I admit, I never slalomed with grace in my skiing days on Mt Hood. Catching an edge to me was getting in front of the ticket line at 7:59 a.m. Getting in line early meant one more run down the slopes before lunch. In those days there were no chair lifts. Only rope tows. If you wanted to ski from a higher point you herring-boned your way up the remainder of the slope or trudged up in your ski boots (leather lace-ups).

You would think I would learn plenty watching my hero Baz Byrne glide like a pro down the side of the mountain. He was a champion athlete; he slid, I slud.

We were poor kids growing up on Russett St. in Portland, Oregon. Sometimes, when we got shoes from the thrift store, there were only two left. I mean two lefts, no rights. This could explain why I often tumbled on the slopes. My feet were always tangled. It is the story of my life.

I never won contests of skill at anything. I've spent most of my adult years just muddling through my endeavors. Any successes were due to luck.

My brother Russ gave me his beautiful 1929 Model A Ford when he went into the Navy. I knew next to nothing about cars. While working at Boeing in 1941 I noticed the door handle was loose and figured the car was falling apart. I figured I should dump this piece of junk. I put a notice on the Boeing employees bulletin board. A fellow called me and agreed to my selling price of $100. I took the cash and bought a 1937 Plymouth. It broke soon after making me car-less and as it turns out, careless, for a time. That fellow tightened the door handle and gained a classic machine for several more years. We became great fishing buddies often traveling in my old car. I made a life-long friend. I was lucky.

Fishing became a passion for me in my early adult years. A passion I wanted to share with my kids. While hiking along a trail high above the Green River, number five son Scott did not have the stride to breach a gap in the trail, slipping down through the tree roots. I turned to see him disappear. He dangled precariously with one hand grasping a thin root. I reached down to hoist his 70-lb frame back up onto the trail. He was okay. I was stupid for not paying closer attention. We were both lucky.

When I needed to expand my business operations in the early 70's I needed cash and credit. I had little of either. I went to see Mary Dunlap at Sea-First Bank. I was ready to walk out the door, giving up on my plans to grow. Mary rescued me. "you've got assets", she said. "How many staplers and pencil sharpeners do you have?". "What about office chairs and desks," she added. She found a way to loan me the funds. I was grateful and lucky I knew her.

As I begin 2012 I often think about how I have survived. I first married in 1942 and had 26 terrific years with Lee before I lost her to cancer. I remarried and had 43 more wonderful years with Elsbeth before I lost her last year. I cherish loving both those beautiful women. They helped tie my two left shoes. I was lucky.