Ace Wisdom

My lovely wife used the term “ka-ching” the other day. I hadn’t heard that phrase in a long time. It represents the sound of a cash register as it rings up the money you owe.
It is the sound you hear when you go to the grocery store to get some pickles and you come home with two bags of groceries. Ka-ching! You just blew your budget.
You go to buy a skateboard for your favorite grandson and the better board costs “just a little bit more”. Ka-ching.
Your car is getting serviced and they tell you the brake pads are shot. Ka-ching!
You go to a restaurant with the 5 Grasshoppers and you tell them to pick something modest off the menu. Chris orders steak. Ka-ching!
You buy a new microwave and they offer you a 5-year warranty for $20. You take it! Ka-ching! By the way, never take the insurance programs offered by retail outlets especially on items costing several hundred dollars.
You decide to have a simple wedding with just a few guests. Suddenly the total soars because you don’t want to leave anybody out. Ka-ching!
You rescue a kitten from the Humane Society and then you buy a portable animal carrier, kitty litter and special animal dishes. And then there are the toys. And there are special vitamins. A collar. We need a special collar. Shots! We need to make sure they get the shots. Did I mention neutering. Ka-ching. Ka-ching. Ka-ching. All the photographs are free. Bottom line? Who cares, he is cute!
Which brings me to the event that triggered this rant. We needed mulch put around the house. One solution was Collin and myself working side by side to spread mulch around. I know how that goes. Collin goes to soccer practice and Chuck spreads mulch alone becaise it is clogging the driveway. We needed 19 yards of mulch. That is a full dump truck of mulch. So we hired a couple guys to bring it in and spread it. While they were working, they invited me out to look at some things that they had found. You know, “this bush is dead” and it should come out. Being the quick decision maker that I am, my response is “yah, go ahead”. Ka-Ching! When the bill came it was higher than they quoted and I had apoplexy. When I mentioned it my bride, she said the work crew had asked her also about moving some bushes and small trees and she said “go ahead”. Ka-Ching! Ka-Ching! Ka-Ching!
So my message Grasshoppers is lookout for the Ka-ching Factor. It will grab you when you least expect and it can be avoided. It is a sneaky phenomenon.
Love,
Dad

Andy Warhol, a painterand photographer believed that everyone will enjoy 15 minutes of fame in their lifetime. It is a nice thought but most people will live out a life of quiet existance with little or no recognition.
My solution is an “imaginary applause machine”. Because most people never get the 15 minutes of fame they deserve, I can lend you a machine that will applaud your effort whenever you do something special. You can enjoy the applause for as long as you like (more that 15 minutes if you like). My only requirement is that you return the applause machine when you are through.
When Debs and Tom walk down the aisle, my applause will be on. For both, it is a new beginning and special. Let the applause ring out!
When Dano starts her new nursing career, she gets my applause. Go for it girl.
When Nevin walks across the stage to receive his high school diploma, he gets to use the imaginary applause machine.
When Addie witnesses Valerie receive her Law Degree next week, a very special applause. In fact I have two machines and Valerie gets to use one for the long hard road traveled to get her degree and Addie gets the second applause machine for the unwavering support only a mother knows.
Grant Hollander gets the applause for riding his bike (for the first time) from home to school in a system of roads that is rather complex. He felt good about it and it deserves applause.
Margaret gets applause for taking the chance to change jobs (again). Taking risks in life is ongoing. With Margaret I’m probably going to have to pry my applause machine from her grasp (just kidding).
You get the idea. Almost everybody does things in their life everyday that deserve applause. Most things are never recognized by others. But it doesn’t make any difference. You can always use my “imaginary applause machine” and enjoy the special things that you have done. All you need to do is feel you need recognition. You don’t even have to ask me to use the machine. Just wish borrow it. And you know what, if you want you own imaginary applause machine, you can build it into your mind. How about that? Then you could turn it on everyday when you do something special.
This weekend my imaginary applause machine will be given to my wife. Five beautiful children and an exemplary mom! She never stops being a mom. It is part of her soul! I love her for it. Happy Mothers Day!
