We All Leave Something Behind....

Friends:
We All Leave Something Behind…..


"Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap ... " Galatians 6:7

I've been reading some historical pieces on Nero, an evil and brutal emperor of Rome in the latter years of the Empire's worldly domination. It is interesting reading, and I came across this parenthetical comment: "We all leave something behind in life ... " It reminded me of a lot of my own past and some of what I've left behind, whether good or bad: events, fortunes, misfortunes, people and all the other stuff that life is made up of. Not that I'm that introspective, which I must admit on occasion I am, especially on full moons, but just as a matter of how things change over time.

In the recent past much has happened in our generation and families, mostly what I'd call "good," and enough of the "bad" to form perspectives of preference. Bill Thau and I discussed last evening after some heavy anesthetization that we could only call it "Good Luck'" but deep down inside I suspect there's more to it than that. Perhaps it has been Providential Destiny or, for you farmers, a "reaping" of the past sowing of the last generation.

My wife Carolyn and I exchanged thoughts over coffee today on how much of the past, especially with respect to friends, has been like "another life." Roads forked, people moved, and things changed. What we've left behind we'll probably never really know. We speculated how things might have been different if we hadn't used so often such words common to our language: "Why me or us… " and "If only ... ", and "But.. .. " Truly idle words that limit what we do and think (and in my way of thinking, things might be better if we dropped the use of these words altogether).

I included a quote several weeks ago from Chief Justice Holmes that has stuck with me like this heat wave: ''It is imperative that we share 'our life and passion with our generation, at the peril of being judged not to have lived." That reminds me that it's every day that we leave something behind, for better or worse, depending on the attitudes we hold dear.

Today I am leaving y'all behind, so to speak, as I head north to eat from my brother's table in his new home in Highlands, NC. .. about time he paid me back for what I've left behind for him! I'll be back before you even know I'm gone, so don’t despair! And I am not leaving you comfortless, but in excellent hands with Mr. Gruber (Renn on all other days but Friday) and Chef Mike and Vanessa.

Bud

August 23, 2007

Not Enough Lifeboats....

Friends Not Enough Lifeboats….

“The Horseleach hath two daughters, crying Give, Give…”
Proverbs 30:15

The Meltdown…No, not the heat meltdown, as bad as it is, but the long-overdue liquidity bubble…it’s finally happening. You expected it, didn’t you? After all, it was predicted in abstruse terms a couple years ago, “Irrational Exuberance.” We couldn’t all go on finding money just lying in the streets…somebody had to get up from behind that computer screen and actually do some work. But surely it can’t be… couldn’t the creators of the new Economic Paradigm that eliminated the dot com fortunes foresee that housing would do likewise? Oh, the arrogance of the new generation who, incidentally, have never seen a recession and rely on such esoteric concepts as “derivatives” to make them wealthy (which goes to show you they are not to be trusted with our retirement accounts!). Well, get used to it for awhile…risk is coming home to roost.

These things happen from time to time, and if you believe holy scrolls, you might have known a woman was involved…read it closely! (Sorry, girls, but you can find some damaging information in that Book that applies to men, too!) My wife pointed out to me the other day in the NY Times an item of interest: On page 2 there was an article about how one-third of the population in India lives on $1.00 per day…and next to that article was a Bergdorf advertisement of ladies’ handbags: cost, $1,400.00. Somewhere along the recent time line things have gone array, wouldn’t you say?

Now I’m no predictor of Doom and Gloom,…hey, I’m in the real estate business, and let the good times keep rolling. But the system is broken, and panic and confusion is being sown throughout the villages and hamlets of this country by CNBC, Cramer, Fox, etc etc. Big-time bankers and lawyers, unnatural brutes, are licking their chops over the reshuffling of the card deck, and thousands of body bags are being shipped to accommodate the Horseleeches of Wall Street in anticipation of the results of this utter confusion.

It all reminds me of the movie Titanic, where only the rich women were allowed to escape in the lifeboats, and there were not enough of them to go around. Oh Yes, men dressed like women to get in these boats, and some made it…but not most. Bravery and Honor ruled the night. Men flung themselves overboard like rats leaving the sinking ship, preferring to take their chances in the water. And I think I see some folks lining up on East Beach now, waiting for the high tide!

Back in my Frat days at UGA, many youthful gamblers who thought they had a “system,” preferred card games of chance to classes. They sat in dark, smoky rooms and played cards all day, all night, and near dawn you could hear the frantic screams of the losers of the night: “Hurry up, hurry up, Deal the cards, Deal the cards…” The winners just had another beer, lit up another smoke and told jokes. I can see it coming, friends…

But hey, I could be wrong. The Titanic did sink, and the cost of purses has gone up in price….and maybe our stock portfolio isn’t what it used to be. But we still live in the Greatest country in the world, and while deck reshuffling may be painful for now, it’s necessary and remedial.


