The Chows are a little testy because we have been spending a more time than is usual at the office. Been regrouping down there and everything is now in place, mostly, as we swing into a busy production time.

I have a smaller office but same view. Easily the most beautiful view in all of The 'Kan. I boast this fact regularly and with absolute certainty but no one really believes me until they come by. Then it's WHAT A VIEW YOU HAVE HERE. yup.

Because my new office is smaller, some of my really cool art has gone outside in the halls and other public areas. I lost 'Humpty Dumpty' to the lobby, where he resides with grace and authority. Or uncertainty, I guess, as Humpty Dumpty would. I lost the 4' x 4' piece of handmade paper to the outer office of the big corner office I vacated. So it's like those special people you meet and work with from time to time on a big project or in a big effort of some kind: after it's over, you still see 'em here and still love 'em, but it's not the same.

These days I am cultivating new lovers. My father was in business for himself, too, and in the early 1950's, when he needed the all important sign that's critical for retailers, he didn't call the sign shop and say, hey bring over something that will give me curb presence and appeal, that will generate foot traffic and will make me a beacon on the shopping ave. And make it nice but not too expensive either, will you? No, when he needed a new sign for his business, my dad made his own sign. He got together a mighty stack of two by fours and fashioned them into the name of the store and then wrapped each letter in tin that he carefully bolted to the wooden letter carcass. He then primed the tin letters in yellow paint, curious, and finished up with bright red. Those letters he made in the adolescence of his business life served as his only sign for almost 40 years.

When he retired, the sign came down as the business sold. I was there the day that truck loads and truck loads of a bygone career were taken to the dump. A huge pile of the big red letters were in line, en route to their own private Auschwitz at the county landfill. I reacted in instant horror, pleading with my brothers for a stay for the noble letters. But to no avail; of what possible value were these letters to any of us now? Undaunted, I was able to furtively get the letters back to The 'Kan in time to avoid their certain demise and for no one to know that they were being mothballed at the storage facility of my business, their future certain but with an uncertain destination.

I don't remember when exactly I realized that the time had come for the red letters to light up the skyline again but it was with sheer glee, and pride, that I spied one of the big red letters on my new office floor last week, the movers having executed the procurement request from storage. I wanted just one, one special letter, to hang in my new office with the perfect view of a most beautiful world, a view and world that feeds my soul as my mind spins out solutions and solves complex problems.

That one special letter hangs on my wall now and I think of my dad. Proud graduate of IDAHO, Harvard Business School, Navy veteran with war service on the Pacific, father of four children, son, brother. I am proud of my dad and proud of his store in my beloved hometown and proud of the contributions that he made to our community. But that's not what I think of when I stare at the letter as I am on the phone or thinking about something problematic.

I think about my dad and know that we are each responsible for our own well being. My dad had never made a sign before. Apparently he couldn't afford to have a sign made. Neither stopped him. I wasn't there but I guarantee you he laid it out with pencil and paper, got together two by fours and tin on a Saturday morning and by Monday noon, was hanging letters on his store front. Didn't use a graphic designer. Didn't use an engineer. I don't even know if he used new two by fours. He needed a sign and so he made one.

We all make our own way. Some days it goes a little faster than others. But ultimately, our journey will be complete, and successful, when we can look back and know that we responded with ingenuity, desire, and tenacity and never gave in to boredom, skepticism, despair or defeat.

You've been gone seven years now, Dad, and I still think of you every day. I hope you are better. While I didn't know you when you were young, I bet I would have liked and respected you. I hope you can say the same about me.



JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA