Reasoning with a 3 year old

A posting on Facebook brought to mind another of my favorite stories.

When Phillip was three we were going to take a trip to Disney World. But a few days before we left he did something which resulted in earning him a Time Out.

At that time we owned the large orange couch you see to the right. Time Outs were served by him sitting on the middle cushion. It as far enough from the arms to prevent much playing and as you can see his feet didn't come near anything else. And since he was 3 his sentence would have been three minutes. During which the following conversation took place:

Me (mom): I am so mad at you now I'm almost thinking of not taking you to Disney World.

Phillip: But you have too.

Me: I do not have too.

P: Yes you do. You already have the tickets

M: That doesn't mean I have to take you. I don't really care if we take Motley (our dog) right now.

P: You can't take Motley

M: Why not?

P: She's a dog. They don't let dogs into Disney World.

M: What about Pluto? He's a dog and he's at Disney World.

P: Yes, but Pluto walks on only 2 feet in Disney World. Motley walks on 4 paws. They don't let dogs that have paws into Disney World.

The end. I couldn't think of a come back.

The Road Joe Traveled

My husband, Joe, is retiring on March 1st. In an age when employees and employers move from one to another fairly easily and quickly he managed to stay basically at one place for 33 years. And he stayed in the same profession for 43 years. I know he is being honored by his current co-workers this week but I wanted to provide a look at this wonderful man's career from my view since I've known him throughout almost his entire working life.

We met at a Mendel High School dance when Joe was 17. He was already pretty self-sufficient from working as a stock boy in a local liquor store. He even bought his first car on his own that year from his earnings.

But later that year he got a job at a small bank, Union Bank, a few blocks from Mendel. He became the evening computer operator. He would head over after school and run all of the computer processing for each day's end. For the many of you too young to know, thsee were the days when information was fed into a room size computer system by punched cards. And once in, the data was stored on large removable tapes. There were no screens and output was on huge usually green bar paper. It was all called "Data Processing" at the time.And although everyone knew of computers, how they worked was basically unknown and even a little scary.

But it was great work that paid well. Now he was moving around heavy boxes of paper instead of cases of vodka. He'd usually finish around 10 in the evening but would have to work longer for month end processing or when there were problems. He even bought himself a new car.

He was able to keep the same job while commuting to college. He soon learned that the really cool jobs belonged to the programmers. They were the ones who virtually controlled the computers and told them what to do with the data being processed. And Union Bank was interested enough in Joe to send him to programming school to learn the COBOL programming language.

Over the next several years he continued to program and even moved to a non-banking programming job for a short time. We even got married during this phase of his career. But bank data processing was something he really understood and he moved to the First National Bank of Harvey. That job meant steady working hours, a couple of new cars and two moves that eventually had us into our first house.

While working there he once told me that eventually he wanted to either become a president of a small bank OR work for one of the really big banks. So when he saw an ad in 1979 for a position at what was then The First National Bank of Chicago in computer customer services he applied and was hired. His was now a liaison between the departments in the bank and the computer programming and operations departments.

He was so proud to be working at the largest bank in the Midwest. The hours were even pretty regular. If problems arose with processing during the night he generally didn't find out until the next morning when he would have to contact the affected departments with status updates.

Then came the 80's. The First National Bank of Chicago started using it's corporation identity of First Chicago. Banking was deregulated under Reagan. So First Chicago began buying smaller banks. We had our son, Phillip. And we added a second car for the first time.

Joe's job grew. Now problems with computer jobs meant instant communication even during the night. First this meant the phone ringing at any hour. But it soon meant that Joe's pager seemed to be surgically attached and he was given a brand new portable phone by the bank.

ATM usage was growing exponentially and the bank wanted to give all of it's customers access to their accounts from any First Chicago branch or ATM. For customers this was great. For Joe, this meant moving to a unit in the bank whose job it was to analyze, plan for and finally convert all of the account data from each of the small bank's computer systems and integrate it into First Chicago's.

This also started another phase in his career. These conversions were usually done over a three day bank holiday weekend. Because the conversion schedule was so tight all of the conversion team members needed to stay downtown in Chicago so they could catch some sleep during long process runs but be back at the bank to review results or fix problems. This was done for each conversion and was preceded by at least one or more test runs.

