Rainy Days and “the look”

Yesterday was a rainy day and a cool 64 degrees. Maine in June. I hear that my friends in Short Pump are simmering in the heat. If I were a more empathetic person I would feel for them. I should work on that.

So, after a gorgeous Sunday, we are in for a three day rainy spell it would seem. Tomorrow will at least have some sun, along with a thunderstorm later in the day. By Thursday the forecast brightens considerably for the Holiday weekend, sunny with high temps in the 70s. Glorious.

My fisherman skills seem to have gone the direction of ethics in politics...they have disappeared. So far, I have landed exactly one fish! Meanwhile, I have hooked five others, only to see each one leap out of the water and shake free. Embarrassing. Of course, I only go fishing when I’m in Maine, so what skills I have atrophy while I am in Virginia. I’ll get better by the time it’s time to leave. Eventually I will send photographic evidence of success.

This photograph is something of an embarrassment. Whenever the huge Dunnevant/Roop/Schwartz clan goes to the Outer Banks for vacation there is always a snack table. There are close to 20 people in the house, it’s vacation, so we all just let our freak flag fly when it comes to eating. You will find no gluten-free, lactose intolerant paleo-vegans in our tribe. It’s a free-for-all. So, when this much smaller family heads to Maine, we have a snack table too. But with only two of us, this seems excessive. We comfort ourselves with the notion that...”yeah, but soon the kids will be here, what about their needs?” Still, there’s enough artery-clogging trans fats on this table to last two people the rest of the year. The table should come with a disclaimer, something like:

Warning: The Surgeon General has determined that if the snacks on this table are consumed by any human being, that human being is screwed.

But, look closer at the picture. You probably missed it at first glance. There is evidence that the table was assembled and organized by wife. Do you see it? Yes...that’s a pump bottle of hand sanitizer. Sure, we might gain ten pounds here, but ain’t nobody catching no COVID on her watch!!

Speaking of Pam, she’s still asleep. She already has the look, that shine and sparkle that comes over her face when she gets to Maine. It’s truly remarkable. I think we might drive into town today. It’s not really raining, just a fine mist and low clouds. That makes for a beautiful view of Penobscot Bay from the porch off the back of the Camden Deli. Maybe it’s time for blueberry pancakes. Besides, I need to buy a few books from The Owl and Turtle...

It’s the sort of bookstore you can get lost in for hours. Hope it’s open. Of course, I could always just go to the Library and hang out. That would be this gem of a building overlooking the harbor...

I’ll figure something out...

You Can Run But You Can’t Hide

It has been said by wise men through the ages that you can run but you can’t hide, a wise reminder that although we might change our exterior circumstances, what plagues us on the inside survives all of our schemes of self improvement. I was reminded of this truth at 6:00 am when I was confronted with THIS:

Behold, the bane of my existence. I plan and scheme. I plot my escape. I drive 800 miles away. And yet...within 24 hours of filling and hanging our old bird feeder we brought along for the Maine birds...this guy...flaunts his renewed presence in my life. No, this is not the common grey squirrel of Virginia, but make no mistake, this is a squirrel, the Maine variety, smaller, quicker, browner, looking more like a chipmunk than a squirrel, but every bit the diabolical fiend of his Virginia cousin. This one has designs on the delicacies inside the bird feeder. Meanwhile, I am without my trusty Daisy Powerline 35. However, I can look forward to watching him fail in his efforts to steal nuts, and he will...no squirrel has ever solved the riddle. The difference with this bird feeder is that failure for the squirrel will result in not your ordinary fall, since this thing hangs from the upstairs deck of the cabin, 30 feet above the ground. I will try my best to get that blessed event on video.

Last night it started to rain after we went to bed. The sound it makes on the roof of our upstairs bedroom is magical. Looks like today will be rainy as well. This will mean a more relaxing day for us. The first two days or so are usually filled with chores, yesterday was our initial grocery run along with my continued efforts to make the outside of the property more efficient for our needs. So, now that all the heavy lifting is over, today we will slow down, do some reading. I might write a chapter or two of my latest book. If the rain lets up, Pam will probably take out her new SUP out for another trip around the lake. 

Special Note:

I have a friend in Nashville I met years ago when Patrick was an undergraduate at Belmont University, one of his professors...Deen Entsminger. He’s a really cool guy and we hit it off from the first day. Anyway, Deen is one of those friends who, because of circumstances and geography, I don’t get to see very often. But, like all good friends, that never seems to matter much. Several years ago I got a cell phone call at literally 5:30 in the morning from him where he gleefully began telling me about this amazing woman he had met and was going to marry! It was so random a thing to do, and exactly the sort of thing I would expect from Deen. He did marry her, for what it’s worth, and we would both agree that Kim Daus was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Anyway, for some reason that I can’t explain, while I was kayaking around the lake taking in the grandeur of Crawford Pond, the thought came to me that I should return the favor. So, out of the blue, I FaceTimed him. This time it was my turn to tell him about something amazing that I had found that had made me terribly happy. Deen, being Deen, totally got it. It’s nice to have people like him in your life, isn’t it?

Arrival and First Foggy Morning

I had forgotten how early the sun rises up here...4:56. Not only was our bedroom filled with the early morning light, but also a loud chorus of birds began serenading us at that ungodly hour. I woke up and walked downstairs to make my coffee and saw that the lake was shrouded in dense fog. But yesterday evening I managed to take this picture of the view from our deck...

We did make it down the dock to catch our first sunset and while there spotted a rare bird specimen from the north country, the great Maine flamingo...

From four o’clock until ten c’clock Pam and I labored to whip Loon Call Cottage into shape. It needed lots of love. Apparently, the owners have not been here so far this year, and it showed. The deck was a mess, the gas grill is unusable, but thanks to the guys and girls at On The Water In Maine, a new one is on its way today! The inside of the cabin is beautiful but still needed to be Pamercized, all of the adjustments needed to make the place compatible with her sensibilities. This morning it looks much more like home. The deck is now ready for much lounging, coffee drinking, and general Lolly gagging...

Al Fresco dining has been arranged...

This morning’s breakfast will be eaten outside in the fog and in long sleeves. It’s a wonderful thing.

Ok, full disclosure. When we first arrived, I was disappointed in the place. This is our first stay on this lake and in this cabin. It's biggest flaw is that it’s not Loon Landing. But, mostly the place was not ready for us, which was a surprise, not something we are used to with On The Water In Maine. Yes, the inside of the cabin was clean and ready, but the outside was a disaster which I wore a blister on my hands fixing, a result of the strenuous overuse of the sorriest excuse for a broom I have ever had the privilege of working with!

I mean...seriously?

