Around the fire pit

 

My sister-in-law Chris managed to take this photo in the dark with a flash on an iPhone camera. I really like the look of it. That's me on the far right talking to my son Jack.

I don't have the numbers to back this up, but it seems to me the popularity of the fire pit as a suburban backyard accessory has risen exponentially in the last, say, 15 to 20 years.

People sometimes build them right into their patios or, as in our case, just dig a hole and ring it with bricks. Either way, it becomes the focal point of almost any warm-weather gathering.

Terry and my niece Shelby built our pit, and while at first I complained about it as yet another thing in the yard I have to mow around, I must admit it has been a welcome addition.

We probably have something like 10 or 12 fires each spring and summer. Maybe it's more, maybe it's less, I don't know. I don't keep an exact count.

But I know that whenever there's a fire and our kids and significant others are available to join us, it's a guaranteed good time.

We sit and talk, most of us with our beverage of choice in hand. And that's all there is to it. You just relax.

I can get a fire started, but not as well as Terry, who is a superior fire starter AND fire feeder. Elissa's boyfriend Mark was an Eagle scout, and while he claims he was terrible at fires during his scouting days, he builds what can only be deemed a top-notch fire, at least by our standards.

My brother-in-law Dave built what is probably the biggest fire ever in our pit simply by piling on more logs.

We still have a sizeable wood pile, thanks to the elimination of 14 or so trees from our backyard a few summers ago. There are still many fires to go before we have to restock it.

I'm not always a "simple pleasures" kind of guy, but the fire pit has made me one in at least one regard.

Though, seriously, I hate having my straight-line momentum interrupted by obstacles when I'm cutting the grass.

Should you spend more time getting even better at the things at which you already excel, or trying to improve the things at which you're not naturally good?

One of the best bosses I've ever had (and I've had some very, very good ones) was Cindy, who was originally my colleague at Dix & Eaton before becoming my manager at The Cleveland Foundation. She very deftly balanced being instructive and inspirational with being constructively critical.

If you've ever managed people, you know that's often not as easy as it looks.

I used to work on a variety of print pieces at the foundation, mostly newsletters and the like but occasionally larger and fancier publications. It requires a range of skills to put something like that together, and the one area where I never had any problem was writing copy. In general, I'm pretty good at that and I like doing it.

Where I wasn't especially good was reviewing and providing feedback on the design and layout. A graphic designer would send us a draft, and in most cases I would look at it and say, "That's great!"

And I meant it. I rarely had any changes to the look and feel of a given piece, partly because I am no designer and, honestly, any piece of semi-professional design is impressive to me.

Cindy, however, always had feedback for designers, and it was inevitably helpful feedback. She had an eye for improving communication by maximizing the way it was packaged, and I envied her for it.

One time I told her I would try to develop a more critical eye for evaluating graphic design, and her response was insightful.

She told me, "That's fine, but I wouldn't worry too much about it. You're only going to get so good at it, and your time is probably better spent improving the things you're good at and making an even bigger impact with those."

Which makes sense, I suppose. Your margin for improvement when it comes to a given task or skill may be somewhat limited to begin with, and it's even more limited when you're (a) not already good at it, and/or (b) don't particularly enjoy it in the first place.

So in answer to the question in the headline, I'm not saying you shouldn't try to shore up the areas where you're lacking and which might be beneficial for you to improve. But don't bang your head against the wall needlessly. You can probably make a bigger contribution (whether it's at home or work or wherever) going from good to great with the stuff you already enjoy doing.

All of which is why I don't plan to practice my carpentry skills any time soon because, let's be honest, tools and I aren't ever going to really get along with each other.

I've carried these nine books with me from job to job for the last 20 years

It can sound pretentious to call your job a "craft," but I do consider the writing portion of my vocation to be just that.

Whatever your personal craft may be, you should never stop trying to get better at it. I plan to be working toward clearer, more concise writing up until the day I die (well, maybe I'll take that day off...but not the day before).

There was a time when it was imperative for writers to keep a set of reference books at their desk. A dictionary and thesaurus were de rigueur, of course, but depending on the focus of your writing, there were others on the required reading list.

One was a stylebook, such as the Associated Press Stylebook pictured here. Stylebooks tell you everything from whether to hyphenate certain words to how you abbreviate the states to which nouns are capitalized and which are not. And everything in between.

You'll also find a book of quotations on my shelf, as well as Plotnik's "The Elements of Editing" and the densely populated "Macmillan Handbook of English," 1960 edition.

Here's the thing: These books, or at least most of the information they contain, can be found online -- in most cases quite easily. Technically, I don't need the physical books whenever I have easy access to Google.

But I keep them for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that I still love the feeling of cracking open a book to get to whatever I'm looking for (just as I still love reading an actual newspaper). They have traveled with me from workplace to workplace over the past two decades, starting at the Cleveland Clinic and moving on to Dix & Eaton, The Cleveland Foundation, OneCommunity, Vitamix, and now Goodyear.

There are memories wrapped up in these books. A few I associate with particular work projects, maybe a script or press release of which I was proud. Others take me back to my newspaper days, when the whole idea of writing for money was new and exciting, and I wanted so badly to be good at it.

There's also this: As much as I love and embrace technology, I also believe books hearken back to a time when the written word was more revered and the library card catalog meant something. They represent a pathway to knowledge and experiences otherwise unattainable for most of us, even online.

Books are, in my mind, the genteel medium. And at age 51, I'm just old enough to appreciate that.

(By the way, the slim brown volume tucked between the AP Stylebook and the Macmillan Handbook is "The Word: An Associated Press Guide to Good News Writing." So good. Oh man, so good.)

You can't fake passion

OK, I'll wait a moment while you make whatever jokes popped into your head when you read that headline...

<PAUSE>

I am of course talking about the G-rated passions in your life, whether it's a hobby, a charity, or the focus of this post, your job.

One of the advantages of having worked in so many different places since the early 90s is that I have gained a wide perspective on what makes a great workplace.

The perks are always nice, of course, and I have nothing against those employers who install slides, ping pong tables, gaming consoles, etc. in their office. And hey, no one is going to complain when a bonus check shows up on payday.

But as cliché as it sounds, the best workplaces are the ones with the best people. And more to the point, people who love what they're doing and the organization for which they're doing it.

