Up on the Roof

We all have a place where we go to in order to do some heavy thinking.  The Drifters (or James Taylor, depending on your tastes) sing about the roof as a popular 'think tank' of sorts.
For me, all I have to do is go to Facebook.
Every once in a while, I read a post from a friend that's rather thought-provoking.  Not a 'facebook friend', but a real live one I've known since seventh grade.
She stated in said post that she has become increasingly emotional through the years when it comes to parting ways with a dear friend after a visit back to Pennsylvania or when a friend from here makes their way to her home in western Indiana.  She blames it on age, hormones, or maybe even the years since her father's passing.
Friendships...easy to make.  Very difficult to maintain.
This woman is my hero.  For being more than 450 miles from where we grew up, she's managed to stay in touch with her 'BFF's', even in the days where we didn't have social media.
Years before we even dreamed such a thing would exist.
She picked up the phone.  She got out the paper and pen.
Men suck at this.  On behalf of my gender, I do apologize.
In the media, the public is led to believe that women perceive guys as spending too much time with their friends.  I personally don't know of any guy who hangs with their friends on a regular basis. 
Most of the ones I know don't for a number of reasons...for which none of us will admit, up to now.
We assume our friends understand.
We worry ourselves with not being there for our spouse or children.
The 'honey-do' list doesn't get done by itself.
We prioritize family over friendships.
We think we don't have the time.
More than that, we don't think we're allowed to have that time.
Life gets in the way, we often say.
Because what happens if?
What if we miss a critical moment in our son or daughter's lives?  Will we be one day served with divorce papers at work because we're not allowing time for our spouse?
I think about these things a great deal...but I also think about times I could have been there for a friend but wasn't.
During Kevin's near-miss with melanoma.  Randy's divorce.  Cary's advanced age.  The passing of Ted's mother.  The passing of Kelly's father. Greg's separation from his son.  A promised fishing trip with Ben I still have yet to make good on.
Why didn't I pick up the phone and call?  Or visit?  Why do I allow social media or email do the work for me?
I wish I knew the answer.
To all my friends, I say this.
I may not always stay in touch.
I may not always drop what I'm doing to be there for you.
I may know you need me, but don't act upon it.
I may not always think of you.
I don't deserve your friendship.
I will always suck at this, despite my best efforts.
But know this much.
I don't forget my true friends.
Ever.


NOTE:  Ken's Korner will go on hiatus for the summer until Sunday, September 21st.

Shedding Season

Ah, the honey-do list.
The never-ending list of summertime chores that compete with the desire for family summertime outings, and more often than not, winning out in the end.
Sometimes I envy those who embrace the condo lifestyle.  Let it be someone else's problem.
But for now, I digress.
My wife and I bought our current home in the spring of 2009, shortly before the birth of our daughter.  Going in, we knew that there were going to be some things that would require some adaptation on our part.
One was the garage.  Built in 1966, at a time when the closest the American family would get to an SUV would be an Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser, there was limited space between the floor and ceiling of the garage.
This would limit our vehicle choices in the future.  My Dodge Dakota barely cleared the door jamb, and Margie's Jeep had to get used to life outside.
No worries.  Jeeps are built for the outdoors, right?
When you're my wife, that gets very old very quick.
So where Margie's Jeep would normally stay, the garden tractor took up residency.
Then earlier this year, Margie decided it was time to trade the Wrangler Unlimited in for something else.
The Honda CRV she took ownership of fit nicely in the garage.  So guess where the tractor went?
Backyard and under a tarp.
Then one day, Margie asked me if I wanted to see a shed she was interested in buying in order to store the tractor.  I liked it, but decided we needed something larger to store it...it's a vintage 1975 commercial-duty Gravely, and is way bigger and heavier than your average purchase from Home Depot.
While these places are more than happy to sell these things to you, they're not always willing to do the prep work needed for it, especially after you learn that there's more to it than you ever imagined.
First was getting the site level.  No you can't just set it on bare earth.  Or lay down plywood without building an elaborate frame around it.  And it all has to support more than half a ton.
Enter patio stones and construction sand.  Lots of raking and shoveling.  Endless leveling.
Finally, it did get done.  After one do-over.
That happened after my best friend and I got it put together, only to find that it was grossly "un-level".
I spent my Father's Day correcting it.  Now all that's left is some finishing touches.
Yesterday was my make-up day for Father's Day.  We spent it at "Wine Time" at Penn's Colony.
And today I'm paying for it...make-up day for everything I didn't do yesterday.
Grass cutting, shed finishing, boat cleaning, laundry folding, and probably other things I haven't thought of yet.
When does it end?
Someone with the answer, please let me know.  I haven't yet a clue.


