Time For The Halloween Hustle

Halloween. Trick or Treat. It’s perhaps the most family oriented of all holidays, being based as it is on the concept of extortion of the old by the young. Throngs of toddlers and other miscreants roam the neighborhood cleverly disguising their identities, approaching house after house demanding that adults hand over candy under the threat of the disturbing yet undefined trick that will befall anyone who doesn’t pony up. This, of course, is the infamous protection racket made famous by the Cosa Nostra of the Old Country and the Mob in this country during the late 19th and early 20th century. Despite its roots in organized crime, Halloween still persists and in recent years has even grown in popularity as more and more adults have started getting into the spirit of the day. One can hardly walk into any public accommodation on Halloween these days without seeing full grown men and women decked out in all manner of outrageous outfits. From personal experience I can attest to the fact that it’s quite difficult to take seriously a dental hygienist dressed as a tube of toothpaste...

But, I suppose it is all harmless fun, especially in 2020 when we have all been living in a virtual Halloween for the past 8 months. So, tonight Pam and I will participate in our neighborhood’s new socially distant Halloween protocols. We will set up our candy station at the end of our driveway. All of the candy will be prepackaged in individual bags to prevent the little darlings from thrusting their filthy, germ-besotted mitts into a communal bowl of treats...

Pam and I will be seated at a safe distance behind the extortion table, where we can see their adorable little outfits without fear of contamination. Behind us I will have made a roaring fire in our Solo Stove. This serves two purposes, to keep us warm and also as a place where I can place my blinking sign pointing into the blazing fire...

...warning what will befall any age-inappropriate participants.

Of course, we have set aside special treats for the three darlings who live next door. We can’t help ourselves. They are the sweetest things you ever saw. I apologize in advance to their long suffering parents for how we consistently spoil them rotten at every opportunity...

A Cappella Summary | Pokémon Red & Blue

Ok, so for most of my readers, this video produced, arranged and performed by my talented son will not make a whole lot of sense. But to people of a certain age, this was part of the background soundtrack of life back in the 1990's. My son was and still is a huge gamer. I have often wished that I had had as profound an impact on him as these video games did! Now, he devotes time and energy to reimagine the video game tunes from 20 years ago as acapella music, then performs all the parts himself in his makeshift recording studio in his apartment. Even though I am unfamiliar with these songs, his versions of them blow me away. 

Hope you enjoy.

Voting in 2020

Everybody seems to be voting early. I see it all over Facebook, people posting photos of their little I Voted stickers. Nationwide we are being told that over 75 million of us have already cast our ballots. All of which means that if we discover over the next four or five days that one of these guys is in fact a serial killer...people who have already voted are basically screwed! But, far be it from me to criticize anyone for exercising the franchise at whatever time makes them happy. I have also heard several horror stories about five hour long lines and such. My son is particularly concerned about this, reasoning that the long lines will have the effect of disenfranchising many voters who won’t have the patience or can’t afford to miss time from work to stand in a five hour line to vote...so they will give up. Perhaps. I’m not convinced. I’ve seen Americans stand in line for days to buy everything from Springsteen tickets to the newest iPhone. 

Nevertheless, there seems to be incredible voter interest in the 2020 election and it looks like this might be the highest turnout in over a hundred years. For a variety of reasons this is either good or bad news for America. No matter the numbers I will be voting on Election Day, and not one second before. Part of it is simply old fashioned stubbornness. I have been voting on the designated Election Day in my country since 1976 when this newly minted high school graduate, freshly back from a wild adventure out west, walked into a voting booth, heart pounding, and pulled the lever for James Earl Carter for President of the United States. I had no idea what I was I was doing. My understanding of politics was severely limited by my lack of life experience and my still raging and interminable adolescence. Yet, the Constitution had granted me the right to vote on my 18th birthday, and I was determined to do my bit. I remember the feeling like it was yesterday. I walked out of that voting booth feeling like a man, proud of myself for some ill-defined reason. I also felt for the first time in my life like a...citizen.

I’ve cast some dumb votes in my life, lazy, uninformed votes. All my fault. I’ve also cast votes that I have been very proud of, votes that were well-researched and enthusiastically cast. But in every case the feeling has been the same...pride and gratitude.

I used to think that if my guy didn’t win all would be lost. Such is the price of passionate devotion to politics. Now, I’m much less consumed by doomsday fears. Nothing in my 45 plus years of voting has ever turned out as bad as I thought it would. Indeed, on several occasions things turned out surprisingly well when the other guy won, bestowing on me a dose of much needed humility. But I will not here disparage those passionate people who are terrified at the prospect of victory or defeat. I understand. It’s ok. It’s not my job to tell anyone how they should feel. None of my business.