It is an absolute struggle to work in a place where employees are ambivalent about their jobs. No matter how conscientious you are, you'll feel that lack of energy personally, and it will undoubtedly affect your performance.

One of the first things I noticed about Goodyear is that people there love the company and feel a strong loyalty toward the brand. This may be attributable to the fact that so many of them have worked there for 20, 30 or even 40 years. There are lots of long-timers at the Home of the Winged Foot, and their personal identities are often wrapped up in Goodyear's identity.

In many ways, the same was true when I was at Vitamix. It's a family-owned company that has much to recommend it as an employer, and people are justly proud of the organization and its products.

This is especially helpful as a corporate communicator. When someone loves what they do and you talk with them about it for, say, a company video or intranet article, it's immediately obvious. It's not the kind of thing you can pretend.

If you're not truly all in, I can tell within 10 seconds. And the resulting communication is going to reflect that, no matter how much I try to pretty it up.

I haven't been at Goodyear long enough to have developed that connection myself, but I do hope it happens.

The problem is that, when it does, this blog will no longer be called 5 Kids, 1 Wife, but probably something like "4 Tires, 1 Car."

And nobody really wants to see that.

I would like more coffee mugs, but I don't have any place to put them

When I started drinking coffee 10 years ago, there were certain things about the habit of which I was unaware.

Like the variances in coffee quality, depending on where you get it. I have pretty low standards, but even I can tell the difference among French press, restaurant, and weak Mr. Coffee brews.

Or the fact that powdered creamer is nasty and should be illegal. I could not have known that until I tried it.

There is also this: I like having a large collection of coffee mugs. I have three at home that I guess are "mine," though we have so many total mugs in our house that the hooks behind the kitchen sink are all occupied and the cupboards probably can't hold any more.

I also have three mugs at work, though one is my everyday go-to (pictured above), while the Donkey Kong and Cleveland State University School of Communications mugs are there more for display and to serve as back-ups than anything else.

So, as gifts go, I suppose coffee mugs are a lot like ties: I can always find a use for them, but I'm running out of places to put them.

Should you be looking for something to give me, I still say you can't go wrong with cash. Or a Starbucks gift card. Unlike coffee mugs, both are easily stored.

I would have enjoyed cruising more if there hadn't been a big boat involved

 

A couple of years ago, Terry and I went on the first (and so far only) cruise of our lives. It was an Australian cruise, and the places we visited, things we saw, and people we met really made it the trip of a lifetime.

The one problem we both had, though, was a fairly significant one: We got seasick. The constant motion of the MS Noordam was such that we spent most of the first night and all of the first full day of the voyage in our cabin feeling less than stellar.

We eventually found some relief when a visit to a Tasmanian pharmacy introduced us to TravaCalm, a motion sickness medicine that definitely helped. We also chewed ginger gum, and Terry wore a pressure point bracelet that further stabilized the situation.

Speaking for myself, though, I can say that while things got better, I never fully shook that feeling of dizziness and slight nausea.

Granted, the Bass Strait between Tasmania and the Australian mainland had rougher water than you're likely to encounter in, say, the Caribbean. But still...I'm not sure I want to try the cruise thing again any time soon.

I preferred our dry-land stops to our full days at sea, that's for certain.

I envy the folks I refer to as "Cruise People," who structure their vacations around cruises. They love the cruise life and never seem to feel even a hint of seasickness.

Given that I have to take Dramamine even upon entering an amusement park, I'm guessing I'll never join their ranks.

Overcoming negative self-talk in your life

We are dipping back into Jenn's Big Book of Wisdom for today's post, referring to my Weight Watchers leader Jenn. She does not get paid enough to serve as the fount of all knowledge in my life, but these days she fills that role anyway. God bless her.

At a recent Saturday morning meeting, Jenn talked about the the voice we often hear inside our heads that is self-critical and negative. It is counterproductive to everything each of us tries to achieve in our wellness journeys, yet we often yield to it.

It's the voice that tells you, for example, that there's no way you're going to lose the weight you need, and even if you do, it will be impossible to keep off.

It's the voice that tells you you're a bad parent and are screwing up your kids.

It's the voice that tells you you don't deserve the good things you have in your life.

It's the voice that lies, and its effects can be devastating.

I am very much a self-critical person, and I've always seen this as a positive trait. I figure that if you're constantly monitoring everything you're doing wrong and addressing it, you will inevitably be a better person.

And of course there's something to be said for continuous self-improvement. I'm not saying you shouldn't always strive to up your game in the areas of life that really count, because you should.

But there's a very fine line between constructive self-criticism and self-loathing, and sometimes we cross it without even knowing.

At the risk of sounding new age-y and maybe a bit more touchy feeling than I'm comfortable with, your main battle is probably not with living a healthy lifestyle or becoming a better spouse/parent/friend. Your main battle is likely to be loving yourself.

My guess is that some people have healthier attitudes in this regard than others, but it's something we should all keep in mind.

Don't get complacent, but understand that you're worth a lot more to way more people than you probably realize.

I can't remember the last time I took a bath

Right up front, let's clarify that headline. It's not that I can't remember the last time I bathed. It's that I can't remember the last time I took a bath.

I am not only a shower guy, I'm a hardcore, twice-a-day shower guy. I shower 700+ times a year, which dermatologists and others will probably tell you is not the best habit in the world, but it's a well-established routine from which I'll likely never deviate.

When we redid our master bathroom this past spring, it included the installation of a bathtub, much to Terry's delight. She enjoys (and deserves) the occasional bath, so it was mainly for her.

I could take a bath in it, I suppose, but I don't know. I would honestly feel a little silly...like a 7-year-old in a 51-year-old man's body.

For one thing, as much as I like to be clean, I like to be clean in a hurry. I'm in and out of the shower in 3 minutes or so. Baths involve running the water, maybe adding some sort of soap or bath oil or whatever, and only then cleaning yourself.

They also involve sitting in the midst of anything you've just washed off yourself, but we won't get into that.

Ultimately, I think it comes down to this: As much as I welcome many challenges to traditional gender roles, the fact is that a bath just isn't that, well, manly. No offense to you guys who regularly engage in the bath lifestyle, but it just isn't.

So I'm going to leave the baths to my wife, who is probably better equipped to enjoy bubbles and bath bombs and that sort of thing than I am.

