The Rambling Insomniac

For the past couple of years, my parents have been vigorously plotting out their retirement plans. This summer, they are taking one of their biggest steps, and downsizing the house that they live in. They have lived in the Germantown area for nearly thirty years, with the past twenty of them being spent in the same place which is located smack dab in the middle of Germantown. Over the course of the past few weeks, they have had an offer accepted on a new house they recently fell in love with, and they have now listed their house “For Sale”. How exciting of a time for them! The thought of starting fresh in a new place as they enter the golden years of retirement is something that they must be very excited to get started on.

But just as I was reveling in all the excitement of their accepted offer and the listing of their house on the market, I received from them a very sad e-mail. The message was sent to many relatives, friends and acquaintances, informing us all that the Annual White Family, 4th of July Celebration, will not be occurring at their house this year as has happened for the past 20 years. As far as 4th of July celebrations go, this one was probably like most, but for those of us that attended it each year, I believe we all felt it was a little different. You see, my parent’s house is located on Fon du Lac Avenue, just north of Crusader Court, and has a backyard that overlooks Kennedy Middle School. This put our annual shindig in the heart of all the activity of Germantown’s celebration. For many years, the Germantown parade went right past the house until it was slightly diverted about 5 years back. Despite the diversion, we learned to become mobile, and our large group was always regular attendees at the parade. You’d probably recognize us as the clan that had as many coolers as it did people, but that’s just my family. After the parade, the party would settle into my parent’s backyard, with countless friends and family members coming and going throughout the day. This party had an open invitation, and it really didn’t matter who you were, you were always welcomed. Many activities would transpire throughout the day, including bocce’ tournaments, walks to Fireman’s Park to partake in the minnow races, the “boys” sneaking off to the Barley Pop Pub for a couple cocktails, funniest boxer shorts competitions, barbecuing, eating, and of course, lots of lounging around and chatting in lawn chairs. As the day would begin to turn into night, we’d light a bon-fire and all gather around getting ready to watch the fireworks display from what had to be the best seats in all of Germantown. What awesome memories we all have of these celebrations!

Then I started to think about all the other memories that will be missed from my parent’s old house. Christmas was always very special there. Martha Stewart herself would have a tear in her eye if she ever saw how my parents decorated the place for the holidays. My parents keep their yard immaculate, and have lush and diverse gardens throughout the property. They even managed to win several “Germantown Beautification Awards” over the years for their efforts. I remember my parents home welcoming both my sister and I back through troubling times in our lives due to broken off relationships. I remember my Dad and me trying to pull a stump out of the ground with my pick-up truck, which resulted in the stump slamming him in the face. As he walked toward me, blood pouring down his nose and mouth, he was laughing and said, “We better not let your Mom see this one!” But, she did, and had a fit anyway. I remember the Easters, the Thanksgivings, the old gravel driveway, the tree climbing rabbits, NASCAR Sundays, Packer Sundays, and a million other memories, all of which will be missed dearly.

As I sit here today thinking about it, my parent’s entire situation has made me reflect a lot about significant life changes. As we go through these changes in our lives, they certainly can bring many great things and newfound happiness, but they can also bring a sense of overwhelming sadness as well. Somehow, that just doesn’t seem fair to me. I guess that is what life is all about though, balancing changes, and the pros and cons that they bring to our own personal and unique life situations. In my parent’s case, they will certainly keep with them forever the many fond memories of their old house. They could choose to reflect on these memories with a sense of sadness for the loss of them, but why? A fond memory is just that; let it continue to be fond! Are we all not better off focusing on the future and the many positive things to come anyway? Unfortunately, I can’t say I’m exactly sure of myself in thinking that way.

(sigh)

So anyway, if someone out there is looking for that perfect home to make your own memories in, I’d suggest you take a look at my parent’s property if it hasn’t sold yet. It’s a great place, in a great town, in a great location. And as for the Annual White Family 4^th of July Celebration, some relatives of ours that live on Friess Lake have graciously invited our whole group over to their house this year to start building some new traditions and memories. I know I’ll be there with my family, and we can’t wait for our first ride around the lake in Denny’s classic Chris-Craft boat!

G'Night G'Town!
 

