There is only one thing worse than not achieving a goal and that is achieving it.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Are you a goal-driven individual?

First, do you regularly set goals for yourself?

Do you then plan just how you'll achieve them... and once having planned your work you work your plan?

If this is you, congratulate yourself. You are literally one in a million and the world is your oyster.

In theory.

People who set goals... people who achieve goals are a precious minority of any community, for-profit, or not-for- profit organization.

They are the people who live the celebrated epigram, "Lead, follow, or get out of the way."  When they lead, they perform the leader's task with efficiency, organization, and, yes, joy.

When they follow, they listen to the designated leaders, making sure they know their task, then doing it.

It is a thrill and a privilege to know such people, not least because they create an environment conducive to success.

Why then have I said that there is only one thing worse than not achieving a goal... and that is achieving it?

In this article I shall make clear the problems that afflict the special people, the performance oriented people, the movers and shakers. Keeping successes coming, greater successes, important successes, more magnificent successes is never inevitable. And here's the rub, just because you were successful today, by no means ensures you will be successful tomorrow.

Indeed, the world is awash in one-time successes who once were the center of attention, the golden boy or girl. They had what everyone else wanted... but having didn't mean keeping. That proved to be not only elusive... but, after a time, impossible.

There is nothing sadder than listening to an individual once undeniably successful... now talk and live exclusively in that  past; the success they had was fleeting and its continuing absence noticeable and glaring. 

I am here to ensure that you do not become that sad individual, the person for whom the calendar always says yesterday.

1) Successful people aim for a sequence of successes, not just successful episodes and incidents.

Review the history of the prevalent "once-upon-a-time" successes and you will see that their success was limited to a particular time, place, and thing. It was isolated, unique in their experience, non-recurring. The situations of successful people are radically different.

They do not succeed one or twice and live off their decaying laurels forever; instead, they aim to have success after success after success, until the very idea of failure is unthinkable.

2) Successful people see life as a gigantic planning opportunity; an unequalled opportunity to bring home the bacon time after time after time.

The successful lead lives where what they do and how they do it is always linked to the master plan that they have worked on for their entire lives. No incident can be viewed in isolation, because every incident is a step towards larger goals and greater successes. For such people any success is nothing more than a step to ever greater success.

3) Successful people analyze what went right and what went wrong in each success they attain. Every success is not  a conclusion, but a necessary learning opportunity.

By definition successful people place each and every success under a microscope giving it a full and complete scrutiny. Successful people study success; it is in fact their constant endeavor to turn each success into a learning laboratory.

4) Successful people have a succession of goals. Moreover these sequential goals are written down, regularly reviewed and updated... and always represent more challenge and responsibility. For the successful, life is a step ladder, never a sofa and easy chair.

Do you have such goals? Are they written down? Do you constantly consider just what goals achieved today mean in terms of more substantial goals and achievements tomorrow? As successful people grow and mature they become masters of such questions and answers.

More things successful people do.

5) Successful people are all about the future. They focus is on now, of course, because it is in this now they must learn the essentials of success and achieve each individual success.

But successful people always keep an eye on the future. They focus on what they want in that future, vividly aware that what they do today and how well they do guarantees the future of their desire.

6) Successful people make mistakes.

There isn't a person alive who doesn't make errors of commission and omission. Successful people know that reviewing today's errors ensures tomorrow's victories. And as it is victory they want and insist upon above all, each error is analyzed, understood, turned into part of the primer on success.

7) Successful people are not defensive.

The characteristic response of the unsuccessful to areas where they have erred and need a different, improved response is defensive. Such responses will be of the "no one told me. I'm innocent. It's her fault, it's her fault" variety. These responses are a clear indication that the person in question has little or no idea what successful people say in such circumstances.

"Thank you for pointing this out to me. I have made written notation of what you want."

Bingo, with such a response you are no longer defending the indefensible, you are instead turning an error, a misunderstanding, a questionable act into a valuable learning experience.  8) Successful people keep journals, diaries, etc.

So long as you live you can become a success story all your own. One thing you need is the most detailed and thorough notes about yourself. Remember, every single thing you do either assists success... or retards, even destroys it. That is where detailed personal journals are mandatory.

