On this week's Keepin' It Real, Cam's visit to a hotel on the Gulf this wekend got Cam to thinking about how some people, well, they just don't get it...

-----

Tuesday I checked into a hotel in Gulf Shores at the Gulf State Lodge. “Where is the free parking?” I asked. “We don’t have any. You can pay to park or pay a little extra and I’ll park it.” This is the bell staff at the front door. I handed him my car key. “Where is a luggage cart? I have a bunch of stuff to get to my room for my workshop tomorrow.” “Guests aren’t allowed to use luggage carts. Only bell staff.” “So for me to take my stuff to my room I’d need to take multiple trips?” I asked. “Yes. But you can’t leave your stuff here.” “So the only way to comply is to ask you to assist me to my room.” “Something like that. We only allow bell staff to move luggage. Guests can’t move their own luggage.” I’m not liking this. Southern hotels confuse politeness with hospitality. He was very polite. He was not hospitable. What this hotel is thinking is customer service is to me nothing but angling for tips and making my trip more expensive. I’m not happy but trying to not let it get to me. My wife has me writing a gratitude journal because, apparently I’m good at noticing when things conspire against me.

The bellman walked my luggage and me to my hotel room and I’m working to change my first impression. Gratitude, I’m repeating to myself. Gratitude. Along the way he pointed to some construction happening between the hotel and the water’s edge and he shared that if I were to come back in the spring my room would overlook a new large adult pool. Oh, man. Did you hear it? This was it. This was going to change things. A dangling modifier. Oh MAN. This is fuel of bad dad jokes. This is candy for self-appointed funny people like me. For centuries dads have pounced on dangling modifiers to get chuckles from strangers and eye rolls from family. The bellman’s laughter would completely change how I felt about this hotel.

My mind quickly began preparing. The timing and delivery had to be perfect. I started thinking forward to how and when and where. The bellman helped me into my hotel room and unloaded his sacred luggage cart. I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. It was time. “So,” I said, “next spring if I were to check in this room and pull back the curtains just like this, I’d get an eye-full or large adults? I’m not so sure I’d want that. Certainly not want to pay extra for that view.” There it was. So well done. Masterfully delivered.

I could see no scars around his face or head where his humor had been surgically removed but that could be the only explanation. “No,” he said, “the pool will be large. It will be a large pool.” I gave him twenty dollars, and he turned and pushed his sacred cart into the hall. “Thank you,” he said, stuffing the money into his pocket. He thought it was a tip, but I was paying him to go away.

I’m Cam Marston just trying to Keep it Real.

In today's Keepin It Real, Cam Marston laments the significant changes happening to the things that he once believed were fixed in place. Attitudes and beliefs once firmly held are vanishing. Even predictable things like football rankings have been deeply shaken.

-----

To say that our world is undergoing a remarkable paradigm shift today is a ridiculous understatement. Each morning I look over the headlines prepared to be blown away by how formerly predictable things are now upside down or simply gone.

On the political front, an economist at a meeting a few years back told us it was coming. Political parties flip flop on key issues, he said, suddenly deciding that their power would be enhanced if they adopted the other party’s position. He drew a four quadrant chart, showing how the parties were moving to replace each other on key positions. The Economist Magazine years ago wrote that the Republican’s belief in balanced budgets and free trade would help the world by creating tighter alliances and enhanced dependance between countries to provide goods and services. Today, the Republicans are the party of the tariff and are working to eliminate treaties and alliances. The Democrats are now the ones trying to protect alliances and reduce tariffs. A complete flip flop. How does one abandon deeply held economic principles so quickly?

It used to be that the Republicans were the party that championed character and integrity and honesty and truthfulness. They told Nixon they would no longer support him and encouraged him to resign when they learned he had willfully broken the law. They thrashed Bill Clinton when they learned of his affairs, saying he was morally unfit for the Presidency. Today? It’s hard to imagine a leader with more dubious character and lack of ethics. His transgression list is a mile long. And today’s Republicans? Not a word from them about it. They’re good with it. The party of character and integrity is gone. How does one so quickly abandon character and integrity?

