United States v. Dominican Republic

 There’s a baseball game tonight which very well may have the most talented players ever assembled on a baseball diamond. Of course, since I’m talking about baseball, that’s up for debate. But even if you aren’t a fan of the game, if you want to be I would suggest you watch this game tonight. It will be like nothing else you’ve ever seen. I’m talking about the semi-final match up between the United States and the Dominican Republic in the World Baseball Classic. Two great lineups. Two completely different approaches to the game.

Baseball is an American game. The best players in the world play in the major leagues. The giants of the game’s long and storied history are mostly American. But our country is huge and our sporting interests are diverse. Right now baseball is probably the third or fourth most popular sport. In the Dominican Republic baseball is the only game.

Over the past thirty or forty years many of the best players in the world have come from the DR. Their brand of baseball includes aggressive base running and flamboyant displays of bravado. They play the game with their emotions on their sleeves—like all of us used to play the game when we were kids.

There has been pushback from many American baseball fans of a certain age—guys like me—to the excessive bat flipping and over the top self congratulating chest-pounding going on in the big leagues in recent years. I must confess to being frequently annoyed by it at times. On the other hand, sometimes American players seem like corporate robots, more interested in their portfolios than the game. It’s hard to warm up to guys making 30 million dollars a year, I suppose. But many of these Dominican players make tons of money too…and you would never know it watching the way they play. There’s something about they have that is glaringly absent in today’s game. Joy.

A friend of mine pointed out another difference he’s noticed. The Italian team that is currently undefeated in this tournament is known mostly as the guys who drink espresso shots in the dugout after home runs. The Dominicans are known for the crazy ways they find to hype each other up. Our guys listened to an ex Navy Seal talk about the mission to kill Osama Bin Laden to get hyped before playing against…Canada.

Still, tonight I will be rooting for the USA. They are my guys. Many of them are terrific human beings, and I always feel pride watching my fellow Americans doing excellent things against the very best competition. But if I’m being honest I’ll have to admit to a bit of jealousy. I envy the DR their love of the game and each other. I envy them their joy.

Stupid People in Large Groups

 There’s a magnet on the refrigerator at Loon Landing with these wise words, “Never underestimate the stupidity of people in large groups.” The lake is a place designed by a merciful God to discourage such large groups, thereby lowering the probability of the introduction of stupidity. It is important to point out that not all people who find themselves in a large group are stupid. It’s just that the larger the group the easier it is to get “caught up in the moment.” This explains why riots are a common occurrence wherever large groups are found. It explains why fights break out at heavily attended sporting events. It explains the asshattery associated with Spring Break beach gatherings of college students, and political conventions.

What I have recently become aware of is the fact that this pithy little magnet-meme on the refrigerator at Loon Landing is a perfect encapsulation of one of the guiding principles of my life. I have always been suspicious of conspicuously large things. I can’t help being wary of how exactly they got that way. I see a magnificent cathedral built 800 years ago and wonder—How many peasants fell to their deaths building this baby? I look at the pyramids in Egypt and marvel at the massive egos of the pharaohs and the thousands of dead slaves sacrificed for their vanity.

In today’s world this aversion to large things extends to giant corporations, huge labor unions and the Federal government, all unwieldy, way too powerful and impossibly corrupt. It’s the reason I could never live in a big city. Heck, my suburb is starting to feel too crowded. I should point out that all the craziness taking place in Minnesota isn’t happening near any of their magnificent lakes! It’s all confined to Minneapolis which shouldn’t surprise anyone. 

But the largest group of human beings ever assembled in the history of the world is brand new, not even possible a mere generation ago. If it is true that the existence of stupidity can be dependably found in large groups, then the daily gathering of 300 million Americans on the internet at any one particular time might be the single largest stupidity producer of all time.

Since the algorithms that drive content to us on the internet generally send us things we basically agree with/like, it has the effect of herding us into big silos with other people just like us. Spend enough time scrolling and you would be excused from believing that your point of view on any topic is the only reasonable position. This is where I get suspicious of the largeness of the medium. If I see a huge group of my friends all agreeing on some issue, especially when I ALSO agree, I start feeling slightly duped. Then I start going to corners of the internet that I disagree with. Most of what I see there is just as triumphantly confident in the righteousness of their position as my side is, but at least I get to hear some version of the other side of the argument…plus it has the added benefit of playing hell with my algorithm. They don’t what the heck to send me now! Ha.

