Lost In Dusseldorf

Lately, my dreams have been centered on my work life. A week ago, it centered on a bicycle trip taken with an associate. This time, the story takes place in Düsseldorf, Germany. It all started with my reading a technical journal and seeing an ad for a plastics exhibition in Dusseldorf. Touted as the World’s largest plastics show, I thought I should go to see what they had. I placed the journal, open to the page in front of my boss Ross Rippinger and made my pitch. As a plastics manufacturer we should be on top of everything plastic.

At first, Ross commented that we also have the world’s largest show right here in Chicago. He was right, but I argued that many foreign companies don’t exhibit in the USA, and we may be missing ideas we could benefit from. He kept the article and told me he’d think about it. What that meant was he would need to get approval from the CEO-owner of the company.

A week later, Ross told me we were approved to go. Wow! I thought to myself, ‘This is amazing; the boss actually agrees with me, or at least he agrees with Ross.’

Ross had his secretary Joyce make all the arrangements. We flew United Airlines to Frankfurt and were met by Werner, our contact from the Bad Hamburg office. He was assigned to us during our mission. Werner set up several visits with customers who never gave him the time of day, but when he told them the VP from America wanted to visit, the door opened. We spent a week wining and dining with customers and sight seeing with Werner in the evenings.

Ross rented a car to use for the remaining week of our trip to the exhibit. Ross was the alpha male, and he drove everywhere we went; I navigated. Somewhere along the way, I made the sad mistake of telling him that I took German in high school. That made me the resident expert in all things German. The only thing I didn’t like about Germany was the traffic. Everything else, towns, malls, roads, people were distinctly different from the USA. I loved the autobahn, because it didn’t have speed limits except inside cities. All the autobahn roads were three lanes wide. The inner lane is for very slow moving vehicles, the center lane is for passing and moderately fast cars. The left most lane was for passing and traveling at the speed of light.

Our routine was to commute twenty miles from the hotel in Cologne (Köln) to the Messe (exhibition center) in Düsseldorf. The autobahn was solid, with three lanes of traffic for the entire time, and regularly took us over an hour to negotiate. The place was mobbed when we arrived. It seems the locals knew to get there early. Ross and I split the Messe, which is comprised of thirteen buildings, and agreed to meet for lunch. He was the expert on molding machines and controls. I specialized in mold making and molding which constitutes the conversion of solid pellets into fluid and delivering the fluid into the cavity. The one difference I spotted immediately was that most of the foreign molding systems were slow. They relied on heavy runners which take forever to solidify enough to eject, but at the same time they ejected parts onto a conveyor under the mold. Our systems used skinny runners and our cycle times were very fast. Instead of waiting for the shot to cool we used human operators to strip the hot shot from the mold and to position it into a degater. I didn’t see technology better than ours on that first trip. Several years later I began to notice technology that was more advanced than what we used.

Ross and I spent each day exploring and re-exploring technology until the show shut down at six. Then it was party time. Our routine was to head for old Dusseldorf and look for a fun place to eat. With an hour long drive ahead of us we didn’t drink much at all. One night we decided to take a different route back to Cologne and we followed a road along the Rhine river through the city. I could see the tower of the magnificent cathedral within one block from our hotel. Traffic was heavy and became slow, very slow, it was stop and go slow. After thirty minutes of this crawling line I began to figure out what was happening. We were in line to go to the hockey stadium and were only a few minutes from entering a garage parking lot. Luckily, we were able to make a u-turn out of there and back to the road to our hotel. On another night, we missed the exit leading into old Dusseldorf and wound up speeding into the darkness of the countryside. This time, I used the glow of the city lights to direct us back on track. We spent our sightseeing time driving in the darkness of November nights. Once we got into the outskirts of the city we decided to ask for directions and stopped at a gas station that is best described as two pumps in front of a darkly lit building. I had a map in hand and used my German to ask for directions, but got hung up on a single word. The man kept telling me with his hands to go toward a point on the map and then, using his hands to turn linx. It took me twenty minutes to remember that the word linx means left. Eventually we found our way out of the outskirts and into the city.

The dreams are so vivid and detailed, I feel I am there again.

Living in the Fifties

A friend sent me this video and said I might be interested. Of course, I opened it and watched it immediately. He was right, I was interested, and I loved it. It is hard to imagine that a person in 2025 has the discipline that it takes to live a 1950’s lifestyle. The young woman in the video is impressive. Her attitude is that of a disciplined marine. Imagine not having the internet, a cell phone, panty hose, and a modern car. Although I believe the car she drives has been updated mechanically and is the equivalent of a modern one, except that it is better looking than any modern auto.

Another service that is different from the fifties is medical care. I’m positive that if her husband was rushed to the hospital with a heart attack, she would not resist modern treatment. However, her kids would be better educated and pass minimum math and reading standards if they attended 1950s-level public schools. Her house is large enough for her family but lacks a 2025 theater room with only a single bathroom. The taxes on her house are affordable even in 2025.