So, on Election Day, I’ll be there in my socially distant line to vote. If I end up wasting all day standing in line it will be the fault of my own stubbornness. If I breeze through in 30 minutes or less I will resist the urge to brag. Either way, I will be paying close attention to those around me. I will take in the vibe of the thing with attention to every detail. Then, you can rest assured I will write about my experience here. I will want to remember everything about what it was like to vote in 2020. My grandkids at some point will ask me.

Unbelievable

An update on my friend...

Ok, there are times in life when things happen that cause you to doubt even the existence of God, let alone his goodness. On the other hand, sometimes you feel so close to him, his presence so palpable that you can’t imagine why anyone would deny his existence. Such is the life of faith, some days are better than others. With Pam Cole over the past 14 months I’ve experienced a lot of both. There have been days when her optimism and faithfulness have been about the most inspiring thing I’ve ever seen. But, then I will hear of some almost cruel turn in her condition, insults piled on top of injury, and it infuriates me. A few days ago I witnessed both the agony and the ecstasy of her journey in one fifteen minute text conversation.

She had been having a rough couple of weeks. Getting COVID had been a low point in a season of lows. It wiped her out physically while the isolation from her grandchildren had crushed her spirit. She had vented her frustration to me on several occasions. Since such venting has been extremely rare, I took note of it. So she wakes up one morning recently with a urinary tract infection, as if she needed one more damn thing to deal with. She tells me this very matter of factly, as if she thought it was totally the sort of thing she expected would happen to her, acting like it was no big deal. “What’s a little blood in the urine when you’re fighting cancer??” I said nothing, but in my heart a storm of anger was brewing. I’m thinking...Are you freaking kidding me, God?? I attempt to change the subject with, So, what do you have planned for today? Below, I paraphrase her answer...

“Nothing special...I’m gonna go to the store later to buy a couple of cards for some friends of mine who have cancer. There’s a lady who is a friend and client of mine who had cancer years ago and all of a sudden its come back, and a guy I went to high school with has lung and bone cancer. Both of them are gonna have trouble driving spouses all the way to Charlottesville and back for treatment so I was thinking I would send them some gas money...”

Then a bit later...

“Just trying to be a good steward. Feeling very annoyed today, Just getting over Covid and now a UTI. Never ending. So I really need to spread some cheer to some people today...I know the Lord loves me and that he cares for me. I know that he has a plan for all of this. Tired of being sick but it is what it is.”

Her last chemo treatment is this Friday. She will get to ring the bell at the treatment center up in Charlottesville. I would like to mark the occasion in a meaningful way. Many of you have been blessed by her story, by her lion hearted courage, good humor, and the power of her faith. If so, maybe you could send her a get well card, letting her know just how much of a blessing she has been. I will collect them at my office and then send them all to her in a box. Mail your cards to me at my office: 

Doug Dunnevant

3761 Westerre Parkway

Suite C

Richmond, Virginia 23233

Thank you in advance for your kindness.

If Men Were Angels...

If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external or internal controls on government would be necessary.

James Madison, Federalist Papers.

So, today I get a visit from a guy from the Office of Supervisory Jurisdiction of my broker-dealer...my OSJ. He will be in my office to audit my books and records. He shows up once a year with his notepad and noses around through my stuff to make sure I’m not a crook. I must provide full access to all my checking accounts, business and personal, plus he gets to rummage through my client files looking for any irregularities. During the rest of the year my OSJ is the guy who calls me whenever I make a mistake on an application, or to ask me to explain my reasoning for something I submitted. He’s like a traffic cop who constantly walks around the building looking for someone double parked. You would think our relationship would be strained, but honestly, Herb is a good dude. The way I look at it is, Herb is the guy who’s job it is to insure that I don’t get into trouble. It would be a different story altogether if I was up to no good. If my business model was based on manipulation and exploitation of my client’s money, I would hate Herb. Herb would be my enemy, because I would have a lot to hide and if Herb were to find out about it I would be finished.

I mention this in conjunction with the quote from James Madison that has been banging around inside my head recently. If all financial advisors were angels Herb would be out of a job. Because men are as far from angels as it is possible to be, Herb’s job is secure, his future bright. It’s the same way with governments. Limited government guys like me have to concede the fact that the amount of limits its possible to place on governmental power in large part is restrained by how dark are the hearts of men. Since the behavior of mankind seems to darken by the day, governments continue to grow larger and more powerful.

But the flip side is also true. We are, in fact, decidedly not governed by angels. The men and women in power over us, with a few notable exceptions, are a despicable lot, the halls of power are lined with self-serving, double-dealing, power-hungry careerists who would sell the country down the river for a large enough campaign contribution. Their selfish ambitions and the power of their reach must therefore be constrained...placing this republic in a classic bind. At a time in history when government oversight over the affairs of men is needed more than ever, protection from government malfeasance and abuse has never been more necessary. There are only two solutions. Either the citizens of this country need to start behaving better, or we better elect better people to public office.

