“Before the engines roared, before the garages smoked, there was a buzzing swarm of two-stroke freedom machines across the heartland.” Someplace in time in a land far, far away: after the death of Disco, and prior to the rise of Grunge. Before the age when you could be trusted driving a car, truck, motorcycle, "hell even a motorhome," there was the magical, mystical time when the world (and by world, I mean at least in Iowa) saw the rise and dominion of the mopeds. And let me tell you, for few short years in the 1980s, mopeds were it . Oh, in our sheltered Midwest world, we thought this was universal. (I have talked about it as I have moved around over the years only to get many "what the hell are you talking about looks, and comments".) At 14 years old  you could get your moped license and that single fact lit a fuse that burned across our small towns like gasoline on a bonfire. Suddenly, kids who barely had hair on their chins, chests, or legs for that matter—were legally buzzing all over town, across backroads, from town to town. For the parents of the 80's it was a blessing and a curse. Gone were the days of running the kids around, they could just take themselves. But once they had those keys, gone they were. For us, yes those of us in that strange little window of time, it was truly a freeing experience. A strange social experiment of sorts, but one that framed a generation of us. The Machines At least from what I can remember Honda Express was king —the buzzing wonder with a spring-loaded kickstart and a sound somewhere between a chain saw and an angry bee swarm, available in a handful of basic colors. (Mine was blue). The wealthier  kids had the Yamahopper , a little fancier, a little quicker, like the spoiled cousin at the family reunion. My own Blue Honda Express came via a girl selling it who had evolved to the age of car ownership. 16 in Iowa. She said it hadn't run in at least a year, wasn't sure if it did run any longer. It had this oversized white aftermarket seat on it that really stood out. Not in a good way for a teenage boy. I handed over my $50.00 and she handed me the title and keys. Some of you reading this remember 14-year-old Glen. (Me) Well, the key chain was a leather tab that had rhinestones on it, it said "MAXI". I looked at it for a minute, I said umm. MAXI? She said without breaking a smile. Yeah, MAXI PED. "Well, Ok", I said taking the key chain off, "you should keep this to remember MAXI by." On the truck, then off to the house, where a battery, carb cleaning, and spark plug had the Honda EX, fired up and running like a, well a Moped. I cruised around all over town, buzzing quite literally here and there. Thankfully within a couple weeks someone stole the oversize white seat while it was parked at the back of the Muscatine Mall. (If you stole it, and are reading this, I never had a chance to say thank you). I grabbed a used seat with some tears in it. Minus the great white seat (which in retrospect only needed a string on the front to make it complete) some duct tape later, and the Honda EX seemed to have just a touch more testosterone I believe. (I am sticking to that story). So, for about a year, I was part of the gang, buzzing around, terrorizing, enjoying motorized freedom that exceeded my previous bicycle freedom by, well by 5 MPH, and a lot less peddling. The Basics for Non Iowegians, or the younger crowd. Iowa was moped country  in the 80s the law said at 14 years old  you could get a “moped license” without a full driver’s license. That made mopeds the golden ticket to freedom before you could get a car. To qualify as a moped in Iowa, it had to be under 50cc  and capped at around 30 mph . (Of course, plenty of kids found ways to “tweak” the restrictor plates or swap out carbs and exhausts to get them faster.) Helmets weren’t required, though some parents insisted. Most of us just rode in shorts, T-shirts, and whatever sneakers were handy. Safety was… negotiable, and street signs were mere suggestions. The Craze They were cheap to run : you could fill the tank with change from under the couch cushions, 80–100 mpg easy. For rural and small-town Iowa kids, mopeds = independence. Suddenly you weren’t stuck waiting for mom’s station wagon, you could cruise into town, loop the Dairy Queen, or run out to a buddy’s farm. Mopeds became this whole pre-car social network . You’d see packs of 14- and 15-year-olds buzzing around like hornets, parking 5 or 6 deep outside Hardee’s, gas stations, or movie rentals. The craze came with what always comes with a craze, accessories, customization, and tinkering to see just what we can make these things do. The Culture Some treated them like bicycles with engines. Others tricked them out: chrome mirrors, milk crates on the back for carrying 12-packs or fishing gear, even spray-paint jobs. A few mechanically inclined kids treated them like baby Harleys — rejetting carbs, porting cylinders, changing gearing so they’d scream past 40 mph. Illegal, sure, but half the cops just shook their heads. Still, for 14-year-olds? Nobody cared. Mopeds meant freedom. Freedom at 14. Gas for less than a buck. Packs of kids terrorizing small towns at 30 mph. Driveways clogged with buzzing little machines. Fathers yelling: “Get those damned peds out of the yard!” Lawns flattened, oil stains spreading, mufflers rattling. Yes, it happened! And then there were the chicks—God bless ‘em. Picture this: tight jeans, Walkman radios, sporty little foam headsets safely tucked behind impervious Aqua Net fortifications that would rival modern ballistic armor plate. The Aqua Net–fortified hairstyles  standing like monuments against the rushing wind. Some of those curated hairdos would’ve survived a category five hurricane, let alone a 28 MPH moped ride. The sights, the sounds, the smells—it was a sensory circus. Dudes were not exempt from the craziness; (or the 80's hair) we had boom boxes bungeed to the back racks blasting Motley Crue, Ratt, Def Leppard over the incessant buzz of the ped... At least for the hour or two that 8 D batteries would last in one of those old power gargling boom boxes. Good lord it was glorious! Cottage industries popped up too—chrome racks, goofy baskets, duct-taped seats, and anything you could scavenge from a junkyard. And the hills. Lord help you if you had to ride up a hill. Mopeds didn’t climb  hills—they whined, wheezed, and begged forgiveness while their riders kicked the ground like Flintstones trying to help them over the hump. But on the flats? Twist that throttle and feel the wind in your face. Twenty miles per hour never felt so much like freedom . The Fall And then—like a firecracker that burns bright then fizzles—it was gone. Maybe the laws changed. Maybe we just outgrew it. Maybe the reality of real cars, jobs, and bigger engines drowned it out. But for those few years? Mopeds weren’t just transport. They were central to our lives. They gave us a taste of freedom, responsibility, and speed—setting the stage for what came next. Because when the mopeds finally died (and oh, did they die—usually smoking their last breath on a gravel road somewhere)… But those buzzing little bees taught us more than we realized: freedom tastes sweet, speed is never enough, and once you feel the wind in your face—there’s no going back. That was the beginning. Everything after was just louder, faster, and riskier.” we moved on to garages, junkyards, and real horsepower. The buzz of mopeds was just the warm-up act. The roar of engines, college days, mortgages, families, and life beyond, was waiting in the wings. “Like the Garage Days, these moped years passed like dusk to dawn—gone before we knew it. Just another memory to pull off the shelf and smile about… before the engines roared louder.” If you enjoyed this, please follow so you can get notified of new posts. Share with everyone that would enjoy this. Maybe buy me a coffee to just support the basic costs of running this site. Thank you!

The Secret Sauce Behind Every Strong Interview Answer Hopefully you’ve already read the 1st two installments in this series: The " questions you’ll always be asked" The " 90-second test"   (can you hook them fast or not?) Now it’s time to peel back the curtain on the “tools” every hiring manager, HR rep, or panelist wants you to unknowingly use. 📌 You’ll hear a lot of alphabet soup: STAR, CCAR, PAR. Here’s the deal: STAR  = Situation, Task, Action, Result  → The corporate/HR darling. CCAR  = Context, Challenge, Action, Result  → The federal/SES/ECQ gold standard. PAR  = Problem, Action, Result  → The simple, stripped-down version that coaches love. Different letters. Same central "We want to know what the issue was, what YOU did, and what the results were" orbit. All three force you to: Set the stage (what was going on). Keep this brief: Just enough so people understand the high-level problem, and WHY this was important. We can use the CCAR method to demonstrate: Challenge: The company was days away from a major product launch, but a critical software bug was discovered that caused the software to crash when processing large data files. The issue threatened to delay the launch by several months, which would have meant financial losses estimated at more than $10 Million. Context: A Senior Software Engineer, and a five-person team was responsible for the final quality assurance before the public release. The bug had gone undetected through several rounds of testing, and the pressure from management to deliver on time was immense. I was tasked to assemble a team and solve this problem. 2. Explain what YOU did. (Foot stomp! What "YOU" did part.) Action: I assembled a team and spearheaded a rapid diagnostic process, leading a team of 3 other senior software engineers for this critical project, we dedicated 12-hour days to dissecting the code and running specialized tests. By collaborating closely with the Development Team, User Acceptance Team, and by leveraging experience with similar legacy systems, the specific lines of code that were causing the crash were pinpointed. A targeted patch was then developed and implemented to fix the bug. 3. Land the plane with a result that matters. (Make this clear and tangible, so anyone can understand the "what" part) Result: The patch was successful, and the product was launched on schedule. The actions saved the company an estimated $10.5 million in potential revenue loss, allowing the company to meet its public commitment. This success was highlighted in my next performance review, where I was praised for such a quick, effective response. The method is the exact same for STAR, or PAR. We can take this same answer and change it to: STAR Situation : The company was days away from a major product launch,,,,, Task : I was tasked to assemble a team and solve this problem,,,,, Actions : I spearheaded a rapid diagnostic process, leading a team of 3 other senior software engineers Results : The patch was successful, and the product was launched on schedule. The actions saved the company an estimated $10.5 million PAR. Problem : The company was days away from a major product launch,,,,, and I was tasked to assemble a team and solve this problem,,,,, Action : I spearheaded a rapid diagnostic process, leading a team of 3 other senior software engineers Result : The patch was successful, and the product was launched on schedule. The actions saved the company an estimated $10.5 million 💡 The big takeaway from this is: Don't count on the panel being experts in the position they are interviewing you for. Your answers need to be clear, and at a level anyone can understand. Sometimes more is not better, clarity wins! 💡 Here’s the part people miss: Incorporate this into everything, if you write your resume bullets, or narrative this way , you’re already halfway to interview answers. If you research the job posting with this structure in mind , you’ll know which stories to pull. If you " practice" interviewing in this format , you’ll catch your gaps before the panel does. It’s not rocket science. It’s storytelling with discipline. (Your story)! 👉 PRO TIP: Out of the hundreds of times (yes hundreds) I have sat on panels of structured interviews using one of these methods, no matter how clear the instructions were, most people would miss one of the steps while answering. 💡If you are getting scored for your answers, and you miss one of four, or one of three parts of the answer, you have already set yourself back and in a close race, any misses can be the difference between a job offer, and better luck next time. Some issues I typically see: 🚫Not articulating the importance of the problem. (The panel doesn't understand what the real issue was, not clear what problem you needed to solve) 🚫Spending too much time explaining the context, or using corporate jargon, acronyms, team speak, etc. (Going down rabbit holes that do not add value, having to backtrack on the answer to add more detail, gets muddy and confusing) 🚫Not being clear (and this is a big one) on what YOU did, what role did YOU play, how much of the result can be attributed to YOUR efforts. 🎯Putting some numbers to the results, making the impact clearly understandable. (Think: Cost, Schedule, Performance ) How much money , how much time , how much better/closer to the requirement ). 🎯What recognition if any did you get for your efforts? A bonus, an award, a certificate, a promotion? 🚫Often it comes across like the interviewee must not have played any significant role, the issue/answer is being inflated, or the interviewee is just plain unprepared. 👉 Interview prep tip: Stop trying to memorize “answers.” Instead, build a small library of stories you can flex to fit almost any question. 🎯Practice answering using the above methods, EVEN IF : the interview is not officially structured using one of these methods, always answering in this way has you prepared, will ensure a complete answer, demonstrates you have a command of the subject matter. 🎯 This is where a coach pays dividends. Having someone do mock interviews with you using these methods and give you real time feedback on: your answers, mannerism, cadence, etc. will be life changing when it comes to how you interview! (Yes, I offer this service, Yes , this is a plug for it. Yes , I am very good at helping people develop this skill set.) Just hit contact us and send me a note, we can discuss your specific needs. 🎯 Research tip: When you are doing your corporate research on any company or agency you want to apply for jobs with, start mapping your answers, cover letter, and any resume changes using these methods. I suggest PAR for this; it simplifies things and is easy to build from. 💡Look at initiatives they have, projects they mention, corporate direction , major investments , 5-10-20-30-year plans if available. 💡All of these things give you clues as to what issues a company or agency may be seeing, future challenges they may face, growth, or contraction that may be in the future, and how you can be an asset to them. 👉Trust me, this attention to detail sets you apart right out of the gate, with your cover letter, resume, and once you get it, your interview. If you use these methods when: Doing the research Developing your stable of standard answers And when you prep for a specific interview When the panel asks about leadership, problem-solving, teamwork, or conflict? (Tell us about a time when) Boom, you can kill it. 🎯You’ve already got the stories — you just plug them into STAR, CCAR, or PAR. 🎯That’s how you turn a resume into results. 🎯That’s how you pass the 90-second test. “Methods are just frameworks. The magic is your story, told with clarity and confidence.” “STAR, CCAR, PAR — they’re all just different ways of asking the same thing: Prove you can deliver.” If you found value in this, please hit follow, sign up so you get notified when new posts come out. Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. Definitely reach out if you want resume, research, or interview skills support. Thank you.