She might have a valid point and become a trend setter. I grew up in the fifties, and agree that life was good then.

Weather?

One of my memories about the weather is from February in the nineteen forties. Similar to this year’s weather, we had an unusual February warmup. I was still in grammar school, probably the fourth grade. Back then we had recess at mid-morning and we were let loose to run off steam for fifteen minutes. Because it was February, we had winter coats, hats mittens, scarves and boots. By lunch time. when we had an hour off, the temperature was in the seventies. Most kids removed their coats and left them on the ground until the bell rang to come in. Being a good son, I heeded Mother’s orders to leave my coat on. Playing tag while wearing a winter coat during a seventy degree day was a sweating experience. Sis and I were the only ones in the entire school yard with coats on.

I remember this because today, 8 February 2024, the temperature is expected to reach fifty-five degrees. A far degree from seventy but no less unusually warm. I expect the sirens of global warming to be singing in the breeze and on TV news: “The warm weather we now experience is due to man-made global warming; go out and buy an electric car today.”

Mother was a stickler for staying healthy. She blamed all childhood illnesses on winter weather. Her advice was never to go outside without a coat on in any month that has the letter “R” in it. That left us with May, June, July, and August to enjoy the weather without wearing a coat. Strange that those four months happen to coincide with the Summer season. Never mind that during any of those months the temperature can drop by thirty degrees within an hour making one wish for a coat to wear. Another of her favorite admonitions was, “never sit on the bare concrete in months containing the letter “R”.

Global weather patterns exist twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and three hundred sixty-five days a year and have been changing regularly in cycles controlled by the sun’s activity. How can that be? You ask? The sun is ninety-three million miles away from Earth. Yet, my friends the sun has an enormous effect on our weather patterns. A single solar flare can disrupt our electronics in ways we fail to imagine. The sun is just a mammoth ball of fire being fueled by gasses coming from it’s core. One large pocket of gas being expelled from an inner chamber will cause a flare that sends a ball of energy speeding through the universe that changes many things on our planet and all the others in our Solar System. ( A more picturesque way to explain this phenom is a bit crass but very graphic: Liken a solar flare to a human fart. It has an effect on those nearby.”

That said, on a wintery day in February, it is time to put on a light coat and go for a walk.

Brrrrrr

Well, I survived another day in paradise. My sanity should be in question, as Illinois is far from being a paradise, but since I’ve lived here all my life, I must love it as if it were a paradise. The weather has finally turned into winter, and not one of the pansy winters we have experienced over the past ten years, but a real bona fide winter. The day time temperature has hovered at minus 16 C (for the less scientific part of the world that is 1 F). I like the Fahrenheit number better because it appears to be warmer, but minus sixteen Celcius, and plus one degree Fahrenheit are identical in what we feel. It doesn’t matter, this is not shirt sleeve weather. In fact, it is long underwear weather, along with a knit cap pulled down over the ears and then topped with a hood; hands are gloved. Thermal lined boots are preferred for outdoor activity. Outdoor activity can be likened to wearing an astronaut suit on the moon.

Automobiles take a hit during these times as the wiper blades and door seals all tend to freeze to their surfaces. Tires are stiff, and the ride is bumpy, and the first time one sits on the seat, it feels like a board, and the freezing temperature is convected directly to the ass providing an uncomfortable thrill that is hard to describe. The breath is immediately converted to a cloud that will fog up eyeglasses and the windows as the moisture immediately freezes on the icy cold surfaces.

One thrill of the day is bundling up to walk out to the street to retrieve the mail, which is usually of the junk variety. One thing for sure is that I don’t waste much time with this task. Bringing frozen mail into a warm house is also a treat for Lovely who likes to see what the postman delivered for her.

The low temperature we are experiencing is the result of last week’s snowstorm, which dumped six inches of white stuff into our area. Thankfully, our village provides a street cleaning service, and within a few hours, the street has a path cleared for vehicles. What the village does not provide is a service to clear the snow it pushed off the street onto our driveways. It is the homeowners responsibiity to clear driveways and side walks. The worst of it is the huge pile of snow that the plow deposited onto the entrance to the drive. If not cleared within a few hours of falling, this snow freezes into a mass that will bend a shovel when trying to clear it. Shoveling snow is not fun, but shoveling frozen snow is worse.

This year, I am thankful that my step-grandson lives with us, and I prevailed upon him to do the job. Thank you Lord!

Another joy is watching the color of a car change from whatever color it is into a dirty white as the tires spray wet, slushy snow mixed with salt over all windows and colored surfaces. In years past, before the car companies began rust-proofing car bodies the ice melter of choice was salt. If not washed soon after a snow storm the salt began rusting steel, and car bodies were sporting holes around the perimeter. Thankfully, dipping car bodies in a solution that prevents rust has kept it from forming as quickly as it did in the past. My previous cars were rusted through within seven years in the 1960’s but my current car is 18 years old this year and it does not sport any rust.