Keep this in mind as you go to the polls.

A Word About My Kids

Feeling a bit under the weather today, an uncooperative constitution being the term one uses when one isn’t in the mood to share details. Suffice it to say that with discretion being the better part of valor and all, I thought it wise to skip my shift at Hope Thrift today. Now it suddenly looks dark and menacing outside adding to the general since of foreboding that fills my house whenever I am here alone. I have found that the older I get the less comfortable I am without Pam. We don’t even have to be in the same room. I can be upstairs engrossed in a baseball game while she sits downstairs on the sofa working on organizing something, but just knowing she’s down there comforts me.  A few minutes ago Bernadette and Issac came home from a day of chores, which helped, but its not the same as when the Queen returns.

Reading back over that paragraph caused me to laugh at myself a bit. What a freaking wuss I have become. I could have edited out the less than manly man parts but, it is what it is. She’s my girl, man.

I’ve been thinking about my kids over the past couple of days. Patrick and Sarah, down in Nashville, and Kaitlin and Jon in Columbia. I can no longer delude myself with the notion that they are anything other than fully grown adults doing grownup things. We want to hold on to our old familiar understanding of our kids, we parents, because its comforting. Things were in many ways easier when they were under our full time care. Now, we are largely powerless. Not that they are in dire need of our help, they are all handling the chaos and staggering confusion of 2020 like seasoned veterans. It’s just that sometimes it troubles me when I realize that I can no longer shield them from the cruelties of life. For one thing, they would resent my interference if I did but secondly...I’m not there. Everything would be easier if they lived closer...even 50 miles away. If one of them got sick and they only lived 50 lousy miles away, Pam would be there with a hot pot of chicken soup in a New York minute. But the paths of their lives have taken them to different places in different states for now. So we fret about them from long distance. 

Honestly, there’s not much to fret about. My kids are bright, inventive, hard working adults. Are they perfect? No, neither are we. Neither are you. But for us, they are as close to perfect as it is possible to get without becoming narcissistic bores. One thing I never get from any of them is whining, although every single one of them have had reason to whine over the past few years. They face whatever obstacle is in their way and cast about for a solution. If it doesn’t get solved right away they stay at it, grinding away. So much for the lie that Millennials are a bunch of entitled brats living in their parent’s basements. And its not just my kids. Most of the kids I consorted with back in my Youth group days (millennials all) have grown up to be hard working, big hearted adults who just have more tattoos and drink better beer than my generation ever did.

We disagree on stuff, me and my kids. They are wrong-headed on some things, but they have shown me that I’ve been wrong-headed on my share of stuff too. But, if they disagree with me it’s my own fault. I’m the one who taught them how to think, not to believe everything that every Tom, Dick and Harry says, to question big shots who are in charge...except for dad. They have done so in spades. 

The Social Dilemma....gulp

For the past four days I have woken up at 4:30 in the morning. The first time, I was able eventually to fall back asleep. Since then, no such luck. I guess its part of the readjustment back into the real world after a month in Maine. Maybe it’s the stress that comes with the business I’m in, the World Series, or something I’m eating. Regardless, 4:30 AM is  remarkable for one thing, it is an unsuitable hour for human beings to be wide awake.

So, I find myself on the horns of a dilemma. I have suspected, deep within my soul, that the benefits of social media (which are considerable), are not worth its corrosive effects on the mind. Last night, Pam and I watched the new documentary on Netflix called The Social Dilemma, which should probably be reclassified as a horror movie, because the premise as well as the testimony of its many former tech insiders is as terrifying a thing as I have watched in a very long time. You spend the hour and a half it takes to get through The Social Dilemma and the first thing you want to do is cancel every social media account with your name on it...right now. But, I am not the sort of person who goes in for knee jerk reactions. I prefer to be calm when making big decisions, not under the sway of inflamed emotions. So, this morning I’m thinking clearly, having had time to digest what I learned. So, what’s my dilemma? 

I used to be on Twitter. It didn’t take long for me to realize what a cesspool of ignorance it is so I cancelled it a year and a half ago. I do have an Instagram account but don’t really know how it works. I’m not on Snapchat, Whatsup, TikTok or Pinterest. But I have been on Facebook since about 2007 or so and as it happens, Facebook is the primary villain of The Social Dilemma. I won’t get into the weeds of the algorithms at play here and the accusations of skullduggery behind them except to say that I fully acknowledge that I have been victimized, consciously and unconsciously. If you want to understand more about how your entire worldview, your understanding of “reality” is being manipulated by the weaponization of information on your newsfeed, watch The Social Dilemma. If you would rather remain willfully ignorant, I get it. Don’t bother.