Bud
August 16. 2007

"Number Our Days..."

Friends: “Number Our Days….”

I just got back from the heated cesspool of the largest city in Georgia…you know the place…and just in time, too, since the temperature up there is projected to be 100 degrees today. It’s a special place for me to go and exercise my mining permit…digging for mammon…though some would call it filthy lucre, but since I’m an Environmentalist it still looks green to me. I get somewhat spiritual when I’m up there, since I’m always thankful for being able to get back here on the coast where it’s friendly to life…and Biblical references come poring out of my mind. Two came forth today, the first probably prompted by the searing heat of Dog Days:

“For all flesh is like grass, and all the glory of man like the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and its flower falleth away…etc.” 1 Peter 1:24

There seems to be a lot of grass that’s withering and flowers falling away in this heat and drought, especially if you use these terms metaphorically…whole subdivisions being foreclosed, condo projects lacking financing, bank loans being called in droves…developers forgot that what goes up, comes down faster!

And the other:

“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”
Psalms 90:24

I particularly like this one, since it reminds me that every day counts, more to some than to others…and in the 45 minutes it took to get back down here, I had time to calculate some things. Consider this: My dad died in his 27,542nd day, and I have his genes. Since I’m better looking than he was, I may live longer, but not making that assumption, I will have 27,542 days, too. Now I have already lived 23,883 days. That alone causes me to shutter, thinking of what fabulous opportunities that have crossed my path, the great blessings of family, health and friends (yes, I do have a few left, thank you !) and the dreams I still have that continue to energize me…but shocking to see really how little I have really achieved having had these benefits.

Of course the real shocker is this: Based on my above assumption, I have only 3,659 days remaining to get it all done (whatever that might be, and to start with figure out just who or what I want to be!)…no wonder I seem stressed out to you! Go further: What remains is about 10.02 years, some 120 months, a little over 552 weeks, 87,816 hours, 5,268,960 minutes and finally, 316,137,600 seconds…the math may be a little off, but the concept is stark!…

So, what better advice can I give you than these two great Scripture verses…do the math on yourself, and if you don’t get focused, your blood is on your own hands!


Bud
August 9, 2007

Lookin' for Relief....A Fable

Lookin’ for Relief….A Fable

It was bound to happen sooner or later…it always does…The Heat Wave. And this summer it came with a vengeance. The sun poured out its bowl of wrath upon the earth, scorching its residents with a searing heat, and people prayed and pledged their very souls lookin’ for relief…and there was precious little to be found.

The heat scorched the red clay of Georgia, and forest fires erupted at will by spontaneous combustion, igniting great swaths of nature, raining huge plumes of smoke and ash skyward, reminiscent of Sodom’s demise…mobile homes melted in its relentless march to the sea. People packed their pickups, screaming and fleeing the fire’s path in a wild chaos, and from the piney woods, like dust-bowl drifters, the people came, packing the motels and bars of South Georgia…The Horror, the Horror. It was a scene right out of General Sherman’s playbook!

We coastal residents were not spared the scorching sun, and the beach offered little relief. The sea boiled like a caldron, and our skin peeled in great sheets, blackened by the sun and fried crispy like Waffle House bacon. Ash fell from the sky with a sooty smell and contaminated lungs with sickening and poisonous air. No sir, relief was nowhere in sight in these days.

But these things happen, and something had to be done. We scraped up all of the loose coins around the house and headed for Aspen, Colorado. I can’t say that our friends were overjoyed to see us, but they understood our plight. At 8,000 feet mean sea level, the air is thin and cool, and we certainly were “above it all” out here, and it felt good. The Aspen Music Festival was in full swing, and I must admit it was fun pretending to understand Nicholas Maw’s discordant cacophonous concertos while sipping champagne and munching on tea cookies and appearing intellectual. And Carmen, the Italian Opera, was a real hit even without subtitles…romantic operas have a language of their own! But hey, we were having relief and real good company.

The island is full of ingenious folks and fools, and my friend George hoped to find relief in another way…on his wind-surfer. Only there was one problem: he had not mastered the technique of being able to return to the shore. So, he and his grandson headed to Cape Canaveral to get the hang of the sport. But things turned nasty that day, and he knew he had lost all control when the wind got up. Unable to turn the sail, fear gripped him like a vise as the surfboard literally flew uncontrollably towards the Southeast, and Cuba in particular. Huge waves and black fins appeared and all efforts of rescue were hopeless; and at dusk he was last seen as a speck on the horizon, waving wildly and screaming obscenities to the heavens.