Many people see pictures of snowy scenes that give them a fairy-like aura. I am one of those who loves to watch snow falling and covering everything in the yards and fields. The fresh, pure white snow makes everything so pure. After two days the same pure scenery becomes somewhat soiled by the machinery of life. Snowplows, cars, trucks all spread road dirt onto snow covered things and soon they are dull grey, and the purity of it is lost. Even the animals of the wild serve to upset the beauty by leaving their tracks in the unspoiled blanket covering the earth.

When the temperature rises, and the sun shines brightly on the snowy scenes the melting begins leaving large puddles of water along roadsides. Moving vehicles spread this icy water back onto the snow. Walking in these areas is difficult and often dangerous which moves people to walk on the shoveled streets. Crossing from the street to a business walkway means crossing deep piles of mushy snow at the curb. Often the pile is icy and slippery. Walking around town is not a pleasant when conditions are as described.

If this turns into a winter of daily snowfalls, things get more slippery and difficult to negotiate. Streetside piles get higher and deeper, turning the bucolic winter scenery into grotesque scenes that are hard to look at. Yet, we the people who live in this climate are forced to look at the grotesqueness daily for months at a time. It is our burden to bear for wanting to live here. We forget winter quickly as spring arrives and the grey snowpiles have melted and flowed away, and they are replaced by new life coming from the trees, shrubs, and the Earth. We enter the nine months of spring, summer, and fall during which the scenery is fabulous, the temperature more moderate, and life more enjoyable.

A Wordy Post About Stuff

One problem with writing a post everyday is finding themes. In that regard I admire Daniel Greenfield who writes for his blog called Sultan of Knish. He posts several times a week and each time it is an academic essay on some aspect of politics or world affairs. His posts are between 1200 and 3200 words each time. On the other hand, when I am in good form I will post about three times a week and average about 600 words. Lately, my posts are about four times a month, and I am having difficulty thinking of stuff to write about.

I wouldn’t be surprised if someone labels me racist again, because when Obama was president he did so many things I disagreed with that I couldn’t stop writing negatively about him. When Trump was president, I didn’t want to fan the fires of those who were against him because the press didn’t need any help from me. Biden on the other hand hasn’t done anything I like, and I believe he is destroying the country. Biden is making Obama look like an amateur when it comes to stupid policies and stupid governance. I don’t want to waste my time repeating what the daily news is already doing. Besides sleepy Joe is an old timer like me, and I won’t pick on someone who can’t help himself because his brain has stopped functioning. There is nothing sadder in life than watching a person who was a fireball while younger, and who has lost it to Alzheimer’s. I saw what happened with my wife, and it is truly saddening that so many people end their time on earth by slowly losing their memory to the point where they forget how to breath.

One memory invoked by Sleepy Joe is the era of Jimmy Carter when inflation kept rising and the Federal Reserve couldn’t do anything but raise interest rates to 16%. It was a great time for people with cash who could buy Certificates of Deposit earning a 16% return for a five year period. They advanced the size of their savings dramatically. The high interest rate eventually worked, and the economy adjusted so the rates began to drop, and about the time the 16% CD’s matured the rates were back to a paltry 3%. So for anyone looking at how long this pain will last history says it will be at least five years after the current rates rise to 16%.

For the past twelve years we have enjoyed an economy that was operating on free money. Loans were down to the low 3.0% range and that allowed many people to buy the house of their dreams. Those who had cash in the bank were sadly only making 0.1 % on their savings. Most people invested in stocks to make decent money. My retirement has been happy because of the earnings I have received, but I’m not so sure I will be happy moving forward as the economy begins to falter. My advisor continues to admonish me to look at the long run, and not the short term. Excuse me, but just how much longer do I have? Ten minutes, ten days, ten months, ten years? I worry that my paltry portfolio will not be strong enough to keep me going for the duration.

Last week I went into a McAllister’s deli for a sandwich($20 for a cup of soup and a six inch sandwich), and I swear the lady who took my order was older than me. I had a vision of me behind the counter making sandwiches, and that is not appealing. I’d rather spend my time standing in the middle of busy intersection dodging traffic with a bucket in my shaky hand collecting money for my Lions club.

In the good old days everyone was a farmer who worked until he died. It was only after the industrial revolution, and the Great Depression that people began looking at work as a forty-five year duration. Pensions, vacation, and medical insurance all became perks for workers. These benefits were being offered by companies desperate for help. With Trump’s economy we saw a huge shortage of help, but I didn’t see anyone offering huge new benefits to lure workers to their factories. About the most extreme benefit I saw was the work from home model which came because of Covid. Let’s hope things get better sooner than later.

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