T.G.I.F.

It has been an interesting week. Usually, when I say 'interesting,' what I really mean is frustrating, puzzling, irritating or some mish-mash of them all. Things happen, one deals with them, at least if they are within one's sphere of influence or competency, and life goes on. Then there is another week ahead, hopefully not as frustrating, puzzling, irritating, etc.

My frustrations usually arise from waiting endlessly for something promised to take place, or from someone doing something stupid, and then having to fix the situation. In either case, it is the lack of being able to control the situation beforehand that is troublesome to me. In theory at least, had I had control in the first place, I wouldn't have had to deal with the fallout afterwards.

In the life of any human or of any business, situations like this are only too common. We can let them wreck our lives or shrug them off and carry on. I try to do the latter. Sure, I may mutter a bad word or two under my breath, but I recognize that I can't control everything and have long reconciled myself to the imperfection of human beings, myself included.

I read a lot. I read news stories, commentary, and numerous blogs. Although I am libertarian by nature and philosophy, I read stuff written by people of every political stripe. I am amused (and amazed) at how things are perceived so differently by people, depending on their political or philosophical point of view. It makes for interesting discussions over coffee or a drink.

I have found (contrary to what the great unwashed would like us to believe) that the least tolerant individuals are on the left side of the political spectrum. The further left, the less tolerant. I am speaking, of course, not of tolerance for any particular action or event, but for those with opposing points of view.

I have no affection for the ideology of either left or right. Libertarianism is neither left nor right and doesn't really fit on the conventional left-right political axis.

One thing that bewilders me is how the left has this abject hatred of capitalism. As a capitalist myself, this could be worrisome to me if I let it be so. Why this hatred? All capitalists want to do is to sell goods and services that people want or need, and make a few bucks in the process.

Socialists hate capitalists, and want to tax them into poverty to pay for all of their social programs. On the other hand, capitalists hate taxation, but tolerate socialists. They are, after all, consumers of the goods and services that capitalists provide. Communists want to kill capitalists and have done so, very efficiently, for about 100 years. Capitalists don't care about communists, as long as they are out of range of their guns and pogroms. I am speaking here, understand, about activities within a given nation, not about one nation versus another. In international conflict, the situation is somewhat different, but the political and philosophical differences between the adversaries are much less important than perceptions of how one nation might be interfered with or threatened by another.

I guess in the larger scheme of things, my petty frustrations are of little consequence. I recognize that. So, enough puzzlement and frustration for the week. I'm going home soon. After supper, my son and I are going to go to the Ilderton Fair, a few miles from our home in London, Ontario. We'll eat some junk food, take in the sights, and have a good time. Now that is something to look forward to.

Absolutely No Absolutes?

Another idiot causes mayhem in a high school, this time in Bailey, Colorado. This sort of thing isn't news anymore, is it? Assorted idiots cause mayhem every day. We're used to it. We shrug it off and life goes on. Except for the innocent victims, of course, their life is gone. Gone forever. No 'do-overs.' No life, no marriage, no career, no kids, no grand-kids, no retirement. Nothing.

What is left behind, of course, is misery.

One girl lost her life in Bailey. Her family and friends will grieve. Before she is even laid to rest, the social engineers and other assorted busybodies will trip all over themselves blaming the 'tragedy' on insufficient government spending on social programmes, or some other such nonsense. The incident will blow over, except for those close to the victim, until the same thing happens again elsewhere.

These things don't happen because there is a shortage of government spending on social programs. They happen because kids are taught that everything is relative. Nothing is absolute. Let it all hang out. Be yourself. You can't help it, it's not your fault. You poor, poor person, we're just not doing enough to help you. Let us try harder.

What bullshit.

I have news for those morons who can't seem to see beyond their noses: There are indeed absolutes. Hurting or killing is wrong, unless it is in self-defence. Stealing is wrong, even if you 'deserve' those Nike sneakers more than the guy who is wearing them. And here is some free advice to anyone who has a pickle up their butt about life and how tough it is: Get help. Talk to someone. If your family members are too busy at the country club, or sucking back their daily quota of beer, talk to a teacher, a minister, a relative, a boss. Then, if all else fails and you decide you have to off yourself, don't feel that you have to take someone else with you. Just because you are such a sorry excuse for a human being doesn't mean that anyone else should suffer. Do the decent thing and honour everyone else's right to live out their lives, even if you decide to snuff out your own.

We live in a society where everyone is a victim. Nothing is ever anyone's fault. Until we get over this nonsense and start teaching our children that they have to be responsible for their actions and honourable in their interaction with others, things will continue to degrade.

It is time to put an end to this. The problem is that these attitudes are so firmly entrenched in our society that it will take decades to undo them. All the more reason to get on it today. Let's start with our kids. We have to teach them the differences between right and wrong, proper and improper, responsible and irresponsible. It's our job, as parents. Then, let's elect the proper people to our school boards and to local political office. That is where we have the most control. And let's lobby to get basic ethics taught in our elementary and high schools.

Let's punish wrongdoers. What kind of message are we teaching kids if they know that stealing a car or assaulting a schoolmate won't result in anything worse than a slap on the wrist? Let's make the parents responsible too. Kids don't become troublemakers in a vacuum. There is a pretty good chance that parental neglect plays a significant role in the lives of children who become troublemakers or worse. Parents can't deny some degree of responsibility.

These are complex issues, yes. There are a lot of factors to consider. Still, the fact that these things have become commonplace during the 'let it all hang out' philosophy of the last thirty-five years or so, tells us that we need to change some things back to the way they were.

Where do we start?