Now, introduce AI into the mix and you have stupidity construction in overdrive. Suddenly, nearly half of the images I see on social media are not only stupid, they’re not even real. So, what started out as a really cool way to keep up with the trials and tribulations of friends and family has become a propaganda machine that would have made Joseph Goebbels drool. Algorithms can be designed to divide, stoke anger and resentment, confuse, agitate, and eventually…pacify.

Maybe one day there will be a real, existential crisis to befall humanity so grave that accurate and instant communication will be the only way to save the day—something for which the internet would be essential. But, just like the boy who cried “WOLF!”, nobody will believe anything they see.

Keeping a Sharp Eye Out

 March always feels like a Godsend. All of the cold, gray darkness of February gives way to warmth, green and extended daylight. Spring training is in full swing. You find yourself trying on your shorts and t-shirts for the first time since last fall, hoping they all still fit. And for us, the arrival of March starts the countdown until Maine. 109 days and counting.

This year our time in Maine will be very different for two reasons. The first is the absence of Lucy. The second will be the presence of Silas. God gives and takes away.

I’m not looking forward to arriving at the lake without sweet Lucy. For me she was the one who made the place so magical. Everything we do, everywhere we go, every time we launch out in a kayak or paddle board we will feel the void of her absence.

But this sadness will be more than offset by the arrival of our grandson for his first ever trip to Maine, his introduction to the lake. He will be a little over a year old when he arrives. He will be newly graced with the ability to walk, probably babbling on and on with enough discernible words to make it adorable. We will fill the cloud with a barrage of pictures of his every encounter with Maine in such a volume that an entire new data center will be required to process it all. I will feel no guilt.

But there’s a lot to do before Maine. One set of our kids are planning a London trip and they need us to take care of our GrandPup Frisco. Can’t wait for that sweet dog to get here. I’ve planned a birthday trip to Tybee Island for the first week of April. Our other set of kids hope to be able to come down and stay with us at least part of the time. Then there’s firefly season at Congaree. Kaitlin will need some help that week since Jon will be working late hours every night at the park. That’s what Pam and I are for! The month of May is celebration month, lots of birthdays and our 42nd wedding anniversary.

Of course, it’s March the 8th. I am slowly but surely getting sucked in to a false sense of security by the evil machinations of winter and its diabolical agent—February. I know full well that there might be one more blind side storm afoot, that worst of all meteorological events—the late March snow storm. You all know what I’m talking about. There’s two weeks of sunny and 75 and just about the time you’re about to break out the sunscreen, BAMM!!!!

 I’m keeping a sharp eye out for trouble on the horizon via the long range forecasts. I am a little nervous at the recent appearance of a high temperature on Tuesday, March the 17th of 45 degrees with a low of 28. Nothing good happens under such circumstances. But that’s nine days from now, in weather circles also known as an eternity, or put another way, nine days is the over/under on the lifespan of the latest Supreme Leader of Iran.

I remain cautiously optimistic.

Where Do Dogs Go When They Die?

It’s been difficult living in such a quiet house this week. The other night someone rang the doorbell and for the first time in over a decade there was no excited barking warning us that there was a potential killer on our front porch. Same with the several delivery vehicles which have shown up on our cul-de-sac without Lucy’s stage five catastrophe siren. So far, we have survived. 

Each morning I have managed to perform my exercise regimen without Lucy’s judgments. Each afternoon she hasn’t interrupted my writing with her insistence that I pet her. I haven’t had to take her for a walk or let her out for her interminable potty breaks. I haven’t had to listen to her soft snoring. When I wake up in the morning I don’t have to watch where I’m stepping for fear of stumbling over her on the way to the bathroom. None of Pam’s socks have disappeared. We may not have to buy a new jar of peanut butter for weeks.

The kids have texted us asking how we’re doing. It’s the first thing my friends have asked when they see me. My answer is always, “I’m not ok, but I will be.” We are suddenly at war with Iran, we are now being told that eggs aren’t the heart-damaging killer we had been warned about for decades, and Britney Spears has been arrested for DUI. Clearly there are far more serious problems to be concerned about than the loss of a family pet. On the other hand, Lucy never went to war with anyone, she never lied to me, and as far as I know never broke any laws.

I was asked one time by a kid, “Will there be dogs in heaven?” Without spending a lot of time delving into scripture, I answered straight from my heart—“If not dogs…who?” I look at the evidence right in front of my eyes and conclude that dogs are sent to us from God, so naturally when their time on earth is done they return from whence they came, their mission of mercy accomplished.

