Cookie (Postcard #87)

Dear Readers,

I have asked The Gardener to skip one so I can try this Postcard thing. My name is Stump Valley SS Cookie ET ("Cookie" for short), and I am a Holstein heifer. In layman's terms I am a female cow with black and white spots. About 90 of the dairy cows in the United States are Holsteins, but if you can't remember what we look like, just grab a Ben and Jerry's container. That's us.

I know what you are thinking: It's been several months since the last Postcard. What have you been doing? Cut me some slack here. Do you have any idea how hard it is to type with split hooves? And don't even get me started on touch screens.

Anyway, I met D 1 and The Gardener at the Delaware Valley College Cattle Auction this past March. It was a cold, miserable, rainy weekend, but the cows had a nice warm barn. I made the trip from Stump Valley Farms (from which I take my full name) and took my place in between two other yearlings.

After a while, people started walking through - mostly men. If I could read at the time, I would have noticed that a lot of them were wearing John Deere hats. I was tied up facing toward the wall, so most people that looked at me were staring at... well, let's dispense with the subtleties, they were examining my rear end. I know what you are thinking: "It's such a meat market." But you are mistaken. The meat market is the local Hooters restaurant. This is a dairy market, thank you very much. And incidentally, we don't go to Hooters. We go to Udders. If you have never seen cows on roller skates serving beer, it's quite a sight.

Anyway, back to the pre-auction. While standing there ruminating (chewing my cud), I started to hear comments like, "Looks like she will calve well.", or "The hooks and the pins seem about the right height." Do you mind?! Of course it was hard to tell which comments were directed at me and which were directed at my fellow heifers either side of me, but either way it's bit objectifying, don't you think?

Eventually this man and his teenage daughter came over to look at me. They were different. For one thing, the girl was telling her dad what she thought of me, rather than the reverse.  Eventually I figured it out. The man had no idea what he was doing, and the girl was the brains of the operation. She would talk, and he would write stuff down. A lot of times he would ask, "What does that mean?" But I figured he was there serving some purpose, and I kind of liked the girl.  So I tried to put my best hoof forward and impress them both.

The next morning they began parading us into a ring in the next barn. All the people were sitting in chairs and bleachers. There was a guy talking really fast. I couldn't quite understand what he was saying at first. He was calling out numbers and people were raising these white cards. Sometimes the people got really excited. Eventually someone else would smack a hammer on a table, a person would stand up looking very happy, and walk away with whomever was in the ring.

When it was my turn, the girl from the previous night was staring at me. The fast-talking guy started doing his thing. Eventually, the girl raised her card. Then someone else did.  Then she raised her card again. Back and forth a bunch of times, until finally the hammer sounded and she jumped up with her father. They led me to a table where he pulled out a whole lot of pieces of green paper and handed it to a man. Now I know what her father was there for: He was the keeper of the green paper. Then they led me back to the barn.

The girl introduced herself as "D1" (an odd name, I think). She kept hugging my head - not sure what that means, but she seemed to like doing it. The man said he was "The Gardener", which I thought was a particularly strange name for a farmer. I guess when a farmer gets a bunch of green paper he becomes a gardener.

Finally they put me in a trailer, and we drove to a farm I had never seen before. This was my new home.

At the new farm I met a huge 2 year old cow named Eclipse. She also belongs to D1. She was pregnant, and seemed a lot happier about it than I expected. I wondered about that. It turns out that while most Holsteins get pregnant from something called a "veterinary procedure", Eclipse had an unscheduled romp in the pasture with a Hereford Bull named Nelson. Herefords are beef cows, so I think Eclipse may be expecting a cheeseburger.

D1 and I have become friends. And I have learned that she is part of a herd as well. There is a D2, a D3 and a D4. I think their farmer (The Gardener) needs to come up with more original names - just saying…

In early summer, Dl picked out a bull for me - his name is "Canyon Breeze AT Airlift". I had the "procedure" - suffice to say that Eclipse had way more fun making the cheeseburger. But the procedure appears to have been successful and I'm hoping for a baby girl next spring.

* * *

The Gardener will return for the next Postcard. In the meantime, remember the Holstein motto from my bovine sisters who work in advertising at that fast food place: EAT MOR CHIKIN! 

A Holiday Mystery Revealed (Postcard #86)

This Postcard was co-written by The Gardener and D3 (mostly the latter).