During the 90's the reliance on instant account access now included customers being given access through the web and interactive phone banking. Fixing problems needed to happen just as quickly. The size of Joe's portable phone became smaller and his pager started including a keyboard and small screen to send text messages about the problems back and forth. But at least now when he was home it was in his beautiful new home in Mokena. Phil turned 16 in 1997 and was the new driver of Joe's 1986 Chevy Celebrity Eurosport. So that houses' three car garage was now full and included a new shiny red sports car for Joe.

In 1995, First Chicago merged with the National Bank of Detroit to form First Chicago NBD. First came trips to Detroit to evaulate and compare each bank's computer systems. Once it was decided to continue with First Chicago's systems Joe had to make trips to Detroit to plan and execute the largest import of data yet.

Then in 1998 came the merger with Bank One out of Columbus, Ohio. Once again there was the compare and evaluate phase. This time was a bit scarier. There were lots of duplication of jobs between the two banks when only one was needed after the merger. But Bank One had not completed it's own merger of data from its acquisitions so once again First Chicago NBD's systems were chosen to remain (whew!).

Joe was now had an office both in Chicago and Columbus, with weeks in Columbus happening more and more frequently. There was even an occasional trip to see his team in Phoenix. Thankfully, Joe was able to come home to Mokena most weekends. And Phil was away in college.

2004 brought another round of breath holding when a merger was announced with J.P. Morgan Chase. Once again Joe was on the team to champion what was now Bank One's systems as compared to those of Chase. This meant added trips to New York City. There were some weeks where Joe would fly from Chicago to Columbus on Monday, to NYC for meetings on Wednesday and Thursday, back to Columbus for Friday and finally home to Mokena on Friday evening. And yet again, the decision was made to keep the Bank One version. It was even decided to keep the I.T. teams in Columbus as well.

Of course I haven't even mentioned all of the changes to job titles and officer levels Joe achieved through all of this. Somewhere Data Processing became Information Technology. He worked through Y2K. The bank paid for a one bedroom apartment in Columbus but then decided he needed to cut back on travel and could stay in hotels. The travel cut back lasted for one month before he was back to being in Columbus almost every week.

Through all of this I was working as well. Most of it as a computer consultant whose office was in our home but whose time was spent mostly visiting various clients.Phil finished high school, college and got married in 2008. In 2009 I had to stop working due to what was soon diagnosed as MS. Thankfully for me he was able to spend quite a few weeks working from home after that. In 2010 we realized that I would no longer be driving so Joe sold his much beloved sporty car which by then was a black Pontiac Gran Prix GXP. My new mobility scooter would only fit in what had been my Honda Highlander.

Do to some foresight but a lot of luck, our beautiful Mokena house has it's master bedroom on the first floor. So  its three car garage now only holds one SUV. But it's on a wonderful one acre lot to which we purchased two additional empty acres in back in 2011. Joe can't wait to spend time working outside when the weather is nice. And then building a Lionel train room in what used to be my office upstairs above the garage.

I've watched, listened, been elated or been depressed through Joe's very long but enormously successful career. I've been home waiting through conversions, new installations, and disaster recovery tests. I've waited for late or cancelled flights. I waited to hear from him after he was flying when two planes hit the World Trade Center and one hit the Pentagon but the news didn't know from where they had originated.  But I've been so lucky that even with all of his travel for work he actually enjoys using his frequent travelor miles and points to go with me on many vacations.

I can't begin to say how much I love and admire Joe. He has never given anything but his very best to both his job and his family.

But I'm so happy that he's going to be retiring. And finally giving himself the time he so richly deserves.

Why Life is Nice Here at Home

Thursday evening:
Joe is upstairs in his office but is done with his conference meetings so he's sharing a selection of tunes with the rest of the house (and the neighbors if the weather was right).