But, this morning the place is looking much more like home. Had our breakfast on the deck then went to the end of the dock and made my first cast of the season and immediately hooked a bass who rose out of the water and shook free of the hook. I’m out of practice! But three or four casts later I caught an 8 inch small mouth, so all is well. Now, awaiting the arrival of Dan the Man from DuckTrap Kayaks with our two rentals for the month. Later, we will attempt to inflate Pam’s SUP for the first time and launch her on her maiden voyage...if the fog will ever life.

We’re finally here, where we’ve wanted to be since we last left. So happy and grateful.

Annnd....we’re off!!

Heading up north in an hour or so. Beyond excited, if for no other reason than to see something that isn’t this house, Short Pump, or my office. I have absolutely nothing against those three places, but enough is enough. Lucy is deeply troubled inside her doggy soul at all the packing, all the frantic preparations going on around her. She has done much apprehensive pacing these past 24 hours, and sleeping with one eye open. Poor girl can sense that this time, she’s not coming with us. Lucky for us, Lucy is a dog, not a cat. Otherwise, she would be permanently scarred, and hold a grudge for years at this betrayal. As it is, she will whine for a while, then be sent into ecstatic spasms of joy when Bernadette arrives this afternoon to be her new best friend for the next month. Dogs are so straight forward. It’s wonderful.

A word about my wife. On a recent run, I tweaked my back a little, so as a precaution I have been moving slower the past couple of days. I do 100% of the driving to Maine and I have a history of back issues. So, Pam has had to pick up some of my slack as we have prepared to leave. Some men like women who are dainty, delicate flowers. I have no problem with that. I get the attraction. But not me. I’ve seen it time and time again over 36 years, my wife is as feminine as it gets, but in crunch time, she is a freaking boss. There’s nothing delicate or flower-like about her when there’s a job to be done. She can out-hustle, out muscle, and out work any five men I know. She is a relentless dynamo when the stakes are highest, the kind of person you want in your foxhole during a crisis. I am in awe of her grit and determination. And I’ve got to tell you...it’s quite sexy!

Ok, wish us luck as we brave the two day, hopefully no more than 14 hour trip. Hope to stay in a Homewood Suites somewhere near Hartford tonight, then head into Maine by tomorrow afternoon.

...Oh, a shoutout to my sweet sister, Paula, who came over for five minutes last night to wish us luck and drop by a couple of gifts for my kids. Paula has always done this sort of thing for Patrick and Kaitlin ever since they were born. Every time they were home on break from college she would always send them back to school with a $20 bill pressed into their hands. She loves them as if they were her own. I come from a family of such people, generous and loyal. Thanks so much, Sis. You know they adore you, right?

My COVID Test Adventure

Today I have a relatively short To-Do list. I’m also very nervous. It’s this way every year on the day before we leave for Maine. I’m walking on eggshells afraid I’ll throw my back out packing up the car or something. Here’s what Pam wrote down for my To-Do list today:

1. Pay last minute bills.

2. Pack up your work computer.

3. Leave compliant away message on your business phone.

4. Cut grass

5. Pack car

6. Do not throw your back out

Just kidding...she didn’t leave me that list. She didn’t have to. She implies number 6 with her intense stare every time I do anything strenuous the day before we leave.

So, yesterday Pam and I went to Patient First to get our much ballyhooed and dreaded COVID tests. Much has been made of how horribly painful the test is what with a six inch long swab jammed up your nose all the way to your freaking brain where it could be doing God knows what. 

We even heard some moron suggest that he wouldn’t ever get a COVID test because it was all a government plot to implant a micro chip in your brain that makes you vote democrat or some such horses**t. Be that as it may, I was still quite apprehensive as we drove up into the parking lot and saw the little white tent. What made my apprehension even more acute was the fact that my wife was in the car. It’s important to my fragile male ego that I not show any weakness in front of her, so my worst nightmare would be throwing some kind of duck-dying fit in front of her as Nurse Ratchet jabs me with the swab, while Pam comports herself with calm grace by comparison. That’s the sort of performance it might be dang near impossible to live down.

So, the instructions were to remain in our vehicle, and present a picture ID when approached by the nurses in the hazmat gear. When they emerged from the tent, I have to admit to much trepidation. They looked like star fighters with their face shields but the talkative one was all business. She didn’t ask for my ID, she just asked me to blow my nose. Her exact quote was, “remove as much snot as possible.” I would have thought there would have been a more technical term for that like mucus...but she played the snot card. Ok. Then she took my temperature with one of those jabber things you place under your tongue. When she first whipped that baby out I thought I was a goner. What?? It’s made out of metal???!!! Then Nurse Ratchet turns to her assistant, Broomhilda, and says, “These people seem nice, lets not use the long probes on them.” Then she proceeds to place a regular looking Q-tip thing up both of my nostrils, swish it around a little, and she was done. Just like that, it was over. No pain, no discomfort, and no fatally embarrassing meltdown. And, as far as I know, no new found admiration for Karl Marx.

But seriously folks. The COVID test was the biggest nothing burger ever, in this, the Age of Nothing Burgers. So, let not your heart be troubled.

My Dad on Race

Woke up at 4:30 this morning. The closer I get to departure day the worse I sleep. I reached over for my phone and saw that my crazy pal from North Carolina (God bless her craziness) had sent me a text: So, for NASCAR I guess no noose is good news! What an awesome way to start your day, am I right?

It was a relief to hear that the whole thing was a misunderstanding/hyper-sensitive overreaction and not an honest to God noose left in a black driver’s garage! I mean, Holy Crap, are there still people out there playing the noose card? So yeah, it’s very good news.

I was thinking about my Dad the other day trying to remember the few times he and I ever talked about race. Dad was born in 1924, grew up in an entirely different era where ideas about race relations were far different than today. Honestly, it wasn’t a topic he enjoyed talking about much. He would talk about it sometimes in his sermons, but not an awful lot, like most people of his time. But I remember once when I was in college asking him what he thought about racism and he told me a story that I have never forgotten.

Dad grew up in the sticks of Buckingham County, Virginia. His Dad, my grandfather worked a farm as a share cropper. One of the other sharecropper families who also farmed for the same landlord was black and had sons my father’s age. Each year when it was time for harvesting, the families shared the combine and worked together. Dad told the story of the first time in his life when he realized what racism was. He said he was about ten years old, maybe twelve. He was working together along with all the other men when it was time for lunch. The first day lunch was served at the black family’s house. The next day lunch was served at his house. Dad said how confused he was when all the black men were served their lunch out in the yard under the shade tree, while all the white men went inside to eat. Dad ate his lunch outside with his friends but remembered feeling a strange sense of guilt. That night he asked his mother this question, “Mom, how come at lunch today my friends had to eat outside while everybody else went inside?” 