Predator and Prey: Kissing Cousins

People who have been in business for a while have almost certainly been exposed to fraudulent attempts to part them from their hard-earned money. Years ago, I used to get regular letters from human scum purporting to be the wife or child of some prematurely departed dignitary who had managed to accumulate millions of dollars of illicit funds. The money would invariably be stored somewhere where my help was necessary to gain access. All I had to do, to assure myself of a 10% to 15% cut of the money, was to help liberate the funds. Thousands, perhaps even millions of these letters would be sent out and someone always got sucked into the scam.

The first step might be that you would be required to send a small amount of money as a banking fee, or some other such nonsense, to start the wheels in motion. Once you were hooked, more money would be sought from you to deal with 'unforeseen complications.' By the time a person sucked into such a scam realized what had happened, he was out thousands of dollars and someone thousands of miles away was laughing at his folly.

No, I never got involved with anything like this. But many people did.

The same thing goes on today. It's easier, now, because with email everyone is potential prey. Perhaps you yourself have already been approached with one of these schemes.

How do you know when something is too good to be true? Very simple. Use the business maxim: "If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is," as your guide, even before you consider whether the process might be illegal and land you in jail, or merely unethical and spoil your sleep.

Why do people fall for this sort of nonsense? Greed. Something for nothing. Gain without pain. Foolishness.

Why do people attempt to perpetrate these schemes? Greed. Something for nothing. Gain without pain. Foolishness.

What am I saying? I'm saying that the victim is not much different than the predator. Each wishes to make financial gain without actual work or real effort. Neither seems to realize that if they expended as much energy doing real work they might actually be further ahead.

There is a certain cynicism in anyone who thinks ill enough of his fellow man to attempt to defraud him. I believe that it is a reflection of the predator's own self-loathing and low self-esteem. The same cynicism exists in the victim. He or she has no compunction about doing something unethical, or about the potential of enjoying millions of dollars which were extracted by scoundrels from government coffers (and therefore taxpayers) of poor countries like Nigeria. Again, predator and prey are no different. Both are lacking in scruples and ethics.

Why do people keep up these scams? Because they can. Because they have willing accomplices in all the fools who want to get rich quick.

I am currently playing along with someone who is trying to suck me into a similar scam. In order for me to gain funds to invest in my Panamanian venture, all I have to do, they say, is pay to liberate the money from an account inconveniently located in a country across the Atlantic. The sooner I send the money, the less it will cost me because additional fees are accruing daily.

I'll play along while it amuses me, but as I am a somewhat impatient man, that won't be for long. In the meantime, at least I am having some fun while I wait to see what new nonsense will follow.

Of Machines and People

The Winamp player in my computer has just finished presenting Desafinado, performed by Stan Getz and Charlie Byrd, and is about to play Vivaldi's Concerto for 4 Violins and Cello in B minor next. I'm typing words and sentences into a Blogger template. They will shortly be available to anyone with a computer and an internet connection, anywhere on the globe, at my Atavist blog. While I am doing this, emails appear, as if by magic, in my Outlook Express Inbox. A utility chugs away in the background checking for viruses.

My current office computer is already a couple of years old, at least, but it has more than enough power to do what I want. It cost me probably a couple of thousand dollars, and is one of many in my building, all connected via a network.

How things have changed in just a few short years. I bought my first business computer in 1977 or 1978. It was the size of an executive desk, with a separate disk drive unit about the size of a four-drawer filing cabinet. It was a Burroughs B80, and cost me about $30,000, a huge amount of money at the time. It had 64K of RAM (the same as the Commodore 64 which I bought as a toy for myself in 1984. Cost: $249) and the disk drive unit held two removable disk platters which stored 2.3 megabytes each. Each platter cost $130. To run my business with a proper backup system, I needed about 10 platters in total.

The B80 was worth every penny of its cost. It was a real workhorse, and the COBOL software I had custom-developed for it (another $10,000 or so) allowed us to streamline our billing systems, speed up our collections and do with fewer employees. It saved me a ton of money.

I am in a somewhat pensive mood today, and as I listen to the music playing on my computer (Mystical Eden by Armik is up now) I am remembering what things were like in the early years of my business. There were a lot of good times and a lot of dreadful times.

Every business is like that. Every life is like that. Everything that happens to us shapes our lives in some way from that point forward. We deal with things as best we can. We do some things well and some poorly. We have moments of brilliance and moments that would be beneath even Homer Simpson. We are flawed to the core and must strive continually to rise above our nature and to strive for something higher and better.

I realized over the years that I can always deal with things, whatever those things might be, but that I have much more difficulty in dealing with people, whoever those people might be. Why is that? Many people are unpredictable, inconsistent, unrealistic, fickle. Expedience rules their actions. Principle is AWOL. Not with everyone, all the time, but enough so that I can say that nearly every problem I have ever had that made me step back and wonder what had just happened was because of something someone did or didn't do.

What is the solution?

Other people. I have found that if one is patient enough and looks hard and long enough, one can find those very special people who are loyal, thoughtful, consistent and principled. I am surrounded by such people and I am grateful for that every day. My businesses have come a long way from the days of my Burroughs B80. We now have very sophisticated hardware and software systems in place, and are always as current with technology as it is practical to be. None of this, however, is as important as the people who keep things rolling along, every day, with good cheer and dedication. As I type this, the telephones are ringing non-stop and I know that everything is being taken care of as it should.

If you have good people in your life, whether as employees, bosses, friends, spouses or lovers, be very grateful. They are worth more than fame or fortune. They give you stability, peace of mind, and comfort. They are to be treasured.

And I do treasure those good people in my life.

The Dance

My son asked that I chauffeur him, and a friend of his, to his first high school dance last night, in our land boat. I offered to stop at a costume rental place and pick up a suitable uniform for myself, but he, sensing that I wasn't being serious, let me off the hook. I deliver every offer and every comment to him, no matter how ridiculous, deadpan -- then leave it to him to sort out whether I am pulling his leg or not. It's becoming more and more difficult to trick him. He claims that he has been on to me, and suspicious of everything I say, since I convinced him at some tender age (four or five) that if there was a Wal-Mart there must also be a Ceiling-Mart and a Floor-Mart.