We all once believed that playing time on the college football field was earned through quietly paying your dues and waiting your turn. We believed that the players on the field had earned their way onto the field and along the way they had developed a loyalty and appreciation for their school. We cheered for them because they had worked hard and waited in line and would love their alma mater just like so many of us do. Today? That’s gone. Each game is the mercenaries versus the hessians. I wonder if they even know what team’s jersey they wear and if they’ve ever been in a classroom at their school. I watch the games but I get sick when the announcer says a player is on his third school in three years. I watch but I don’t like it like I used to.

The final paradigm shift is that the mighty Alabama Crimson Tide lost their season opener and is ranked 21st in the second week of the season. Free trade gone. The republican’s loss of ethics. No longer paying your dues to get playing time on the field. None of that compares the paradigm shift of the Tide being ranked 21st in week two. That’s the one that gets me. That’s the one that tells me things have gone squirrely. I bury my head in my hands and worry about what’s next. It can’t be worse than this.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam discusses his largely sedentary life and the fulfillment he gets on the rare occasions he can see the results of his work.

-----

Most weeks, my work mainly involves pushing electrons around. I sit at a computer and do stuff. Recently it’s been requests for short training videos for clients to use with their teams. I write scripts, edit scripts and record videos. Other weeks I prepare presentations. Lots of PowerPoint editing, lots of rehearsing content. Lots of time online. Lots of buying tickets. It’s all sedentary stuff. Me plus a keyboard plus a computer plus a screen, pushing electrons.

Last Saturday, though, was different. I was in Clark County at my father’s property near Grove Hill. I climbed on a tractor shortly after 7:30am. It’s a small John Deere with a scoop on the front and a mower on the back. I didn’t climb off until well after 2pm. For about seven hours I mowed and pushed downed trees out of roads and fields. I was bitten by every biting insect in North America. My arms and neck got burned. My work pants smelled of diesel fuel. I added a couple more tears to my already torn work TShirt. My socks balled up inside my boots, sweaty, and my back hurt from lifting 50 lb bags of wheat. When I washed my hands, the white sink turned brown with dirt and dust that had stuck to my sweaty arms. A mystery bruise was beginning to ache and turn purple on my shoulder. I sat down in my father’s small camp, told him I’m just going to close my eyes for a second, and fell solidly asleep. And I was deeply deeply happy.

Pushing electrons is what I’ve chosen to do for a living. At the end of every day, I typically leave my office with my checklist complete. I make a large one on Monday, add a little bit to it each day, cross some stuff off, and by Friday have largely worked through it. But I do not get the satisfaction of seeing the fruits of my work. At the end of the bricklayer’s workday, he can step back and see the progress he’s made. He started there in the morning and is now finishing here. His progress is easy to see. Pushing electrons doesn’t offer the same satisfaction. But that was not the case last Saturday. Fields and roads were mown. Trees were pushed away. Progress was obvious. And it felt good. And tiring. The soreness was welcome. And the nap on the couch was earned.

Fall means it’s time to cut firewood. It’s the wood we’ll use next fall, giving it a year to season and dry on the rack. I love cutting firewood. The feel of the chainsaw, going from tree to log to cut wood pieces to split pieces and the stack slowly growing in front of me. My hands rough and my back aching. Later, a cold beer and college football. And the sleep that night is an earned slumber.

I live a largely sedentary life. I go to work and sit. Then on to a meeting and sit. Then on to the next place and sit. A day seeing the progress of my work is needed every now and then. Strangely, the bruises and the soreness and the exhaustion make me feel alive.

I’m Cam Marston, just trying to keep it real.

On this week’s Keepin’ It Real, Cam has a message for parents whose children are playing high school sports as his youngest children enter their final year of high school. Every high school sport is suffering from a shortage of officials and referees. Zip it, he says, please just zip it.

-----

The second contact on a volleyball can be a double contact so long as it’s one attempt and doesn’t go over the net. That’s a new volleyball rule set to begin this season. For years parents in the stands would holler “double” whenever they saw what they thought was a double touch on the ball on the second attempt. Now that rule is gone. Unless you know volleyball, none of this may make any sense. This rule change is a big deal.

