We Actually Have A Plan Today

We have been in Maine now for almost three days and have enjoyed maybe six hours of sunshine. The rest of the time it has been a cloudy, fog shrouded mist-fest. On the positive side, no rain, it hasn’t gotten out of the 70’s, and no biblical plagues seem imminent. Despite the disappointing weather, yesterday was a delight. There was kayaking, the reading of books and solving of world problems down on the dock, a fantastic dinner feast featuring Paula’s wicked good campah chicken, an after dinner trip to Round Top ice cream, and a slideshow of pictures from Patrick and Sarah’s California honeymoon. Oh, and this morning...

Ok, in sharing this information, I run the risk of revealing that I have run afoul of some obscure Maine environmental regulation. If so, I’m sure my Maine buddy, Alan, will let me know all about it! Anyway, when I was out on the kayak yesterday I saw this beautiful lilly pad in the next cove over. So, I picked three of the prettiest blooms to give to the three lovely ladies in my family. Somebody put one of them in a martini glass, whereupon it almost immediately shriveled up into a green oblong shell which made it look exactly like an olive. Cute. Only, this morning, when I came down to make my coffee...

I take this as a sign. Today will be a sunnier day.

Today actually has a plan, of sorts, on the agenda. This afternoon, we will make our first run into Camden. It is 35 minutes away, the farthest we have ever stayed from this marvelous village. We will putz around in the shops, make a visit to Riverducks ice cream, and spend entirely too much time in The Smiling Cow. But, the real reason we will have come to town is to see a performance of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, performed outside in the beautiful amphitheater of the Camden Public Library, overlooking the harbor.

After the show, we will have dinner at one of the great restaurants that offer stunning views of Penobscot Bay and all of the stately triple masted schooners that are scattered around the harbor among the yachts, great and small. If we are lucky enough to get a table at Waterfront, we will get to see people walking their dogs down the boardwalk right in front of us. And if the moon comes out, this will be our view...

But, hey...I don’t want to give the impression that I’m living in some fantasy world where all of the stress of life has somehow vanished. Nothing could be further from the truth. Why, just yesterday the reel on my fishing pole broke. Now, I’m going to have to traipse all the way into Damariscotta and buy a new one. Oh, and there are three separate recycling bins in this house!! So confusing. Plus...the nightcrawlers I bought at the general store yesterday seem listless. Listen, people...all God’s children got problems, am I right?

A Very Cool Twenty Minutes

“We made it all the way to Maine because somebody promised us a free vacation, but nobody is here to pick us...no wait, there’s Dad!!”

Yesterday, something amazing happened. All four of my kids made it to Maine, with their luggage, with virtually no delays, cancellations, or invasive body cavity searches. We made it back to the house by 11 o’clock. It was nothing short of a travel miracle. At 7 am, all of them are sound asleep. For the next six days, we will all be here together. At this moment, we have nothing scheduled. Each day will be dealt with on its own terms. The weather will determine how we spend our time. If the forecast is to be believed, the next couple of days will involve a lot of indoor activities. But, yesterday’s forecast ended up being wrong, when the sun came out for four hours in the afternoon. So, who knows?

Yesterday morning, I experienced an amazing twenty minutes. For reasons that escape me, I woke up at 5:30. There was no point in fighting it...I was up. So, I brewed some coffee and slipped downstairs to walk down to the dock. When I emerged from the sliding glass door, I looked up and saw a magestic deer standing next to the Adirondack chairs, no more than 100 feet from me. She lifted her head, turned toward me and froze peacefully for a brief moment, her huge, dark eyes locked on me. One of her ears twitched, then she sprang off gracefully into the woods, disappearing in an instant. As I walked down the lane towards the dock, I heard the loud squawking of birds in the trees to my right, loud and frantic. The instant I stepped on to the dock, a bald eagle swooped down towards the lake in a majestic wide arc, as if he wanted to make sure I knew who he was. After passing right in front of me, he changed direction and headed around the bend. I thought...wow. Ten minutes later, a family of ducks swam by, paying me no attention whatsoever. As soon as they were out of sight, I heard my first loon call.

It was as if they were all saying, welcome back, human...welcome back to Maine.

Arrived

In the old days, when Pam and I were horrible parents, we used to lay the kids down in the floor of the van in their sleeping bags...with no seatbelts...while we made the 13 hour drive straight through the night. When we made our first stop on the New Jersey turnpike for gas, they would sit up briefly, bleary-eyed, and ask...Are we at Maine yet?

Well kids...yes, we are at Maine...

The green iron bridge over the Piscataqua River which greets you at the border was obscured by a blanket of fog and a light drizzle. Despite this dreary reception, the two day drive up this year was as uneventful a trip as we have had in quite some time. No long delays, no backups, and for thirteen hours on the road, we never saw a single accident...a first!