A commercial in the 1980s famously asked "Where's the beef"?! I feel the same way often when reviewing a stack of resumes. Don't let yours be one of those. “I’ve been on both sides of the hiring table. I’ve scanned thousands of resumes, hired well over 200 people across government and private sectors, and here’s what I can tell you: the format matters less than the story you’re telling.” But format does matter. The way you package your story can either help a hiring manager see your value or bury it in noise. That’s where the two main flavors of resumes come in: bullets and narratives. As a hiring manager, it is not unusual for a hundred resumes to get dumped on my lap for a single job. Yes, there is normally a panel to do the reviews, but the hiring manager decides on what is important for the panel to review for. If they don’t see it quickly, plainly, you may not be rated high enough to make the first cut. In the private sector it was just me most of the time, so the first scan was normally fast, and I better see what I needed clearly right away, or I was moving on. If you read my interview blog segments, you know you have to grab the hiring manager’s or interview panel’s attention in the first 90 seconds or so. The same is true with your resume, and how you structure it may determine IF you ever get that interview in the first place. Let's do a deeper dive on the two most common resume types: Bullet, and Narrative. In the next Blog in this series, we will take a brief look at a couple other variations, (Hybrid, Executive), and talk Cover Letters, and how to best target your resume to the job you want. Bullets: Fast and Scannable, But Often Empty Bullets are everywhere. HR likes them because they’re quick to skim and easy for keyword-matching systems. But here’s the problem: bullets too often read like grocery lists. “Managed teams.” “Oversaw projects.” “Conducted analysis.” Great. So did a thousand other applicants. Nothing in those bullets tells me how well you did it, or why I should care. Often it is obvious the bullets are a regurgitation of what the announcement says is required experience. This makes the resume, well, easily forgettable no matter how creative the formatting is. Better bullets tell mini-stories. “Managed teams.” = Managed a team of 20 people developing a $2M IT modernization project, delivering ahead of schedule and 15% under budget. Led a team of 12 through a twelve-month major system migration with zero downtime. Now I can see results, not just responsibilities. This quickly tells me how you align to my needs. Pro:  Quick to read, good for scanning. Con:  Easy to get lazy, easy to blend in. Pro Tip:   Create a bulletized experience long form. (Kind of the cheat sheet of your experience in short bullets). Cover all of your skills with example-based bullets. You most likely are applying for a segment of the industry (Program Management, Engineering, Contracts, Logistics, etc.). Take the time to really think about your experience and write those bullets out. You can then easily compile any resume (Bullet, or Narrative) to meet virtually any job opening you are applying for quickly. A good habit is to review this list a couple times a year, and update it as your experience dictates. That way it is ready when you need it. Pro Tip: This can also be used to help you when writing your accomplishments for mid, and year end. Narratives: Richer Stories, Risk of Rambling Narrative resumes are my personal favorite when written well. They pre-answer a lot of questions I find myself asking when I am just looking at bullets on other resumes. A short paragraph gives context, shows action, and delivers results. You’re not just listing duties; you’re showing impact. Pro Tip:   A well-written Narrative style resume already has you prepped on what data you need in your interview answers. It already tells the situation, tasks, actions, and results. Weak narrative:  “Responsible for supervising all office staff. Timekeeping, Contracts, Supplies, Logistics. Office did $500M a year in business, selling landscaping supplies wholesale.” Stronger narrative:  I manage all critical corporate administrative functions supporting a $500M a year wholesale supplier. Faced with 30% staff turnover, negatively impacting the company by an estimated $10M yearly, I implemented both mentorship and employee development programs, reducing turnover to less than 5% in the first twenty-four months. That’s the scope of your responsibility, a problem, an action, and a result. As a hiring manager, that makes me pay attention. Makes me want to interview you and hear exactly what these programs were, and how they were so successful. The unspoken question is: Can you do the same thing for my business? But narratives can go off the rails. If you write three chunky paragraphs for every job, you lose me. Narratives work best as crisp 2–3 sentence stories that connect directly to the job you’re aiming for. Pro:  Shows how well you did the work. When it’s all said and done, it comes down to managing risk — cost, schedule, and performance — and how you handled each. Con:  Can ramble or look like a wall of text if not managed carefully. What I normally see here are what I call "bloated bullets." Just paragraphs of "what you do" that do not tell any story. Often copy-paste sections right out of the job announcement. Like the weak narrative example above, each job function listed would be surrounded by data that does not enhance the narrative, it only serves to make it hard to read and well, "muddy." Example:  “Responsible for supervising all office staff. Timekeeping, 4 people tracking 75 full-time employees, and up to 25 more seasonal employees, and the Contracts team, 6 people in 3 states $200M a year, Supplies 12 people also 3 states $100M a year, Logistics, 15 people delivery trucks, forklifts, delivery scheduling. Office did $500M a year in business with places in 3 states, selling landscaping supplies wholesale.” I have seen this kind of rambling explode into half a page many times, with just data that doesn’t really tell me anything specific. What I really want to know: Did you hire, discipline, promote, develop any of these employees? Did you do employee evaluations, counseling? What part did you play in any of the analysis, finance, turnover, ROI, ROA, GP, NP? In Short: How did you help this company be successful? Depending on what you are applying for, understanding the skill set/s that the job you are competing for may need, will help you tailor your short narrative and present a problem, action, and result that speaks to the hiring manager and how you are the solution to their issue. Pro Tip:   “Think of each narrative like a movie trailer: just enough action and impact to make me want to see the whole film — in your interview.” What Really Matters: Relevance Here’s a secret most applicants miss: As a hiring manager, I don’t want your entire life story. (More is not always better.) I get it, we all want to make sure we don’t miss documenting our experience. But as a hiring manager, I need to be able to see quickly how your experience lines up with my need. I need your resume to be one I remember. I need your resume to be clear enough that I can either hire you or it makes me want to interview you. If the job you’re applying for is covered by the last 5 years of your work experience, focus there. Give me details where it matters. For older roles, just give me a line so I can see there aren’t gaps. “Shift Supervisor, McDonald’s, 1992–1995” is plenty. Don’t make me slog through your burger-flipping years if I’m hiring for an electrical engineer. Hiring managers aren’t archaeologists — don’t make us dig through layers of history to find what we need now. Your resume should show me what you can do for me now, not make me wander through what you did in high school, how you worked your way through college, etc. Training, Education, and Extras Education:  Put your highest relevant degree first. Don’t bury me in every online course you’ve ever taken. Training:  List only what’s current and relevant. A certificate from 2005 that’s long expired doesn’t help. Pro Tip:  I see entire pages listed with classes. Especially for Federal Employees. Hiring managers are NOT looking through all of these. We are not considering any class in Excel Spreadsheets from 2005 as relevant. If it directly aligns and is current, list it. If you have a professional certification, list it. If you have a professional license that is relevant, list it. Otherwise, don’t clutter your resume with noise. Volunteer Work:  Include it if it connects to the role — leadership, community service, technical skills — otherwise keep it brief. The Bottom Line There’s no one “right” format. The best resumes do three things: Match the job you’re applying for. Tell a story of impact (challenge → action → result). Respect the hiring manager’s time. Bullets can work if they tell stories. Narratives can shine if they’re crisp and relevant. The goal isn’t to fit into a template — it’s to stand out by showing not just what you did, but how well you did it. Sidenote/foot stomp:   I speak to format in this blog; it is the verbal format. There are many online templates, and resume companies like to use fancy paper, and all kinds of sections, and blocks, and lines, and colors, and more! You get the picture! I will say this confidently: I have never, not once, hired, or even interviewed someone based on the layout of the resume pages. Often it actually makes it confusing, and if your resume is going through any electronic filters those things may actually interfere with it getting to human eyes. Pro Tip:   All of those fancy colors, and blocks, and boxes, highlights, and sections look nice, but none of it matters. NONE! Simple, clean, direct, and relevant win every single time over artistic layout. “Hybrid resumes mix bullets and short narratives, and executive resumes put more weight on leadership, strategy, and impact across organizations. We’ll circle back to those in another post.” If you found value in this, please hit follow, sign up so you get notified when new posts come out. Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. Definitely reach out if you want resume, research, or interview skills support. Thank you.

Shoveling Up Opportunity It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t fun, but it was honest work. New Year’s Day, 1980-something, Muscatine, Iowa — a snowstorm blanketed the town and most folks groaned at the thought of frozen fingers and aching backs. Me? I grabbed a shovel and saw a short-term career opportunity. Before long, I was trudging through drifts, knocking on doors, and putting in the kind of sweat equity that leaves your back sore but your pockets a little heavier. The local paper even caught me mid-shovel and ran the photo. Captioned with a pun, of course: “’Sno fun.”  Maybe not fun, but work shows up in unexpected forms, and if you’re willing to pick up the shovel, you can always carve out a path. So, get busy and get paid! Looking back, it feels like the purest version of the lesson so many of us learned growing up, one that seems to be missing in today's instant gratification world: if you want something, you find a way to work for it. A sidewalk might net 50 cents or a couple bucks, maybe $5 if you were lucky. The big driveways were where the real money was — $10 for a morning’s worth of sweat and frozen fingers. String a few together, and I could walk home with $20, $30, even $40. Serious money for a kid back then. But I didn’t just shovel for cash. I always made time for elderly neighbors who couldn’t push a scoop or risk a fall. Sometimes I got a cookie or cup of hot chocolate in return, sometimes just a smile. That was worth it too. The trick was hustle. You had to be up before the other kids, before adults fired up their own snow blowers. If you waited until noon, the money was gone, and all you had left was the ache in your arms.   The routine was always the same: clear our own driveway and walk first, then grab the shovel and hit the neighborhood. The funny part is, I didn’t think of it as “work ethic training.” Work was already part of my DNA — Dad had me hauling tools, digging post holes, mixing cement, even up on roofs by the time I was 10 or 12. Hard work was the only gear I knew. Work wasn’t optional, and neither was the weather. You bundled up, sweated it out, and got it done. Shoveling snow was just another way to put muscle and hustle to use. But it was my  hustle. Nobody told me when to start, where to go, or how much to charge. I figured it out, one cleared driveway or walk at a time. Looking back, those snowy mornings taught me something I’ve carried into every job since — from shoveling walks to leading teams in the military, private sector, and government: Show up early. Do the hard work. Help the people who can’t help themselves. Don’t miss the opportunities buried under life’s snowdrifts. And don’t be afraid to knock on a door, shovel in hand, and say, “I can help.” Also, it is nice to look back at that old newspaper clipping and confirm: Yes, once upon a time, I had hair. If you enjoyed this, please hit follow, sign up so you get notified when new posts come out. Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. Definitely reach out if you want resume, research, or interview skills support. Thank you.