In such documents, you put yourself under a keen scrutiny which never ends and which must be both complete and honest.

The extent to which you fail to have and keep such personal information is the extent to which you are prepared to jettison intensely valuable information... and all the successes which might have hinged on their existence and use.

9) Successful people thank the people who helped them.

Successful people are people who are beneficiaries of constant assistance from parents, other family members, teachers, clergy, coaches, etc., a process that only ends with death.

Successful people feel privileged to acknowledge and recognize the hard work and sincere assistance provided by many, many others. Unsuccessful people feel diminished by such help; not enhanced by it.

The avoidable tragedy of The Void where there are no new goals to take the place of old goals achieved.

The worst thing that can happen to a person who wants true, continual success is to finish a goal... and not know what he/she should be doing next. As indicated above you must always have goals that go beyond even the most major goals you are working on now. There must never, ever be a gap... for that is an opportunity for losing track of your objectives and becoming directionless.

Now that you have read this article with its admonitions and recommendations, you will never have this problem. With clockwork regularity you will always conclude a goal, knowing just what major goal follows.

Your job is to turn the achievement of success into an unrelenting, never ending system. And now you know how to do it.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books.
Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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So What Is Money? Here a Young Canadian Tells Us 'What's Up Eh?"

 Young people have a lot to be concerned about as our economy takes strange and incomprehensible twists and turns. This video says it like it is in a very Canadian-like, calm and reasonable manner. Worth watching to the very end.
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Thoughts on storage: needed, frustrating, a treasure trove... but not for the kids.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Over the course of the last several months, I have been engaged in one of life's unappealing necessities, sorting through dozens and dozens of boxes packed (often years and years ago) with an array of things dubbed too valuable to be thrown away, or at the very least items which deserved another look, later.

Well, "later" has now arrived, and I am engaged in the business of well and truly sorting through each and every one of these stored items, deciding which can now be thrown away, which will be donated to places like Goodwill Industries and The Salvation  Army, which ones will be kept... and (here we go again)... which ones  will remain in storage,

Today I intend to share with you  all my thoughts on this inevitability of life... partly because no one I know will listen to what I have to say on the matter. My friends are tired of providing a willing ear. They are  polite but firm: say no more on this matter, or we shall bore you, too, with the ups and downs of our own storage problems... and the garage sales we've had to organize. This threat is sufficient. I shut up.

But you, I hope, will indulge me; at least this once. There is that about sorting things in storage  which craves a congenial ear. May I have yours for a bit?

What went into storage.

The plain fact of the matter is that we all, every last one of us, has far too many things. What's worse, since we all have elements of the pack rat about us, not only do we acquire things; we are loathe to sacrifice anything on the off chance that we will need it one day. That's the first problem; we're deluding ourselves. We should all be tougher with ourselves on the matter of what we save. But we cannot. You see, things are evidence that we have passed this way, and we want as many tell-tale markers as possible. Still, the sorting process should begin the day you first think that you require storage.

In my case, I had the usual "good" reasons for resorting to commercial storage facilities. There was, first of all, my mother's possessions. Some of these had a substantial value; others, the sentimental ones, were even more important. These things have been stored for years in California; three thousand miles away from me.

A good friend, probably a saint, helped me pack these items. I was depressed that day; my mother was failing and I just couldn't deal right then with the thought of losing her. Packing boxes was something necessary; it was also therapeutic. But it only postponed the inevitable problem of sorting the items and making irrevocable decisions.

My friend offered to keep these boxes, each one filled with memories, until I decided what to do with all the items. I told my brother and sister what I had and that we should early decide who gets what. But they have mountains of their own things. It wasn't that they didn't want maternal mementoes; they just didn't want them then and trusted me to share when they were ready. I mentioned the matter to my sister the other day and she said, "Not yet".

In the way of these things, the favor my dear friend gave me went from a few weeks.... to years. It was scandalous, I know, to take advantage of her that way; even the frequent  presents I sent were inadequate. But she said she didn't mind; she had them in her attic.

Finally I ran out of excuses and said the many boxes could be shipped to me. And so they were. My assistant Aime Joseph and I opened the boxes; he with care, I  with trepidation soon confirmed. There was so much... all "important"... every piece needing attention and clarity. The books were the most difficult of all. My mother was an avid reader as I am. Often we read the same book at the same time, a continent between us which meant nothing when we discussed our findings.