Love,
Chuck

In the mid 1950’s, my dad was General Manager of The Plymouth Foundry. His role as accountant and CPA had evolved into more responsibility. The ower of the Foundry, Rich Goldberg was from Saukville, Wisconsin and had family money to invest. He bought a 200 acre farm south of Cascade and put Bucky in charge (in addition to the Foundry).
The farm had an old farm house that was slowly remodeled so that guests could stay overnight. Remodeling seemed to take forever.
Ponds were dredged into the landscape near a stream and stocked with rainbow trout. The idea was to entertain customers by letting them fish from the ponds.
A couple of horses were purchased for Goldberg and his family.
Prized white faced cattle were purchased to generate some income along wtih chickens for egg production. Some land was leased for production of corn, hay and wheat.
You guessed it! My brother Jack and primarily myself got roped into going out to the farm to help with farm duties. For several years there was little doubt on what we did in our spare time. We’d ride out to the farm to feed the trout, collect the eggs, feed the horses and tend the cattle. In the summer, we helped harvest hay and filled silo’s with silage. You have to think about this arrangement. Goldberg buys a hobby farm, my dad assumes management and Jack and I do all the work. What the hell?
Actually there were lots of good moments. Learning the trout business was interesting and we got to fish. We did get to ride the horses. I was never interested in hunting, but the farm was stocked with pheasants and Bucky and Alice’s brother Jerry would go bow and arrow hunting. My hunting memory was “Big Jerry” stalking a pheasant in a corn field and flushing it out. As the pheasant took flight, Jerry took a shot with a arrow and put it right into the middle of the bird. It was an impossible shot and Jerry probably never did it again. The bird flapped and flopped around for several minutes until he was dead. We had pheasant for supper. By the way, there isn’t a lot of meat on a pheasant.
So what did Goldberg do? He bought another 300 arcres adjacent to the first farm to raise more cattle. Heck, running a farm was easy.
Chuck and Jack never got paid. Once I got my drivers license, my dad didn’t even go out to the farm. He just sent his slave labor, Chuck and Jack.
Bucky died in 1957 about the time the farms were really getting developed. I don’t know if the Goldberg family held on to the farms or not.
I will say that the Cascade farms were an interesting experience. It was an extravagant hobby for the Goldbergs. It was work for the Andrews with a few benefits thrown in. It also kept me away from my girl friend. Who do you think that was?
By the time I was 17, I knew quite a bit about the Foundry business, the tavern business and hobby farms. I am sure that there were many lessons in all of that that helped me in my own career.
Come to think of it, my Dad was a pretty smart guy!
Love,
Dad

It is that time of year when “May Flies” begin to propogate the Lake Winnebago area. These are ugly flies (they are not small) that you don’t want to crush because the leave great big gobs of greasy green staining guts. There are times when so many land on a screen that they can actually block the sun from coming in a window. The May Fly phenomenon lasts for a week or two and then it is over till next year.
Here is the real story! May Flies live 24 hours and then they die. Imagine being a May fly. You get up in the morning, have breakfast, go to school, have some fun, fall asleep and die. It is a human’s life in a microcosm form. So as a May Fly, your life is short and you never have a chance to accomplish much. A human being lives 30,000 times longer than a May Fly. A May Fly life is pretty insignificant.
Shakespear has a quote in one of his plays that “life is but a fleeting second in eternity”. The idea is that your life in the perspective of all eternity is also pretty insignificant. In fact your life is so short in relation to forever that a blink of an eye is a generous discription. Our feeble human minds can not comprehend the concept of forever. As Margaret might say, it is a fricking long time.
When a minister says “do you take this person to have and to hold forever” there is no comprehension of what that means. Forever is so long that it can not be understood.
So when Deb and Tom say “I do”, they are doing so in the context of forever and don’t know what they are doing. All the other people in the world that have married didn’t know what they were doing either. Wait a minute, I got married?
It is now 15 days and counting.
Love,
Dad

18 days until Deb and Tom vow to be together forever. Forever and ever and ever. Boy, that seems like a long time!