My problem is that there are things about Facebook that I like and enjoy. It allows me to stay connected to an awful lot of people that otherwise I would have lost touch with completely. Having said that, I must confess that I enjoyed it more at the beginning when it was largely populated by much younger people, kids I had taught in Sunday School and the College class I used to teach at church. In recent years it has become overrun with boring older people...like me. Nevertheless, I check it out every single day. For one thing, it’s the place where I post this blog. Probably 75% of the people who read The Tempest find it on Facebook. If it weren’t for that, I would probably go ahead and pull the plug right now. Actually, if one of my super bright readers could clue me in on how I could post this blog using something besides Facebook without losing hundreds of readers, I’m all ears. For now, I’m reevaluating my use of social media. Just in case you guys wake up one morning and realize that its been a while since Dunnevant posted anything, You’ll have to actually visit http://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/ to find me.

Cheaper Than Therapy...

Sometimes jokes do a better job of expressing truth than practically any other form of communication. For example:

How many Republicans does it take to change a lightbulb?

86. 12 to investigate Hillary Clinton’s involvement in the failure of the old bulb, 23 to deregulate the lightbulb business, and 51 to pass a tax credit for lightbulb changes.

Two. One to mix the martinis and one to call the electrician.

How many Democrats does it take to change a lightbulb?

17. One to change the bulb, six to talk about how wonderful it’s going to be when the new bulb is screwed in, and ten to demand increased funding for solar lighting research.

Five. One to screw it in, and the other four to screw it up.

What do you call someone in Congress who is honest, caring, and well-read?

A tourist.

My Other Life

Recess is apparently over. Since my parents did not leave me a sizable fortune when they passed, and since I didn’t marry a rich girl, and since I have not already accumulated a vast personal fortune (probably because I keep going to Maine for months at a time), today I head back to the office. Once there I will endure a gauntlet of trash talk from my friends. The air will be thick with invective, and mock-vitriol. I will be called lots of unflattering things. Comments will be made about my abysmal work ethic, how awesome the work environment has been since I left, the amount of weight I have put on, along with pleading entreaties begging me to return for a winter adventure in Maine! “Great, Dunnevant’s back. That means the average IQ of this office just took a hit.”

Actually, that’s something I would say. None of them are nearly as clever. But, I have taught all of them everything I know about trash talk, and every time I return from Maine, I feel an odd sense of pride. They all get better every year. I guess I’m just a natural teacher!

As I return to my other life, I must re-engineer my mind back to Business-mode. I must start thinking about business-y things again. I am helped in this regard by reading through the Wall Street Journal for an hour or so at the crack of dawn. It gets me caught up on all the latest information in the marketplace. Yesterday, I went in to an empty office to clear the detritus that had accumulated in my absence. Fortunately, my crack assistant had already cleared most of it away, leaving my desk clear and ready for action. While I have been away, she has been busy cleaning out and organizing my filing system. I have sensed a great disturbance in the force as she has been so engaged, even from a safe distance of 800 miles. My fast and loose organizational skills have been a constant source of irritation to her over the years. I fear that my name was used in vain on many occasions over these past four weeks. 

But I’m ready. For the most part I like what I do for a living. I enjoy the people I work with. Plus, our offices have heat, air conditioning and working toilets. What’s not to like?

Finally, in preparation for getting back to the grind, I had to consult my life-coach...Gary Larson:

Now I’m ready.

Amateurs

Ok, I know what’s coming soon to Facebook pages all across the fruited plain...adorable pictures of kids dressed up for Halloween. Well just because my own kids are now both in their 30’s and neither of them have seen fit to provide me with grandchildren, I have been forced to delve into the archives. I figure that I should get on this early to beat the late October rush. So....you think your kids are cute, do ya? You think that your little ghosts and goblins are the cutest that have even been, am I right? Sorry to burst your bubble...

Puhleeze!! You guys are a bunch of amateurs. Nobody topped the Dunnevant Pups in the cuteness department!

One more thing. What in the Sam Hill is going on, Short Pumpians? I go away for 3 weeks and when I return discover that there are literally at least a million freaking acorns everywhere!!! If we could just figure out a way to get rich in the acorn business, we’ve got enough inventory to last us ten years. Seriously, does anyone remember this many acorns falling before? My Dad used to say that a heavy acorn crop meant a long and hard winter. If he’s right, we’ll be shoveling snow in July this year. It is 2020...

A Package From My Aunt

Our 15.5 hour trip home is over, we are largely unpacked, and Lucy was ecstatic upon our arrival. All is well. Slipping under the covers of our glorious king sized bed was a nearly divine experience after three weeks sleeping in a not at all King sized bed at Loon Landing. When I step into my shower later today it will feel like walking into a conference room, and when I turn on the water the force of it will feel like a fire hose by comparison! There’s no place like home, I’m told.

