Author: Dave

I hit the wall Thursday morning. I was standing in the shower, trying to will myself forward.  My focus was on my first appointment, a friend who needed to lock in his 2018 coverage but had procrastinated till nearly the last minute.  I had been overtired the previous night and woke up constantly convinced that I had failed to submit a time-sensitive Medicare Part D application.  Exhausted, I just stood there under the water hoping I could get through the day.  Then my knees buckled.  Lucky for me, the previous owner of my condo had installed grab bars in the shower.  I steadied myself.  And with the knowledge that I had now weathered the worst part of my day, I got ready for work.

That first appointment was unnecessarily challenging. I don’t know if he had always been a Republican or if his antipathy for President Obama had moved him in that direction and the corner he now found himself in – Trump apologist.  Regardless, he tried to deny that President Trump’s decision to eliminate the funding for the Cost Share Reduction was a major driver in this year’s premium increases.  I was much too tired to even feign patience.   My real surprise occurred when I went to my desk to get him a name he needed from my rolodex.  My friend walked over to my bookshelf and flipped over my new book of Obama pictures.  I saw this out of the corner of my eye, but said nothing.  Perhaps he felt guilty.  Perhaps he felt foolish.  Either way, he went back over and put the book back as it had been.  I don’t think he’ll need to be back until next December.

This year’s Open Enrollment has been very demanding. Compressing the <65 to forty-five days has strained our systems.  In truth, the government’s portal, healthcare.gov has functioned remarkably well.  Sure it crashes now and then, but this is its fifth year and it is much improved.  Our >65 markets run smoothly.  The biggest challenge often seems to be to get those impacted to focus on their needs sooner rather than later.  It is a shame that we have nearly two months to work with seniors, but are forced to work with the much larger segment of our populations in a much shorter period of time.

*     *     *     *     *

In the latest effort to steal a moment of our youth, an investment company has been utilizing snippets of one of my favorite songs from 1967. In case you’ve heard the commercial and tried to place the song, here is the full version.

DAVE

I’ve been thinking a lot about leadership. Some companies preach leadership, train leadership, and live leadership.  Most don’t.  One major company has built its success around a list of 13 principles.  I’ll leave the company’s name out of this and refer to it simply as Big Guy so that we can focus on a few of the concepts.

I have read the list several times. There are a few principles that appear everywhere such as a commitment to the customer and the importance of hiring and developing the best possible candidates.  Though these platitudes are commonly voiced by lesser companies, the wording is uniquely Big Guy’s.  Some of the other concepts grabbed my attention.

Big Guy stresses ownership. Each employee is advised that he/she acts on behalf of the entire company, not just a particular team.  “That’s not my job” is never an acceptable response.

Big Guy wants the employees to think big, takes risks, and to remember that many decisions and actions are reversible. How many businesses preach fear?  Very few companies empower their employees to focus on action.

Big Guy expects all of its employees to be leaders and to challenge, respectfully, when they disagree. The employees are supposed to have convictions and to stay connected to the details.

I was aware of Big Guy and some of its business practices. Learning more about this organization gives me confidence in the future of American business.

        *       *       *       *       *

The young man sighed and shook his head and then he, just as his fellow furnace repairmen had annually since I purchased my condo five years ago, said “Do you know this furnace is over 30 years old?  It should be replaced”.  I asked why since the furnace still worked great.  He must have thought that 35, possibly his age, was a major turning point.  Or, perhaps he, like last year’s guy or the ones before, are just trained to sell that way.  Who knows?  But after I paid him for the annual check-up I realized that I’ll never really know when the furnace is ready to die until it does.  These guys don’t have any credibility.  For all I know, it could be time.  I’d check with another company, but I’d have no guarantee that they would be any better.

I can only hope that Big Guy eventually decides to sell and service furnaces.

DAVE

Before we get started – This post is about Ohio Senator Rob Portman, the unarmed submarine we sent to Washington.  We know he’s there.  It just doesn’t matter.  But we learned how much worse it could be last week when our friends in Alabama lived down to every stereotype and moved one step closer to sending Roy Moore to the Senate.  The election of Moore to the Senate will allow the residents of 49 states the opportunity to say, “Our Senator may be ineffective and beholden to the lobbyists, but at least we don’t live in Alabama”.