The weather forecast around here looks bleak for the next several days, something about which we can do absolutely nothing. The lake was fogged in yesterday, so the pictures I took outside don’t reveal much. I can imagine how delightful this property will be once the sun comes out...

It’s all there, waiting for the sun.

The house is another story all together. The downstairs looks and smells exactly like a Maine lakehouse, which is to say...perfect.

  

The upstairs is like a completely different house, decorated and appointed to within an inch of its life...

  

The bedrooms are huge and beautiful...

...with bathrooms you could double park a pickup truck in...

   

So, our home for the next three weeks will do quite nicely. Today will be a busy one. After breakfast, Pam and I will make the arduous 4 mile drive into the Damariscotta Hannaford’s for the initial grocery run. This is a very big deal, and something for which my wife is ideally suited by education, training and experience. She has her grocery app filled out, her iPad fully charged, and has that I’m on a mission, get out of my way look I have come to know and fear. By the time we are done, you could drop open any Julia Child cookbook to any random page and we will have every ingredient needed to make whatever dish happens to come up.

This evening, I will be driving into Portland to pick up Jon, Kaitlin, Patrick and Sarah who hopefully will have all landed without delays from Columbia and San Francisco. By the time we fall into our beds tonight, all six of us will be together, and at that point if it’s raining outside, it won’t matter.

Today’s To-do List

THINGS TO DO TODAY

- record compliance approved away message on my office phone

This is sort of a big deal. Whenever someone in my line of work is going to be away for any protracted period of time (two or more weeks), this must be disclosed fully to clients. You must reveal exactly how long you will be gone and give instructions for how you can be contacted in case of emergency, and also provide a back up contact. What follows is what I would like to leave as my away message:

Ok folks..for the next three weeks I will be away on vacation. You can leave all the messages you want, but I won’t be returning any calls until I return. I mean, I love you guys and all, but if you need to take ten grand out of your account so you can go to Atlantic City, you’re just gonna have to figure out how to do it by yourself. If the market happens to be in free fall, what in God’s name would you like me to do about it? I’m in Maine. Just chill out until I get back. Peace out.

My actual away message will be the picture of professionalism, and any actual emergency will get a prompt return call...cellphone service permitting...cough, cough.

- pick up life sustaining prescriptions at CVS

- cut grass

- pack for trip

This is a little harder than it sounds for two reasons. First, three weeks is a long time, and second...it’s Maine. Even though it’s summer, you just can’t throw a bunch of shorts and T-shirt’s in a suitcase and be done with it. When you wake up in the morning and it’s 52 degrees out, you’re gonna need a little something more than your Bank of Dad...a lending institution since before I can even remember...T-shirt. No, you’re going to have to pack for sunny day Maine and cloudy day Maine which means plenty of jeans and long sleeve shirts. The hardest part is deciding which outfit will be the designated camp fire outfit. That’s the one outfit you wear every night around the fire. That way, only one outfit ends up smelling like Smokey Bear after he hasn’t bathed in two months. But, as thorny as this can be for me, it’s a tedious ordeal for Pam. She agonizes over each and every outfit, every accessory, like its project runway or something. Of course her attention to detail pays off because she always looks great...while I try to explain to her why this striped polo shirt goes quite well with those plaid shorts.

- get haircut

As my Dad would have said...Actually, I think I’ll get all of them cut!

- workout

- get car detailed

This is an old habit of mine that makes zero sense. Before leaving on any road trip, I always take the car to a car wash and give it the works. I just like hitting the road in a sparkling clean vehicle. What I should do, of course, is wait until I get where I’m going to get it cleaned. Old, unproductive and illogical habits are hard to break.

- go by Hand and Stone for my monthly massage

In a master stroke of meticulous planning, I scheduled my monthly deep tissue massage for 4:00 in the afternoon of the day before a two day road trip. 

- just before drifting off to sleep tonight, whisper to Pam...Were goin’ to Maine, we’re goin’ to Maine.

Pam’s Birthday

Today is Pam’s birthday. It’s getting lost in trip preparation. She has firmly informed the family that there will be no gifts this year, no hubbub. All she wants for her birthday is for us to be together in Maine next week. Several times in the history of this blog I have published testimonials to her virtue on this day. I will refrain from such wife-bragging today. Instead, I decided to search through a thousand or so photographs to find my two favorites of her, which you see above. A word of explanation...

The first one was taken on the occasion of my 50th birthday trip to the Cayman Islands. We were on a thirty minute boat ride across the bay, headed to dinner at some restaurant on a smaller island when somebody volunteered to take this picture. I’m not sure if she has ever looked more beautiful. Maybe it was the sun, or that dress or her tan. She looks like a movie star.

