It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas

     Traditions are the things that make memories. Families are the things that make traditions.  Yesterday was Black Friday, and Jill and Jessie were up at 4, and out of the house by 4:30. They met up with Jill's sister Jane, Jane's daughters, Katie and Kelly, and Jane's daughter -in-law, Jamie. They were in the store's by 5:30  and shopped til they dropped, finishing up around noon. Much money was saved. Many bargains were obtained, and a good time was had by all. The non-shopping spouses all descended on Jane and Mike's house after the shoppers returned home for a lunch of Sloppy Joes.

        Once lunch was finished, each of the couples decorated a gingerbread house. Jane baked all the gingerbread and assembled the houses for us last week. Way too much candy was supplied, and the laughs were in good supply.  This is a long standing tradition that goes back to when our girls were little. We would always go to Jane and Mike's, and the kids would decorate gingerbread houses. As they grew up, Jane baked more houses and the adults got involved too.

     It is interesting to see how each house is decorated.  Jill and I do adjacent sides and are pretty much traditionalists. (See above picture)  My niece Kelly always puts on the most candy per square inch. Katie tends to go for the artistic. Last year she made a church with stained glass windows, achieved by melting gummy bears to get the translucent panels.

     Garrett did most of the work on his and Jessie's house since Jess's time was being preempted by Benji. So, since Garrett is a Kansas City Chiefs fan, his house had a KC flavor to it, complete with a snowman being punted though goal posts. Andy Reid featured largely in this artistic endeavor as well. 

     As we decorated, Christmas music was playing in the background.  As a "crowd favorite" Christmas carol or song came on the conversation stilled. As personal dislikes were played comments and laughter increased. Jill was lucky (?) enough to have two of her dislikes play back to back. All of us were scarred forever with the broadcast of that 1960s favorite "Dominic the Christmas Donkey." Jessie, poor girl, still has it stuck in her head today.
      Hey! Chingedy ching,
     (hee-haw, hee-haw)
     It's Dominick the donkey.
     Chingedy ching,
    (hee-haw, hee-haw)
    The Italian Christmas donkey.
    (la la la-la la-la la la la la)
    (la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

    A dinner of  Pizza and salad finished out the day and we went home around 7:30 or so. The shoppers were tired. Benji was out of sync because his routine was altered. Dash was glad to see us since he spent a long time in his crate. Jess and Jill hauled in their spoils from a successful day of shopping, regaled us with their shopping prowess, and told us again how much they saved.

     To me this is what Christmas is all about. Those things that we do every year with family and friends. The laughter shared, the remembrances of "Gingerbread Houses of Christmases Past", comparisons of past shopping trips (it amazes me how they can remember in detail how much they saved and where they went in previous years.) and the more subdued dinner as tiredness sets in and begins to take it's toll.

     Today, we will begin to put up Christmas decorations and get ready for Christmas 2013, and while this is a new Christmas, and Benji's first, attached to it will be connections to Christmases all the way back to 1952, as we carry on the  traditions that in some cases started many years ago and those that have been added down through the years.

     As Benji celebrates his first Christmas and I celebrate my 62nd, I have to wonder what traditions he will keep for his children and what ones will he add? What will his favorite Christmas songs be? Who knows, maybe it will be "Dominic the Donkey, " since Jess has been singing it to him all day.
If it is, it will be okay because we will all remember it started on his first Christmas.... and I am okay with that......

Over the River and Through the Woods

    

   
      With Thanksgiving coming on Thursday, we will be going over the Brandywine and through the woods to Grandmother's house in East Bradford, to pick her up, and then go to Marshalton to have dinner with Jill's sister, Dr. Joan. So we aren't too far off from the song. Joan has hosted several times in the past few years and always has a wonderful meal prepared. This year there will be about 13 of us there.

     Back in the late 80s and into the 2000s we would host and typically have anywhere from 20 to 28 people for dinner. It involved 30 lb turkey, borrowed tables and chairs, lots of Manhattans, and the general mayhem that ensues whenever you get a big crowd together. Football on the TV, 20 people hanging out in the kitchen, a couple of dogs, and loads of laughs. As stressful as it was, I looked forward to those big dinners. I also looked forward to making a humongous batch of turkey soup the next day. I freeze it, and there is nothing like enjoying a steaming bowl of it on a snowy day in February.