Gentlemen, let me break it to you: women are born with a biological black box recorder. It captures everything — words, tone, facial expression, the shirt you wore, and even what brand of beer was on your breath. You think time erases old sins? Wrong . While men are walking around wondering if we remembered to eat lunch, women have a deep storage archive  that never purges. You forgot an anniversary in 1997? She’s got it logged with cross-referenced witnesses and the phase of the moon. Said something dumb in 1982? She’ll pull it up like a librarian fetching a first-edition book: “Ah yes, July 12th, 1982, 8:47 PM, you were wearing a blue shirt, smelled like Budweiser, and told me the band Journey was overrated.” It’s not memory. It’s a weaponized evidence locker. Meanwhile, the male brain runs like a desktop with one sticky note on the monitor: “Take out trash.” (Which we’ll forget anyway, until the bag is already leaking down the stairs.) So, fellas, the next time you think you’ve “won” an argument at home — remember you didn’t. You’re just on parole  until she pulls up the 1982 case file again. How it really works. ⚖️ Exhibit A: The Domestic Courtroom Gentlemen, you may think marriage arguments are just disagreements. Wrong. They are court proceedings  — and you are always the defendant. [Court is now in session…] Judge (her):  “We’re here to review the case of You Said Something Dumb, Circa 1982.  Prosecution, please present Exhibit A.” Prosecutor (also her):  “Your honor, the defendant, "That Man", told me on July 12th, 1982 — at approximately 8:47 PM — while wearing a blue shirt and reeking of Budweiser — that the band Journey was overrated.   (You may hear a gasp from her friends, sister/s, or your mother-in-law). I present as Exhibit A: my flawless memory and Exhibit B: his dumb face at the time.” Defendant (you):  “Objection! That was over forty years ago!” Judge:  “Overruled. The female memory archive recognizes no statute of limitations.” Prosecutor:  “Furthermore, your honor, in 1997, he forgot our anniversary. In 2003, he left the trash in the kitchen overnight. And in 2016, he said he liked my sister’s potato salad more than mine.” ( Silence , followed by hushed but very tense whispers can be heard) (He is done for, this is unbelievable, I hope the judge throws the book at him) Judge:  “Noted. These incidents will be added to the permanent record.” Defendant:   [whispering]  “Permanent record? What is this, high school?” Judge:  “Silence! The gavel comes down: “Guilty. Sentence: indefinite probation with mandatory dish duty, trash detail, and extreme prejudice toward your sports and beer time.” Court is dismissed (for now) Next case! And that, my friends, is why you never win at home. You don’t argue with your wife — you stand trial in the Court of Infinite Memory . Oh, we men try pretty hard, we try reason, we try facts, in the end, we even try to go back in and appeal. Let's see how that goes. 📝 The Appeal: Why Husbands Never Win One! Every man thinks he has a shot at overturning a domestic conviction. “This time,” we tell ourselves, “I’ll make my case, and logic will prevail.” Spoiler: there is no appeals court. Defendant (you):  “Your honor, I move to appeal the ruling in The Case of the Forgotten Anniversary, 1997.  It was a stressful year, I was working overtime, and—” Judge (her):  “Denied. Stress does not excuse negligence. Next.” Defendant:  “Alright… but surely the potato salad case of 2016 is inadmissible. It was taken out of context.” Prosecutor (also her): “Out of context? Your honor, we have a sworn witness. My sister, sitting right there, will testify that he said, ‘" This tastes better than my wife’s.’” Judge:  “Sustained. Sentence extended.” Defendant:  “But your honor, that was nearly a decade ago!” Judge:  “This court recognizes no statute of limitations. Every word you’ve ever spoken is admissible evidence.” Bailiff (the dog):   [wags tail, offers no support] Court Reporter (the cat): [looks disinterested and starts coughing up a hair ball on the carpet] Judge:  “Final ruling: appeal denied. Defendant will continue on probation indefinitely, with enhanced penalties for future infractions. Sentence may be reduced only with acts of extraordinary contrition — flowers, weekend trips, or surprise jewelry.” Defendant: Sighs heavily, walks slowly into a neutral country, (aka, the garage). Y ou don’t win appeals at home. The best you can hope for is a suspended sentence  if you remember her coffee order without being asked. But what about Parole you ask? " Surely there is a chance at good behavior early parole"? It is tried gentlemen, oh yes, it is tried. 🗳️ The Parole Board: Why You’re Never Getting Out So, you’ve served your time. You’ve washed the dishes, folded the laundry, and even bought flowers once in a while. You think maybe — just maybe  — you’ve earned early release from the Court of Infinite Memory. But then… the Parole Board  convenes. Chairwoman (wife):  “This hearing is to determine whether the defendant is fit for early release. The record shows forty-two years of infractions, including but not limited to: forgotten anniversaries, sarcastic comments, and the potato salad incident of 2016.” Board Member #1 (kids):  “We’d like to add Exhibit 27: Dad said we were ‘ five minutes from leaving’   when it was really an hour and a half. Repeatedly. For decades.” Board Member #2 (mother-in-law):  “Your honor, in 1993 he parked on my lawn. The tire marks are still there.” Defendant (you):  “Objection! That was over thirty years ago, and the grass grew back!” Chairwoman:  “Silence. This board recognizes no statute of limitations.” Board Member #3 (family dog):   [barks once in support of snacks, not you] Chairwoman:  “After careful deliberation, the board has voted unanimously: parole denied. Defendant remains on indefinite probation, with extended duties in trash removal and holiday decorating.” Defendant:   [sighs]  “Guess I’ll see you all next year.” Chairwoman:  “Court adjourned. Remember, gentlemen — the memory archive is eternal.” Gentlemen, the truth is this: parole at home is a myth. The board always votes against you. Your only hope is to serve your sentence with honor… and maybe bribe the board with cheesecake. 🍰 If you found value in this, please hit follow, sign up so you get notified when new posts come out. Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. Definitely reach out if you want resume, research, or interview skills support. Thank you.