But in Aspen we were busy with other things, like beer and tamales at the Woody Creek Tavern, a local hangout of some renown. Later that evening in a back-street coffee shop, and intoxicated by caffeine, the night disappeared in a blur of open-mike poetry readings hosted by a left-over beatnik in a blue beret. The crowd grew restless, and at times I noted the thick air of anarchy circulating the smoky room during some of the readings; but after the kid with an Aryan Nation haircut and Charles Manson eyes did his thing, I was unnerved, and it was a real relief to leave that joint.

Now, back to George: He got lucky, and some days later he was picked up by a gun boat near The Bay of Pigs, stripped naked and thrown into a wire cage like a common dog and interrogated night and day until he confessed to something—“to what” he won’t say. Somehow he escaped the beatings, and after days at sea, he washed up in the mosquito-infested swamps of South Florida like a piece of water-logged driftwood, delusional, crazed by thirst and scorched by the sun….all this in search of some relief from heat!

Weeks later he resurfaced on the island, and I offered up that he might want to limit his intake of Scotch prior to windsurfing, to which he only replied, “Never, Never!” Being curious, I had to ask, “How did you get back home?” He would only answer, “That’s a long story, but lets just say it involved martial arts and a Harley.” I sensed I’d hit a nerve, so I let it drop for another time, but I do have to admit the wild-eyed passion of his story made our trip to Aspen seem boring and dull…and it was a relief to see him alive again!

Things usually work out in life, and in this case everyone got back to the island, changed but stronger for the experiences, and finding relief in the old familiar places. There’s probably a moral in all this search for relief, but I’ll leave it to you to figure out. As for me, however, it seems that some of us are never satisfied for very long anywhere or with anything, and our envelop was made for pushing to the limit. Yet, as I sink into the comfort of my own bed, it leads me to conclude that relief is just not that hard to find.

Ending this article will be a relief for both of us, but let me leave you with this thought: If ever at dusk on the horizon you notice some fool waving wildly and shouting maniacally, consider it just might be George or me Lookin’ for Relief…and please send help immediately!


Bud
August 8, 2007

"Above It All..."

Friends: "Above It All..."


Independence Pass, Colorado, elevation 12,007...July 31, 2007

Standing in the swag of the Continental Divide, the mind, given time, conjures up wild imaginations of what it might mean to live "above it all." This altitude plays evil tricks on the mind, giving it illusions of grandeur and wild ambitions that a more dense atmosphere at sea level dispels as unreasonable. Maybe it's the wind that whispers these voices of illusions I hear, perhaps the same voices that were heard by the plundering hoards of Genghis Khan or Alex the Great--and now heard by the robbers of corporate America plotting their own brand of thievery atop gleaming city office towers. Perhaps.

We flew out here at 38,000 feet, "above it all," and beneath us across the dull mid-west for endless miles lay interesting geometric shapes of a variety of colors of greens, browns and grays. Above it all, the scene repeated itself and seemed like a fairyland of monopoly-sized towns and doll-like houses, occupied by hearty and industrious Americans. For whatever reasons, these people seem to prefer nature's vicissitudes, endless chores and the insipid sameness of life at ground level. As Charles Kurwalt once remarked, "There's a story at each point of light below." It's our story, too, at sea level.

But to be above it all, in the term's many iterations, both actual and metaphorical, we find ourselves often disconnected from the reality of life below. And we can't live above it all without some nostalgic longing to return to our lower-elevation links with its own brand of life.

I was "above it all" once in my youthful and early business career. In a high-rise office suite (at great cost, I might add!), it was exhilarating to sit and stare into the horizon of a teeming metropolis, contemplating real estate empires and ambitious exploits...as you recall, our dreams were large and vivid then in youth, and as I later discovered, foolish to consider at ethereal altitudes above it all .

Fortunately age, altitude and daily details succeeded in keeping most of us from being crazed by the hubris that sometimes accompanies being above it all. And I, for one, find I now enjoy the experiences of grappling with lawyers and thugs in the real world...like that proverbial rock-in-the-running-shoe, you know you are alive!

As we descended from above it all, our ears popping, speeding through verdant meadows and valleys, we left that beautiful but hostile altitude with a sense of relief, knowing that we'd soon be back among our own life-as-usual at lower altitudes. Down here at sea level our illusions of grandeur of life have morphed into the realities of an island paradise we share, albeit with its own challenges and joys. We are truly living "above it all". I think we have a saying around these parts that pretty much sums up our deplorable sea-level condition: "Living High on the Hog!"


Bud
August 2, 2007