I found her volumes of Robert Browning the hardest to deal with. She loved him so... "That's my last duchess painted on the wall, looking as if she were alive." I put this book and many others amongst my working library. I can see the cherished Browning from here.

Unpacked, too, was all her jewelry. I had given much of it, one Christmas, one birthday after another. These items are being kept for my niece Chelsea and nephew Kyle and his wife, when he has one. Chelsea asked if she could take one of the pieces, a jewelled dragonfly, to college. My official reason for declining was the number of light fingered folk in the dormitory and her tendency to be over trusting. But in truth, I wasn't ready to let even that go -- yet.

In fact, as each box was opened, Mr. Joseph would cluck and ask me just where I would put what was in it. Miraculously, we found a home for everything... until the others want some for themselves.

The other, bigger storage project.

The second storage project was arguably even more difficult, for it involved 4 large rooms packed to the ceiling with stuff which I had obviously found significant enough to pay thousands of dollars each year to keep. But enough was enough...

Mr. Joseph and I have been working on this project for months now. There are, after all, thousands of objects to be sorted, including items from every epoch of my life. Each week Mr. Joseph goes to the storage facility and, with his cell phone, he lets me know what's left in the first room, now nearly emptied. Then he brings me the boxes... each one filled with one conundrum after another.

What does one do with one's first suit, worn at age 3, well over half a century again? I can't get rid of it... I just can't. It's hanging in my closet, safe for now.

And the teddy bear that soothed me 6 decades ago? No one,  including me I am ashamed to admit, remembers his name; I call him now "The Old Gentleman" and he seems content. Some people no doubt think it odd to see him here, but he and I go back a lifetime, and such bonds must be respected and ensured.

I am more ruthless with my things than with my mother's. Mr. Joseph makes regular deliveries of my books; ten thousand books, perhaps more, given away without a pang.

In the middle of this unceasing project, it occurs to me that, even with great disposals, there is far too much remaining. And if the point of keeping them seems clear to me, it will surely perplex and baffle the folks getting all this. What can "The Old Gentleman" mean to them? I have advised them, in my will, to be ruthless, but I know my flesh and blood. They will be unable to do so, try though they might.

"I can't give away the chairs Uncle Jeffrey wrote his books in... or the typewriter... or the pewter mug his friends engraved for him on his 21 birthday, in Scotland. I just can't."

And so, in due course, I, with the best intentions, will become a puzzle for them... a puzzle which they will defer, postponing resolution, by storing. Thus one generation succeeds another, overwhelmed by things, too much stored, grand resolutions for dispersal, but guilty whatever we do. You know what I mean. 

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books.  Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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Highly desirable (White) House for sale. Price tag: one billion, or more. Obama says, 'I'll take it!'

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

To absolutely no one's surprise President  Obama officially kicked off his re-election bid April 4, 2011. The real story is not that he's running (since the day he was elected in the first place, he's been running for the second term whose function is to validate what he's done and his place in history).

No, the story is on that most American of subjects: money, specifically the money it's going to take him to ensure his re-election.

Yup, it's all about the money.

In 2008, Obama set the spending record, $760 million for the primary and general elections. Obama, to the astonishment of many, was unstoppable in the fund raising department. Democrats were conflicted on the matter.

For one thing, they wanted to win... and here was a  man dedicated to raising the money to make them competitive and give them victory on a sterling silver platter.

But that unnerved many Democrats at the same time, for such people have a knee jerk tendency to regulate campaign  funds and limit them; Obama was always about victory, not limits. And victory, sweet victory, historic victory they got. Such victory papers over  a lot of cracks.

The president opens his campaign.

Because this is 2011 and the world is wired President Obama launched his re-election campaign by e-mail. He said his campaign will be about "coordinating millions of one-on-one conversations between supporters across every single state, reconnecting old friends, inspiring new ones to join the cause, and readying ourselves for next year's fight." The man of soaring rhetoric commenced his campaign with business sobriety, without a memorable word. What did that mean?