The one on the right is a completely different story. This one was taken several years ago at one of her favorite places in the world...Riverducks Ice Cream. It’s a little hole in the wall in Camden, Maine that serves 12 different Maine-inspired flavors of ice cream. Each year, she makes it her goal to try all 12 before we leave for home. This was Sarah’s first trip to Maine. We were all so relieved that she fell in love with Maine, because if she had hated it, Patrick would have been forced to dump her. Anyway...just look at my wife’s face. Look at that smile. That is the smile of contentment and complete happiness. She is surrounded by everything that she truly loves in this world...and just about to devour a double scoop helping of Megunticook Mayhem.

Just a few more days, sweetie.

Happy birthday.

My Mom With a Stun Gun?

A couple of months ago, my sister sent me a text containing the following story. At the time, I was swamped in wedding prep work and didn’t have time to respond. But, some stories are just too good to ignore...

For all of you parents out there...who of us has not wished we owned a stun gun at times? Getting teenagers to wake the heck up can be like raising the dead sometimes, am I right? Here’s this poor woman, scrambling around trying to get ready for church...on Easter Sunday no less, and junior won’t budge. What’s a frantic mother to do?

Well, Sharron Dobbins of Phoenix, Arizona made a command decision...You talk about Jesus rising from the dead? I’ll raise your lazy a** from the dead right now! Zzzaappppp!!! After witnessing the incident, it took all of four minutes for Mrs. Dobbins’ other son and nephew to throw their suits on and report for duty, bibles in hand.

Unfortunately for Mrs. Dobbins, this sort of thing is frowned upon by local law enforcement who charged her with felony child abuse. In court, Dobbins explained...I only sparked that taser to get the kids up for church on Easter Sunday. I aimed it at his left leg. 

Hmmm...

My mother never owned a taser. Thank God in Heaven. 

Her technique for waking up her lazy children was to stand at the foot of the stairs at 7 AM on Saturday mornings clanging two large metal pans together and shouting...It’s 7 o’clock in the morning...half the day is gone!!

Aside from the sketchy math of this formulation, the ear-splitting racket caused by this ridiculous stunt was every bit as invasive and disturbing as a taser. It also served to remind us kids that our mother was borderline crazy and consequently not to be trifled with. The prospect of Mom owning a taser sends shivers down my spine even now, and she’s been with Jesus for four years!!

So, I read about Mrs. Sharron Dobbins of Phoenix, Arizona and I thank God that my Mother died before the mass proliferation of stun gun technology.

Trump and Putin

I don’t really want to write this blog. The subject matter gives me indigestion. I’m not an expert on the subject, just a guy with an opinion. But, that Trump/Putin news conference yesterday in Helsinki was one for the ages and to not even mention it seems like some sort of blogging malpractice. So, here goes.

When I was growing up, it was always the Progressive Left who couldn’t bring themselves to say a discouraging word about the Russians. Back in the late 60’s and all through the 70’s, the Left tied themselves in rhetorical knots making excuses for Russian behavior. The air was thick with moral equivalence arguments. In a way, this was predictable. In those days, the American Left was still enamored with communism and the great hope of Marxist ideology. The Berlin Wall was still standing. Whatever sins and human rights abuses the communist dictatorship in Moscow were guilty of were excused or ignored, because in the minds of many on the Left, it was preferable to the evils of capitalism. It was this instinctive hostility to America and our interest in favor of the Soviets that drove me away from the Democratic Party in the first place.

Oh, how the worm has turned.

Yesterday, I watched an American President with an R next to his name make excuses for a former KGB officer. I watched an American President with an R next to his name say that he preferred to believe a former KGB officer rather than the unanimous conclusions of his own national security officials. Then, this American President with an R next to his name trotted out his own moral equivalence arguments, placing his country on an even moral plane with Russia. It was an astonishing performance. If I were the head of the CIA, FBI, or any other National Security Post in his administration, I would have already submitted my resignation...because this President just threw me and my department under the bus.

To be fair, several high ranking Republicans have registered publically their disapproval, closing ranks behind the American Intelligence community. Democrats, on the other hand, have finally found a Russian leader they despise. Better late than never, I suppose.

This is just so freakin weird. The self proclaimed great deal maker, got played like a Stradivarius by a two bit thug, a man who has spent his entire life nurturing contempt for the United States of America, and working for its defeat and humiliation. But, there they were, on a stage in Helsinki, short dumpy Putin in his cheap suit and heavy jowls looking like he had just eaten a dissident, standing next to the tall, hulking, red-tied manchild, who looked exactly like a casino building developer who was double parked, wishing and hoping that one day he could be like the short dumpy man in the cheap suit.

I have officially now seen everything.