To make up for it, maybe I'll treat myself to a 4-minute shower sometime this week. Oh, the indulgence!

Deciphering what "business casual" really means in your office

Over my 30 years in the full-time workforce, I have worked in enough places for enough companies with enough people to know that the single most difficult thing for many employees is figuring out exactly what the "business casual" dress code means.

It seems simple enough, but there's a whole lot of room for interpretation under the business casual umbrella. As with many things in life, it's probably even tougher for women, but I can only speak from the male perspective here.

Look up "business casual men" online and you'll see everything from sport coats with button-up shirts on one end of the spectrum to nice t-shirts with jeans on the other. And of course a whole bunch in between.

In my first real job at The News-Herald, we in the sports department always went with the "extreme casual" look, which meant shorts in the summer and jeans with sweatshirts in the winter. The news side reporters wore shirts and ties, whereas we all looked like we had just come from a frat party.

Later, when I entered the 9-to-5 world, I also went the shirt-and-tie route most days, and even the everyday-suit look when I was at the Cleveland Clinic.

But for most of the past 20 years, business casual has been the rule with my employers. And I've always taken my cues from both company leaders and my immediate peers. Whatever they wear, that's what I'll generally wear.

Granted, if I err, it's almost always on the side of dressing a bit more professionally, which could be a generational thing and/or having learned to dress for work from my dad. He was a data processing/computer guy who always went with a shirt and tie.

I recently took one of my every-three-year shopping trips to Kohl's to stock up on work clothes, and the load of stuff I brought home was heavy on button-up shirts and different-colored dress pants. I'm already well-stocked with khakis and have enough different kinds of shoes and belts to create nearly endless color and style combinations.

But again, the way I dress is largely dictated by what I see around me at Goodyear. And what I see around me are a whole lot of engineers and tech types who, it must be said, subscribe heavily to the stereotype of how you think engineers and techies dress. So maybe the bar isn't set as high as it might otherwise be, particularly in an older, traditionally more conservative company like Goodyear.

I will say that our CEO often wears jeans, and that sets a pretty relaxed tone.

So it you're confused about business casual, pay close attention to your co-workers, particularly those of the same gender (obviously) and job level as you. You'll figure it out quickly enough.

I would leave the Led Zeppelin shirt at home, though. Even if the CEO is a big fan.

When we used to take little league scores over the phone for the next day's newspaper

I often bring this up on Aug. 22nd because it was such an important milestone in my career progression, but today is the 33rd anniversary of my first day working in The News-Herald sports department.

The News-Herald is our local daily newspaper. I was 18 years old the first time I walked into the newsroom in what is now referred to as "the old building" on Mentor Avenue. In 1994, when I had become a full-time staff sports writer, we moved into newer digs a little further down the street and behind the old site.

There was a certain smell that hit you the minute you walked into that place, and I will never forget the first time I experienced it. I couldn't nail down exactly what it was, but I always assumed it was the smell of ink and whatever chemicals they used to print the paper every night.

To me, it was a smell that meant I got to play some part in putting out that paper. And it was exciting.

I started at The News-Herald as a college freshman sports agate clerk, taking the results of local community and scholastic sporting events over the phone and typing them into the computer system for inclusion in the following day's sports section. We also wrote up little briefs/articles.

Later I began covering games and writing columns under my very own byline. I never, ever got tired of seeing my name in that paper, even though it had become somewhat old hat after a year or two.

All told, I spent eight years in the newspaper business before moving on to technical writing and later corporate communications. Those were formative years for me in a number of ways. I developed and honed skills that continue to serve me well even now.

Until recently, I had three print newspapers delivered to my house every day. But now I've stopped home print delivery in favor of digital subscriptions, as that's the way the industry is going anyway. Print isn't quite yet dead, but it does have one foot in the proverbial grave.

Maybe the thrill is the same for young people doing online journalism today, but I can't believe there's anything really like the feeling of writing a story, editing copy, and laying out pages for a paper that comes out hours later and is distributed to thousands of your neighbors.

It was exhilarating. It really was.

And now we've all moved on. Progress, I suppose.

But 33 years ago, it was all about that newsprint. I loved every minute I was a part of the process.

As hobbies go, sports PA announcing is a strange but fun one

The high school sports season has kicked off here in Northeast Ohio, though I generally refer to it as "announcing season."

I have picked up a variety of public address announcing gigs these last few years, mostly through Wickliffe High School. It all started with the Wickliffe Swing Band, whose announcer I became back in 2014 (making this the start of my eighth season on the mic for this great institution). In subsequent years I've taken on Blue Devil boys and girls soccer, volleyball, and boys and girls basketball.

All of that, in turn, has led to separate engagements announcing for the Mentor Ice Breakers hockey team; Lake Erie College; University School; Perry, Mayfield, and Riverside high schools; and even a Division I men's college basketball game for Cleveland State University.

I've often said that PA announcers are much like football linemen: In ideal circumstances, you don't even realize they're there. Our job as announcers is to enhance the experience for both fans and players, all while staying out of the way and melting into the background.

The kids are and always will be the show. Just as no one comes to the ballpark to watch an umpire call balls and strikes, no one buys a ticket to hear the guy talking over the public address system.

That doesn't mean we don't do our jobs without enthusiasm. These kids who work so hard on their chosen sports deserve robust introductions and verbal recognition of their achievements. The trick is to balance energy with restraint.

The best I've ever seen and heard doing that was the late Ray Milavec, who taught, coached, and announced at Wickliffe for decades before passing away in 2016. He was a master at the craft, if you want to call it that.

Between now and mid-October, if all goes as planned, I will have announced something on the order of 40 total volleyball matches and soccer games, not to mention halftime band performances and miscellaneous band festivals. I also run the scoreboard for girls soccer.

And I can't tell you what a privilege it is to do all of it. I get a little sad when fall sports end, but six or so weeks later I'm back at it doing basketball, which makes for a very fun winter.

Some people collect stamps. I strive to pronounce kids' names correctly into a microphone. To each his own.

My position on spinny rides and roller coasters

Earlier this month, Terry, Jared, Melanie and I spent a day at Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida. (They actually spent two days there, while my trip was cut a bit short by the need to fly home and get back to work.)

