Category: Uncategorized

Don’t get me wrong, after a highly enjoyable, 35-person strong family Thanksgiving, I made it to MSER (major Southeastern retailer) job at 3am with a knee brace and sand wedge cane, my ‘knee injury’ the result of an awkward misstep going to an oyster table. According to coworkers, Vineyard Vines of course, there’d been a decent first 3 hrs. after 8pm opening, but I did about $400 before going home at 7:30am. Jack *CRUSHED* it, knocking out $11,000 Friday from 7a-7p. Saturday was a walkover victory, and bonus on $74k month final total is second time in a row.

I’m still all negative about opening T’giv evening, but people ARE spending money…Good generally and for my specific ‘commission mission’, but $$ in the door vs. ‘just’ employee distress raises the spectre of *Christmas opening*, and someone will kindly shoot– uhh, how about ‘plug’?–the first ivory tower dips–t that dares to mention that. I don’t expect to be involved in another go-round in retail anyway; getting decent feelers about contract communications specialist has me optimistic about changes early in 2014.
===
So good to see DUKE winning 10 games and getting into ACC title game–even against the 1980s level of high-voltage Florida State offense they’ll see in Charlotte. Having had the opportunity to talk with several Duke players during their excursion before bowl game last year– especially a pair of running back twins and the explosive Sneed–it was actually another player that told me quite sincerely, their team loved playing a bowl game as a marker/judgment of what they’d accomplished, which was going from nowhere to, well, a bowl game. That player had nothing but positive expectations for what another year would mean for all of them, because they’d taken the first big step.

It’s a small, special feeling to know you saw ‘it’, were there for the beginning of what all those kinda-like-me-of-yore athletes (a little bigger, not 6’7″ 344 lbs. bigger though) should be congratulated for. I’m not a Dookie, but as wild as Auburn’s return for TD finish was, or Michigan’s gutsy ‘go for two and victory’ loss was, notching ten Ws, a chance for a conference championship and maybe more represents a brilliant moment in their athletic-personal lives. yay!

Glenn S.

‘Bill Paying, Benefits Providing Job’ is the shorthanded acronym in title, and after a profoundly satisfying sales day Saturday ($7300+) that might be reflected in next Friday’s commission vs. just hours check, I’m smiling at how a major Southeast retailer’s (MSER) best day ever can become a half-disaster and bite it in the arse.

After cranking my own production at $1000/ hour level from 6am-2:00, I put Nautica department into great shape even before Jack got there for late shift, and the Vineyard Vines people killed it; guy who managed to transfer there from Suits a couple months ago was glorying in a $16,000 day. Retail really is a helluva lot more fun when you’re filling bags, reducing ALLLL that merchandise on tables, or, if you’ve kept your numbers decently close during some *really* lousy recent weeks, looking at possibility of ‘getting out of the hole’ commission-wise. The kicker for me was, everything that many of my retail compatriots/’accounting hour payroll units’ and I discussed about system blowing up came true.

Under almost any circumstances, Best Days Ever can cause logistical problems, like God-sent rain that goes beyond healing parched ground to powerful flooding. In the run-up to its semi-annual big-bigger-Bestest Sale, my major Southeastern retailer employer wound up having to pack pods– at the FAR END of our mall– with customer pre-sales. This massive success comes just after *another* (and confusing for many) major sale, and most importantly, one week after average full time employee hours (35-36) were trimmed down to minimal 31. The ONLY explanation possible for such a reduction was corporate greed, the willingness to pick thousands of employees pockets just because they can.

Don’t think for a SECOND that didn’t blast to the forefront of my brain-Attitude when, at the end of eight hours slinging it large yesterday, management made it known ANYBODY could have AS MUCH OVERTIME AS THEY WANTED if willing to help with (essentially) the unhappy mob wanting those products they’d set aside for almost two weeks from those pods NOW.

In text language it would look something like: 😦 u gt 2 b fking kdg!

