Paper or Plastic?

When the bag boy at the checkout line asks if you want paper or plastic, why on God’s green earth would anyone say “plastic”? This is the question of the day. But before I answer it, I must point out that my use of the term “bag boy” in no way was meant as a slight to the many fine bag GIRLS out there. The use of bag boy was simple an all-inclusive term, gender neutral, meant to refer to all the hard-working bag persons employed in the grocery business. Perhaps I should just say bag person, since if I said bag girl, it might be misunderstood as bag lady, an entirely different thing……..(see what political correctness has done to the English language?)

Anyway, about this paper vs. plastic deal, the mere existence of those wispy-thin litter-makers is proof that sometimes, “progress” is too clever by half. What imbecile decided that paper grocery bags needed to be replaced? Probably some tree-hugging enviro-idiot. “”We need to save the trees from the greedy capitalist logging industry, so let’s create grocery bags out of thin plastic that will clog landfills the world over for the thousand years it will take for them to biodegrade!”  Pin-headed idiots!

Not only are plastic bags an environmental hazard, they are practically worthless for their intended purpose since if one bag contains anything heavier than a roll of paper towels and a bag of chips, a hole will rip the bottom wide open. The worse part is, when you get them home, the bags don’t stand up when you place them on the floor. You let go of the thing and suddenly cans of soup and apples are rolling across the kitchen floor every which way.

Contrast that with the sturdy versatility and ruggedness of the conventional paper grocery bag. They stand up straight and tall when full, they double as trash bag liners, book covers, head gear for embarrassed sports fans, even present wrapping paper for men. A question to all you dog owners out there, when it’s time to clear the back yard of dog poop, what do you want in your hand, a double strength paper grocery bag, or some pathetic plastic thing that won’t even stay open at the slightest suggestion of a breeze? You throw one of Fido’s fresh ones in one of those plastic bags and it would melt right through the bottom like throwing a plastic cup in a bonfire.

Paper or plastic? They might as well ask a kid on Halloween, “you want candy or rocks?” The bank might as well ask me, “you want a hand full of twenties or some nickels?”

Come on, people! Stop the madness! Just say "NO" to plastic bags.

Things Are Never As Bad As They Seem

As the month of May draws to a close, I for one will be glad to see it go. It has been a tough slog for the Dunnevant  household. A recap:

May 2: I drop $850 bucks on a CPAP machine, forever changing how I sleep.

May 9: My faithful, irreplaceable dog Molly, dies in my arms at 6 am. Two hours later I receive my second cortisone shot from Dr. Beech in my ailing left shoulder which he assures me will get me through the summer.

May 12: My first Mother’s Day without my Mom so soon after losing Molly puts me into a major league funk, made much worse by news that my mother-in-law has been taken to the hospital in the wee hours with pains in her stomach.

May 14: Mother-in-law has first of two operations, with Pam at her side 8 hours a day while I wait patiently for therapeutic effects of cortisone shot to kick in.

May 15: Learn that friend has cancer.

May 17: In rare highlight, Pam and I head to North Carolina for two graduation ceremonies. We have great few days with both of our amazing children, all the while my shoulder feels like some sort of mixed martial arts death match is being waged inside the rotator cuff.

May 21: Visit Dr. Beech who informs me that my shoulder has digressed beyond remedy, short of surgery. He prescribes pain meds to get me through until the earliest date available on his schedule…June 5. Pain meds only partially effective.

May 28: Start wearing sling for left arm in effort to prevent me from doing stupid, instinctive things with arm that end up sending shooting pains through shoulder. Discover that it is difficult to go to the bathroom wearing sling.

 

So, there you have it, a beautiful month. However, in the spirit of hope that comes with springtime, I feel an obligation to you, my readers, to end this blog post on a positive note. All was not lost in the month of May as a review of the month’s positives will reveal:

# Mother-in-law is finally recovering, making steady progress

# A dear friend gave me a gift card to Maggiano’s which I used to celebrate my 29^th wedding anniversary with the most amazing woman in the world.

# Business remained strong despite all the distractions.

# A very good friend received some sensational news that was a long time coming and a huge answer to prayer.

# Both my son and my daughter got jobs, Patrick for the summer, and Kaitlin, her first full time teaching job in Henrico county!

# The neighbors across the street got an adorable new Golden-Doddle puppy, which has helped me dealing with Molly’s loss.

