WHBU 1240 AM

On August 22nd, from 6-10am WHBU will be having an auction to benefit the “Make A Wish” Foundation.  It’s an outstanding organization and we really hope you contribute.  The auction will be pretty simple.  That morning just call the special auction number we give you, bid on the item we have up for bid, and it will go to the highest bidder.  ALL the proceeds from the sale of items will go to “Make A Wish.”

This will be a fun event I encourage you to call that morning.  If you have new items you would like to donate for the auction, just let me know.  Call 378-2080 and ask for Leland.  We can always use more items and will be happy to mention your name or donating organization during the auction.

I normally write the blog about things going on in my life or other things that are interesting.  I think this is going to be a fun event and would love for you to participate.

All the best,

Leland

I’ve not met a single person who enjoys automated phone systems, but they are becoming part of our culture. If I owned “Leland Franklin Enterprises” my first priority would be to install a REAL person to answer the phones and leave REAL messages for people. No voice mail or automated phone systems.

We recently moved into the ‘burbs. There are trees in our neighborhood and people spend the evenings walking dogs, talking to friends, and working in the yard. There are, however, a few things about country life the real estate agent never mentioned. One of them is internet access.

Apparently, we are “right on the cusp” of service. There is service 1000 feet from our home, but not quite close enough for the magic of internet to actually reach our door.

The previous paragraph of information was typed in just 20 seconds, but took days on hold to discover. It’s not that the information was complicated, but there was no person to talk to…just menu choices on the phone. The menu choice for “1000 feet from the home” is way down the list.

Dialing #1 for english, then #3 for new service, then another series of number for Internet, then service areas…and so on. I’d retire a rich man selling the ’secret’ number which actually connects folks with a real person.

Don’t get me wrong, the folks at AT&T were nice, after a vast array of selections and waiting on hold for 45-minutes. But, I would pay a little more on a phone bill just to have a real person answer the call. Is it THAT expensive to have real people?

A friend once owned a car with a completely digital dash. This was 20 years ago and it was really cool. They just never caught on. People just like the look of the “analog” dials for speed, gasoline, and tach. So, although the technology exists to make push-button transmissions and a digital dash…people don’t want them.

After several calls to AT&T and other folks, looks like we’ll have dial-up internet for a while. There just isn’t service in the area.

I’m not really mad at AT&T, though. After all, every 1 1/2 minutes on hold for many hours I was reminded that MY call is “very important to them.” How often do we say that to each other? Think I’ll mention that to the next friend that calls….after leaving them on hold all afternoon.

“I just don’t get why people are so fanatical about trees and our carbon footprint,” I said in typical radio guy arrogance. Angie and I were traveling down the highway in an SUV driving about 70. “Why are these folks such fanatics?” When you have a talk show, you presume that you’re right and the conversation will be about me talking and Angie listening. Wrong.

“Fine, why don’t you just throw your trash out the window?” said Angie. I started to explain why that would be different, and that the ‘crying Indian’ ads of the 1960’s were right. “How is throwing out trash wrong,” she said. “Why can’t we all just toss our junk out of car windows…someone will clean it up.”

She can be sarcastic AND smile at the same time. What a “one-two punch” that is.

It got me to thinking about the pleasures we take for granted because “someone else” will clean it up. We spent a great morning kayaking Anderson’s White River on Monday. The “White River Watchers” work to keep the river clean. It’s easy to kayak and pretend you’re and explorer in native lands. In reality, the river would be filled with garbage without the efforts of some great folks.

Plastic bags sprout on the interstate highways every month or so as workers cleanup our garbage. Unseen men and women collect our trash from our homes, usually before dawn, once a week. Water is safe to drink in any public park thanks to unknown people cleaning our water supply.

As I type this I’m wearing a silk tie, leather belt and shoes, cotton shirt, and some type of synthetic blended pants. I’m probably not going to switch to pants made from hemp, or heaven for bid, sandals. But, the next car will likely be a hybrid of some type and I’ve started taking a few things to the recycling center.

I’m not a fanatic, but I’m becoming more ‘friendly.’

I’m convinced many of the things we learn from childhood are stored in a sorta “mental filing drawer” in our brains. You can’t exactly remember what is IN the drawer, but there is an index. This past weekend I pulled up a bit of fatherly advice given me sometime when ties were thin and Elvis was, too.

Our new home was pretty well stripped by the previous owners before we moved in last month. Someone somewhere has a vast box of light bulbs, circuit breakers, and closet doors. But, there was a not-so-hidden treasure buried in the attic insulation. A GIANT antenna. I mean huge.