It was a long, hot, exhausting day, given how much ground we covered, how much time we spent waiting in line, and how warm and humid Central Florida tends to be in August.

There was also the fact that I took a couple of supposedly "non-drowsy" Bonine tablets for motion sickness as we entered the park. The pills certainly did their job in terms of preventing motion sickness, but they left me increasingly sleepy as the day went on and absolutely wiped out by nightfall.

If those were the "non-drowsy" formula, I would hate to see what happens when you take the "drowsy" stuff.

In any event, I have undergone an interesting shift over the years in the way I experience amusement parks. When I was younger, I would not go on roller coasters but would go on virtually anything else, including the rides that spin you round and round until you want to puke.

Now it is the opposite: I love virtually all roller coasters, and you couldn't pay me to endure a spinny ride.

I'm not sure why I acquired a taste for coasters later in life, but the faster the better, as far as I'm concerned.

I suspect I would have liked them all along were it not for a traumatic experience on the Double Loop at Geauga Lake back in 1979 or so. It was my first roller coaster, and I got in line to ride it by myself.

To that point, I had never experienced that stomach-drop feeling of going down a really steep hill so quickly, let alone the feeling of being inverted. The intensity of both scared me, and it was a good 15 years before I got back onto a roller coaster of any size.

Now, as I say, I'll go on any of them you want me to.

But the rides that go in a circle? Like the Witches Wheel and those terrible teacups? No, thank you. There's not enough motion sickness medicine in the world to stem the intense dizziness and general feeling of prolonged misery that hits me if I do the round-and-round stuff.

Maybe it's an age thing. All I know is, my days of tolerating the spinny rides are long in the past.

I'll do the merry-go-round, I guess, but even watching people ride it makes me feel a little queasy (that's a true story), so I need to have a barf bag in hand before mounting the fake horse.

The first time you leave a child really far from home for what seems like a really long time

Jack, Melanie, and I recently enjoyed some Jeremiah's Italian Ice, an Orlando-area delicacy that all of us immediately loved.

This may be surprising, coming as it does from a guy who has five kids, four of whom have either graduated college or are within a couple of years of doing so.

But today (Aug. 4th as I type this) will be the first time I leave behind one of my children for an extended stay far from home.

Now, I should clarify a few things:

• By "extended stay," I mean one of more than a few weeks.
• "Far from home" means anything more than, say, an hour away.
• Understand that my first, third and fourth kids all attended – or currently are attending – Cleveland State University. They have all spent time living on campus there, but...you know, it's maybe 20 minutes from our house, so it's only so bad. Meanwhile, child #2 (Chloe), did her undergraduate work at the University of Akron, which is maybe 45 minutes from home.

I'm in Orlando, Florida, at the moment. I'm scheduled to jump on a plane in a few hours to fly home and get back to work. I don't know the next time I'll see Melanie, our almost-21-year-old who is just starting a 5 1/2-month stint here as a participant in the Disney College Program.

Most parents who go through this for the first time do so with their 18-year-old college freshman who is going off to college, say, two states away. These partings usually involve a few tears and maybe some initial homesickness on the part of the kid, but in the vast majority of cases, they work out just fine.

And this will work out just fine, too, Melanie being Melanie and all.

But, you know, I've never done this before. Not having Melanie around the house is going to be strange...even though, with her work and social schedule, there have been long periods recently when she may as well have been 1,000 miles away.

That's how far she is from Wickliffe, by the way, just about an even 1,000 miles. The thing is, Terry has a lot of family in the Orlando area, all of whom are willing to drop what they're doing at any moment and help Mel if she needs it. That's a comfort. As is the fact that Terry and/or I will be down to visit her multiple times.

Still, her room is empty.

That room hasn't been that empty in a long time. In fact, given Mel's penchant for keeping a less-than-tidy-but-still-manageable bedroom, it has for years felt really, really full.

Full of stuff, full of life.

And now it sits empty.

This is all really melodramatic, given that she'll have a great experience, and I can't help but think she'll really excel at this and get a lot out of it.

But even if you're supposedly a "veteran" parent, your first time is still your first time.

And that, I have to say, is kind of tough.

Do you and your significant other always sleep on the same sides of any bed?

I'm with Jeff on this.

I guess it happened on our honeymoon in 1992, but at some point, Terry and I settled on which sides of the bed we would occupy for the rest of eternity.

From the point of view of someone standing at the foot of the bed (creepily staring at us as we sleep), you will always, always, always see me on the left side and Terry on the right.

Was there a reason for this? Or did it just kind of happen?

I don't know. You could argue it should be the other way around, since this arrangement puts our non-dominant hands nearest our respective night stands (Terry's left, my right). Not that it's a problem to roll over a little so we can use our preferred hands to grab our phones or whatever, but I can't remember if there was a reason we settled into our permanent sides of the bed.

NOTE: This is assuming we're both on our backs. I start on my stomach and end up on my back, so I guess it's not a problem at the beginning of the night and turns into one by the time I wake up.

Interestingly, when I travel for work and find myself alone in, say, a king-size bed, I sleep way over on my normal side. The other side remains untouched, as if I'm expecting Terry to show up in the middle night and just slip in beside me.

Most of us are intractable creatures of habit, to the point that it's uncomfortable for us to do certain things in our lives any other way.

I could sleep on what I consider to be Terry's side of the bed, but it would feel weird.

I could also vary the order in which I wash myself when showering, but again, weird.

Granted, to keep your brain sharp as you get older, it's a good thing to vary routines and challenge yourself every day. But I guarantee I will be sleeping on the same side of the bed and making my breakfast the same way until the day I'm 6 feet under.

Some things may not be worth changing.

The fine (and possibly lost) art of hospitality

I mentioned yesterday how we recently drove to Orlando to drop off my daughter for a 5½-month stint as a Disney College Program participant (I’m typing this post about two weeks before you read it while still enjoying the Florida sunshine).

I’m a fairly veteran traveler and can generally adapt to just about anything, whether it’s an uncomfortable bed, less-than-ideal food, long car or bus rides, or whatever. I just roll with it.

Still, while the whole idea of travel is to have experiences outside of your everyday routine, it’s nice to enjoy some of the comforts of home.

We experienced all of that and more in Orlando, thanks to Terry’s cousin Cindy. Cindy and her husband Steve have always been such kind and gracious hosts when we’ve traveled to Central Florida. And while I feel Cindy goes above and beyond for her guests, it’s the kind of thing any of us can do, really.