That MSER has used clipped hours (4x this year) and minimal staffing– until recently when a bunch of inefficient part-timers was added– without regard to how it affected the Loyalty that strong organizations are built on. Experts agree that keeping good/happy employees who help customers are the best assets for a company, but when you turn that on its head–Company first and damn the hind end– you don’t DESERVE loyalty, and customers will catch that one way or another. Knowing I’d had a heckuva great day on numbers, even got one of those All-Important credit applications, saying no thanks! to obviously unpleasant overtime was a no-brainer. Don’t just say, “Employers are treating everyone like that now,” and expect that to salve any wounds. “What goes around comes around” is legit.

The Panthers are on a streak, Cam seems to have his head on properly, and with defense putting up a consistent show of strength, they go cross-country to take on the 49ers, who are more than tough at home. Panthers win this one, the talk of playoffs will definitely be more than a whisper. For a football team’s season, that ‘Winning cures’ axiom is a fact. With the family gathering killing spectre of a *still unannounced to the peasant masses, at least in schedules, 8 pm opening on Thanksgiving*, that MSER might not be looking at a full team effort to keep the winning rolling.

Glenn S.

Possessing an eagles-eye view on the economy from register level, I *guarantee* there has been a massive puckering of the consumers collective wallet the last two weeks-plus. Yes, it has to do with the bullshit on budget.

Straight fact: Our Nautica location with a major Southeastern retailer made it to $20,000 sales for month three Sundays ago, then didn’t hit $30k until this past Fridays results. That’s just Nautica production, but two guys, 12 days to $10,000– it’s a straight line cause/effect from where I’m looking.

There’s been *plenty* of time for exchanging POVs with unbusy associates and certain customers, but instead of railing about ransom demands and dumbasses who keep saying, “Well, they (Dems) have to negotiate!” that makes me a bit crazy, this sports situation struck me as what the ‘Not Totally Looney Tunes’ members of House GOP need to consider looking for.

Fulfillment of duty and intestinal fortitude

Rugby is a tough game. Most shorthand descriptions use ‘football without helmets and pads’ and there’s definitely lots of hitting/tackling. There aren’t constant substitutes–15 players a side, you are both offense and defense, runner and tackler, usually for 40 minute halves. Forget the forwards, those 8 guys with heads tucked up tails and grinding on each other – probably in mud – most people visualize as rugby. (Nothing to do with The Play, just some useful basics)

The MUST About Kicking

There is kicking too.  A grubber is a ground kick, there are ‘up and unders’ (like a golf wedge) and of course, longer football-like punts downfield. The crux of this analogy, re: what Repubs HAVE to do in this specific financial-idealogical meltdown, is that the fullback *HAS* to catch the ball, even when it hangs just too damn dangerously long and he’s gonna get DRILLED by a wing or inside center. The only other possibility is kind of a ‘fair catch’ requiring simultaneously catching the ball and yelling ‘Mark!’ while digging a heel into turf.

The fact is, you’re usually told to start moving even if you’ve done it right, because the guy coming at you might not know or care about the rule. I wasted a *REF* playing a ‘B’ side game once myself, had to laugh at his keg comment about anticipation of hit, respected the fact he took it. My receiving experience on such a kick was the end of my first season, catching an extra game at fullback for a college side (Siena). That collision was the closest I ever got to being concussed–I’m not absolutely sure I wasn’t. Going over my handlebars at maybe 2 mph and face planting on a parked car (4 stitches, 2 cap teeth, ER ride$, dented flashing around cars rear window) was a similar crushing experience.

THE RUGBY PLAY

THE PLAY was, I couldn’t be a weenie and let the ball drop – that just wasn’t an option. When Boehener finally puts a bill up – *without the ransom demands and extra craziness, JUST the bill,* thats when every Congressman has to watch the ball hang against a gray Saturday afternoon sky and – because voting Pass/In favor of/whatever budgets and spending limits determines whether this country gets totally fked over by 40 crazy people – decide they’re willing to take the hit. They simply can’t fake caring, or relatively speaking, whiff on the situation because they don’t like the possibility of an expensive challenger next (2014) election time.

