Well, the winter is almost over, and I am well behind my self-imposed mile stones.
Sure, I have plenty of excuses and explanations, but the fact remains that I am way, way behind my intentions of yester-year.
So, what happened? Well, there was this incident, last May, when I developed some kind of double vision, followed by a bout with high blood pressure and then followed by side effects from the medications. In two words: “Not Fun”.
Then there was this thing with the Corona Virus. Without being directly affected by it, just being exposed to the stringent rules and the constant bombardment from “experts” and media commentators, was triggering distractions (and a headache) which still lingers on.
As if this was not enough . . . our well run dry. Now this was serious, and something we could not fix by ourselves. Luckily we found a competent well driller.
On the “plus” side of the ledger, we are now enjoying better water than we had before. Above all, we are healthy, and I am determined to continue writing. I also intend to keep you informed.
All the best to my friends and readers,
So, while I am still writing my second book about Harold, I am also starting a book about the lessons I learned during my ninety years of living.
This means over seventy years of being an entrepreneur. .I am not sure about the final title but, here is sample of the beginning.
My mental tool box.
It is a given that in order to achieve anything worthwhile we need to know what we want.
Do you know what you want?
Don’t feel bad. You are not alone. Very few people know exactly what they want.
If you would need to define, exactly what you want, you would be mentally challenged. I mean immediately.
Give it a try.
I am asking you again: “Do you know what you want?”
How long would it take you to decide upon it?
Still no answer?
OK. Let me give you some help.
“What are you passionate about?”
If you know the answer to this question, you are definitely already ahead of the curve.
Most of the time we know in general terms what we are passionate about. But are you willing to go the extra mile for it? Are you willing to sacrifice for it? How much?
If you are muddled by the many choices, and don’t arrive at a definite answer (like most of us) you need to decide.
There is no way around it.
Once you decide, you are willing, even happy, to put everything else on the back burner and trust ahead.
OK, now we are on the same page. We got a start.
We used already three of the most important tools in my box.
1) We asked ourselves what we want.
2) We asked ourselves what we are passionate about.
3) We made a decision.
Ouch, I know, you got stuck with the decision making process. We all do. It is extremely difficult to make an empowering decision.
So, let me help you again. You need to use your greatest gift which separates you from the animal kingdom. You need to use your imagination.
If we use our imagination we need to picture the most beneficial outcome. We need to imagine how we will feel when we reach our objective. Anything less is counterproductive.
Matter of fact, if we don’t use our imagination in the most productive way possible, our mind will get the message that we don’t really want the best possible result. Our mind is essentially our servant and will bombard us with doubts. It is the job of our mind to assure our wellbeing. Therefore it wants to be sure of the most minute and last detail.
In other words: If you don’t use your imagination in the way it was created and intended to be used, your mind will stop you before you even start on the project. Whatever it comes up with, varies from individual to individual, but most of all it wants to be sure that you don’t fail.
You have to be aware of this, otherwise you are stuck in self-doubt. Period.
How do you get out of this catch 22?
“Easy, let me reach in my tool box.”
This should give you an idea about my work in progress.
Any and all comments are greatly appreciated.
Hope you are doing well in these trying times.
Well, I promised to let you know when my new book will be available on Amazon.
I also like to inform you that I reduced the price to $ 2.95 for the first two weeks.
After that time span it will be available at my regular price of $ 4.95
And, like always I invite your comments, or questions. I will do my best to answer in a timely manner.
In the meantime, please, stay healthy and safe.
As of yesterday afternoon, I was notified by my VA, Christina Haas, that my book “Postwar Destiny” has been published by all of the retailers, except Amazon, who is presently experiencing a technical glitch.
According to Amazon, it should be fixed within the next seven days. Well, given the present situation this is not too bad. I will post on this site when the book is released.
In the meantime let me, please, tell you what the book is about. It covers, to a degree, the immigration of Karl to America and his first few experiences in his new home country. Just like in my previous books, I try to write it in a balanced way.
