Horn Bar

http://jaybhornblog.blogspot.com/

 I’m not sure if anyone reads this, but just in case,

I’m switching over to a new blog site, noted above.

I haven’t figured out how to import my previous 80 postings

to the new site, so I’ll leave this as an archive, and link

it to the new spot.

follow me.

 jaybhorn

I’m flying down to New Orleans this evening for a three day Starbucks Leadership Conference, along with every other SBX store manager in North America.  Not sure how we’ll fit 10,000 people on one plane, but I hear that technology has advanced since I last flew.

I am excited about the gathering of peers, and the direction of the company that will be set into motion by our fearless leader, Howard Schultz, especially in this pivotal moment in US Business history.  I wish I had as much confidence in whoever our next president will be to right the ship.

But I am most excited about leveraging the critical mass of 10,000 enthusiastic volunteers over three days to pitch in, and help with the continuing recovery efforts in a post-Katrina New Orleans.  I don’t know the details of specifically how we will help, but we were instructed to bring "work clothes" for a day of the conference, so I would anticipate much cleaning, building, painting, and sweating.

I’ll let you know when I get back how it went.

Now, I’m going to to ask my dad how to use a hammer.

In October of 2004, I was unexpectedly, and reluctantly granted early release from my 12 year marital sentence in Detroit.  However, like Morgan Freeman’s Red in "Shawshank Redemption", though I had resigned myself to the previous life, it didn’t take me long to embrace the freedom and opportunities of the next life, once I was out. 

But I could have used the money under that special rock.

The first thing I had to do was find a place to live alone in Detroit, and after a much too brief search, I bought a nice condo near the waters of Lake St. Clair in Harrison Township.  I now know that I bought more than I needed, but there was a part of my divorce recovery that called for a rebuilding of my self-esteem, and I couldn’t bring myself to live in a tiny, run-down apartment, and I had my half of a tiny chunk of money from the sale of our house, so I thought I had to invest it in property.  Who knew that the housing market would crash, and take me with it.

In the three years I lived on Portside Court, I thought I did an admirable job of decorating and color-scheming, and the very few people who ever saw the place said it looked nice.  It wasn’t until recently that I have come to realize that I may have not really been decorating to suit my own tastes.   When Debbie and I visited there to move the last of my stuff out, she had commented that  the condo looked nothing like she had envisioned the space I would have carved out for myself.

As I pondered that, I realized that my condo looked alot like the house my ex-wife had decorated in Roseville, and it occurred to me that I may have taken great pride in setting up my own space in a way to show my ex that I could do it on my own, and not live like she fully expected me to live.  (She was never a big fan of all the  NASCAR memorabilia in the basement, but I don’t even collect that anymore!)  Even as I created my new space,  I knew full well that she would never see it, as we’ve had no contact since we signed the divorce papers and sold our house.

My condo and cave became the unopened and undelivered letter to my ex that she would never read.

In 2007, I left Detroit for my hometown in Indiana, and put my condo up for sale.  Today, September 11, 2008,  after a year and a half on the market, and a year of paying a mortgage on an absentee condo, a lady named Ernestine is closing on the purchase of my old space.  Though my original property investment took a 35% turn south, I managed to avoid foreclosure, and the lenders accepted a "short-sell" negotiated settlement.  And as of 4pm today, I will finally, officially no longer be a resident of Harrison Township, Michigan. 

Physically, financially, or emotionally.

Goodbye Detroit……

My brother, Kirk, says I’ve been a blogger for years.  I think that’s ok.  I started keeping some kind of journal back in 6th grade, althought the content wasn’t all that memorable.  In high school, Mrs. Shoe, our creative writing teacher, and "that teacher" who hosted chili, hot dog, and Euchre partries for clean fun on the weekends got us to start keeping more serious journals.  I’ve kept one going rather continuously, if not sporadically, since then, which would’ve been around 1978.

My journal has evolved over the years into a combo-platter of journal/scrap-book.  I made up a new word for it…Scrapnal.  I’m not entirely certain what this has to do with starting an international blog, except to say that I’ve been trying to lay down my thoughts somewhere for years.  Sadly, writing by hand and pen became too tedious at some point, so I drifted away from any real subtantial literal downloading onto paper.   Hand cramps would’ve kept me from being a good, Bible translating monk. 

 Email changed everything.

I discovered email in 2001, and it has become my favorite way to download from the Jay-brain.  It absolutely was a critical tool that helped me process through, and recover from my divorce.  Oftentimes now, I’ll generate an email to friends and family, and cut and paste the text into my Scrapnal.  On the page next to the menu from that restaurant.   or the ticket stub.

My Aunt Rosemary likes my emails enough that she keeps asking when I’m going to write that book that she knows is in me.   I imagine my friends cringe when they get an email from me, cuz they know my proclivity for the e-novellette.  But no one has actually complained yet.

Debbie’s daughters have cool blogs, and after perusing them, I thought I’d like to have a go at one, and see where it took the J-brain.   Maybe my regular emails won’t be as lengthy.  or maybe not.

so now I’ll have to see if I can print this text, and paste it into my Scrapnal.   Across the page from the menu from King Gyro on Nichol.

word…..jb