“Shutdowns. Layoffs. Realignments. Call them what you want — they all feel the same when your world suddenly stops spinning, and you realize the clock on your security just ran out.” Let's start with the relatable tension: the uncertainty, the waiting, the inbox silence. We all experience the same shared feeling — anxiety, frustration, the feeling of being “benched” through no fault of your own. “Whether you’re a furloughed fed, a contractor on standby, or someone whose project just evaporated — this moment tests what you’re made of.” Section 1: The First 48 Hours – The Shock An emotional response is normal — fear, anger, guilt, even relief. Depending on your situation, you may experience one or all of these. Totally normal when we feel helpless in a situation. Reminder readers: this is not your fault. I know that statement may not feel helpful when bills start to pile up. However, it is important we still keep it in mind; it is not personal. I have been through it all: I have experienced government shutdowns long and short since 1990. 6 total, not including the current one. And not counting the DoD Sequestration Furlough in 2013 for 6 days. I have endured this emotional roller coaster just like many of you. Then waiting to see if congress was going to pass a back pay bill. The truth: You can’t control the storm, but you can control your posture in it. Section 2: Relevance – The Stillness Between Chapters I would encourage everyone to use the downtime for reflection rather than panic. Pose the question to yourself: If my title disappeared tomorrow, who would I be? Many of us tie our worth to a role or a title. That’s “professional identity addiction". This is the moment to separate your purpose from your position. Think of this as a forced pause — a time to rediscover direction, or even to make the change you’ve been too busy (or afraid) to make. Try these simple exercises: List 3 core skills  you’ve mastered. List 3 ways  those skills could be applied outside your current job. List 3 things  you’ve always wanted to learn but never had time for. List 3 things  this time off makes you grateful for. Reflection turns stillness into momentum. Section 3: Reinvention – Using Disruption as a Catalyst Reinvention isn’t failure — it’s evolution. Most of us do it without realizing it. We go from student to worker, single to spouse, parent to empty nester — quietly shifting identities as life demands it. This moment is no different. It’s just another curveball, another inning in a long game that rewards adaptability. Hit it. Reinvent. Swing for the fences. For me, reinvention came in waves — sometimes gentle, sometimes like a rip current. I started as a machinist , cutting steel and building the parts that kept others moving. Then 9/11  happened, and everything changed. Twelve-hour shifts. Security checks. War production. A nation running hot and scared, trying to find its footing. There were volunteer calls — and “voluntold” assignments — everywhere. The mission came first, and we adjusted, adapted, endured. Then came the next chapters: Iraq. Afghanistan. BRAC closures. Families uprooted. Bases shuttered. People moved like chess pieces. I saw what “restructuring” really means — not as a headline, but as a life event. I moved across states, across agencies — from DoD to HHS, then to DHS  — reinventing every few years as priorities and politics shifted. Each time, the job changed, but the core didn’t: Serve, stabilize, rebuild, lead. That’s the lesson. Reinvention isn’t about starting over; it’s about staying relevant when the world moves under your feet. Personal Truth: “Every time my career changed direction, it started with something I didn’t plan for.” When those moments come — and they always do — remember that stillness can be strategy. Use the pause. Update your résumé and narratives. Reconnect with mentors and peers. Reflect on what truly mattered in each past reinvention — and what you want to build next. Take that course. Volunteer. Write. Teach. Stay in motion, even when the world feels frozen. Check on each other, "we are off the clock, but not off the team". Section 4: Resilience – The Quiet Strength When we think about resilience we think toughness. But endurance alone doesn't win the day. To be truly resilient, you need to be adaptable. Being able to change with the demands of the situation and still grow from it, is being adaptable. That alone can often be the difference between just surviving and thriving. We often talk about being a family, being a community — time to show it! checking in on each other during hard times keeps the fire going. Just a short note, or call may make all the difference to someone. A quick text, a short call, a check-in can mean more than you think. You never know who’s struggling in silence. Acknowledge reality, remember there is always hope: “Shutdowns end. Projects restart. Opportunities resurface. But people remember who stayed steady in the storm alongside them. Strive to be remembered! I would encourage everyone to include small daily rituals of structure — exercise, journaling, planning — rebuild or maintain rhythm when everything feels suspended. Closing: The Perspective Shift “Maybe this pause isn’t punishment — maybe it’s preparation.” Sometimes the world has to stop spinning for us to realize we were moving too fast to steer. Maybe this is your push — to change direction, chase that dream, or step up and lead where it matters. “When the lights flick back on and the doors reopen, you’ll either walk back into the same job — or you’ll be ready to walk into a better one. "The difference is what you do with this time.” If this resonated with you, hit follow and sign up so you’ll get the next post. Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. And reach out if you want help with resumes, research, or sharpening your interview skills.

By Glen Maylone At some point in adulthood, you wake up one morning, look at your bank account, look at your Amazon cart, and realize something profound: You are buying Christmas gifts for people you might not have had a real conversation with since pay phones were a thing. And that’s when the question quietly creeps in: “When do we stop buying Christmas presents for certain people?” Not the kids. Not Grandma. Certain people, are permanent on the love, based gift giving list of course. I’m talking about the extended cast — the in-laws, the siblings, the cousins, the once-removed, the twice-estranged, the people who only text you once a year and it’s either: “Merry Christmas!! ❤️🎄❤️” or “New phone who dis?” Not that you don't love these people too, and that is where it gets tricky doesn't it. Every December, like clockwork, I find myself asking the same thing: How did this become my fiscal responsibility? How did I become "the president for life" of the: Annual Family Gift Club? At some point I inherited: leading the trips to the store, or doing amazon searches until my fingers ache and my bank account screams, "Please just stop". This came up recently when my wife and I were talking about Christmas plans. First it was the travel, where are we going, when, conversations. Then she looked at me — calm, practical, unbothered — and took the conversation 90 degrees by saying: “I think it’s time we narrow gifts down, maybe just the grandchildren and nephew.” I stopped. Blinked. Waited for the punchline. Because for years, I’ve been buying Christmas gifts for what feels like the entire extended branch of the family tree — parents, siblings, partners, assorted relatives, and occasionally someone who happened to be standing nearby when we walked in. (I think the pizza deliver guy may have stumbled into a gift card once). At this point it feels like I’ve basically been running a holiday foreign aid program, but one without any matching contributions. So, when she said, “maybe we just focus on” I had four immediate reactions: Relief (“Finally, the list is being downsized.”) Surprise (“We can just… stop?”) Guilt (“Is that even allowed? Will someone revoke my Christmas privileges. Then optimism: maybe I will get paroled from the fruitcake list? When Tradition Turns into Obligation Here’s the thing: Gift-giving starts as a sweet gesture. For me it starts with doing something for people out of love. Then it morphs into a tradition. Then it quietly evolves into an expectation, and one that is based on your ability to give, not the reason you give. And eventually it hardens into an obligation. Nobody talks about it. But everyone feels it. You don’t want to disappoint anyone. You don’t want to look cheap. You don’t want to be the one who breaks the unspoken pact of “everyone buys everyone something forever.” But buying gifts for adults gets tricky because… well… adults buy what they want anyway. (And if you buy what they need instead, well, a gift card for an oil change doesn't scream Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men) Which means Christmas gifting becomes a strange annual exchange of: candles socks gift cards novelty mugs and items no one asked for but everyone politely smiles at. At some point, you start to wonder if we’re all just swapping stuff for no reason other than inertia. The Other Factors The Culture Factor In many families is another thing: Especially those with strong cultural or generational traditions — gift-giving is tightly woven with respect, appreciation, and togetherness. Which means scaling back isn’t something you do lightly. It’s wrapped in history. Expectation. And a little bit of holiday emotion. But even long-standing traditions can be revisited. And my wife, wonderfully level-headed as always, finally said the thing that needed saying: “Maybe it’s okay to simplify.” She’s right. (shhh, don't tell her I said that) The Turning Point Look, I’m someplace in my fifties. "Maybe closer to 60 than I like to admit, but the mirror reminds me of daily." I’m officially in the phase of life where time, energy, and attention are far more valuable than wrapping paper and last-minute Amazon deliveries. And if I’m honest? The people who truly light up — who really, genuinely feel the magic — are the children. Everyone else? They’re fine. They smile, they say thank you, they add it to the pile, and a week later they can’t remember who gave them what. But the children? They remember. They cherish. They radiate joy. They jump up and down. They call you afterward. They beam. That’s the ROI I’m after. Genuine happiness in return for what is genuinely given out of love. Back to the adults: So, When Do You Stop? Here’s the conclusion I’ve come to: You stop when it stops making sense. You stop when it becomes burden instead of joy. You stop when the tradition drifts away from the relationship. You stop when the list has momentum but no meaning. And you stop when someone finally says: “It’s time.” The New Rule in Our House Our updated holiday protocol is beautifully simple: 🎁 Kids get gifts. 🎁 Adults get love, time, and food. 🎁 Everyone gets peace of mind. And honestly? It feels right. It feels sane. It feels like the beginning of a clearer, healthier tradition — one based on connection rather than obligation. Because Christmas should be about joy, not inventory management. If You’re Reading This: Here’s Your Permission Slip: If you’ve been quietly wondering whether it’s time to shrink your holiday gift list. Here is your official Fed to Freedom note: You are allowed to simplify. You are allowed to protect your energy. You are allowed to redirect generosity where it matters most. Traditions evolve. Families change. So can you. And sometimes the greatest gift you can give yourself — and everyone else — is to stop buying mountains of things no one needs and focus on the relationships that truly matter. Love, Family, and Friendship! I wrote this thinking how truly blessed I am! If this resonated with you, hit follow and sign up so you’ll get the next post. Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. And reach out if you want help with resumes, research, or sharpening your interview skills.

