The Most Grateful Time of the Year

By Tom Johnson

I can’t say I’ve been in the Christmas spirit to date, but I feel like I’m getting there.

Yesterday, as I now open up my medical history to you, I went into Hoag Hospital for what’s called a cardio conversion. It’s what needs to happen when your heart goes into atrial fibrillation or, more simply put, into a flutter.

But before Friday and the big day gets here, I have some Christmas wishes to pass out. The danger of a column like this is whom you might miss, so in advance, I know I will miss a lot of people who are very special to my life, I apologize to you in advance.

Let’s start with community involvement: it takes a very special breed to bring about good. Gordon Bowley, Rick Kapko, Katrina Foley and John Ursini are just a few who work so hard in Costa Mesa to better kids' athletic lives.

At Hoag Hospital, every nurse and doctor should head any list. But, to me, 2009 puts Mary and Dick Allen at the top of Santa’s list for their compassionate endeavor to open the new diabetes center affiliated with Hoag.

Heather Harwell, Jim Coufos, Rick Martin and Judy Bethe thrill me with their effort to promote a very special Choose Nursing, Choose Hoag program that improves every patient’s care.

Dan Monahan and Mike Scheafer work locally with the Harbor Area Boys & Girls Club that serves, well, kids. Lots of them. And, many of them, need that special help to keep them off our streets.

There’s Karen McGlinn and Karen Harrington with Share Ourselves, Shannon Santos at the Soup Kitchen and Kathy DuVernet, Youth Employment Services, to name a few who help those in need throughout our community.

It reminds me of a week ago when driving back to the office following lunch at Wahoo’s, I mentioned to my business partner, Bill Lobdell, that I really should find time to volunteer during the holidays.

Bill’s comment, in hindsight, made so much sense. “If you want to volunteer, wait until after the holidays. Now, everyone feels the need to volunteer because of the season, but the rest of the year, those same groups really need volunteers.”

Makes a lot of sense.

Additionally, I appreciate our elected officials, from Mansoor and Bever in Costa Mesa to Selich and Curry in Newport Beach. Black and Yelsey on the school board to Moorlach at the county supervisor level.

Then on the personal front, I’m very thankful. I mentioned Lobdell earlier, but it’s great trying to figure out the business world and our future with him.

Of course, anyone who knows me knows I love my ex-wife Lana and her wonderful role in not only our business endeavors but with raising a daughter together.

I have a great group of friends that no one else would admit to, including our old fire chief Tim Riley, my buddy Bob McDaniel, Bill Pierpoint, Chris Wynkoop and Brett Hemphill, to name a few.

And, so I don’t get in trouble, even you, Ray.

On the home front, life couldn’t be better: my wife, Vicki, daughters, Ashley and Victoria, make everyday the best it can be. They are forgiving, offer understanding and, well, everything a guy could ask for. Let's just say, I'm lucky in love on all fronts.

To Newport Beach and Costa Mesa, I love you and wish you the best of holidays and look forward to a great 2010…together.

Thanks for being there.

Tom Johnson is co-publisher of the Daily Voice.

Who cares? The Newport Beach City Council

By Tom Johnson

I sat up last night and blogged on the Newport Beach City Council meeting.

Now, don’t get me wrong. They’re a fine, dedicated bunch. I appreciate my garbage being picked up weekly. I even appreciate them occasionally taking that extra can or two.

I also appreciate their concern for traffic, on keeping our neighborhoods clean and so on.

You know, if you know the council members, and I do, I also appreciate the fact that they’re willing to sit up there in front on Newport TV and all of our citizenry and handle the affairs of our fair city.

I watched from home and tried to blog on nearly every move from the council chambers.

I have to be honest, occasionally, the head falls and you realize sleep is just a nod away.

But wait, there’s another speaker.

Here’s my question, does Mayor Ed Selich or any of the mayors who preceded him ever just want to yell, “Enough is enough! I’ve heard it all, your arguments aren’t going to change my mind, etc. and so on.”

Water issues.

Who cares? Just turn on the tap and there’s all you need.

Who cares if Chronic Tacos serves tacos or beer? And so what if they don’t have enough parking?

We pass out CBDG grants. But who really cares?

Someone, make that two people, are running for the Building and Fire Board of Appeals.

Who cares?

We’re going to assign a task force to look at cycling safety throughout our city.

Really?

Put on a helmet, stay to the right and everything should be fine.

There are Environmental Impact Studies, business improvement districts, appeals and denials of permits.

We write complaints about our council members when we disagree with them.

We criticize them when problems come to our cities.

Yet, in all honesty, our council members make a commitment to us everyday to work hard to improving our city.

Last night was unique.

Our council interacted with our new city manager.

Dave Kiff.

Dave took control.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I loved Homer Bludau and consider him a good friend.

But tonight, as the council members questioned our city staff, led by Dave Kiff, I felt comforted that we have someone at the helm looking out for all of us.

As I sat there blogging to God knows who, I thought about these wonderful people: Keith Curry, Ed Selich, Nancy Gardner, Leslie Daigle, Don Webb, Mike Henn and Steve Rosansky.

Now I might not always agree with them on issues that face our city, but one thing I won’t argue is that their commitment to making Newport Beach a special place should not be questioned.

To me, they’re a special breed. And we should be thankful. They care.

Tom Johnson is the co-publisher of the Daily Voice. You can e-mail him here.

Not Just A Walk In the Park!

By Tom Johnson

The phone call came over the weekend.  It was my daughter, Ashley.