It meant, above all else, that Obama realizes he'll be the issue; that what people want is not rhetoric, not to run on hope. Been there, done that. What the people want now is demonstrated results and sensible, realistic talk about the next four years of the U.S.S. United States of America.

Where does this captain want to take us.... and how does he intend to get us there? High blown rhetoric which was the centerpiece of the 2008 campaign will be used, of course, but carefully, sparingly. The country, after all, is still seething with rages... and Obama needs to be seen as a man of deeds, not words, however thrilling.

His re-election message signifies his understanding that the "first black president" card is not going to cut it. The high flying speeches about opening doors, too, are old hat, beside the point.

What America wants is a strong chief executive (white, brown or black) whose sole function is to tackle our grab-bag of problems and use the power of the presidency, which includes marshalling the people, to deliver results, results, results. Nothing less will satisfy the nation... and the president surely knows that even results, great results, will fail to satisfy many. That is the nature of our times.

Obama knows better than anyone that keeping the White House as his house is going to take a breathtaking amount of money. And Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission came at just the right time for him to raise it, in the historic amounts needed to make his case.

Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission.

On January 21, 2010 the United States Supreme Court made a decision of historic proportions. By the thinnest of margins, 5-4, the Court struck down a provision of the McCain-Feingold Act that prohibited all corporations, both for- profit and not-for-profit, and unions from broadcasting "electioneering communications". These were defined in McCain-Feingold as a broadcast, cable, or satellite communication that mentioned a candidate within 60 days of a general election or thirty days of a primary. The decision overruled Austin v. Michigan Chamber of Commerce (1990) and partially overruled McConnell v. Federal Election Commission (2003).

The Honorable the Justices of the Supreme Court had just made history, striking a hammer blow (albeit barely) on behalf of the First Amendment, which means, so the majority said, exactly what it says:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Liberal outrage.

Most every liberal in the land was enraged by this decision. Liberals, you see, specialize in telling folks like you and me, just what we can do, just when we can do it, just how we can do it. In  this case, that means doing everything they can to limit your right to uninhibited election communications, including spending your money freely to influence these elections.

Freedom means being able to squander your money on elections if you want to.

Personally, I have never understood the thrill of throwing money away on presidential candidates. I'm of the firm opinion that spending the hundred or two I might donate to candidates, say, on dinner with winsome partner would be better spent. However, I am equally clear that people, by the Bill of Rights, should have the right to waste their money, be they private citizen, union, or corporation on the candidates they fancy.

Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission reaffirmed that right, and strongly so.

President Obama, chief beneficiary, the strongest attacker.

The president is a past master in the art of having one's cake while eating it, too. This decision he said "gives the special interests and their lobbyists even more power in Washington -- while undermining the influence of average Americans who make small contributions to support their preferred candidates." Obama later elaborated in his weekly radio address saying, "this ruling strikes at our democracy itself," and  "I can't think of anything more devastating to the public interest."

Having stated, for the record, the standard liberal line... Obama set out to make the Court's ruling work for -- him.

Every time he lamented the realities of politics and fund raising and predicted the end of democracy... he was busily raising money, unparalleled amounts of money from... private citizens, corporations, and unions. If a billion will do the trick, fine; if not, he'll up the ante. For you see, he is determined to prove, through his re-election that America made no mistake in electing him in the first place.

Millions of American who voted for Obama have come to the conclusion they bought a pig in a poke; they've having second thoughts. But the president knows what money can buy.  He'll raise whatever he needs so they'll buy -- him, secretly thanking Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission for the favor, while criticizing it every step of the way. The White House is worth it.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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'And if I kiss you in the garden, in the moonlight....' The tulips are coming! April 5, 2011.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's note: You will get the most from this article by listening to "Tip Toe Thru' The Tulips" before you start, or as you read. Search for the subject at any search engine. There are many renditions, both old and new. After all, not only is the tune perky and upbeat but tulips are the embodiment of springtime... and no one can get enough of that!

Spring on the calendar perhaps...

Yes, I know what the calendar says; that we've had spring in New England for 2 weeks now. But what do these folks know? I checked my calendar and discovered it was printed in Tennessee. What do they know about the fickle weather hereabouts?  So far ours has been a typical "spring", a mixture of snow, mud, and exasperation for the fact that winter just won't let go, ornery and tenacious as ever.

