Gallows Humor

It's been a difficult couple of days. Things happen that stagger you, get your attention. But while so engaged, the world goes on its merry way. All of which leads me to Trump vs. Kim, our world's equivalent to WWE's Summer Slam.

While I was being distracted by private events, the war of words between the United States and North Korea escalated further, with President Trump chiming in with his Fire and Fury smack, as in...unless North Korea relented it would be "met with fire and fury like the world has never seen." My son welcomed me back into the real world with this clever text last night...

If Kim and Trump destroy the planet in fire and fury, at least the Republicans are off the hook for repealing Obamacare!

The game was on. This battle of mock headlines ensued...

Me: The day after, the NYT headline will be...PLANET DESTROYED!!!... women and minorities hardest hit!

Patrick: And Fox News will lead with...Trump's Nuclear Holocaust--strong and decisive!!

Me: Greatest. Apocalypse. Ever. (Trump's Twitter Feed)

Patrick: "Why aren't we talking about Hillary's email's??...Sean Hannity

Me: Google's Diversity Problems Solved By ICBM!!!

This is what is known as gallows humor, and its appearance in my life could not have come at a better time.

Thanks, son.

Counting the Days

It's now officially time to begin obsessing over the weather in Maine, specifically the weather in Searsmont, Maine, the nearest town to Quantabacook Lake, our September destination. In four short weeks we will be arriving...never having ventured this far north so late in the summer. We are rolling the dice, banking on a pleasant September experience, not the cold, windy, rainy September of legend.

Luckily, my iPhone has a weather widget that can provide me with instantaneous updates 24/7. I am a bit troubled by what I see this morning. This is August, right? That means, at least in Virginia, the hottest month of the year. However, for the next ten days in Searsmont, the average high temperature is to be 76 degrees Fahrenheit. Although, this is a truly beautiful number to behold, I am starting to worry that the State of Maine might be peaking too soon. And, isn't mid seventies a bit cool even for Maine in August?  Does this portend a trend of cooler than normal temperatures for late summer?

Of course, it should be noted that regardless of what kind of weather we will have, we will be here...

And, no matter how unseasonably cool it may be, when compared to 90 and humid, I'll take unseasonably cool if it comes with this...

I will still check on the weather every day from now until we pull out of here on the 7th. We will pack clothing for every possible weather scenario. Chances are we will get a bit of everything. 

The Promised Land

This afternoon, I broke away from the office and played a round of golf out at The Hollows. I wanted to go somewhere that I didn't have to wait and a place where they would allow me to walk. There's no better way to drop four pounds than walking 6 miles in 90 degree heat. Incidentally, it should be mentioned that I shot a 79, which is about as good as I can play...but that isn't what this blog is about. It was what happened after golf that compels me to write what follows. 

On the drive out to the golf course, it occurred to me that my trip would take me past my Mom and Dad's old place, The Promised Land. Believe it or not, it was to be the first time I've passed that old driveway since they moved out seven years ago. I hadn't been intentionally avoiding the place, it's just that my day to day travels never take me that far west on 33 anymore. As soon as I passed the South Anna River, I saw the old mailbox on the right. Without slowing down, I glanced up through the trees and caught a glimpse. I told myself that maybe I should stop by on my way home and take a picture of the place. The entire time I was playing golf, that house would creep in and out of my mind. I wonder what it looks like? I wonder who lives there now? 

 The Promised Land was a special place for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, it was the only house that my parents ever owned in their 80 plus years on this earth, albeit briefly. Secondly, it truly was a family project. Although we employed a certified builder to oversee construction, many hours of sweat equity was volunteered into the building of the house by family members and close friends. It was a labor of love, the digging, grating, lifting, hammering, and hauling off of trash that occupied many Saturday's of our lives that summer. Once it was finished, it was an amazing thing to see my folks move in to the one place that they were convinced was a demonstration of God's faithfulness. I don't remember exactly, but I think they spent ten years in that house, before their failing health made the upkeep of such a spread impossible for them to keep up with. Besides, they had quite a bit of equity built up, and would need that money in their remaining years. But, what a wonderful ten years it was. As I walked alone down the green fairways of The Hollows, I thought about all of the Thanksgivings spent there...starting with a work day which involved climbing up on the roof to remove the sticks that had gathered and cleaning out the gutters. Then there were those long tables set up end to end decorated with cornucopias, acorns, and fancy placecards. So many memories of football games in the front yard, and Dad letting the kids take shooting and archery target practice under the power lines.