The only thing I can figure is that this refuge from another time was assembled in the attic and was too big or too worthless to move. Some unnamed soul did take the time and effort to hook it into the existing cable system in the house. (The electric cable “booster” was removed, but that was to be expected…)

Our previous house didn’t have cable, either, but it was a choice of the “Franklin Financial Committee.” This esteemed group meets monthly, usually over the dining table, and discusses in a rational way household finances. It usually de-volves into me whining about not having cable. However, saving $50+ per month for something I don’t watch often, makes financial sense.

The discovery of an antenna before we moved was a surprise treat. No more rabbit ears.

A large part of one evening last week was spent dusty and covered with insulation. After digging through several boxes I found the cable “booster” I’d saved from the old house. And managed to hook it into the antenna. Calling downstairs to my wife, Angie, I said, “how does it look?” “Pretty fuzzy” was not the answer I wanted.

It was then, in the insulation, I thought about my own father. Our antenna was outside, on a pole, tied to the side of our home. Mom would station herself in front of the t-v, my sister and I in the yard, and dad on the roof. He’d holler that famous phrase, “better or worse” and start adjusting. Mom was at mission control before the RCA, and my sister and I were “relays.”

They say a man is truly an adult when he starts saying and using phrases of his father. In my own case, the lessons were good ones and positive. We’ve not been blessed with “relays” at the Franklin home, so I had to shout a bit louder. But, “better or worse” was a phrase I was shouting from my attic and, despite the heat, it made me smile.

Oh, in case you’re curious, my folks long ago abandoned the antenna and have 100+ cable channels. Maybe I can still learn a few lessons from dad.

The Franklin Family has moved. We’re in the new house, boxes are everywhere, and nothing can be found. I’m tempted to wear a Halloween costume to work…because it’s clean and I know where it is. Black socks, t-v cables, and an overdue library book are in another dimension.

So, with all the boxes to unpack, things to install, and challenges to be faced…why am I worried about my lawn?

In the old neighborhood we had a nice average lawn. The guy next door would mow, cussing all the way, about once a month. My other old neighbor would mow a lot, and usually mow my yard too. It was a pretty good system, and we were “average.”

The new neighborhood is great and the people have welcomed us with open arms. We have had company a few times, amongst the boxes, and little notes are left in the mailbox. I think, though, it’s because of this warmth that I’m uncomfortable about our lawn.

EVERYONE works in the yard on our street. Arnold Palmer would love to have golf courses which are as nice at the lawns on our street. I’m serious. Our neighbors have lush green lawns with roots at least 40′ deep. The grass is the shade of green only found in photos of Ireland in spring.

My yard is a yellow mess.

I don’t really know how to fix my lawn. If a light doesn’t work, you check the bulb. If a car won’t start, check the battery. If a yard looks terrible, you panic. Instead of wearing clean socks, packed in some random box, I’m visiting Lowes looking at seed. Instead of hooking up television, I’m sharpening the mower blades. Instead of working “in” the house I’m “outside.”

Today it’s raining. I hope that’s a good thing. $50 worth of fertilizer is on the yellow yard. It’s supposed to be wet, then dry for 2 days, and then rain again. It’s been raining for 12+ hours.

Oh, it will work. This yard will turn green. However, if it doesn’t, I’m researching sod companies who work from 10 PM - 4 AM. If they are really quiet, maybe I can just replace the yard without the neighbors knowing. Shhhhhhhh…

They say marriage changes people.  It’s true.  Oh, I believe you remain the same basic person with the same passions, likes, and dislikes.  If you’re a nice guy you’re likely to remain so…the same said for being a bum.

The change, I believe in marriage, is the “new” family.  It’s the in-laws and relatives you count as family.  The Franklin history, stories, and traditions become part of her heritage.  And likewise, you are part of hers.

The 4th of July has always been a favorite holiday of mine, but in the last two years my understanding has changed.  Stories of the sacrifices made by veterans were pretty much limited to my Uncle Glenn.  He served in the Pacific in World War II, returning with a Japanese rifle, a medal or two, and stories of the Navy.  I’m proud of him and how he started the old Ford tractor after the war and went back to farming.

As a child, though, it was tough to understand the sacrafices the family made in the war because of his absence.  My dad jokes about missing his brother and that he “kept the Japanese out of White River in Anderson.”  He doesn’t mention the worry, or that my grandmother was scared when telegrams would come to the house.  These are stories left unsaid.

The 4th has changed for me because of my new “family.”  My brother-in-law is someone you would like.  Everyone likes Kyle and they entrust their husbands, fathers, and sons into his care.  He, I think, represents the best and the brightest in the U.S. military.