 

* * *

 

Growing up in a Jewish household, my experience at this time of year was a bit different from most of my friends.  For one week my brother, sister and I would show up to school completely bread-free:  matzo sandwiches, matzo cookies or macaroons, colored sugar fruit slices for a treat, etc.

 

Then I met The Queen, who is Presbyterian and also half Greek, and discovered that the spring religious season is not complete without garlic-roasted lamb and potatoes and red-dyed eggs.  As much as I enjoy Passover (which may be my favorite holiday of the year), the lamb and potatoes are unparalleled as a feast.

 

Between the two families, D1, D2, D3 and D4 have pretty much had the full range of cultural experiences, which is helpful because there are still some traditions I don’t fully understand.  For example…

 

* * *

 

On the Thursday before Easter I was picking up a few items at the supermarket, and noticed a shelf full of Peeps bunnies.  For those who may not know the name, Peeps are those brightly colored marshmallow animals. Since marshmallows eventually go stale and there appeared to be far more on the shelf than seemed likely to move by Easter Sunday, only three days hence, I texted D3 and asked “What do you suppose happens to all the peeps bunnies after Easter?” 

 

About four hours later, the following reply text from D3 popped up on my iPhone:
 
Well…                                           

A week after Easter at quarter past five,                                          
Every marshmallow bunny at once comes alive.                                        
They hop off the shelves and move down market aisles,                     
Winking at dolls and receiving grand smiles.

 

They waddle out doors and parade through the street,             
Thankful that they were not chosen to eat.                                      
But the poor things don't know- they'd be better off dead.      
These sugary creatures don't know what's ahead.

 

They dutifully follow their sickly sweet friends.                         
Until they approach what will soon be the end.                             
They come to the edge of the specified place.                         
And at once the sounds cease from each colorful face.

 

They hear a loud rumble rise out of the ground.                                
A crack opens up and their hearts start to pound.                      
(They don't have the truth- just the rumors they keep                 
'Cause nobody lives on to tell- not a peep).

 

A giant black cauldron floats up to the crack.                                 
And swallows the peeps- then it gently floats back                       
As if nothing had happened. The street's again bare.                    
Not a trace left behind- not even a hare.

 

But under the street the machines are at work-                                        
They're bubbling, brewing, they toot, twist and jerk.                  
The sugar is melted, re-colored and poured.                                    
Into bunny shaped molds- and then it is stored.

 

Until 10 months later, 6 days and a night                                         
The end of the tunnel has come- there is light!                           
The boxes are lifted and shipped to the store                              
Where the recycled candies are welcomed once more

 

By the dollies who saw as the last batch walked by,                          
But they'll never tell the new treats- and here's why:            
How would you feel- I mean wouldn't you hate                         
A man who would lead you to that kind of fate?

 

You'd think it a horrible end- you’d not go.                         
Because we can't see that big picture, you know?                    
It's just like the story the Bible relays.                                   
Jesus was killed- but then rose in three days!

 

Some things might just seem to suck at the time,                              
But trust that God has the big picture in mind.                          
So I hope that this answers the question you had.                     
(for once, it feels good to know more than my dad).

 

And know this: if another strange query appears,                         
Just ask; like those sugary treats, I'm all ears.

 

* * *

 

Happy Easter, Passover, Greek Easter, or whatever you might celebrate at this time of year!

Milestones (Postcard #85)

Not long ago I turned 50.  Thanks to my parents’ decision to push me ahead one year in school at age 4, all of my college and high school classmates preceded me to the half-century mark.  So I was kind of used to the idea when it became my turn.

Then again, I am now older than every player in the four American major league sports who has played in my lifetime.  How about the English Premier League?  I’m 10 years older than Ryan Giggs (Manchester United), who is considered ancient.  If I can improve my golf game slightly - about 35 strokes should do it - I will qualify for the PGA Senior Tour – or not.  Hmm…  looks like I may need a new set of comparisons.  Well, Tom Coughlin, coach of the New York Giants Football Team is nearing 70.  Pete Carroll, who just coached the Seattle Seahawks to their first Superbowl win, is past 60.  Arnold Palmer is 84.  Works for me!