“Hi Dad,” she said in an overly happy voice.

I don’t know if it’s a father’s instinct or what, but you know when the “ask” of a favor is coming.

“I was wondering if I could drop my car off to you on Sunday night and, then on Monday morning, you could take it into the dealer for some repairs,” she said.

Translation: Dad, I can’t be without a car, so I’ll come get yours, while mine’s in the shop and, hence, you’ll be without.

Hey, no problem.

I did what most fathers would do for their daughters. I said, “Of course.”

Sunday night she came by, pointed out the repairs needed and left with my vehicle.

Monday morning came and I drove hers to the dealership and dropped it off.

The dealership offered me a ride back to the office, but knowing I could use any exercise, I walked the few blocks.

As a reward for the several blocks of exercise, I stopped off at a donut shop on the way for a healthy glazed old-fashion and a cup of coffee.

Nothing like good exercise and the diet to go with it.

Later in the morning the dealership called and said that one of the parts needed was on back order. It would take another day.

So that night I walked home.

Block, after block, after block.

When you’re out of shape, funny things go through your mind.  “Can I die just walking home?’

The answer, of course, was no.

At home I took refuge in my usual spot. No, not on the treadmill, but on the couch.

Legs outstretched on the coffee table.

As the evening went on, I realized I had a 7:30 meeting the next morning and no car to get there (my wife leaves the house much earlier for her job).

Even after getting to bed well after midnight, I set the alarm early, allowing for the long walk to get there.

It’s hard to calculate just how long a good walk will take. And so, as the start of the meeting came and went with me still five or six blocks away, the pace quickened.

One might not think it’s hot at 7:30 in the morning, but as I walked into the meeting with sweat dripping off my brow, slightly out of breath, I was proof that it was.

The meeting lasted just long enough for me to cool down and get ready for the next leg of my adventure.

As the clock moved towards nine o’clock, I was off again on the sidewalks and streets of Newport Beach and Costa Mesa.  This, however, was the longest walk yet.

Shortly into it, I could feel the endorphins kick in. Health was consuming my body.

Down one street, cut across another, let’s try an alley. I saw houses and places I’ve never seen before.

But finally, the vision of my office came into focus, off in the distance; so did that donut shop from the day before.

Left for the office, right for the donut shop.  A difficult training decision.

I decided to think it over … over another glazed old-fashion and a cup of coffee.

Later, back in the office, the day went on and I actually was looking forward to getting my car back. And so were my legs.

But, lo and behold, the dealership calls and, yes, that same part has come in, but is damaged.

Translation: another day of walking.

The good news is realizing that after a good, long walk tomorrow morning, not only will my office be waiting at the same time and same place, but more importantly, that donut shop will have another fresh old-fashion on the rack.

Boy, this walking and getting into shape life is good.

Tom Johnson is co-publisher of the Newport-Mesa Daily Voice.

 

Who Is the Old Man in the Mirror?

I looked in the mirror this morning and didn’t like what I saw. This old man was staring back at me.

I did the shifting pose back and forth, tilting and raising my head from side-to-side, trying to find “my good side,” but it didn’t help.

It reminded me of an e-mail I got from a friend last week. It was titled: “The Meaning of Life.”  It read: “Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what the heck happened.”

That’s me.

Now, I realize that I was never in contention to win any beauty contests, but that’s besides the point.

To me, it seems like just a few years ago when I, a somewhat cute little freckled-faced kid, was playing with childhood friends in the streets and fields of Pleasanton, a small town in northern California. 

And it seems like yesterday when my beautiful daughter Ashley was just a toddler, bounding around the living room, falling into furniture. Ashley today is 26 years old.

I even remember in my mid-30s when I got my first newspaper publisher’s job and thought the whole world was ahead of me.

So who is this old guy staring back at me in the mirror?

Last week I went to visit one of my many doctors. You know, it’s funny, the older you get, the more doctors you seem to get to know.

My personal list includes a nephrologist (kidney), a neurologist, my regular physician and now a dermatologist.

When you’re young, you go to a dermatologist to get rid of acne. The self-help method I learned was to take an alcohol pad, wipe your face and then spend time out in the sun to get your face dried out.

On the flip side, when you get old, you return to the dermatologist to get the pre-cancer problems cut out of the face you tried so hard to fix four decades ago with the sun.

Last week I had a chunk cut out of my forehead, one out of my cheek, one out of my neck and one from my forearm. Unfortunately, this wasn’t my first visit.

The stitches afterward didn’t bother me, but the Coumadin I take for blood thinning caused a fully closed black left eye. That bothered me.

When I was out and about this weekend I ran into several young people I know. They took one look at my face gave me a puzzled look that said, “What the heck happened to you?”

I told them I had just participated in my first MMA (mixed martial arts) fight.

They chuckled back and the meaning came through loud and clear, “Isn’t he a cute old man.”

My daughter and her boyfriend came over a couple of weeks ago to settle an argument. The boyfriend said I had gray hair, my daughter argued brown. Although I wasn’t involved, I probably would have thrown beige into the mix for my dramatically receding hairline. (Unfortunately, the boyfriend won the argument -- by a hair or two.)

Still, I find myself holding the doors open for older people, or giving up my seat to someone; last week I offered to carry something to an elderly stranger’s car that appeared too heavy

But who am I trying to kid?

It is me, the old man in the mirror, with a reminder; we all better enjoy the ride while it lasts.

Tom Johnson is co-publisher of the Daily Voice. You can e-mail him here