So, Today I Am 70 Years Old...

So, today I am 70 years old. The majority of my body parts still work as originally designed, and I still have most of them. Who really needs a gall bladder anyway?

Socrates said that the unexamined life is not worth living. Every once in a while it is good to sit down and look at where you have been. This can help us plan for the future. Look back at what your goals were 20-30 years ago and then examine what really happened. Praise yourself for accomplishments, forgive yourself for failures (those goals were stupid anyway), and put together a roadmap for the next 20-30 years. Sitting around and watching other people do interesting things does not appeal to me, so on to review and plan.

The Last 30 Years - I accomplished 5 big things

·        I found the love of my life and married her. After a divorce, a failed relationship and numerous false starts, it finally happened for me. Linda, my best friend and partner, accepted me as I was and who I have become. I am now content with this part of my life.

My "daughter"

Linda

      After a lifetime of lacking the ability to control my weight, I got healthy and fit. At age 60 I lost 110 pounds and changed my life. I was on the way to an early grave preceded by diabetes and a depressing existence. It is still a battle. I put back on 15 pounds in 10 years but am getting rid of it, hopefully for good.

Charlie Age 51

Charlie Age 60

   

                                        

Charlie 61

  Charlie 61

Charlie 62

       

      I figured out what I want to do when I grow up (business wise). I love technology, particularly computers. I also like teaching and mentoring people, and like most people I like getting paid well. That all came together when I and two partners started Stony Point (www.stonyp.com). We have 25 employees and are growing nicely.

          I have maintained a relationship with my little brother. Actually he is not a “blood relative”, but he is my brother. We have been together for about 45 years. John Wilson and I were the first matched pair of Big Brother/Little Brother of the Willingboro Big Brother / Big Sisters. He was 11 at the time. His son is my godson.

John & my Godson

         I learned to focus on and appreciate this moment in time. My life had always been preparing for the the next big thing so much that I couldn’t appreciate where I was. Now, things that I do aren’t just things, they are experiences to be treasured. Sitting on the back porch with Linda figuring out how we together will face a challenge is somehow relaxing. Walking with Chester, my dog, to the barn to muck stalls becomes an outing with exercise. Life seen through a different lens can sharpen your focus so you can see things more clearly.

So enough of that sappy stuff. What am I going to do until my warranty runs out? Numero uno, I am going to continue doing the stuff I enjoyed from the last 30 years for as long as my body holds up. Linda and I will take more trail rides, she on her horse Ronnie and me on my faithful surefooted mule Stony. I also want to ramp up volunteer work to give back or to give to those less fortunate, some of which will be animals. I have had the idea of creating a program like Big Brothers but for grandparents. Sometimes the grandparents of children just aren’t available and grandparents can be a valuable part of a child’s development. We need to figure out how to put the resources, older folks with available time, together with children in need. I want to read and write more, and keep in touch with old friends. And, I want to spend time in my woodshop.

Over the next couple of months, I will firm up these plans and start acting on them. Time is speeding up so it is time to work on them. I hope you take the time to look backwards and forwards. It makes life more rewarding.

Written by Charlie Sharp 7/27/2016 - Older and wiser than he was yesterday!

Outliers

Outliers

We, all of us, have a tendency to label groups based on the attention grabbing outliers instead of the mainstream masses.
In Dallas, the now deceased shooter said last night that he wanted to kill white police officers. This came on the heels of the deaths of two black men shot by white police officers. 
The Dallas snipers drew a straight line from those deaths to all white police officers. That logic is just as flawed as attributing the atrocities of any group of miscreants to an entire race, religion, nationality or ethnicity.

We, nor the outliers, can kill enough people to create peace. We can crush resistance for a short time but it will return bigger and bolder.
The only answer is to stop treating the masses as the outliers. Treat everyone as an individual, not blind to obvious signs of danger nor prejudiced by outlier actions.
This solution is less dramatic, creates less news content and may take years to achieve, but is the only way to a lasting peace.

This solution starts with you, the individual. You don’t need Congress to act nor for direction from your clergy. Just look at each person you see or meet as if they are part of the peaceful masses that share your hope for a better day tomorrow.

Please share this post with whatever comment you believe is appropriate.

Submitted by 

Charlie Sharp 

Forever Young Farm

The Wheelbarrow

About 15 years ago, my Uncle Henry died. He had moved from New Jersey to Tennessee about 1960. This is story of the impact we can have on others if we only dare to care.

The Wheelbarrow

By Charlie Sharp

Copyright 2/2000

He was not the only one who cried at the funeral. But his tears were different. In a day of reserved civility, he unabashedly mourned. In this small Southern town tradition dictated how people would live, marry and even die. Cowboy was not bound by their expectations. Even if he had known what tradition would mandate, his love for Henry would have prevailed.