Sometimes you get lessons about money in unexpected ways. When I was 12-13 years old, I was always around the tavern. A man named Jim Ryan supplied orthaphonic machines to the City Club on a shared revenue basis. Jim owned the machines. He would place them in a conspicuous location in the tavern, load popular songs in record form on the machine and then people could play music as they drank their problems away. It cost a dime to play one tune and 3 for a quarter. Jim Ryan would come around once a week and empty the coins from the machine. Myrna and I would help count the coins and put them in paper wrapper rolls. After the total was tallied up, Jim Ryan got his fee for supplying machines. Myrna got the remainder of the revenue. Imagine a little kid being able to count up all that money!
Jim Ryan would take me along on his route to other taverns in Sheboygan County where he had the same arrangement with other tavern owners. He enjoyed my company. Imagine that! He liked me. Besides I could help him if he was installing or removing equipment. I got all the soda and potato chips I wanted.
Jim was a fun guy. He was about 5’10” tall, kind of handsome with locks of curled black hair and a distinct mustache. He looked like he had stepped off a south sea island in World War II with short sleeved shirts and bulging muscles. He could also be a “no non-sense” kind of a guy.
I remember going to Cascade to a tavern on the main highway through town. On this occasion, my buddy John Zelm came along. John may have been one of the most uncouth characters in my childhood. Jim Ryan had emptied the coins from the orthaphonic equipment and placed it on a table. He and the owner were counting it. John and I wandered over to the table and apparently behaved very obnoxiously. Jim Ryan took both John and I over to some bar stools, made sure we had something to drink and ordered us to stay at the bar. Jim finished splitting the money from the machine and we left the tavern.
And then Jim Ryan unloaded! He grabbed the arms of both John and I and looked at us sternly. When people are conducting personal business transactions such as counting money, that should be respected. He considered the antics of John and I disrespectful and it would never happen again. His tone and his look said it all. Fun is fun. Business is business. Then we went on to the next tavern and you can bet that we did not impose on the business dealings of Jim Ryan. Even my buddy John got the message.
I never forgot that. Jim was right. When people are conducting personal business it is private and to be respected. If I see people transacting financial affairs, I will walk away from the situation. There are details and facts that are none of my business. The corollary to my respecting other people’s business is that they respect mine. If I have a personal dealing taking place, I expect other people to respect my privacy.
The lesson Grasshoppers is to always respect business dealings of other people and you should demand the same thing. It is common sense folks!
Love,
Dad

22 days and counting. That is the number of days until Debs and Tom stand before the Judge (sorry Minister) and repeat their vows. This is the most serious of all ceremonies because if anyone objects they are asked to “speak up now or forever hold your peace”. Forever is a long time. Scary.
Your mom and I have talked about taking an ocean cruise for a long time but neither of us is too anxious to get sequestered on a big ship for very long. The stories of virus outbreaks aboard ship are numerous. Also boats sink. And mom can’t swim!
Well I had a dream last night about going on a cruise. We succumbed to the enchantment of taking a maiden voyage on a new ship of the White Star Line. The dream had us going first class and we had quarters on the promenade deck. That meant we dined with the Captain (at his table) each night.
It was glorious. We sat in the sun, read famous novels and I oogled bodies at the pool. And we ate and ate some more. We had breakfast, a morning brunch, lunch, an afternoon snack, and an evening dinner. Then there was the bedtime snack. By the time you leave the ship your body shape has changed and your walk becomes a “waddle”. Of course in my dream, the drinks and food are incredibly scrumptious and there is no weight gain. I can do that because it is my dream.
Very vivid in my mind is the first night at sea. They have an identification card in front of each “place setting” at the Captain’s table. My card for some reason says Mr. Isidor Straus. Maybe that was my name in another life.
Then my dream becomes disturbing. Your mom and I are awakened from a deep sleep by a “shutter” in the ship. It is followed by a crewman telling us to report to the deck and find the nearest life boat. I assume we hit another ship. I knew it! We take our first cruise and the damn boat sinks. Double damn!