One of the first things I do after returning from Maine is going through the pile of mail that has accumulated in my absence. During an election year, the pile is enormous and much more banal and toxic than the usual fare of Bed Bath & Beyond sale flyers and replacement window ads. But, you have to wade through every single item because there’s always the chance you might unknowingly throw away a commission check hidden between the pages of that Valpak circular.  In the midst of the pile I saw that my Aunt Sylvia, who lives in Florida, had mailed me a package. She never mails me a package. It was an old book. It came with this note:

Hi Doug,

I found this little joke book that your Uncle Fred had sent to Jim back in 1963 on his birthday. Enjoy.

Love to you and your sweet family,

Aunt Sylvia

September 17, 2020

Introductions are in order. Aunt Sylvia is my beautiful Aunt, the one who married my mother’s little brother Jim Dixon, on the very week of my birth in 1958. Uncle Jim was about the coolest dude in the world when I was a kid. He was a State Trooper, and an officer in the National Guard. Uncle Fred was my mysterious and endlessly fascinating Uncle, he of the multiple doctorates and vast learning, the exotic Yugoslavian wife and Michigan address. When he was home for visits I remember the way he talked, the words he used, his accent...all strange to me. But he had the warmest smile and it never left his face. Unfortunately, Uncle Jim passed away a few years ago, so Sylvia lives in Florida by herself where she is close to her son and his family. This unexpected package from her warmed my heart. 

I flipped through it expecting a bunch of really corny, dated jokes...and there were a few, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised at its content. I’m thinking that this book will be a source of material for me for years to come. Here’s a few one-liners that were deemed funny enough for inclusion back in the early 60’s...

The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.

Always remember to pillage BEFORE you burn.

Incontinence Hotline...Can you hold, please?

When guns are outlawed, only outlaws will accidentally shoot their kids.

A clear conscience is the sign of a bad memory.

My wife went to a self-help group for compulsive talkers. It’s called On & On Anon.

Not bad. Not bad at all!

Another Beautiful Morning

On the morning of our last full day in Maine for 2020, its 38 degrees outside, pink and still...

I’m writing in front of this...

Pam, made of far sterner stuff, is heading out for another paddle...

We will cram all the fun we can into this day. We are heading into yet another little coastal town that we have ignored all these years—Northport—for brunch at one of the few restaurants that remain open after Columbus Day, a place called The Hoot. I have agreed to this adventure despite the fact that the first item on their breakfast menu is the accursed red flannel hash!! After I survive that the plan is to revisit the cabin on Pitcher Pond to see what it looks like in bright sunshine. Once we arrive back at Loon landing it will be time to start packing up. Apparently, the weather promises a rainy departure Friday morning.

Its been another great year in Maine. We have had a blast. It will be many months before you guys have to endure another onslaught of pictures of lakes and mountains and lobster rolls. But, here’s one last fall foliage shot...

Dreaming Again

Yesterday rain poured down from noon to midnight in torrential buckets, exactly what this drought-stricken state desperately needed. The sound that rain makes on the tin roof over the bedroom is a glorious thing. But, despite the rain, our day was not wasted. We viewed the fourth and final property of our stay in Maine, a cabin on nearby Pitcher Pond. Like every other place we have seen, its complicated. The owners are considering selling, but may decide to rent instead. Our realtor will feel them out on this crucial point shortly, but wanted us to take a look at the place before we left. So, in a driving rainstorm, we did just that. It was charming, quirky, and campy. There was a lot to like. It had the illusive magic that we both require before we can contemplate buying a place. Work needs to be done to parts of the inside and some landscaping work would also be needed, but both Pam and I could picture the family there. The owner hasn’t suggested a selling price. It may end up being beyond our budget, so there’s no point in getting too excited about the place. But, it was fun walking through its rooms and imagining all of us there. Here are a couple of pictures Pam took to give you images to go along with my descriptions...

We have two more days here. We leave Friday morning. The weather looks lovely, sunny and low 60’s both days. Our seven weeks in Maine this year have done both of us a world of good. I can’t speak for Pam, but it has cleared my head, provided much needed perspective, and energized me for whatever follows. Now, if I can just catch a few more bass...

A New Day

This is the latest we have ever been in Maine on vacation...October 12. Woke up this morning to this...

Then I walked out on the deck and saw this...

...a strange cloud/fog bank rolling in from the west on the still as glass surface of the lake. I’m informed that today the sun will shine brightly but the high temperature will be lucky to enter the 50’s. We are just glad that the wind has stopped blowing! I will eventually venture out on the kayak to my favorite fishing hole with my warmest clothes, hat and gloves. Thankfully the lake has been mostly abandoned by the locals so I won’t have to risk being spotted by one of them and silently mocked for dressing like an Eskimo. For many Mainers this is still shorts weather!

