Go to a Conference, Take Part in a Spectacle

I went to Florida last month and attended a fall conference in one of my business worlds. The CBORD Group has its annual User Group Conference in October each year and moves it around the country to keep it interesting. This year we went to Orlando. However, the location isn't the reason for this post.

The reason I'm blogging about the conference was the Tuesday event billed as "Fire and Ice". I really had difficulty making sense of this theme, but came to understand that if you wore denim trousers and then added red shirts and/or shoes and rhinestone whatevers, that you would fulfill the goal of the planners. OK, I guess. I didn't do any of those things, but they didn't turn me out at the door, which was good, because my dinner depended on making it through this activity.

the organizers

When we walked into the ballroom (not a small number of people, not a small room), we learned that we were entering an Iron Chef-like competition. There was a ton of noise, lots of machine-generated fog and a loud, pounding soundtrack. We were directed to tables and handed aprons. Each table group was a team and was distinguished by the type of apron it received. My group had an apron that would have been appropriate at a duck hunting expedition and we were immediately dubbed  "Team Camo".

the scene

Each team had a "chef" who was tasked with delegating assignments (some, not all, actually were chefs; I never found out whether our guy was). My assignment was to take a large pan to the "pantry" and grab anything that I thought we could use in creating gastronomic delights. I saw others at the pantry with lists, but I was on my own about what to procure. It wasn't until I returned to my team that I learned that three others  had the same assignment and preceded me back to the table. I felt a little undervalued.

The challenge was to create 10 discrete dishes in 30 minutes that would then be objectively judged by some unknown group of culinary experts. I got to make an appetizer with chicken, black beans, yellow peppers, garlic, and cilantro.

Team Camo

The action became really intense with lots of peeling, chopping, and dicing, followed by throwing the results into saute pans and adding oil, broth, or thickening agents to achieve the desired outcome. Sweat and beer flowed in equal amounts. It seemed a little out of place for team members to come by with trays of Bud Lime or wine glasses (did that happen in real restaurants?), but we didn't argue, we just emptied the trays.

There were folks with stop watches and other time-keeping devices who kept urging us to step up the pace. How many dishes were complete? Five? Seven? Not enough! There was a platform onto which we needed to place the finished delicacies and there were still several empty spots. Hurry!

As the 10th item was being placed on the rack, it was clear that the event was moving into the next phase. I was expecting the team of "judges" to begin making the rounds and soon after that, we'd be able to taste the finished products, not only of our team, but of the others as well. I was really hungry and looking forward to that phase. Instead, we were quickly ushered into the adjoining room and told that the results of the judging would follow shortly.

the guy who knew what to do

The room we entered was another large ballroom that was set for dinner for about the same number of folks in our room. We soon learned that we had been mildly duped. No judging was ever going to take place. We'd generated all of that frenetic activity and no one was going to taste the items that we'd created. In fact, all of the food was going to be thrown out. As we sifted through that knowledge, we started to realize that it was probably just as well. Folks were remembering that they witnessed serious cross-contamination of knives and cutting boards and that no one actually was seen sampling what they were doing. You can't possibly know if what you're seasoning is any good without tasting it!

my effort

As much as we were disappointed at experiencing a slightly altered evening, we enjoyed our dinner and felt satisfied that we'd given it our best shot. We did good going along for the ride. Call me up if you have a vacancy at your next culinary competition. I do a mean pantry grab.

This is Your Final Warning

There may be some of you besides me out there who have meant to practice changing a tire on your vehicle, but just haven't quite gotten around to it yet. Others of you may never have located the tire iron, jack and spare on your newer ride and would be under some stress should you be called upon to perform this in the dark or under harsh conditions. Well, with the clock ticking on the remaining days of fall, those of you in the northern climes like me might want to put this task a little higher on the priority list. I'll tell you why.

The trusty Tacoma

Here's my trusty steed, the feisty Tacoma PreRunner. Circumstance forced me to confront my lack of preparedness one Saturday in September. I awoke to the reality of a flat tire on the rear wheel, driver's side. In the seven years I've owned this vehicle, I've never changed a tire, never even practiced the maneuver.

The tri-partite crank

I needed to consult the owner's manual to even locate the tire-changing tools that come with the vehicle and learned that they're behind the passenger side rear seat (I've got the double cab model). what I found is a 36" long crank device that's required to lower the spare from the chassis to the ground. The spare is held in place with a steel cable that you unwind to release it and wind to secure it. The tool that you use comes in three parts which are held together by two set screws when assembled. It's looks mildly clever at first, but is not intuitive to use and falls apart easily (at least it did for me).