Then I awake in a cold sweat! Earlier in the day we had taken a tour of a “Titanic Artifact Exhibition” in Oshkosh at their Public Museum. You are given a replica boarding pass as you enter the exhibit and you carry that card with you until the end of the exhibit. Mine says Isidor Straus. You get to find out if your simulated character survived the Titanic ordeal. It turns out that Isidor was traveling back to New York with his wife Roselie. The Straus family owned Macy’s in New York and of course traveled first class. It turns out that Roselie would not enter a lifeboat without her husband. What a gal! They both died.
As we entered the Oshkosh exhibit, your mom was assigned a boarding pass in the assumed name of Charlotte Collyer, a woman with tuberculosis headed to Idaho and a better climate. She was traveling second class. Your mom survived.
Actually the Titanic exhibit was interesting but it did nothing to encourage me to step on to a large cruise ship. The new release of an updated version of the Poseidon Adventure doesn’t do much for my confidence. Having dinner with the Captain in an upside down ship is not appealing.
So Grasshoppers, you are controlled by your dreams and fears. Trust your instincts. Go with what feels good. For me cruise ships conjure up bad thoughts and I have no desire to “go there”. Call it a premonition.
Love,
Dad

Insanity deals with madness or something extremely foolish.
Johnny Cash has a song about a man who is going to die on the gallows in 25 minutes. The first line of the song is “they are building a gallows outside my door, 25 minutes to go”. He sings about each descending minute until he reaches 0 minutes and then of course he hangs. Well, I don’t equate the upcoming nuptials of Debs and Tom to hanging on the gallows, but there are 25 days until that commitment of “I do”. I do considered it my duty to remind both Debs and Tom how many days until that make that final exchange of vows. 25 Days and counting. I don’t know why I’ve included their upcoming marriage under the subject of insanity? Ha.
Now the real insanity. I was scheduled to play golf today, Tuesday April 25, 2006. I had all the high tech weather data in front of me so I could make an intelligent decision. Forecast was for a cold front to be passing through. We would tee off in 39 degree weather at 8:30 AM and finish around noon (temperature forecast to be 47 degrees). Wind was out of the north at 15-25 mph. I figure a rational man would call his golfing buddy and they would reschedule to another day with better temperatures. The buddy said that the weather forecast was a worst case scenerio and that we should play anyway. So the Prince of Pride (me) says, alright you a–h—, if you want to golf, we’ll golf. I will not get a reputation for whimping out (Chris call those kinds of people a wooss?).
We were to play south of Fond du lac. We were to meet first at Schrieners restaurant and ride together to the golf course. So I drove all the way to Fond du lac with every piece of warm clothing I could find. My back seat was filled with sweatshirts, jackets and hats.
Well my golf buddy shows up in the 37 degree temperatures with the northwind blowing and he says, maybe we should reschedule. Again I thought, you a–h—. You made me drive all the way from Appleton to Fond du lac and then you decide to whimp out. He didn’t have to ask the question about cancelling again. We had breakfast with hot coffee at Schrieners and then I drove home in the warm comfort of my Saab. I felt pretty good because I had won the game of “Chicken” by forcing my buddy to back-out first. Take that!
So let me see. I drove to Fond du lac and back, a total of 80 miles at a cost of $.40/mile. That was $32 dollars. Then breakfast with tip came to another $8. $40 to prove that I was more macho than my buddy. I win. I think I won. Come to think of it we both lost. What a bunch of losers.
Insanity is thinking you will enjoy playing golf in 40 degree temperatures with a strong north wind. But I have my pride. I made him chicken out.
My lesson grasshoppers is that you should be aware of tripping over your pride. It is a stupid trip.
Love,
Dad

I have mentioned “fabric of life” in previous blogs. My Grandma Myrna’s life was inextricably intertwined with the City Club. The history, the tradition and the people that made up her life comprised her life fabric. Your life too is made up of your Grandma, Grandpa, Mom and Dad, spouses, brothers, sisters, Loves, children, grandchildren, acquaintances, fellow workers, teachers, childhood friends and more. You can’t escape the entanglement of emotion, commitments and obligations. You are defined by your personal “life fabric”.