# May was vomit-free.

 All of this just proves something I have always instinctively known; things are never as bad as they seem when you take the time to think it through. There is always something to be thankful for, always a blessing out there hiding in the weeds. I just thought of another one…no car accidents in the Dunnevant family in the month of May. See how easy that was?

Unsolicited Marital Advice

 Several months ago I was asked to prepare some remarks for a young man who was about to get married to a young woman who I have known for years. We had gathered for a huge meal and afterwards several men in this all-male affair were tasked with dispensing marital advice to the groom. Well I found this the other day and decided to dust it off in preparation for the big event in the Dunnevant family coming up in 60 short days. Any of my married friends out there who have additional insights that I can add to this list, feel free to make suggestions. Please, no cracks about how much trouble Jon is going to have dealing with so opinionated a father-in-law, since he already knows that!

“ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.”

                                                                 1 Corinthians 13:5

 

Congratulations on your upcoming wedding, _________.  Since I just celebrated my 29th wedding anniversary, I feel at least partially qualified to dispense marriage advice, primarily…marry the right woman. It certainly worked for me.

But even if you do marry the right woman, it is no guarantee of success, just as your mutual faith in Christ is no guarantee. Pam and I joined Grove Avenue 26 years ago and immediately got involved in a fabulous Sunday school class of young married couples. These were 15 of the most devoted Christian couples we had ever known, committed not only to each other, but to the church as well. 26 years later, 7 of the 15 are divorced. I share this with you as proof that what you are about to embark upon will be the hardest thing you ever do, but done right will enrich your life in amazing ways.

I have prepared a list of suggestions for your consideration. These are principles that Pam and I have found extraordinarily helpful in our 29 years together. Now, just because something appears on this list doesn’t mean that I am always in full compliance. It just means that when I am, things go very well. Some days are better than others.

1.     Have a short memory. The verse I quoted above might be the single best verse in the Bible for married couples. “Keep no record of wrongs” is simply golden advice. If I had written this letter to the Corinthians I would have added, “ while you’re at it, keep no record of ANYTHING”. Being married isn’t about keeping score. You don’t do nice things for her so you will earn something nice in return. There is no marriage bank into which you make deposits, no safe deposit box that contains brownie points. You do nice things for her because you love her. Period.

2.     The quality of your married life will rise and fall in direct relationship to how well you’re able to banish selfishness from your life.

3.     You can either be “right” or you can be “happy”, but seldom at the same time. Winning an argument with your wife is never truly winning.

4.      Never criticize your wife in public, even and especially in jest. Trust me young man, there are home wreckers out there, yes even at your church, who are listening to every word you say, waiting for an opportunity.

5.     Even though God calls you to be the leader of your home, listen to your wife, and value her council. She is so much smarter than you in so many areas, it’s not even funny. Don’t be a stubborn jerk, listen and obey.

6.     Never stop going out on dates.

7.     When children come, pay special attention to #6. You married your wife, not your children.

8.     Don’t become predictable. Surprise her with gifts, flowers, cards, racy love letters, inappropriate e-mails etc. Take charge of the romantic planning in your relationship. Guard against boredom.

9.     Do all the vacuuming, always clean the bathrooms, and always do the dishes after dinner. That way when she tells her friends that she has never vacuumed, cleaned a bathroom, or done dishes after dinner in all the time she’s been married, they will all tell her what you’ve been telling her forever, that you’re a GOD!!

10. Anything worth having in this life is worth fighting for. Your marriage is worth your very best effort. Take nothing for granted.

 

Pam and I wish you and __________ all the best.

 

Doug

My Son Turned 24

My youngest child turned 24 over the weekend, a sobering mathematical fact, which makes it increasingly difficult to claim that I am still in my forties. Actually, I’m not one of those guys who lies about his age. Whenever anyone asks me, I proudly proclaim the truth of my 55 years, since they have been hard earned and come with big benefits, chief among them, a head full of memories. Some of my best ones involve my Son.

We knew there was something strange about Patrick, when he walked out of his first Disney movie talking about nothing but the musical score. Before he was 12 he had demonstrated untaught skill in every musical instrument we ever placed in his hands. The first choir he was a member of was directed by my sister, The Praise Kids, and from her he learned that music was our gift to God, not to mention more fun than a barrel of monkeys. By the time he was introduced to Sherri Matthews at Godwin high school, it was all over and there was to be no turning back. Patrick was a musician, and that was that. He blazed through Belmont University and now Westminster Choir College, doing what he loves, making music and trying to figure out a way to get paid doing it.

