Hello everyone and Happy April!  For those who don’t know, my sister is celebrating her birthday in a couple of days so sister, happy birthday!  If anybody can identify with today’s rant, she can.  She became a grandmother a couple of months ago – and that made mom a great-grandmother.  My favorite Alan Jackson song is one called “Time Marches On.”  Boy, does it ever.

I was in Frisco today dropping off some information and decided to take a trip down Main Street…through the city where I first inhabited my very own house.  I remember the salesperson for Centex telling Scottie and me that we’d be out of there within 2-3 years.  We said “no way” – we’re not getting a 3500sf house built for a future family and leaving it well before we intend on having that family!  We’re long-haul thinkers.  I never can remember if it was 2-1/2 or 3-1/2 years later, we moved to our first house in Coppell.  I guess the guy knew what he was talking about.  But Frisco has changed a bunch since 1994 when we moved in.  I was almost lost twice.  I knew if I just held on to main street, I’d eventually run in to Brinkmann’s Ranch and then I’d be okay.  Sure enough, I did.  Funny how big everything seems now.  Before it was mostly fields so you spent more time gazing ahead than you did at the buildings now crowding the road.  As I passed the Ranch, I kept a close eye on the Nav system because I knew I needed to find Hillcrest somewhere in the mix.  Sure enough, there it was…I turned right.  The first familiar sight was a commercial property lease sign for Stacy Standridge.  I laughed.  I hadn’t heard or thought of Stacy in years…For those who don’t know, Standridge Stadium, where the Carrollton schools play, was named after the former mayor of Carrollton Tommy Standridge.  Stacy, I believe, was the youngest son, but don’t hold me to that.  Anyway, Tommy owned and operated Standridge Insurance Agency, which after his death and his wife’s subsequent sale, became Carrollton Insurance Agency.  Why do I know so much about that?  Because mom and one other lady were the two folks who ran that office.  I remember one time going in there, and Tommy got up and made me sit behind his big desk.  It looked out over as far as I’d ever seen before, even though it was only 3 stories up.  I think Tommy may be the first person I ever remember who died…that or one of my cousins…but I’m pretty sure it was Tommy.  I remember being pretty upset, pretty confused, etc.  And you know what?  Time marched on…

Going pretty slowly south on Hillcrest, I looked at every street name…nothing familiar.  What used to be a 2-lane bumpy pot-hole road up to Brinkmann’s Ranch was now 4 lanes paved and well-manicured.  I guess that’s to be expected.  THERE IT WAS….JEREME TRAIL.  I always thought that was an odd spelling for Jeremy!  I turned on and slowly crept by the streets.  Where had all these trees come from?  Slowly the street names came back to life.  Finally there it was, Belle Chasse…I turned left.  Slowly down the street, I could remember one family after another.  I remember a couple, I think their names were Bob and Jenna…they had the sweetest little girl.  As with many of us out in the land of the lost, we all worked far away so yardwork was a weekend chore.  One weekend after Bob had been out of town for a couple of weeks, Jenna told us about how she and her daughter were driving in to the house and the daughter said, “Mom!  Look at all the pretty flowers!” – they were dandelion weeds.  That was a great memory.  Then, I recognized Hub and Lisa’s house.  Wait, no, not that one, the next one.  Wait, if that was theirs then this was ours.  I was lost in my own neighborhood – until I saw the address plate.  The next house was ours.  There it was.  Our little trees were huge.  I barely stopped…in fact I don’t think I did stop.  At the next street I took a right.  I remember still when this street was completely undeveloped.  You couldn’t look anywhere now where there wasn’t a house.  I squared around and made my way back to Jereme…deciding to look at the back of our house from the golf course.  Yep, just as I remembered.  Life then seemed like such a pain…driving Preston Road all the way to downtown Dallas for work every day.  Scottie traveled a bunch then…so Coppell seemed logical.  In Frisco, time certainly hasn’t stood still since we left.  Everything is there…everything…including a minor league ball club…and several major shopping attractions.  Unbelievable really.  Time marched on…

Most of you know I don’t pretend to be a Bible thumper.  I believe in it, I read it, but I don’t do that regularly.  Last night, with tons of worry mounting about the coming divorce, the future effect on the kids, the worries about how to make my business profitable and successful, the nagging of just about every fear you can imagine, I flopped open my Bible.  I’ve described this method to a few who have laughed, “That’s no way to do a Bible study!” To them, I suggest Matthew 7:1!  Ha!  I believe there are few coincidences in life, if any.  Last night, Matthew 6 flopped open.  To all who have a Bible, read this sometime…in fact, read it through to Matthew 7:1.  It talks about how we are to act.  It talks about how we should meditate.  It gives great advice about how to help our fellow man.  And most of all, it tells us not to worry.  Any time I have the feeling that time is slipping away too fast, I remind myself that worrying about things doesn’t really help it along and if anything, I lose time on more valuable pursuits…such as playing with my kids while they still care to play with the old man.

Well interestingly enough, a very good old friend of mine, Margot, sent me the email below…take the time to read it.  If you don’t already have your own story of what losing time will do to you, think about that of the famous violinist Joshua Bell.  This is an inspiring story…one that really stokes the fire behind my usual carpe diem-styled messages.  Time marches on folks – grab it while you can!

By the way, I’ve copied a couple of new people today – so I hope you enjoyed it.  Welcome aboard!

Thanks, and as always,
Peace
Tim

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A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning.  He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes.  During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing.  He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule.  A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk.  A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again.  Clearly he was late for work.

The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy.  His mother tagged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist.  Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time.  This action was repeated by several other children.  All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while.  About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace.  He collected $32.  When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it.  No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.  No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world.  He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars.  Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston and the seats average $100.

This is a real story.  Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people.  The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty?  Do we stop to appreciate it?  Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing some of the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing in life?

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