This school year my favorite youngest son and daughter, our twins, begin what will likely be their final experience with organized sports. They’re high schoolers. Last night my daughter’s first volleyball match of the season was in Birmingham. My wife is her coach. Tonight, my son’s football team plays their first game against their archrival.

Both teams require a parent meeting before the season begins. It’s usually held in the school gym or cafeteria and the coaches go over the season’s logistics and such and make their requests of the parents. This may be unique to our school, but my hunch is that it’s the same everywhere. At both this year’s football and volleyball meetings, the coaches implored the parents to leave the referees and officials alone. Both coaches mentioned that there was a shortage of officials. The veteran officials were quitting, and too few new ones were signing up. The reason. One word: parents.

In Texas, the association that manages volleyball officials said that if they feel their officials are treated poorly or threatened, which happens, they will not allow the officials to return to that school, effectively forcing the school to forfeit every home match since the home team is responsible for booking officials. And our football coach told the gathered parents that when the game is over no one is to speak to the officials. They are to be allowed to leave the field and go to their cars without a word from the fans. Violations of this may result in the offending parent not being allowed back into the stadium.

And the problem is spiraling. Since the veteran officials are leaving, the few new ones are being accelerated through their training and are now officiating games at speeds and skill levels beyond their little experience. They’re doing the best they can but likely making poor calls due to inexperience. The parents are losing their minds. And referees and officials are wondering if the little they earn filling this role for the kids and for the sake of the sport is worth it. It’s hard to argue differently.

All this is certainly a part of something larger in our nation today. And I don’t have time right now to hypothesize on what that may be. Just know this: The second contact on a volleyball can be a double contact so long as it’s one attempt and doesn’t go over the net. It’s a new rule. If you see it differently, zip it. The same goes for the holding call. And your fast-food order, that guy in traffic who cut you off, and the reservation agent on the phone. Just zip it. There are already too few people willing to do the job, whatever it is.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

On this week’s Keepin It Real, there are some arrogant folks showing up in Cam’s life these days. They don't’ commiserate with Cam’s struggles. Instead, they gloat...

-----

This is a commentary about a specific kind of quiet arrogance. It’s in the background. But you know it when you hear it. These people are “just reporting the truth,” as they may say. It’s not truth. It’s haughty arrogance. And I’ll tell you where I’ve run up against it recently.

The first is citrus arrogance. I planted a satsuma tree in my yard many years ago and it has never produced one satsuma. I talk it. I water it. I play it Gloria Estafan. It’s leafy and broad and growing, but no fruit. When I ask gardeners, their arrogance explodes. “Oh man!” they say. “My satsuma tree is overcome with satsumas. I bag them and give them to family. Then I bag more and give them to neighbors. Then I bag more and leave them on my curb hoping someone will take them away. I can’t get close to the tree there are so many on the ground. You can probably see them from outer space. I have vitamin C poisoning. Even my dog is eating them” and on and on. “You know,” I say, “You don’t have to boast so much about your dang tree.” “Hey! I’m just reporting the truth.” “Yes. A little too loudly” is my reply. My neighbor says his Satsumas taste like Starburst Fruit Chew candy and he gets tired of eating them. Ugh.

Next are hummingbird people. “Do you have any hummingbirds yet,” they ask. “Yes,” I’ll reply. “The first one arrived a week or so ago. It’s a little female.” “Wow,” they shoot back. “I think I have fifty. Maybe a hundred. I feel like I’m in some sort of war zone with so many hummingbirds flying by my face and the sounds of their wings. You’ve heard what one bird’s wings sounds like? Imagine a hundred buzzing all over the place. It’s a roar. I added a few more feeders to allow them to spread out but they brought in more hummingbirds. I think I have two hundred now. Maybe a thousand. I can’t hardly go outside anymore. Aren’t they magical?” Yes. Like you disappearing right now would be magical. “Hey! I’m just reporting the truth,” they say. Blech.