     Growing up, Thanksgiving was never a really big event. It usually just involved our immediate family, my grandparents on my mother's side, and the occasional boyfriend of one of my sisters. I would get up and help my mother get the turkey ready. The smell of celery, sage and thyme, still takes me back to my earliest memories. Once in and roasting, it would fill the house with the heavenly aroma and promise of the feast to come.  On one particular Thanksgiving, We had just taken the turkey out of the oven when my sister's boyfriend drove up the driveway. She was still in a bathrobe and went flying through the kitchen. The robe caught the turkey and down it went. I think she and my mother wrestled it to the floor with both of them only saving a drumstick each. The turkey was scooped up, 5 second rule applied, and returned to it's platter, legless, but only a little worse for the wear.

     Once Jill and I started hosting our big family feasts, Jamie and Jessie followed in my footsteps, and would get up early and help make the stuffing and get that 30 pound turkey into the oven.  As we prepared it and watched the Parade, we would fill the kitchen, and the house, with the perfume of Sage, Thyme, and Turkey.  Once this task was complete, we would shift our focus to getting the house ready for the onslaught of family and friends. Guests would begin to arrive around 3 or 4 in the afternoon, the noise levels would rise to jet engine decibels, the Manhattans would flow liberally, and the combination of too many bodies, a roaster and the oven would raise the temperature in the house to 200 degrees. While it wasn't the Norman Rockwell version of Thanksgiving, it was a warm, wonderful gathering that I so enjoyed.

      The very first year we hosted, linen tableclothes, china, silverware, crystal were all the order of the day. Jill and I were still doing dishes and clean up at 11:00 that night long after the last guests had left. We made a decision then and there, that "Next year, everything is disposable." and it was. And no one minded that they were eating on paper plates (The expensive Chinet ones) or that their "glass" was plastic. We were freed up to enjoy our company and not spend the entire evening cleaning up.

    So here we are in 2013. We won't be home for Thanksgiving. We will be going over the river and through the woods. No extra tables or chairs needed here in Unionville. No 30 pound turkey in the oven waiting for it's big reveal. No crowds. No clean up. All of that will be over in Marshalton. But....
The smell of Sage, Thyme and Turkey will fill the house on Thanksgiving Day. It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without it. Every year that we eat somewhere else, I put a turkey breast in the oven. It smells the same, it is easier to prepare, we have turkey for sandwiches and casseroles, and I can still make my Turkey Soup..... and I am more than okay with that.

The Little Things Mean A Lot

          
When I arrived at Greenwood Elementary back in 1990, I was introduced to an event that had been started by two teachers a few years before, Friday Night Live. This was an elementary school sleepover. While it was presented as a reading activity, it really was a cover for the best elementary school event EV.ER. We had two alternating themes; Read for the Gold, an Olympic theme we used in Olympic years; and Read in the USA. With both events, as the students read, their pages translated into miles, and they traveled around the world or the United States. It was a premier event that kids looked forward to for most of their elementary years.

     In 1990, there were 2 Fourth grade classes and 2 Fifth Grade classes in the school consisting of a little over 100 kids, and almost all of them would participate. As the years went by, the number of classes increased as did the number of kids. Around 1994 or 95, it became just a 5th grade event because we had 3 classes of each grade and close to 140 kids, with 4th graders getting their own Friday Alive.  The activities and timeline morphed and changed over the years as we streamlined the program, but the basic premises were always the same. Come back to school, read, play games, eat, and sleepover.

     A typical schedule was something like this:
  

     6:15 - 6:30          Register

     6:30 – 6:50         Opening Ceremonies

     6:50 - 7:25          Read 1

     7:30 - 7:55          Game 1

     8:00 - 8:25          Read 2

     8:30 - 8:55          KickBoxing

     


      9:00 - 9:25          SNACK 1

     9:30 – 9:55         Game 2

     10:00 - 10:25      Read 3

     10:30 - 10:55      Game 3

     11:00 - 11:10      SNACK 2

     11:15 - 12:00      Storyteller

     12:00 - 12:15      Ready for Bed

     12:30                  Pillow Fight

 

Saturday

     6:45AM - 7:00 AM  Wake Up & Pack up

     7:00 - 7:30          Breakfast

     7:30 - 8:00          Closing Ceremonies

With a schedule like this, who could not have fun?