My Grandmother was born towards the end of the 19th century, over 120 years ago, and her answer was the best she could do. She looked at him with what my father described as a tired sadness and said, “Emmett, I don’t know why other than to say that’s just the way its always been.” My Dad, ten years old, confronted for the first time with one of life’s many injustices replied, “But, Mom...they worked just as hard as we did in the same hot sun...” 

And that’s where the story ended. No other explanation was offered. It’s just the way it had always been...was the best she could do. My father never forgot that moment because it was the first time he ever remembered understanding the concept of sin, the irrefutable truth that there was a right way and a wrong way, fair and unfair, just and unjust.

My father was no crusader. If he were here to speak for himself he probably would say he should have preached on the topic of racism more than he did...or maybe not. Dad wasn’t a man of many regrets. But for most people, the feeling you get in your stomach when you read of nooses being left in NASCAR garages was the very same feeling that stirred within the heart of my ten year old father under a shade tree in 1934. Some things are forever wrong, for all time.

A Metaphor

The death toll from the Coronavirus in the United States now stands at 120,000. Worldwide the number is fast approaching a half a million. While progress has been made in many states, others are experiencing a resurgence of cases. There is currently no vaccine. But around the world, the scientific community is working around the clock to find one. To that end, the Coronavirus is dominating new research, and gobbling up medical resources and rightfully so since it is killing people all over the world and the only way to stop it ultimately is to find a vaccine.

This doesn’t mean that scientists and researchers no longer care about heart disease or cancer. It doesn't mean that HIV suddenly doesn’t matter or that diabetes is no longer a horrible killer. It’s just that, right now, there’s an emergency, so all hands are on deck to stop the spread of this thing and find a working vaccine. Sure...all diseases matter, but right now, the priority is COVID-19.

I am losing patience with this All Lives Matter foolishness and those who persist in making the argument. 

“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And yet one of them shall not fall to the ground without your Father seeing. The very hairs of your head are numbered. Fear not, therefore, you are of more value than many sparrows.” Matthew 10: 29-31

Of course, all lives matter. We are all made in the image of God and we have inherent worth and value as human beings. So why is it so hard for so many people to acknowledge that, right now, at this moment in America, it doesn’t seem that black lives matter nearly as much? It in no way diminishes me as a white man to agree that Black Lives Matter. It is just an acknowledgment of the imbalance in the justice system that still, stubbornly persists. It doesn’t mean I have to support every single item on the agenda of the BLM movement. It doesn’t mean that I support the looting and violence that has happened at many protests. All it means is that when I see a police officer with his knee on the throat of a black man for 8 and a half minutes, when I see a black man get murdered for the crime of jogging through a white neighborhood and weeks go by without an arrest, I am agreeing that if Black Lives Mattered MORE, this wouldn’t be happening over and over again, all across the country. That’s all.

So, yes. All diseases matter. We still acknowledge that cancer, heart disease and diabetes are horrible afflictions. But, right now, we’re trying to stop a pandemic, so we will be trying desperately to fix COVID-19 for a while. Is that ok? Are we good?

Nothing To See Here, Move Along, Folks...

This is the week we’ve waited for all year. This is Go Week. Pam has laid out the battle plan...

Now all we have to do is execute.

I’ve got a lot to get buttoned up at the office, last minute things to get wrapped up. Maine is so close now I can taste it. This, being 2020, allows for the opportunity that some last second catastrophe, geo-political earthquake, or meteor attack might come out of nowhere to thwart our plans to leave Short Pump. If it does, this will be me...

So, last night I received FaceTime calls from Patrick and Sarah, Kaitlin and Jon wishing me a happy Father’s Day. These are the four people who make me a father. Of course I share fathering duties with Andy Upchurch and Robert Manchester for my daughter and son in law, but I view both of them as my kids too. That’s the way it works in my family, once you’re in, you’re in all the way, like it or not! The hardest part of being a parent these days is being apart from them. I envy my friends who’s kids all live either in the same city, or at least the same State. They can pop in for dinner, or drop by for lunch. We have to sit close together and stare into a jumpy computer screen at their digital faces. Hugging a laptop leaves a lot to be desired, I’ve learned. But in July we will spend 10 days with Kaitlin and Jon, 7 days with Patrick and Sarah, and 4 glorious days all together in our favorite place in the whole world. There will be great food, much kayaking, swimming and canoeing on the lake, many sunsets to watch from the dock, and fires to sit around while solving all the problems of the world. There will be no Fox News, no CNN, no Drudge Report. If something horrendous (notice the hopeful “if”)happens, the readers of this blog will have to inform me, since we will be unplugged. I will continue to provide dispatches from paradise via The Tempest. 

96 hours and counting.

Tick Tock...

Lucky Enough

Pam went for her normal walk this morning. She starts out with Lucy tagging along, but after a bit of that she drops Lucy back at the house and starts the second, more aggressive part of her walk. She wears ear buds when she walks, usually listening to an audio book. But this morning she had a ton of things on her plate and was especially anxious. My wife is a worrier, a planner, a meticulous organizer, who thinks about things, sometimes to excess. That verse in the Bible that says, Let not your heart be troubled, I am convinced was put in the Bible specifically for her.

Anyway, she gets back from her walk this morning in a decidedly upbeat mood, almost light hearted, a rarity in these days of pandemics and social upheaval. Then she told me her secret, “You know what I listened to on my walk this morning?” I’m trying to think of some Jodi Picoult book when she burst out with, “Christmas music!!!” She has now left the house after spending all day making these treats for her dad...

These are the world famous Molasses crinkles, a staple of the White family...Christmas tradition. Pam made three dozen or more, all the while with Nat King Cole, The Carpenters, James Taylor and Harry Connick Jr streaming through the kitchen speakers. She’s like a different person. Her plan now is to listen to Christmas music until we leave for Maine. It transports me to a different place, makes me think of happier times, makes me concentrate on what’s really important, she explained. Hard to argue with a woman baking cookies.

Oh...and there’s this, perhaps the truest words ever placed on a piece of wood. For us it will be true for six weeks this year...

Seven Days

One week. One week from today. Actually, more like one week from this very moment, Pam and I will be backing out of our driveway to begin the two day, 15 hour road trip to Loon Call Cottage in Union, Maine. At least that’s the plan. Something inside of me won’t quite let me believe that it will actually happen, visions of some last second national emergency stay-at-home order being proclaimed from on high keep dancing around in my head. So, I will believe it when I’m on the road.