Cindy, for example, made sure I had half-and-half for my coffee and plain oats for my breakfast. I would have happily made do with any food she set out, but that was an extra-mile act of kindness that was greatly appreciated.

“Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling” is the instruction we read in the biblical book of Peter. I don’t know if Cindy ever grumbles about it (I highly doubt she does), but she sure checks off the “offer hospitality” part.

Pre-Covid, Cindy used to come to our house and stay for a few days every spring. I hope she returns sometime soon.

I will personally go to the store and get whatever she needs to temporarily recreate her life in beautiful Apopka, Florida.

Except the weather. As hospitable as I would love to be, I can’t do anything about that.

I am perhaps not the long-distance driver I once was

Over the years, Terry and I have often talked about doing a two-week family road trip out west with the kids. The kind of thing where you cover, like, 3,000 miles over the course of 14 days and hit some of the biggest landmarks on the other side of the Mississippi.

We still talk about doing it with whomever in our family can come, but now I’m not so sure.

We recently drove from Wickliffe to Orlando, a distance of about 1,000 miles. And that was more than enough driving for me, thank you very much.

I discovered my tolerance for long-distance driving has diminished somewhat. This could just be reflective of the fact that I hadn’t done a truly long car trip in a while.

Or it may be that I’m getting old.

Either way, by the end of the second day (we did it over two days), I would much rather have walked those thousand miles than spend one more hour in the driver’s seat. We had to bring two cars, as we were taking Melanie for her 5½-month Disney College Program experience and she’ll need her own transportation while there.

Which meant that while Terry drove her own car, I piloted Mel’s tiny Toyota Prius. It was comfortable enough, though I admit the disco ball on the dashboard and “One Direction fans only” sticker on the side of the car drew a few stares from fellow motorists.

The thing is, I didn’t even have to drive the return trip home like Terry and Jack did. I flew back so that I could get to work without burning more vacation days than necessary.

Still, the thought of driving 2,500+ miles to points far west is somewhat less appealing than it once was.

I have a solution, though: We will rent a private jet. As the family drives to each one of our touristy stops, I will fly ahead in comfort.

You know, to make sure everything is ready once they get there.

The little things that keep us going every day

 

My youngest son Jack drew this picture, which I have hanging next to my desk at work. I don't know when he drew it, but he's 15 now, so it must have been five years ago or so.

It is one of those little things that make me happy. "Best Dad Ever" is a wonderful sentiment, obviously, but he even personalized it by putting it on a coffee mug.

He knows his caffeine-addicted father well.

I take a moment to look (and smile) at this drawing every day I'm in the office. It makes me think not only of Jack, but of my whole family, who are a continual blessing to me...even when one of them fails to wipe down the counter after making themselves lunch.

There are a lot of big events and milestones that comprise our lives, but I like to think it's the small stuff like this that really sustains us. Or at least it does for me.

If you'll excuse me, this dad has to go get himself a cup of coffee.

Here's one advantage the people of Luxembourg have over Americans

There is an old joke that goes something like this: If you speak three languages, you're trilingual. If you speak two languages, you're bilingual. If you speak one language, you're American.

To be fair, there are obviously a whole lot of non-Americans in the world who only speak one language. But compared to our friends in say, Europe, we here in the U.S. of A tend to be a little lacking in terms of our linguistic diversity.

I have become more acutely aware of this fact in recent weeks as I've conducted meet-and-greet meetings with my new colleagues at Goodyear. We have a very substantial operation in Luxembourg, and virtually every person to whom I speak from there could be classified as quadrilingual (if that's a word). They all seem to know French, German, Luxembourgish and English.

And not only do they speak those four languages, they speak them pretty well. A good number of them also speak Italian or Dutch...and, interestingly, Portuguese (as a full 18% of Luxembourg's inhabitants are of Portuguese descent).

Luxembourg is a really small country, so it's heavily influenced by its geographic neighbors. What's more, the population literally rises by one-third every day when thousands of Belgians, French, and Germans drive into the country to work there. It then goes back to normal levels when they all leave around 5pm.

Isn't that cool?

I asked Alex, a Goodyear communications manager in Luxembourg, how you know which language to speak when you walk into a store in Luxembourg. He said a lot of the time you just know, but when you're not sure, you just look at the signs and listen to the people around you, and you immediately slip into the appropriate tongue.

That's also very cool, at least to me.

You may not have known that "Luxembourgish" is a language, but it is. Alex tells me it's really just a mix of French and German, but you can't ever say that to the native speakers, who will be offended.

Good to know for when I finally make it over there. I can't wait.

This shoe horn has changed my life

 

You're going to read this post and say, "Hey Scott, have you also come across the wheel and fire? Those are pretty cool inventions, too!"

And that's fair. I don't know why it took 51 years of life before I finally used a shoe horn for the first time but it did, and it was revolutionary.

I've always known of shoe horns, of course, but I never gave much thought as to why they existed. I assumed it had something to do with putting on tight shoes, though I just figured that if your shoes were too tight, you should buy bigger shoes, not a tool that helps jam those uncomfortable shoes onto your feet.

But that's not the point of shoe horns at all. Yes, they're a huge help in putting on shoes that are for whatever reason somewhat difficult to slip on. I have some ankle-high dress shoes/boots I like but that, by themselves, take a little effort to pull on. I bought my shoe horn specifically for those shoes.

Then I watched a YouTube video on how to use a shoe horn and my mind was blown. I simply didn't know that its main function was to serve as a sort of "slide" for your heel to move smoothly down into the shoe so that (a) the back of your shoe doesn't crease, and (b) in the case of shoes like my ankle-highs, you don't pull a muscle getting them on.

Technically, guys, we should be using a shoe horn each and every time we put on a dress or casual shoe, if only to maintain the shoe's appearance over the long term.

Who knew? Well, you probably did. But I didn't. You never stop learning, I guess.

This will be fun if you're interested in 14-year-old, real-time blog posts about my appearance on "The Price Is Right"

 

One of the first blogs I ever had was an intentionally short-lived one about my successful attempt to attend a taping of The Price Is Right and be selected as a contestant. I started it in December 2006 and made the last post the following April.