It was finally time for Rob Portman to speak.  Now that the Graham-Cassidy health plan was safely shelved, now that there was no danger that he would have to take a public position, now that speaking was totally irrelevant, NOW Rob Portman was ready to publicly declare his position.  And his position was? “…I did what I always do: read the bill, listened to experts and tried to secure changes to help Ohio.”  The quote is from his letter to the Plain Dealer that appeared Friday, September 29, 2017.  Oh Rob, were that it were true!

Let’s go back two weeks. Senators Graham and Cassidy surprised the nation with one more, last-ditch effort to repeal Obamacare.  Their concept was simple, pretend to have a workable plan to pay for the nation’s healthcare with underfunded block grants and hope that nobody noticed.  Careful observers may have concluded that Lindsay Graham just wanted some TV time and the opportunity to prove that he was more than John McCain’s buddy.  As anyone who has seen a Bill Cassidy presentation (just once, but it was more than enough) can attest, Senator Cassidy has a real need to put forth programs, regardless of feasibility or the possibility of passage, in an effort to be perceived as an expert in this area.  After all, he was/is a doctor.  So, realistically, this whole effort was cynical, half-baked and doomed to failure if it didn’t pass by accident.

Even though he is Graham’s best friend, John McCain quickly declared himself a NO vote. Senator Collins expressed serious doubts, but said that she would wait until the CBO score was released.  The bill’s sponsors weren’t bashful about their attempt to bribe Senator Murkowski of Alaska.  The Republicans needed 50 or their 52 Senators to vote YES.  That would let Vice-president Pence break the tie.  Senator Rand Paul claimed that he was a NO vote, but many political observers saw this as a bargaining position.  Republican leadership was ready to call his bluff.  Anyone following the news was familiar with these Senators, their positions, and their history on this issue.  No one asked how Senator Inhofe (R-OK) planned to vote.  He was a solid YES, regardless of the bill.  So was Rob Portman.

Now Mr. Portman might disagree with this characterization, but Mr. Portman voted for the Skinny Repeal, that legislative abomination in July.  Portman and others in his caucus sat quietly and prayed that Murkowski, Collins, and McCain would save them, and the American public, from Trumpcare(less).  Any credibility he had on the issue disappeared that night.  Graham-Cassidy was an opportunity to reassert himself.  His torpedo tubes were empty.

I have written to Senator Portman several times this past year as important bills were up for his consideration. My efforts have earned me form letters and a weekly newsletter highlighting his accomplishments.  He seems to focus on the serious issue of human trafficking and is willing to work across the aisle with Democrats as long as money isn’t involved.  He has already expressed his joy about the new tax cuts (please don’t call if reform) and other legislation that is created without any input from the Dems.  His newsletters tend to go directly to my Spam file.

Senator Portman may claim that he is studying healthcare legislation and meeting with experts while he is, in truth, waiting for other Republican Senators to torpedo these awful bills. It is OK.  We know the truth.  And we will still thank G-d that he’s not Roy Moore.

DAVE

As many of you know, I conduct a Friday Evening Service at an Alzheimer facility.  I have been doing this for nine years.  I designed this Shabbos Services based on my perception of what would work best for the residents and their families.  It normally lasts less than a half an hour, including time for everyone to enjoy challah and grape juice.  I am often asked to deliver a sermon.  I try to tie in the current Parsha, current events, and a touch of humor in a quick, off-the-cuff D’var Torah.  Based on my singing and my sermons, no Rabbi or Cantor is in any danger of losing their job to me.

I was asked for a sermon the week before Rosh Hashanah.  My back was out and I was trying to end the Service so that I could sit.  Thinking quickly, I promised that I would not only have a sermon the following week on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, but that it would be the best Rosh Hashanah sermon, ever.  And why would it be so great?  The sermon would be less than two minutes!  That seemed to please everyone.  We did Adon Olam and we were done.

I’ve never actually written a sermon. The thought of delivering a great, short sermon did seem a bit daunting once I got home and realized the full extent of my commitment.  This is what I delivered:

When does the day begin? When I wake up in the morning and see the light through the window, I can see that it is a new day.  So is that when the day begins, 6 AM, 7 AM, or whenever I wake up?  Or does the day begin and end per the calendar at midnight?  But, we are Jewish, and our day begins at sundown.  When does the Sabbath begin?  Sundown, Friday evening.