Cowboy had a real name, given to him when he was full of hope and yet to embarrass his family. Some of the locals knew it, most did not. On reflection, one would, at first, be perplexed that they could know someone for so long and not even wonder about his given name. But then again, it was only Cowboy.

His clothes, his total appearance, was of little importance anymore. Any hope he would become a model citizen was long gone. Little was expected and less realized. From his matted hair to worn boots, nothing met the standards reserved for the rest of the town. The teeth that remained were darkened. His skin showed the abuse of harsh weather and hard living.

On that day, not all of Cowboy’s clothes were threadbare. His blue jeans had the stiffness of new, unwashed denim yet they were covered with the debris of several nights in a barn. His large red handkerchief, probably purchased with the jeans, had also not been touched by soap and water, and might never be.

There had never been enough money saved from the bars to buy a complete new outfit. Pieces were replaced only when absolutely necessary. That they were bought at all was due to Henry. A few dollars saved from this lawn mowing job or that house painting, held by Henry, kept from the bartender, till enough was accumulated to go to the Army-Navy store for a replacement.

Everyone who knew Henry was genuinely fond of him, even loved him. The funeral parlor was full of them, those who knew him in passing, and those who’s life he had touched more deeply. But it was the most disheveled who would miss him the most.

Henry had been his only friend. The rest of the world knew Cowboy as a drunk, someone who would drink till he could not stand and then drink some more. Then he would crawl into the closest barn, find a soft place and succumb to the whiskey.

It was there Henry would find him and rescue him from the cold. And if Henry didn’t get there in time, an irate farmer moving his cattle from the barns to the fields at daybreak would discover Cowboy. More times than either of them could count, Henry had drug Cowboy from some empty stall, taken him to breakfast at the Spinning Wheel, and put him to work on a project Henry could have done more easily himself.

Henry had a wife, Nell, who gave him love and structure to his life. Cowboy had no love, no structure, and no future to prepare for. When Nell died 8 years before Henry, he and Cowboy were both stunned. She had given Henry direction, which he continued to follow. Cowboy never had a path to trod.

 Nell had accepted the relationship between Henry and Cowboy, and may have even understood it. Cowboy was not accepted at their dining room table, but Nell often gave him lunch in the kitchen.

Henry also had a house, a car, a truck, and a good reputation. Cowboy had none of these. But Henry had a number of jobs, even careers, each not spectacular by the standards of those on the North side of town.  In his mid-fifties, the mill had closed and the town tried to move into the next century, but Henry was part of the last, the time when we cared for each other, even for those everyone else had written off.

When the funeral ended, Cowboy disappeared, perhaps to a bottle and a barn. Two months later I came to town for the estate auction of Henry’s home and possessions. We, the family members, had taken the memorabilia, given the clothes to charity, and arranged to have the rest sold.

Cowboy was the first to show up. He asked if Henry had remembered him in the will. Henry had not, but then he was not good at such things. I thought he expected money or the old truck they had used. His goal was something much more important.

As the auction continued, piece by piece Henry’s legacy disappeared. Suddenly Cowboy rushed to me for help. He was both despondent and alarmed. The treasure he sought had slipped away. The auctioneer had moved so swiftly that the wheelbarrow had gone to the highest bidder before Cowboy could signal his intention. He had saved the money for the purchase by doing odd jobs by himself. He wasted none at the bars since Henry’s death. Now all that seemed fruitless.

The one object that would forever tie him to Henry was gone. He had toiled with Henry. Together they hauled rocks, dug trenches. The hickory handles of the wheelbarrow were worn smooth by their rough hands, his hands and Henry’s.

Cowboy pointed out the lucky bidder. Together we went to him but Cowboy did the talking, which was not his style. He blurted out that he had to have the wheelbarrow. He offered to buy it and give the new owner a profit, whatever it would take. He saw the passion in Cowboy’s eyes and without hesitation gave him the auction ticket. All Cowboy had to do was pay the bid price and it would be his. Cowboy shed tears just as he had at the funeral.

For the rest of the day, he never let go of the wheelbarrow. He sat below the willow tree in the back yard as if he were with an old friend. As the auction ended, I saw him load his treasure into the truck of one of Henry’s friends, someone with a heart nearly as big as Henry’s.

Cowboy is on his own now. But every time he grabs the handles of the wheelbarrow, his chapped lips can’t help but smile. He’ll cry no more, for Henry will always be with him.

Tom Sawyer and the Hoover Floor Scrubber

Charlie, my husband just bought himself a Hoover FloorMate Pro spin scrubber. It was guaranteed to make the job of washing hardwood floors a breeze. Our house has nothing but hardwood floors throughout, except for one large area carpet in our bedroom; our only sanctuary from the 7 dogs and occasional cats who own the rest of the house.