The crocuses came, of course, and lovely, too. I noticed a new shade of purple this year, or, more likely, I took the  trouble to stop, look and  finally see what those industrious croci had laid before me so often before. So determined are they that they would find a way to ascend, even if the  snow were rooftop. I love them.... but they don't mean spring quite yet; what's more the birds have had their way with them, per usual. They know just where the saffron is to be found... and they leave hardly any.

The daffodils hold sway right now, but they, too, while arriving just after spring has been declared do not necessarily mean spring is actually here. Like the students of the Harvard Law School across the street, the ones wearing short pants and playing frisbee in the mud, daffodils put on a brave show, none braver.

However, like the students with their visible shivers and white, white legs with veins picked out in unnatural blue, to see daffodils against the dirty snow causes one to check the calender again and verify that yes, it is spring, though we still are dubious.

Tulips mean spring, almost.

Now the first shoots of this year's tulips are up; I have seen them for, what?, 3 days now. They are so small and tender; my heart goes out to them, as yours would, too, if you were here and took the time to see. Do they know how eagerly the world awaits them... and what a brief, brief life they'll have? Or, like youth everywhere, are they oblivious, focused solely on the all-consuming business of being young, beautiful, exuberant and truly glad to greet every passerby with a joy whose secret is youth's alone?

Tulips, you see, are not just harbingers of the real spring near at hand; they are a bridge to memory. When we see a tulip blowing proudly in the wind, we remember (and grateful too) springtimes long gone and smile as we recall how blissfully we spent those seasons in tulip time, glad to be alive! Tulips know their work, know how much we need their magic. They therefore stay a little longer with us than the flowers which precede.  And as our memories are sweet, we thank them...

Some facts.

The tulip is a perennial, bulbous plant with showy flowers in the genus Tulipa, which comprises 109 species. The genus's native range extends from as far west as Southern Europe, North Africa, Anatolia, and Iran to the Northwest of China. The tulip's center of diversity is the Pamir, Hindu Kush, and Tien Shan mountains.

Depending on the species, tulip plants can grow as short as 4 inches (10 cm) or as high as 28 inches (71 cm). The tulip's large flowers usually bloom on scapes or subscapose stems. Most tulips produce only one flower per stem, but a few species bear multiple flowers on their scapes.

Origin of the name.

Although the Netherlands is the country most associated with tulips, commercial cultivation of the flower began in the Ottoman Empire. The tulip, or lale l(from the Persian) is indigenous to much of the area ruled by the Ottoman Sultans. The word tulip ultimately derives from the Persian "dulband", meaning turban. Look closely at the shape of the tulip and you can see, if your eye is felicitous, the turbanned faithful answering the call from the minaret to prayer. Squint your eye and behold...

No one actually knows how, even where, the first tulips entered Europe. Some say they were first brought to and planted in Vienna, by 1573. Others opt for Holland. Experts like to quibble, and tulips, who know the facts historians seek, do not disclose them; they, like us, enjoy being the center of unceasing attention. The plain fact is, wherever people saw tulips, they wanted tulips. This lead, not long after tulips became known in Europe, to the mad phenomenon called "Tulip Mania."

One bulb, valued at 10 times the annual wage of a skilled craftsman.

No event shows man at his most venal, greedy, and stupid than the Tulip Mania of 1637. It is generally regarded as the first recorded speculative bubble, where the rarest bulbs could fetch the price of a house in Amsterdam's finest district -- for an instant. Timing here, as with all economic events, was everything. Privately, tulips admit they enjoyed being the focus of such overwrought enthusiasm; they think it's just what they deserve... and have memorized long passages about themselves from British journalist Charles Mackay's book on the matter, "Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds." (1841). Historians doubt some of his conclusions, but to the tulips his every word is sacrosanct.

A poem disapproved, a tune embraced.

Unsurprisingly, given their continuing popularity, tulips are frequently the focus of poets, authors, lyricists. They faithfully encode all this and are effusive in their thanks. Admittedly, they don't like everything said about them. Sylvia Plath's poem "Tulips" (posthumously published in 1965) at first gave general offense:

"The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me. Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby."

