About My Blog
My intent with this blog is to speak my own truth, to listen to your truth so together we can create the world we want to live in. My solution is to flip the problem on its head and invite all the stakeholders to sit in a circle, share their stories and talk about their hopes/dreams, wants/needs.
Attorneys, Accountants, Bankers, Financial Advisors, Insurance Agents, Lobbyists, Planners - are NOT Stakeholders; they are ADMINISTRATORS. ADMINISTRATORS do not create value. In a systems world, ADMINISTRATORS are non-native plants that threaten the integrity of the system. Systems need to rid themselves of ADMINISTRATORS in order to thrive.
I welcome debate on my blog posts. Please be thoughtful, clear and concise in your comments. I learn something new every day from the people with whom people I connect. If we both listen deeply to each other, the best solution will emerge.
Thank you for listening.
Letter to My Daughters - “In 1946 we were living in Worcester and I was managing a fur business. My income was about $7,000 a year. Mom and I were very happy in our small mortgaged home. Grandpa took a shock at this time. Dr. Beale advised me that day that Grandpa would probably not be able to work again the rest of his life, and, further, if he lost his business, it could kill him.”
Mariah was my THERAPIST. I miss her terribly.
I remember the day Mariah told me she was diagnosed with ALS. My brain would not process Mariah’s words. Mariah was my rock, my inspiration. I needed Mariah and now Mariah was in need. My head, my heart, my life spun out of control. How would I survive if Mariah did not survive?
A father and his thirteen year-old daughter are living an ideal existence in a vast urban park in Portland, Oregon, when a small mistake derails their lives forever.
James A Freaney, my father, was born on August 5, 1916 and passed away on January 8, 1998. I was the person that went through his personal papers, etc. and settled his estate. I was angry that he left me with a big mess - my totally dependent mother, manic-depressive sister and Donna. The living room was piled high with brokerage statements, articles, notes, etc. I tossed everything in site, anxious for a clean start. He had been giving me instructions on how to settle his estate since I was 7 or 8 years old. I was done! I tossed stuff I wish I had now, 20 years after his death.
My father "did the payroll" on the kitchen table on Wednesday nights after dinner. When I was around 10 years old, I was allowed to help. My father showed me how to take the hours from the foreman's notebook, determine if the hours were straight time, time and a half overtime or occasionally double time. Multiply the rate times the hours to calculate Gross Wages.
This year I had the best Christmas ever. I hung out with my Facebook friends, cooked breakfast for Daphne (the dog), ate leftover turkey dinner from New Seasons and drank Manhattans in my father's Red Coach Grill glasses with my father's photograph.
My business education began when my grandfather had a “shock.”. The doctor told my father that my grandfather could never work again AND, if he lost his business it would kill him. As the oldest son in a Boston Irish Catholic Family, my father role was clear. My father sold our little home in Worcester, Massachusetts and we moved to 24 Belmont Street in Weymouth, Massachusetts. My father took over the family business and my education began. I was 6 or 7 years old.