Friday morning:
Joe: Ever since last night I have Always Look on the Bright Side of Life running through my head.
Mary Ellen: Me too. Did you ever see the video or movie that song was in? I'll email the link to you (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHPOzQzk9Qo if you haven't seen it)

Saturday morning having coffee watching outside:
J: There really haven't been a lot of squirrels around lately.
ME: Maybe that's because I've seen at least two hawks and heard a couple of owls.
J: But don't owls hunt at night?
ME: They're probably still out at dawn when the squirrels wake up.
J: So as the squirrel steps out to take his morning yawn down swoops the owl?
ME: Yep, and his wife is saying "Honey, the coffee is ready. Honey!  Honey?"
J: And as the squirrel is flying away in the owl's claws he's singing Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Would you still for for an idiot if he/she ran for your party?

This looked like the voting machine I used to cast my first presidential election ballot in 1972. The voting age had been lowered to 18 and our polling place was in the next block in a neighbor's garage. My mother was a Republican election judge.

When I walked in and signed the roll she proudly introduced me to the other judges as her daughter who was about to cast her first presidential ballot. She took me to a machine and explained how to use it. I walked up to the booth and pulled that red handle to close the curtain behind me so I could cast my secret ballot.

Inside I read the names and carefully flipped the switches for the candidates I chose. I had been sure to read what I could about the major candidates which at that time meant that I watched the evening news and read the Chicago Tribune which was my parent's paper of choice.

When I was finished I moved the red handle back, my vote was locked in and the curtains reopened. I walked out of the garage / polling place.

But my mother quickly followed. "What took you so long?"
ME: "I was voting"
Mom: "That should have been fast. You should have just flipped the switch to vote all Republican"
ME: "But I didn't want to vote all Republican"

This was followed by an argument where we both used the obvious punches - You cancelled out mine or your father's vote. - Maybe 18 year olds are too young to vote - and others.

Somewhere in there I said "How can you possibly just vote for Republicans? Are there any other Democrats who would be better for the job?"

And after all of the introduction, that is the question for this blog. Would someone now really vote for everyone from one party on a ballot? And what if any one of those candidates was an idiot? Wouldn't that matter?

I liked to believe that my generation learned better than to follow anyone or anything blindly without question. We were the Vietnam generation. We learned that government could get it wrong. Even though that particular 1972 election re-elected a Republican as president we later learned that Nixon was a liar and a cheat.

And then my generation passed our desire to make informed decisions rather than blind loyalty down to our children. Our son, Phil, called me from his cell phone in 2000. "Mom, I had to call you. I just voted for President for the very first time. It was awesome." I know he was a history and politics buff but I honestly didn't think his feelings were that unusual for a first time voter. I mean we taught these kids well, didn't we?

We all had a good laugh at dinner that night when we finally revealed to each other how we had voted. I voted for Gore. Joe voted for Bush and Phil voted for Nader. Phil knew Nader couldn't win. But in his opinion Nader was the best candidate for president and Phil showed it with his vote. Joe gloated that Phil's vote was probably more of a negative for Gore than Bush which by the very next day and for months later the nation became acutely aware of. But for us it was just right. None of us voted exclusively Republican, Democrat or Green. We each had read what we could and voted for the candidates we felt would best fill the job.

So...

WHAT HAPPENED?

Why does it seem now that people want you to vote for an entire party? Are ALL of the candidates from any particular party better that ANY of the candidates from the other? Does that mean that voters should no longer read all that they can about each candidate and individually decide who would perform best in that office?

Even if a candidate was an idiot?

Where Baby Chicks Come From

When Phillip was young his best friend, Matt, lived next door. Matt proudly assumed his role as the older and wiser of the pair. He did beat Phillip by about six months and because of that was a grade higher.

One late spring the two were eating lunch at our house. I was doing something at the sink or stove with my back to them.

Matt was explaining to my first grader,  Phillip, that the second graders got to hatch baby chicks right in the classroom. Each student has a small incubator with an egg on the class's window sill.

"But these eggs are special because they are fertilized.  Do you know how they get fertilized?"

"No? How? "

"The rooster fertilizes the eggs! " And Matt then paused probably allowing for his young student to think about this.

But then Matt continued "Wouldn't it be funny if that's how babies were made? If the Dad had to spread fertilizer over the Mom? "

This thought made them both laugh a little. But I had to excuse myself to practically run to another room so they couldn't hear my reaction.

The Thanksgiving Turkey

My mother-in-law loved having company. And she loved serving that company lots and lots of food. She also was very careful about her cooking. She was very concerned about people not getting sick because of her cooking. There were only two problems: she never really learned how to cook and she actually hated cooking.