Make the right play guys– don’t be weenies, catch the ball and accept whatever the hit is. With ruggers its a mark of pride to take a whack and talk about it at the drinkup afterwards. But you’ve GOTTA make the play. The country, the world awaits what happens next.

Glenn S.

Having the opportunity to discuss rugby over several days with a 20 year old “I’m better than you” nephew while on vacation and then two middle school ruggers (and moms) at work– I guess college guys always think like that. As long as they’re both willing to catch some of the lore a cagey veteran like me can dispense though, stories are how ruggers learn the really good stuff. I warned the kid, whose already played U-13 level, about mentioning injuries to others– EVERYBODY likes telling their best injury stories, and its actually a badge of honor.

For his Mom, I underlined a fact about rugby while he tried clothes on, specifically how I talked to him because he was wearing a team shirt. He’s now part of an International fraternity, a group where you’ll find somebody almost anywhere talks to you for exactly that same simple reason.

Of course your young guy loves rugby–its tough, elemental, all-in guy (and gals) competition. Once those props up front tap each other in confirmation before a scrum-down, a referee says “Engage!” and groups of eight try to shove each other around. Your guys move the pile, thats proof you’re better–keep being physically better, you usually win.

I remind Moms that rugby tackling is much safer on the knees because tacklers must attempt to circle arms. Roll-blocking a dude isn’t allowed, so its your choice about putting your head near someones knees to tackle them correctly. lol Moms always cringe at the sound-memory of their child getting whacked because that ain’t pads cracking, it’s junior making that sound. Thinking how much street and pickup football I played as a kid, I still think I’d have liked scholastic rugby–being part of a team always counts.

I’m proud of how concisely I showed the Alexander Graham rugger my favorite tackle/move–only took about 25 seconds to explain. For all the story telling that is rugby’s stock in trade, getting a point across (“We lost 30-4, but we beat them 4-0 in a tournament the next Spring”) is best done without the embellishments.

The ‘prime directive’ in rugby is basically guy with the ball goes no further, especially when you’re in open field. If you fall for runner with ball faking a pass or kick, they can do it again later down the field, so stop that guy first. Often a runner stops when faced with a tackler, offering the ball to following players. Mauls and rucks are situations that usually develop there. MY MOVE as a 1-1 tackle, was to lift the guys right elbow so he only had one arm holding the ball, then *lift and turn* him towards MY people. Chances are they can get it loose from him, I block any of his guys because of offsides rule (and yeah, there are actually rules. That other crazy stuff you’re thinking about is Australian Rules football) and it sends a signal when you just PUT somebody where you want them.

The kid got it immediately, Mom asked if I coached, and I said no. Right down to brass tacks, last December my doc at OrthoCarolina told me I had an 85-yr. old knee, that his was only half as messed up when he got a replacement YEARS ago. I stopped wearing a neophrene sleeve last year because it gave me a false sense of support, but after recognizing I wasn’t doing coaching or a bunch of other things because I was constantly thinking about that wussy knee, yesterday I bought a $40 knee stabilizer (Shock Doctor) with flexible stays and velcro straps top and bottom. A 25 minute shooting session at pretty good local pocket part on Craig St. later, I was soooo happy talking to those recent ruggers finally pushed me to fix myself, back to guy who liked being a coach-athlete.

This brace fits like a glove, makes an injury better than its felt since the Saranac Lake Tournament of ’86, when that Maryland Olde Boy dove into the knee because my foot was planted at the goal line to meet his charge. Sure there’s a story that goes with that! but its really about Harvey, his wife cutting loose on tequila, and not making any friends because–with elevation and ice bags–I couldn’t leave the tent when they, ahem, arrived home.