And while we are talking about beginnings, when does the year begin? Does it start in the spring, a season of new beginnings?  Do we begin our year as the snow disappears and the flowers return?  Does the year begin, per the calendar on January 1^st?  No, again, because we are Jewish, our year begins now,  the end of the summer, the beginning of autumn. Yesterday was the First of Tishrei, Rosh Hashanah, the start of the High Holidays.

Does our internal clock, our internal calendar, or respect for our heritage make us better, smarter, more worthy? Of course not.  The goal of remaining true to ourselves is to be true to ourselves, to honor a higher truth.

On this day of Rosh Hashanah, in a land that welcomed us as we were and did not force us to abandon our heritage, it is important to remember that we were not the first immigrants to this great country and we will not be the last. May the New Year bring us all peace and the opportunity to live by our own clocks and to celebrate our own calendars.

Have a Happy and Healthy New Year.

DAVE

I have noticed that my willingness to volunteer, coupled with my inability to shut up, has led me to leadership positions of a number of not-for-profit organizations. And though these tasks may be personally if not financially rewarding, they are often more positive in retrospect as opposed to while I am in the middle of my term or chairmanship.  After volunteering over 25 hours per week as president of a chamber of commerce, I was forced by Jeff, my business partner, to pledge that I would never again serve on any chamber board.  I’m still on a couple of boards, just not as president and never on a chamber of commerce.

The ladies (it is always the ladies) of our building hosted a party last Wednesday. I came home to find the gathering in our lobby, directly between me and the mailbox, so I had little choice but to participate.  It is not that I am anti-social.  I still have the unpleasant memory of a nosy neighbor, 20+ years ago, that transformed me into a “Hi” and “Have a nice day” kind of guy.

The party started around 5 PM. There was wine, cheese, vegetables with hummus, and some Napoleon-like torte, homemade and impossibly cut into squares 1 inch by 1 inch and close to 3 inches high.

Into this festive occasion I chose to broach a serious issue. I prefaced my comments by clearly stating that I had NO INTEREST in serving on the condo association board and that I really liked living here in Woodhawk.  (By the way, we all really love Woodhawk and say it constantly. I looked for cameras in the lobby wondering if this effusiveness was real or for some unseen monitor when I first moved in.  No cameras.  It is real.)  But the board, at the staff’s request, locked the room to the dumpsters last year.  Disposing of larger items and boxes through the chutes can be a hassle.  Throwing stuff directly into the dumpsters was more convenient. But the board never talked to us, the condo owners of the building before or after.  Their communication skills rival those of my two year old granddaughter.

This discussion lasted about fifteen minutes. It was interrupted by shouts of “You should run for the board” and “Yes, but we really love it here.”  I reminded my neighbors that I was at least ten years too young to be on a condo board.  In the end it was decided that, all in all, the locked dumpsters was a mild inconvenience and that the board must have had a good reason.  And that I should run for president of our condo association.

And there you have it. People want me to run for office and my platform will be garbage.

*     *     *     *     *

So, not that it has ever happened, but if Sally and I ever had a big fight and she decided that she wasn’t talking to me, all I would need to do is take her on a plane and put on my headphones…

DAVE

Easiest move ever! Really, this could have been so much harder.  In fact, last time it was.  We were prepped.  We were organized.  And, we had a great team.

My books are already unpacked. The bookshelves look back to normal.  I’ve started to hang the pictures.  I’d like to acknowledge a couple of people who made this office move almost stress free.

We used Bill Tyers of Moving Solutions.  They dropped off 75 stackable crates last week.  His crew was supposed to be at my office yesterday morning at 8:30.  SIX guys walked in at 8:20, introduced themselves, and got to work.  They had two trucks.  They could not have been more professional.

The phone, internet, and designated Spectrum herder was Brian Lettau of ActivPC.  The new office was up on Monday, five days prior to our move.  We were without real phones and internet for over a month when we moved onto Landerbrook in 2010.

Chris Jones, the ShakerGeek, served as our technology/network consultant.  We knew what we were doing before we moved and it only took a couple of hours to tweak the system earlier today.  We are so dependent upon our internet that even an hour or two without easy access seems traumatic.  Our computers worked immediately.   All we had to do was plug them in (correctly).

Our office manager, Lianesha Mays, did a great job keeping Jeff focused on packing, a huge task in of itself. Moving disrupts her area the most.  I suspect that she will be totally unpacked by Monday afternoon.

My new office is:

Cunix Insurance Services

6690 Beta Drive Suite 212

Mayfield Village 44143

Time to hang more pictures. There was, by the way, one thing injured in the move.  Just one.  It always seems to happen when you want too much.