Don’t let yesterday use up too much of today. ~Cherokee Indian Proverb

How often do you get involved in your community? Have you ever volunteered your time to a local organization? Have you ever been called for and actively participated in jury duty? Do you regularly attend town board meetings to make your voice heard? Are you actively involved in your church or other local organizations?

For me , I wish I could answer “yes” to all of those questions, but I simply can’t. In fact, the closest I have ever come to performing community service would be something similar to what Paris Hilton may soon be doing (well, not really). Despite the fact that I’ve had friends called for jury duty so many times that they actually complain about it, I’ve never gotten that call. I’ve attended DNR hearings, but have never been to a local town board meeting. I vote on a regular basis, but that falls well short of getting involved in my community.

Do I sound like I’m feeling a bit guilty? I guess I am.

You’ll then understand why I was so excited to receive a flyer a couple of months back from a neighbor of mine seeking volunteers for a project. Turns out that the Town of Richfield had dedicated some funds to our community to construct a children’s play-set at the Bark Lake Community Park. Volunteers were needed to help defray the installation costs that normally come with this sort of play equipment. Given the fact that I live right across the street from the park and have two small kids of my own, it was natural for me to volunteer my time to the project.

So, on May 18th, me and several other neighbors all took time off from our “real jobs” and met the installation crew to build the play-set in the park. It was a beautiful day outside, and I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed the experience. I got to meet many of my neighbors, and got to learn a little bit about each of them. I met several of Richfield’s “mucky-mucks” including the town building inspector and parks supervisor. When my wife brought my kids over for a visit, they got to meet some kids their age from down the street that we’d never met before. They hit it off right away, and I’m sure they’ll be seeing more of each other in the future.

The day went without a hitch. Well, almost. I managed to be the first casualty of the day by slicing a nice 14” gash in my arm as I broke one of the installer’s tools. My neighbors were quick to point out that people like me are the reason our taxes are so high, and then banished me from using any power tools for the rest of the day. Probably a smart move on their part, but it was all in good fun. By days end, our park had a beautiful new play-set, and since then, it has been used non-stop by many neighbors and families of our community. The park now provides a recreational meeting place for all, and I’m certain that many new friendships will be formed there in the years to come.

It was such a little project when you really think about it, but getting involved made me feel really good about myself, as I’m sure it did for the others that volunteered their time. From my own personal experience, I can say this - If you’ve never gotten involved in a community project before, I’d highly recommend that you do. And if anyone knows of some other community projects coming up in our area, I’d love to help out if you need me. I promise I’ll bring my own Band-Aids.

G’night G’Town.

If you can't sleep, then get up and do something instead of lying there worrying. It's the worry that gets you, not the lack of sleep. ~Dale Carnegie

rambling – verb, 1. to talk or write in a desultory or long-winded wandering fashion
fiction – noun, 1. a literary work based on the imagination and not necessarily on fact

It’s 4:35pm on a Thursday, which means the dreadful meeting I just left went 35 minutes over its scheduled time. Fitting, given the fact that the rest of this week has gone no better. A glimmer of hope exists because tomorrow is Friday, and I’m thinking to myself that an ice-cold beer would be awfully good right now. As I leave the office, I realize it is pouring rain outside. “Just perfect”, I think to myself as I make the long walk to my car with no umbrella or anything else to keep me dry. As I enter the on-ramp to the freeway for my 40 minute commute home, I realize two things, 1) my windows are fogging up, likely because my shirt, pants and hair are soaking wet, and 2) traffic is completely backed up, which means I’ll have a longer than normal ride home. Again, fitting for the miserable week that it has been so far.

As I near my house, I pass by the local tavern. Almost as if it was on autopilot and attracted to neon signs, my car suddenly veers into the parking lot. I make my way to the bar entrance, and upon walking in, notice that the place is packed for 5:30pm on a Thursday. There is one empty barstool tucked way in the corner, which I’ve sat in once or twice before. The red vinyl seat cover is ripped on this stool, and it is set on the most unleveled portion of the entire bar floor. “Just perfect” I think to myself as I proceed to sit down on it anyway. Karen, the regular bartender, comes over and asks me what I’ll have, to which I quickly answer, “I’d love a Lite beer from Miller.” Now I suspect that there are probably millions upon millions of Miller Lite’s hanging out in breweries, warehouses, tavern coolers, liquor stores and peoples homes at any given moment in time, but this particular one that Karen gives me is special. This is thee Miller Lite that I’ve been thinking about, over and over again, since my first dreadful meeting at 10am this morning. At this point, it has become a coveted paragon of liquid refreshment, worthy only of kings and noble men. And as I tilt my head back, letting this gloriously cool creation of water and hops caress the back of my parched throat, I catch a glimpse of an amazingly attractive woman across the bar from me.