Oh, and I let Spencer know that relative to his being better, the reason I played inside center (and eventually flyhalf, very similar to QB) was because I both passed well and picked up my flyhalf’s tackles.  (Spencer overcame getting teeth knocked loose in HS to play D-1 rugby at Delaware, but passing still doesn’t occur to him all that much.) I gave him a HULK body shirt– he likes clobbering guys– but that probably won’t impress him as much as the first time that elbow-turn tackle works for a 13 year old…

Oh, Panther prediction is 9-7, and Cam gets his new contract before Halloween.

Glenn S.

Since I was completing a somewhat ill Saturday by watching 125 of South Carolina’s best and brightest 15-16 year olds perform skits and individual acts for a Hugh O’Brian Youth (HOBY) seminar talent show, you can say Aaron Hernandez and I were on different paths since the night of June 22. We weren’t on anything like the same wave of Life *before* then mind you, but having refilled my tank of Positives while attending that seminar, I nailed finishing my book and expanded my social life considerably, and Mr. Hernandez, well, New England offered to exchange his Patriot jersey for whatever other number a fan might want. Future/final verdicts about ‘the facts of the matter’ about possible murder, that’s a situation several degrees more serious than even what those Ambassadors I worked with all weekend were focusing on–BULLYING was this years primary topic.

I still get a strained voice after long sales days talking from the nasty sore throat (thanks Z-pack!) I dealt with that whole weekend. I utilized several of my team members to read portions of a presentation regarding the characters (family, friends) and style of the Aesop Fables-type writing project they would be asked to help produce material for. At that point I suggested several get back to me quickly about artistic support, but nothing about getting jammies together or taking someone on a final ride would ever be part of the discussion. Actually, I would like to hear what those really smart-cool-OUTSTANDING! (a continuous verbal positive they express) young people might have to say in light of bullying theme, the death of an individual and immediate, total implosion of what everyone would probably accept as, well, any lifestyle we imagine a $40 million contract could maintain.

The seminar was at Erskine College in Due West, SC, and as small as Erskine is, Aaron Hernandez is going to spend an awful lot of negative, useless time in an even smaller place for the foreseeable future. While I haven’t received the necessary information from SCHOBY directors to make progress on getting books produced, I’m maybe a day or two from pulling the trigger (hey!) on self-publishing my own 77,600 word-290 page book. Believe it, getting everything 100% settled and the anticipation of having that ultimate product in my hands is pretty sweet stuff. Harder to believe is the ACLU going to bat for AH about his being kept in solitary–a situation brought to the fore because his personal tattooing apparently would’ve made him a target in the general population.

Nope, just throwing in plans for a baseball game on Thursday or vacationing/hitting the racetrack/golf in Saratoga’s enlivening blue sky environment in August, I’ve got plenty more positives to look forward to than Aaron. lol Strange segue to brother David’s sending multiple pictures of (what I eventually told him were our Dad’s) brown-weave loafers from Paris, there with Donna for terrific 25th celebration: Even my Dad’s old shoes are going to have a better time than Hernandez. Unkind but true.

Glenn S.

Have to admit waking up on sligtly less positive note this morning. It’s Day 3 of setting cell alarm for 7 am, and training habits take 30 days. It’s clearly a habit that needs relearning should a getting-a-little-momentum economy present better job possibilities, so I’ll get used to it. Shooting hoops in warm sunshine, thats an old school technique for relaxing body and brain.

Normally I’d be keeping one eye on ESPN for results, snippets of info about individual players or any lingering facts about these teams as they push to the Final Four, but its a crap shoot at this point if I get a piece of my ‘investments’ back in picking prowess (thanks New Mexico and St. Louis). I’ve knocked out a quantity of ‘fable’ material for a childrens book project with SC HOBY this week, but having something concrete to stake personal triumph on is lacking–picking a ton of winners in first rounds gets at least part of that back.

I *do* believe this country is about to throw off certain restraints and negatives though, so maybe I’ll try that ‘fake it till ya make it’ stuff. I considered this while shooting hoops in Tampa last week, when a real focus came through about it being 30 years since I left Tampa. My folks retired to Florida in 1988 when Dad, 83 when died at the end of January, was 59. THAT is kind of the crux of things for many Americans, because this is going to be a time for a sea change of major proportions.