So, I dropped off the boys, drove around a bit, then went home and waited. School dances aren't what they used to be. In your day, do you remember the gymnasium doors being locked early so that undesirables couldn't crash the event and cause trouble? Were there breathalyzers at the door to make sure fourteen and fifteen year-olds weren't drunk when they arrived? How about pit bulls and armed goons? Okay, so I'm kidding about that last one, at least at my son's school. The fact remains that the age of innocence is over.

At 10:15, I got the call asking me to pick up the boys. The lights were being turned up and the kids were being turned out. The dance was over.

Did the lads have fun? Seemingly. Did my son dance with any girls? Yes, about ten or so, according to him. Who asked whom? He asked some, some asked him. Was he telling the truth? Yes, according to his friend.

Boy, I wonder what lies ahead.

Fear and the Future

I am amazed sometimes at the extent to which fear plays a part in the lives of the average human. I don't mean fear of the madman who just engineered a coup of your country, or the predator who might be stalking your kids, or even your ex-wife's lawyer. Those might actually be rational fears, especially where the lawyer is concerned. I'm thinking more of the fear to make a decision, make a move, take a new direction, or take a chance.

I have been told on occasion how lucky I am to have what I have. I am lucky, I admit. I also worked an average of over 100 hours per week during the early years of my business, took many chances, borrowed money at usurious interest rates and starved when paying my suppliers and employees was more important than buying groceries. I never went out for dinner or a drink. I sacrificed the present (then) to secure the future (now.) That, and some real luck (I managed to avoid accidents and poor health) was what gave me what I have.

It is extremely unlikely that someone who never takes any risk, who is unwilling to make any sacrifice or to delay gratification of any desire, is ever going to get anywhere. No pain, no gain. For every twenty-three year old who makes a gazillion dollars in stock options for a crazy idea and two years of long days and nights at a computer, there are tens of thousands of business owners who slogged it out, one day at a time, one customer at a time, one dollar at a time, until they became successful. Luck is what you make it.

There are so many opportunities to make money that it is almost overwhelming. Just about any service can be performed better than the norm. Just about any product can be made better than the norm. Figure out what it is you want to do and then do it. But, be prepared to work very, very hard, convincing people that they absolutely must have your product or service. They aren't going to come to you and simply start handing you their hard-earned money.

Too much competition where you are? Go where there is less, or none. Move. Save up a few bucks to get yourself started and then make some sacrifices. Take a sandwich and a thermos to work, instead of buying lunch. Stop smoking. Forget about bars and restaurants. Focus on paying your bills and preserving capital. Next to your family, make your business the most important thing in your life.

Gradually, you will become one of the lucky ones. And you will understand that you made your own luck, and smirk to yourself when someone approaches you at the bar of the fancy restaurant that you can now afford, and tells you how lucky you are.

The reason I am thinking about these things is that, even with all the stories I tell my son about how tough things were when I was his age, he is pretty blasé about things. Knowing about how things were, and really 'grokking' the reality, are quite different things. I want my son to go out there and work his tail off, not simply ride on his dad's coat tails.

I believe that the years ahead are going to be tough. House prices will fall. Interest rates will revert to historical norms and even above. Many thousands of people will default on mortgages and lose everything they have saved. Many people, even those about to retire, don't have any savings to lose in the first place. They haven't accumulated any real assets. They think the government is going to take care of them. Sure. What will really happen? Many retirees won't be able to live on their social security cheques, and will end up competing for the same McJobs that now provide many teenagers with pocket money.

I am concerned about the future. Not my future or yours so much, but the future of my son and your children. There will be hard times ahead, and the extent to which our kids understand hard work, application, tenacity, responsibility and other values that we as parents have tried to instil in them, will determine how well they are able to cope.

Let's hope that we will have done a good job.

The First High School Dance

My son is going to his first high school dance Friday night. He is a handsome, self-confident young man, and unless he behaves like a jerk and treats girls with disdain, he should have no problem courting (I guess the current vernacular is 'hooking up') young women at the dance or anytime else. Or is it that he should behave like a jerk and treat girls with disdain to get their attention and adoration; I can't be sure. All the evidence is there that many girls and women connect with boys and men who abuse them mentally or physically or both, and that they appear to do so by design and preference. They like the bad boys, the tough guys, the ones too cool to care about anything and often too stupid to do much else but take up space.

Just another of those things I don't 'get.'

On the other hand, many males pursue girls and women who are vacuous and clueless, but who at least look good while they are taking up their space. Not me. I personally prefer women with a brain, with a sense of purpose, and with a clear understanding of how they fit into the universe. I like the challenge of interaction with an intellectual equal. I like the competition. I just don't want her to pee standing up. By that, of course, I mean to say that men are men and women are women, and we should celebrate our differences, instead of trying to be just like each other.

My son is embarking on a journey of discovery that can be exciting, puzzling, infuriating and even immensely gratifying. Love and sex (please don't be in too much of a hurry for either, son!) are wonderful experiences, but can also be the source of more misery in life than just about anything except sickness and accident. Lucky are those who find that ever-elusive soul mate, and who manage to satisfy both their sexual and intellectual appetites -- with each other.

Life is such a short journey. I hope my son doesn't get waylaid somewhere in his personal quest for happiness, fulfilment, and meaning.

So, Daddy is having all this Angst about a little upcoming high school dance? You bet. I was a teenager myself, once. I trust my son to use good judgement, and to be the young man I wish him to be. But it is a father's job to help his children avoid mistakes, and I will be watching carefully.

Why Panama?

