Turning the Tables

Many of you know my friend Pam Cole for two things, first that she has been battling cancer, and second that she has had to endure over 3000 of my infamous Dad Jokes over the past year and a half. Most of you have a hard time imagining which one of those has been harder on her. Be that as it may, I am happy to report that she is doing great. In fact, yesterday she did something that she had never done before...she sent me a joke!!

A woman accompanied her husband to the doctor. After his checkup, the doctor called the woman into his office alone for a private consultation and said, “Your husband is suffering from a severe disease combined with horrible stress, and unless you do these things, he will die. Each morning fix him a healthy breakfast. Be pleasant throughout the day, and make sure he’s in a good mood. Make him something nutritious for lunch, and at dinner time be sure to make him his favorite meals. Don’t burden him with any household chores; he’s probably had a difficult day. And don’t discuss your problems with him; it will only increase his stress. In other words, do your best to satisfy his every whim. If you do this for the next ten months, I think he will make a complete recovery.”

On the way home in the car, the husband asked, “So, what did the doctor say?”

She looked him squarely in the eye and said, “You’re not going to make it.”

Yes, I feel confident that Pam is doing just fine!

His Eye is on the Sparrow

Today was to be my easy day this week. I’ve nothing on my schedule, no appointments, no paperwork to complete, no calls to make. Thursday and Friday both are packed but today was wide open. So, what do I do? Wake up at 3:30. Beautiful. When I was a teenager and would ask my dad how long I could stay out on the weekends he would always answer the question this way, “I can’t think of anything good that happens at 2 o’clock in the morning, can you?” That was his round about way of saying, “be home by midnight.” Well, I am here to tell you that nothing good happens at 4 o’clock in the morning either. Although, there was this...

I emptied the dishwasher around quarter to five. The sky was just starting to glow with the first faint streams of daylight. I had noticed earlier that it was in the low 60’s so I decided to step out on the deck. I was greeted by what sounded like a bird choir, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir of the Audubon Society. From every direction I could hear them. There must have been ten different songs going on at the same time yet they all blended together to make something beautiful. It was still too dark to make out even a single bird, but the evidence of them was in the air all around me. I stood still for a moment and closed my eyes. What a delight to hear such a thing in the early morning twilight. I wondered for a moment what they were saying to each other...Looks like its gonna be another scorcher...Little worried about the Dunnevant’s feeder, its getting a bit low...Don’t worry, they always take care of us... At least, I hope that’s what they think. They would be right. Every two weeks we reload that feeder with premium, no mess seed. Our feeder has been in the same location for over five years now, attached to the railing of the deck. The first couple of years the birds were more skittish, scurrying away every time we made an appearance. Now, they know us better, they understand that we won’t hurt them, so they come and eat even if we are sitting just a few feet away...

They’re right. It is getting low. I’ll be sure to fill it before the end of the day. 

The squirrels, fortunate enough to not already have been killed, always try to get at the bird’s food and always fail, often hilariously so. The birds in our neighborhood seem to understand that this is theirs. We get an endless stream, all day, every day. Every type of bird you can imagine in every color, shape and size. They are all endlessly fascinating. Sometimes there will be half a dozen are more at the same time. Two or three will be eating while the rest wait on the railing in a line like people at the DMV, only much more patient and better dressed. Sometimes when I’m watching them I think of that old verse in the Bible, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them fall to the ground outside your father’s care.”

His eye is on the sparrow.

So are mine.

How to Write Bad Jokes

Getting that coveted second shot today at a Kroger in Mechanicsville. Pfizer. One step closer to normal...or one step closer to being subconsciously manipulated by the sinister machinations of Bill Gates’ microchips. Speaking of Mechanicsville...

A friend of mine happened to mention this in a recent text conversation, “We stayed in an Airbnb in Mechanicsville last week.” My reply was that that statement sounded like the punch line of a joke, like:

How can you tell when the travel restrictions of COVID have finally driven you mad?

When you realize that you actually stayed in an Airbnb in Mechanicsville last week.