One item that seemed to confound her was roasting a turkey. Luckily she only attempted this on Thanksgiving.

Each year on Thanksgiving we would go to hers and my father-in-law's house for Thanksgiving dinner. She had a stove in the kitchen and three stoves in the basement. I was never sure where the three in the basement came from. But she liked using them most because it didn't heat up the kitchen. But that was fine since the finished basement was where all parties and large meals were served.

When we arrived Evelyn and Smoky would be busy finishing up all of the things being served for dinner. She had made the turkey along with Polish sausage, ham, mashed potatoes, and a couple of different kinds of vegetables. Smoky would usually be busy slicing up fresh veggies for a snack for us all before dinner. During this time we'd get to hear of that year's problem with the turkey.

Each year there seemed to be a different reason why the turkey that was in the oven downstairs was not the originally purchased turkey. Luckily she prepared the turkey for roasting on the day before Thanksgiving. She needed to make sure she had time in case it didn't meet with her expectations. And if it didn't, she would send Smokey back to the store where it was purchased, on the day before Thanksgiving, to return it and get a new one.

You're probably confused right now. I was too when I first joined her family for Thanksgiving. But it seemed like she rarely could get a good turkey the first time. What problems?  Things for which turkeys were returned included a blood spot under the skin, a broken wingtip, a tiny feather that hadn't been plucked. And one year was my favorite of all -- when she reached inside the cavity to clean the bird it felt like it hadn't been cleaned enough.

So, she would finally have to settle on a second fresh turkey each year. She would get it ready for cooking the night before and leave it in one of the refrigerators. Oh yes, she had several of those as well. Then she would get up early on Thanksgiving morning to get the turkey in the oven by 6 AM. She told me one year that she had been told that to make sure the turkey was ready it needed to be started at 6. And that she needed to make sure a turkey was well cooked to avoid sickening people. What someone had neglected to tell her was that starting the bird a 6 was for a noon dinner. We ate at 4 PM.

Luckily with so many alternatives for dinner, we could all take a piece of what had become something closer to turkey leather then leave it on our plates.

I'm not sure of the actual circumstances that occurred one year because I was in the hospital with pneumonia. But apparently she finally asked why no one ate the turkey. My husband, Joe, the middle child, supposedly told her that the turkey was too dry to eat.

The next year we got to their house for Thanksgiving. She asked me to go down and check on the turkey as she had tried a new method of cooking the bird.

I opened the oven on stove number one and found a roasting pan sealed in aluminum foil so I assumed that wasn't the turkey. I checked the second oven and found a similar fully sealed roaster. When the third oven appeared to contain the same I asked which oven held the turkey? The middle was the reply.

So I uncovered the pan there...

And yes, she had tried an alternate method. When I asked her to come down, she told me that to make it moister, she treated it the same way she made all of her beef roasts. She poured a packet of dried onion soup mix followed by a can of cream of mushroom soup. Then sealed it all and started it a 6 AM. The result was a turkey carcass standing in a mixture of gray goop.

None of us ate turkey that year. And for a few years after, her other daughters-in-law and I would take turn cooking the turkey and bringing it with us for dinner. For many years now, her son and daughter-in-law, Jeff and Donna, host Thanksgiving dinner for the whole family. The turkey is a wonderful part of the whole feast.

The saddest part of Thanksgivings now is the loss of both Smoky and Evelyn. She may be embarrassed to listen to us talk of her turkey disasters. But I hope she sees us smiling as we really do know that the reason for the fuss was all out of love to make sure we all were healthy and happy.

Christmas Memories

I've been scanning photos into our home server and realized we didn't take a photo of this. So I wanted to be sure to write about it.

I believe it was the Christmas season of 1984 when Phillip was 3 going on 4. All three of us had started decorating the tree on Saturday. But it got to be past his bedtime and we still hadn't finished. But we put Phillip to bed and told him the tree would be finished when he woke up.

Phillip had never been a quiet child upon waking. When he was still in his crib, waking up would produce some of the loudest crying of the day. When he moved to a "big boy bed" waking up meant running into our bedroom to make sure one of us got up with him.