Getaway Week

Today marks the beginning of getaway week, a week spent preparing for Maine by disentangling yourself from the thickets of your life. Leaving that life for three weeks is no small feat, as it involves a clipboard full of check list items that run the gamut from lawn care to a compliance-approved away message on your business phone. Here’s just a few of the items I have so far...

-get prescriptions filled

Ok, this one irritates me since it used to not be a thing. Now that I’m 60 and in a more advanced state of physical decrepitude, making sure you don’t run out of cholesterol medicine while you’re gone is of crucial importance. One more example of the ignominy of ageing.

-meet with dog sitter

This trip to Maine is to a house that is not dog friendly, which means that Becca, the dog whisperer, must be dealt with. She recently stayed with Lucy while we were in Nashville and did a great job, so we were lucky enough to get her to do the job for this trip. She already knows Lucy, understands her idiosyncrasies and seems charmed by them. But since this is a three week gig, she will have more stuff to do...like water the grass, protecting my tomato plants from critters, etc... 

-inspect and inventory floats

Without question, this is my most crucial assignment of the week. Making sure that we have six fully operational floats is essential for a successful Maine vacation. I will need to get them out of storage, make sure they are cleaned, identitify any leaks or potential leaks, and above all else, make absolutely certain that we have an ample supply of D batteries for the inflation machine. Any failure in this protocol will result in great tumult and lamentation by the women in my family. A defective float is an unthinkable contingency too horrible to even imagine. Why, the mere possibility of a float failure is one of the things that haunts me during getaway week. When four o’clock in the afternoon arrives and it’s time for the group cocktail float, the last thing you want is to be the man responsible for a float failure. That’s why this particular list item is written in ALL CAPS and red ink.

-study route

This may seem like a strange item since this will be at least the thirtieth time I have made this drive. One would think that I would have the route memorized by now. No..no, this drive is a two day, white knuckled, bowel churning, spittle-flying nightmare where you make one mistake and you’ll find yourself in the middle of Brooklyn in a driving rainstorm during rush hour. In addition, in recent years we have gone to great lengths to avoid I-95, crafting an entirely new western route which takes us through western Pennsylvania. Miss your exit out there and the worst thing that can happen might be getting caught behind an Amish couple out for a joyride. So, yes...I will be poring over the Apple Map directions with excruciating care.

-wrap up loose ends at work

By “loose ends” I mean get everything I’m working on to a point where I can leave for three weeks without returning to a hot mess. This isn’t easy, but it’s made infinitely easier by my intrepid assistant who communicates with me via email and the occasionally snarky text, to keep me up to speed on developments while I am away. So far, no catastrophic geopolitical event has taken place while I’ve been in Maine, no freakish stock market free fall, or client death. (RAP,RAP, RAP,TAP,TAP,TAP...)- that’s me knocking on wood!!

Ok...let getaway week activities commence!

A Parenting Win?

I just saw a post from a friend of mine who is in the midst of a three week adventure with his wife and two kids, touring a half dozen of our National Parks out west. He made the observation that it felt like a parenting win.

He doesn’t know the half of it.

Choosing to spend your money on introducing your kids to the beauty of creation is world class parenting.

Spending three weeks of your summer with them, being present with them is the very definition of parenting. It communicates to them their value....Mom and Dad must love us, if they want to be with us for three weeks!!

The experiences they will have on a trip like this are worth more than a hundred creature comforts. When those girls are grown, they will both talk about that time Mom and Dad took them out west long after Mom and Dad are gone. 

Our National Parks are a treasure. They contain some of the most stunning real estate in the entire world. When we visit, we are reminded of the vastness and wonder of creation. We discover something much bigger and deeper than our day to day problems. It invites big thoughts, and stirs the imagination. Hopefully, it also instills a reverence for the natural world and a desire to protect it.

A three week camping trip with kids is no picnic. I’m sure they will get on each other’s last nerve several times along the way. But, here’s what I know. Material possessions are great. I have nothing against having nice things. I would rather drive a nice car than beat up rusted hulk. I would rather live in a nice house than a shack in the woods. I would rather have nice clothes than walk around in rags. But, there is so much more to life than...stuff. Prosperity is great but if it only results in shinier stuff, it’s wasted. If the power of prosperity is turned to providing life long experiences with the ones you love, something magical happens. Something like conversations around a campfire late into the night. Something like laughing together all afternoon in floats on the lake. Something like watching the sunset to the sound of burgers sizzling on the grill. Something like the thought that comes over you that no matter what life might have in store, there will always be these people, this family, who love you.

A parenting win?

 More like a triumph.

Thanks, golf.