     
     It takes about 50 volunteers to pull this thing off, and every year, there is a great group of parents that rise to the occasion.  During the off times, parents and staff get a chance to get to know each other a little better in a very informal setting. This does a lot in building a Parent/Teacher relationship.
It also takes a great deal of time and effort from the Fifth Grade Team. Having participated for 23 years, I know of this first hand. The planning begins in September and gets more involved as the weeks go by. My hat is off to the team as it is rare to find teachers willing to come back to school on a Friday and spend the night with 100+ 5th graders. 
     
    The biggest payback is the memories it creates for the kids that participate. 24 years later, I still have former students, now in their 20s and 30s, tell me how much fun Friday Night Live was. They may not remember I taught them long division and how to multiply and divide fractions (Just flip the divisor and multiply!) but they do remember FNL. 

     I am not sure when we added the pillow fight, but it has to be the most anticipated activity we do. It is also the scariest for the teachers. If someone is going to get hurt, this is when it will happen.  We try to monitor it as much as possible, and give them lots of ground rules, like no hitting above the neck or below the knees, but 100 kids with pillows is insane, and lots and lots of fun. 
     
      This year, I am only going to stop by for a visit.  As much as my team wanted me to be involved, and as much as I would like to be involved, I think it's best that I let them have their moment in the sun. There is a season for everything, and I into the next one.  But after 23 years, I do have to stop by....... and I am okay with that.

Rocket man, Burning Out his Fuse up Here Alone

On October 4, 1957, I was just 9 days away from my 5th birthday.  The Russians launched the first artificial earth satellite.  I lived on West 24th Street in Chester, PA, and The Chester Times published the times it would pass over and be visible. I can still remember our family going out into our back yard with our neighbors, Jack and Sally Collins, and looking up. Now I don't know what I was expecting to see, but it was certainly more than a tiny dot of light. Dad and Jack had all sorts of Russian Communist comments, jokes about taking my picture, and the wonder that we could put things into space. Even though I was highly disappointed that the much vaunted satellite was not much more than moving point of light, it was the beginning of a love affair with astronomy and space exploration. 

     I learned the names of all the constellations and the seasons when they were visible.  I loved going camping and seeing the Milky Way stretch across the sky. I was glued to the TV whenever there was a NASA mission going off. I can clearly remember Alan Shepard's first Mercury mission, followed by Gus Grissom,  John Glenn, Scott Carpenter, Wally Schirra, and Gordon Cooper. The Gemini and Apollo Missions of the mid and late 60s held even more appeal as the Moon Landings became part of Apollo. The horror of Apollo 1 burning on the launch pad with the loss of all three astronauts. 

      As the moon landings ended in the 70s due to budget cuts, Skylab took their  place as my objects of space interest, followed in the 80s by the Space Shuttle program. As the Shuttle program developed into the 90s and 00s , launches and landings became commonplace and the Network News didn't always cover them live. But the internet always did, and I could feed my curiosity.

      And that brings me to tonight. There was a rocket launch from Wallops Island, VA tonight at 8:15.  At 8:06 I was on the roof of my house looking south waiting to see it. The little orange spot of light rose out of the south, briefly had a tail, then become a bright spot of light traveling to the east until we lost it in the few clouds that were present. It wasn't much bigger than Sputnik was back in 1957. But it was still cool, and I am glad I climbed up on the roof for a better vantage point. Jessie was with me up there, and that was pretty cool too. And I am more than okay with that

shot taken from my roof with an iPhone

Shot taken in Frankford, DE by a professional photographer

Jessie on the roof

 

The Falling Leaves

     In the TV series "Cheers," the cast was a group of regulars at a bar, "Cheers" in Boston. Norm Peterson, one of those regulars was always greeted with a hearty, "NORM!" when ever he walked in. He was a regular. Intimately connected to Cheers. There is a lot of comfort being a regular. It is defining. It means you belong.

     In an earlier blog, I wrote about how retirement has taken away some of my identity, and I am searching for my new definition. I think I may have gotten a glimpse of what it may be today. It reminded me of the quote from Richard Bach's Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah:
       "Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, they're yours."

           One of the beautiful things about Fall are the resplendent colors of the leaves on the trees. We first enjoyed it driving to a wedding in New York in early October. As the season progressed, the trees just seemed to increase their beauty with each passing day. On one of our trips to the beach, a couple of weeks ago, they were at their peak. The sun was just at the right level, the sky was just the right shade of blue to be the perfect background. The reds and yellows of the Maples were intense. The oranges of the Oaks could not be outdone.  It truly was a feast for the eyes.

