The Tempest Thanks You

As 2012 comes to a close, a word of thanks is in order. A year ago I reported to you that this blog had received 8,500 page views in it’s first year of existence. Now I can report that in it’s second year, it has logged over 23,000 page views, 16,000 of those in the last six months.

These numbers are astonishing to me. This is basically a self-indulgent enterprise, where I get to write whatever happens to be on my mind. The fact that so many of you are interested enough to actually read it is an amazing thing. Kinda cool, truth be told. Since I still have the same number of “followers” as I had in 2011, the increased numbers must be due to many of you reposting my stuff elsewhere. Thank you for that.

After 300 blog entries, I’m sure that the more savvy among you have picked up on several annoying literary tics, occasional bad grammar, dangling modifiers, abysmal punctuation, etc.. Thank you for overlooking such amateurism. Others of you probably have engaged in much eye-rolling at my political views. Thank you for reading anyway. While I do believe that there is some truth to be found here, it’s not all truth. Some of my opinions have merit, some are prejudicial, and a few will no doubt be proven spectacularly wrong by coming events.

So, thanks again for bearing with me on this amazingly fun, surprisingly therapeutic experience I call “The Tempest”. Happy New Year.

2013 New Years Resolutions...still trying

Three years ago I wrote what follows, my last attempt at a measurable set of resolutions. I had mixed results, to say the least. However, it was quite a good list and worthy of another try. Maybe if I keep publishing it, I might one day actually start checking a few things off as done. Although in fairness, I did landscape the yard!


"New Years Day is one of 365 days in a year, yet it produces in us a unique desire for reflection and self improvement. It is the turning of a page, a flipping of a calendar, a chance for a fresh start. Towards these ends, the New Years Resolution was born.

The beginning of a new year launches a thousand campaigns of self improvement from physical fitness to vows of sobriety. We promise ourselves to be better husbands, fathers, businessmen. We devote ourselves to greater levels of organization, more prudent spending and less junk food. By March the first, most of us are washing down a box of doughnuts with a beer while we rack our brains trying to remember where we put that letter from the bank informing us that we overdrew our checking account.

But no matter how spectacular our past failures have been, nothing stops us from making the effort. This year will be different, we tell ourselves, and mostly we believe it to be true, such is the genius of human deception. So, after much thought, here are my resolutions for 2013.

　
I could use less cynicism. It might be nice to look on the bright side every once in a while. It might help to be less critical, more empathetic, less of a smart-ass. My contentment level would probably rise if I was less obsessed with the future and more invested in the present. I should attempt to be a better listener, offer my opinions less frequently, and not hold those opinions in such high regard. I should pursue friendships with more vigor, hold grudges less tightly. I should spend more time in prayer. I should read the Bible more and the Drudge Report less. I should recommit myself to my hobbies, more golf and fishing, less excuses. Greater enthusiasm for my profession, more thankfulness, less fatalism. I need to escape the treadmill of politics since it only breeds frustration and resentment, and give the guys on the other side of the aisle the gift of my indifference. Cleaning out and organizing the attic and the garage would be a valuable use of my time. Replacing the countertops in the kitchen and making a sustained investment in landscaping the yard would be very popular expenditures, and earn me considerable good will. Maintaining my present weight would be wise. I should improve my dish washing skills and be more observant when emptying the dishwasher.

That’s a long and daunting list. Wish me luck.

2013 Predictions!!

Three days left in 2012. That can only mean one thing. It’s time for my 2013 Predictions Blog. Perhaps no blog I write all year is as eagerly anticipated as this one. Cutting edge prognostication is always in demand in troubling times such as ours, and my stellar record speaks for itself. Last year, I absolutely nailed it with my prediction that 2012 would NOT bring peace to the Middle East, and that the US government would spend more money in 2012 than it did in 2011. Its that type of bold, fearless forecasting that my readers have come to expect. While it is true that I whiffed on a few last year, Kim Kardashian did NOT become a born again Christian on Joel Osteen’s TV show, and the New Orleans Saints did NOT win the Super Bowl, However, I will stack my record up against anybody. So now, without further delay, I present my stone cold, lead pipe lock predictions for 2013.