Tulips take their cheering task with grave seriousness.  Plath's reaction to a gift whilst in hospital affronted. Like the rest of the literate world, by the time they knew of the lady's many afflictions of heart and soul she was dead (1963). The general consensus is that if she'd had more tulips, she would have had less angst. I agree.

Tip toe...

The tulips tell me they adore a peppy little number called "Tip Toe Thru' The Tulips" and are always ready to sing it as the warm breezes of spring waft. Written in 1926 by Joe Burke, with lyrics by Al Dubin. It brightened the 1929 hit "Gold Diggers of Broadway". Years later, the calculated oddness of Tiny Tim (born 1932 as Herbert Khaury) brought it again to America's attention:

"And if I kiss you in the garden, In the moonlight, will you pardon me? Come tiptoe through the tulips with me!?

Tiny Tim died too soon, in 1996. Every tulip remembers him fondly... a man who knew a likely lyric when he heard it and brought smiles to the faces of millions. "Knee deep in flowers he'll stray..." The flowers will be tulips of course.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books.

Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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Eating with history. The story of the newest acquisition to my collection, quondam property of the dukes of Devonshire.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

This is a story of unimaginable wealth, the highest social position in the land. It is a story of palaces and prime ministers and master craftsmen. It is the story of another Kennedy tragedy you don't know about and of monumental taxes and forced sales. It is the story of murder.

And it is the story of me, who now has en route from New York, two massive silver dishes, captivating, their "wow factor" apparent to even the most obtuse and least perceptive. Even such people can feel that these are something very special...and so they are.

First, the man who commissioned them.

In 1811, a young man named William George Spencer Cavendish succeeded to the title and fortune of the Dukes of Devonshire. Born in 1790, he thus became at  a stroke the richest peer in England. He was already a master in the art of burning through money quickly. His father's man of business, Mr. Heaton, warned the 5th duke, his father, thus:

"My Lord Duke, I am sorry to inform your Grace that your son appears disposed to spend a great deal of money."

The 5th duke's laconic reply was "So much the better, Mr. Heaton, he will have a great deal to spend." We could all wish for a father so sensible and so rich.

Now master of the largest fortune in England, the young man... spent it. On everything you could think of... and then on things, very expensive, eccentric things, which only the very, very rich can even imagine. One of those things was the grandest fountain in Europe, which shoots its spray up to 300 feet. It was built for the intended visit of Tsar Nicholas I to Chatsworth, the duke's country place. But the Tsar didn't come after all and never saw it.  It didn't matter... the money kept rolling in.... and out.

In the mid 1820s, this prince of purchasers got around to silver. And like everything this seasoned connoisseur touched, it had to be not merely grand but opulent, excessive, in your face, and of course "unique, Your Grace, quite unique."  So he went to the master silversmith Robert Garrard.

When Robert Garrard took over the firm in 1802 it already had a long history with sovereigns and princes. It had started in 1722 with George Wickes. Frederick, Prince of Wales, father of King George III was a major patron. Where princes buy, trendy lesser folk will buy, too.  And so it proved with the family Garrard. They knew the secret of entrancing fickle potentates. Such grandees wanted things unique, finely crafted, and excessive. Garrard was an expert in satisfying even the most difficult... and so he and his master craftsmen set to work on a silver service that was, quite simply, the finest in Europe, which meant the  finest in the world. Both the 6th duke and Robert Garrard knew what they were about... and of course cost was never, ever a factor.

The duke wanted one thing and  one thing only: perfection...

... and he got it!

In due course, pieces from this lavish service began to arrive at Chatsworth, the focus of the Cavendish empire. Each piece was  hallmarked. Each piece featured the splendid ducal coat of arms... and all the serving dishes featured the ducal coronet with the strawberry leaves meant for dukes and dukes only. The most discriminating aristocrat in Europe was satisfied... or as satisfied as a restless man with a connoisseur's eye and the means to gratify could ever be.

And so the story might have ended here, with a splendid silver service doing its bit to create an ambiance fit for a duke and his suitably impressed guests. But the story does not end here because humans do end. We die... and our possessions... migrate to others, all of whom have stories, too. Fast forward, then, to Edward Cavendish, 10th Duke of Devonshire.