I have met and spoken with many North American expats while in Panama. I'm a curious guy, and one of the questions I often asked was why they were there. The answers weren't all that surprising to me.

A guy waiting to get at his safety deposit box, in my Panamanian bank, told me he retired to Panama at age 58 because he could. He could never, he said, do that in the United States. Was he happy with his decision? Yes.

There are a lot of people like him, younger than 65, living on peanuts (actually oranges and bananas and mangoes and pineapple and great Panamanian beef) and having fun. They no longer have to pay exorbitant rents, extortive property taxes, and heating and other utility costs.

Some people are there because they like the ecology and the diversity of flora and fauna. Nowhere in the country are you ever more than a couple of hours from either the Pacific Ocean or the Caribbean Sea, or both. Pristine jungle areas are available for exploration. Scuba diving and snorkelling is available everywhere. Got a boat? Anchors aweigh!

How about the political climate? Pretty darn stable, and the Panamanian government is probably much less likely to step on more of your rights than the bandits at home, wherever that might be. The economy? Booming along at 6% or 7% annual growth.

Is the economy likely to keep growing? According to a market research expert I met at breakfast at the Hotel El Panama, yes. He was in the country doing research for an international insurance company. His recommendation? Jump in. Above average growth is expected in Panama for at least five, and more likely ten, more years according to his research.

Worried about currency depreciation? You should be. It is increasingly an international world, and currencies fluctuate in value against each other all the time. What will happen if the Panamanian currency declines? After all, devaluation and hyperinflation are all too common in Central and South America. The Panamanian currency will indeed fall against the Euro and the Yen and the Deutschmark and other strong currencies, but only because it is pegged one-to-one with the American dollar which I think is doomed. That's what you carry in your jeans, in Panama -- greenbacks. What you get back in change is usually a combination of American coins and their Panamanian equivalents. They are interchangeable. The advantage of all this is that if you get an American pension or other American income, it is always going to get you by in Panama even if it is worthless against other currencies.

I am not planning on moving to Panama full time myself. I have too much going on in Canada and would have too many things to unwind. I will, however, invest there, have a second home there for when I visit, and have friends there.

Panama is worth a look and not only because you might buy a building lot from our Roca Milagro project. It's worth a look simply because it is beautiful, friendly, cheap and accessible, much like an ideal date or mate.

What's this Atavist guy babbling about today?

I just finished a sandwich at my desk. Made it myself. Whole wheat bread, Havarti cheese, slathered with Dijon mustard. Only a man could dream up something like that, right?

Our individual preferences when it comes to food and drink say much about ourselves. While in Panama, I like to try local dishes, or at least local variants or interpretations of things that might be available at home. I don't want my meals to be 'just like' what I am used to. If I want a McBurger, I'll wait until I get home.

I had some great meals in Panama, often sea bass prepared in various ways. At The Bistro, in Boquete, I ate one of the best filet mignon steaks I have ever tasted, anywhere. Cost: $9.95.

The evening before I left Panama City to fly back home to Canada, after not having eaten for nearly 48 hours because of a bout of something that caused my body to be somewhat hostile to food (or even the thought of it,) I had a delicious meal too. What was it? A Mr. Sub vegetarian submarine sandwich, including some extra jalapeno peppers. Comfort food.

There are foods that I won't eat. Oysters, lobster, crab, clams, octopus, eel, frog, escargot, are all on my "are you kidding!?" list. Why? I get the creeps just looking at these things. Why would I eat them?

Irrational? Perhaps, but so what?

When it comes to fruits and vegetables, I will eat just about anything. Even Brussels Sprouts and Broccoli. I love the textures of fruits and vegetables almost as much as the taste. I love biting into some fruit with which I have had no prior experience, just to experience for the first time its unique flavour and texture.

It is like that with people too. I like meeting people for the first time. I have no expectations, just curiosity. I like to be pleasantly surprised, and often am. Sometimes I'm not.

Like food stuffs, people are unique. They each have their own flavour and texture when you take your first 'bite' of them. Stop blushing, please! I'm not speaking here about some deliciously decadent and intimate oral adventure. Nor am I promoting cannibalism. I'm engaging in analogy, so bear with me.

Some people are sweet and airy and fluffy and nothing else. No solidity, no substance, no satisfaction. They provide momentary diversion and not much else.

Some people are sweet to the taste, until you sink in your teeth to savour the experience, and recoil in horror to the bitterness inside. Never met one of these delightful creatures? Look me up. I'll introduce you.

Some people are a bit sour or perhaps salty on the surface, but are solid and fortifying inside. If you get past the first taste, you will ultimately be fortified and satisfied.

Some people are savoury on the surface, and have a satisfying, complementary interior. They are pleasant to be with, interesting to interact with, and make great friends or spouses or partners.

I was reminded of all of this as I spent time in Panama. I met many people there, as I usually do. My main purposes on this particular trip were to take care of the legal 'closing' of the real estate for our project and to meet with potential investors. When not occupied with these pursuits, I also met people at the hotels I stayed in, restaurants I ate in, at the bank I use, and so on. Everyone I met could reasonably be slotted into one of the categories enumerated above.

The fact that these people are in Panama, even if only momentarily in some cases, naturally has no bearing on anything. People live everywhere, not just in Panama. But people world-wide tend to have the same general characteristics.

So, what were my impressions of the people I met for the first time? Generally, positive. Some, delightful. One or two, with whom I would normally avoid contact. About average, wouldn't you think?

This all begs the question, of course, of what they might think of me. Does it matter? Do I care?

Yes and no. I am trying to teach my son that he should not live his life in a way designed solely to ensure that he is liked by his peers. He should live his life based on values: honesty, integrity, reliability, responsibility, compassion, and so on. People will judge him on what he is, and will still like him or not based on their individual prejudices. They might not like him because his hair is the wrong colour, or because he wears blue shirts, but they will tend to respect him and trust him because of his behaviour and values. That is what matters.