　

1. My life will be made a living hell beginning Sunday night when the Washington Redskins beat the Dallas Cowboys to win the NFC East title. The second most obnoxious fans on the planet will suddenly appear everywhere wearing Redskins hats, jackets, and t-shirts. The ubiquitous “HAIL” will dominate my news feed on Facebook. The insipidly infantile “Hail To The Redskins” fight song will haunt my dreams for the next three weeks or so as they make their way through the playoffs riding the arm and legs of RGIII all the way to the NFC championship game where they will finally, mercifully lose.

2. Due to the Keystone Cop incompetence of our elected officials in Washington, we will go over the fiscal cliff. Nothing terrible will happen. Then, when the new Congress gets back in town in January, a patchwork fix will be passed that restores the lower tax rates for most Americans. That way, Congressman Dinglehoff from Pennsylvania can run obnoxious campaign adds next November with the tagline…”Dinglehoff, a proven tax-cutter”

3. 2013 will have it’s share of natural disasters, a hurricane or two, tornados, assorted blizzards, floods, droughts heat waves, hail, humidity, and annoying morning fog. The New York Times will blame each of them on global warming.

4. A deranged knife salesman from Buffalo, New York will go on a Red-Bull fueled killing spree through a Starbucks on the campus of Canisius College. It will be the worst knife attack in the nation’s history, and after weeks of relentless demonization by MSNBC, Cutco Knives will file for bankruptcy.

5. In his 2013 State of the Union speech, President Obama will shatter his own personal pronoun record by referring to himself 115 times in the 52 minute address.

6. On his first day on the job, Secretary of State John Kerry will declare the United States the “worst country in the world” and open negotiations to turn over our sovereignty to France.

7. The Chinese government will purchase Hostess and bring back the Twinkee. In a twist, the new Twinkee will be filled not just with that yummy white goodness, but also a fortune.

8. After watching his Cowboys fail to make the playoffs yet again, owner Jerry Jones will trade Tony Romo, fire the entire coaching staff, name his son as the new coach, and install himself as the starting quarterback.

9. Chris Christie will compete in and win a special celebrity Biggest Loser by shedding an amazing 115 pounds. The spike in his favorable poll numbers will be short-lived however when its discovered that under all of that flab, he’s actually a Democrat.

10. Jealous of Quentin Tarantino’s success with making a spaghetti western about slavery, Steven Spielberg begins production of a new holocaust film done in a game show format.

11. Sometime around June the first, ABC World News Tonight will officially lose it’s very last viewer.

12. Speaker Boehner will disclose that he is dying of skin cancer. The next day Chuck Schumer will introduce legislation authorizing the purchase of three new state of the art tanning beds to be installed in the Republican gym.

13. Hugh Jackman will win the Oscar for best actor for his roll as Jean Valjean in Les Miserables. Jackman will sing his entire acceptance speech.

A Christmas to Remember

Christmas at Linda’s was a raging success. I had secretly been dreading it for weeks. The cloud of my mother’s passing still hangs over my family, and when we are all together, her absence feels heavy and oppressive. Add the emotion of Christmas to the mix and well, I wasn’t counting down the days.

It couldn’t possibly have gone any better. Linda was amazing. The house looked great, so festive and full of fun. We were crammed in there like sardines but the presence of so many little children diverted everyone’s attention from the congestion, and right before the blessing, Linda addressed the elephant in the room with eloquent grace. Yes, she said, we all miss Mom terribly. But we are all together on one of her favorite days of the year, so let us rejoice and be glad in it. Everyone took a breath and then Dad led us all in prayer. You couldn’t miss him. He was wearing a smart new striped shirt with a bright red sweater vest. Best looking 88 year old of all time. Every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man, I believe the expression goes.

It should be pointed out here that the Dunnevant family is a musical tribe. At any gathering of more than 5 or 6 of us something musical usually happens. But yesterday we took it to the extreme. We broke out in song more often than the cast of “Glee”. First there was Cameron’s understated performance of “Old Toy Trains”. Then there was a marathon carol sing with yours truly playing the guitar and Paula pitching everything as an alto and Donnie insisting that Joy To The World should only be sung in the key of F…shhheeesh, everybody knows that! Then later there was Donnie’s yearly performance of the Ray Stephens classics, Santa Claus is Watching You and the politically incorrect Ahab the Arab.

Towards the end of the night, my brother shared a song that he had written three days after Mom died. It was written from her perspective and included the often repeated line, “don’t cry for me”. After he finished, my father, who had been largely quiet suddenly spoke in a surprisingly strong voice, “I don’t cry for her. But I do cry for me!” We all fell silent as he continued. “She was with me for 65 years. It’s hard to let her go.”