But, on the occasion of his 24^th birthday, I would like to brag on his non-musical gifts. Patrick has managed to develop in an industry famous for huge egos, without much of one. He has never felt intimidated by others with great talent, in fact, they inspire him. Patrick simply loves good music, regardless of who is making it. I have never heard him say a bad word about any of his classmates, never heard him denigrate anyone’s talent or lack thereof, an amazing gift.

The thing I’m most proud of in my boy is his ability to think for himself. Patrick will never be bullied into group-think. He thinks things through and comes to his own conclusions about difficult problems. He doesn’t believe a certain way just because his father does. He thinks. He researches things, listens to others and makes his own informed judgment. Sometimes we agree, sometimes we don’t, but I’m always proud of how he arrives at his views, through careful thought, without lazy reliance on  dogma. When his views aren’t popular, he has the courage to defend them. A father can’t ask for much more than that.

Patrick isn’t perfect. He is an unrepentant slob, maddeningly unorganized, and thinks that undershirts are appropriate attire for practically any occasion. But he’s 24 and still very much a work in progress. My son is a freakishly talented human being with a huge heart and boundless capacity for love and loyalty. Can’t wait to see what becomes of him.

My Missionary Friends

Over the past ten years or so, it has been my good fortune to meet and become friends with many missionaries. These are people who served for years in foreign lands, having children and raising them all over the world from Thailand to Zimbabwe. After a fifteen-twenty year run, they have retired into the administrative end of the business here in Richmond at the International Mission Board. Through this happy accident of geography, many of them have joined our church and provided us with much needed injections of legitimate righteousness over the years. As a bonus, I had the privilege of getting to know their kids when I worked in the Youth department of our church.

These ex-missionaries have formed a unique community. All of them, all of their families seem connected. Although they served in different countries and none of them are related by blood, the bond of their shared mission has turned them all into an extended family. Their children refer to all of the men and women as “aunts” and “uncles”. It’s really quite charming and enviable. Because Pam and I have become close friends with many of them we often get invited to social events and get-togethers, and they are always great fun, although Pam and I often joke that we feel like the token heathens. The reason I say that is that when it comes to the business end of the Gospel, ie, the actual spreading of it, these people have been front line troupes; they are all grizzled veterans in the work of evangelism and have made huge sacrifices to bring the message of Christ to hurting people. Around them I feel like a civilian, one of those annoying guys sitting in his padded pew on Sunday, writing the occasional check, but never actually doing anything dangerous or important. Listening to their war stories, as inspiring as they are, always reminds me of how cushy and uninspired my spiritual life has been.

One of their neat traditions concerns a ritual of sorts that occurs when one of their sons is about to get married. All of the men get together at someone’s house. There’s a big cookout with steaks and chicken, and all manner of delicious food, all prepared by the men. There are no women around. After dinner, everyone gets together in the living room. Each man takes turns saying a few words to the prospective groom. Much of it is typical guy stuff, complete with gag gifts, and terrible advice, lots of laughter and teasing. But then each man is expected to offer a word of scripture and some serious words about the awesome responsibility of being a husband and father. The words of advice must be in writing so they can be given to the groom to keep. I’ve been invited to another such event this week. This time, the groom will be in Atlanta, and our advice will be broadcast to him via Skype.

I always leave these events feeling that surely this is how the body of Christ was designed to work. The bond and commitment between brothers and sisters in Christ should be every bit as strong and serious as the ones in our own families. If this was actually how churches worked, there would be lines forming at the doors every Sunday morning.

Give Me A Break!!!

Friday morning at 9:30 am, President Obama made the long walk across the White House lawn to the Presidential helicopter. He was headed to Annapolis Maryland to give a speech to the National Defense University, and he was alone. A lone marine stood at the base of the helicopter steps in his impeccable dress blue uniform, and as the President got close, snapped off a perfectly executed salute. The President rushed past him without returning the salute and continued up the steps and into Marine One. Realizing the lapse in protocol, The President hurried back down the steps, shook the marine’s hand and engaged in a brief conversation.