I deleted that blog (which was called something like "My Price Is Right Grand Adventure") years ago but kept a back-up of the content on our home computer.

Recently I came across that file and figured out how to restore the posts. So now, in case you're at all interested, you can see those posts from a decade-and-a-half ago.

If you're accessing this blog on a desktop computer, just look on the right side of your screen where it says "Blog Archive." If you click the arrows to the left of "2006" and "2007," there will be links to all of the posts.

If you're reading on your phone, it's a little trickier but still pretty easy. Scroll to the bottom of the screen and you should see, under the "Home" button, a link that says "View web version." Just click on that and you'll get the desktop view, though it may be a little hard to read (enlarge as needed).

A few things to note about these ancient posts:

• Many of them originally included photos, but those photos no longer exist on the Blogger.com servers, so they won't load. You'll see placeholders for these images but, with one exception, not the pictures themselves. The posts are text-only.
  
  
• To me the really fun and interesting thing is to read the comments under each post, particularly on the actual day of the taping (January 9, 2007). You will see several comments from my sister Judi and my mother-in-law Judy, both of whom sadly have since passed away. It's wonderful to read their words.
  
  
• There are also comments from my daughter Elissa in which she refers to Terry and me as "Mommy" and "Daddy." She is now 27. This seems forever ago.
  
  
• If you are bored and read through all of the posts, you will find there was a level of uncertainty as to whether my brother-in-law Dave and I would even get into the studio, let alone have one of us picked as a contestant. It would have been a shame to go all the way out to L.A. and not even get into the taping. But spoiler alert...we did.

This was such a great find that I had to post about it, even though you could argue that I talk about my game show appearances entirely too much.

That's "appearances," plural. Because I've been on two game shows. Did I mention that? I did?

Sorry, it won't come up again (at least not in the next two weeks, I promise).

This time of year used to mean hot, sweaty double-session football practices

I played football for five years, from eighth grade through senior year. It was not my main sport (that was track), but in retrospect, I've always been glad I went through the experience. It taught me a lot about myself, hard work, and all of those other things sports are supposed to teach you.

We always started evening conditioning practices around the first of July, but the real work began in early August when we would commence two-a-day practices. These were three-hour sessions held twice each day for about 2 1/2 weeks in advance of the first game.

"Doubles," as we called them, were designed to accomplish a number of things:

• To install and perfect our offensive and defensive schemes
• To build a sense of team unity and shared hard work
• To condition us physically (we wore full uniforms for almost every practice, no matter how hot it was)
• Perhaps most importantly, to condition us mentally

By the end of the first week of double sessions, most of us were dragging. The heat, the running, the hitting, the brain work expended to learn the playbook...everything came together to break you down a little and, ultimately, become a better player and better teammate.

The hitting was a little worse for those who, like me, were running backs. One way or another, we got popped on every play. Looking back on it, I'm proud of how much punishment those of us who toted the ball took.

There was some sort of conditioning work at the end of every practice. Sometimes it was sprints, sometimes it was a longer run, sometimes it was up-downs, sometimes it was bear crawls, etc. All of this strenuous activity was the reason we were never, ever out-conditioned by our opponents in the fourth quarter of games.

The conditioning ramped up several notches at the end of the afternoon practice on the last Thursday of double sessions. "Bloody Thursday" is what the players called it, though Coach Smith, who oversaw the team's conditioning work, liked to refer to it as "Celebration Thursday."

Either way, it was rough. It was endless running, movement, calisthenics, and whatever other evil activity Coach Smith could think of. It lasted a long, long time, and sometimes guys simply couldn't make it to the end. Your lungs burned, your muscles were awash in lactic acid, and everything in your brain screamed "Stop, stop, stop, stop!"

But when that final whistle blew, the feeling of accomplishment and elation was unmatched. I can't even describe it.

If I miss anything, it's that feeling. But honestly, I'll take being 51 years old now over going back to those brutal double-session practices any day.

This is my favorite human

 

To be clear, when I say "my favorite human," I'm talking about the person on the left in that photo, not the sketchy guy on the right.

That person, as you may already know or would at least surmise, is my wife Terry. I have known her for 35 years and have been married to her for 29. She is my best friend, my wife, and I can confirm (having watched her birth five not-so-tiny humans) is also the mother of my children.

I have said this before, but it bears repeating: By a wide margin, she is the single most impressive person I know. She is beautiful, funny, kind, honest, caring, resourceful, and always fun to be around. That is a neat trick if you can manage to pull it off as well as Terry does.

It is not exactly rare for high school sweethearts still to be together in their early 50s, but it's not commonplace, either. We have changed as people over the years, and yet here we are. Still.

When it comes to me, she has seen the whole show many, many times over. She knows all of my stories, all of my lame jokes, everything I like, the few things I dislike, the things I do well, the things I don't do well at all, my insecurities, my idiosyncracies, and my favorite Starbucks drink besides the boring old tall blonde roast I usually get.

Having a person who knows you so well and decides you're worth sticking around for is a precious gift. I have done nothing to deserve it, yet there she is every day. You simply cannot take something like that for granted.

One of the great privileges of my life over the last 25 years has been building a career, the main focus of which is to support her and the kids financially. It is the reason I get out of bed in the morning and, considering there is food on the table and the lights still work, probably my greatest achievement (well, that and appearing on two game shows, which I never, ever talk about and of course won't bring up here).

Not that there is usually a point to these blog posts, but if there is one today, it is this: If you have a person in your life who has been with you a long time, and barring something unforeseen is likely to be there a long time more, appreciate that blessing.

Because that's what it is: a blessing.

Going back to Cubicle World

This just made me laugh.

As an employee, I'm about as low-maintenance as they come. You don't have to worry about much if I'm on your team, except to hope that I can keep my apple obsession under control while in the office and that I won't say "yes" to absolutely everything anyone asks of me and thus find myself drowning in work.

Apart from that, though, I'm fairly self-sufficient and almost devoid of the self-promotion gene. The same is true of my boss, Doug, who is one of those people who is extremely good at what he does and does not feel the need to remind you of that fact.

(NOTE: Any time I refer to Doug when talking with Terry, I have taken to calling him "New Doug" in honor of Korg from the Marvel movies. This never fails to make us both laugh.)

Anyway, as I said, I'm pretty low-maintenance.