I stand by my answer.

Lucy—2014-2026

 We lost our sweet Lucy yesterday. We are heartbroken.

We were eating breakfast with Kaitlin and Jon when my neighbor’s name popped up on my phone. My heart sank when I saw his name. Why would he be calling if not with bad news? When he came over to feed her yesterday morning her breathing was unsteady and she had lost use of her back legs. He FaceTimed me an image of her which I will never be able to get out of my mind. We made the decision to take her to the emergency Vet. We immediately began packing, hoping and praying that we would make it home in time to be with her, comfort her. We soon got a call from the Vet explaining her dire prognosis. They would make her comfortable until we arrived. About an hour into the trip home I suddenly had an overwhelming feeling that she wouldn’t make it. We were still four and a half hours away. A couple minutes later the Vet called with the news that Lucy had passed.

Twelve days ago I wrote a blog about Lucy. I had an encounter with her that made me keenly aware of how much she had aged. When I wrote it I didn’t think she wouldn’t survive the month of February, I was just feeling nostalgic for her earlier, more active days when she was a puppy, driving us absolutely crazy with her antics. Now, she’s gone. We are guaranteed nothing in this life.

After getting the call from the Vet we spent the rest of the trip trying to decide if we would go to the ER to say goodbye. Part of me didn’t want to. I didn’t want her dead body to be my last memory of her, neither did Pam. But we wanted to pick up her collar. Once we got there we both decided to sit with her for a minute or two. At this point I need to say what amazing care the Vet’s took with her. Their sensitivity and compassion will never be forgotten. Lucy looked so peaceful. We were able to tell her how much we loved her and what a very good girl she had always been.

Our neighbors also deserve a word at this point. The Garland’s have known Lucy since she was a puppy. All of them have taken care of her on countless trips Pam and I made over the years when we couldn’t take Lucy with us. Kennedy, their middle child especially loved her. Thankfully, she was playing in a basketball tournament yesterday morning and wasn’t the one who found Lucy. Her dad Stu was the one who called me with the news. His steadiness and kind heart calmed me.

Last night I spent the better part of three hours combing through the hundreds of pictures we have taken of Lucy over the years. I’m not sure they helped or hurt, but I couldn’t stop looking. The photos I posted of her on Facebook were from last July, her final trip to Maine. She was so happy, full of delight in her favorite place with her favorite people. We will take her ashes up when we go this summer. The lake will be her final resting place.

My sweet neighbor Jamie told me that when she lost her dog last year it was so devastating. She couldn’t believe that this was the third time we had endured the loss of a golden. I thought about that observation for a moment and then answered. I had heard Pam talking with my sister earlier when she brought over a meal for us. (That’s what Paula does, and we are so grateful). She said words to the effect of—In this life we only shed tears over people we love. When you love someone it comes with a price, that one day they will pass and break your heart. But it’s a price I would pay over and over again because of what these loved ones bring to your life. It is worth every penny.

Rest in Peace, sweet girl.

Grandparenting 101

It’s Wednesday evening. We have spent the last two days taking care of our grandson from around 8:30 in the morning until Jon and Kaitlin get home from work around 5:00. Pam makes everyone dinner, I clean up the kitchen, then we hand him over to his parents for the rest of the night. So, what do we do all day with an 8 month old?

We feed him three bottles, plus a variety of disgusting whirled, mashed, and puréed vegetables and fruits in combinations which defy reason—mango, carrots and kiwi. Regardless of how foul the presentation, the boy devours them with great enthusiasm, leaving pieces of each offering strewn everywhere within a ten foot radius around his highchair. I am tempted to perform cleanup with a power washer.

After mealtime it’s time for play. He has an arsenal of toys, books and play stations to choose from. There are two bouncy contraptions which emit computerized music at the slightest movement. He loves them both. He has favorite toys—a rumbling dump truck with a wisecracking driver who shouts arbitrary commands willy nilly and every once in a while breaks into song—“When you have a job to do, do it right! When you have a job to do, do the best that you can do, when you have a job to do, do it right!” Clearly, the manufacturer of this particular dump truck is part of the misogynistic patriarchy, since the aforementioned wisecracking driver is male, and clearly not a member of a union. 