      One of the not so beautiful things about Fall is that the leaves eventually do just that. Fall.  They fall on my driveway.  They fall on my lawn.  They fall in my gutters. They fall, and because they fall, somebody has to clean them up. Usually, I just sort of mulch them up and blow them around the yard and not worry too much about them, but this year we had a bumper crop, and I ended up with these mountain ranges of mulched up blown around leaves under the trees that line our driveway. Something more would have to be done this year. Drastic measures would have to be taken.

     With the advent of our retirement, Jill and  I have spent many hours out in the yard reclaiming our landscaping after many years of only cursory maintenance. This spring and summer, being especially wet, made for a lush growing season for everything.  We have pulled weeds, battled vines, pulled out shrubs, and pruned limbs, and not without some effect.  We have taken well over a thousand pounds of "yard waste" to the landfill, where they have a composting section. One part for grasses trimmings and leaves, and another for woody waste and branches.  This abundance of compostables  meant that we were making two or three trips to the landfill a week. Sometimes two trips a day. Today was one of those days.

     Last night's wind storm brought down an enormous amount of leaves. We have a Dawn Redwood that drops these little tiny leaves and is messier than any Mimosa I have ever seen. The driveway was green with Redwood droppings. The Maples were pretty much cleaned off as were the Oaks and Lindens. The Willows are still hanging in there just so they can annoy me for the next several weeks. After much raking, blowing, and sweeping,  I added to my driveside mountain ranges and decided I needed to haul them to the landfill as well.  I filled the trailer and hauled away the first three hundred pounds. Coming back, I filled another trailer-load with another two hundred twenty pounds and took this away as well.  

     When you go to the landfill, you drive onto a scale and get weighed-in.  Once the light turns green, you can drive up to the proper area and drop your load.  Then you drive back onto the scale and weigh out. As I checked out  for the second time today, and probably the tenth time this month, the nice Landfill Lady, says "You come here so much, I will probably know your township without having to ask you anymore." Translated  from Landfill Jargon to English, she was saying "BILL!" I have become a regular. At the Dump. My defining moment. I am no longer Bill Hicks, Fifth Grade Teacher, I am BILL! the Dump Guy.......... I might be okay with that.

       
 

A Ghost of Christmas Past

   

     Back in 1969, the world was embroiled in Vietnam, gas was 35 cents a gallon and a loaf of bread cost about the same. The Beatles "Abbey Road" was released, and The 5th Dimension was singing 'Let the Sunshine In." It was a different world 44 years ago.
     Not coming from a wealthy family, I never received extravagant gifts, nor could I afford to give them. Sometime during December the crass commercialism of the 60s prompted me to write a letter to the editor of the Delaware County Daily Times. Using Virginia O'Hanlon's letter, written in 1889, questioning the existence of Santa Claus,  as my jumping off point, I yearned for a simpler time. So here it is the musings of a 17 year old back in the 60s.....

       As I read through this it came to me, that things still haven't changed all that much as we approach Christmas 2013. The advertising starts earlier, the stores open earlier and stay open later, but we still are a pretty commercial crowd.  In spite of all that, 124 years later, I think we could still tell Virgina that "Yes, there is a Santa Claus."

It's a Long Long Time from May to December......

     At my retirement dinner, I sang a little parody of Sinatra's, "It Was a Very Good Year."  In it, I went through my career as a teacher. 

When I was 31

I first taught Kindergarten

I had 25 kids

My back didn’t hurt

I could bend my knees

I taught them ABCs

We had a lot of fun

When I was 31

When I was 45

I team taught with Laboure

We had 53 kids

In a double room

And we had two aides

We taught novels for grades

And that class came alive

When I was 45

 

When I was 58

I again taught Kindergarten

I had 22 kids

They broke my back

I couldn’t bend my knees

But I taught them ABCs

And the sledding was great

When I was 58

And now the days grow short

I’m in the autumn of my years

And I drink lots of wine

As I sit on my couch 

In front of the fire

I think it’s time to retire

Maybe drink some beer

It is a very good year.

      I thought it was a little bit clever and I cracked myself up. I think it was well received by those in attendance.  