But that Sunday morning, Joe and I woke up on our own without his help. We were shocked that he had slept in or at least not woken us. We both listened and didn't hear anything. Then got up and looked into his room. He wasn't there.

So we moved on into the living room. There he was.

Gently removing the ornaments and placing them on the cocktail table. The tree that had been fully decorated now had the bottom half bare of ornaments. Just up to, well up to how high he could reach.

We shockingly asked what he was doing. He cried and said that HE wanted to finish decorating the tree. And we shouldn't have finished without him.

From many years that's exactly what we did. When he was in high school we decided that we wanted a more "grown up" tree since ours had been covered with characters from Disney, Star Wars, and more. He protested that idea as well. Until we bought a second tree which he continued to decorate. And when he moved in with Katherine, that's the tree and ornaments he brought along.

Keesa

This is our dog Keesa. Phil picked her out from a shelter during a summer break from college.

You see, he accused us of killing the two dogs we had when he started college, Cocoa and Tiffany. We didn't really. He was lucky that he was able to spend almost his entire childhood with them. It was just their time.

In any case, by the time he finished his sophomore year he came home to a house empty of dogs. He quickly remedied that by traveling to different shelters in the area and finding a non-shedding dog (MY requirement).

He couldn't bring her home the day he found her and asked me to pick her up a few days later while he was working. No problem! Until I got there and found out he also hadn't paid the fees yet.

He also hadn't named her. The shelter said she was a stray and had no information on her. They estimated that she was 6 months old. She was a real fur-ball - white with brown ears. She immediately reminded me of those little creatures from Star Wars - Return of the Jedi, the ewoks. Phil love ewoks when he was little. He had little ewok figures, ewok cartoons, and ewok books. On the drive home I seemed to remember an ewok named Keesa so that became her name.

She is the size and shape of a cocker spaniel. But with the white fur, the shelter thought she was part cocker and part poodle. Though once we got her groomed for the first time, I along with the groomer and the vet realized that was not poodle fur but bichon fur. So she was not a cocka-poo after all. We couldn't find a name for her breed so I coined that as well. Keesa was our very own Cocky Biche!

Like everybody, Keesa has her idiosyncrasies. For one thing, she loves to "nest" like in the photo above. She loves dog beds, preferably with sides. And each bed must have a blanket or towel in it.

She has turned curling up in bed into a long routine. First, after climbing into the bed, she scratches at the blanket to wad it all up together. Then she pushes with her nose to position it just the way she wants it. Then she'll try laying on it. And if it doesn't feel right she'll go through the whole ritual again until it is.

But the blankets don't always stay in the beds. If Keesa decides she wants to sleep somewhere there isn't a bed, she will pull the nearest blanket in her teeth to her place of choice. Which is often in the middle of a room. Then she will go through her ritual getting the blanket situated just as she likes it.

Of course when her nap is done, the blanket gets left where it was. Until one of two things happen. Either we trip over it and then pick it up and put it back in her bed. OR, she wants to sleep back in the now blanketless bed. This causes her much frustration which she communicates to us by scratching at the bed as hard and loudly as she can while crying just as loudly. To quiet her, we of course find the missing blanket and return it to her bed for her. And you know the rest.

One other benefit to having the blanket or towel, they are her favorite chew toys. She has never liked "dog toys" either hard or soft. But once she has claimed a blanket or towel as her own, it soon also becomes a victim to her chewing.

And she doesn't chew on the sides. No she prefers to chew on a wad of the blanket. She chews until she has chewed out about a two inch circle of fabric. Which she spits out and leaves on the floor. These require being picked up from the floor and blankets that appear to have been attacked by huge moths.

We are lucky that she reserves all of this for what she determines are her blankets. She doesn't like piles of dirty laundry at all. You might occasionally find that Keesa has taken advantage of the clean laundry you've dumped on the bed or couch intending to fold. But unless you allow her to lay on something several times, she seems to know not to adopt it for chewing or nesting.

What inspired me to write this is her annoying habit of letting you know where she wants a bed to be placed. Keesa doesn't have one or two beds. At this moment she has five. Like everyone, there are places in the house that Joe and I tend to use more than others. And Keesa likes to be with us especially in those places. She'd also prefer a bed in those places. She lets you know by doing her very loud scratching and crying on the bare carpet or floor. We try to be stern and tell her to stop it, but the next time we're in the same position, she does the same thing.