One thing I discovered about reaching 50 is that it gives friends a whole new set of ideas for gifts.  A couple with whom The Queen and I have been friends for a long time were especially creative.  At my surprise birthday party (perfectly planned and executed by The Queen), this couple presented me with a large, very colorful bag filled with items including:

• Under-eye firming serum
• A magnifying glass (so that The Queen can see if the under-eye firming serum is working)
• Spectrovites™  “For men over 50”
• A weekly pill organizer, presumably intended to remember to take the Spectrovites.
• Gold Bond Powder
• Fixodent
• Natural Fiber Powder - 100% Psyllium – the economy-sized package for which boasts of a “smooth orange taste”.  I’m not sure what a psyllium is (perhaps it’s where crazy people over 50 live?), but whatever it might be, it is unlikely that it has anything to do with oranges.
• Adult Diapers – I think if I avoid the orange psyllium powder these will be unnecessary.
• Preparation H – Is there a pattern here?
• Bengay “Vanishing Sent” (I remember that stuff from my high school wrestling days, and the only thing that vanishes is the people around anyone who uses Bengay).
• Compression Socks – these are actually useful at any age.  I have seen kids wearing them in road races.

* * *

Then there is D1.  During a recent family dinner, she observed, “Hey Dad, did you know that you were born before the Civil Rights Act of 1965?”  I guess we know what she has been studying in her US History class.  OK, where are we going with this?  She continued,  “That’s cool.  It makes it not seem quite such ancient history.”  Gee, thanks.  I feel so much better now.

In an interesting coincidence, my house was built in 1964, just like me.  In just the 17 years we have lived here we have replaced the roof, the furnace, the basement, the driveway, the front walk, the bathroom, two hot water heaters and three dishwashers.  And what does a house do?  It just sits here all day, every day.  Maybe the Preparation H was for the house!  Did I say that out loud?  OK, now the Queen is looking at me strangely.

 

* * *

The flip side of all this is that seeing the kids turning into real people is the payoff for adding up the years.  At the aforementioned party, D1-D4, their cousins, and several of their friends (all of whom are fairly close in age) had commandeered the iPod and the sound system, and displaced whatever had been playing with more recent releases.  The scene looked like a sorority party, and it reminded me of a line in the 1980’s song “And We Danced” by The Hooters: She could dance all night and shake the paint off the wall.  I could see several candidates that fit the lyrics perfectly. 

* * *

So maybe 50 is not such a big deal.  On the other hand, in less than 7 months D1, D2 and D3 will be old enough to vote.  Wow, a whole constituency at once - now that will be a big deal!  Onward we go in The Garden…

The Pit Crew (Postcard #84)

I am working late one night at the office when I receive a call from The Queen, who is waiting to take D3 home from soccer practice.

Queen: "There is a hissing sound coming from the car."

Gardener: "Can you isolate the sound? Is it coming from the hood? A tire?"
Queen: "It's not obvious, and none of the tires look flat."
Gardener: "I suppose it's possible the hissing could be coming from the car next to you, but how about you drive home, and we'll see what things sound like there."

Upon arriving home it still isn't obvious what is wrong until I put my ear very close to the left rear tire (note for beginners – this is a diagnostic step that should be performed when the car is not moving). I hear a hiss coming from the tread, and upon closer inspection I see a piece of metal embedded in the tire. OK, found the problem. Too late to get to a service station, plus it’s getting dark. There is never a convenient time to change a tire, but at least we are in our own driveway.

Gardener (calling into the house): "Could you please figure out which child has the least homework and convince her to come help me?"

The kids have been up late studying the past few nights, so I am expecting an argument over who gets stuck helping to change a tire. Sure enough, an argument ensues, but to my surprise, D2 and D3 emerge simultaneously, each trying to convince The Queen that they should be the one to help.

What's this? Teenagers vying to perform manual labor? Hurry, check the sky for pigs flying or a blue moon. Has a certain extremely hot place frozen over? Have the New York Mets won the National League Pennant?  No on all counts, and of course the last one really is impossible. Nevertheless, what am I missing here?

Well, it seems that the kids' calculus teacher recently instructed them to learn how to change a tire because he wants them to develop life skills along with the intellectual skills. So naturally D2 and D3 can’t wait to be the first to tell him they have indeed changed a tire.  D1 must really be buried with homework tonight or she would probably be out here as well.

Of course this brings out the teacher/coach in me, and I immediately decide that the kids will do as much of the job as possible, and I will simply ask questions, ensure safety, and make certain suggestions to keep it from taking all night.

Gardener: "OK, let’s get started.  Where is the spare?"