What struck me was how my teaching career spanned 30 years, but it seemed like it passed by in the blink of an eye.  Upon further reflection,  It seemed like my life had passed by in the blink of an eye. Where had the last 60 years gone? 

   

      I can scarcely believe that I am 61. The great Satchel Paige once said, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" That is one of those things that go through your mind and make you say ...hmmmmmm.... So how would I be? certainly not 60 ...... 50? No, my 50s sucked. 40? ......... 30? .... no, I didn't like 30 either ..... 37 sounds about right. 

     

I turned 37 in October of 1989. We had recently moved to Unionville into the house we live in today.  Jamie and Jessie were 4 and 2, I was a tenured teacher in Moorestown, NJ, commuting the 50+ miles across the river each way everyday.  Lucy, our first Golden Retriever was 2.  We were rockin' the suburbs and life was pretty good. 

    

         Yeah, Satchel, I think I am 37...... but know that I am 61.  As much as I am not at all happy about growing old, I am resigned to it..... The aches and pains of arthritic hands and knees and back remind me daily that time marches on, and I think on some days, it marches on top of me. So all I can do is make the best of it.  

     

       Back in September after the rush of summer, and what seemed like endless vacations. I came to the realization that a summer of dining out, mid-day Margaritas, cold beers while fishing, and a trip or two to the Dairy Queen had added a few extra pounds making the arthritic knees and back complain a little louder each morning.  Not only was I old, but I was old and fat. I couldn't do anything about the old but I could take care of the other. So with a little resolve and great expectations, I went on a diet. 1500 calories a day.  It was doable. 

A Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich for breakfast, a salad with a couple ounces of tuna fish or some other protein for lunch, a Manhattan with a dinner of salad, a vegetable and some kind of protein, and a glass of red wine for "snack" before bed. Like I said it is doable. The Manhattan and the wine make it bearable.

The good news is that it is working. Since September 21, I have lost 27 pounds and am only 3 pounds away from my first goal, which is a month earlier than I had expected. With a little bit of luck, and a little more exercise, I might make Goal Two, which is 10 lbs beyond Goal One, by New Years.

So while the days grow short, and I am in the Autumn of my years, like the song says,  I am going to make the best of it. This retirement gig is the BEST.THING. EV.ER.
Getting old sucks, but I think by whipping myself back into better shape it will make it less painful.
And hey, I'm only 37 so I have a long time to enjoy it.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

      Winter is coming........ The past few mornings I have found temps below freezing and the necessity to build a fire in the woodstove. Sitting with my coffee and the newspaper in front of a crackling fire is one of my favorite things to do.
    
     We all have favorite things. It starts when we are babies. A beloved stuffed animal. A blanket with the right feel. They become an extension of ourselves and are almost synonymous with who we are.  Jamie had Bunny, and Jessie had her Blanket and her dog Fluffy. Even as they got older, Bunny, Blanket, and Fluffy were always with us.

    Eventually, we outgrow the need for these things. Or do we? Societal expectations make us feel that after a certain age, it is inappropriate to carry a stuffed animal around, so we are resigned to leave our favorite comfort object at home on our bed to await our arrival home from school. Our need is still there. We still want and need that connection to that deep down spot of inner peace, but our concern over what people will think of us is overriding, so we find a "Blanket Substitute."

      As a kid it might be a favorite shirt that you wear as often as you can. Or a jacket. Or a pair of jeans. As an adult, our favorite things can be wide and varied. The picture at the beginning is my favorite coffee mug. I got it when I took a 4th grade class to the Marine Mammal Stranding Center in Brigantine, NJ, in 1989. There is nothing sentimental about that trip. Nothing that endears the mug to my heart. I just like it.  The color, the shape, and the thickness of the rim just appeal to me. It feels right when I drink my coffee. It keeps my coffee warm enough long enough. I like the way it fits in my hands when I hold it. So every morning that I am home, it is my "go to" mug of choice, and has been for the past 24 years.  Being a teacher for 30 years, I received many different mugs as teacher gifts; Penn State mugs, Best Teacher in the World mugs, Life is Good mugs, Far Side mugs, and I'd Rather Be Fishing mugs, but Cupid the Harp Seal has longevity. It gets top priority when I am making my morning coffee simply because it is one of my favorite things.

      So what is your Favorite Thing? What is that item that you keep close by, that feels just right in your life? I'm willing to bet you have at least one.