We need to determine a new way to ‘Better’ because what we’ve been doing isn’t feeling right. Saying “what WE’VE been doing” might be inaccurate, but I’ve been hunkered down in retail and wondering what combination of push and some kind of break might move my cause back onto a more remunerative path. If Mom is a little confused about what comes next without Dad, she has a paid for home and money in the bank. Its not going to be easy, but thats what ‘us guys’ have been taking turns with visiting her, trying to keep things moving in right direction.

Believe it or not, thats where shooting comes in.

At the local court, I started using ‘the other basket’, and instead of chipping paint on my free throws I was making them easy–17 in a row, a streak I haven’t seen in a decade, and on my (un)patented turn-to-the-baseline-from-14′-out I could *feel* the gazeeet! stop action split second where you understand where the basket is and, allowing for physical drift and annnny other factor in the world, exactly how quick you release the shot–NOW!– to miss the edge of the backboard.

One, both FTs and long shot have been missing lately–30 years since Tampa have not been kind to my left knee–and when you lose confidence in something thats been so good so long, it does cause concern. Like when the prettiest girl in high school hits 46 or realizes the white jeans make her hips look wide. Charlotte no longer thinks its bullet-proof to stormy economics because “we’ve got two of the biggest banks headquartered here,” and BofA shareholders are grateful to see stock isn’t ‘under water’ any more. The unemployment numbers are down, and companies have finally decided to put people back to work, since all utility has been wrung from skeleton staffing, even if MiniMe thinks cutting hours is solution to all.

If its going to come down to attitude, I’ve got that, and it only took some time in the sun, an unexpected couple 100 payoff in commission and a new target to get it righter. I don’t expect a hearty dose of respect for my efforts or a raise (reports are even a 74- Very Good doesn’t get a raise), but Jack and I can see Nautica $$ if we crunch it the last week, so thats afoot.

Extra note of pride: my nephew Paul “put the capstone on his collegiate golf career” by halving his match for Oxford vs. arch-rival Cambridge. Brother Steve couldn’t be ‘on the bag’ because of back injury, but played in brutal cold and wind, it must’ve been epic. Steve says they were forced to only 18 holes both days, delayed start allowed high winds to remove 2″ of snow and actually dry the course somewhat. Winter rules for lifting/cleaning were in effect. Incredible!

Glenn S.

Explaining the title is easy but deep, although it’s taken a lot longer, two weeks, to get even these words into shape than I would have imagined. Eulogies aren’t easy; Mom noted my brother Mike wasn’t talking all that loudly at the church service before we buried my Dad, and Mike responded he’d been doing the best he could.

We all grieve in our own ways, and while I choked up a little while saying what I wanted to at graveside, I was glad to have written what I felt needed saying almost eight years ago for my folks 50th anniversary.

If there’s one absolute about having a loved one die, it’s that you shouldn’t wait until after the last moment to tell them how you felt. That was my guiding principle when composing a ‘take-away’ for friends and family at the happiest time of Mom and Dad’s life in 2005, and thankfully only minor updating got me through.

About the tabasco…

Having tasted some of the meatloaf-mac ‘n cheese-green bean lunch plate in his hospital room, I declared the meatloaf needed that particular condiment, and Dad rolled his eyes behind the oxygen mask, because he used to say I’d put it on corn flakes.

Knowing Waldo F. Shorkey (he rarely used middle name, so I won’t) only had 15% heart function, and when Mom reiterated to doctors  about no extraordinary means to prolong his life, “Why should they crack open an 83-year old man’s chest or put him on a ventilator he’ll never come off of?” was her reasoning, I was very aware the end was near.

That eye roll of recognition is an important something for my head and heart I’ve repeated many times since. My three brothers actually made it to Tampa by 6:00 Tuesday evening, an incredible and immediate support for Mom. When she’d been ready to let the only man she’d loved for even longer than the 58 years they’d been married go, that counted as the rightest time.