I try to live my life the same way. I don't care much if I am liked, although it is obviously not a bad thing. I do care that I am respected, and trusted to behave responsibly and ethically.

That's what the Atavist is babbling about today.

Back in Canada

I'm back in my office. It's 4:00pm, and I appear to be almost caught up with my email. I've sorted the snail mail that still needs to be dealt with. I've been to the chiropractor for a tune up. I even had an extra large cup of Tim Hortons coffee this morning. Yep, I must be in Canada.

It's nice to be back. But I need some sleep. I pulled into my driveway at 3:15am and was at work by 8:00am. I spent a few moments with my wife and son, drove him to school, and generally got right back into my regular schedule. Regular schedules are OK, as long as they aren't too regular. There has to be a little variation. Some time off now and again. A different route to and from on occasion. Just some variety. They say variety is the spice of life, don't they? I think 'they' are right. By the way, when 'they' is used in this context, who exactly are the 'they' that we are talking about? I'm not sure that I have ever met them. And how do they know all the stuff they do?

Never mind.

I'll have much to say in the coming days, if I can remember it all, and if I can find the time to do some of my spectacular two-fingered, blog-posting typing. That, folks, is a sight to behold.

In the meantime, the picture above is of a Panamanian acquaintance of mine.

More soon.

Reflections

I don't like it. I'm still not quite in top form, and instead of enjoying the chaos of Panama City, I'm sitting in the Hotel El Panama's 'business center,' reading my email and writing a blog post. I really would have preferred to be up and about by now, and to have done my internet stuff later.

I'm an analytical sort of guy. I am fascinated by the 'whys' and 'wherefores' of life. Being flat on one's back, without the energy to do much except think, gives one pretty much an ideal environment for reflection.

So, what occupied my mind during that time?

Well, a lot of things. Like: Am I nuts? What am I doing? I'm developing land in Panama? Why? I don't need this. Sure, I'm an adrenaline junkie with a strong creative drive, but why aren't I developing something smaller and closer to home?

Good questions, all. And there are good, completely satisfactory answers to all of them. It is just that when part of the human mechanism is out of tune, the rest of the system falters too. It's a good thing that people don't often make decisions when they are out of sorts, or nothing would ever get done.

I don't mean to suggest that I spend a lot of time agonizing about things, whether I'm sick or healthy. No, I make decisions and stick to them. That is my nature. I deal with things, make things work. I just find it odd that a momentary weakness, caused by an ill-mannered and unwelcome bug that chooses to violate my body for a day or two, would have even the slightest effect on my resolve and my purpose. We really are fragile creatures, aren't we?

I suddenly have this powerful need, now, to read the news. What is going on around the globe? Who is blaming whom for what, and how many innocent people have been killed because of it? How are the stock markets doing? What are the latest prices of gold and silver bullion on the spot market? Which world politician has made the most idiotic statement since I last checked? Are Tom and Katie still married? Actually, forget that last question. I really don't give a hoot.

Well, I'm pretty much back to my ornery, curmudgeonly, atavistic self. So here is what I have to say to the world:

"Bring it on, Buster! I'm back in fighting form. Don't even think of tangling with me."

I guess I really do feel better!

Killing Time. Wish I were killing bugs instead.

I'm sitting at the airport in David. I have to kill two more hours before the commuter plane leaves for Panama City, about a one hour flight. Normally, I would have been out and about, cruising around, trying to squeeze in as much of Panama as I possibly could. I'm afraid I just don't feel like it today.

No, it has nothing to do with Panama. And no, I'm not disenchanted about anything. It's just that I got bitten by some vile bug on Thursday, and I'm just now starting to feel at least a litte bit like myself. That I'm feeling better at all probably has something to do with the fact that I slept for fifteen hours straight, from 5pm Friday to 8am Saturday. Sleep cures all, right?

Tonight I will stay at the Hotel El Panama in Panama City, then tomorrow afternoon, it's back to Canada. Time goes by much too quickly.

I called my wife earlier today and discovered that she too had been ill. I guess those bugs really get around. Or maybe, they just have relatives everywhere.

Things are slowly proceeding with our project. 'Slowly,' of course is the operative word. That's the way thing work in the tropics. That's something I am going to have to get used to.

Mañana

Today was lawyer day. Our Panamanian lawyer is in David, which is about 30 miles or so from Boquete. David is a smaller version of Panama City: horns blaring, traffic noises everywhere, cars and trucks scurrying hither and yon.

Signs proclaiming street names are not in abundant supply, anywhere in Panama. When looking for an address for the first time, you ask someone. Even if you speak and understand no Spanish, people are very helpful. They point, they draw circles or other shapes with their hands, and you eventually get to where you wish to be.

Or, you flag down a cab. For a dollar or two, the cabbie will lead you to your destination. One dollar goes a long way in Panama.

Phil and Temy and I had lunch in a grand old hotel in David and chatted. We spoke of things that are, and of things that will be. We all get along well, and I am grateful for that. It will make a huge difference in the execution of our plans, if we all interact as friends, as well as partners.

Tomorrow, we will be meeting a bunch of potential investors at 'Olga's,' for breakfast. Fortified with her delicious cooking, we will all drive to Rovira Arriba, to look at our Roca Milagro project. We will share cool drinks in the shade of the orange grove on our property, and we will enjoy ourselves. Interesting people, in an exotic setting, in a beautiful country -- what could be better? We will have fun.

It is difficult, sometimes, for me to leave Panama. By Sunday, I have to be back in Panama City for my flight home. I do look forward to seeing my wife and son again, and to finding out how my son his doing at high school. Still, this is a difficult place to leave behind. I console myself with the knowledge that we have accomplished so much, in such a short time, and that there will be many more trips to Panama in the future.