We both will get our COVID tests on Wednesday the 24th, 72 hours before our planned arrival in The Pine Tree State, as per their Governor’s directive. We will check in to our cottage on the afternoon of the 27th. The first 24 hours will be filled with unpacking, making the place our own, arranging things to best accommodate our living preferences, buying groceries, organizing the inside and the dock to our liking. It will probably be the morning of the 29th, a Monday, when we will wake up and realize that ...we made it, we’re here, and now everything will be alright!

For the duration of the month of July, most of my Blog posts will be about our experiences, filled with pictures. Many of you will enjoy reading all about it, a lot of you won’t. Which is fine. You can’t please everyone. Speaking of which...

Yesterday’s post about the whole Aunt Jemima thing was crazy. It was the most read post I have written all year, but it was completely unique in one way. Never in the ten year history of this blog have I written such a widely read post that produced virtually no comments. Usually when something pops like that people have lots to say about it. This one?..crickets. I can only assume that most of you read it out of curiosity and didn’t agree with my conclusions but were too polite to say anything. That’s ok. It happens sometime. We don’t always see things the same way. I just found it strange, the silence.

The next seven days are going to be the slowest of my life...

Aunt Jemima...Seriously??

Just when you thought that life couldn’t possibly get any worse, news breaks that Aunt Jemima is being forced into early retirement because of the scourge of political correctness sweeping the nation. In the wake of the murder of George Floyd and the reemergence of the Black Lives Matter movement, the limp-wristed, gutless invertebrates at Quaker Oats have caved to the jackals of the left and stolen a cultural icon from white America. Oh, and George Soros is somehow involved...

At least that’s the impression I’m getting from Facebook and Instagram.

I would like to propose a slightly different explanation for this Aunt Jemima thing that involves advertising as a reflection of societal norms and how they have constantly changed, often rapidly, throughout the past hundred years. I should also point out the fact, apropos to nothing really, that Aunt Jemima is a truly awful imitation of real maple syrup and shouldn’t even be mentioned in the same breath.

Ok, so here’s a advertising campaign from the year of my birth, 1958...

Who doesn’t long for the days when a man felt entitled to beat his wife for the mortal sin of serving him stale coffee?

Well, maybe she can open it, but who’s going to be there to show her how to pour it?

Absolutely nothing worse than a poor, fat woman, am I right?

Good to know that there will still be plenty of women’s work in the exciting new space age!

And the ones who don’t are clearly savages.

Why, indeed?

Colored kids?

Wow...good to know that inside his unfortunate dark skin beats a white heart!

Ok, here’s the thing. If any of these advertisements caused you to wince, and I would hope that all of them did, you now understand that our society has evolved from a time when these types of stereotypes were perfectly acceptable to vast swaths of the buying public. No company doing business in 2020 would dream of running ads like these. Why? Because the assumptions behind them have been rejected by the vast majority of their customers. So what about dear old Aunt Jemima? Even she has changed through the years...a lot!

So...tell me again why Quaker Oats’ decision to finally retire the Aunt Jemima Mammy routine is such a horrible example of political correctness? 

Listen, for some of you, the picture of her on a plastic bottle of corn syrup with 16 artificial flavors is a comforting, harmless icon from your childhood and you just can’t understand what all the fuss is about. I get it, I really do. But, I would imagine she represents something else entirely to an awful lot of African Americans. Ask yourself this, if you think it’s wrong for a company to use words like, “Happy days is here. Time fo’ my Dee-licious pancakes ready mixed fo’ you.” Then maybe you can understand why a symbol from an era where that line was thought to be funny and clever might rub modern ears the wrong way.

I think that somehow the world will survive without Aunt Jemima. Chill out people!

Statues and History

The really cool thing about history is that a proper understanding of it makes confusing current events less intimidating. Take the business of people tearing down statues, or if you prefer, the dismantling of history. It’s been going on for a very, very long time. It goes something like this. A government or some other organization wielding power decides to erect a monument celebrating some such thing that they feel worthy of celebration. Years and years later, the government changes, the once powerful organization has lost its power and influence, and the next thing you know...BAMM!! That sucker comes down. Here are just a few examples...

Here’s a New Your City mob back in 1776 yanking down a statue of King George. This particular giant lead piece of history was melted down to make musket balls for rebel soldiers.

It took this band of exultant Hungarians in Budapest about ten minutes to dismantle this giant statue of Joseph Stalin once their rebellion began against the Soviet occupation in 1956. They ripped it to shreds and the parts were paraded all over the city. The Soviets eventually sent in the tanks to restore order, but the point was made valiantly by the Hungarian people...Thus always to tyrants.

What a grand time they had!!

Remember this? Wasn’t that long ago. April of 2003 in Baghdad. American soldiers pulled down a huge statue of Saddam Hussein and then the locals, yet another mob, went wild.

I had forgotten all about this beauty. May, 1991 in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, literally two days after Communist strong man Mengistu Mariam left town, the locals were taking pick axes to the adoring statue of Vladimir Lenin.

One of the lessons of these paintings and photographs should be that...to the victor go the spoils. Generally speaking throughout history it is a rare thing for statues to go up celebrating the losing side of a great conflict. Another lesson from these paintings and photographs is that when statues do come down it is seldom during a picnic with dignitaries dressed in their finest, listening to speeches and cutting ribbons. It is normally a hot business with violence and gleeful vengeance in the hearts of the participants. 

I am not making a moral equivalence argument here, I am simply pointing out that A. Statues are erected only to eventually be either torn down or replaced, and B. Mobs are always present when it happens. History tells me so. Although I would rather be in the business of building statues than destroying them, at the end of the day you can’t have one without the other.

What Took Us So Long?

This day promises to be a screwed up mess. I woke up at 3 o’clock in the morning, came downstairs and enjoyed the peculiar delicacy of watching the gyrations of the Asian stock markets, not something I recommend for the uninitiated. It’s like watching digital grass grow. Then I got myself fully up to speed on the latest labor negotiations between the billionaire owners and the millionaire players of Major League Baseball. The urge to strangle them all with my bare hands is strong at 4 in the morning, I learned.

After a couple of hours of this, I began to get sleepy again, so I went upstairs and laid down for what I thought would be a quick nap. Just woke up at 8 o’clock, my daily routine in pieces on the floor. It’s cloudy and wet outside, a gloomy forecast in place for several more days, and my Governor has created yet another paid holiday for State workers, Juneteenth, a day that celebrates the Emancipation of slaves in America. Say what you will about Ralph Northam, dude knows how to make up for blackface photos in a yearbook. We get it, Governor. You’re really sorry. But, setting aside the foibles of our witless Governor, why has the Emancipation of African Americans not already been a State holiday? I mean, its one of the seminal events of our nation’s history, ending as it did the legality of human bondage. I would have thought if Columbus gets a day, why not the ending of slavery?