But, when golf was done and I got in the car, I started getting cold feet. Part of me didn't want to see it. Suppose the people who lived there were a bunch of weirdos? That's not how I wanted to remember The Promised Land, as a whacked out Prepper Compound!

When the moment of truth arrived, I slowed down and made the sharp left turn into the winding driveway. It seemed more narrow than I had remembered. Maybe the trees had grown fuller. Then I noticed the signs nailed to several of those oversized trees, blaze orange backgrounds with large black letters... NO TRESPASSING, and PRIVATE PROPERTY. There must have been five of them. Then several more menacing signs...NOTHING I HAVE IS WORTH YOUR LIFE, and my personal favorite...IF I FIND YOU HERE AT NIGHT, NO ONE  WILL FIND YOU IN THE MORNING. Suddenly, this trip down memory lane seemed like a terrible idea. But, by this time I was almost to the house, so I decided to press on. 

Everything looked different. The new owners had built a shed and a make shift carport underneath which were parked three late model cars. My heart was in my throat as I got out of the car and noticed all of the junk lined up against the saplings along the east end of the property. I felt like I was at Fred Sanford's junkyard, not the feeling I had hoped for. I made my way up the porch steps and knocked on the door. I figured that I better announce myself. The homemade signs weren't exactly welcoming, so I didn't want anyone mistaking me for a thief. After what seemed like an eternity, and older man with white hair and two large, unkempt eyebrows answered the door...

Hello...my name is Doug Dunnevant, I heard myself say. My parents used to live here. Believe it or not, I haven't been out this way since they moved out. They are both passed now. Anyway, I hope you don't mind, but I was just curious to see the place once again. If you don't have any objection, I'd like to take a picture of the house.

The old man seemed unimpressed, guarded. He looked me up and down a couple of times, then spurt out, Was Mr. Dunnevant your father? 

Yes! Yes, he was. Are you the same family who we sold this house to?

Seven years ago, he answered with a small smile.

Wow! I can't believe you remembered his name.

I probably wouldn't have ordinarily, he began in a thick foreign accent, but your father, he came to see me a couple of years after we bought the house. He was a very nice man, your father. I remember I had to help him climb these stairs, he was having trouble.

Wait, my Dad came to see you?

Yes he did. He, like you, wanted to see the place again. 

I talked with the old man as he took me around the exterior of the house, telling me about the changes he had made and the ones he had planned for later. He told me that his accent was Hungarian, that he had come to America in 2002, working all over the country in nuclear power plants. He travelled a lot and he and his large family always had to live in cramped apartments. He hated the apartments. This house was an answer to prayer. Your Father would have liked that.

He went on to tell me how very happy he and his family are to live here. They finally have a home, he said. From the looks of the place, he indeed was doing his best to make it look like some Hungarian backwoods campsite, what with the large cooking pit in the backyard where Dad's garden used to be. The fact that he so obviously loved the place was a great encouragement to me.

But then, just before I left, he said something that nearly made me cry...

When your father came to see me, he sat at my table and drank coffee. He looked around the room and seemed sad. He told me that he had never wanted to leave, but had to because he couldn't keep up with everything that needed to be done. But, he was a very kind man, your father. He was glad that we were so happy here...

I pulled away from the house, and back down the driveway and safely onto 33. There was a giant knot in my throat all the way home, and even now as I write this, it's a hard thing to contemplate. Never once did Dad complain about having to leave his house. Never once did he raise an objection. I totally missed it...and that's probably exactly the way he wanted it.

What's the Point?

I haven't had much to say lately. It's not that there's been nothing of interest to write about. Just yesterday, two issues about which I have rather detailed opinions, immigration and affirmative action, appeared in the news. I thought maybe I would write about those opinions. But then I thought...What's the point? Do I really want to wade into another political mine field? The fact is that since each of these issues were introduced by the Trump administration, substitive dialogue is impossible. Anything I will say on these matters will be judged through the great distorting lens of Donald Trump. I will either be viewed as an irrational NeverTrumper, who above all else is committed to his destruction, or I will be judged as unfit for having the temerity of supporting any position taken by his administration. Call it the Trump Effect, destroyer of rational debate.