For now, I am here, and I am enjoying myself. I'll worry about other things tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, or...

Mañana.

Full Circle

It's Tuesday night and I'm back at the Boquete Garden Inn. It has been an eventful day. Phil and I had lunch with a very interesting gentleman from Florida. He has had many fascinating experiences, and seems to be a kindred spirit. He shares our vision of a natural environment at our Roca Milagro project and has some very novel ideas of using bamboo as one of our landscaping ingredients. Phil and Temy and I all love bamboo. It grows well in Panama, and is beautiful to look at. It would be great to put those ideas to work.

We'll see. The man is touring the property with us all on Thursday, and may invest with us, buy building lots, or both. He would be welcome in any way he chooses to participate. We immediately felt comfortable with him, and that is one of my key tests. I never do business with people who wouldn't be welcome in my home, or at my side facing life's inevitable ups and downs. I don't like liars, cheats, shirkers, malcontents, or even people with bad manners.

We were also privileged to meet and dine with Pauline Jones (www.panamajones.com,) the wife of Bill Jones, the man who introduced Phil to the property. I never met Bill in person, but spoke to him on the telephone and corresponded by email. Bill passed away suddenly, and I felt honoured to meet Pauline, her daughter and granddaughter. We had a lovely evening together and it was almost as if Bill were there with us, listening to our stories, dreams, and memories. Sorry I never got to know you better, Bill. Pauline will also tour the property with us on Thursday, and it will be as if everything will have come full circle.

Tomorrow it's meetings with our lawyer.

More when I can find the time.

Boquete Again

I`m in Boquete, Republic of Panama. My partners, Phil and Temy, and I arrived early in the evening. The temperature here in the highlands is considerably cooler than it is in the coastal regions. It is a welcome change.

Temy is off staying with his relatives. Phil and I went to dinner together, in one of Boquete`s charming restaurants. The bar area was packed with American expats. We`re both bone tired, so we stopped in at a variety store for some snacks, then headed to our usual abode while in this area, the Boquete Garden Inn. At the variety store, I bought two packages of local ground coffee, totalling about 680 grams (Panamanian coffee is excellent,) two packages of local cookies, a large Snickers bar, and two cans of fruit juice. Total cost: $5.29. Translation: it doesn`t cost much to live here.

Tomorrow, we`re off to look at our land, chat with the surveyor, and hopefully meet some people who are interested in investing with us, or in purchasing building lots at Roca Milagro. It should be a fun day.

A few moments ago, I chatted with my wife and son back in Canada. My son made me promise to bake him homemade waffles "until they come out my ears," so of course I agreed. As my wife and son appear well, and everything seems as it should be, I am going to cut this short and get some sleep.

More in the coming days.

Trees

Roca Milagro Residential Community site - Rovira Arriba, Panama

I have made my lists and checked them twice. I have printed out reports, maps, projections. I have packed my laptop. I have located and packed my passport. I have a supply of U.S. dollars. I am ready to head off to Panama again, to deal with my Roca Milagro project.

I feel guilty, though. Yes, it's a business trip, with a very hectic schedule. But I am leaving a house full of unpacked boxes for my wife and son to deal with, while I entertain clients and investors in Panama. Yes, I know, life isn't fair. I will have to make up for it all somehow, when I get back.

I am taking my laptop and my digital camera. Maybe, if I can organize my time well enough, I will get time to take some photographs and write some blog posts. I hope so.

My family and I made our last visit to our old home yesterday. There were lumps in throats and tears in eyes. Nearly fourteen years in one place. A long time. Lots of good memories, and even some not so good memories. All together, it was a slice of a sometimes too eventful life.

As it got darker outside, we strolled around the property and I remembered planting some of the trees that were now twenty or more feet tall. The Chestnut Tree, I transplanted from my parents' yard, something to remember them by. The Larch Tree, I planted because my mother often spoke of the Larches beside the river in Poland, where she grew up. The Tulip Tree found a home with me because I loved its large glossy leaves, and its tulip-shaped blossoms in the spring. It is a Carolinian tree, and I was afraid at first that our climate might be too cold for it. No problem. All the evergreens around the perimeter of the property protected it and it flourished. It will be 90 - 100 feet high one day. The Linden trees were reminders of my family's' time in Germany, where Lindens abound. The varieties of Locust trees were planted because I loved the thin, feathery leaves and the speckled shade they provided. The Dawn Redwood was planted because I thought a tree that would tower over 100 feet high would be just the thing, in one corner of the yard. I am going to miss those trees. They grew up with my son. They grew older with me.

Now I have a featureless back yard. No trees, no shrubs, no flowers. No room for more than perhaps a single tree and a few shrubs. Less work, though. More time for living.

And living is what I hope to do, for a long, long time. I want to enjoy my family, my work, my life.

And I will... all of those things. Occasionally, though, I think I just might drive back to our old home, cruise around the block, admire the natural beauty of it all, and remember.

Good memories.

In the meantime, there are lots of trees on our property in Panama, and I will enjoy those.

Larger Than Life

My father would have been 102 years old today. He died in 1998, at age 94. His brother is still alive, and will turn 97 next New Year's Eve. Good genes, I guess. I hope some of those good genes made their way into the next generation.

It is hard to believe that my father has been gone for so long. I remember lots of things about him, but what most left an impression on me was that he had a tremendous sense of equilibrium. He took everything in stride, and faced whatever life presented, good or bad, with the same quiet determination. How was that possible, given all that he endured in his 94 years?

My father lived a life full of adversity and difficult physical labour. He lost his first wife, and one of the children they had together. The daughter who survived, my half-sister, is a wonderful woman, truly one in a million, and reminds me very much of my father.