In my spare time, I got to thinking about life fabric. Some people’s lives could be described as woolen meaning a strong natural weave, warm and high quality. Other people could be cashmere which would be soft, elegant and aloof. How about life fabric being denim? Or gunny sack (gunny is a coase scratchy material)? How many people do you know that might be described as having a life analogous to gunny sack? The list is long. Silk! Polyester! Cotton!
Now you can begin to expand the fantasy. Colors. Some people have “black” fabric lives. Some with white might think they can do no wrong. Reds, blues, hues, rainbows and natural tones.
Some of life’s fabric is imperfect. It can have holes in it. It can be tattered and torn. It can be dirty or clean.
The material of your life can have buttons, zippers, and decorative sequins.
Fabric can be treated with “fabric softener” to make it artificially soft and smell good (or stink dependig on your point of view).
You can take your life analysis to the level of fairy-tales. There is the story of Rumplestiltskin who had the fair maiden spin threads of gold. Or there is the story of the Emperor Who Wore No Clothes. This would be for people who live a fantasy life (a world of their own).
How would I describe my life fabric? For sure it is weathered. It is strong to have survived this long. It is colorful based on the people that are in it (or have been in it). It is practical. It is woven with purpose. It almosts sounds like cotton or wool. I don’t know. I want it to be silk, expensive and striking. Ha.
So Grasshoppers, the lesson is that your life is woven together with the people and events of your life. The fabric of your life defines you. You can’t deny it. It is a woven maze of experiences. Wear it proudly.
The question is “How would you describe the fabric of your life”?
Love,
Dad

Imagine if I went to a high school class reunion and got elected most popular at the reunion. In all the excitement, I had a minor heart problem causing me to pass out. The next thing you know, I woke up at an earlier time. I was back in my sophomore year of high school. It was 1956. My dad was still alive. I was dating Shelby on a steady basis. Myrna was in her early years of marriage (at age 55) to the debonaire Chuck Andes (the jerk from Pennsylvania).
The important part of this exercise of going back in time is “I know everything that I have learned in life and I take that knowledge backward with me”. Would I change anything? The perfect answer is “I wouldn’t” change a thing”! I don’t want to answer too quick because this is my fantasy and I have time to wrestle with the facts.
I would minimize the love side of the world and marry for money. But wait, I could have both. The knowledge I carried back in time would provide the riches. I would beg, borrow, or steal every share of IBM, Yahoo and Microsoft stock I could get my hands on and ride them to riches. Hey, I could still marry for love and have the money too.
I could experience all the old early TV shows like The Texaco Hour with Uncle Milty, The George Gobel Show, Wells Fargo starring Dale Robertson, and Howdy Dowdy. Buffalo Bob’s famous reprise to Howdy Doody (the dummy) when he was excited was “Cowaubunga Kemosabe”. Wow, that cry would give me chills.
I could drive my old ’51 oldsmobile convertible with my best girl. I could drive my dad’s new ’56 Dodge four door with push buttom drive and aerodynamic fins. (My dad bought a Dodge? Nobody in their right mind drives a Dodge!).
I would experience the ambiance of the City Club Rooms.
I would have about a year to influence my Dad’s early demise. Could I change it? Would I change it? Of course, I’d change it if I could. He and I were constantly at “war”, but he was still a great Dad and it would be special if he had been able to see his kids grow up. Hey, with the knowlege I had, I could make him rich too! His biggest problem was he had a champagne appetite and a beer income. I could have steered him to a champagne income. I know Jack’s life would have been different. Addie and Jerry could have used a good dad in their lives.
In my real life, starting at UW-Oshkosh was good because it helped me develop self-confidence. In my fantasy return to ’56, I would already be confident and I would attend Harvard or the Pennsylvania School of Business (Wharton). What the hell? Juice up my credentials.
I could talk to my old friends. Real high school friends. Bernie Stellmacher. Charlie Gertz. Richard and Roger Shovan. Hey, Bill and Dick Mueller. Bob Becker. John Zelm. Jim Owens. And the list goes on.