NEXT WEEK:  Up on the Roof

Day of Dad-votion

I read a news report earlier this week on how much money is spent on Mother's Day as opposed to Father's Day.
There's quite a difference, you know.
More money is being spent on Mom than Dad on their special day.
That appears to be surprising to everyone.
Except us.
We don't expect much.
Mother's Day is one thing.  Mom does so much for us.  Even if she works full-time, Mom still remains the go-to gal for just about anything.  She can make virtually any meal with virtually nothing in the cupboard, heal injuries that would rival Harvard Med School's top doctors, balance the checkbook with the prowess of IBM's chief controller, and still have bountiful energy left over.
She's the first one out of bed, and the last one in it.
The only time we go to Dad, it seems, is when we need something fixed.  Duct tape, a crescent wrench and WD-40 can fix just about anything.
But all that's OK.
We don't expect a fuss made over us for Father's Day.  Nor a whole lot of money spent, if any at all.
An ideal gift I could receive for Father's Day would be a day of having to do nothing other than breathe.
I would give my eye teeth for a day where I could just spend a single carefree day on the boat, and enjoy a nice meal with my family...preferably a nice steak grilled out and a bottle of wine.
I'll get half of what I want today...the dinner and wine.
The boat will have to wait another day as I try and complete a shed project in a race against the elements, as we're expecting rain tomorrow.
So I'll spend my 'nothing' day next week.  My wife and daughter have gotten me tickets to the Penn's Colony Wine Festival next week as part of my Father's Day gift.
Plus a license plate frame for my pickup as I've disowned the dealership that's last serviced it and took it upon themselves to 'adopt' it, complete with a license plate frame advertising their own dealership.
What Margie and Savannah may not know is they've already given me the best gift ever.
Themselves.
That alone is priceless.


NEXT WEEK:  Shed Shreds

Sunshine and Summertime

Those of you country music fans who are fans of Faith Hill know the song well.
"We've got classic colas, and ice cold Coronas, and big pool parties in the back yard..."
A rather romantic picture of the summer season.
For some of us, especially in the northeast, where we've endured probably the most severe winter in  modern recorded history, it means playing catch-up for what we weren't able to do outside.
Trimming hedges.  Getting summer furniture out of storage.  Planting veggies.  You know what the routine is.
Yesterday, I got started on building a vinyl shed in our backyard.  I recruited my best friend by bribing him with pizza and a case of beer to assist me in this two-person job.  We got the structure itself put up, but it now needs some finishing touches. 
Like leveling.  You know, little stuff.
Then there's other projects looming that need my attention.
The door jambs above the garage door need painted.  The roof leak above the upstairs bathroom will finally get attention towards the end of the month, after getting an estimate from a handyman.  More boat work.  A landscaping project towards the back of the house. 
So much work.  So little time.
But it's often said you have to make time.
That I will do one week from today.
I told my wife the only thing I want to do on Father's Day weekend is NOTHING.
As in, nothing around the house. 
I don't want to worry about mowing grass, or whatever's bound to break next, cleaning the basement, sweeping the garage or all the other ever-ready answers men have to answer their wives' queries as to how they're going to spend the Saturday.
I still have to decide how we're going to spend those days, but that's the only definitive answer I can give for right now.
It may involve wine, a picnic, or even a trip on the boat.
Whatever it is, it has to be non-work-related, and it has to be with my family.
It's the way it should be.
Perhaps one of these days, I'll do a better job of making time for them.



NEXT WEEK:  The Mom and Dads

Luck o' The Puck

I'm not a sports guy.  Most of you who know me personally know this.  Yet I married into a family of sports nuts.  What makes this especially surprising is that only in recent years, I've learned that I have a lot of family connections to professional sports.
My cousin is married to the executive vice-president of football operations for the Cleveland Browns (be nice, Steeler fans!) after wrapping up a 29-year tenure with the Miami Dolphins in a similar capacity. 
Another cousin, my godfather, married the daughter of Detroit Red Wings left defenseman and Hockey Hall of Famer Bill Gadsby.  I only learned of that relationship at my godfather's funeral in 1997, when Gordie Howe showed up to pay his respects.
Another cousin played center for the then-New York Titans, after playing the same position for Rutgers University.  He would then build the Young & Rubicam advertising agency into one of the industry's leaders...opening hundreds of branch offices throughout the world, including Russia.
Despite my hockey connection, I only learned of the 'office politics' that surround professional hockey, in light of the recent dismissal of Pittsburgh Penguins General Manager Ray Shero and ownership's decision to retain head coach Dan Bylsma. 
I was surprised to learn that the general manager selects players from the draft, with the head coach playing a minimal role, if any, in the final roster selection.  He more or less says 'here' and presents the players the coach will work with in hopes of delivering a Stanley Cup Championship.
There is such a thing as a player that is not 'coachable', and that's where the office politics come into play.  When Scotty Bowman came to the Pittsburgh Penguins not long after the death of "Badger Bob" Johnston, he was told by then-GM Craig Patrick which players were 'hands-off', and one of said players turned around and after becoming an owner-partner, fired him more than a decade later. 
You see where I'm going with this.
Bowman's response was to promptly resign, pack his bags and leave for Detroit, but not before taking a few key Pittsburgh players with him.  He proved his worth quickly when he brought back-to-back Stanley Cup Championships for the Red Wings.
While some blame Bylsma, the ultimate responsibility lies with the general manager and the players he hand-picked.  Shero had to go.  Bylsma did manage to bring one Stanley Cup Championship to the team, and in my opinion, does deserve a second chance under the new general manager. 
But Bylsma needs to know this...he will be skating on very thin ice. 
Pun intended.
One season. 
He might want to minimalize any clutter he has in his office, in the meantime.