The all-important hook

The hole

The business end of the tool is shaped like a shepherd's crook and needs to articulate with a screw head that's between the chassis and the top of the spare tire which is completely invisible to the poor sap who needs to see it (me). You have to insert the tool into the tiniest of openings just above the rear bumper.

The unappreciated spare

Still with me? OK, so I've got the device assembled, I've inserted it into the hole, and I need to crawl under the truck and get my head above the spare tire to see the place I've got to dock the hook. (I'm grateful that it's not 10 below and I'm not lying on snow and ice.) I lower the tire to the ground and find that I need a hammer to break the corrosive bond that has secured the bracket at the end of the cable to the spare's wheel. That step accomplished, I discover that the spare is inflated ! (always a concern in this endeavor).

I figure I'm now on the downhill side of this task. I jack the rear axle up and successfully remove the lug nuts, much more easily than I anticipated. An hour has elapsed and I'm nearly giddy with my progress since I've got about another hour to shower and drive to a musical gig that I'm scheduled to do five miles away. And just when I think I've got it in the bag I reach a stalemate. I cannot budge the wheel on the truck. I can't get it to move; it's just like it's been welded in place. If I pound on it or pull too hard, I'll probably pull the truck right off the jack, maybe onto me. Not a good plan.

In the end I had to call a taxi and Monday morning I had to have the truck towed to the shop to ask the pros for help. What a letdown. I did get more practice using the dreaded crank, though, as I had to put the spare back into its resting spot and stow the gear for the next time (which I hope doesn't come soon).

You might want to heed my advice on this one. I'm just sayin'.

The Sounds of Fall in Our Neighborhood

There are two sounds that define fall in the rural midwest: shotguns and combines. Listening to farm machinery is a year-round reality for us, but in the fall, combines are the implements of the hour. Our little acre is surrounded on four sides by farmland and like 95% of the cropland in the midwestern states (maybe it's 99%, I'm not sure of the exact percentage of tillable acres involved), we see two crops in rotation: corn and soybeans. This year, we had beans planted on three sides of us, west, north, and east.

The neighbors started harvesting beans on Wednesday this past week and they're wrapping up that part of their harvest today.  Bean harvesting involves the use of a blade attachment on the front of the combine that looks like a stern-powered steamboat paddlewheel and progresses very quickly. There's a lot less chaff to deal with than there is with corn. In addition beans dry much more rapidly than corn and the timing of the harvest is heavily dependent on the amount of moisture in the grain.

The corn harvest will get underway any day now. Corn is always the last crop to be harvested, but it might be delayed a little longer than usual this year in south central and southeast Minnesota due to the historic rainfall that occurred on September 22 and 23 (5" - 11" of rain in 24 hours, depending on the specific location). So far, the weather in October is ideal for harvesting, higher than average temperatures, zero precipitation, and virtually no wind. Usually, farmers play a cat-and-mouse game with the weather during corn harvest and when their backs are up against the wall (an impending snowstorm for example), they often run their combines late into the night. Sometimes they have the benefit of a full moon, but they've always got seriously intense floodlights on their machines. They might not have to use the full 24 hours this year, we'll see.

I believe I mentioned shotguns at the top. We're about half way through the bird hunting season. The dove hunt and the grouse hunt began in September. Waterfowl season (ducks and geese) started a couple of weeks ago and pheasant season starts next Saturday. What that means is that every Saturday and Sunday from September 1 until Thanksgiving, we get awakened by shotgun blasts that sometimes sound like they're no more than 100 yards away. Each volley is usually at least 6 rounds and the action starts whenever sunup occurs (right now it's 7: 20) and lasts until 10 or 11. After almost 20 years, it's just part of the rhythm of the seasons.

I don't know about turkey hunts except that you can shoot them sometime in the fall and the rest of the time you just have to be careful if they cross the road in front of you.

So You Want to Own a Business?

Luke throwing the zzza's at Pie-Fection

This is a rumination on the challenges of owning and/or opening your own business, staying sane, and perhaps surviving (if you're lucky). It's possible to open a business and fail and stay sane. It's possible to open a business and survive and stay sane. It's also possible to open a business, survive, and go insane. There are no doubt other possible outcomes stemming from these variables. The point is, opening a business anytime is a crap shoot and doing so in the 21st century is anything but predictable and never a guarantee of success.

I've worked in retail most of my adult life and I've opened or managed more than a dozen different bookstores during my career. I've taken multiple concepts from planning to construction documents, to construction, to grand openings. I've also had to close multiple stores due to changing economic climates or changing financial environments affecting my companies. None of these projects happened without hiccups and all of them required enormous amounts of energy and long hours, hours way beyond anything that was ever budgeted. However, I never had to provide the capital to get these projects completed or lose the capital if any of these projects failed. In other words, everything that I did, I did with other people's money, not mine.