Sure, there where a few culture shocks, which were not only real, but almost impossible to understand. So, I wrote about them the way Karl experienced his new world. He tried his best to understand and not to judge. He was determined to “fit in” and to adjust.
Sometimes, however, it was a bit difficult. Especially the American habit of starting the meal with an appetizer. In the first place, he never liked to eat. For him it was a complete waste of time. In the second place, he had no idea how hungry he was, when he sat down in a “diner”. So, in order not to miss out on a sweet treat, he always started the meal with a dessert. And, when, after eating it, he was still hungry, he ordered a second one. It nearly drove him insane when the waiter asked: ” Soup or salad?”
I also avoided to describe his mindset when he tried to deal with ice cubes in his drinking water. You have to be an immigrant, to understand. There is no other explanation.
But, most of all, Karl loved his new Homeland which presented him, and still does, with unlimited opportunities. He never regretted his decision to leave his birth-land behind.
UPDATE: Amazon fixed their glitch and now Postwar Destiny is available!
I don’t really know who coined this phrase, but somehow I like to think that I had something to do with it.
It was right after WWII in 1946, in Frankfurt, Germany, when an American soldier told me that he and his friends were going every weekend dancing. Apparently, it was a dance cafe which catered mostly to the American occupation forces.
“I like to know,” he said. “How it comes that all the German girls are so pretty?”
“Hu?” I had never heard such a nonsense.
“Yes,” he maintained. “Ask any of my buddies,and they will tell you the same.”
I was almost tempted to ask his friends what it exactly was that triggered their observation, because I had no clue what an American girl looked like, when it dawned on me.
All of the American soldiers were absolutely impressive in their starched, meticulously pressed uniforms. A long cry away from the dilapidated clothing of German boys in the same age group. It was only natural that the German girls flocked to the places where they could meet a good looking guy. But, that wasn’t all there was to it. The girls also had to look their part.
“You know it’s simple”. I told the soldier. “The ugly ones know who they are. They are staying home.”
Now, I have to admit that times were simple then. Nobody ripped you apart for saying the obvious.
However, the phrase still holds true: “The ugly ones know who they are.”
Every five years, at the years end, I write a five year plan for the future years.
I have been doing this, with flickering success, for the past sixty years.
Then I follow up each following year to make sure that I am on track. So, now it is 2020 and l did double duty. Meaning that I reviewed the past years and wrote a new five year plan including, like always, yearly mile stones to strive for, to adjust as I go along, and to achieve.
I have to admit, that as I get on with the years, I find it more and more difficult to reach my yearly goals in a timely manner. To be clear, I reach my goals eventually, (most of them,that is) but it takes me a lot more time than it used too. My wife, Jennifer, tells me that this might have something to do with the fact that I am not in my seventies or eighties anymore.
“This summer you will turn frigging ninety” She informed me when I tried to discuss with her the difference of my intentions with the actual results. Maybe she is right, I thought, causing me to review my next five year plan. And, I found an interesting tidbit which I like to share with my readers.
I noticed that during the last few years I very often wrote in my plans, the phrase: “I hope” that so and so, would happen. This is in a stark contrast to my previous plans in which I more or less decided what would happen by developing and following stringent strategies. If the results were different than I intended, I changed my strategies which produced the unwanted results. This simple adjustment allowed me to zero in on my original target.
Now, please, don’t get me wrong. I still think that hope is spiritually very important. (I did a lot of it when I was fourteen years old, searching for my parents) But, this was at a time when I was not in control.
So, I replaced the word “hope” with “I will develop a strategy” in my plans.
I hope to be able, next year, to let you know how it works out.
See, here is where hope is important, After all, I am not in control of my life.
However, I am in control of my intentions.