D2: "Under the car"(true for a 1997 Dodge Grand Caravan, our previous car, but not our current 2011 Honda Odyssey).
D3 (looking): "I don't see it. Maybe we need to lift the back of the car first."
D2: "OK, we need the jack. Where is the jack?"
Gardener: "Maybe the jack is with the tire."
D3 (looking back under the car): "How stupid is that? Why put the jack with the tire if you have to lift the car to get at it?
Gardener: "What does that tell you?"
D2: "That we should be looking somewhere else?"
Gardener: "Good thinking."

A few minutes later, still no luck. As it is a school night, I need to speed things up a little.

Gardener: "Maybe you should look in the glove compartment."

D2: "Who would put a spare tire in the glove compartment?"
Gardener: "Any of you seen National Treasure?"
D3: “I love that movie! Oh wait, I get it. It's a clue!”

D2 opens the little door, starts sifting through registration, insurance, warranty...instruction manual. Aha!!!!!

D2 (finding the tire changing section): "Which one is the second row? We need to lift the carpet in the second row of seats."

D3: "Got it. Wow, what is all this stuff?"
D2 (holding up lug wrench): "What's this for?"
D3: "Removing the hub cap."
D2: "Ok, let's do that. Hey, where are the hub caps? Dad, we can't find the hub caps."
Gardener: These are alloy wheels. No hub caps. You get to skip that step.
D3: "Then I guess this isn't a hub cap remover, is it?"
Gardener: "How about you just follow the instructions."
D2: "Let's jack up the car."
Gardener: "How about you just follow the instructions."
D3: "It says loosen the lug nuts first. Why?"
Gardener: "Try it."
D3: "Hey, which tire has the problem? None of them look flat."
Gardener: "We'll, perhaps we should solve that problem first."

The kids scurry around the car, bending down and listening carefully. They find the hissing tire, retrieve the wrench, and try to remove the lug nuts.

D3 (straining mightily to turn the wrench clockwise): "It won't budge! Am I turning the wrong way?"

Gardener: "Have you heard the saying 'lefty loosey righty tighty'?"
D3: "Right, let's try it the other way. Still won't budge. What am I doing wrong here?"

I suspect the kids are no match for the pneumatic lug wrench that was obviously used to mount the tire at the factory. I step forward to help. Wow, those are on tight! Grunt, silent expletive, then - Ok, finally got it. Same thing for the other four. Now time for the important lesson.

Gardener: "OK, that was tougher than it should have been. But what do you think about trying all of this with the car balanced on the jack?"

D2: "Ooh, good point. Loosen the nuts first, then jack up the car. Let's do it."

Fifteen minutes of trial and error and a few safety tips later, the kids have the rear corner of the car raised high enough that the tire is off the ground. They remove the lug nuts, slide the wheel off, and grab the donut (the car does not have a full size spare). Several more minutes of trying...

D2: "The spare won't go on. Are you sure the holes are the same?"

Gardener: "Yes the holes are the same."

More fruitless attempts, more time goes by.  Perhaps I should be in a lawn chair sipping a beer.

D3: "We give up. What are we not getting here?"

Gardener: "Ok, if you are having trouble getting the wheel on and you are NOT working with your back to traffic, sit on the ground in front of where the wheel is supposed to go. Now balance the tire between your feet and hands and look through the lug holes."
D3: "I get it! I can see where they go now! This is so cool. Now let's put on the lug nuts.
Gardener: "Go in a star pattern, but don't tighten all the way."
D2: "I know. We don't want to knock the car off the jack."
Gardener: "Exactly"
D2 and D3 (fist bump): "We own the material!"

Finally the new tire is on, the car is down, and the kids start to head in.

Gardener: "Where are you going?"

D2: "We're done."
Gardener: "And the driveway looks like your bedroom. All this stuff needs to go away."
D3 (sheepishly): "Oh yeah."

The kids find all the various parts, which is not so easy in the dark. I verify that nothing is missing. Then we put the flat tire in the back of the car.

Gardener: "Now you are done."

D3: "Can't wait to tell our teacher tomorrow."
Gardener: "We'll it's almost tomorrow now, so let's get inside. I don't think a flat tire will be a valid excuse for falling asleep in class."

The total elapsed time for this experience has been 90 minutes, which is about 89 minutes and 50 seconds slower than a NASCAR pit crew, but way more fun.

Midterm Priorities

The kids have midterms this week.  This morning I discovered D2, not studying the last few details for today's test, but instead meticulously operating her hair straightening iron.  I asked her, "What if all the brains are in your curls?" Her immediate response, "Then I'm making it fair for the other kids to compete."