Maybe I could have shaped world events. Imagine knowing the date of Kennedy being shot and maybe preventing it. Or knowing the significance and timing of the events of 9/11? Could they have been changed?
If you really want to “juice up” the return to 1956 exercise, imagine having one week to study everything that occured during your lifetime BEFORE you go back in time. You could get rich immediately with things you knew about the financial markets starting in 1956.
Then imagine waking up. It was all a dream. Everything is back to “normal”!
The real life ride for me has been rewarding. I married for love, had 5 great children, experienced a better than average career and have been pretty much accountable for all my actions. I don’t think I’d really change much. Besides, I’m tired and I don’t have the energy to go back and do it again.
My lesson Grasshopppers is you should enjoy the ride. You can fantasize all you want, but upon reflection, you probably wouldn’t change much either. The good things are all around you. Your life is evolving as you read this.
Love,
Dad

This blog touches Jenny’s occupation of making people look nice. You know! Hair color, hair perm, hair color and hair style. For Jenny, it is like having an annuity because people keep coming back to look nice.
It began with my Grandpa Chalk’s barbershop. The City Club had a barbershop next to the Mill Street entrance to the tavern. He would trim my hair “for fun” and then tease me about getting a shave. I remember him wrapping a hot towel around my face to soften up my beard (remember I was 5 years old) and I couldn’t stand the heat. I would toss the towel off and everybody would laugh. By the way, you didn’t call for an appointment, you sat in the barbershop until it was your turn, and then you got your haircut.
In the 50’s while going to high school, haircuts were simple. Mly dad said I could have a crewcut, a crewcut, or a crewcut. The theory was that it was easy to shower and no combing was required. Afterall, that is what athletes do. So I went to the local barber, paid my $1.00 and walked out with a crewcut (also called a flat-top or a zip). If you look at my wedding picture, I was still sporting a “zip”.
Then as my life began to change, I decided that engineers and business people didn’t have a “zip”. They had longer hair that was combed for a groomed look. The groomed haircut was still simple and cost between $1.00-$2.00.
My Vollrath years (70’s and early 80’s) included Ansel Tupper. He had a barbershop on Calumet in Sheboygan. He was flexible. You could ask for a longer cut or a shorter cut or anything in between. It didn’t make any difference. He always cut the same. By then the cost had climbed to $4.00-$5.00.
We moved to Appleton in the mid 80’s and I was referred to an old time barber by some of the employees at Artfaire. The “old time barber” must have cut hair in the army because when you left his shop you looked like you had been skinned. The panic was on to find someone else.
Shelby indicated that many guys frequented the shop where she went and they could get their hair styled anyway they wanted. I was persuaded to try it.
So I met Mark, my hair stylist. Whoa, whoa, whoa! My own hair stylist. He is a good conversationalist and we share common subjects like cars, boats, and philosophy of life. My haircut has changed. Now I get an appointment. Mark won’t cut my hair unless he shampoos it first. He has a tendancy to make every haircut the same even though he asks me how I’d like it styled. He does try. $23. Now if you go to a hair stylist you are suppose to tip. I give $3-$4 in tip (almost as much as I was paying originally in Sheboygan). Then to hold the styled hair in place, I should use a natural hair spray that he sells. Another $11.95. Of course for compatibility, the natural shampoo is the right choice. Another $10.00. I left Mark’s shop last week and I had spent $49.00. What the hell? I am still not sure whether I’m suppose to tip on just the haircut (at $23) or the total (around $45).
How did this happen? From a “zip” for $1.00 as a kid to $50 for the full treatment. I get the full treatment alright. The only thing getting clipped is my wallet. Retired people should not have to endure this extravagant treatment.
Why do I go back? Because I’m stupid! The conversation is good and the haircut is reasonable. Besides I’m too lazy to look for another barber.
In hindsight, my Grandpa Chalk should have continued as a barber and ignored the tavern business. Hair stylists have got to be living the good life with all the exorbitant fees they charge.
My lesson grasshoppers is that it is difficult to avoid getting clipped in life. You have to decide whether the fee you pay is worth the fleecing you get.
Love,
Dad