Which in this case is a good thing because one of the interesting dynamics in my new job at Goodyear is that, after having enclosed offices in every job I've held for the past two decades, I now find myself sitting back in a cubicle.

And I am in no way kidding when I say I'm fine with it. There are disadvantages, sure, but all I need is a place to put my computer, a phone, some space for my books, and a place to hang my Lake Erie Monsters 2016 Calder Cup Champions banner. I have all of that in my new little work home.

In fact, what I have now may not even qualify for "cubicle" status. It's more of a workstation that opens out onto a wide carpeted walkway among a sea of similar workstations. It is only enclosed on two sides, which is fine because, honestly, unless I'm dealing with sensitive information, I don't care who can see my computer screen.

I also don't equate workspace with power/prestige/status.

Some people do, I realize. I just don't care.

I know this sounds crazy, but I would rather co-workers judge me not by my desk, but by how well I do my job.

How radical is that?

Full disclosure: I do miss the convenience of having my own personal conference table. That I'll admit.

It's August and I've been wearing sweaters for a month.

I've dropped some weight over the past few months. Nineteen pounds as of yesterday, to be exact.

I won't get into the weight loss thing, as I've covered it to death on this blog over the years. I shouldn't even have to be worrying about it right now, given that I achieved a healthy weight back in 2016 and had no real reason not to maintain it.

But I didn't, so here I am.

Anyway, if you've ever lost weight, you know there's a point where you start feeling the effects yourself but no one else yet really notices. That point varies from person to person, but for me it's right around 15 pounds.

Pants and shirts are looser. I have more energy. I'm walking faster in the mornings with the same amount of effort. That sort of thing.

What also happens around 15 pounds is that my temperature tolerance shifts, and it shifts dramatically. I go from wearing thin dress shirts to multiple layers, even in July and August.

Most of the time when I'm at Goodyear, I wear a fleece pullover or sweater. Otherwise I almost freeze by the time the day is half finished.

It doesn't help that they really crank up the air conditioning there (which I think is uniquely an American office thing, though I can't be sure). I would be fine if they weren't constantly pumping Arctic air into our work environment.

But as it is, I'm always cold. So I bundle up and look like Nanook of the North when others around the office are wearing polos and short sleeves.

It's a small price to pay to be healthier, I know, but I'm kind of looking forward to that September-ish transition when we go from AC to heat.

And the inevitable trip to Kohl's to buy some new winter clothes, one size down.

Appreciating Saturdays again

When I was between jobs earlier this year, one day was a lot like the next. Tuesday may as well have been Sunday, and Thursday was pretty much the same as Saturday. Nothing on my to-do list really changed depending on the day of the week.

That was then. Getting into the working game again has shifted my mindset back to what it used to be. Now, Monday through Friday is completely different from the weekend.

Monday through Friday, I wear certain clothes, spend much of the day eating from my lunchbox, and of course, devote the majority of my mental energy in service to the Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company.

Saturday and Sunday? That's about home. I do laundry, I clean the bathroom, I read, I go to my Weight Watchers meeting, we have Sunday School and church, etc. From the way I dress to the way I think even to the way I talk, the weekend is THE WEEKEND. It is sacred.

"Everybody's workin' for the weekend," is what the great philosophers from the band Loverboy told us, though that was never quite true for me. In addition to the paycheck, I'm blessed to feel a high degree of fulfillment from my job. It nourishes my brain and, through personal connections, even my soul. I'm workin' for more than just the weekend.

But don't get me wrong. The freedom to do what I want for two days (depending on what we have scheduled, of course) is invaluable. We all need that to some degree.

Nowadays there is much talk in the business world of adopting a four-day work week. It goes without saying I am open to it.

Holy cow, people drive fast on my commute to work

(NOTE: When I first drafted this post, I didn't put a comma in the headline between "Holy cow" and "people." Then I realized that, without the comma, it seemed to imply that a random group of religious, bovine-like folks were driving fast on the way to work. Which is not at all what I meant. Thus the comma. Please carry on.)

I have a 44-mile drive each way to the office. I don't really mind it that much, though, particularly this time of year when the weather is nice (ask me again in six months after I've done it through snow). It only takes me a few minutes longer to get to Goodyear in Akron than it did to get to Vitamix in Olmsted Township.

My drive goes almost due south down Interstate 271 and Ohio Route 8 before a very short eastward leg on Interstate 76. These highways won't mean anything to you if you don't live near me, but you can probably think of similar stretches near you.

The speed limit on most of I-271 is 60mph before ramping up to 65mph for a few miles ahead of the Route 8 exit. Similarly, it's 65 on Route 8 until you get to what I refer to as the Land of Eternal Construction, where it goes down to 55mph for a long period.

As far as I can tell, these speed limits are merely suggestions to the veteran drivers of 271 and 8, some of whom own cars apparently equipped with warp technology. People absolutely fly on these roads, let me tell you.

If you set your cruise control to 70 through the 60mph stretches, you had better stay as far as possible to the right, which I do. There are farm tractors that will pass you when you do anything less than 75.

Similarly, when the speed limit jumps to 65, oh boy. Don't even think about entering the left lane if you're not traveling well into the 80s through there.

Again, though, you will not see anyone passing me on the right. I never considered myself to be a slow driver, but I give these people plenty of leeway to jet by me on the left.

Once I get onto the 271 express lanes, I get it up to about 72, turn on the cruise, settle into the right lane, and watch as car after car zooms past at speeds I sometimes can't even guess.

I've seen maybe one police cruiser running radar in this area, so it's basically the Wild Wild West.

I have become a grandpa driver at the age of 51. Much like that black Porsche that had to have been doing 100mph this morning, I never saw it coming.

When we first brought home a boy child

My son Jared celebrates his 23rd birthday today. He is the middle of our five children, and as I've often related, I did not at first believe he was a boy, even at the moment of his birth.

We never found out the gender of any of our kids in advance, and by the time Terry was pregnant with Jared, we already had two daughters. I don't know why, but I had it in my head that I was only capable of producing girls. I figured my fate was to live in a house full of women, and I was completely fine with that. I liked being a dad of daughters (and still do).

The moment Jared made his entrance into the world, one of the medical personnel in the room (either Dr. Rao or one of the nurses, I'm not sure which) held him up and said, "It's a boy!" And my honest-to-goodness response was, "No, it's not!"