Lots of people have asked me where in the world I get the thousands of jokes I have shared in this space and others over the years. Well, probably 80% or more of them I have gotten from a handful of awesome dad joke sites. But the rest I have cobbled together myself, mostly using a rather simple formula. Think of the punch line first. Then work backward. For example, the other day I was thinking about Maine and the time I took the family out on a lobsterman boat in the Penobscot Bay to watch a demonstration of how that business works. So, I naturally stated thinking about the lobster pot buoys, of how each lobsterman has his own distinctive color or design to differentiate his buoys from all the others. Then the phrase good buoys popped into my head. The joke that proceeded from this thought practically wrote itself:

You hear about the Lobsterman in Maine who redesigned all his pot markers to look like the face of his dog?

They were very good buoys...

To which my son responded...

..........

By the way, here’s a picture of that Lobsterman boat trip on the Lively Lady:

Raising Them Right

The above text conversation took place yesterday as I was driving down Pump Road. The parking lot in question was at the corner of Pump and Broad. Just in case you’re wondering, it was an entirely hands-free conversation thanks to blue tooth technology. After I read her messages and made my comments, I pulled back onto West Broad Street heading east. Then my daughter couldn’t help pointing out my lack of Instagram Awareness:

I can always count on my kids to point out my social media failings. Honestly, I’ve never been all that interested in Instagram. For one thing, I don’t really get it, and for another I think its balky and not easy to navigate. Be that as it may, Kaitlin was determined for me to find whatever it was that she had sent me on the thing:

What I found were two pretty hilarious Dad Jokes, one a video showing the Joker character as a dad joker, and the second a picture of a dad trying on a new pair of New Balance tennis shoes at a shoe store...

But then, the best part of the conversation was her reply to my fake conversation with the police officer trying to explain why I had caused a five car pile up by pulling over to read her Instagram post:

It’s times like these when I know in my heart that I raised them right...

That’s Embarrasing

Embarrassing Dispatches From the Aging Frontlines:

So yesterday morning I arrived at the office at the usual time and quickly fell into my normal morning routine. I unlocked the front door. I identified myself by typing in my password at the alarm system keypad, turned on the lights and headed back to my office. I checked the two messages on my answering machine, scribbled a note to myself then walked back to the kitchen to make the coffee. It was at this point when I realized that nobody except me had been in the office all day Monday because of the golf tournament that my partner hosted. Since I had left shortly before the mailman showed up I decided to go out to the mailbox and retrieve yesterday’s mail. Upon my return, I settled in for the day.

At approximately 11:45 I notified my intrepid assistant Kristin that I was leaving to go get lunch. She rolled her eyes and made a vague growling sound as she usually does whenever she is busy working and I am not. Then on the way out the front door I stopped briefly to harass Lindsey, our receptionist extraordinaire, which is something I never once have failed to do. Then...the adventure began.

I threw my briefcase onto the passenger seat of my Cadillac XT5, adjusted the rear view mirror out of habit, then casually pressed the ignition button. Nothing. This could only mean one thing...I had left my car keys in my office. Frustrating, but not all that unusual. I walked back through the front door, aimed a sarcastic comment at Lindsey, blaming her for not reminding me to bring my keys with me, then walked back to my office only to discover that my car keys were nowhere to be found. This couldn’t be right. I could not have gotten in the office without them and couldn’t possibly have driven to work without them. Where the heck were they? Perhaps I left them in the bathroom? Nope. Maybe I laid them on the counter by the coffee maker? Nope. Maybe one of my treacherous office mates had hidden them somewhere trying to be cute. Nope. I went back to my office and began a frantic search through every drawer, crack and crevice. Nothing. Then, in a flicker of embarrassed recognition, a thought occurred to me. I quietly slipped out the back door, retracing my steps from four hours earlier...

Lucky for me no one with felonious intent happened to walk by and notice the Cadillac key fob not twenty feet away from my bright shiny red XTS, proof that God indeed looks after children and the feeble minded.

Insomnia

I’m hoping that two nights does not a trend make, but my history of sleep issues suggests that I might be starting a streak. Two nights ago it was crazy, catastrophic, soul-crushing dreams. Last night it was that feeling that you never once actually fell asleep, you just laid there all night dosing in and out of consciousness. In both cases you wake up totally spent, not a pleasant experience.