The fundamental things apply as time goes by.....

     As I sit here contemplating this new season in my life called "Retirement," I have done a lot of reflecting back. after working for 45 years of "doing something," I now find that I don't HAVE to do.
My many varied careers crafted my identity. I was Bill Hicks, 15 year old Drinking Fountain Maker. Bill Hicks, 20 year old Wawa Store Manager. Bill Hicks, 25 year old Wawa Area Supervisor. Bill Hicks, 30 year old Full time student and part-time Burger King burger maker. Bill Hicks, 35 year old Teacher. Bill Hicks, 40 year old Teacher. Bill Hicks, 60 year old teacher. and now....... ???? I am retired. Does that define me? Is that who I am? I think after 30 years in education I probably still define myself as a teacher, but the bigger question is; Do I need to be defined?

     As I approached zero hour on June 13th, I was asked countless times, "Well, Bill. Once you retire what are you going to do?" 
     My response was, "I've done for 45 years, I don't know that I HAVE to do anything. I think I'll let it find me." Well, here I am, 5 months into it and nothing has found me yet, and you know, I am okay with that. In these 5 months, I have spent a month traveling out west, a month at the beach, 6 weeks staying at my mother-in-law's house, and 3 months watching my grandson Benji go from a little ball of cry to a bright happy baby with an infectious smile and a great laugh. I have taken over 1000 pounds of brush to the dump as Jill and I started to reclaim the yard and shrubbery from the wild. I have read, edited, and proofed Jill's latest novel, "The Long Climb Back," as she pushes to get it out by Black Friday.
     "So, Bill, once you retire, what are you going to do?" I think my accomplishments have been rather prodigious. I've packed a lot into my 5 months of "not working," but nothing defining has found me yet. So where does that leave me???  Bill Hicks, 61 year old. And I am okay with that.

Life's Been Good to Me

      So here I am 5 months retired and I don't feel like I am supposed to be doing something.   I truly am enjoying this new chapter in my life. I like waking up at 7:30, reading the paper, having a cup or two of coffee, and then figuring out what I am going to do for the day.  I have no guilt what so ever.

      I look back on my life and realize that I started working when I was 15. The summer of my junior year was spent at Sunroc Corp. making drinking fountains.  My job "on the line" was to fill the cooler with insulation, install the pressure plate, install the basin, and screw on the bubbler. (That is what the "drinkey" part on a water fountain is called.), and send it on to final testing.

     The summer I worked there, the company had gotten a government contract for 984 drinking fountains. Why I remember that number, I can't tell you, but that is what I did day in and day out. Pour the insulation, install the pressure plate, install the basin, and screw on the bubbler. Over and over and over again. The only physical part of the job was we had to throw the 40 lb bags of insulation up into a loft where they were stored, but that was about it. You would stand by the conveyor and the water coolers kept coming all day long.  That summer made me realize that I did NOT want to spend the rest of my life working in a factory. 

  The next summer found me at Aldon Rug Mills, doing a variety of jobs. Aldons was closing down and getting ready to move to Sugarbush, Georgia.  I started out running yarn, and replacing spools as they ran out on the big looms. It was physically hard, pushing boxes of yarn weighing about 100 lbs up ramps into the loom rooms, and climbing the spool racks.  After two weeks of this I was transferred to maintenance.

    I soon discovered that I was needed on maintenance because I could fit into a boiler.  The boilers were shut down and I would squeeze into them, with a hose and a wire brush and scrub out the tanks and the tubes. After that, I would squeeze into the fire boxes and with my wire brush and brush down the walls of the the heat chambers.  After cleaning several boilers I was transferred to Table Top Looms.

     This next assignment found me making carpets 24 inch passes at a time. The room was on the top floor of the plant, and it was always hot even though I was working 2nd shift. I made rugs until the end of the summer, and came away realizing that I REALLY DID NOT want to work in a factory.

     These early work experiences were formative in what I would do for the rest of my life.  In college I worked for Wawa, which was a huge change from factory life.  When I dropped out I went full time with Wawa and spent the next 9 years in retail.   Working in the stores and then as a District Supervisor was a great job, but there was always something missing. I was only happy when I was training or teaching people.  This led me to the next phase of my life.

    I'll pick this up again in the next day or so to continue this theme. In the meantime, I am really enjoying the "Retirement Life."