So, yesterday I played 18 holes of golf at Royal New Kent, my first full 18 holes of the year. I played with my good buddy and business partner, Doug Greenwood. We played in a misting rain the entire time. We had the entire golf course to ourselves. It was great fun. I started off terribly. As one might expect after so long a layoff, a couple of 8’s in the first six holes. Then my body became reacquainted with the game of golf and I settled down and played quite well. Shot a 40 on the back nine to shoot 88, losing to Mr. Country Club-I play nine holes after dinner every night-my golf clubs cost more than your car, Greenwood by one lousy shot! If my friend Tommy Thompson is reading this, I need a putting lesson, bro. I missed every single makable putt, which I define as anything inside 10 feet, except one six footer. Dreadful. But it felt great to get out and play a round of golf. Really great.

The Oven Light Kerfuffle

36 years of marriage produces lots of stories. What follows is one from yesterday. If you are a veteran of a long and happy marriage, and you are a man, you will appreciate this one. If, on the other hand, you happen to be a woman, it will most likely produce much eye-rolling, so proceed with caution.

While at the grocery store, Pam sent me the following text which I produce here in its entirety: 

Pam: If you are at home, can you please unscrew the oven light and send me the details on what kind to get?

I was home, so I immediately went into the kitchen, opened the stove and looked inside. The fact that the light bulb was on when I opened the oven door gave me pause, but if I have learned anything in 36 years of marriage it’s not to question a clear directive from my wife. There is always method to her madness. So, I get down on my knees and stick my head into the oven trying to reach the bulb which was located in the back left corner, encased in a protective contraption that I struggled mightily to remove. Once that was done, the actual light bulb was burning hot, so I had to unscrew it with an oven mitt on. Again, the fact that I was burning my fingers unscrewing a working light bulb per my wife’s specific instructions was indeed puzzling...but mine was not to question why, mine was but to do or die. As soon as I finally retrieved the bulb I texted her back:

Me: 40 watt. Clear bulb...also, it’s working.

Pam: ??? Was it loose or something.

Now I was thoroughly confused. Something inside me was sensing a problem. I looked once again at her text instructions. I had followed them to the letter. I answered cautiously, employing an artful but harmless untruth:

Me: Yep. I think it might have been loose.

Notice the clever turn of that phrase. “Think” “might have been”, all prevarications that might come in handy later.

Anyway, I hear nothing further from Pam until she gets home, at which point she discovered that I had taken out the wrong bulb! The bulb that wasn’t working was the one underneath the microwave, the one that lights up the stove top. She pounced, “Honey, why did you take a working light bulb out of the oven when it was clearly the stove top light that was out? I told you to unscrew the “stove light”

Me: Um...no you didn’t. Your text specifically instructed me to remove the OVEN light.

Pam: Why would I ask you to remove a completely working light bulb?

Me: Indeed...it was perplexing, but you were very clear.

At this point, she is confident that I am full of crap and misread her text. She whips out her phone to show me how stupid I was and then discovered that...I was right.

Pam: Ok, but you should have known not to unscrew a perfectly good oven light!! You are supposed to be able to read my mind. What’s the matter with you??

After giving the above incident more thought I have come to the conclusion that if I had it to do over...I would still unscrew the working light bulb in that oven. Sure, it might seem stupid on the surface, but when Pam gives me specific instructions, I don’t want to fall into the bad habit of trying to interpret her intentions. That is a fool’s errand and nothing good can come from it.

So, we now have a spare oven light bulb, the stove top still struggles along in the darkness, I actually was right about something, and Pam got to exercise her eye roll muscles. Win, win.

COVID Madness

So, yesterday Pam and I received an email from our intrepid real estate people at On The Water In Maine. The owner, Tiffany Ford, had clearly labored carefully over this particular email since it was her attempt to share with us the final edict from the Governor of Maine with regards to the rules for out of state visitors. Tiffany’s frustrations were evident throughout as she tried her best to explain the unexplainable. The upshot of the Governor’s ruling will be a severe blow to her business and she knows it. 

I will not publish the entire email here but I will summarize it’s salient points, which I believe to be sand-poundingly ridiculous. What follows is a perfect example of government overreach, cover your ass bureaucracy, and anti-scientific reasoning made to look like prudence. Here goes:

If I plan on vacationing in Maine I will have to self quarantine for 14 days, a shelter in place order that prohibits even trips to the grocery store. If we desire food and groceries we must avail ourselves of limited delivery services. Since the majority of rentals with On The Water In Maine are less than two weeks, this would mean that all out of state visitors to the state would be faced with a very quiet and isolated vacation. However, the good Governor, in her grace and wisdom has offered us an olive branch. If we desire to avoid the two week quarantine we can get tested for COVID no later than 72 hours before our arrival in the State. If the test is negative, we can skip the quarantine!! But here’s the sand pounding sophistry part...nobody in Maine is authorized to demand to see our negative test while we are there because of...HIPAA laws. When I say nobody I do mean nobody. Not the cops, not our rental agency, not anyone who owns a restaurant or store that we are about to enter. The results of our COVID test then will be our little secret. So the entire project will be based on the honor system. Let’s set aside for a moment the worthlessness of such an exercise and turn our attention to the science involved here. If someone gets a negative test for COVID, all that tells us is that he or she did not have the virus on the day they were tested. It provides no such reassurance that he or she may not have been exposed to the virus during the long trip to Maine. Any number of  virus-y things may have happened during the 72 hours after the negative test was acquired. Moreover, while we are in Maine, we might pick up COVID while pumping gas, eating a lobster roll, or standing in line at RiverDucks Ice Cream. So, what public health purpose does this totally confidential, 72 hours old negative COVID test serve the State of Maine, other than making her Governor look like a loopy gasbag? 

It should be noted that the entire State of Maine has had fewer cases, hospitalizations and deaths than....Henrico County, making these draconian, business-crushing mandates especially hard to comprehend.

What has been my response to Tiffany Ford and my friends at On The Water In Maine? I fired off the following email late last night...

Tif,

 Pam and I have read through this email which I’m sure was very difficult for you to have to write. My wife will reply with more detailed thoughts, but I wanted to answer myself as well, since I have plenty to say.