Leave it to my Dad to tell the unvarnished truth. Whenever people have said to me that my Mom is in a better place, I have wanted to yell, “Yeah, but I’m not!” To hear Dad say it, to know that he feels it, helped me let go of a bit of guilt, the guilt of insufficient faith.

Once again, Dad leads. We follow.

Christmas, And The Great Hair Fire Of '98

Yesterday, I was at church reading the scripture of the day on my iPhone app, when I received a text message from my son. Wow. I just reread that sentence and thought how just ten years ago it would have made absolutely no sense. Anyway,…the text informed me that there had been a wreath fire at Patrick’s church that morning that required a fire extinguisher to put out. It had plunged that Episcopal congregation into much chaos and tumult. When I got this news I immediately thought about a similar episode years ago that involved my Mother. The Great Hair Fire of ’98, it has been called by all those who witnessed it. Since I was a mere 6 rows away from the action, I can give an accurate account of the thing, although my sisters might dispute a detail or two. Linda and Paula cannot be depended on to tell a tale without distortions and embellishments, while my finely tuned detectives’ eye for detail and photographic memory is much more trustworthy. Besides, I have a blog, and they do not.

It was in December. The church in Chester, Virginia was festively adorned with Christmas finery and the small sanctuary was bathed in candle light. At the altar there was one sturdy hand carved table. This particular church didn’t have much of an altar. There was no kneeling rail, no steps, just the one table which usually displayed a large opened bible, but today was covered with several huge honking candles. These babies were serious candles, meant to provide light for years. They were as big around as a baseball bat and nearly two feet high. They gave off a prodigious flame actually providing warmth to everyone in the first two rows.

When dad finished his sermon, he issued an altar call and the congregation began singing “Just As I Am”. My Mother was the only person in the building who felt moved by the spirit to go to the altar. She stood close to the table on the right and bowed her head to pray. My Dad was several steps in front of her to her left, and was anxiously scanning the congregation for troubled souls when it all happened.

My Mother, like many women of her generation, had a fondness for hair spray. Not just any hair spray, it had to be Aqua Net, in the tall purple and white ozone-depleting aerosol can. Mom would cover her hair with a thick blast of Aqua Net and her hair could withstand a Category 5 hurricane. Of course, I loved it when she threw away the empty cans because there was always a couple of blasts left that I would spray onto a lit candle in the back yard to impress my buddies. The three foot long flames that would blaze out from the can were great fun, and the fact that neither I nor any of my buddies were ever incinerated is evidence of God’s grace and protective care.

Mom stood at the altar table deep in prayer and contemplation, her head bowed in solemn piety when suddenly her hair nodded an inch too close to one of the candles, and just like in the back yard her hair suddenly became engulfed in flame! A gasp shot through the crowd as my Dad, with cat quick reflexes began slapping Mom’s head with his hand. One slap, two slaps, three slaps, and it was out. The whole thing was over in five seconds, the only evidence that it had happened at all being a brief powerful whiff of seared hair and Aqua Net. Mom barely moved the entire time so intensely focused on her prayer was she that not even her head catching on fire could distract her from her mission.

What I remember the most about The Great Hair Fire of ‘98 was that although it was potentially a very dangerous thing, I couldn’t stop laughing. It is a terrible thing to be in church with an uncontrollable case of the giggles, especially when it’s your own Mom whose hair caught on fire, but there I was in row 6 desperately trying to stifle a torrent of belly laughs. But in the end Mom was saved by Dad’s heroic action, and after a quick trip to the beauty parlor, Mom’s hair was as good as new. Christmas was saved and now through this blog, the legend is preserved for eternity.

Present Balancing and Christmas Without Mom

Something weird is going on here at Dunnevant Christmas Central. Yesterday afternoon, December 21, instead of being incinerated by the world ending meteor foretold by the Mayans, Pam and I were wrapping the kids’ presents. Four full days before Christmas, Pam and I were done shopping. That’s a Dunnevant family record.

For all of you veteran parents out there, have you ever noticed that as your kids get bigger, their presents get smaller? In the old days we would spend half the night cursing at the assembly instructions for some huge plastic thing that one of the kids just had to have. Now, everything they want comes in small, sleek boxes, light as a feather. Wrapping this stuff is a breeze. But then we put it all under the tree and we look at each other and ask, “Wait, is that it?”