Couple of days ago, a friend of mine says, Why don’t we break away Thursday morning to play golf? I was reluctant since this week has been full, the kind of schedule one has when preparing to go on vacation for three weeks. But, my appointments on Thursday were in the late afternoon so I said yes. Our tee time was at 9:30. He calls me at 8:50...How far away are you? I worked it out so we can go off of 10 if you get here early. That way we’ll have the course to ourselves. I was just leaving the house when he called, so I raced over, walked straight from the parking lot onto the 10th teebox and we were off! Three hours and fifteen minutes later, we were having lunch on the patio, smoking cigars. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how golf was meant to be played.

The fact that we never encountered another living soul on the golf course was not the only reason we finished so quickly. My friend and I have one thing in common when it comes to golf. We both play fast. We are see ball, hit ball players. Our “pre-shot routine” takes all of ten seconds. There are no ponderous debates about club selection, the vagaries of wind and yardage. You will never catch one of us tossing blades of grass in the air or gazing at the top of trees as if a better understanding of wind direction could possibly make a discernible difference in the result. That stuff is reserved for guys who play golf for a living. My friend and I would much rather spend our time talking trash, questioning each other’s manhood, planting seeds of doubt by reminding each other of the hazards of each shot...Alright Dougie, don’t worry about that lake. You hardly ever slice and besides, you’re too weak. You probably don’t have enough length to even reach the water! Or even better, our pre-putt advice...Hey, don’t hit this one too hard. If it rolls past the hole it might go all the way off the green. On the other hand, if you don’t hit it hard enough it it might roll back to your feet! 

I hate everything about golf except actually playing the game. I never practice, never “work on my game.” I don’t warm up before a round. All of that bores me to tears. What I love about golf is the fact that I’m outside for four hours in a beautiful setting with good friends. My cell phone is turned off. Sometimes there’s a friendly wager on the table. I get to smoke a cigar. You get to disengage from the real world for a while, escape fluorescent lighting, and return to a more natural setting. It frees you up. You find yourself having real conversations. 

I shot an 86. Played pretty well. My friend played out of his mind and shot 82. He still has manhood issues.

The real world was waiting for me back at the office. It never goes away. But yesterday, I escaped it for a few glorious hours.

Thanks, golf.

Why Maine?

My first Maine vacation of 2018 commences in 10 Days. Pam and I will drive up over two days, have one day to buy groceries and set up, then both sets of kids will fly in to Portland. All of us will be together for the first week, then Kaitlin and Jon will stay for a second week, then Pam and I will have the place to ourselves the last week.

I’ve spent lots of time in this space extolling the virtues of Maine, although all the words in the world can’t properly communicate it’s charms. Maine has to be experienced. To that end, I have selected some of my favorite photographs from my years of vacations there. My hope is that they will communicate in ways that words cannot, the delights of the place. So, why Maine?

The beauty. The serenity. The food. The weather. The wonder. 

That’s why.

The Letter

I received a letter in the mail about a week or so ago. A real, old fashioned letter, hand addressed in cursive, with a stamp in the top right hand corner instead of the metered postage stripe common to mass mail. The trip to the mail box has lost all of the romance it had when I was a kid. I would send away for stuff all the time, from cereal box offers of spy decoder rings to requests for autographed pictures of my favorite athletes. You never knew if this would be the day when that 8x10 of Joe Namath would come! Now, everyday it’s the same...random bills, coupons for discount pizza, slick little catalogues from bizarre stores I’ve never heard of like JJill, along with the ubiquitous Kohl’s circular and a ton of Bed, Bath and Beyond 25% off coupons. During an election cycle, my mail becomes a month long primal scream of propagandized bulls**t. Getting the mail has become a depressing exercise, a symbol of yet another charming grace that has been taken from us by technology. So, this letter, this hand written address, this plain white envelope got my attention.

I opened it and found two single spaced typed pages...a serious letter. I had received it the very day that Pam and I had gotten home from Nashville and the wedding. It was in the stack of mail that had come while we were away. I had slumped down in my recliner, completely exhausted. After the first paragraph, I hastily glanced at the second page to see who it was from. Instantly, a knot arrived in my throat.

It’s going to be difficult to describe the contents of this letter without it sounding like self promotion. But, I will give it a try.

It was written by a young woman who was in the large youth group that I served over a decade ago as a teacher and adult leader. I have largely lost track of her, since she and her husband and child have moved to another city. She was writing to thank me for what she described as the pivotal roll I had played in her development, and to list for me the many lessons I had taught her in those days. She spoke of conversations we had had which shaped her and still today are with her as she leads a department of 100 employees in her job. I was overwhelmed by her words, astounded that she would, after all these years, take the time to write such a thing. I sat in my chair, trying to recall the specific details. Some of them came easily, others, not so much. But, I remember this girl. She was the one everyone loved, but who had a hard time loving herself.