Finally, orchid people. I have a knotty cypress stump full of holes and I want help turning it into an orchid planter. But having an orchid person in Alabama, Georgia, or Florida call me back with some advice is darn near impossible. “Ha!” I can hear them saying, “If he doesn’t know how to do that, he won’t learn it from me! Our orchid club is closed.” They can cite every orchid’s family, genus, and species articulated perfectly in Latin and they flash a look of contempt when you can’t do the same. It’s a club and they’re quick to point out that you’re not in it. And they won’t tell you how to get in and they won’t return your calls even if you leave several messages at the so called “Master Gardener Hotline.” Which is a crock. They’ll deny it of course. “We’re not arrogant,” they’ll say. “We’re not hoarding information. We’re not trying to keep you out.”

Ha. I’m just reporting the truth.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

The saying is that our dogs will greet us when we get to heaven. I sure hope so. We lost Lucy, our family pet of nine and a half years last night in what was one of the most tragic and heartbreaking nights I’ve ever been a part of. What was diagnosed as kennel cough turned into something different. At 9:30 I was preparing for bed. At 11:30 I was shoveling dirt on top of Lucy’s grave along with my wife and children. We had been at the emergency animal hospital in hopes that they could do something. The dog died in my wife’s arms on the way as I was furiously driving through red lights with the hazard lights flashing and sobs from my wife and daughters crying out. I’ll never forget it. Lucy was a good dog. She was my wife’s dog. We’ve wondered repeatedly what we missed seeing, what we did wrong, my wife especially. Lots of tears late last night. Lots of tears this morning. Losing the dog was hard. Watching my wife lose the dog is what’s hurting so bad.

What is it about the magic of a dog that captures us so? Why do we connect to them so well? So deeply? People have grieved over the loss of pets for centuries. The Egyptians mummified their dogs so they would join them in the afterlife. Odysseus’s dog, Argos, recognizes him after twenty years and Odysseus struggles to hold back tears and that story was written in the 8th century BCE. Dogs make meaningful eye contact. They show emotions. Their personalities become parts of our households. We talk to them. We complain to them. We sing to them. They never complain. They never walk away. They live fully in each moment, and their main aim in life is to please you and me, all for a simple scratch or a belly rub. All they want are these short moments of interaction.

I didn’t realize how much I liked Lucy. She and I had a simple ritual each morning when she’d come to my morning reading chair and place her chin on my knee and ask for attention. I made a fuss of putting my book and coffee down and scratching her, telling her she was selfish and greedy, but I loved it that she wanted my attention; that my attention meant so much to her. I didn’t realize how much I liked her and that I’d be missing her so much right now.

I can see the fresh dirt along the fence in the back yard from the grave we dug last night. There were lots of tears as each of us took turns tossing dirt into the grave. In time the leaves and pine straw will cover the dirt and Lucy will fade in our memories like the other dogs we’ve had. But this one is hurting right now. And the only joy I can find in any of it is the image of Lucy waiting in heaven for my wife. Tail wagging. Head up. Front feet tapping in anticipation.

You were a good dog, Lucy. You’ll be missed.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

This week on Keepin It Real Cam Marston has noticed a trend amongst his empty nester friends and what their hobbies become once the kids are gone. The predictability of it gives him comfort.

-----

In my part of the world, the female empty nester is an interior designer or painter who has been caged by her responsibilities as a mother and once the kids are gone, they finally step into their lifelong artistic fulfillment. It’s a distinct pattern around here. The number of friends my wife and I have who start throwing paint on a canvas or buying furniture at market after the kids are gone is phenomenal.