After my father married my mother in1937, they lost three children before I came along in 1945. They were forced from their homes twice, and lost everything they had. In 1949, several years after World War II, they came to Canada and started all over again. My father was already 45 years old, my mother 35. I was 3 1/2 years old. My brother was born several months later.

How did my father cope with it all? Will I provide as good an example to my own son as my father did for me? I hope so, but I will have very, very big shoes to fill.

Happy birthday, Dad. I wish you were here to celebrate it with us all.

The Road to Natchez

When I was seven or eight years old, I was given a book called "Susan and the Rain." I mentioned it in a comment on one of Bellezza's blog posts. Her interest in that book, and in books by Enid Blyton that I had suggested in a comment on an earlier post of hers, got me thinking about another book I had read as a child. I started to write about it a couple of years ago, in one of my Dear Zachary letters to my son, but never finished. Thanks to Bellezza, I got off my writer's behind today, and finally finished what I started. I will now be able to put it on the Dear Zachary page on my personal website, having left a space for it there since some time in 2004.


The Road to Natchez

Dear Zachary:

You know that I love to read. Your Mom and I have always been voracious readers and we hope that you will pick up the reading habit too. Read while you’re young, while you can learn and absorb knowledge easily. I know that as I get older, I have more difficulty concentrating and my always-inadequate memory blurs much of what I read into the morass of the other millions of words that have come to reside somewhere in the recesses of my brain. I’m grateful now that I read as much as I did when I was younger.

It’s strange, sometimes, to reflect on which books have had the largest influence on how we live our lives, how we think, how we interact with others. Ayn Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged” certainly had a major role to play in my development, as did “The Moon is a Harsh Mistress” by Robert A. Heinlein. Each of the captioned works is a novel with a political and philosophical subtext. Each affirmed my laissez-faire attitude towards others and my free-market views on voluntary trade and commerce between individuals and groups.

Not every book has a monumental bearing on how you live your life. The reading of some might simply induce a further curiosity to explore something or someplace. When I was about eight or so years old, I read such a book. The book was called “The Journey of Josiah Talltatters,” by Josephine Balfour Payne, published in 1953. It told the tale of the Reverend Josiah Talltatters as he travelled from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to Natchez, Mississippi. Travel was on foot and on the long, slow trip, the Reverend sought out opportunities to support himself and his orphaned nephew, Jeremiah. They moved gradually southwards, taking turns riding on the back of their horse, Pilgrim. They had some adventures on the way to Natchez and made some acquisitions. When they finally arrived at their destination, their menagerie included Tippet, the parrot; Hallelujah the beagle; Wilful the pig; and Promise the hen.

The values in the story were that hard work brings rewards, that honesty is the best policy, that optimism trumps pessimism. The Reverend Josiah did his best to care for his nephew Jeremiah and he, in turn, respected and valued his uncle. I can’t imagine this book actually making it through the publishing process today. There were no victims in the book; everyone was a winner. There were no handouts; everyone worked for his daily bread. The main male character wasn’t a bumbling idiot, lost in an incomprehensible world without a female to show him the way. He was strong and competent, honest and fair. And then there is the whole matter of values and religion. The reverend and his son had an abiding faith in God and that faith helped them prevail. No, I’m afraid that this book would never make it to print today except, perhaps, as a ‘religious book’ by a speciality publisher.

The book left its mark on me. The story was the sort of thing that would have appealed to any young boy, at least in the era prior to video games and 200 television channels. The Reverend Josiah’s faith in God was largely incidental to the story, so I can’t say that it had any significant influence on me. What intrigued and interested me was the journey itself, the adventure, the triumph over adversity, the resilience of the Reverend and his nephew.

As I grew up, the name Natchez became buried away in the recesses of my mind. Occasionally, the name would pop up somewhere and I would wonder anew about it and whether I might someday visit the seemingly magic place.

I did, eventually. Your Mom and I found Natchez in 1988. We were on one of our protracted driving holidays in the southern United States. We explored the Mammoth Caves in Kentucky. We visited Memphis, Tennessee, but inexplicably skipped Elvis’ home at Graceland. We strolled the streets of Music Row in Nashville.

Heading further south from Nashville, we noticed a road sign pointing the way to the Natchez Trace Parkway. I told Mom about my Natchez fixation and she insisted that we visit there to satisfy my curiosity. Although we didn’t really have a fixed itinerary, the side trip to Natchez would mean a considerable detour for us. We had intended to head steadily south-east and rerouting to Natchez would have us heading south-west. I resisted at first, thinking that Mom mightn’t want to lose a full day while we wandered in another direction, but she prevailed and we turned towards Natchez. I am very glad that we did.

The Natchez Trace Parkway runs 444 miles from a point just south of Nashville, Tennessee, cuts across a corner of Alabama and ends at Natchez in Mississippi. It is a beautiful trip and I recommend it to anyone exploring the southern United States. When we arrived in Natchez, any first impressions were coloured by a very overwhelming odour. It was a very hot day in late September, and the heat and humidity were almost unbearable. The emissions from a pulp and paper plant across the Mississippi River from Natchez simply hung in the air with no breeze to blunt the effect. Still, the beauty and historical significance of Natchez soon overcame our inclination to flee in search of fresher air.

There is a lot of information about Natchez on the internet. The city has a colourful history and is a beautiful place to visit. Maybe we will go there together some day.

The visit to Natchez was a brief interlude in a long life. As the years go by, I remember less about the visit. The reading of “The Journey of Josiah Talltatters book, however, and its message of optimism, diligence and perseverance will stay with me always. I hope to pass these values on to you and perhaps you, in turn, will pass those same values on to your children someday.