To hear her tell it, I was this towering pillar of wisdom and righteousness. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I was an uneven leader at best. I was often rough on the kids, short tempered, and improperly blunt. Half the time I was the ring leader of ill-considered pranks that wound up getting kids in trouble. I could be dismissive and insensitive at times. In other words, I was the ultimate imperfect vessel. The fact that I was able to be used by God to have an impact on a group of kids despite those shortcomings remains in my mind, a miracle. My Dad always used to tell me that people who say they can’t become active in ministry because they aren’t spiritual enough, don’t understand ministry or spirituality. I believe his exact words were...God can hit a straight lick with a crooked stick.

I was the mother of all crooked sticks.

But, apparently, along the way some straight licks were hit. That this beautiful, accomplished professional woman, mother and wife would take the time to write me a letter of thanks all these years later is something I will never forget. 

The Power of Fading Photographs

Yesterday, my son and his wife, the newlyweds, excitedly sent all of us a picture of their first furniture purchase. It was some sort of love seat thing that was perfect for their tiny living room. In response Pam dug up an old photograph of the very first piece of furniture we had purchased as a married couple...a hideous floral patterned sleep sofa which practically screamed 1980’s. While searching for this relic among the thousands of pictures floating around in the mysterious cloud, Pam found several others from our first year of marriage. Since Patrick and Sarah are leaving this week to go on their honeymoon, my wife thought it appropriate to send them a picture taken of us when we were on our honeymoon...

This was taken with an automatic timer on her non digital camera propped up on a table across the room of our suite at the Ocean Creek Resort in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina in May of 1984. It was a lifetime ago...and strangely, feels like last week. We had no earthly idea what we were doing, no clue what wonders lurked in our future. We were broke, or would be by the time we returned from this trip and spent our way through the wedding cash. She was a first grade teacher, and I was a struggling insurance salesman. My car was a used VW Scirocco with red fake leather seats. We would return to Richmond and spend our first year of married life in a two bedroom apartment off of Hungary Springs Road.

There were no cell phones. It was three Golden Retrievers ago. We had no children. There was no Facebook, and only three channels on our 19 inch color television, four if you counted the fuzzy and inconsistent reception of the Public Television station...channel 23 WCVE. Ronald Reagan was in the White House, and the Dallas Cowboys were actually good. Apple Computer was a niche company who nobody had ever heard of, and Amazon was a river in Brazil. If either of us had randomly started giving voice commands to someone named Alexa, we would have been declared insane.

It was a much less convenient time. Information was exceedingly more difficult to come by, and if you were serious about being informed, you took the paper...both of them, The Times Dispatch in the morning, and The News Leader at night. But, oddly, I felt I understood the world better. Now, everything there is to know is at my fingertips, yet I’m more confused than ever.

But, you know what? Not everything has changed. That girl sitting next to me is still as hot and beguiling as ever. I didn’t fully understand just what I had back then. Now I do and can hardly believe it. The picture is grainy and a bit faded. I like that. It’s as if it’s holding something back from us...No, I’m not clear and precise. Allow room for mystery...

Heaven

While I have been distracted with weddings, family and friends, I’ve noticed that the world has continued on its merry way, enjoying its window seat on the Straight To Hell express train. Trump is still Trump, determined to make tariffs great again, elevating lying to dizzying new heights of acceptability, and still Tweeting like a middle schooler. Meanwhile, the face of the Democratic Party has become an increasingly deranged Maxine Waters. But Maxine’s days could be numbered since the arrival on the scene of a beautiful Marxist barmaid from the Bronx who, on the power of 16,000 votes has become the latest heart throb of practically every journalist in America. If I didn’t know better I would suspect that the Democratic Party was on a mission to insure Trump’s second term...but what do I know?

Meanwhile, in other world news...the World Cup plods on. The best soccer players in the universe continue to throw themselves violently to the ground at the slightest suggestion of physical contact with another player in spasms of what appears to be excruciating pain in hopes of securing a free penalty kick...or something. Once secured, the seemingly mortally wounded player bounces up fresh as a daisy, penalty kicks apparently possessing miracle curative powers. These past couple of sentences contain the sum total of what I know about soccer, so maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe when another player comes within two inches of colliding with another player it really does cause excruciating pain because of some sort of soccer force field or something. As far as the actual games go, I’m told that there have been a bunch of upsets, teams that don’t normally advance this far have surprised everyone, chief amount them...the team from the host country...Russia. This isn’t suspicious...at all.

Two weeks from today, Pam and I will set out for the 13 hour drive to our happy place. This time it will be at a place called, I’m not even kidding,...The Chill House, on Pemaquid Lake near Damariscotta, Maine.