Born in 1895, succeeded to the dukedom -- and of course the still complete silver service designed by Robert Garrard in 1825 -- in 1938.

Still rich, still powerful, still owning and living with an overabundance of things rich, famous, astonishing, Cavendish and every other aristocrat now had a very potent enemy: taxes, especially death duties. These could be circumvented but only by establishing trusts. These could pass properties largely intact to eager heirs... but only if the strict requirements were met. But things went wrong, disastrously wrong. The Cavendishes and their world were vulnerable.

First the heir, Lord Hartington along with his wife "Kick"" Kennedy, JFK's favorite sister, was killed in a plane crash (1944).  Both families, a la "Romeo and Juliet", had bitterly opposed the marriage; like "Romeo and Juliet" the lovers married anyway... and died together tragically.

Then the duke died, amidst a background of murder and scandal. The duke's sister, Lady Dorothy, wife of  Harold Macmillan (my distant cousin) and future British Prime Minister (1957-1963)  was having a notorious affair with another Tory politician Robert Boothby, enfant terrible and practised bi-sexual seducer.

Conspiracy theories abound about the 10th duke's death. Why was the death certificate fudged; why had the coroner not been contacted as by law he should have been? What had the freemasons to do with the matter... and, most of all, was he murdered... or die naturally?

Whatever the facts (and they are suggestive and controversial to this day), the duke was dead (1950), a few months before his asset-saving trust became operational. Mourning, devastated, the House of Cavendish now needed mountains of cash. The result was Christie's auction of "Highly Important Old English and French Silver from the Chatsworth Collection" (June 5, 1958) A large part (but not all)  of the 6thh duke's magnificent silver service went on the block, including two over-the-top meat dishes, 5,038 grams of silver, hallmarked by Robert Garrad, with the resplendent ducal coat of arms, the finial with ducal coronet and strawberry leaves.

These are now wending their way to me, and the next part of their destiny, the next part of the story, but only the next. For these glorious items have a life long beyond mine. The saddest thing of all is I will not be here to know it.

But for now, for now, they are mine all mine. I shall enjoy them immensely and tell all those who dine from them the story I have just shared with you, for now I am part of their story, gladly so, forever more.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also an avid art collector and author of 18 best-selling business books. 

Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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It takes two to tango. That's the point.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's Note: To get the most out of this article, go to any search engine. Search for arguably the most popular tango ever written, "La cumparsita" (1916) by Uruguayan musician Gerardo Matos Rodriguez. You will be in the mood at once, right from its famous opening lyric, "The masked parade of endless miseries...."

A dance for men and women.

When a boy insists upon dressing up in coat and tie to dance with a girl, his girl by holding her firmly and gazing intensely into her eyes. When he is ready to lead, to command, he is no longer a boy but a man, and he's ready for tango.

When a girl insists upon wearing a provocative dress that's starkly cut and skin tight, slashed to her waist. When she wants to be held by a man, her man and relish the power of submission, she is no longer a girl but a woman, and she's ready for tango. . This is an article for adult men and women. No "hanging out", texting adolescents with wild gyrations need apply. What follows here is not for you.... yet. When you read it you will want to grow up too fast and grasp your fate, whatever it is. That is your first sharp longing for tango. There will be many others, right up to the last day you tango which will be the last day of your life.

The waltz is a dance... the fox trot is a dance... the samba is a dance. But tango is destiny; your most intimate, revealing, convulsive feelings set to a music that seizes you and never lets you go.

Call tango a dance at your peril, for it is so much more. It is the most important moment in the lives of those who walk its steps, expecting to reveal nothing to their partner, then swept away unaccountably revealing everything, however abashing, destructive.

Tango is life itself. It is never just about its various positions; those are the least important things. Tango is about passion... power... the control of a woman by a man who discovers too late that woman controls him.

Tango is endless variations and manifestations of jealousy,  betrayal, revenge. And always variations of love, in all its aspects, from its soaring prospects to its squalid conclusions. Tango, you see, is not danced; it is lived. And when you are dancing it... you are, perhaps for the first time, alive...  You can hardly believe that once upon a time you attempted life without it. Now it haunts you... and you would never have it any other way.