By Glen Maylone Some of my readers know that I’ve been around a little bit — maybe by most people’s standards, a lot. When I started this blog, I was writing it for me. For years I lived in the world of long days, early mornings, inbox alarms, and government missions that carried weight. (Not that they always made sense) When I chose to step away and begin the transition toward retirement — or semi-retirement, however I want to frame it on any given day — I finally found a little space to breathe. And in the quiet, the writing started. I thought maybe I could share a few lessons, help others who are wrestling with life transitions, and reflect honestly on what matters and what doesn’t. Somewhere along the way, I started telling stories — about what is going on in my life now, what I’ve lived through, and what I think still lies ahead. Then I noticed something surprising: People from all over the world were reading it. Not a lot of people. But from everywhere. Germany. Canada. Portugal. India. Brazil. A few from the Caribbean and South America. Even one or two from Pakistan. And that sparked something in me. (Which can be dangerous.) Because truth be told, my adult life has been shaped by movement and connection. Living at the Crossroads of History In the 1980s, I served as a soldier stationed in Germany. It was a world living in the shadow of the Cold War. The Berlin Wall was still a scar on the landscape — a reminder of what fear can build and what war can leave behind. I witnessed history firsthand: the wall’s collapse in 1989, the tense days leading into Desert Storm, and the complicated human realities that are never captured in textbooks. I remember that night the wall came down. The disbelief. The energy. People cheering, crying, handing around fragments of concrete as if they were holy relics. I watched a divided people reunite. And in that moment, the world felt small, hopeful, and more human than politics ever allow it to be. The Road Beneath My Boots I traveled Europe by train, car, and motorcycle — not as a tourist checking boxes, but as someone trying to understand the place. Twisting alone through the Alps, crossing between East and West, sitting in smoke-filled train cars half-awake and drinking sometimes wonderful, and at times terrible coffee with strangers who became brief friends — those moments taught me more about humanity than any classroom ever could. Cities became familiar chapters: Rotterdam’s cobblestones Frankfurt’s skyline Paris complicated heartbeat I saw old and new sit side by side, tradition next to reinvention, history brushing shoulders with modern life. Those travels were lessons — in resilience, adaptation, humility, and respect. Beyond Europe Life later took me not only all over this place we call the United States, but also deeper into Mexico, the Caribbean, and South America. Mexico’s markets and food. The turquoise water and complex history of the Caribbean. The breathtaking ranges, rivers, and cultures of South America — every place offered new perspective. Traveling by motorcycle or car slowed me down enough to see real life up close. Even flying in or stepping off a cruise ship long enough to share a meal, explore a town center, or sit at a bar talking with locals has taught me something important. The thread that ran through all of it was simple: People everywhere carry the same human stories — hope for family, pride in their culture, sorrow over loss, laughter over shared meals, and dreams for the future. Different languages. Different histories. Same humanity. Why I Appreciate the Readers From Abroad To those who stop by from outside the United States — especially Germany, Canada, Portugal, and anywhere else — I want you to know I genuinely appreciate your presence. It reminds me that borders exist on maps, not in hearts. And if you’re new here, know this: your story matters just as much as mine. This space isn’t meant to be a lecture hall. It ’s meant to be a shared table. (so, bring some beers darn it)! If something here reminds you of home, or of your own journey, I’d love to hear it. What Travel Taught Me A few truths that earned their place in my life through the miles: Language is a bridge. Even five shared words can open doors. Shared experiences build trust. Meals, laughter, getting lost, finding help — those moments stick. Respect the local way. Traditions matter, and humility goes further than charm. (And what we grew up with isn’t always the best or only way.) Travel with an open mind. Challenge your assumptions; they’re rarely perfect. Be a guest, not a critic. Be an ambassador, not an agent for change. And above all: listen. Every stranger is a walking library if you give them space to speak. Staying Connected Even decades later, I keep in touch with friends I met in Europe and the Americas. Technology makes it easier — but shared experience is what built the bridge. Sometimes those messages are small: “Hey, how are you?” “How are the kids?” “Did you make it back home safely?” Other times, they stretch long and deep. Either way, they remind me that home isn’t just a country. It’s the network of hands that reached out to you when you were far away. Borders Don’t Define Us Countries have lines. Governments maintain them. Maps display them. But humanity outgrows them. Travel — and time — taught me that identity is layered and complicated, and that real connection comes from the stories we choose to share. Here on this site, I want to keep telling mine — and hearing yours. To Wherever You Are Whether you’re reading this from Europe, the islands, the Middle East, the Far East, down under, across the Americas, or right down the road from me — thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being curious. Thank you for being part of this journey. Let’s keep building bridges made out of shared stories. And let’s keep proving, in our own quiet ways, that the world is smaller — and kinder — than the news ever admits. I wrote this thinking how truly blessed I am! If this resonated with you, hit follow and sign up so you’ll get the next post. Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. And reach out if you want help with resumes, research, or sharpening your interview skills.

