Winter's Grip

Winter's Grip
By John R. Greenwood

Winter has always been a nostalgic season for me. I guess with the tradition of families gathering for Christmas celebrations it probably is that way for many people. I tend to think it has more to do with how close to the surface our emotions are when temperatures drop. The 1960's created many memories that are deeply ingrained in my mind. Growing up in two homes where the bedroom's only heat came from a 16" square register in the floor will insure that the cold is a primary actor in those recollections. From ages one to nine our home was heated with a kerosene stove about the size of one of those large console tv's of the 70's and 80's. My father would have to get up once in the middle of the night to fill the round cylindrical tank that attached in the back. He would have to go out into the back shed where a larger tank was and with a few turns of the cold metal handle top off the portable one. My room was as far away from the heat source as you could get in that house. My bed was heaped with quilts of all designs and thicknesses. I can recall frozen linoleum floors and cotton slippers, ice caked windows and creaking walls, but I can not recall ever being cold. 

The next house we lived in consumed the years between ten and eighteen. My room was again upstairs but this one had an upgrade to the heating system. It was a real furnace that only broke down on occasion. The only heat in my room was provided by another register. Cold linoleum, uninsulated walls, and thin single pane windows were great emphasizers of frigid temperatures but this time I had modern technology on my team. Sunbeams greatest invention of all time the electric blanket was my new best friend in the winter. I would run up stairs during commercials and turn it on so that when my show was over and it was time for bed I could jump under the preheated covers. Mornings tested you. It was a challenge to get out of bed when it could be so cold your breath looked like a little chimney coming from a crack between the blanket and the pillow. One morning as I jumped into my slippers to make a dash for the stairs a mouse jumped out from one of them. He was doing the same as I was only I don't think he had to catch a bus. What strikes me as funny is, other than the normal childhood illnesses I very seldom missed any school. I don't remember having many colds or ear aches. I would not want to go back to those days but it is funny how we survived intact knowing the luxuries we enjoy today. There were many I'm sure that would have considered the conditions I grew up as luxurious. I loved the winter. I enjoyed skiing, sledding and major snow-fort building, so when the temperatures dip and the snow begins to pile up I don't long for the good old days too much but I am thankful for having experienced a wide range of what the winter has to offer. I have come to appreciate the warmth and efficiency of a natural gas furnace and a digital thermostat. This morning as I listen to the wind howling, knowing that the wind chills are lower than ugly, I long for the times when the mouse and I didn't know any better.  

Hang On

Hang On

By John R. Greenwood

When the world’s a mess and upside down 

Hang on

When the car won’t start and the tire’s flat 

Hang on

When the clothes don’t fit and and it’s cold outside

Hang on

When the kids are sick and your headache’s strong

Hang on

When she says, “Please Hold” and your patience wanes

                                                                           Hang on

When you’re out of stock or there’s none to spare

Hang on

When your smile is broke and the spirit’s low

Hang on

When you catch your breath and the feeling’s right 

Hit the throttle 

Hang on tight 

Clean Desk

Clean Desk

By John R. Greenwood

It’s not much. It’s one of those desks that comes in a box and requires a handful of swear words to put together. The best part is, it’s mine, and I just found it again. It took a week’s vacation to get to it. There were holiday work stoppages, snow storms, and other household commitments to contend with first. After the Christmas decorations were back in the attic and the pile of books and journals that seem to grow by the day were sorted and put away, I tackled the seemingly insurmountable goal of clearing my desk. It was time to grow up and write like a grownup at a desk and not like the undisciplined couch sloth I’d become. Sitting on the couch with my feet up on the coffee table and the laptop on my knees was amateurish and counterproductive. I promised myself that 2014 would find me writing more seriously. I also needed a kick in the pants if I wanted to accomplish something more this year. Organization is not my thing. Ideas and day dreaming are. Since I’ve been receiving AARP mailings for more than a decade, I felt growing up was long overdue. I will do my best to stay focused and productive this year. I can’t promise that I won’t be pulled off course by the occasional shiny object or colorful sunset but for at least the last three days of my vacation I will do my best. As I sit here typing and procrastinating the removal of the shin deep snow outside I can’t help but reflect on the past few years and what writing a blog has provided me. I have made friends throughout the world. I have been encouraged, inspired, and embraced by some of the most kind and giving people that world has to offer. One repetitive theme over the last few years is rebirth of the spirit. I have found confirmation that age is physical not mental. You can’t change the inevitable but you can change the view. If you don’t want to seize up like the Tin Man, don’t just stand in the rain and complain about it, grab an umbrella and do your best Gene Kelly imitation. It’s a lot easier to say than do and there will be days when just sitting on the back steps is a better choice, just don’t give up. Neutral is not as good as forward and high gear is better than low gear but reverse can be tough on the soul. If you find yourself there, start by cleaning the desk no matter how far beneath the pile it is. 