Gratitude for Being There

I’m grateful for the Luck-karma-Godsend of having two communicants from Christ the King waiting to get into ICU when I returned from a cup of coffee in Tampa sunshine that morning.

Dad was a lector/flower arranger there for 20 years, and when Mom and I had to leave after giving him some soup and water, the nurses call about Dad’s ‘turn for worse’ as I walked in the back door was followed maybe 30 seconds later by a call that a priest was already on his way.

My father getting Last Rites less than two hours later might’ve happened even if I hadn’t gotten him on their list, but that’s one of those moments that isn’t forgotten.

As succinct and dear as those 50th anniversary notes were, I’ll use them again now:

• How he came down our driveway in Schenectady, NY within 5 min. of 5:00 *every day* was a Goodness that isn’t easy to explain. Sometimes it seemed an inconvenience, but I’m smiling with memories of how the other half of our inevitable 3-on-3 basketball games would dig in defensively, knowing 19-16 wasn’t actually a loss if/when we got called inside for dinner. (Major props for our ‘5th brother’ Dave O. for coming too)
• Whistling tunelessly in his workshop and tapping a ring on the steering wheel during many, many family road trips. Swearing I took half a layer of paint off a telephone pole on that first drive after I got my permit.
• Accepting Mom’s “Let it be on your head!” about being paralyzed before signing a release for Pop Warner football and saying “Don’t get hurt.”
• Taking us to the Watervliet Arsenal early on Saturday mornings to tear apart wooden crates, my hammering/knocking apart skills something brothers have called on repeatedly since. How we managed to get one 24-foot beam home I cannot imagine.
• Christmas Cookies. Mom was the ‘regular’ maker, but those last haystacks and biscotti this Christmas were a long cry from the variety and tinfuls from 1960s-70s, the college years. Lacy molasses praline rollups and date filled ones, hours spent decorating others with cherries, sprinkles, slivers of almonds or little silver balls. Oh, and the eclairs in swan shapes!

It wasn’t in my written anniversary piece, but the fact he ate veggies, which he didn’t actually like, but did to set an example for four boys, was righteous. One of the stories he included in the leather journal I gave him, about how he lied about not going to eat a piece of coconut cream pie – which he dearly loved – before giving it to his oldest brother who was scraping the house, was elementally his spirit of giving.

Dad had polio as a child, was very proud about having served his country in the Navy -all four boys in his family actually served. Racquetball games, especially when I got pinned against a wall and needed him to make some shots in the clutch, are held dear. He couldn’t move very fast, but God! the joy in winning the moment against another father-son team worked great for both of us.

The way he turned around and looked at me before one particular serve, because he knew I was somewhat hung over, that’s a keeper memory. I had to dig his nasty lefty, Z-serve out with a low, just off the wall backhand, obviously that bonding that makes memories.

I didn’t actually cry all that much about his passing, and I believe its because he’d lived a good and full life, even if it meant leaving Mom alone. I’d raced down from Charlotte on Monday intending to pay my respects to Uncle Donnie, his baby brother who’d died in the same hospital on Sunday, also of congestive heart failure.

I failed on that, yet getting the last bits of time to give him a sip of water, to watch his open mouth beneath the oxygen mask, realizing he’d normally be making a racket with his snoring, was worth the effort.

Getting up to pee during the night on camping trips, you tried being subtle about shutting the camper door or shaking the floor getting back into a sleeping bag, but if he stopped sawing wood, you tried getting to sleep fast.

My cousin Frank (‘Skip’ for first 30 years of our lives), whose birthday and Dad’s funeral were Groundhog Day, gave an excellent perspective as we had some wings and a beer at the house.

“Uncle Walt had lots of little pieces of wood saved in the garage, because there might be a need for some particular piece for some future project he’d work on. As long as you’re thinking like that, you haven’t given up on life.”

Amen, Frank. And now I’m crying Dad.
Love, Glenn, Son #2