Just like in the average Hallmark movie, I am home for the holidays. And also like those movies, I’ve returned from the “big city” to the small hometown—but don’t worry, we’re not about to follow the standard plot where someone leaves their high-stress corporate job, discovers the magic of small-town life, meets a flannel-wearing widower, falls in love, saves the local bakery, and changes their entire life in three days. (If this was a spoiler for anyone… I’m sorry. But also: really?) Where was I? Ah yes, why I brought up Hallmark in the first place. My loving wife has quietly—strategically—turned me into a Hallmark officiant. The sheer volume of Christmas movies they produce is astonishing. If the Marvel Cinematic Universe ever collapses, Hallmark can pick up the franchise and keep generating 30 new plots a year without breaking a sweat. And that’s what got me thinking this morning. "Hallmark is cashing in on the holidays." Because here I am in my family’s hometown, flipping through old photos, talking with relatives about the way things used to feel during the holidays. Back then, we’d go house to house—each one bursting with people, food, noise, and warmth. Nobody worried about shopping. Nobody was stressed about “getting everything done.” Nobody cared what was sold out at the mall. We were just in the moment. Present. Laughing. Eating. Living. And THAT was the heart of the holidays. When Holidays Held Meaning Thanksgiving and Christmas once held deep cultural and spiritual meaning—rooted in gratitude, gathering, faith, and reflection. Today? They feel overshadowed by the relentless, bright, blinking billboard of consumerism. (Christmas stuff is out before Halloween now. I half-expect to see Santa riding a pumpkin by 2026.) The original spirit feels buried under layers of sales, ads, countdowns, and shopping lists. And let me be clear: I’m not anti-business. Business pays bills, feeds families, and keeps the world running. But somewhere along the way, the balance shifted. Corporate interests didn’t just join the holidays—they took the wheel, grabbed the auxiliary power cord, and started blasting their own playlist over the speakers. Holidays stopped being events we celebrated and started being events we prepared for. And I wonder if it isn’t too late to reconnect to the spirit we grew up with. (If you read a little sadness form me there, you are right.) How Holidays Became Shopping Events How Holidays Became Shopping Events Yes, we shopped back in the day (50 years ago… but who’s counting?). Shhh, yes, I know that was a long time ago. But the shopping was just background noise— not the main event. We talked about what the holidays meant. We learned the stories. We focused on the feeling, not the price tags. Somewhere between then and now, Black Friday swallowed Thanksgiving whole. Christmas deals jump from the shadows in September. At this rate, we’ll soon see: “Labor-Day-Christmas Blowout! Celebrate the birth of Christ AND the American worker… with 40% off appliances!” Retailers didn’t do this by accident. They found a way to weave shopping into the emotional fabric of the holidays. And it worked. The Impact on Thanksgiving Thanksgiving has long been one of my favorites. It was just being thankful and spending time with the family showing gratitude for the blessings of the past year. Grandma's house was packed. Kids everywhere. Aunts and uncles arguing about nothing and everything. Food so plentiful the table groaned. Today, the focus often shifts quickly from gratitude to the frenzy of Black Friday shopping. Many people spend the holiday weekend hunting for deals rather than enjoying time with loved ones. The pressure to buy the perfect gifts or prepare an extravagant meal can create stress instead of joy. People finish dinner… and immediately strategize their Black Friday battle plans. Some leave the table early to get in line for a deal on a TV they don’t really need. The shift is subtle but tragic: Gratitude gets one day. Consumerism gets the whole weekend. And that feels wrong. The Quiet Cultural Takeover Here’s what really bothers me: Corporate influence doesn’t just shape our habits— it shapes our beliefs. Kids grow up thinking Christmas = presents. Adults feel pressured to overspend to “prove” love or success. Social media sets expectations nobody can keep up with. And slowly, quietly, painfully… The meaning fades. And here's the part that hits me hardest: Those old memories—the magic, the warmth, the way it truly felt—we are the last generation that remembers them firsthand. And spoiler alert: We will not last forever. If we don’t pass the feeling on, corporations will do it for us. And their version… is hollow, but it is rapidly getting embedded in our psyche, influencing behavior and attitudes. Reclaiming What Matters Despite the noise, I believe it’s still possible to reclaim the spirit of Thanksgiving and Christmas. But it has to start with us— the parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and old souls. Here’s how we can bring the meaning back: • Prioritize Time Over Things Sit. Talk. Laugh. Let the moment be enough. • Practice Gratitude Share what you're grateful for. Make it a ritual. • Simplify Gift-Giving Thoughtful > expensive. Handmade > mass-produced. • Support Local or Ethical Businesses If you’re going to spend, spend where it matters. • Volunteer or Give Back Generosity restores something inside us that shopping never can. Communities & Families: The Real Carriers of Meaning We forget this—but WE are the vessels of memory. We are the storytellers. The keepers of feeling. The ones who know what used to matter. By choosing differently—by gathering, sharing, laughing, remembering—we give the next generation something no corporation can sell. Finding Balance The challenge is to find balance. Holidays can include joyful gift-giving and festive activities without losing their deeper meaning. I’m not suggesting we all sit around a fire chanting like druids. The goal isn’t to eliminate the joy of giving. It ’s simply to restore the joy of being . This balance helps restore holidays as times of reflection, gratitude, and connection. So, what am I grateful for? Honestly? I’m grateful for everything. For my life. For my family. For my friends. For you—every one of you who takes time to read my rambling thoughts. For love. For another trip around the sun. I hope today brings you peace, warmth, laughter, and a moment that feels just a little bit like the holidays used to. Talk about the old days. Tell the stories. Remind the younger ones why it mattered. Be blessed. Be kind. And Happy Thanksgiving, my friends. If this resonated with you, hit follow and sign up so you’ll get the next post. 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By Glen Maylone I walked into the Giant grocery store yesterday to grab a few things. It was packed — people picking over produce, carts, kids, the whole human circus — and by the time I finally made it to check out, I was already done with the world. The cashier was a thin woman, maybe in her 40s, bagging items with the kind of caution normally reserved for an archeological dig. One item per bag. Every bag treated like a luxury suite. I smiled and said, “You can fill them up.” She nodded without looking at me. “Okay. It’s your food.” Fair point. A few bags later, she put my bananas into their own private bungalow and then reached for a fresh bag for the apples. I said, “You can toss the apples in with the bananas — they’re fruit friends.” She froze. Turned her head slowly. “You gonna bruise them bananas,” she warned. “I take full responsibility,” I said. “I absolve you of any banana-related harm.” And that… was where things took a turn. She stops ringing. Looks at me with this narrowed, suspicious expression. “You gonna WHAT me?”“Ab— abso— abs something me?” She frowns. “That sounds nasty.” She says the last part loud enough so at least half the line hears it, and goes silent, like everyone’s waiting to see if this becomes a grocery store felony. I was halfway into the process of digging my debit card out, and before I can even gather my wits, or open my mouth to respond. The woman behind me — small lady, thick accent, two kids climbing all over her cart — swoops in like a guardian angel sent by the produce aisle. “That means he forgives you,” she says. A quick exchange of looks between the two of them and — just like that — case closed. Linguistic rescue complete. The cashier looks at me for just a second, blinks. “Oh. Well, that’s good. Lord knows I need forgiveness.” And without missing a beat, she snaps right back into her routine. “Do you have your Giant Saver card, sweetie, or just enter your number on the little pad there.” “In one fluid movement, like a seasoned pro, she handed me my receipt, said thank you for shopping at Giant, and was already ringing up the person behind me.” I was mentally dismissed by the cashier. I paid. Took my potentially bruised but spiritually cleansed bananas. Walked out into the cold air thinking: This is why I leave the house as little as possible. On the drive home, though, I found myself musing over it — how the woman behind me, juggling kids and groceries and life, jumped in to save me with a quick translation with perfect clarity. Maybe to just keep the line moving? Maybe? But the lightning-fast shift from: focused cashier→ suspicious cashier→ briefly scandalized cashier→ clarified and cheerful cashier …was something to behold. A tiny human moment. A flicker of misunderstanding. A stranger stepping in with kindness. And then everyone moving on with their day. Nothing earth-shattering. But it stuck with me — the way small things often do. Maybe because it reminded me how delicate language can be. How quickly we misread each other. How often these otherwise un-noteworthy moments happen. How strangers save us from awkwardness without even realizing it. Or maybe it’s just because I really wanted those apples and bananas to get along. Either way, checkout lane seven left an impression. And the bananas? Well… they ended up bruised. I wrote this thinking how truly blessed I am! If this resonated with you, hit follow and sign up so you’ll get the next post. Give one of these a read next! Cleansing your life with Sage! The things we do for love! Connections Beyond Borders, My life of Movement and Momentum! When the Christmas Gift List Becomes a Hostage Situation and Stops Feeling Like Giving Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. And reach out if you want help with resumes, research, or sharpening your interview skills, or just to touch base!