Some history.

Tango originated in lower-class districts of Buenos Aires and Montevideo. There life was cheap, short, glorious for an instant, ending abruptly, a legacy of sorrow, pain, regret, remorse. The word itself can be dated to the 1890s when it was applied to a fusion of music from the candombe ceremonies of former slave peoples mixed with European dances. It was always, right from the start, a combustible, volatile sound, with violence and mayhem lingering just below the surface, always ready to erupt.

Tango burst like a grenade upon the blase sophisticates of  pre-World War I Europe; sheltered, pampered, rich they craved the unpredictability and eroticism of tango. It was liberating... dangerous... exciting. They couldn't get enough.

In the middle of that great war (1916 or 1917, authorities differ), tango's most famous music was born. It seemed oddly fitting. In a world now maddened by unimaginable destruction and early death, tango's dancers craved release... and at the cafe "La Giralda"  in Montevideo Gerardo Matos Rodriquez gave it to them (albeit anonymously).

The orchestra of Roberto Firpo was the first to present the composition, then without words, to a world which grabbed at it as if to a lifeline out of the inferno of the "war to end all wars". People danced with abandon; their total focus on the dance, its steps, and the partner they held tight, eyes locked together... as if that night, that dance might be their last on earth. For many it was. Tango was the  music of the doomed...

The lyrics.

The first lyrics to "La cumparsita" were written in 1924 by Argentine Pascual Contursi. There have been many other lyrics since but Contursi's are the most apt. They signify a group of people that attends the carnival festivals dressed in a similar fashion (usually but not exclusively, wearing masks.)

Here are his words:

The masked parade of endless miseries promenades around that sick being that soon will die of sorrow.

That's why in its bed cries mournfully remembering the past that makes it suffer.

These were words of death, of pain, of a haunted, fretful past and a future of despair, alienation, loneliness.

Immortality for sale, 20 pesos.

No history of tango and its most famous song would be complete without a few more words about Matos Rodriquez. He was just 18 when he wrote "La cumparsita"... young, educated, well mannered, naive. He sold his rights for the pittance of 20 pesos to the Breyer publishing house. It would hardly be a tango tale if he didn't live to profoundly regret his rash, ill-considered act. Of course he did -- deeply, bitterly, never endingly.... a legacy of draining, expensive law suits shadowed his life. At last a legal loophole gave him vindication, solace, and cash. The court ruled that as a minor he was unable to sell the rights. They were his again.

There were, in the best tradition of tango, other lawsuits, too. Who had the right to sing it? Who was entitled to the lyric royalties? It was all hashed out in court, in one hard-fought action after another.

In the end legendary tango composer and band leader Francisco Canaro (president of the Argentine Society of Authors and Composers) was asked to arbitrate.  He ruled that tango lyricists Enrique Maroni and Pascual Contursi were entitled to royalties, too. They had given "La cumparsita" its first lyrics and a new name, too, "Si Supieras" -- if you knew. It didn't stick.

Through the endless series of charges, countercharges, claims, lies and law suits people worldwide danced tango... unconcerned about rights and wrongs. They had something more important on their minds. It was the compelling, entrancing, primitive, rough and graceful dance...

... the dance of one man and one woman.

The dance where total strangers, through the mad alchemy of tango, become intimate, enraptured, engrossed in each other, no one else in their world, and none wanted.

These two people, tormented by the intoxicating proximity, exist for each other only, body to body, eyes to eyes, walking rhythmically to a destination where anything might happen. They fear it. They want it. They tango.

Now it is time for you to tango, too, for you have waited far too long. It beckons. It knows you cannot resist, for you are but human... and tango is divine.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

Check out Six Figure RENEGADE
This 20 year old *classy* RENEGADE
has decided to do something pretty
"GAME-CHANGING"..
Nope it's not another $37 *magic* push button
software.. it's something MORE than just the usual
hyped up junk...

He's showing you EXACTLY how to turn
just 1 lousy BUCK (yep just $1) into a Fully
fledged 6 figure per month online business..

CRAZY...

He is causing an absolute UPROAR in the
industry and the so called "guru's" are not
happy at ALL...

Watch this (FREE) *crazy* video now:
Click Here