Silas is quite fond of his Old McDonald’s farmhouse and animals. When he opens the roof of the barn  he reaches inside and retrieves one of four animals, each of which makes the appropriate animal sound when squeezed—except for mister duck who, for reasons which escape us, seems to be mute. Despite this glaring defect, Silas is still enamored with the Old McDonald shtick, joining countless generations before him.

After play time Pam and I take turns giving him his bottle and then reading him stories before putting him down for his nap. Sometimes this nap lasts a mere 30 minutes. Once a day we might get lucky and he will sleep for an hour and half. When he wakes up we like to mix things up. Tuesday we took him for a walk in his stroller around the neighborhood. Today we went on an adventure to his Mom’s favorite coffee shop in Columbia. He was a perfect angel. Everyone in the coffee shop seemed delighted by his presence except for the man at the table right next to ours who had been working on his computer and found it difficult to do so once Silas began serenading the shop with his version of Old McDonald’s Farm which sounding like this…HaaaaaHHHHaaaaaaaa!

I should add that these two days have also included quite a few diaper changes and so far one bath. The most difficult part of each day has been picking out the “outfit of the day.” I’m not involved in the selection process. Pam stands at the entrance to the child’s voluminous clothes closet and ponders just the right combination of style, comfort, practicality and color. In so doing she is basically choosing from among the truck load of outfits that she has filled this closet with. Eventually she picks a winner and I must admit—the kid is styling.

We have two more days of this responsibility left. Once Saturday comes, Jon and Kaitlin will morph back into the boy’s primary care givers—and Pam and I will sleep for three days.

The Triangle Tour

I suppose I should let everyone know what I’ve been doing since last week. Pam and I departed Short Pump on our triangle tour Friday morning at 8 am sharp. We will not return until this coming Sunday afternoon. By the time we arrive home we will have logged 1500 miles. What is a triangle tour, you ask? It’s a roadtrip where we visit all of our kids in two different cities before returning home spent and exhausted, but hopefully in one piece.

The first phase of the TT was the 604 miles, 9 hour drive from Short Pump to Nashville, Tennessee, which I was able to finish with only one gas/lunch stop in Abingdon, Virginia. This was a bad decision based upon pride and hubris—me trying to prove to myself that I haven’t lost a step with the ravages of time. Although I did manage to make the trip with only one stop, my back is filing a complaint with the Labor Department, and my bladder has hired a lawyer. 

Our weekend with Patrick, Sarah and Frisco was delightful. They were both busy with an all-day recording session for Vocal Arts Nashville which was followed with a concert Saturday night. It had been a while since we had heard choir music and it was astonishingly beautiful. Then we had a couple of incredible meals at their favorite restaurants.We got to spend some time with sweet Frisco, their Golden pup. Before we left Pam and I attended a rehearsal of another great choir that they have both been members of for many years. Sarah made us a “snack dinner” of this amazing homemade pasta dish that was delicious. Every time we get the chance to visit with them we leave so proud and grateful that they found each other and are building such a wonderful life together.

Monday morning we left Nashville and drove 445 miles over the mountains to Columbia, South Carolina. This time I stopped twice. Both times it was insanely cold and snowy. Along the way both Pam and I have noticed several mental lapses which I am told are to be expected in retirement. When we stopped for lunch yesterday I got off the exit to stop at our go-to road restaurant of choice—Bojangles. First, I turned the wrong way off the exit. Then upon arriving at Bojangles, I promptly pulled into the McDonald’s next door! This was just one of many questionable brain farts to befall team Dunnevant on this trip. Perhaps the best one was when Pam and I entered our hotel elevator and after what seemed an awfully long time Pam remarked on how slow the elevator was—only to finally notice that she had never pressed a button!

Now we are in Columbia. Last night Kaitlin made us a fabulous sausage-y dinner. After Silas went to bed Pam and I were entertained by one of the kid’s rituals with their best friends, Matt and Bailey. They watch a show called Murder in the Building simultaneously by syncing up via group text. Then, as they watch the show they make snide comments back and forth about the show. Although this might seem odd on the surface, its even odder the deeper you dive into the phenomenon. Somehow the word “Ask” has been transformed to the word “Ass” because of a spell check mistake months earlier…or something like that. Simply stated, the language on this group text was startling to say the least! Lots of inside jokes. I blame any negative outcomes on Matt and Jon since Kaitlin and Bailey cannot do any wrong.

I have attached pictures of highlights so far. More to come later