Some things never change though. Each year Pam has to lay their stuff out on our king sized bed, Patrick’s stuff to the left and Kaitlin’s to the right. There has to be an even number of presents. If there isn’t, one of us is making a midnight run to Target. Here’s how the conversation usually goes:

Pam: Look at how much more area Patrick’s stuff takes up.

Me: That’s just because his stuff is bulkier. They have the same number of presents.

Pam: Yes, but it looks unfair.

Me: Huh?

Or this classic exchange:

Pam: Kaitlin has two more gifts than Patrick does.

Me: Yes, but we spent the exact same amount of money on them both.

Pam: Yes, but Kaitlin will be opening two more presents than Patrick.

Me: Yes, but it doesn’t matter because we love them the same.

Pam: Doesn’t matter? It most certainly does matter.

Me: Honey, I can show you the receipts. We spent the exact same amount of money on them.

Pam: This isn’t about money, it’s about appearances.

Me: Wait,…what?

Pam: I know, I can put Kaitlin’s earrings inside her Vera Bradley bag. That will eliminate one extra present, and then you can go to Target and buy Patrick a Chipotle gift card.

Me: Yeah, but that will mean that we will have spent more money on Patrick.

Pam: Yes, but it will come out even.

Me: ………….OooooK

　

Something else feels different about Christmas this year. My mother isn’t here. It’s difficult to imagine what it will be like when we all get together for Christmas dinner without her. All of us will be there, my brother and his family, my two sisters and their families. Dad will be there. But this year it’s going to be at Linda’s house. That will be different too.

There have been several times this Christmas season when I have missed Mom, times when I have felt her loss more acutely. It’s always the strangest things that stir up the most powerful emotions. The other day I was walking into Mom and Dad’s house. Right at the door there is a cabinet to the right. I looked at it and noticed that nothing was sitting on the top. I thought of that terribly tacky mechanized Santa Claus that Mom used to put at the door, the one where if you pushed the button he would start dancing and playing “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town”. The fact that it wasn’t there washed a wave of sadness over me.

There have been many odd moments like that this season. But, although I’m sure that Christmas morning at Linda’s will have it’s sad moments, I can’t remember a Christmas where I am more anxious to be with the family than this year. Part of me wants to avoid it all together, but the other part wants to spend all day with them.  Losing Mom and caring for Dad these past five months has brought me closer to them. We have always loved each other, but this year seems different, same love, but much more respect, much more appreciation.

So, this year Mom is in heaven, and we are all left with the next best thing…Christmas.

A Very Good Day

Six days before Christmas, and I finally did some shopping yesterday. As it happens, that is something of a record for me, a monument to planning and foresight. I am famous for going to the bank, withdrawing a wad of Ben Franklin’s and hitting the mall on Christmas Eve morning. I do this not because I am forgetful, or unorganized, but rather because I always wait for inspiration. I prefer getting caught up in the Christmas spirit, and lavishing those I love with all their hearts desires by spending way too much money. It’s the one time every year where I spend money like a politician, without conscience or remorse. This year has been different. I watch the news, and read the dispatches from Washington, and a small voice inside my head says that maybe I should be careful, hold on to a little more of my money. The bad guys up there are crazy, and they are coming for it.

So, this year, more caution, more practicality, less impulsiveness. It sucks.

Yesterday was a good day though. I bought some stuff for Pam which always gets me in a good mood. I noticed the kids more this year. I saw them with their frantic mothers and grandmothers, and I was thankful. I thought about Newtown and wondered how horrible the empty houses will be on Christmas morning. Kaitlin comes home today, Patrick not until the wee hours of Christmas morning. I won’t be at rest until they are both asleep in their beds.

Then I went to a Christmas lunch. It was in a nice private room at Hondo’s. I was surrounded by the people I have worked with for the better part of twenty five years. My business partners, their wives, and three of their children were there. I remember them when they were five. It doesn’t seem possible that they are now grown people. There was even a four month old, a beautiful, peaceful little guy. To have made it nearly thirty years in a profession, and to actually love those who work with you is a gift. I looked around that room and realized that I have managed to surround myself with quite a group of good and decent people, no small feat.

Then Pam and I headed down to Christmas Town. This time we sailed in, practically had the place to ourselves. The music, the lights, the shows, all worth every penny, even worth a second attempt to get in.

A very good day.