He has spent his life traveling the world keeping the spirit of independence alive.  At home, though, I’ve seen the worry in family members eyes waiting on scheduled phone calls and the sadness of an empty chair at Christmas.  Care packages sent to distant lands help, but the worry remains.

Marriage certainly doesn’t change who you are, but it adjusts your perspective.  On the 4th I’ll be thinking about a brother who is a living example of the spirit of sacrifice the holiday entails.  When the patriotic songs play tomorrow night, people cheer, and salute the flag…remember to say a prayer for the American heros we will never meet.

We at the Franklin home are getting ready to move. It’s only 2-miles, but they are mighty big miles. Our “new” home was built during the Clinton administration, the “old” home during the short term of James Garfield. I’m excited about the new home, the neighbors, rural setting, and updated wiring. The problem is the “stuff.”

My lovely wife, Angie, doesn’t really keep things. Oh, there is the occasional card or photograph. But, as a completely random example, she doesn’t have old reel-to-reel tapes from college. I’ve never seen her saving old radio station t-shirts, for example. Boxes of business cards for places she has worked hold no special fascination for her.

What strikes me odd in sorting all my old “stuff” is how sentimental I am about things I’ve not seen since the last move. We opened a box, a 1980’s time capsule, full of old high school things. “Oh, I can’t throw THIS away,” I said. If it was gone, would I really have missed the term paper on Spencer Tracy or photos of friends with names I can’t…quite…recall?

The biggest piece of “stuff” is my bicycle. A perfect 1970’s Huffy Santa Fe. If you were to look carefully you’d see the flat tires, peeling paint, and slightly rusty chain. My eyes, though, see it as THE bike of my childhood and I remember the day as though it were yesterday. When it was replaced by a moped, car, and even another bike it was still the first taste of independence.

In a few weeks the “old” home will be filled with new memories and new people. They will bring their stuff to hang on the walls of the garage and fill the cupboards in the kitchen. But, if you come to our new house and visit, you may notice an aging bicycle hanging on the garage wall. Some “stuff” is to important to throw away…

Oh, if Angie asks you about the bike, tell her you brought it.

A recent article from Fort Knox, Kentucky has a gentleman suing a truck stop for serving him hot coffee…which he spilled into his lap.  Claiming ‘pain and suffering’ he’s hoping for a quick settlement, new seat covers, and a warning label.  “Coffee is hot.”

My birthday present this year was a Craftsman Circular saw, with a laser sight.  There are 11-PAGES of warnings and “don’t.”  Remember the old paragraph which congratulated you on the purchase of this fine item which promises to give you years of service?  My Circular saw gave me no such note.  It contains stern warnings about using it in the rain, wearing safety gear, and the blades being sharp.  Honestly, what moron WOULD use a Circular saw while bathing?  “Honey, could you bring me some 2X4’s so I can build a quick deck while I’m in the tub?”

Warning labels have gone to extremes to protect the company from a lottery which rewards stupid behavior.  My lawnmower advises me not to use it to trim hedges.  A lawyer friend confirmed that, indeed, two guys were holding a running lawnmower by the wheels, and trimming hedges.  They were injured, won the lawsuit, and hence, the warning.

Blow torches warn not to use while sleeping, pills for sleeping warn of drowsiness, and shirts warn you not to iron them while wearing them.  Chainsaws warn about stopping the chain with your hands, printer toner warns you not to eat it, and my windshield cover warns me to remove it BEFORE driving.

There is one warning I’ll leave you with, which is advice we can all use.  Maybe it should be the warning label for life.  On a “Bobcat” style tractor, under the image of a little man, it simply says, “DO NOT DIE.”  I’m going to do my best to follow that one…

Anderson is going through tough economic times. This isn’t a news flash. Everyone uses important scientific measures for the economy. I use “soda pop.” The “S-P-O-T” or “Soda Pop Operation Theory” theory, by Ball State graduate Leland Franklin.

Our economy was stronger when pop was in glass bottles, which you’d return for money. How many of us, myself included, went scrounging through vacant lots in the summer looking for pop bottles to return? The economy of childhood was driven by the treasures we’d find. Now, kids just pester parents for the same thing…draining the economy.

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Memorial Day is nearly here. Monday is a day set aside to honor veterans and those who have served this country. In our family, it is also a day to honor family members and friends.

Memorial Day has alway been special to me, but probably even more so in recent years. We’ve always gathered together as a family, loaded “pine-ees” (as my mom calls them) into the trunk, and left for cemetaries throughout Anderson.

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