Don's Tuesday Column

THE WAY I SEE IT by Don Polson      Red Bluff Daily News 12/09/2025

        And then there was the time...

As the once unimaginable birthday number 75 approaches in 11 days, nearly 38 of those years have been spent in this little town, Red Bluff, and a county that still impresses with its mountains east and west, its rivers and creeks, farmlands and orchards. 

There are villages populated by so many folks I’ve yet to meet and know. There’s nothing unique about reminiscing (we all do from time to time) about a life that spanned a birth in Normal, Illinois; a childhood in Heyworth, central Illinois; upstate New York for grade school in Canastota and a Lutheran church in Oneida; and Putnam City Central junior high in Oklahoma City.

That almost nomadic family life, driven by Dad’s manufacturing management jobs, took us to Chicago’s northeast side surrounded by the suburbs of Niles, Morton Grove and Park Ridge, and into that city’s high schools: Taft and Lane Tech. Graduation would have to wait until a final family move to Hobart, Indiana.

Once Valparaiso University and its courses lost my interest, that personal nomadic journey found me in a “step van” on its way to California’s cities: San Diego, Santa Barbara and Los Angeles, where a charming young lady caught my eye at country-western dance lesson night at the Longhorn Saloon in Canoga Park in the San Fernando Valley on April Fools day, 1984. A September wedding 18 months later at the Peter Strauss Ranch in the Santa Monica mountains kicked off what is now a 40-year long marriage.

That Bob Seeger song, “Like a Rock,” pricks waves of nostalgia for youthful optimism, strength, ambition and nearly limitless potential, which many readers can relate to, whether lifelong local residents, or transplants like ourselves. Those 38+ years have spawned experiences ranging from restaurant management, to real estate sales and service and, since 2010, a retirement devoted to recreation and travel with my beloved bride, returning to our Red Bluff home in between those pastimes. It’s been the stuff of biographies and legends, if only in our own minds.

So, the lines from Seeger’s song now register: “[Forty] years now; Where'd they go? [Forty] years—I don't know. I sit and I wonder sometimes, Where they've gone.”

There was the time Barbara applied for an executive position in Red Bluff’s Department of Water Resources, traveled that 500 miles for an interview, and accepted a position that prompted hiring some guys to fill a moving van for the journey up north. The Breakers apartments north of Denny’s is where we landed, in a second floor unit because the ground floor was subject to flooding, which simply wouldn’t do for a DWR employee.

After a few years, the urge to plant roots found us a home on Saint Marys Avenue, surrounded by mostly empty space, except for our immediate neighbors, and the chance to purchase the empty lot next door to secure that space for our own. Those working years were filled with lengthy bicycle rides, the running having been given up due to tendinitis in my feet, and swimming—once (only once) in the Sacramento River before the pool membership.

Managing restaurants provided “the good, the bad and the ugly” of work experiences, as a 50-hour work week was never enough to handle the unlimited responsibilities. Even the addition of assistant managers and crew leaders only marginally lessened the load as their mistakes only pointed to the manager’s shortcomings, in the critical eyes of higher ups.

Whether Burger Kings in Corning, Red Bluff or Redding, an Arbys in Thousand Oaks, or even a Taco Bell in Reseda, Los Angeles in 1984, some things remain consistent: The stress of never having a day, or even a vacation, without the jeopardy of having something come back on you, some minor/major catastrophe that neutralizes any sense of relief or relaxation (not unlike real estate).

Then there are the times “kids” give you more cooperation than they give their parents, such cooperation being essential to get and keep the “numbers” where roving supervisors demand they be kept. The labor hours and costs, the inventory levels, the endless obsession with every square inch of parking lot, dining area, and kitchen being clean (said cleanliness ending minutes after being achieved).

Heck, I even had to leave a Christmas day’s enjoyment when a call from the security company informed me that there was a “break-in” at the Antelope Avenue Burger King I managed. No, it was just a customer opening a door left unlocked by the previous night’s manager. It’s a wonder I still have a good hairline.

Then there are the “war stories” that any real estate professional can share, endlessly as it were. You don’t know what it’s like to have other people’s mistakes and misrepresentations come down on your legal head—it’s why they have “errors and omissions” insurance. There was a Christmas day ruined when folks moving into a home called because they couldn’t figure out where the smoke from the wood stove went.

So, then there’s the day I have to sadly tell readers that my 25 years of column-writing days are ending, or at least on hiatus for the months of skiing. Two things can’t occupy the same space in time, and the early morning hours it takes to write a column don’t allow for skiing that same day; the skiing is more important at this point in life with lab reports and images potentially requiring major changes.

I hope this finds you in good health, with warm, rewarding loved ones and friends to comfort you, hopefully as much as Barbara comforts me. The greatest gift the Lord has given me is her love; may it be thus for you, too.