From what I can tell, they subscribe to Architectural Digest or Southern Living magazines and recreate what they see when they decorate their friend’s houses. Or they have an untapped and remarkable talent for tossing a menagerie of paint colors onto a broad canvas and selling it as a home accent piece at their kid’s school fundraiser or in a corner at their friend’s gallery. It’s not a painting of anything, it’s just colors. They’re going to be rich and famous from their innate ability to create color combinations differently than anyone ever before them, certainly different from anyone around here. Their friends, standing leaning on one hip and holding their stemless wine goblet, ooooh and ahhhh at these masterpieces and offer compliments more effusive than anything Michaelangelo ever got. These same friends unwittingly compare their friends interior design projects with what they just saw in Architectural Digest or Southern Living while they were waiting at the orthodontist with their children. Some of these empty nested women become jewelers. Some become elite, specialized travel agents. Eventually they all sadly back away from their remarkable, God-given talent, find pickleball and only take on special projects for insistent friends. The cost to establish themselves full time in the business was simply too high to continue. Talent was never the issue.

I suspect something similar can be said for the men around here. Once the kids are gone they seem to grow. Eating takes priority when the kids have left the house. They become very interested in the preparing and then doting on brisket or boston butt as it slowly gets to the golden zone, all having powerful theories about getting the meat through what they call “the stall” when the temperature stops rising. Lots of time spent talking in a group standing next to an elaborate cooking device, beer in a koozie held waist high by the top of the can - each complaining that they have more koozies than they know what to do with - and discussing the stall and other brisket or Boston butt mysteries. Then they touch on college football. Then golf. Then hunting or fishing. And then they eat.

I suppose I should welcome this predictability in my world. If any one of these empty nesters suddenly declared they were meant to be a puppeteer or a mime or a treasure hunter I’d worry about them. So long as they’re meant to be a painter, an interior designer, or talk a lot about meat, I know my world is in order. All is right and well and good. Like it or not, I’m home amongst my people.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam Marston got some blowback from a social media post this week. He asks us, "How do you deal with haters?"

-----

One year ago, I set a goal to paddle board across Mobile Bay. I completed that goal in May. The second part of the goal was to write about the challenge and be paid to have it printed. That was completed last week when the story was carried in Mobile Bay Magazine. I will get a small payment in a week or so. A year’s planning, researching, note-taking, exercising, preparing and lots of paddling later, the goal was entirely met. Pretty cool.

Yesterday, Mobile Bay magazine made posts about my paddle with links taking readers to the story and I received a good bit of social media attention as a result. The vast majority of the social media comments were very positive and congratulatory. Today’s commentary is about the ones that weren’t.

No sooner had the magazine posted the story than a handful of people jumped in to denigrate my effort. Some said that my paddle across the Bay wasn’t that hard and that they could do it. Essentially, my effort wasn’t worthy of the attention I was receiving. Others said they know people who swim across the bay and that my paddle, again, wasn’t much of an accomplishment. And let me say again, the vast majority of comments were very positive, but what makes people want to attack other’s accomplishments? What triggers haters?

There’s a type of person that simply can’t let others be acknowledged without debasing their achievements. Unfortunately, they’re everywhere. They lurk in shadows waiting to leap out and knock down someone’s efforts. Is it possible to scroll through social media and NOT attack other’s success? Certainly. But some can’t. Or won’t. What is it about these people?

Remarkably, I sat this morning after reading some of these comments and began questioning if my paddle board crossing was truly that hard? Maybe they were right? Did I overblow the effort seeking some sort of vainglory? It didn’t take long for me to answer No. All aspects of this goal were a difficult challenge and when I finished crossing the Bay the pain and exhaustion I felt were very real. A superhero athlete could have done it easily. Me? It was a true struggle.

Discouragement is a powerful drug. It’s meant to stoke the ego of the pusher. And the ego, unchecked, always compares, elevates and separates. It says I’ve judged you, I’m different and I’m better. It’s the motive of the hater. I knew none of the people who tried to devalue my effort. I think none of them knew me. Anonymity is key to haters.

If there is a message here, it’s one you and I have already heard before - it’s to keep achieving. Keep making things happen. Set goals, do bold and audacious things. Let the haters try to knock you down but don’t flinch. Don’t even turn your head. Accept helpful criticism but ignore the rest. Because when they’re judging, evaluating and separating they’re dying inside due to their personal weakness. We’ll never be rid of them, but we can devalue them. And maybe, in time, like gnats and mosquitos, they’ll go away.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to keep it real.