I’m burned out on Christmas music.
My brother and I used to both get a Christmas CD every year. The variety of interpretations of classic Christmas carols and songs was always interesting.
Until ten years or so ago.
Then stores and parking lots and hospitals and everywhere except your car or home began playing Christmas songs from the day after Thanksgiving onward.
It’s just too much. And there’s no choice.
Their bad = my bad.
My company is moving out of the current office that they’re renting to a building that they’re buying.
It’s financially wise, from what our CFO says.
But I will miss Coverall. Their Colorado office is in our soon‐to‐be past building.
My dad wore Coveralls. They were one‐piece work clothes, kinda like this. (Little did I know that Urban Outfitters sells them now.)
Turns out Coverall is a janitorial service — with a 1‐star rating on Google.
I never went into their office, but I have a few days left. Maybe I will.
Across the street from my office is a relatively expensive apartment building.
We’re not talking NYC levels — but the rent is similar for one of those Greenwood Village 2‐bedroom apartments to that of a suburban Denver 3‐bedroom house.
Yes, there’s location — I could walk to work if I lived there.
But I am not questioning the residents’ decisions to live there — I can understand some of the charms.
Rather I’m questioning the residents who choose to put patio furniture on their small balconies. You see, there’s a steady flow of traffic during all waking hours. Noise and diesel fumes are part of the experience a resident would enjoy by sitting on their balcony for a glass of wine at sunset.
What’s different about watching and listening to waves crashing on the beach? Those sounds also ebb‐and‐flow. Water flows past your feet, just as compact utility vehicles do along East Belleview Avenue.
Reminder to self… plan ahead.
At one intersection in downtown Denver, what were once beautiful street names are rendered in sunken brass letters.
As you can tell, most of the numbers either got stolen or simply knocked off through wear‐and‐tear.
The solution would have been for the street‐name sign creators to have made the letters about three times deeper, so the surrounding concrete could have more firmly held onto the letters. Or for the letters to be made of a different material that would wear at exactly the same rate as the surrounding concrete.
But they were thinking the concrete was sticky enough and permanent enough to hold the letters in place for years to come.
The obvious analogy is for me and you to build our efforts and things to last.
We love open houses. Visiting a home that’s for sale reveals a lot about the people selling the home. Their lives are on display for guests to see.
Some homes are time capsules — nothing has been changed for twenty years or more. Other homes have been cleaned up and fitted with the latest accessories and appliances so they could be in almost any community of the same demographic in another part of America.
Our latest open house visit was to an immaculate farmhouse that was never a real farmhouse. The owners recreated a country home in the heart of suburbia. The matron of the home had impeccable taste — every room was perfect.
The Victrola room seemed a little excessive to me. Though the collection was small, each of these music players was not functional in the face of today’s entertainment landscape.
But that wasn’t the point. The owners most likely enjoyed the beauty of their hand‐crafted machines and the era they represented.
Then I had to reflect on my own collections. Many would say that I have too many small toy cars or pairs of headphones. But at least I don’t have a room dedicated to any collection — like the Victrola museum.
Collecting things can be fun or reach a compulsive addiction level.
Collections are a good way to enjoy human creativity through variety and also experience the spectrum of form and function.
It’s easy to put up a front.
It’s harder to bare your soul.
We like to appear competent, knowledgeable, accepting, loving and kind (or most of us do). And we are those things, to some degree or another.
But we can’t be everything that everyone needs.
There’s a spectrum between hiding our weaknesses to revealing inappropriate levels of personal frailties. We must learn when and where to reveal our true selves.
Where am I going with this? I’m not sure. I don’t have any deep secrets to reveal to whoever can read this. But one‐on‐one, I’ll be trying to stretch my boundaries by going deeper.