So, I will keep my opinions to myself this time around. I'll leave the playing field open to the twenty-something meme kings, the guys and girls who reduce complex public policy to pithy cartoon captions. Why waste time trudging through the 37 previous versions of immigration legistlation in this country's history to discover what the give and take and tension has all been about when it's so much easier to be made an instant expert by watching a really hilarious John Oliver bit? Why run the risk of writing an opinion about the pluses and minuses of affirmative action law when, one false move, and half of your readers will think you're a racist and the other half will think you're a hypocrite? The Trump Effect.

These are the real world consequences of polarization. When someone like Donald Trump comes along with his giant personality and his huge brand, opinions about such a man tend to harden. Those who love him, love him completely. Nothing the man can do will ever be able to separate him from their affections. Those who hate him, are repulsed by him, hate him completely. There is nothing he could do, no legistlation he could introduce which they could bring themselves to support. This is what polarization does to people and to nations, it divides us into camps, segregates us into factions, draws lines in the civic sand across which we dare not cross.

There have been many polarizing figures throughout history, Donald Trump isn't the first. It only feels worse with Trump because of our media saturated culture. If the Internet and the 24/7 news cycle had been around during Teddy Roosevelt's day, that would have been a circus too. Big mouth, big personality, combative views...yeah, Teddy would have been a mess. But, it's 2017, we elected Trump and now we must live with it. Part of living with it is understanding that wading into the middle of every argument he starts is a fool's errand.

Anticipation

This will be our view...

From this lake...

In 40 more days...

Can't. Wait.

The Unthinkable....Part II

Bblaagzzarrgghhhh..sob..Glllaaackkkkkkk!!!

This was the worst of all possibilities. Somehow, against all reason, all the remaining women of the household had awakened simultaneously, and in the dim fog of cognition, realized at precisely the identical moment that the house had no power and, in fact, yes...they were sweating. The gutteral groan/screech/ wail that they let out was amplified throughout the house in a stereophonic wave, some coming from upstairs and the rest from below like a rising tide of hot molten lava. Then the sound of thundering footsteps pounding the stairs. The men in the living room braced themselves for the onslaught.

Aunt Paula: I demand to know what idiot is responsible for this outrage! It is a thousand degrees in here. This is totally unacceptable! Someone needs to find the headquarters of this construction company and drive me there this instant!!!

Patrick had stumbled up the stairs, following the tumult and had his fully charged cellphone in hand.

Patrick: Looks like the headquarters is in Paramus, New Jersey, Aunt Paula...so that will be quite a long drive.

Aunt Pam: What about the food?? Has anyone checked the refrigerator?

Jenny: Wait...will there be no hot water?

Uncle Ron: Not only no hot water, but no coffee either.

An audible gasp shot through the room. Jenny, half dazed, began shuffling around in silence, her mouth agape, pondering the fresh hell she had woken too. After arriving at the snack table she began to weep, pitiful wails of crying ringing throughout the house...

Jenny: and the scotcheroos are melting!!

Suddenly, in a flash of fury, Pam darted across to the snack table, grabbing the tin of scotcheroos out of Jennyy's hands. Give me that, she hissed. She looked down into the sweating Tupperware container at the sad sight of melting chocolate and disfigured Rice Krispies all askew in a large clump in one end of the container. Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a long baleful sigh...

Aunt Linda: Bill, what are we going to do?? 

Uncle Bill: Listen people, this is certainly not how we all dreamed this vacation would go. Yes, no electricity will be a challenge. It will be warm in here, making dinner will require some ingenuity. But guys, we have to ask ourselves one question...what would Nanny & Papa do? What would they think of us if we all just threw up our hands and headed back to Richmond? I mean, honestly, I would have thought that this family would have been made of sterner stuff than this. Why, I can remember when we stayed in a rat-infested scrapheep of a rental house in Sandbridge with no AC. Am I right? Our forefathers wouldn't have tucked tail and scurried home just because of something as simple as losing power? Are we mice or men? Come on guys! Let's pull together and make this thing work! We've already paid the money, were all here...let's show the world how a real family comes together in a crisis! Tonight, we can all gather around here in this big room and feel the soft ocean breezes cooling us off. I'll make some popcorn and we will make some incredible memories together...and, 

Paul: That's a big negative on the popcorn. Microwave won't work without power.

Christina: ggrroocckkkkstagggargh, no popcorn?? That's it. I'm out of here...