First of all, we have no intention of cancelling our reservation. Although it is very clear to me that your Governor clearly does not wish us to come to Maine, and will be extremely distressed if we do, my answer to her is an emphatic, “NO.” I will not cancel my four weeks in Maine. There are many reasons why, not the least of which are the many many fine businesses that we have grown to love over the years in the Camden area to which our cancellation would do great harm. The Smiling Cow, Once Upon a Tree, Hazel’s, The Waterfront, Camden Deli, The Droughty Bear, Riverducks ice cream, and...On The Water in Maine.  We both know how important the short tourist season in Maine is to these and many other wonderful businesses in the Mid-Coast area. To bail on them because of this nonsensical government overreach would be unconscionable. Also, our July in Maine isn’t just a vacation, it is a crucial part of our lives and the lives of our family. The central role that OTWIM has played in so many of these trips has been something that we highly value. Your great care an attentiveness to our needs while we are up there has made everything so much easier and care free. There’s simply no way we would back out on ourselves OR you.

So, we will get tested and go about our lives. We will obey all the rules for social distancing and mask wearing. But we will NOT back away from our commitment to come to your beautiful state, despite your Governor’s wishes.

God Bless,

Doug

Fearing The Lion

I am contrarian by nature. I was born contrary and it’s gotten worse through the years. 2020 is not a good time for contrarians. If you’re the type of person who always feels bad for the Wildebeest, not because he’s always being pursued by the lion but because he has to stay squarely within the herd in order to survive, then the last three weeks has been a discomforting experience. Examples abound:

- At the beginning of the Coronavirus, I was uncomfortable being ordered into the confines of my home by a State-mandated quarantine. The mandate rubbed up against my sensitivities as a free man with agency, making me feel like the hapless Wildebeast. Compliance with the edict was difficult for me and although I followed the instructions laid out for me by the authorities, I did so under official, if silent protest.

- Now, with the murder of George Floyd and the resulting banishment of COVID-19 from the headlines and airwaves, it seems like suddenly everyone has decided that the virus no longer exists. I walk through stores surrounded by mask-less citizens who roll their eyes dismissively at me as they hurry past, much closer than the suggested six feet. So, just about the time that everyone around me seems ready for a robust game of Twister, I’m now suspicious that we have all gone for the headfake, exposing ourselves to imprudent risk from a virus that hasn’t gone anywhere, is still killing people, and for whom there is still no cure. 

- Several years ago when practically everyone I knew was defending Confederate Statues as beautiful art and part of the fabric of the history and attraction of Richmond, Virginia, I began to question if they might be more appropriately displayed somewhere else rather than Monument Avenue. The racial makeup of the city and the message that the prominent display of men who fought for, among other things, the preservation of slavery might be suggesting to African Americans played a big role in my change of viewpoint. Now, the wholesale, lawless dismantling of these same statues with the tacit approval of law enforcement strikes me as wrong. In other words, now that more people have come around to my way of thinking, I am uncomfortable with the process.

- At a time when the entire country seems to have awaken to the persistent reality of racial injustice, I find myself in agreement with this new awareness. I freely admit that being born white in America has benefits, indeed, conferring on white people like me some privilege that black and brown people do not enjoy. Each day brings new admonitions on Facebook and elsewhere informing me of my privilege and how it needs to be checked. Advice memes have popped up addressed to white people, advising us how to and how not to interact with our black friends. I have found many of these suggestions helpful and indeed enlightening.

- I also, simultaneously, find myself resisting some of the new chic thinking on race. The blank, black box that many people displayed on Facebook last Tuesday is exactly the sort of thing that a contrarian like me hates. Again, the Wildebeest. Listen, I didn’t tie yellow ribbons around my mailbox when our embassy in Tehran was overrun, I didn’t display an American flag in my yard after 9/11. I just don’t do hashtags out of stubbornness, I suppose. But, although I acknowledge that white privilege exists, I refuse to go along with the notion that it defines me. Yes, being born white brings privileges with it, but not as many privileges as being born rich does. Although being born super smart is nice, it doesn’t guarantee either success or happiness. The world is teeming with miserable smart people. Neither does the fact that I was born white explain away every success I have enjoyed. Some of it was a result of good parents, a measure of self discipline, a work ethic, and an unwillingness to accept defeat. In addition, admitting that America suffers from racism and that some of that racism is indeed systemic does not mean that I have to accept the notion that the entire American experiment is a fraud, designed exclusively for the purposes of establishing and promoting white supremacy. Every episode of cultural upheaval has moments of overreach. This sort of reductionism is an example of such overreach. I wholeheartedly reject it, which in my opinion does nothing to lessen my desire for constructive change.

All of my life, I have resisted any new fashion or idea which starts to sweep the nation and culture. The more something starts being promoted as the next big thing, I find myself drawn to the counter argument. It’s exactly why I have always been attracted to the Gospel of Jesus Christ while being repelled by most of the churches who claim to represent him. You will search the annals of history all of your life and not find anyone as counter cultural and revolutionary as the Son of God. Equally, you will find it very difficult to find an institution so invested in the status quo as many churches. It is a paradox.

If I had been born a Wildebeest, I would have hated the herd. The strict conformity of such an existence would have driven me nuts. So, yeah...I would have been the one who decided to drift away from the pack to check out that cool looking bush in the distance. You know what happens to him. So, I get it. My opinions here might bother some of you. But, you can’t live your entire life fearing the lion.

My Missing Opinions

Preparing to leave your life behind for a month takes a lot of planning, coordination and hard work. It’s not easy to walk away from a business for a month. So, generally speaking, the weeks leading up to a month long vacation are jam packed with the tyranny of the urgent sort of things. That’s where I’m at now. I know, I know...poor, poor, pitiful me, right? The only reason I bring this up is as explanation for why I have been largely silent on a number of momentous, if bizarre, topics in the news of late. I have withheld comment mostly because I haven’t had the time to do enough research to comment intelligently, but partially because I’m tired of opinions of any kind. 

Looking back over what I just wrote there is a totally unintended joke hiding in that last paragraph. “I haven’t had time to do enough research to comment intelligently.” Holy crap, that’s hilarious. This is 2020 social media...since when is research a prerequisite for anything?

Be that as it may, I’m old school enough to think that I should at least dig a bit deeper than a meme-level understanding of a topic before I dive in with a take. Therefore, I have had nothing to say about:

Defund The Police

Seattle’s Autonomous Zone

The wholesale tearing down of monuments by night in my city and other cities around the country and indeed the world.

I’m not likely to write about any of these things in detail anytime soon. We leave exactly two weeks from today, so time for reflection will be in short supply. Once I get to Maine, a blessed cone of silence will descend over me, which will allow very little extraneous interference in. There will be no television. No newspapers except the Village Soup and the Camden Herald, the two local beacons of all news that’s fit to print. Yes, I will have internet, but mostly that will be used to keep a lifeline of connection to my business and clients open, in case of emergencies. Occasionally, especially during then first few days of adjustment, I will follow world events via my cell phone. But as the days go by and Maine begins to sink its talons into me, I will lose interest in anything that doesn’t involve fishing, swimming, eating, writing and the grandeur of God’s creation. So, that doesn’t leave a lot of time to form opinions. Consequently, the world might have to get along without Doug Dunnevant’s view of whether or not defunding the police is just another groovy revolutionary-chic catch phrase typical of the loopy left, or actually an idea with public policy merit. 