Our time here in this glorious place is coming to an end. We can both feel it. We both look at the forecast for our remaining days and sigh. There will be a cold rain beginning late tomorrow, but Wednesday and Thursday look delightful with sunny skies and low 60’s. Friday morning we head home, saying goodbye to Loon Landing, perhaps for the last time. One of the very few drawbacks of buying our own place up here is the fact that we will never get to stay here again. Last night, the owners—Keith and Carolyn May—invited us over to their home for dinner. We were served the most delicious shrimp and grits I have ever had by a woman who has lived most of her life a million miles from Cajun country. They have promised to keep their eyes and ears open for any property that might pop up for sale. But, we will miss Loon Landing. This is the place that inspired us to find a place of our own. It is the place that we compare every other place to during our search—sometimes a problem. Few of the comparisons go well. Nothing we have seen yet quite measures up. We go today to see a fourth cabin on a lake called Pitcher Pond, about 20 minutes from here.

I see where the foolishness of our politics continues unabated without us. Everything we left on September 24th awaits our return. There will be work to do, routines to reestablish, old rhythms to renew. I miss my pup. I miss the size and water pressure of my shower. I miss my recliner. I miss the office and the good people who work there. I miss my church, the wonderful people in my small group, my friends. But...that doesn’t mean I’m anxious to leave. In the time it’s taken me to write this blog, this has happened...

The fog bank is lifting. A loon has appeared. It’s a new day.

Sunday Comics

A Special Kind of Justice

It probably should be against the law to have the kind of day I had yesterday. Brilliant blue skies, a magnificent scenic walk though some of the most stunning real estate to be found anywhere in this country, a hot pastrami sandwich for lunch overlooking Camden Harbor, a roaring fire in the fireplace back at the cabin while watching The Evil Empire’s black heart get broken...is about as good as life gets on planet earth...

The baseball game last night was not supposed to happen, this being 2020 and all. I fully expected the opposite outcome, where might makes right, where he who spends the most money wins, where the team with all the superstars triumphs then rubs it in the faces of the losers. But there I was in the bottom of the 8th inning watching some guy named Mike Brosseau stroll to the plate against the Yankees designated wife beater, Aroldis Chapman. Brosseau, the utility infielder who earns the major league minimum salary, was the same guy who the $15 million dollar a year Chapmen had tried to hit in the head with a 100 mph fastball back in early September, for which he was suspended two games. These two men couldn’t possibly have represented their two clubs any better in such a dramatic and pivotal moment, Brosseau, the unheralded nobody, in the box against the all-star flame throwing stopper for a team whose payroll of $254,000,000 makes the paltry $72 million the Rays dole out look like government assistance. Then it happened. The nobody, the anti-prospect, the guy who had ridden the bench all game turned on one of Chapmen’s 100 mph fastballs and deposited it into the left field seats, sending defenders of truth, justice and the American way all over the fruited plain into hysterical jubilation!! Take that, 2020. 

A Bridge Too Far

Today, Pam and I were in the middle of a delightful excursion to a part of Mid-Coast Maine that we have largely ignored during our many trips here, the gorgeous Rockport Harbor, when I received a text from my friend informing me that she, her husband and grown daughter had all tested positive for COVID. I found a picnic table, sat down and got the details. They are all feeling pretty rough. Surgery that had been scheduled for this week had to be postponed (for the second time) and now all three of them have to go in to quarantine for two weeks. I don’t need to point out the dangers involved when someone, who’s immune system has been weakened by chemo for a year, gets COVID. I am worried sick about her. She ended our conversation with this...I’m not afraid of COVID either, Doug. God’s got this...to which I replied with all the honesty I could muster...Well...I sure wish God would change tactics. I think you’ve had quite enough of this shit.

I’m very aware of God’s mysterious ways and all that, and I also realize that he owes me no explanation for every single bad thing that happens in this world. But news that my friend had come down with COVID seemed like a bridge too far. I’ve watched my friend endure a living hell for over a year now. Every bad thing that possibly could have happened during her treatment, has happened. And now, when she has battled through everything and is within sight of the end of her treatment...she gets freaking COVID?? It’s devastatingly unfair, and it pisses me off. And yet, there she is, sore back, coughing, fever and pains in her joints, stuck in a house with two others that feel every bit as rotten as she does, and what does she do? Assure me that she fears nothing because God is in control. 

Pam and I continued our walk around the harbor taking pictures...

When we got back to the house, I texted her again with a question that had been rattling around my head all afternoon, “Who in the world is going to take care of you guys if you’re all three sick and in quarantine? She answered with, “Some friends we go to church with left our dinner on the porch tonight. We are doing alright...”