Nature is wonderful, and sometimes vindictive. Last Friday, I wrapped up an 18.2-mile ride on the Indian Head Rail Trail here in Southern Maryland. It was one of those perfect fall days—sunny, cool, blue sky—and I felt good. Beat my last time for this same leg of the trail by 5 minutes, so I was feeling pretty good, legs were rubber, lungs were working, a quick cool down and a cold drink of water were needed before jumping in the truck to depart. I had backed the truck in, like always, so nobody would clip the bike rack in the trail head parking lot. It is a hitch style rack; it sits right at the tree line when I am backed in. To load and unload the bike I’ve got to step down into a little ditch. So, I rolled it back there, lifted it up, got it secured, stepped out of the ditch, and stopped to stand in the shade by the back wheel well of the truck on the driver's side. There I stood, water bottle in hand, standing in the shade, drinking some water and that’s when it happened. Ping.   Something smacked the top of my hat. An acorn. Well, that made sense—I was under trees, after all. I shrugged it off, moved a little further from the trees, and lifted my water bottle. Ping.   Another acorn. This time right on my shoulder. This one seemed to have not dropped, but had some angle to it! Now I was suspicious. I moved a couple feet again, figuring I’d stepped out from under the canopy. Ping.   Another acorn, again hitting my left shoulder almost in the same spot as the last one! Okay… now I was scanning the trees and looking into the woods for any movement. Was someone hiding up there in the tree and thought this was funny? Was there someone throwing them from within the woods at people stopped at the trailhead? And that’s when I saw him. About 30 feet up, a big gray squirrel. Sitting on a branch, chewing an acorn, staring right at me. And when I stared back, he froze. Looked me dead in the eye. Then—like something out of a mob movie—he fluffed his tail, chattered at me, and chucked the half-eaten acorn right at my head. Almost a bullseye, I barely moved quick enough. No windup, no warning, or telegraphing of any sort, just a quick little flick to fast to see, and an acorn was hurling at me like an artillery round. I yelled up, “Hey, squirrel!” (as if he understood). He bristled even more, chattered louder, and started jumping from branch to branch like a furry acrobat. Then he tossed a full acorn. It landed only a few inches from me and rolled across the gravel. This wasn’t random. This was personal. At this point a few people had walked by, and slowed a little, obviously wondering what I was looking and shouting at. I paid them no attention; I kept my gaze locked upon the grew assassin! At one point, another squirrel joined him on the branch. They chattered back and forth for a minute—looked like a strategy meeting, or a disagreement on engagement tactics—then the second squirrel hopped away, leaving the big one to finish the fight. By now I’d retreated to the front of the truck, a good 20–30 feet from the tree. I figured I was safe. Nope. Just as I was about to get in, another full acorn landed inches from my feet. I picked it up, tossed it back (not very effectively), and the squirrel went nuts—jumping, chattering, tail snapping like a whip. I retorted something about him being lucky I didn't have a sling shot, or better aim, and how he should take his time crossing the street. He just continued to bristle and chatter. I climbed into the truck, shut the door, started to pull away… Whack.  An acorn hit my windshield. No damage—just a parting shot. A warning. A reminder from the vindictive little sniper in the tree, that I was in his home turf. I’ve been through hornet wars, bomb scares, and government bureaucracy… but this? This was my first acorn ambush. If this resonated with you, hit follow and sign up so you’ll get the next post. Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. And reach out if you want help with resumes, research, or sharpening your interview skills.

There are certain types of friends in our lives. I always try to be a good one. I always try to be polite, helpful, and, of course, honor the unspoken "Man Code". So, when a buddy has a girlfriend who insists on blessing your home—whether it needs it or not—well, I stepped up, smiled, and said with my best straight face, “Cool. When?” Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Years ago, a buddy of mine was dating a woman deep into crystals, chakras, cleansing energy, and edgy Goth clothes. When I moved into a new place, she decided my house had to be spiritually purified. She seemed eager- almost pained- to purify the place for me before I finished unpacking. I figured a well-stocked bar was spiritual purification enough, but she insisted this was more important. So, like always I was being polite and agreed. After all I thought, good manners cost nothing. But I was about to find out that cleaning up after certainly does. So, the day prior I was prepared with a short briefing of what to expect: I was informed that a smudging was to take place first, then a salting, and crystal purification. It sounded official and intense! I was also informed this is normally expensive. So, I was one lucky guy. For a fresh start, which was what I was in need of apparently , sunrise works best. At sunrise. Which meant literally at sunrise. Just before dawn they showed up ringing the doorbell. I let them in and she was doing her preparations until the sun was cracking the horizon. Then it began. There I was: coffee in hand, sweatpants, not yet showered, teeth barely brushed, hair, (well we will not speak of it) yawning, giving my buddy the “you owe me for this” look. I was told this would help create a rhythm of balance, peace, and calm in my life. Although at that hour on a Saturday, it felt a little unbalanced, and calm? Hmmm, maybe sleepy. A professional smudging and salting, I learned, would clear the space of residual negative or stagnant energy that had built up. The crystal thing was going to align stuff for me. T o be honest I was lost on that one. But me being me, I was trying to get involved and mentioned that if this was clearing out the residual energy, I was hoping it would leave the good stuff behind. We can always use good stuff, after all. This was met with a stern: Just focus! As all was being made ready, and the sun was doing its thing, I was being told, everyone, apparently, should do this when moving into a new home. You know, perform a cleansing to remove the energy of previous occupants and prepare the space for your own. The rug doctor, pledge, and pine sol are not enough. Yes, I learned all of this before 7 AM. The tools: She arrived armed with a stick—bundle—roll? —of sage, a pouch of salt, some small bowls, and what I can only describe as a spiritual-support crystal. The sage smelled like a campfire that had gone to college for anthropology. She lit it and began pacing the house, fanning smoke into corners and saying things. I was thinking, “I hope the smoke detectors have dead batteries. Please don’t go off. Why didn’t we discuss this first?” Then came the salt—small bowls in the corners, then some hand-sprinkled in solemn circles across my hardwood floors, linoleum, and carpeted bedroom, while she muttered something about “energetic seals” and “protective barriers.” I nodded a lot, said “ Wow,” “Oh, interesting,” and “Well, I didn’t learn that in school, ” all while pretending not to wonder how I’d get salt out of a thousand tiny gaps in the oak flooring. This went on room to room, with me, my buddy, and my cat Mr. Peabody trailing along behind. Mr. Peabody would normally just lay around and ignore people, more irritated by humans than anything else. But this morning he seemed fascinated following a few steps behind, tail flicking, occasionally stopping to bat some of the salt across the floor. When she finally finished the ritual, she smiled, holding the burning sage bush in one hand, and the crystal in the other, like the two tablets of the ten commandments and announced triumphantly: “There, your house and energy are cleansed.” I asked, "should I feel different, or does it take a few days to kick in"? Then I offered them coffee, and to make biscuits and gravy, (least I could do after all) but she was still frowning about my "Does it take a few days" comment. She said she was now spiritually exhausted and needed to go home—she’d stop back for the salt bowls in a couple of days after they’d finished absorbing. I thanked her profusely, waited until the car pulled away, and immediately opened every window, lit a scented candle, and fired up the vacuum. Mr. Peabody supervised the cleanup with the same expression he wore whenever I did something foolish—mild disappointment mixed with amusement. If he could speak, I imagine he’d have said just one word: “Sucker.” The next morning, I emptied out the salt bowls after Mr. Peabody decided to start batting them around like clay hockey pucks and using the salt pile as ad-hoc litter. Weeks later, I was still smelling the smudging from time to time and finding salt in cracks, corners, and baseboards. If there were any dark spirits in the house, I hope the smoke smell and salt grit under their feet made them want to mosey on into the light. As these things often turn out, my friend broke up with her not long after—said she was “a little intense. Like, all the time.” “Hot, but crazy,” he added. The house? For the record, besides never-ending salt popping up, was just fine while I lived there. Mr. Peabody remained unchanged, still critical of humans and our actions. Now don't get me wrong. People can believe what they want, do what they think is right, and that is fine. It may be lost on me, and that is ok. I appreciate the thought. When I think back on those events oh so many years ago, I think: Sometimes, you have to step out of your comfort zone and experience something new. Sometimes faith comes with incense, spices, crystals and chanting. Sometimes it needs to come with a Dyson and Febreze. Keep up with what is next here: Fedtofreedom.org If this resonated with you, hit follow and sign up so you’ll get the next post. Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. And reach out if you want help with resumes, research, or sharpening your interview skills.