“Well, that’s unusual” I think to myself. Not in any way to be disrespectful of the establishment I’m in, especially given the fact that I’m a regular patron, but amazingly attractive woman usually don’t come into a place like this. As I put my beer down on the bar, I immediately notice that she’s completely busted me staring at her intently. I quickly look away, the way most of us do when we are caught staring. As I make a second pass of a glance towards her, I notice she is still looking at me, but this time she is smiling. I get real nervous, and try to exchange some small talk with Karen, but she is too busy for me. I pretend to enjoy the song playing on the jukebox, but it’s Bob Seger singing “Old Time Rock and Roll”, a song I completely detest. Luckily, that song ends, and is followed by a live version of Neil Young’s “Hurricane”, which is quit fitting for the moment. I bum a smoke from Karen, and she lights it for me. As I’m trying to hide behind the smoke wall I am producing, I again glance over at the beauty across from me. She’s well dressed, sitting all alone and drinking a Mountain Dew, which just adds to her mystery. Again, she catches me looking at her, and flashes that smile at me once again. This time, I smile back as our eyes lock for a moment.

A minute or so later, I notice the woman get up from her stool, gather her things and start to head towards the exit. But instead of exiting, she walks around the bar and heads in my direction, staring at me the entire time. Her walk is sultry, and even the other bar patrons are watching to see what happens next. As she gets within a couple feet of me, she pulls her keys from her pocket, and slowly lifts them towards me as if to incline that I should take them. With a look of pure amazement, I take the keys from her, and she leans in closer towards me. Not sure what to expect, I just sit there like a statue, uncertain of what I should do. At that moment, she pulls her lips up close to my ear and says to me, “Here are the truck keys. I want to take the car to my appointment. The kids are at the neighbors, and you need to get them by 6 o’clock. They both need bathes tonight. Oh, and by the way, we’re out of milk. Sorry your meeting ran late, hon.” She then kisses me on the cheek, and tells me she’ll see me later when she gets home. Bewildered, I smile, and can only muster up a simple “okay” as a response to her as she grabs my car keys off the bar and heads towards the exit. A few minutes later, I’m finishing off the last sip of my precious one beer, while Neil Young is bending his last note of his guitar solo over and over again. I say bye to Karen, leave the bar, and head to go get the kids from the neighbors. And as I do, I think to myself, “Well, maybe this week isn’t so bad after all”.  

<b>Sleep - those little slices of death, how I loathe them.</b>  ~Edgar Allen Poe 

‘Tis the Season! Ah yes……three little words usually associated with the season that begins in late November and runs through early January. But here in southeast Wisconsin, springtime means only one thing….’Tis the Season for RUMMAGING!

Rummage sales come in many shapes, forms and sizes here in our community. Let’s spend a moment reviewing each:

Yard Sales – These are usually the lowest form of rummaging that exists. Usually set up by some overly zealous, stay-at-home, mother of three kids that somehow feels someone is willing to pay retail price for the baby Tommy Hilfeger Jeans her 2 year-old son has outgrown. These sales can usually be avoided with a technique called “road shopping” (an art form of driving by the house and seeing that the only items for sale are two tables full of baby clothes and an Abdominizer that hasn’t been used in 8 years).

Rummage Sales – The standard fodder of junk enthusiasts. Rummage experts (you know who you are!) know that the type of sign a person uses to attract you to these sales can tell you a lot about what junk they are trying to sell. Are the signs made of wood or craft paper? Was a crayon, marker or paintbrush used to write the sign? Balloons attached? Do the signs guide me directly to the sale, or send me on a wild goose chase? Pay close attention to these signs, because that overly zealous, stay-at-home, mother of three will sometimes fool you into thinking her pathetic Yard Sale is actually a quality Rummage Sale.