NEXT WEEK:  Sunshine and Summertime

Sounds of Sunday

In my post-radio retirement, the closest I come to the business anymore these days is staying in touch with my cronies still in it or those who also have thrown in the towel and bask in 'life after radio'.
Plus, I serve as the sound coordinator at my local church.  Usually I'm introduced to visitors from elders or deacons as 'Ken is in charge of our sound each Sunday.'
Sounds simple enough, right?
If I were to describe me in that capacity, my job would be to worry excessively, obsess over every minute detail and be afraid to leave town on the weekends, thinking of the major meltdown that would only happen in my absence.
Yeah, that's what I do.
While some may think I simply make sure the volumes are at a reasonable level for our pastor, liturgists and musicians, I only wish it was that simple.
I have to make sure all wireless microphones are in full working order, and fix them if necessary.  Make sure our wired mics are working likewise.  Upon taking the job, I spent about a month with Weller, my trusty soldering gun, to repair broken solder joints in microphone cables.  That was also the time I discovered that I no longer could see these small joints with my natural vision. 
So I have reading glasses now.
There's also unexplained 60 Hz 'hums' that suddenly arise in our audio chain and I have to not only find the source of them, but find a way to get rid of them.  It's times like these that make me wish I paid more attention to broadcast engineers surrounding me for so many years.
I did learn this though...ground loop isolator speaker cables can be your best friend.  Good luck in finding any that are reasonably priced, though.
Yes, I do have to prepare and adhere to an annual budget, too. 
Despite my obsessiveness, I am comforted in knowing that those who trust the church sound system in my charge appreciate the job I do for them.
And I return the favor by keeping them in the loop on what I'm doing to address any problems that crop up.  That their concerns aren't just being heard, but acted upon.
And every once in a while, I hear things like this:
"You're a gift to the church."
That makes it all worthwhile.



NEXT WEEK:  Hockey Talk

Second Helping

I usually try to not use this column as a platform for self-promotion, but I hope you'll indulge me this week.
Ah, whom am I kidding?  I was in an ego-driven business for 26 years, and it's probably become one of my defining characteristics.
In the spring of 2011, I officially became a mainstream published author, when "Chicken Soup for the Soul" published my first contribution, "I'm Pregnant" in their "New Moms" edition.  The story chronicles a new mother's journey through the eyes of her husband.  Namely, Margie and me.
Prior to this, I had several broadcasting trade articles published under my on-air sobriquet, "Ken Hawk", sharing my ideas with other radio decision-makers on how to make their stations better.
Just recently, I announced my second contribution to "CSS".  This one is called "Love Lives Here," which will appear on page 155 of the "Home Sweet Home" edition due to hit bookstores later this month.
The first story was a very big honor.  This second one is even bigger.
For years, I've written about murders, robberies, car accidents, and local politics on a daily basis as a means to earn a living.  This is all part of radio people 're-inventing' themselves to continue to try and fit into a medium that continues to evolve and change over time.  Nonetheless, the needs of broadcasters changes over time as revenues shrink and staffing levels need to be adjusted accordingly.
Sometimes, radio people simply 'age out' of a profession geared more towards younger unmarried people without families.  The demands of radio are not family-friendly, and radio families either learn to deal with it to the best of their ability, or they succumb.
I'm proud to say I've chosen my family over my past career.  I've found that I have more to write about because of my wife and daughter.  There's also my extended family.
Today I write more about what I want to, rather than what I have to.  I find I don't have to dig as deep to write a good story that inspires others.  Other broadcasters have also inspired me to write the memoir that hopefully I'll have completed in this lifetime.
Whether that goal is reached is unimportant, because I'm in no hurry.
I'll spend this valuable time watching my daughter grow.
And celebrating on this Mother's Day today, the woman who brought her into this world.
Thank you Margie, for giving me this precious gift.
And for everything else.


NEXT WEEK:  Sound Off