Last week we received an unexpected Christmas present. One of our Llamas surprised us by giving birth to a little baby girl. I think that you call an offspring of a Llama a Cria. Anyhow, it had been raining all night and there it was. Totally drenched by the pouring rain, and no matter how much we coaxed and tried, it stood by her mother who refused to enter the shelter. We had this experience about three years ago when a different Llama gave birth in the middle of a downpour which lasted two days. At that time we loaded the cria into a small wagon and while I pulled with all my might on the handle, Jenny kept the mother from attacking me and the wagon.
This would have probably worked, because the shelter was only about one hundred feet away. However, the gestation period of a Llama is about eleven months and during this time the father Llama is not interest in the female. This all changes the very minute the female gives birth. Within less than 10 minutes the male arrives and proceeds to show his serious interest in the female. You had to be there to understand what followed. I slipped on the wet leaves and fell flat on my face. The cria jumped out of the wagon, the mother Llama ran behind her, followed by Jenny and the male. It took us over an hour to accomplish our task.
Not a fun situation, I assure you.
Now, this time I was not allowed to help. Jenny insisted that I was overdue for another face plant. So, she pulled and pushed the female towards the shelter by herself, while the eager male tried to assist her. Not a fun situation either. Jenny finally gave up, went to town, bought a large dog blanket and bundled the little one up. It worked. (to some degree)
If you think that this is enough of a story, you are mistaken.
Last night , everything started in again, when a different Llama decided to give birth. Jenny named the first one “Misty” because it was born in a rain. The second one is pitch black and Jenny named it “Ebony” . It was a heck of a week, and while I was restricted to do nothing . . . . . I have still not recovered. Go figure.
Merry Christmas to all my friends and readers.
It’s been now over a year since my last post, but nothing really changed. Just like in your life, I was faced with daily challenges which eventually got solved. I even found the old letters from my friend Harold, and personal notes which I had somehow misplaced. However, now that I found them I am greatly encouraged to resume my writing about his interesting life.
While I was searching through my old documentations I noted that I had absolutely no written records of any kind from my grandparents, or great grandparents. No records about their daily life or the challenges they faced, and for sure not a single note in their own handwriting. This got me thinking how nice it would be if I could read something personal about their life, maybe even about their obligations or their hopes. Considering how easy it is to jot down a few lines for our descendants, I started to design a very simple journal which I called “My Time Capsule Journal”, and my trusted VA published it last week on Amazon.
A friend of mine wrote me the following comment (and I obtained his permission to quote him):
never thought of writing stuff like this down before so it has set me to
thinking. I have a lot of stories, word of mouth, passed down from
grandmothers that will dispensary when I am gone.
elephant who would only work to push wagons out of the mud if he was
bribed with a swig of whiskey and a chaw of tobacco. He later became a
blacksmith and was shot in the back at the dinner table one night. My
other grandmother traveled across the plains in a covered wagon, lived
in a soddy, and a younger brother died from a spider bite. All this was
word of mouth stories I was told as a kid”.
Senior citizen are complaining.
Hmm, not really, actually they are bitching about almost everything.
For starters they are constantly complaining about the younger generation. They don’t like the way the younger generation communicates, acts, thinks, behaves, dresses, looks, and talks.
Next, they are complaining about TV programs, music, fashion trends, hair styles, body art, loss of honor, respect tradition, and face book.
While the older women complain about the present mindset of teenage girls that “making it to graduation without being pregnant” spells success, it seems that men over seventy have to pull up their pants until they hit the armpits, and then complain about the government, full time.
Being over eighty years old myself, enables me to understand the viewpoints on a lot of these things. What I mean is that I understand how the viewpoints of us older folks developed, and why.
Our viewpoints have their roots in a mindset which was gradually acquired by us during our lifetime of experiences. And, none of our experiences produced a mindset that included “texting” during the family Thanksgiving dinner. It also did not include piercing our lips, and eyebrows, and tongues.
Neither do we understand why a loud noise, consisting of banging on guitars and drums is supposed to be music.