Garage Sales – Usually set up by the man of the house, and usually geared more towards the boys. I’m talking real Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor stuff here. Garage Sales offer a real good chance of scoring some used power tools (that you’ll probably never use), that awesome neon Miller Beer sign you always wanted (that your wife won’t let you hang in your house) or the past 23 years of every Playboy magazine ever published (which, of course, your wife won’t allow into your house either!).

Church Sales – You can always feel good about buying something at a Church Sale, because you know the money is going to be used for a greater cause. Note - proper rummaging etiquette states that you never barter the price of an item at a Church Sale. I think the reason here is obvious.

Barn Sales – Personally, I get goose bumps when I see a sign for one of these! These are usually full of antiques, rotted out windowpanes and rusty old tools. If there’s ever a chance of actually finding a highly coveted, original and classic Leg Lamp, I have to believe it would be found at a Barn Sale.

Estate Sales – A unique sort of “everything goes” sale that can usually reap great rewards for buyers. I scored an awesome, retro, chrome, breadbox at one of these last year for $1.00!!!

Multi-Family Rummage Sales – Can be a great stop, as humongous quantities of available junk are concentrated in one small area. I get a kick out of seeing a neighbor buy something from another neighbor at these. Shouldn’t they have just talked to each other and done some sort of junk exchange?

And then there is the granddaddy, behemoth, colossal mother of all Rummage Sales - THE VILLAGE WIDE RUMMAGE SALE. Slinger holds one of these every year the Saturday immediately before Mother’s Day (May 12th this year). Slinger’s is a nice sale that many participate in, but the village is so spread out, you have to be prepared to walk or drive around a lot. Jackson holds their annual Rummage Sale the Saturday immediately following Mother’s Day (May 19th this year). If you’ve never attended the Jackson sale, you should give it a try. What amazes me even more than the amount of quality junk for sale in Jackson, is the community’s ability to regenerate so much junk year after year! If you do attend the Jackson sale this year, stop in for a break at the Jackson Pub on Main Street. Good chance you’ll see me and many others comparing our recently purchased treasures while sipping down a couple of cold ones.

G’ night G’ Town!

If a man had as many ideas during the day as he does when he has insomnia, he'd make a fortune. ~Griff Niblack

rambling – verb, 1. to talk or write in a desultory or long-winded wandering fashion
insomniac – noun, 1. a person who suffers from insomnia

Okay, so you went ahead and clicked on a first-time blog from a guy that calls himself the “Rambling Insomniac”. Assuming you weren’t drawn in by my mug-shot on the GermantownNow.com web page, you must either A) be an insomniac yourself, or B) have a ton of interest in your community or C) just have nothing better to do with your time than to read someone else’s blog! Either way, I’m glad you came, and hope you’ll stay and check out future blogs from the Rambling Insomniac.

Why that name? Anyone that knows me will tell you I’ve never been at a loss for words. So although I’d love to be compared to Waylon Jennings, as a rough and tough, guitar picking, traveling, Rambling Man, my ramblings are usually more of the annoying type. As far as the insomniac goes, it’s just something I’ve lived with all my life. Those that share this amazing quality (yeah, right!) with me, know that we have nothing better to do at 3am, than read, watch TV, surf the net or whatever other tactics we’ve developed to live with our sleeplessness. After 20+ years of insomnia, I have yet to find that perfect tactic, so I figured I’d try writing a weekly blog (with that being said, please forgive me if I ever doze off while writing any of these in the future!).

My goal is to entertain and inform you, while writing about life and living in the Washington County area. That’s it. Nothing elaborate, nothing fancy, no Pulitzer Prize winning material here, but hopefully something you’ll enjoy. It’s wishful thinking on my part that you’d actually return to my pieces each week simply for their witty entertainment value. But, even if I can’t entertain you, maybe I’ll be able to turn you on to some new things our area has to offer, or maybe inspire you to look at life in a way you haven’t before. As a reader and a neighbor, I hope you’ll also do the same things for me, so I’d appreciate your feedback.

My eyes are getting really heavy now, so maybe this blogging thing might just work out after all!

G’ Night G’Town!

It appears that every man's insomnia is as different from his neighbor’s, as are their daytime hopes and aspirations. ~F. Scott Fitzgerald