Claire Schneider's Guide to a More Fulfilling Life (Postcard #83)

Dear Readers,

Most of my Postcards are related in some way to the 5 women with whom I share my life.  However, for this special holiday Postcard, I would like to share a gift from a most unusual woman - my grandmother, Claire Schneider, who passed away this fall at age 97 – and to fulfill a promise I made to her.

* * *

Claire Schneider was born Lucia Chaya Manulkin on June 1, 1916. World War I was raging across Europe, and in a mere 16 months Russia would depose the Czar and plunge into 70+ years of communist rule. This was a very difficult time to be a Jewish family in Russia (or more specifically, Ukraine). Violent incursions into the Jewish community, called pogroms, were a regular occurrence. When Claire was 3, the family decided enough was enough.  They began a journey that took them through Poland, Belgium, and eventually culminated in their arrival at Ellis Island in 1922. Many of the details of the journey have been lost or forgotten, but two in particular underscore the difficulty and danger faced by this young family.

On at least one occasion, they were transported across a border in a hay wagon, with Claire hiding under the hay. It was apparently common practice in this particular place that the border guards would spot-check wagons by plunging their swords into the hay to see if they came out bloodstained.

It was also years later that my grandmother learned that the "candy" that her father (a dentist) kept her supplied with during those times when they were in hiding was actually a sedative.  It was designed to keep her asleep so as not to betray their existence to authorities.

Upon arriving in New York, little Lucia, whose Hebrew name Chaya had been used as her first name for immigration, became first Clara, and finally Claire. With nothing but a few possessions and the help of a relative who was already in Brooklyn, my grandmother and her parents received a fresh start in life in the midst of the "Roaring 20's".

By any account, Claire led an incredibly full life: mother of two, grandmother of five, married for over 30 years until becoming a widow at age 53, substitute teacher in New York City for 50+ years, fluent in at least five languages, acclaimed poet, jewelry designer, entrepreneur.  She genuinely loved people, and they loved her in return.

* * *

One day in 2012, I paid my grandmother a visit at the assisted living center in New Jersey where she was residing.  We spent a fair amount of time looking at pictures of the girls, which she always enjoyed.  When we were finished, she turned to me and got very serious. "Donald," she said, "I am going to be 96 soon. I do not know how much time I have left.  Please tell me, how can I make the world a better place?"

I was stumped.  What more could she do at such an advanced age? Sure, she could still get around quite well with the aid of her wheeled walker, but she could no longer leave the facility without a great deal of difficulty. She had no Internet, no email. I thought for a minute.

Finally I had an idea. "Grandma," I said, "how about you share with me some of the things you have learned from your 95+ years to date?"

She agreed to do this.  We spoke for about 40 minutes more, and when we were done, what I had was a list of her guiding principles. She asked how what we had done could make the world a better place. I said, "Grandma, I'll tell you what I can do. Every month I write a newsletter which gets emailed to several hundred people all over the world. When the time is right, I will share what you have told me, and we’ll see where it goes from there."  She seemed satisfied with the arrangement.

And so, a parting gift from an amazing woman to all of us - Claire Schneider's dozen recommendations for leading a happier, more fulfilling life:

• Never be vindictive.
• Never take glory in your opponent's misfortune, because it could happen to you next.
• Make a person unexpectedly happy.
• Devote a certain period of time at the end of each day to think of the happiest thing that happened that day, and write it down in a notebook. At the end of the week, designate the best item from that week. Then repeat the end of the month, and again at the end of the year. In reviewing what made you happy, you will discover things about yourself that you did not know.
• Never keep a bad mood more than one hour, nor a grudge more than 24 hours.
• When you have achieved something great, the first person to share it with is yourself.
• If you make someone happy, give yourself a star. Too many people think they are too good to make others happy.
• Thank God that you have been blessed with the ability to be aware of positive things.
• If someone does not appear to have any good qualities, if you can help them get even one, it can change their life.
• If someone asks you for help, take it as a great compliment that they chose you.
• There is nothing worse than someone who does not care.
• My greatest accomplishments have been helping others to think better of themselves.

May you find peace this holiday season, and have a happy and prosperous New Year.

The Gardener

Youthful Ignorance

Early in my career when we would have project meetings and we all knew exactly what we were doing (yeah, right), there would always be one experienced senior manager or executive who would ask a question that would make everyone realize we still had a lot of work to do.  This was the guy who protected us from our youthful ignorance.  Sitting in a meeting this morning I realized I have become that guy!