Happy New Year everyone! 

There Is No Jacob Here!

There Is No Jacob Here!
By John R. Greenwood

One of our many evening visits with Sallie  

It's 8:46pm and the phone is ringing again tonight. The caller ID voice barfs out some extraterrestrial noise that sounds like the words "Sallie Mae". With one eye already asleep and the other one at half mast (I'm an old milkman, I get up at 4am) I grab the phone by the throat and in my outside voice say, "WHAT?"

"Is there a Jacob Greenwood there?"

"NO!"

"Can I speak with him please?"

"Do you know what time it is?"

"I'm sorry sir, can I just speak with Jacob? It's about his student loan."

"There is no Jacob living here. Please don't call here again!"

"Is there a better time to reach him?"

"No!" --CLICK

This game continued for days. Each call was an adventure. I don't mean because it was exciting. It was an adventure because the calls were coming from all over the world. At least that's what it sounded like. With each call the accent thickened. I'm pretty sure I could hear an elephant trumpeting in the background during one call. One night when I picked up the phone it sounded like they were calling from the trading floor of the NYSE.

I was getting weary of this game and one night Sallie Mae left a number on the machine. I called it back with all the patience I could muster. I waded through the quicksand of prompts like Lewis and Clark. I was so deep into the system I expected to see lava flowing at any moment. Finally the electronic voice promised me I was next and that a customer service representative would be with me in approximately two minutes. The Jeopardy music oozed through the line, do do do do do do do, do do do do dute da dute da do da. 

"Hello, my name is Abby, can I have your account number?"

"I don't have an account number, I don't even have an account, that's why I'm calling."

"Can you give me your social security number? I'll see if I can find it that way."

"Arrrrggh!" --CLICK

After weeks of playing volleyball with Sallie Mae and her search for student loan deadbeat Jacob, I began to start twitching when the phone rang. I could see the obituary now-- He died of "unnecessary causes". You can send donations to Sallie Mae, a tax receipt will be provided upon request.

Finally one night after watching one half of Monday Night Football with the television on mute and me on hold I got through to a human with enough brain matter to understand my dilemma. I think she said her name was Angel. Angel not only promised she would take our number off the digital dialer, she also apologized for the inconvenience. I'm sure she was an animal lover too. She did whisper a fine print disclaimer just as I was hanging up the phone. She said there was an ever so slight chance that it might be a day or two before our number was deleted from the system completely.

I was so relieved that I instantly thought about popping the cork on a bottle of champagne- not the cheap stuff either.

The phone did seem to be happier for the next few days. Peace had returned to the valley.

Then it happened.

The phone rang one morning as we were leaving for work. I stopped in my tracks and waited for "The Voice."

Before the audio portion of the show could begin I peered over my wife's shoulder at the little ID screen on the phone. There in bright LED blue were the two words that all unemployed college graduates dread more than work itself, "Sallie Mae" 1-800-Soprano. This was not a good way to begin your work day. Someone could get fired over a women called Sallie Mae.

I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. I would make one more call after work and get this nightmare settled once and for all. When we got home I prepared for my journey to the abyss. I began dialing 1-800- Arg-gghh and for the umpteenth time I dug deeper and deeper into phone prompt hell until I reached Sallie Mae's Angel #2. In a voice as tranquil as the call of a distant song bird she assured me she would solve my problem- she just needed a little more information. My pills were kicking in. I was at peace. I responded, "Sure."

"Can you give us Jacob's new address?"

CLICK

Somewhere in the world there is a Jacob Greenwood on the student loan lamb. He's running from Sallie Mae like Dr. Richard Kimble.

Sleep tight Jacob...

Horizon: 2014

Horizon: 2014
By John R. Greenwood

The new year begins cold and not all that inviting but I lay there anxious for the sun to rise and bring something exciting to the surface. As the years accumulate I begin to feel their weight. Shedding off some of the more difficult ones to make room for those with more discovery packed in. As I plunge into my 59th year, memories seem less important than my desire to create new ones. Reflection and regret are like filling a gas tank with water. You'll fill it up but the engine's not going to run. My mind races around grabbing anything that might hold a clue to what's next. I've been in this hunting-dog mode for over a decade. I enjoy spurts of fulfillment followed by days and days of mental starvation. Always inspired but easily distracted by the talent of a visual artist or a musician's song I ride the back roads of my fifties yearning for a sign leading me to something of my own. Maybe this year, maybe today, maybe it will come in the next email, or sunrise. Whenever it comes, or wherever it comes from, I plan to be ready for it, because I sure do like that new year smell.