Somehow, I believe that the Republic will survive without this Blogger’s insights.

The Power of a Photograph

So, I told you about my big brother falling down a flight of stairs a couple of weeks ago. He broke his glasses, and was very sore for a few days, but luckily didn’t break anything. The problem has been that he has been in quite a bit of pain ever since the fall, raising concerns with his doctors. On their advice, he went for an MRI the other day to see if there was something else going on. The Doctors needed to rule out any cognitive impairment, a tricky proposition with we Dunnevant men since it is so difficult to tell. Are we cognitively impaired or just plain weird? There isn’t an MRI machine in the world powerful enough to answer that question. Nevertheless, there he was yesterday laying in one of those open MRI machines, since the big baby couldn’t handle the regular kind. Anyway, instead of finding mental problems they discovered he had sustained a torn rotator cuff. Well, I thought, no dang wonder  he’s been in so much pain! Poor guy. There’s no pain like rotator cuff pain, not to mention the fact that now he’ll have to give up his dream of making it to the big leagues as a flame-flowing closer for the Nationals.

Over the past couple of days I have come across two amazing photographs. The first was a picture of the recent Black Lives Matter protest in Hollywood, California.

My reaction upon seeing this was, “Ok, if we don’t see a huge surge in Coronavirus cases in Los Angeles in the next three weeks, I’m going to demand some answers from the folks at the CDC and WHO!!”

Then there’s this...

Yes friends, this is the mother of all photo ops, a picture so run through with symbolism and pathos it boggles the mind.  Democrats taking a knee just outside the Congressional cafeteria. I’m told that they held this pose for 8 and a half minutes, the same amount of time that George Floyd had to endure a knee to the throat from that racist Minneapolis cop. 

I’m sorry. I just can’t. I think that if Webster’s ever publishes a completely illustrated version of their famous Dictionary, this photograph will serve as the definition of pandering. I mean, it’s perfect. Except, what’s up with...who is that, Jerry Nadler...the white dude standing up? What’s his story? What, you got a bum knee or something Jerry? The nerve of that guy!!

Oh...and Nancy has got a lot to learn about how to wear a face mask.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking. Doug, aren’t you being a little harsh? Aren’t these Democrats just trying to do the right thing here, strike the right conciliatory tone in contrast to Trump’s nihilistic blather? Sure, there’s always that possibility. But everything in my 62 years of education, training and experience practically screams at me that this was a focus group tested publicity stunt. The good news is that at least during these eight and a half minutes, these men and women weren’t up to any legislative mischief. Well Doug, you’re just a cynic, then. Well, if by cynic you mean that I generally question the integrity and sincerity of the political class, and believe with all my heart that their primary motivation is their own self interest, then yes. I am a cynic. But I didn’t come by my cynicism by chance or some quirk of fate. It has been earned by a half century of duplicitous, self dealing men and women from both parties who have attempted to manipulate me with such photographs.

Speaking of stagecraft propaganda photo ops...

Alec, I’ll take “books Trump has never read” for $1000.

One more for the Webster’s Illustrated Dictionary...under despicable...

Famous People and Twitter

I have been shocked at the number of people who have lost their jobs and reputations over the past few weeks over comments made over social media platforms that have suddenly become lethal. It’s really not a new phenomenon, but has gained momentum in this post George Floyd world. Some have decried the First Amendment implications and the Brave New World thought police nature of it all. Others have pointed out that the First Amendment protects us from governmental suppression of free expression, but does not shield us from the consequences of the words we speak. Fair enough, but something tells me that this will feel like a distinction without a difference to the guy who gets crucified over a remark that three weeks ago wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow...see: Brees, Drew.

But, then it occurs to me that this very blog is probably chocked full of ill-considered ideas, phrases, and expressions that could destroy me if I were a public figure. The Tempest is over ten years old. I have written over 2000 posts, a whopping 1,300,000 words covering every topic imaginable. I have no doubt that there are plenty of inappropriate, over the top insensitive remarks on any number of hot topics. Heck, I even had a two part argument with myself over gay marriage back in the day. I shudder to think how that would have gone over in this environment. The thing is, I also have no doubt that I have been wrong about a lot of things I’ve written about. The Doug Dunnevant of today would probably take issue with the Doug Dunnevant of 2013. But, that’s the nature of the human experience. We grow and mature and our opinions change, hopefully for the better. We discover new information and make changes in our views. We meet someone who brings a fresh perspective on an issue that helps us understand better. For Christians like me there’s also the influence of the Holy Spirit, as he whispers to us, a whisper that we often don’t hear because of our stubbornness, but when we do changes how we see and understand the world. So, I will offer no apologies for what I have written here. It was an accurate and honest reflection of what was in my mind and heart when I wrote it. To the extent that it may have been boneheaded and tone deaf, well...that’s how we roll as human beings, ever striving ever changing, ever edging closer and closer to the truth.

But seriously? If I were a famous person? I would run away from Twitter, Facebook, Instagram so fast it would make your head swim!!

T-18

Monday morning. Another week of to-do lists, appointments and commitments to honor. The week starts with glorious weather, a big help.

Meanwhile, my country is still convulsed by protests, statue toppling, and now streets being painted with giant yellow letters promising to DEFUND THE POLICE. It’s my opinion that if we’re going to start defunding stuff we should start with the Commerce Department, then work ourselves down to the police, but I suppose that’s a subject for another day. I shouldn’t quibble. This is the first time I’ve heard hardly anybody in the public square come out for defunding any part of government since the 1980’s. Progress.

We haven’t talked much about COVID for over a week now. Good and bad. Good because the relentless wall to wall doom and gloom with regards to the virus was suffocating. Bad because despite the fact that we are no longer talking about it as much, it’s still out there, people are still dying and there’s still no vaccine.

Then there’s Wall Street. I do this for a living and I still can’t explain the unexplainable. I get this a lot, “Doug, with all of this turmoil and chaos how can the stock market be going up??” My answer is usually something technical and complicated like, “Beats me.” The only thing I should point out about the stock market is the fact that there’s a big difference between the economy and the stock market. Sometimes they move in tandem, often times they do not. Additionally, stock prices are leading indicators, not lagging indicators meaning that the market for equities is set by what traders see in the future, not what is happening now. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the extent of my expert opinion on this subject that I am willing to share on this blog for two reasons. First, I started this blog ten years ago as an escape from my real job, and second, the quickest way to bore people to tears is to start talking about economics.