The above event became headline news when a pool reporter sent out a dismissive tweet. Then it popped up on the Drudge Report. The breathless banner declared, “Obama Fails To Salute Marine”. Soon CNN ran with the story of the President’s ghastly protocol breech, as if it carried with it some sinister subtext.

Give me a freaking break!

The morons at CNN probably hadn’t noticed, but the President was probably quite distracted Friday, what with his administration hip-deep in three ethics scandals. That he might walk past a saluting marine or two in the midst of perhaps the most disastrous week of his presidency would come as a surprise to practically no one …except the news media.

Immediately after the story broke, the internet erupted with instant analysis from a million political observers, dressed in pajamas and living in their parents’ basements, who offered this incident as irrefutable proof that Obama is a military-hating communist. And this, my fellow Americans is what is wrong with our politics. People with whom we disagree politically cannot simply be mistaken; they must be demon possessed swine. I can’t take it anymore.

President Obama doesn’t hate the military. Even Bill Clinton, who famously wrote that he “loathed the military” as a stupid college student, didn’t hate the military. No President in the history of this Republic has hated the military. In fact, every President we have ever had has lost sleep worrying about the military, mourning their losses in battle. The national archives are full of angst-filled photographs of our Presidents agonizing over such losses. None of us have ever known what it’s like to order young men and women into harms’ way, and to be held responsible for their deaths. It is the most awesome power on earth, and the heaviest burden. I refuse to accuse my President of hating the military, and I have lost all patience with those who do. He walked past that marine because he was lost in thought, and as soon as he realized his mistake he made it right, end of story. Shame on the reporter who sought to create a story by tweeting about it, shame on Drudge for printing it, and shame on CNN for running it on television. Morons!

The Weiner Campaign,

Now that Anthony Weiner, the awkwardly-named former congressman, has declared his intentions to run for mayor of New York, joke writers in Hollywood have been seen dancing in the streets. Even I, your fearless blogger, couldn’t resist getting in on the fun yesterday with several headline suggestions for this morning’s New York Times, the best of which was…ELECTILE DYSFUNCTION.

But on a serious note, Weiner’s candidacy won’t exactly go down as one of democracy’s finer moments. It says something depressing about our culture when someone caught sending photographs of his manhood to young women, not his wife, then lying about it, would imagine himself fit for the honor of leading one of America’s greatest cities. Then again, it IS New York. Imagine the death blow that this sort of thing would have been to a Ronald Reagan, or Jimmy Carter? Try to imagine Franklin Roosevelt running for President after something like this?

I suppose that this slippery slope was greased by Bubba Clinton and the blue dress. That Bill Clinton, a mere 15 years after receiving oral sex from a 21 year old intern in the Oval Office would win an award for father-of-the-year, stands as testimony to the American people’s capacity for forgiveness. But in Weiner’s case, it’s only been a couple of years. But, it IS New York. Still, what does it say about the size of Weiner’s massive... er...ego that he would think himself so terribly indispensable, so valuable a public talent, that even fondling himself on the internet isn’t enough of a personal failing to keep him from public office. Somewhere, old Wilbur Mills is turning over in his grave. You remember Wilbur, right? He was the powerful Democratic congressman from Arkansas( what’s the deal with Arkansas?), chairman of the Ways and Means committee, who was caught cavorting with an Argentine stripper named Fannie Foxe, who upon being pulled over by a cop for drunk driving, jumped into the tidal pool, leaving poor Wilbur alone behind the wheel. It was quite the scandal at the time, eventually forcing Wilbur from office and into AA. Today, this sort of thing would be a resume enhancement. I miss politicians with names like “Wilbur”.

So, the Weiner campaign will be fun to watch, summer entertainment, as it were. I will try to resist double-entendre-ing you to death between now and November, but not today…..

After yesterday’s Facebook fun at Mr. Weiner’s expense, I received an e-mail from an old friend of mine who lives in New York. He’s actually working with the Weiner campaign, and was very upset with my posts. My friend, Dick Johnson, wrote to remind me that the congressman has already made a pubic apology. He has put the thing behind him, and has every intention of becoming the next mayor of New York. He plans to make an aggressive push to penetrate the female demographic. One of his themes will be reform of the penal code. Although Weiner has the fighting personality of a boxer, he has no brief against the legitimate back and forth of politics; however, he will refuse to answer questions about his personal life, determined as he is to prevent things getting… out of hand.