At this point in your life you are building memories. You will have some unpleasant memories, to be sure, but there will be many good memories that will stay with you forever. They will help sustain you as you make your way in life. Enjoy every day, son. Life is a precious gift. Don't squander it. Realize your potential and, even if you err on occasion, learn from your mistakes.

If you learn anything of value from your father along the way, one day, when you have children yourself, you might remember things that I have said, things that I have tried to teach you, and those things just might help you provide guidance to your own sons or daughters. And that is among those precious things that sustain me now.

Daddy

Goodbye and Hello.

We're moved. Thank goodness. That is not a process I want to repeat for awhile.

There were some emotional moments as we carted our belongings out of our old house. My son, who had been a vocal proponent of moving closer to his friends and to his school, wondered quite seriously if we could back out of the deal to sell the house he had know as his home for over thirteen years. He remembered all of the fun he had there over the years, the barbecues he had held for his classmates, the sleep-overs with his friends and, of course, Simon the cat. Simon is buried in the back yard. We said goodbye to him before we left.

My son took over 150 digital photographs of the house and yard.

I always look ahead, rarely back, but I do remember some things -- jamming with my brother and his son in my music room, wandering around the yard on moonlit nights, and most importantly, watching my son grow up.

And that is what we talked about, my son and I, as we drove back and forth numerous times from old house to new home. We talked about the memories we each had. I remembered the first time I ever heard him laugh, while he was watching a Pingu cartoon. I remembered his calling out to me: "Chase, Daddy, chase," and then I had to chase him through the halls of our home until I tired and couldn't run another inch. At first he propelled himself around on a little blue plastic tricycle. After he learned to walk, his chubby little legs provided propulsion.

Together, we remembered playing catch, throwing footballs, and kicking soccer balls to each other. I remember whacking a golf ball with a sand wedge (I'm not a golfer) and then hearing a 'clunk' after the ball soared over the large evergreens at the perimeter of the yard, far beyond where I had expected the ball to go. Someone's van stopped the ball. Thankfully, there was no damage to the van.

We had good times aplenty. But that was then. This is now. We're on to a new adventure. I drove my son to his new school this morning, his first day at high school. It is about half a mile from our home. He will be able to walk home every day, and we won't have to worry about picking him up from whatever extracurricular activities he might wish to pursue. He will get over the big changes in his life. Once we're settled, we'll watch old videos of his childhood years and remember together. They will forever be good memories.

In among all of the changes during the past week was one oddity. I always marvel at the behaviour of some people, and try to puzzle out why they might behave in ways that differ from mine or from what I might expect. Often, I just scratch my head and wonder. Because my son and I were so busy with sorting, packing, loading, etc., I hired a neighbourhood teenager to come and cut the lawn. Unfamiliar with the borders of our property, he left a swath of uncut lawn about three feet wide and perhaps sixty feet long along a shared border with a neighbour. A day or two later, the neighbour cut his lawn. He ran his mower right up to edge of his property but not one inch beyond. That left a strip of longish grass, a green eyesore, between his property and where the teenager had left off cutting our lawn. Would you have done that? I would have cut the strip, just to be a nice guy. Two runs back and forth with a power mower, perhaps two minutes of time, is all that it would have taken. Was the neighbour trying to make a point? I have no idea. I don't care, either. It was just another curiosity to me, another puzzle.

There have been a lot of changes this year, a lot of excitement. 2006 will certainly be a year to remember.

An Effing Plea for Clean Language

I want you to keep what I am about to tell you to yourself. Don't tell anyone. I mean it! What I am about to disclose is embarrassing to me, and I would hate for anyone to know about it.

Hold your breath. Don't keel over in surprise. Ready?

Here it is: I have been known, on occasion, to use a bad word or two. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. When I whack my thumb with a hammer, when I drop my keys into a snow bank or a mud puddle, when someone backs into my car in a parking lot and doesn't leave a note, I am likely to use an expletive, usually that very versatile one that is often used as adjective, noun, verb or adverb. You know which one I mean, don't you? Chances are you might have used it yourself, once or twice.

Just knowing that I am not the only one to use such language, especially under very trying circumstances, doesn't make me feel any better about it. I dislike hearing others utter numerous variations of that word in sentence after sentence. In fact, in some conversations, often it is the sentence that doesn't contain some variant of that word that stands alone, unusual, strange.

Movies? Cable TV shows? Stand-up Comedians? Take out all of the effing effs and what is left? No dialogue. No jokes.

My son and I like to watch the show "Entourage" on cable TV. It offers interesting characters, interesting scenarios, and lots of colourful language. Would the situations be less 'real' without the vulgarity? I don't think so, but then I appear to be really out of touch with reality sometimes.

As I was unpacking and organizing things in our new home yesterday, I could hear workmen outside yelling at each other as they worked. For two or more hours, I heard dialogue like this:

"Hurry effing up! Move the effing thing over there."

"What the eff is your problem?"

"Didn't you effing hear what I effing said to you, you stupid eff?"

"Eff off!"

And so on.

Everyone in the block must have hear this. Was I the only one who raised an eyebrow at the language? It seems that way. In shopping malls, on the sidewalks of our city, in restaurants, in fact just about everywhere, language like this erupts from teenagers and adults alike. Why is that?

Is it laziness? Is there a need in us to utter sentences of a certain minimum number of syllables, and in the absence of a developed vocabulary we use every effing variant we can think of? Is it perhaps because of the bad boy or bad girl cachet that we think accompanies the use of language like this, and the notion that it sets us apart from everyone else somehow? If so, how can that be, if everyone else is doing the same thing? And if we really want to be different, why can't we just wear stripes when everyone else is wearing polka dots or vice versa?

I just wish that everyone would make an effing effort to try and clean up their effing language. I really do give a flying eff and don't want my son to speak that way.

I guess it had better start with me, hadn't it? I am, after all, the example my son is most likely to follow.

I'll do my best.