However, while I do understand the origins of our mindset, I don’t understand the bitching which goes on among us older folk about the generation gap, and the apparent disconnect with a lot of the current ways, and of life in general.
First of all, let’s be a bit honest about it.
We, as the “older generation” do not have an “exclusive” on being right on a lot of things. While our mindset was being formed by our elders, we learned to accepted a few things as being right, when in reality some of them were so wrong and ill conceived that they make us shudder where we dare to think back.
And, I am not only talking about the mindset of not too recent times, that a specific portion of our citizens was supposed to sit in the back of the bus, or was not fit to hold a public office, or be part of a management team.
Remember? That was our “older” generation . . . . and it isn’t that long ago.
Please, allow me to cite a different example from Germany. You know, of course, that Germany is the country which produced great minds such as Goethe, Schiller, and Albert Einstein. Moreover, German products were recognized all over the world as superior, and German engineers were sought out by international companies to improve their machinery.
And still, from 1936 until about 1947 the German school system decided that left handed children were “Idiots”. Period.
Unless these “Morons” were corrected to write right handed, and use their right hand for things like throwing a ball, they were considered too stupid to learn, and were therefore pronounced “Idiots”. In order to “teach” them, the children were forced to hold out their left hand, and the teacher hit the “bad” hand with a willow stick so that the hand would bleed and swell up, therefore unable to hold a pen. Talking about “teaching to an extreme”.
The subject of the disconnect between us older folks (we are always right) and the younger generation (which is always wrong) is far too extensive to discuss in a single post. However, as we grow older, we cannot simply assume that we know it all, and just because of the fact that we are older, we have somehow acquired the right to stop learning.
We have to recognize that this is exactly the mindset which produced the “disconnect” in the first place.
In summation, it becomes clear that we have a challenge on our hand, and it is also clear that “bitching” is not the answer
If we choose to set an example, we need to do better.
Well, yes, I know that my last post was about a year ago.
I really can’t think of a valid excuse for my tardiness, except that life presented me with some personal challenges (like it does to everyone). Now, please don’t think that I wish to complain, but it is true that every day gets a bit more challenging, when you are not eighty anymore. On the plus side of things,I have to say that the advancing age presents you with a mature mind. You see many more opportunities than in your younger years. Sometimes it gets downright impossible to sit down, and concentrate on writing, while you see countless possibilities slipping away. Never the less, I attempted to finish my second book of the Kellner Chronicle series in a timely manner. But, I am sorry to say that it is still not ready to be published. Give me another month, or so. Please.
Let’s see, I wanted to post about a thought provoking incident which occurred about two weeks ago.
The fourteen year old daughter, of a friend of mine, asked me for a favor. Apparently she worked on a class assignment to write about the generation gap.Somehow she figured that I looked old enough to be interviewed. Wondering about the subject matter myself, I had no objection.
Most of her questions were direct, and simple to answer. Then it got more complicated.
“How old were you, when you got your first phone?” She asked.
“I never got a phone” I answered. “I saved my money until I was able to buy one.”
I must have hit a sore spot, because she exchanged looks with her father. “How old?” she repeated.
“Twenty five,” I answered truthfully.
She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “What are your first memories?” she continued her questions.
“Do you mean my first memories, or my most dreadful ones?” I asked in return.
“I mean your first ones,” she maintained.
Her insistence caused me to think hard. There were birthdays, but I could not exactly remember when they happened. Then it came gradually back to me. “I remember cleaning and polishing my dad’s shoes, every evening, before I was permitted to go to bed..”
“You did what?” she asked, with open disgust all over her face..
“You know, keeping my father’s shoes in pristine condition. This was not an option or expectation. It was the normal, and the first thing that a father demanded from his son. You have to remember that this was 1934 and in Berlin,Germany.”
There were no more questions, and I don’t know what she wrote in her report. However, a few days ago, her father told me that she received an “A” on her assignment.
Generation gap? Anyone?