Kaitlin and Jon will spend two weeks with us, and Patrick and Sarah will spend the second week of their honeymoon here. Once they are gone, Pam and I will have one week to ourselves. Trump isn’t invited. Neither is Maxine Waters. None of us will be throwing ourselves onto the ground feigning injury...unless it’s possible to suddenly become violently ill from too many fluffernutters or too much lobster or ice cream, or too much time spent on floats out on the lake. The rest of you will have to contend with the madness of 2018. We’ll be in heaven.

The Wedding....Part Two

CHAPTER FIVE...The Ceremony

I sat on the front row, on the aisle. Pam and I had both just escorted our son to the front while a jazz ensemble played Zelda’s Lullaby or some other piece of video game music. When Sarah came down the aisle and everyone stood, my heart was full. Although the planning of this day had taken a toll on us, this moment was the payoff. This girl was the right girl. She was the one we had both been praying for for the better part of two decades. That realization is a feeling like no other for a parent. Our boy had found the right girl.

The minister, Jason Shelton, was a gem. He is a good friend of my son, a minister of music in the Universalist Unitarian Church, and a fellow composer, the director of a choral company that Patrick and Sarah are a part of, and a committed liberal/socialist who is fond of carrying signs and protesting stuff...which meant he felt right at home at this wedding since throughout the proceedings, a crowd of such protesters was gathering in an adjacent park! It was so nice of a thousand strangers to show up to celebrate with us. Nashvillians are super friendly! It didn’t take long for Jason to earn his meager pay. As soon as he began with the Dearly Beloved...it became evident that his microphone was one of those that only works sparingly, as in...every fifth word sparingly. If it bothered him, you would never know, since he soldiered on like a pro. Then, it was time for some very special music. Back during their courtship, Sarah had written a poem about the first time Patrick had said I Love You. Patrick had decided to set the poem to music, complete with orchestration. When he proposed, he sang her poem to her accompanied by the recording of the orchestration in the background. I know, I know...romantic kid. Anyway, a special recording of that song was to play through the high dollar sound system while Patrick and Sarah poured sand into a jar to symbolize the two becoming one thing. Only...when they pressed play...nothing but silence.

Although silence is a very lovely thing at times, this was not one of those times. As the silence ground on, the awkwardness began to build. Then Jason turns to Patrick and Sarah and says...So, you guys got any fun plans for tonight? Perfect.

They never got the sound fixed. A faulty plug was blamed. Although it was extremely disappointing and infuriating to this father of the groom and bankroller of this event, this, like everything else about this wedding, worked out perfectly in the end. The sand pouring thing was done during the reception as the song played, only this time, the picture slideshow blazed out on the walls. As my son’s voice sang Sarah’s poem I watched a picture of my Mom and Dad holding him as an infant. It was a powerful moment...

After they were pronounced husband and wife, they were supposed to march out accompanied by the theme to Star Wars. But, with no sound track, they had to settle for the thunderous applause of one hundred of their closest friends and family. The cheering kept up its intensity all the way through the last groomsman and bridesmaid. And, just like that, it was over.

CHAPTER SIX...Reflections 

Here are a few snippets of memories I have of the time after the ceremony. They are starting to become hazy and I list them here in no particular order.

Chicken and waffles were delicious and very popular.

Patrick and Sarah are huge board game players. It’s been a big part of their dating life so they wanted games to be played at their reception. Pam and I weren’t sure how this would go over since we had never seen it done at a wedding before. But, I counted ten separate games going on simultaneously during the reception. People were having a blast, including  a contingent of the White family...

Groomsman Elias Salazar, Venezuelan born trumpet player, educator, orchestra conductor, and unrepentant soccer fan had sworn us all to absolute radio silence about the progress of the two World Cup games going on during the wedding. He was afraid someone was going to leak the results, robbing him of his plans to watch the recorded games later while drinking beer in his pajamas, apparently his World Cup tradition. Every time I walked up to him during the reception he practically covered his ears as a precaution!

Another hero of the weekend was bridesmaid Katie Kelly. When she arrived at the bridesmaid luncheon straight from the airport, Pam noticed immediately that Sarah instantly relaxed. Here was a ball of positive energy and enthusiasm who changed whatever room she entered for the better. During the reception and afterwards during the cleanup, Pam and I both noticed her take charge style. At one point Pam heard her giving out some rather pointed orders to some of the staff at Ruby. When Katie noticed that Pam was watching, she deadpanned, I’m being extra so Sarah doesn’t have to be! 

Andy Upchurch, father of the bride took this picture...

My new daughter...

Us, back at the hotel after it was all over.

After we gathered everything up that needed saving, we loaded it all up and delivered it to Patrick and Sarah’s already cramped apartment. Sarah said...We can finally hang this!!

There’s no turning back now...there’s a D on their door!

So, that’s about it. There’s more I could say, more stories I could tell. But, hopefully you have an idea of how how the weekend went. In short, it was a wonderful celebration of everything all of us hold dear in this world...love, family, and lifelong friends.