So Keesa has beds in the kitchen, dining room, family room, our bedroom and under Joe's desk. But Joe remarked just the other day that she needs one more. With my MS causing me restless and sleepless nights, Joe has decided to sleep more peacefully in the guest room. Keesa has of course let him know that she now requires a bed there as well.

The beginning of a life filled with laughter

Or...
How I met my husband.

I went to an all girls Catholic high school, Elizabeth Seton. About once a month, the local boys' Catholic high school, Mendel, would have a dance in their gym. They would have a well know Chicago area band like the Cryin' Shames, the Buckinghams, American Breed, etc. These were usually emceed by the well known Chicago DJ, Dick Biondi.

On Friday, February 20th, 1970, Mendel hosted the Ides of March with Dick Biondi as emcee. They had just released their single "Vehicle". It was going to be a great dance and I went with 5 of my girlfriends.

Dick Biondi opened the show as usual by asking who was there from what high school. Of course a loud cheer erupted for Mendel and other local schools. When he asked who was there from Mother McAuley, another all girls school, the GUY besides me wildly cheered.

We were standing about 15 feet from the stage and Dick Biondi noticed this, as did everyone else around him, and stopped. "YOU go to Mother McAuley?", Dick asked the young man.

"Well, I wanted to but I couldn't pass the physical!" was the response. Of course everyone laughed.

As I said, I was standing right next to this comic. I performed a once over and highly approved of his looks. I then looked to his left to see if there was a female standing next to him. Which there was not.

So I turned and asked "What part did you fail?"

Well, that was the start. We danced and talked the rest of the evening. I gave him my phone number and he called a few days later.

We've been laughing together ever since.

My Dad kept us laughing even after

My Dad passed away many years ago from cancer. But just before he left us he provided me one of my most favorite family stories.

His cancer was inoperable and an attempt at chemotherapy resulted in a stroke. We all knew his time was limited. So late one morning when my sister, whom he lived with and was thankfully his caretaker, called me in tears I was immediately concerned. "Is Dad OK?" I wanted to know.

"Oh, yes, but you wouldn't believe what he did today.

"After the kids left for school he wheeled himself into the kitchen and threw me my car keys." "We're going for a ride." my Dad told her.

"He wouldn't tell me where we were going just gave me directions and finally I realized I was turning into the funeral home parking lot. But that's not unusual, quite of few of Dad's friends are dieing as well.

"But then I noticed there were no other cars. But that's not unusual, you know Dad likes to arrive early.

"But after I wheeled him inside he took over and went to the funeral director."

"Hi, I'm Bill Engelbach. I'm dieing of cancer. Do you give senior citizen discounts?"

At this point I started to laugh which my sister didn't seem to see the humor. I told her to put Dad on the phone.

"Dad!", I chided. "Why didn't you wait until I came up to visit. You should have known that would have upset Sue. But I got to know. What was the funeral director's answer?"

"I didn't want you two to argue about my funeral. And the answer to what?" my Dad must not have been listening in on our conversation.

"Does he give senior citizen discounts?"

"Well, he said he had never been asked that question before. But no, he doesn't. So I had to pay full price. But that's not the worst part." my Dad answered.

"What was the worst part?"

"He told me that I have to pay $50 for the church organist to play at my funeral. I don't want to have HER playing. She's a SHOWBOATER. She plays in church like she'd play at a lounge. And I certainly don't want to PAY $50 for her to play. But the funeral director said she plays at all of the church's funerals and it's customary. I gave in and I figure at least I won't have to hear her that time."

Dad was with us for 6 more months. I heard him tell the story at least twice.

He had arranged to have visitation at the church for one hour before the funeral mass. So when it was time to start the service the priest asked us to take a pew and the organist started the first hymn.

The first line ended in a whole note which everyone held for 4 beats then started singing the next line. But not the organist. She held it for an additional 4 beats as she did every single line. When people realized this you could hear the underlying giggles. It appeared everyone there had heard the story. But at least HE didn't have to hear her playing.

So my Dad kept us laughing, even at his own funeral mass. It was a very fitting service.