I've raised a lot of money in my time, money to fund organizations, money to fund ongoing programs, and money to fund one-time efforts. It's been gratifying to be able to help grow the financial resources of non-profits and other philanthropic enterprises. If you have it, share it is my mantra. But I've never had to put my personal funds or funds that I've raised based on my personal integrity at risk in a business venture. That is a huge difference of experience. I personally have been sheltered from risk and liability in the business sector.

Jon pouring some nice white wine

This week I had the distinct pleasure of dining at a restaurant founded and run by my wife's nephew, Luke Fernbach, and his business partner, Jonathan Diaz. I've previously shared in their adventure vicariously through email and Facebook, but it's a decidedly visceral experience to actually walk through the door, order a meal, sit down and consume it. What a trip! The product I received was exactly the one I ordered and so was the one ordered by my table mate.

I ordered a Pie-Fection custom  9" pizza and a couple of sides and they were delivered on time as promised. Mine was a white crust with pesto, chorizo sausage, sun-dried tomatoes, chunks of mozzarella cheese, two kinds of olives, and a drizzle of oil and garlic prior to firing. Mmmmm! Besides good eatin', it was also fun  to witness the diverse group of young people who gathered to commune and dine in a fun social environment that they had clearly visited before and returned to many times. Observing this interaction gave me a lot hope for the future of our society.

These guys work 14 hour days, 7 days a week and they've been doing that since they opened ???? months ago. They've got a great staff and all of them work well together, but the burden of success is on four shoulders, Luke's and Jon's. I salute them and wish them the best outcomes they can achieve. They're doing something I never even attempted and I hope it all works out for them. I know that they would appreciate the support of anyone living in the Orlando area or traveling there anytime soon.

Luke Fernbach and Jon Diaz, proprietors

Pie-Fection: Pizza Salads Pasta

The Care Center for Geriatric Pets

We have been petless now for about 18 months. Prior to that there was always at least one animal in our home for over 15 years, sometimes two or three. In the latter days of our pet life we felt more like trustees or caregivers than mentors or partners in recreational pursuits. We basically assisted our aging friends in their transition from this world into some other form of matter.

We've had a wide range of pets: feline, canine, rodent, amphibian and reptile. Fish, too. However, the recurring classifications were feline and canine. And in the geriatric phase, our home sheltered three dogs and one cat. Oliver was the king both because he was the oldest and also because he didn't take shit from anyone. He was not the first to go either, but the penultimate. Oh, by the way, Oliver was a cat, THE CAT, if you asked him.

Sally was our first dog. We got her as a pup and she was tiny at the start, clearly the runt of the litter. We didn't know what we had for awhile, but soon we learned that we had acquired a manic animal. Sally was the dog that thought she was a bird. At least that's what it sounded like to us. Who knows what she thought? She was pretty much always ecstatic, no matter what was going on or who was around. It was hard to see her age, because spiritually, she kept her sunny disposition right up to the end. It must have been frustrating for her to have to slow down.

 

Sally in her last year

Duke (the second dog) had two lives with me. I got him from the Humane Society for my kids one Christmas back in the late 80s. Several years later, Duke and I parted due to circumstances beyond his control. In one of the stranger twists of familial interweaving, Duke and I renewed our acquaintance when he came to spend his golden years with us. It actually was a kick to have him around again and to enjoy his serious weirdness. He was a German Shepherd, Basset Hound mix. Try to picture that! He gave the impression of perpetually running downhill due to the irregular length of his two pairs of legs. Duke was a hoot.

Our most recent and last canine was Pepper. We accepted Pepper as a mercy mission, not as a deliberate choice. Pepper was my sister's dog and when she was unable to keep her after a move, we took Pepper in. Pepper was a sweet animal that we came to enjoy after learning to accommodate her challenges. She was stone deaf and nearly blind. The deafness was caused by ear infections when she was young and I believe the visual challenges were simply the result of aging. Pepper left us in the spring of 2009 and we've been petless ever since.

And yet . . . the (im)petus for this post is the appearance of an (im)pish stray kitten that adopted us in the late summer. It's an adorable creature, but we can't take it in because more than one of our family has significant feline allergies. We don't want to mess with that. However, we do occasionally think about getting into the pet arena again, especially since some of our children are actively doing that. Regardless of what we do in the future, our history with our animal mates is a strong force in family lore. Anyone care to give a home to this kitty? Winter is coming on.

The recently acquired friend