So, what exactly do you think about when you’re laying in bed wide awake at 2 o’clock in the morning? Quite a lot, actually. For me it always begins with things left undone. I need to borrow Ron’s power washer and clean the mildew off the front steps...I can’t keep putting that off! Then usually...inevitably, the mind drifts to business concerns. Did I send Client M that quarterly statement they asked for? What the heck is wrong with Capital Income Builder? When was the last time I put together a head shot and bio? Have I ever?? Somewhere during these interminable nights I will begin mulling over past mistakes, missteps, blunders. There’s a long list. Next comes plot lines for a novel I’m writing. Then finally, just before I give up on sleep, I start pondering the mysteries of creation...where did matter come from? It would be one thing if insomnia involved images of beauty or replays of the best moments off my life. But tossing and turning all night while contemplating existential puzzles is exhausting.

I’ve talked to people who say that they go to the kitchen and make themselves a sandwich. Others have claimed that they actually drink warm milk, which I don’t believe for a minute. The last thing I need to accompany insomnia is vomiting! But, once my feet hit the floor, its over. If I’m to have any chance of falling asleep I have to stay in the bed. So, no midnight sandwiches for me. Some people drink a glass or two of wine before bed. But I’ve heard both sides of that argument. For some people it helps them fall asleep, for others it has the opposite effect. 

When you Google Insomnia you find a lot of helpful hints like:

-No TV, cellphone use, or internet surfing while in bed

-Don’t eat right before bed

-No heavy workouts just before bed, but daily exercise is a must

Check, check and check.

Probably the best way to kick insomnia is to not write a blog about it two nights in, which might serve the purpose of elevating it to a place of importance that it does not yet deserve. It’s only been two nights. Of course now that I have, Lord Darth Zuckerburg will bombard my inbox and newsfeed with advertisements for every sleeping aid ever devised by the mind of man for the next two weeks.

But thats a heck of a lot better than warm milk! 

Minneapolis on the Brink

The week of April 19th has the potential to be a terrible one for the nation. Closing arguments in the trial of Police Officer Derek Chauvin, accused of murder in the arrest of George Floyd, are scheduled for today, after which the case will go to the jury. The city of Minneapolis along with many other large cities across the country are like tinder boxes. Adding to the woes in Minneapolis is the recent killing of Daunte Wright during a routine traffic stop by an officer who thought she was using a taser instead of her sidearm, with disastrous results. Giving all of this an even more sinister backdrop is the spate of mass shootings that have sprung up like mushrooms after a week of rain in the past couple of weeks, making America seem like a nation of lunatics. Considering the fact that police officers who go on trial for killing people have a remarkable record of being acquitted, I’m not terribly optimistic that the city of Minneapolis won’t be on fire by the end of the week. If I owned a business within a five mile radius of Brooklyn Center right now I would be double checking to make sure my insurance premiums were all paid up.

Whenever the subject of police behavior comes up in this country its not always wise to offer an opinion. Whatever you say will infuriate a bunch of people. Unfortunately most people have rushed towards the two extreme positions and will accept no compromises. On one end there’s the ridiculous defund the police crowd. At the other end are the obsequious back the blue folks. I am neither. I suppose it fair to say that I do lean towards a more pro-police position than the average citizen of Minneapolis. But my support and defense of law enforcement abruptly ends when excessive force is used. What exactly is excessive force is the question. Although I am a laymen in these matters I would assume that shooting a fleeing suspect in the back would qualify. But, time after time even this action gets explained away as a justified response...so what do I know?

Still, one would have to be living in a flag-draped fantasy world not to suspect that something is terribly wrong with us as a nation. There isn’t another advanced nation on earth with the amount of gun violence of America. No society on earth murders each other at the pace that we do. In addition—and this should not be swept aside in this discussion—we are the most heavily policed nation in the history of civilization. How many separate police departments do you have to answer to? For me its the Henrico County police, the City of Richmond police, the Virginia State police and the National Guard should they be summoned into my neighborhood. If I were to drift into the surrounding counties I might run afoul of Hanover County’s finest or the dreaded uniforms of the Town of Ashland police force!! Our police industry comes complete with SWAT teams and even armored personnel carriers and in some cities...tanks, or something that closely resembles tanks. I suppose when your legal code is five times thicker than the Bible it takes that many police departments to enforce the law. OR, we have gone off the rails as a society.

So, the nation awaits the George Floyd verdict with great fear and trembling. If Derek Chauvin walks I fully expect two weeks of destruction, riots and chaos from Richmond to Los Angeles. If he is found guilty and the cities still burn, like West Virginia porch sofas after a Mountaineer victory in a frenzied celebratory rave, then I give up!