When things like this happen, I get angry and sometimes that anger gets directed at God. The thing is...I don’t think he minds the times when I’m most honest with him. I imagine he prefers honest anger to empty, repetitive prayers that we don’t even mean or believe. Usually when I lash out, something soon happens that reminds me of God’s sovereignty in the world. But the fact that I get angry so often is probably evidence that I’m not the world’s greatest Christian, but then again, I’ve never claimed to be. All I know is I have a good friend who is a much better person than I am, who has been sick as a dog for 14 months now and desperately needs to catch a break.

Marco Polo

Photo credits: Chip Hewette 

So, about a month or so ago my wife organized this Marco Polo group text thing among some of the Dunnevant ladies. For those of you who might not know, Marco Polo is this app that allows you to send video texts to people. Anyway, she named the group, The Hip Sisters. They’ve been going hot and heavy ever since. No guys are allowed, but sometimes Pam lets me watch some of the back and forth and I am here to tell you, these ladies talk about...everything. Sometimes it’s terribly serious and earnest where they share very personal stuff about the kids and struggles at work etc...Other times it’s silly stuff. But, do they ever go on and on. They all talk about how great it has been in bringing them closer together. The whole thing has gotten me thinking about what this Marco Polo thing might work if it were...just the men in the family. I can’t imagine anything in the world more painfully awkward than a group video text with a group of...dudes. Any group of dudes. Especially, the guys in my family. Hmmm...I wonder how it would go?

Me: Ok, since this was my idea, I suppose I should set the ground rules. The purpose of this thing is to bring us all closer together so we can, you know, like share our feelings and stuff...about life, or whatever.

...long awkward silence...

Bill: Ok, I’ll go. I feel a little constipated. Not terrible, but its been a couple of days now...

Ron: ExLax works well for me. But just one. Took two once and won’t make that mistake again...

Patrick: I’ve heard that natural remedies work far better than those corporate laxatives with their harsh chemicals. Sarah swears by baking soda and warm water.

Me: My son...the laxative expert. What do you know about being backed up? You’re too young to even know what it feels like!!

Bill: Back in my day Mom made us eat baked beans three meals a day.

Matt: Guys, I don’t think this was what they meant when they said, “talk about your feelings.”

Paul: Yeah...

Jon: I saw a red-breasted sap-sucking grouse the other day. First time ever.

Ryan: Who cares?

Patrick: Whoa dude, that’s harsh!

Ryan: Look, I’m just on this thing because Mom has made such a huge deal about it. 

Me: Listen guys, I get it. This whole thing is weirding me out too, but we’ve got to make an attempt here. Ok, how about I throw out a question for everyone to answer as a way to stimulate some discussion?

Matt: Who died and put you in charge?

Patrick: Yeah Dad...who elected you dictator of Marco Polo??

Donnie: Wait, can anybody hear me? How do you turn this thing on?

Me: Ok...how about this...does anybody have any prayer requests?

Ryan: Yeah, how about we pray for a massive collapse of the Marco Polo server?

Bill: And if that didn’t work it was broccoli for a week.

Jon: Bill, we’re not talking about constipation any longer...

Ryan: Or bird watching, thank God!

Donnie: How come everybody looks upside down on my screen?

Matt: Jenny tells me they laugh a lot over at The Hip Sisters Marco Polo.

Patrick: Well, Matt...maybe you should go join their group!

Paul: I already tried that. They have a strict NO MEN ALLOWED policy.

Bill: Isn’t that sexist?

Me: Let’s not get into politics...

Donnie: Now you are all side ways!!

Yeah...I think we’ll leave the Marco Polo to the ladies.

High Anxiety

Today was a day full of high anxiety levels all around. We are on vacation...in Maine...that’s not supposed to happen. 

It started with the cloudiness, high winds and cool temperatures. Then we headed out to tour another property, this one on Crawford Pond over in Union/Warren, Maine. From the pictures we had seen, it looked like it had great potential. So, we pulled up at the place around 11:00 just as the sun came out and bathed the entire place in warmth for thirty minutes or so. A sign? We walked every inch of the place, inside and out. Neither one of us could find much fault with it, the cabin was much nicer than the pictures had lead us to believe. Usually its the other way around with pictures. This place exceeded our expectations at practically every turn. What made things even better was the fact that the place hadn’t even been put on the market yet. Our realtor found out that the owners were prepared to sell after a family member’s death. So, we were on the inside, ahead of the mad rush for lake front property in Maine that COVID has spawned. Then, when we were about to leave, a guy pulls up the driveway and asks, “Is this the place that’s for sale?” Apparently, the owners had just posted their intentions to sell the place on FACEBOOK!!! To make matters worse, in the middle of the madness our realtor’s daughter got sent home from school with a fever and had to be taken for a COVID test.