At the Dunnevant Compound it is T-18 days until Maine launch. All systems are not go. There are a world of details to attend to before the great adventure can begin, not the least of which is staying healthy. All I ask the rest of the Country is to try to hold itself together for just 18 more days. Once Pam and I are safely ensconced in our lake house, you are free to do whatever the next crazy thing you have in mind happens to be.

Too Soon?

Often on Fridays, I have taken a break from the momentous conflicts and catastrophes of our world to offer really terrible jokes for all of you to moan and groan over. It’s my way of reminding everyone that no matter how despicable a place this world has become, awful Dad Jokes are still quite exquisitely funny. This particular Friday morning caused me to hesitate. Is it the right time and place to be posting cringeworthy attempts at humor while all around us, man’s inhumanity to man is on the march?

After careful consideration, I have determined that it is the perfect time for what follows. These jokes are so bad they have the power to unite us all: black, white, liberal, conservative, Republican, Democrat, carnivore, vegan, devout, pious, straight, gay, married, single, Boomer, Millennial, yankee, southerner, even dog and cat..in a collective eye roll.

What happened to Bullwinkle when he was pulled over for speeding?

He was charged with a .....moosedemeanor.

The police found a chickpea that was smashed.

But after looking at the evidence, they have ruled out....hummuscide.

What do you call it when someone hates riding to work with his coworkers over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge?

Carpool Tunnel Syndrome.

What kind of prize do you give someone who hasn’t moved a muscle in a year?

A Trophy.

I had a dream last night that I knighted an electric fish.

It was Sir eel.

Mike Tyson gifted little metal cups to his friends.

When they asked what it meant, he said it was a thimble of friendship.

They say that Argentina is cold.

But actually it would be more accurate to say that it borders Chile.

Confederate Statues

Woo Hoo! Thanks to our Governor, my Facebook feed will be filled to overflowing with rants about Confederate statues for at least a week, or until some fresh new abomination appears to divert our attentions elsewhere. This is 2020, after all, and every time we think it can’t get any worse, 2020 says, “hold my beer.” I will have nothing further to say on this subject. I have written about it at least three times that I can recall: 

https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2017/08/my-assistant-is-well-known-for-her.html

https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2017/08/hurricane-harvey-is-set-to-pound-coast.html

https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2017/08/a-brief-follow-up-to-yesterdays-post.html

But maybe there have been more that I don’t recall. I will say that this is one of those subjects about which my opinion has changed over time. How I felt about the Confederate statues on Monument Avenue as a thirty year old was different than how I feel now. That’s happened to me a lot over the years. Things happen. History unfolds for me, it is an ongoing, dynamic thing, and how I think about it also changes. I have friends who as far as I can tell haven’t undergone a single change in opinion about anything over their entire lives. I marvel at their impenetrable resolve, their unflappable confidence in opinions forged as a heady adolescent that were able to withstand decades of challenges undeterred.

Of course, I am also no weather vane, constantly pulled this way and that by every idea of the moment. Some things I have been resolute about, even become more convinced of their truth; the Gospel of Jesus Christ, my Mother’s love, the power of kindness, the perfection of sausage, the beauty of music, the magic of art, the supremacy of baseball, and the allure of Maine.

But when it comes to politics and history, I am swayed by events and the preponderance of facts. I am moved by the story that raw numbers tell. I tend to judge issues based more upon their actual results than their intentions. Because of this, my views on a few things have changed because of...new information...not available to me ten, twenty, or thirty years ago. But that’s just me.

So, no pontification from me on the removal of statues this week. If you want my views, try the three links above. Meanwhile, I have sausage links to think about!

Has Anyone Been on a Virtual Doctor’s Appointment Yet?

We interrupt the regularly scheduled dystopian nightmare that is 2020 to bring you this special edition of The Temptest:

VIRTUAL DOCTOR’S APPOINTMENTS

Recently, my brother took an unfortunate tumble down a flight of stairs. He’s a big guy, 6’4” and probably 230. The bigger they are, the harder they fall, so it was quite a trip. By the time it was over he was bruised up pretty badly, his glasses were broken and his face covered in blood. Don’t worry, he’s ok now but for a while there it was scary. I’ve probably told him a thousand times to walk down stairs, but he’s the oldest. Does he listen? Of course not.

Anyway, yesterday he sends the family a text getting us caught up on the latest. In this text he told us of a virtual appointment he had just had with his doctor. The minute I hear “virtual doctor’s appointment, I didn’t hear anything else. What a concept. My mind—a carnival fun-house of the bizarre in the best of times—began churning with the possibilities. While everyone else who received the text was asking him follow up questions about his recovery and being appropriately engaged, I found myself typing this:

“Wonder how a virtual appointment with a proctologist would work? ...‘ Nurse, bring me Mr. Dunnevant’s file. It’s in the back room, near the rear of the office. Yeah, I’m thinking that virtual proctologist thing would be difficult...no if’s and’s or butts about it.”

I could actually feel the collective eye roll from all the women in the family, none of whom would even dignify my take with a response. But my big brother gets it. He shot back with:

“I wasn’t particularly impressed with the magazine collection in his virtual office.”

To which I thought, but did not respond: “Yeah, how many times can you read 2017 issues of Rectum Illustrated?”

Once allowed to go down this tricky proctologist road, my mind wandered back to when I was seven years old in our cramped New Orleans apartment watching our grainy RCA black and white television with the tin foil wrapped around the rabbit ears. It was a Sunday morning and I was sitting crossed legged on the floor waiting for my family to leave for church when I turned the set on and was introduced for the first time to one Earnest Angley, faith-healer.  Dude was dressed from head to toe in a white suit, complete with white shoes and a white belt. His sweat covered face was staring into the screen, his hands extended towards the camera as he implored his viewers to believe that they could be healed. He was so confident on this point that he explained that the viewer did not even have to be in his live audience to be healed, that his miraculous powers could work through the television set....

“I am asking you to believe and claim your healing, friend. Get up from that sofa and place the part of your body that afflicts you on your television set and I will heal you!!”

With this odd, 55 year old memory brought into my head for reasons that defy understanding, I imagined some guy with hemorrhoids backing up into his television set waiting for his miracle. Then the famous words of the prophet from 4000 years ago came to mind...There is nothing new under the sun. Indeed, virtual doctor’s appointments aren’t new at all. Earnest Angley was doing them years ago.

Now, we return you to the regularly scheduled pandemic and civil unrest.