The Unthinkable...Part I

The stories and pictures coming out of Hatteras Island are heartbreaking. There are scores of cars waiting for the ferry on Ocracoke, long, choked lines of cars crawling along the sandy two lane highway, headed for Nags Head. All because of an accidental severing of an underwater power line by a construction crew working on the repair of bridges taken out by violent storms a few months back. I read the stories and look at the pictures, all the while trying to imagine the hell that would have been unleashed if this unhappy accident had occurred just two short weeks ago, when 18 members of the greater Dunnevant family were on that beleaguered island for vacation. What follows is my imagination unleashed on that unthinkable prospect...

The thirteenth edition of the Dunnevant family Beach Week vacation is a mere two days old and all is well when 18 family members climb into bed on night two. Unfortunately, while they slept, electric power was severed from the entire island by a construction accident under a bridge thirty miles away. During the night, as our heros slept, the temperature inside the house rose from its perfect 71 climate controlled degrees to a stifling 82 by the time the first vacationer awoke. During that fateful night, two refrigerators full of meat, cheese, milk, eggs and a varied assortment of culinary delights now lay dead and reeking inside their stainless steel tombs. 

(Uncle Doug walks into the family room and sees Matt Hawkins sitting by the window doing his devotional)

Uncle Doug: It feel a little hot in here to you?

Matt: Now that you mention it, it is a bit warm.

Uncle Doug: You better turn that lamp on. It's not good for your eyes to read without good light.

Matt turns on the switch. The click seems ominously loud, and when no light is forthcoming, a feeling of dread invades the large room with the thirty foot ceiling.

Uncle Doug: Holy Crap....

Soon it becomes clear that something is dreadfully wrong. Uncle Ron and Uncle Bill enter the room with an expression of forlorn resignation.

Uncle Bill: Ok guys, we've got a problem. Pretty soon the women in this house are going to wake up and as all of you know, they are not going to be amused.

Uncle Ron: I don't want to even think about what is going to happen to Paula when she wakes up and realizes she is already sweating. I swear to you guys, I'm a dead man!

Uncle Doug: You're a dead man?? I'm married to a woman from freaking Maine!! If the thermostat ever rises above 70 at our house, she turns into a raging psychopath. 

Matt: Guys, guys!! Pull yourselves together!! Now is not the time to panic. Let's put our heads together and come up with a plan.

Uncle Doug: Yeah Matt. Great idea. A plan is what we need. Let's see...how about we have Ron here draw up some preliminary plans for building our own nuclear power plant!!

Uncle Ron: As fate would have it, I decided at the last minute not to pack my portable drafting table, so that's out.

Uncle Bill: Isn't that always the way it happens? The one thing you actually need, you never pack...

At this point, young Bennett makes an appearance, free from any worry or concern, secure in the cocoon of childhood oblivion.

Matt: Bennett, listen to Daddy. There has been an accident and there is no power, which means we have no food, there is no air conditioning, there will be no hot water, no way to charge your video games, and we will no longer be able to use the pool since the water pumps don't work...

Uncle Bill: (rolling his eyes at Doug and Ron)...Parents today...have they completely forgotten how to lie to kids??

Bennett: Uncle Doug, this is the best prank ever!!

Suddenly, Christina enters the room. This is the best of all possibilities, Christina being the only female in the house without a hair trigger temper and an instinctively violent reaction to high temperatures. Perhaps the men of the family can recruit her as an emissary to the still sleeping female contingent downstairs.

Uncle Bill: Sweetie...we have no electricity. Do you have any ideas on how we can break this news to your mother, sister and aunts without risking serious, permanent injury or death?

Christina: Dad, come on now. It won't be that bad. Sure, it's going to be a challenge, but isn't that half the fun? Just think of the stories we will be able to tell about this in our old age.

Uncle Ron: See, that's the thing that worries us...whether or not we will ever reach old age.

Christina: Oh come on now you silly gooses...

Bennett: Geese! That's silly geese. There's no such thing as gooses.

Matt: Well done, Bennett.

Christina: I'm sure the power will come back on soon. The important thing is...we will all still be together!

Uncle Doug: That's right Chrissy...we'll all be together. All 18 of us. In this ginormous house. With no air conditioning. Pretty soon it's going to smell worse than a Turkish bathhouse in here...and tonight it's our turn to make dinner!!

Uncle Ron: Don't worry about that Doug. You'll be cooking on the gas grill...

............... to be continued