Today I met someone

Today I met Christine.  Let me back up a bit.  Sarah had to haul an Arabian Gelding to Brecksville to his new owner, Stacey Giere, co- owner of Maple Crest Farm.  All was uneventful, perfect trip, no problems.  Even though the gelding was not an experienced traveler, he has matured living as a boarder at Sarah and Kevin's Farm and trusts Sarah even he may be cautious.

He arrived unscathed, walked out of the trailer, around the barn, moved into his new stall, with just a tiny bit of anxiety and then started munching his hay.

We are longtime friends with the owners of the farm, Meredith and Stacey (mother and daughter dynamic duo) and so we took the opportunity to visit with them for a bit before they had to get back to work and Sarah and I had to get back to the farm.

One of the owners said "I want to introduce you to someone, she's new here and she is our inspiration".

I turned to look and was shocked.  I tried not to show my shock, but I was sincerely shocked.  We said hello to one another and Sarah asked how long she had been a participant at the farm.  "I came here in January I think."  She had been riding on the trail with one of the owners that day and was tidying up, waiting for her ride to show up.

She had been involved in a house fire.  She had no hands,  two prosthetic legs and burn scars all over her neck, face, head and the arms that were showing out of her tee shirt.  Bad, bad scars. 

She had been riding.  She also is learning how to drive a horse hitched to a carriage.  She said "I prefer to ride in the back (navigator's seat)!

She had no hands.  She had two artificial legs.

She made me so humble.  She had the most beautiful eyes and smile.   "Nice to meet you, I have to go now".

And I am complaining about what again?

How many children?

My friend commented something to the effect of "how many generations of children do we have to educate".
My response, "as many as educated me and you".

Though some are childless, they too received an education.

Though some are on fixed income, they too received an education.

It goes on and on and on.  One foot in front of the other till the job is done.  And then, the jobs that those educated children take, will pay the taxes and social security of those that have gone on to educate them.

At least that's my take on it.  Someone did it for me and I will do it for someone else.  Even though my children are now supporting families of their own I will still support education.

If there is no good system there will be no good rewards.

I guess I just don't agree and that's okay.

Right?

What's Wrong with this Picture?

Yesterday's election results were an interesting read in the newspaper today.

The most interesting two issues affecting Liverpool Township were a surprising comparison.
On the ballot were the following:

Vote for the Jilbert Winery to have Sunday Wine Sales Yay or Nay-  results proved to be Yay

Vote for the Buckeye Schools levy Yay or Nay - results proved to be Nay.

Although I know Mr. Jilbert and have been to his winery many times, it just seems frivilous to pass this ballot item and defeat the school levy.  The levy was not an increase in taxes.

I wish the residents of this community would realize...the quality of the schools will dictate part of the value of the property.  No one wants to purchase a home for the prices that this community is expecting if the schools are not great. 

Spend a little, save a lot!
Don't even go to the place where "how much is your education worth"!

School Shootings don't happen here...

...or do they?  Apparently the answer is yes.  How does a 17 year old boy wake up one morning and say to himself "today I will shoot someone".  Were the victims tormentors?  Were they just random boys caught up in the tragedy because of their close proximity to the shooter?  What was the shooter's intent?  To hurt, to maim,  to kill?

I can't even begin to understand the dark place a mind goes or lives in that would cause that kind of chaos.

My prayers go out to the families, the victims, the friends, the teachers and the shooter and his family.

Why didn't someone see this coming?

A Thousand Marbles

An excerpt from

Charging the Human Battery

by Mac Anderson

The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday morning. Perhaps it's the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to rise, or maybe it's the unbounded joy of not having to be at work. Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning are most enjoyable.

A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the garage with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time. Let me tell you about it:

I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap, with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know the kind; he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whomever he was talking with something about "a thousand marbles." I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say.

"Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. It's too bad you missed your daughter's dance recital," he continued; "Let me tell you something that has helped me keep my own priorities." And that's when he began to explain his theory of a "thousand marbles."

"You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years.

Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3,900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now, stick with me, Tom, I'm getting to the important part.

It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail," he went on, "and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy. So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round up 1,000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside a large, clear plastic container right here in the shack next to my gear.

Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away. I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life.

There's nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight.

Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure that if I make it until next Saturday then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time.

It was nice to meet you Tom. I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again here on the band. This is a 75 year old man, K9NZQ, clear and going QRT, good morning!"

You could have heard a pin drop on the band when this fellow signed off. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to work on the antenna that morning, and then I was going to meet up with a few hams to work on the next club newsletter.

Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss. "C'mon honey, I'm taking you and the kids to breakfast."

"What brought this on?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh, nothing special, it's just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids. And hey, can we stop at a toy store while we're out? I need to buy some marbles."

Note:  The reality of the passing of Pat Seeley this week made this a very, very real excerp, one that I intend to take to heart!

End of an Era

Patricia "Pat" A. Seeley passed away two days ago following a long and courageous battle with cancer.  She ran the Tack Shop.  I don't care what role her late husband Ron had, Pat ran the Tack Shop.  She was a woman of firm opinions, firm commitments and firmer beliefs.  Sometimes we joke about people and their beliefs.  "It was Pat's way or the Highway"!  Well, to run a multi-million dollar business in good and down times takes a special hand.  Pat had that iron hand.

I have known Pat since "Hector was a Pup" so to speak.  I was dealing at the "Tack Shop" before the building was even built, or before the additions were put onto the building.  We went down the stone steps into the basement of the house to pick up a halter that Ron had repaired.  Ron wasn't the one who greeted me, it was Pat.  Ron was off at the Cleveland Zoo where he was employed for so many years.  The Tack Shop was like "Topsy"...it grew and grew and grew.

