was my assumption that he was going home early for Easter, but he was not. He was going to home to be with his family as his uncle, 51, had just pasted away. He opted not to elaborate, other that to say the family was really upset.

(As he and his family are from East Greenwich, I will leave the details out. It is easier to share life stories of people who are not our friend, neighbors or relatives).

We talked about school. life, career options, happiness, and more. Inside I was smiling broadly as he reminded me of my self at 19 20 years old. You may remember it as the time when you knew the most and were most generous with your information. It was one of those conversations when information and knowledge were infused with wonder and exuberance. The freshness of the vision and the crispness of thought are trademarks of the age and the station of life. We talked religion, families, teachers, and aspirations.

As the conversation continued, there was a strange familiarity. Have you ever been in a situation, where you know you do not know this person, but you do? It was discomforting…how do I know this kid? Was he a friend of my daughter or one of my sons?

As I get older I ask more questions, and tend to offer fewer answers. When your ‘life-sight” ages, you will find it hard to be absolute and binary. You recognize that life’s fabric is a colourful quilt. At 19 and 20, your vision, ironically, tends to be binary…dark and light. Not sure if it takes 50 years for everyone to develop good ‘life sight,’ but it is a very valuate sixth sense. Incidentally, I just found out that I had it… Can you imagine what life would have been life if you had learned to use that ‘sense’ in your twenties?

The conversation with the person in the window seat continued until we landed. Then we thanked each other for the time together and set on our separate life paths. Was already at the next “station’ in my life tracks as I descended the escalator to baggage claim. As soon as I arrived at the bottom of the stairs, someone called my name: “Ron” I looked up and saw a friend from many years ago. She and I had graduated from the same College. I preceded her by fewer years than her appearance suggested. She is one of those rare people for whom time’s second hand leaves no marks… It was great to see her after so many years. Then I realized that she was my seat mate’s mom. Now I know why he was so familiar.

She started to introduce us. “Mom, I already met him…I sat next to him on the plane.” “Are you going to write about him…” I smiled . I expressed my condolences on her family’s loss and congratulated her on her son: “He is a fine young man.” She has a lot to be proud of. It is a great life achievement to raise a child of purpose and caring. She and her husband had.