The Wedding.....Part One

Five days have passed. I am no longer exhausted. Enough time has passed to gain perspective but not too much time that I’ve forgotten anything, so I guess it’s time for a wedding blog.

The wedding of Patrick Dunnevant and Sarah Upchurch was a combination of loveliness and catastrophe...heartwarming beauty and three ring circus. There were times where I wondered what could possibly go wrong next, but other times when I was so proud of them both I could hardly stand it. To tell the story of this crazy yet glorious weekend, I will have to break it down into chapters, which means that this blog might be rather long. But bear with me...I need to get all of it down. One day I will read this to their children who will not believe a word of it.

CHAPTER ONE.....SAM

The guy on the left is Sam Isaacs. He has been Patrick’s friend since they were five. We love Sam primarily because he’s always been a mess and good for a hilarious story or two. On this weekend, of course, he didn’t disappoint. His Thursday flight from Richmond on Allegiant Airlines was unceremoniously cancelled. No other flights could be had so Sam decides to just rent a car and drive through the night. There was a credit card foul up that made that a fiasco and delayed their departure until 10 pm. Then, ten minutes after leaving the airport in their rental car, the check engine light comes on!! Of course it did! Sam missed the bachelor party, but rolled in just in time for the rehearsal dinner. In route, his delightful fiancée had to plead with their hotel to re-book their reservation which they had mistakenly cancelled. All in a day’s work.

CHAPTER TWO...Replacement Bridesmaid

One of the life lessons I have learned from this weekend is the importance of family and friends. In particular, those special people who can be depended on in the clutch. At every turn, when something had gone terribly wrong, some incredible friend would step up and save the day. These people were super heros to us...all weekend. One of them was this beautiful girl standing next to the stunning bride...

So, one of Sarah’s bridesmaids informed her...18 hours before the wedding...that she was ill and would be unable to make it to the wedding. (No, I am not making this up.) This news was received right before the big visit to the nail salon for the prenuptial manicures. A debate began. Should she ask another friend? Should she just go with one less bridesmaid? Would the pictures look unbalanced? Would whichever friend she asked feel slighted that she was only being asked to be a backup? In other words, this was the type of situation that no bride should be dealing with 18 hours before her wedding. Then, the best man, Matt Adrian’s girlfriend, Yoanna, who Patrick had introduced to Matt a couple years 
ago, stepped up. I’ll be your bridesmaid! Let’s get her dress from her and take it up a little. It will work perfectly! And just like that, Sarah now had a replacement bridesmaid, one who truly loved her in word and deed. I will never forget the heartfelt speech she gave at the rehearsal dinner. Matt...don’t let this one get away!


CHAPTER THREE...The Leaning Arbor of Ruby

Sarah’s father, Andy, had designed and constructed an arbor for the occasion, which had to be assembled on site at 7 AM, day of, after which the florist would decorate it with flowers and greenery. However, when we arrived at 9:00 am, the arbor was being propped up at its base with a ten pound bag of cat litter. Now, I’m not known as someone who is necessarily in tune with wedding stylistics, but even I knew that a bag of cat litter didn’t match the color scheme of this event! The trouble was that without the offending bag of litter, the arbor would list badly starboard. Upon seeing this, the first rumblings of panic arrived in my stomach. Pam calmly got on her phone and did the only thing any of us know to do when something like this happens...call Ron Roop. My brother in law is one of those guys who always seems to know how to fix stuff. He always just happens to be carrying a slide rule and adjustable wrench around in his pocket when you need one. Although he was about to step into the shower when he got Pam’s call, five minutes later, there he was, bungee chords and fishing line in hand, working his miracles...

CHAPTER FOUR... “I’ll do anything for you”

Lots of people say these words. Only a special few actually mean them. Becky Baldwin is one of those people. Becky and Pam have been close friends for thirty years or more. Back in the day at Grove, people would get them mixed up, they looked and acted so much alike. Of course, Becky and her daughter Kelly, a life long friend of Patrick, made the trip from Richmond. The two of them wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Anyway, during the chaos of the wedding day, it was discovered after the service that Patrick had left something very valuable at his apartment that morning...the flash drive that contained the slideshow of pictures that was to play during the reception! When this news was relayed to my wife, Becky was standing there with her and immediately said, “Patrick, give me the keys to your place. Kelly and I will go get it!” Pam protested...”Becky, it’s all the way across town! You don’t know your way around this crazy city, and you will miss the reception!” Becky smiled and said...”Pam, I would do anything for you. Now, you leave this to us!” With that, the two of them screeched out of the parking lot and disappeared....

Yeah...that’s them, recording their heroics with a selfie at the scene. They made it back with the flash drive in record time, saving the day. 

TO BE CONTINUED........