I remember one Halloween in Valley City.  The kids were little, Nathan and Sarah dressed up like Star Wars characters and I dressed like a hooker/stripper/vampire/witch with long fishnet stockings.  We participated in the Halloween walk through downtown Valley City and stopped by the Tack Shop.  Pat was hosting candy for the Trick or Treaters, and Vodka Shots for the grownups.  She did like her Vodka!  We all used to joke "If you were married to Ron, you would like Vodka too"!  She wasn't a drinker, but every once in awhile the vodka seemed like a good idea!

Pat never said no to a good fund raising cause.  She participated in all local Horse Shows by way of donating a prize or sponsoring a class or taking out an ad.  Her life revolved around the Shop, her girls and her grandchildren.  She and I would have a special moment each year when Christmas came around.  She looked forward to my Christmas letters, and she and I would share special thoughts with one another at Christmas.  "Got your Christmas letter, I loved it" she would say.

I remember a hasty visit I made to the Shop which was just down the hill on Rt. 303 from our house and Pat and I were deep in conversation when a gentleman walked through the Shop door and said "Is there a Pat or Judy here"?  My daughter Sarah, age 4 had left home to walk down Rt. 303 to the Tack Shop.  (I had gone to the shop and left her home with her father and brother.)   The gentleman had stopped his car on the road and picked Sarah up on Rt. 303 thereby avoiding a potentially nasty and fatal accident.  "Where are you going little girl"? he said.  "Mom left me home with Dad and I wanted to go see Pat at the Tack Shop too"!

Sarah and I have been travelling to  "see Pat" ever since!

God's speed dear friend, God's speed!



From the basement of the Seeley home built in 1857 to a 14,000-square-foot retail establishment: That’s the story of one of the area’s most unique businesses, Valley Tack at 6780 Center Road, Valley City.

In 1963, the late Ron Seeley happened to meet a man who was an expert at tooling leather. Ron, who worked at the Cleveland Zoo, was great at repairing anything, according to his wife, Pat.

“Ron’s grandfather used to have horses,” Pat said, so they decided to buy a specialized sewing machine together and begin repairing equestrian equipment. That was 1963.

“One day he asked me to write to a company to see if they would send us some halters to sell because some were beyond repair,” Pat said. “I thought that he was crazy — who would come to our basement to buy a halter?”

As he went to work each day, it was up to Pat to be the customer service representative. She was also busy raising three girls in a rural area where they had to be driven everywhere.

But it worked. Soon he had to expand the basement operation — twice. Behind the house were garages and a barn. In 1972, Ron remodeled the front part of the barn and the business moved there and inventory grew. More additions to the barn, including the boot loft, and incorporating the garages would follow until a large store dedicated to everything equestrian and even some other animal care products, is what shoppers will now see.

While none of their daughters was interested in the business where they sometimes worked, their granddaughter, Tiffany Maat, was. After Ron passed away and Pat became ill, it was Tiffany who took over the management of the store that everyone finds interesting, whether they’re involved in horses or not.

Specialized rooms and hallways filled with merchandise are a feast for shoppers’ eyes. In the far rear of the building is the 4,000-square-foot saddle room — dozens upon dozens of saddles (new and used-on consignment) are available for every kind of riding. “We let the customers take the saddle home to see how it fits on their horse,” Pat said. “And we have a good saddle fitter.”

Of course you can find bridles, halters, girths and everything to fit out your horse. “We sell a lot of trail riding gear,” she added, “but still cater to every rider from 4-H kids to western, English, saddle seat and hunter-jumper.”



And if you don’t see what you want, just ask — Valley Tack will order it for you.

You won't see Pat or Ron, but you will know that they are still there!

Day three

I feel better.  I don't look better, but I feel better. There is a visible bulge in my lower left cheek.  I hate not being able to eat.

Yesterday, my daughter-in-law Traci stopped to see me around 5:00.  She was on her way to meet a new client and discuss their wedding plans (Traci is a wonderfully talented licensed Wedding Officiant). She was meeting them at a local restaurant here in Valley City.  She usually meets clients in Coffee Houses where the atmosphere is conducive to chatting.   Traci asked if I wanted her to bring me some food from the restaurant.
"Are you kidding"? said I.   I have spent the last almost three months eating soft food and chewing on the right side of my mouth.  I was going to take a chance on real food, not yogurt or applesauce.  "Sure, bring me a child's portion of spaghetti".  "Do you want salad with that"?  "No, I can't chew lettuce, my teeth don't meet".

That is the problem.  My teeth don't meet.  They can't even date.  The two lower broken molars have raised up from the jaw/gum line so nothing in my mouth lines up or touches.  Try chewing food that has any "non-give" to it without touching your teeth together.

At least, when I am at rest now, relaxed or asleep,  my teeth again are getting touchy feely with one another!

I ate the pasta.  Cut the penne up into five pieces per penne.  No meat or anything, just plain marinara.  It was heavenly.  The garlic bread was a no go, I didn't even attempt it.  The thought of a crumb touching the sutures made my hair stand up on end.  But she also brought me a cup of potato soup.  At least it had texture and I could just savor the flavor and then swallow.

I know this missive is way more graphic than you may want to read, however I am taking great joy in such a little thing. 

Chewing!
p.s.  when you need a dentist, don't put it off.  Put your big girl panties on and go!