DAVE

With a terrible cry the Balrog fell forward, and its shadow plunged down and vanished. But even as it fell it swung its whip, and the thongs lashed and curled around the wizard’s knees, dragging him to the brink.  Gandalf staggered, and fell, gasping vainly at the stone, and slid into the abyss. “Fly, you fools!” he cried, and was gone.

Paulina (name changed) may have been born here in the US, but culturally her first 18 years were spent in the tiny Eastern European village her parents fled in the mid-1950’s. Her neighbors all came from the same villages, went to the same church, and sent their children to the same parochial school.  Paulina was married prior to turning 19.  Her husband, Alex, was a few years older and from the same neighborhood.  This is what good girls did.   And Paulina was a good girl.

It was not long after Paulina gave birth to her son, right around her 21^st birthday, that she finally confided to her mother how desperately unhappy she was.  Alex may have been doing OK financially, but he was a terrible husband.  He was mean.  Bossy.  Abusive.  Her mother looked at her as if all of this was expected and understood and told her daughter that none of that mattered.  Paulina’s responsibility was to her child and to her husband.  Her child needed a mother and a father.  Her husband needed a wife.  Paulina’s needs weren’t relevant.  That was the last time she discussed anything with her mother.

It took almost five years for Paulina to get up the courage to seek the advice of her priest.   She met privately with the senior priest of her church and told him of her pain.  And when she finished he looked at her and asked one question.  “Why is it that you have only one child?”

Five years. Courage came to Paulina in five year cycles.  Paulina confronted Alex on her thirtieth birthday.  She threatened to leave.  He promised to be a better husband.  She quickly forgave.  He quickly regressed.

Alex and Paulina had a clear division of labor in their household. Alex’s job was to give the orders.  Paulina’s job was to follow the orders and, when possible, anticipate his every wish and whim in advance.

The fight at thirty-five lasted a whole day. Paulina managed to not talk to Alex for a whole week sometime near Christmas 2007.  Paulina was ready to move on, start over, be free.  She and the kids.  No Alex.  It would take years to build up to the moment.  She would wage her best battle.  But Alex knew how to drag her back in.

We all have fought the Balrog. We have struggled to escape the spouse, job, parent, sibling, or even city and just when we think we’ve done it, we feel that whip wrap around our knees and drag us back into the abyss.  But the solution isn’t to give up.  The solution is to never accept that we are held captive by our personal Balrog.

Gandalf the Grey reappears later in the Lord of the Rings as Gandalf the White.

Paulina, now a little over 50, has an attorney. The court date is in mid-August.

DAVE

I was not expecting the questions. Last year’s health adventure had the side benefit of really interesting conversations.  Both friends and acquaintances wanted to know about my near death experience.  Several of my Christian friends wanted to know if I was given a glimpse of the Hereafter.  Did I see a bright light, the gates to Heaven, possibly You Know Who?  Others asked if I reflected on all of my regrets and what I could have done better in my life.

I treated all of these questions seriously, because they reflected the faith and fears of the people who asked them. I didn’t see a welcoming light or reruns of high school and I didn’t hover over the room.  I firmly believe that we don’t change as we get older, we just stop hiding who we really are.  Me?  I am an analytical, Point A to Point B kind of guy.  Only one thought occurred to me as I was lying in that room listening to the doctors failing to stop my bleeding and control my vitals. “These guys have a real problem.  How can I help them?’

My questioners were uniformly disappointed.

* *  *  *  *

I was in the hospital for a week and at home for ten days before I got behind the wheel. My first drive was to the store.  I was like a sixteen year old looking for any excuse to take a ride.  I needed some shampoo.  It didn’t matter.  I was just thrilled to have the keys in my hand.

My daughter wanted to know how I would commemorate the one year anniversary of my surgeries. Jen was anticipating a blog post on April 13^th.  I told her that I had a more meaningful milepost in mind.

Giant Eagle carried two sizes of the shampoo. The large size, 30 ounces, was a good deal, even better when it was on sale as it was that day.  Last May I stood there in the aisle and hesitated.  I knew it was just another dollar, but looking at that bottle I wondered if it was a waste of money.  That was a lot of shampoo, a lifetime supply.  Perhaps someone like me should buy a smaller bottle.  In the end I took a leap of faith.

I bought a new bottle of shampoo yesterday.