Then of course they turned him around so I could get a better view of things, and it became frightfully apparent that he was, without a doubt, a man-child. It was impressive, actually.

I was used to changing girls' diapers and dressing my kids in girls clothes, so the boy thing took a little adjustment, but it was fine. Jared was a good-sized specimen, too, weighing in at 9 pounds, 15 ounces, and as I recall, measuring 21 inches tall.

Nowadays he's 6-foot-1, works out regularly, sports a beard I could never grow, and is fast becoming a master handyman, mostly by watching instructional videos on YouTube and trying to fix and build things on his own.

He is about four months from earning his college degree and beginning his career, though he has had a lot of great sports internships and is building for himself a nice little resume.

He and I share a love for Cleveland sports and for hockey in general. We also both like cats.

He's a good guy and I'm very proud of him. I would be equally proud if he was a "her," but as it turns out, they weren't lying at the hospital.

My boy really was a boy.

When I grow up, I'm going to learn to drink alcohol

As I have often stated, I am the lightest of lightweight drinkers. It doesn't take much to get me feeling buzzed, and I have no stomach for anything much stronger than a Bud Light.

To clarify, I do like beer, but only really basic, lager-type beer.

I tolerate wine, but my one-glass-every-three-months approach is likely to endure.

And spirits? Good Lord, no.

I am envious of those who really enjoy good bourbon or Scotch. It all smells and tastes like floor cleaner to me.

"Sipping" whiskey? If I'm forced to have whiskey, I'm going to throw it all back in one shot.

I'm not saying any of these are bad in general. If you enjoy them, have at it. I'm just saying that, personally, I can't tolerate 95% of what your typical bar will stock.

As always, though, I'll try anything. And I really do mean anything that is considered safe and edible/drinkable. Food-wise, there is nothing I won't eat and nothing I really don't like.

But when it comes to liquor, I clearly did not get that gene.

And maybe that's a good thing.

Now, liver and onions? I'll happily eat it all day. The thought of it might make you nauseous, but just know that, for me, so does that glass of Jim Beam you're nursing.

My opinion of you will not be affected by the tires you have on your car

As I knew would happen, I find myself these days walking through parking lots looking at people's tires to see which brand they have.

I recently joked on Facebook that I now judge you depending on which tires you bought, but that's not really true. I don't tend to be particularly judgmental in the first place, since my opinions and preferences are clearly no better than yours.

But I'll admit that, when I check out those four tires on someone's vehicle, I'm rooting to see "Goodyear" and the iconic wing-foot logo molded into the sidewalls.

This is more about rooting for the team I represent than anything else. Michelin, Bridgestone, and other companies make great tires, just as Goodyear does, so it's not like you or I have done anything "wrong" by selecting a particular brand.

Admittedly, I've had other jobs where this wasn't the case. When I worked for the Cleveland Clinic? I judged those who used any other hospital system, including the excellent University Hospitals of Cleveland. At Vitamix? Yeah, even though those machines are crazy expensive, it caused me physical pain to see people making smoothies in a cheap Oster.

But with tires I'm a little more neutral. Or maybe it's that with age I'm a little more neutral. I want Goodyear to succeed, but I'm not going to think less of anyone whose tires happen to be made by a different company.

Admittedly, my opinion of you is somewhat dampened if I see you wearing a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey. But then I remember it takes all kinds of craziness to make up this world.

Virtually no one leads the charmed life you think they do

I've mentioned how I attend Weight Weights/WW meetings every Saturday morning. There are many reasons for doing this, and not all of them are weight- or health-related.

A key factor in my decision to drive out to Mentor for 8am meetings is my WW leader Jenn. She has an inspiring personal story, having lost an amazing amount of weight and keeping it off over time.

But what most attracts people to Jenn, I think, is how relatable she is. She still struggles every day to do the right things when it comes to her health. She knows what it's like to want to say, "Screw it, I'm eating the gallon of ice cream."

She also understands -- perhaps better than anyone I've ever met -- the mental and emotional aspects of healthy living and weight loss.

At a recent meeting, Jenn said something I thought was especially profound. Actually, I think she was quoting another WW leader named Liz, who I don't happen to know, but the sentiment is so Jenn that I'll always connect it to her.

This isn't verbatim, but what she said in essence was, "If everyone got together and put all their problems into a pile on the floor so that everyone else could see them, you would gladly take your own problems back, put them in your pocket, and walk out the door."

In other words, not only is there always someone with a greater struggle than you, it's also important to realize that there is no one who doesn't have struggles. No matter how people may seem to you, they have their problems, and you're probably better equipped to deal with your own than theirs.

This struck me hard. I always say I have nothing to complain about, but I complain anyway. Yet, there is truth in what Jenn said. I would rather have my own issues and problems than anyone else's. And in the overall scheme of things, those issues and problems are relatively light.

Much of it comes down to changing your mindset (as it always seems to). The things I whine about "having" to do really should be looked at as things I "get" to do.

I "get" to prioritize my health every day. I "get" to go to work, where I can grow personally and professionally and support my family. I "get" to maintain a house and yard in a world where some people will never have the chance to own either.

That's the mindset I want. I'm not there yet, but I'm getting closer. I hope you are, too.

How long have you had your cell number?

When I joined Goodyear a few weeks ago, I looked into getting a company-issued mobile phone. Communications people always get phones, given that we deal regularly with media and a host of time-sensitive issues.

I almost didn't care what my options were, just so long as I could keep my phone number. I have had that number for nearly 21 years and have no desire to go through the hassle of changing it and letting everyone in my life know. It has been both my personal and professional number for the entirety of those 2+ decades.

Cell phones themselves are marvels of technology, but for my money, number portability (the ability to take your phone number with you from carrier to carrier, phone to phone, job to job, etc.) is right up there in terms of sheer brilliance.

I'm not even sure which is worse: changing your cell number or changing your email address. Either way, you're in for a lot of work and at least a little aggravation.

I'm happy to say that I was able to keep the number. In fact, Goodyear did something I didn't even know was possible: They gave me an iPhone XR, and through the use of a virtual SIM card, I was able to add a second line onto the phone.

So whether someone calls my longstanding personal number or my new Goodyear business number, the same phone rings.

Two lines, one phone.

I like it.