A series of texts back and forth between us and our frantic realtor produced an offer and a letter, written by Pam, to the owners describing in heart-string pulling detail why they should sell the place to us rather than some friend, or worse, stranger on Facebook. Our realtor has called, texted and emailed with the owners this afternoon and as of this hour, there has been no word from them as to their reaction to our bid. We have tried to remain calm, cool and collected as we wait. It’s been hard thinking of anything other than this business all day. We had dinner. I watched some baseball. But in between I’ve been flipping through the 100 + pictures we took of the place, trying not to get my hopes up.

Although most of the day has been a cold, windy, dreary mess, even on bad days Quantabacook seems to redeem itself...

Now, we wait for the vibration of our cell phones, indicating a text from Tiff. Meanwhile, The Braves won, The Astros are now up two games to zero over the A’s, and the hated New York Yankees and their 10 gazillion dollar payroll are about to go up two games to one over the Rays. A minute or so ago my phone came to life with a dramatic buzz. My heart beat quickened as I reached for it only to discover that the warranty on a car I no longer owned was about to expire, and if would only call the Toll Free number, they could extend it for an unbelievably low low price!!

Grrrrrrrr.......

Rock Painting

The early morning is dreary. The sky is low and there’s a stiff breeze. But Pam and Lynn are out there in their kayaks anyway. By 9:00 0’clock it will be bright and sunny. After breakfast, the two of them will get busy with Pam’s latest thing...

Pam collected these seven rocks from all around the property yesterday, cleaned them up and let them dry overnight. Today they will paint them in cheerful colors and designs, then place them strategically around the grounds of Loon Landing for the owners to find...like Easter eggs that you can’t eat. She did this at Loon Call back in July...

In other words, this is the sort of thing that would never have entered my mind as something to do. Never. It is just yet another dimension of my wife that I admire, her endless artistic inclinations and thoughtfulness. Maybe at some point I will try my hand at rock painting. The problem will be, what sort of thing would I paint on a rock? They aren’t big enough for a dad joke. I don’t have the requisite skill to paint a picture of something. I’m not good at one word cheerfulness. Maybe irony or sarcasm...but how on so small a canvas...Wait, how about:

LUCY

 2020

That might work! I’ll publish pictures of the final products.

Morning Rainbow

With the rising and the setting of the sun, this place never fails to dazzle. But this morning’s display was fabulous even by Loon Landing standards...

I’m not sure what to think or say about seeing a morning rainbow.

But, there it is. And now, less than ten minutes later, this...

There will be fishing this morning. I’m taking Chip out in that little motor boat there to see what we can catch in the northern part of the lake. Yesterday, I took him down to the southern end to my favorite spot by the dam. We both caught a nice small mouth on our very first cast! Later this morning we will head in to Camden, pick up some sandwiches at the The Deli and have a picnic by the ocean at Camden Hills State Park. After that we will head up to the top of Mount Battie for views of the harbor and Penobscot Bay. Tonight there will be Old Bay shrimp and sausage on the grill and a fire on the edge of the lake. Tomorrow we will drive our friends to the airport and send them back to Richmond. If the lying meteorologists can be believed, we should have sunny weather for the next ten days, but colder, high in the 50’s, low in the 30’s. I’ll settle for another morning rainbow.

 

The President Has COVID

I have woken up to probably 60 sunrises at this place, but have never seen one like this. I’m not even sure what to call it. If you were to ask me if if the sky is clear I would have to say yes, there’s blue sky up there. And yet, the lake is shrouded in fog, but not so much fog that I can’t see the reflection of the blue sky in the water of the lake! As I was taking this picture, somewhere out there in that blue-gray mist, a loon greeted me with his charming warble.

So, the President and First Lady have tested positive for COVID. Trump is now at Walter Reed Hospital for treatment. The reaction to this news has become a sort of Rorschach Test of political passions. I’ve seen everything from shock, to sympathy, to ridicule, even accusations that its all a PR stunt by his campaign. Nobody has the power to divide us like Donald Trump.

My reaction is a product of my upbringing, particularly, the example set by my Dad. I remember very well the day I came home from class when I was a student at University of Richmond to find my father sitting on the end of his bed watching a small black and white TV with a tear running down his face. Why? He was watching a special report bulletin reporting the attempted assassination of Gerald Ford by “Squeaky’ Fromm. I was surprised at the news, but even more so by his emotional response...he wasn’t particularly fond of the President. When I asked he simply said, “He’s the President of the United States, son.” Same thing happened years later when Reagan got shot. Him and Mom both. They were old school Christians who took seriously the words of Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel...”You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you....If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that?”

So, when I hear that Donald Trump has COVID, I put aside any notions of mockery and derision that come to mind, and concentrate on hoping that both of them are ok and will recover. I refuse to wish death on another human being. It is counterintuitive, even uncomfortable sometimes. But I have to choose love over hate, because it’s the only choice available to me that leads to human flourishing. To passionate partisans, my take will seem foolish, “sentimental hogwash” in the immortal words of Potter in It’s a Wonderful Life. So be it.