Mopping the floors had been a "point of discussion" for some time between us. I opted for the sponge topped smaller squeegee mops that could allow me to get into the corners and up against baseboard moldings. Charlie liked the old swab the deck kind that he could swish around and feel like he was accomplishing something.

Of course we bought the big yellow bucket on wheels with the wringer lever, like the professionals. If you are going to do a job do it right!

My floor scrubbing days had become more limited with some physical limitations and insufficient time. I handed the baton over to Charlie to get the floors shipshape.

While engaging in the never ending task of doing some garage straightening -- or looking for a missing item -- Charlie came across a Hoover carpet scrubber from another time and place. He was so happy.

I think he was sure it could scrub our hardwood floors while he was busy doing 10 other things.

He fiddled with it for a while, searched the Internet for a Users Manual, and announced solemnly that it couldn't do the job. It was only for scrubbing carpets.

Never one to miss a chance to buy a new gadget or research an item to death, he then found a great mop replacement. He read all of the reviews and told me this could miraculously scrub our floors clean as a whistle, while he was dancing a jig in the other room. Meanwhile floors still aren't being mopped...

He searched for the best deal and even drove out to a local store with a coupon in hand, only to find they didn't have "the right one."

Of course he jumped back on the Internet looking for the best deal. He found one, ordered it and waited. Two days later, he somehow found time, in between teaching a virtual class, feeding the horses, etc. to track the movement of this package all day. He would come to me several times a day with status reports announcing that "it's out for delivery."

Since it hadn't been delivered yet, I thought the additional reports of "it's still out for delivery" a little superfluous. However, I kept reassuring him that the staff in brown would be sure to deliver it that very day. 

Of course he became more anxious as the day wore on. "It's not here yet...they're not coming today!" I heard it several times that day. Suddenly at 8pm, in the midst of consoling him – again, I looked out the front door and saw the truck. I told him, "It's here!" and I ran to the side door to make sure it got placed inside the garage in case of rain.

I greeted the driver, had him place the huge box just inside the door and almost ran inside to announce its official arrival. I guess his initial worries were over. All he said was "OK," and that was it.

I would have been shocked had he not been feeling "a little punky."  Normally a package arrives and Charlie can't wait to whip out his handy pocket knife and open it up. I'm sure he's even opened one or 2 miss-delivered packages in his speed to open a sealed box. It's always Christmas at our house when a package is delivered!

The box sat there unopened until Saturday morning. He then assembled his new toy in the garage and came in proudly to announce – again, "This is the one"! He had already expressed his desire to bush hog the pasture that day, another task that I am sadly unable do as easily as I could in the past.

He showed me the basics as he started in on the kitchen floor. I watched the catch basin fill up with filthy water (7 dogs remember ). He exclaimed how easy it was, what a great job it was doing. I couldn't just sit there and watch, I asked if I could try it. He insisted he just wanted to finish the kitchen floor but decided to let me give it a spin.

I pressed the right buttons as directed and watched it do a pretty terrific job on the floor. It seemed easy enough.

I continued scrubbing the kitchen floor. Charlie stood in the Great Room leaning on the kitchen counter watching me work. Maybe it's a male - female thing, but I can not stand still and watch someone scrub a floor, or do any job, without getting antsy to do something. He was content. He just stood there quietly - watching me - or actually his new toy.

Since he didn't seem anxious to jump back in and wrestle the floor scrubber away from me, I reminded him of the bush hogging he was anxious to do. He hesitated, then conceded, and left me to clean the floors.

I am usually enthusiast when I dive into a something new. I admit that I sometimes forget the time when I'm working; forget and overdo it that is. I figured I'd get just so far and stop.

However, I still had to clean the back hallway where our small dogs eat and sleep, a few big dogs eat and there is an great deal of traffic coming and going to the outside. Yes, it's also the main entry from the barn, pasture, yards - the most trafficked and dirtiest floor in the house.

So of course I kept going. I probably picked up dirt that was in between the floor boards since moving in! I was hooked. I got tired after emptying and cleaning out 3 dirty, dirty containers filled with lots of Aiken sandy soil and a million clumps of dog fur.

Tired but content, I felt a real sense of accomplishment. I could actually see that the floors were cleaner! OK, so Tom Sawyer struck again in the guise of my gentle giant and partner in all life matters. Charlie allowed me to use his new toy so he could go outside and use my bigger toy, the tractor he bought me for Mother's Day a few years ago.

So as Charlie floated off on his giant orange raft in a sea of grass, I scrubbed floors with his new toy.

P.S. He hasn't touched it since that first day...


Submitted by Linda Vola
Creative Muse
Forever Young Farm