Worst Christmas Memes Ever

Today it will snow. That means that many of you will be stuck at home all day. Others will use the snow as an excuse to skip church and lay around all day in your pajamas. In either case, you will need something to pass the time. To this end, I have collected the worst, most pathetic Christmas memes I could find to share in this space... good luck!

Christmas Parties

My church operates a thrift store called, unimaginatively, Hope Thrift. It’s a pretty big deal that generates a lot of money every year, the majority of which gets channeled back into the community. It’s a wonderful ministry which does an awful lot of good, but like any successful ministry requires a ton of volunteers. In the case of the store, over 150 volunteers are needed every year to make it all work. Last night, Pam and I attended a Christmas party given for those volunteers at a large and lovely home in Barrington. Today, we have the 1:00 to 5:30 shift at the store.

So, I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas parties, all large social gatherings, really. It’s not that I don’t enjoy them. I had a nice time last night. It’s just that my particular set of neurosis are ill-suited to affairs that sandwich 100 human beings into the confined spaces of even the most expansive west end estate. Last night there had to be at least 100 people...and five rooms in play, six if you count the large foyer out front. It should be pointed out that of this house full of people, I actually knew maybe a dozen of them. My strategy...and yes, one must have a strategy at these things...was very simple—stay on the move. I quickly acquainted myself with each of the five available rooms, making note of the ideal escape routes for each. I planned on constantly flowing from one room to the next, trying not to get pinned down in any one place too long. The secret is short, friendly conversations...Hey, how are ya? Nice to meet ya. How ‘bout that crab dip, huh? So, what do you do at the store? Excuse me, I think my wife wants me for something.

That last part isn’t true. I know exactly where my wife is, and she doesn’t want me for anything. She has parked herself somewhere with a couple of people she knows and they are talking about God knows what. If she had her way, the three of them could very well stay in that one spot for an hour or more. She is a marvel of patience and fortitude. As I pass through her room I glance over at her. She doesn’t see me, she’s smiling and laughing at something, looking like a movie star. Meanwhile, I have shaken the hands of a couple of dozen strangers, a bunch of nice people. This morning I can’t recall a single name, despite the fact that everyone was wearing a name tag...Bob, Barb, Brooke, Beth, Bill...it’s all a blur, but I will remember every face.

I did have some things going for me though. Whenever I mentioned to anyone that the store manager, Renee, was in my small group, immediately I became special! Renee is awesome, they would reply...the store would fall apart without her. Some people would ask me if I worked at the store, they didn’t remember seeing me there. That’s probably because I have only been there four times. Then I would explain that I was Pam Dunnevant’s husband. Wait,...they would light up...Isn’t she the pretty blond that works the cash register? Without fail, she was always referred to in those terms! As soon as it was discovered that I was with...her...then, bam!!! I was in! Behold the power of my wife’s kind heart and blond hair.

After two hours and roughly thirty laps it was time to go. I found her talking with a couple of ladies in the kitchen. We made eye contact and I mouthed the words, time to go. She nodded, and fifteen minutes later we were on the way home. If the two of us had been wearing Fitbits, my wife’s would be suggesting that she get moving at some point, since she had been largely sedentary for the past two hours. Mine would be congratulating me for completing my 5k.

But, we work together, Pam and me. It’s a great mystery.

Big Picture vs. Details

December 7th. 77th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. 94th anniversary of my father’s birth. And, the staggering realization that there are only 18 days until Christmas.

Yes, it’s about this time every year where the enormity of the task of Christmas hits you. Now, before my wife reads this and spits out her coffee in apoplectic rage with...WHAT?? You think YOU have a task of Christmas? I’m the one who does all the work!! Ok. Yes...that is true. Maybe not all the work. Sure, she’s the one who decorates the house, buys 90% of the gifts, plans the meals, sweats every detail concerning family obligations, prepares the house for the arrival of our children and their pets, and does all the cooking....but, it’s not like I don’t do anything. I will buy her presents. I will eventually put the lights up outside. In addition, it is no small detail that I will be paying for all of this Christmasing. I mean...that’s something, right? Oh..and I will clean the house and clean up the dishes and kitchen after each meal. So, I’ve got that going for me.

But, basically...in the Dunnevant house, all of the Christmas details and logistics are sweated over by my wife, which makes it much harder on her than it is on me. Why is that? Why is it that the details of anything never enter my head? For me everything is big picture. When I think about Christmas I think...buy gifts, wrap gifts, kids home, wear ugly sweater, drink hot cocoa, open presents, clean up. In other words, I think of what happens as a result of someone’s meticulous planning and attention to detail. That someone being my wife.

Even though I know that this failure of mine to appreciate details is a flaw, there doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it. Try as I might, I have never been able to think like she does. Even in my profession, I have had to hire others to handle the detail stuff. It’s why I haven’t filled out a tax return since 1987. I take one look at the tax forms and my eyes glaze over and I get sick on to my stomach. What I think is...I made money. I must pay taxes. I will hire accountant to tell me how much. 

Thankfully, I don’t run the world. 

My Neighbor

I live on a cul de sac in a nice neighborhood in Short Pump. We had our house built 21 years ago and are the only people ever to live here. There have been a series of neighbors to our left and right. Almost all of them have been nice. When we moved here Pam and I had an eight year old and a ten year old. It seems like an eternity ago...and just last week. So, although we have gotten older, our neighbors keep getting younger. Which brings me to something incredible that happened yesterday evening.

About a month ago, we returned home one day and discovered that someone had gotten all of the leaves up from our front yard. I remember thinking, what the heck? I could have sworn there were leaves in our yard this morning! After some detective work I discovered that my neighbor had borrowed one of those high powered industrial strength power blowers from one of his job sites and had gotten carried away with the thing and went ahead and did my front yard after he finished his own. I thanked him and made some crack about helping an old man out.

Well, yesterday afternoon late I heard the sound of another high powered leaf blower out front. I looked out the window and there he was again making short work of my very leafy front yard. He informs me that he had decided to buy his own industrial leaf blower and was trying it out. I thanked him awkwardly...it’s a strange feeling to watch another man doing my job! I said something about owing him big time and he replied...No man...you guys have had to put up with a lot with our kids, so...

My neighbor is a young man with a beautiful wife and three adorable stair step kids, a boy and two little girls. The boy is in elementary school. They have their hands full with three little ones. When our kids were their ages, Pam and I were always exhausted. I remember very well the hectic pace, the chaos of getting them ready for school every morning, the scheduling logistics of getting them to and from all of their extra curricular activities, breaking up fights, etc...it was thrilling madness. When I watch them interacting with their kids it takes me back in time..And makes me smile. What my neighbor doesn’t understand is...it’s not something we have had to put up with, I actually enjoy it. I love seeing their kids playing in the cul de sac. I see them in the back yard with their toys all over the place, hear them carrying on, and it never fails to warm my heart. Their kids are beautiful...and a mess. Exactly how our kids used to be.

I have never understood the concept of the retirement community. That’s where older people all want to go once they retire so they can be around other people their own age. I can’t think of anything more horrifying than living cloistered in close contact with nothing but...old people. No way. Put me on a cul de sac with young families with loud kids any day. Especially if the parents are as kind and considerate as my neighbors.

But seriously...I owe him big time.

Christmas Ornaments

Well...our new Mexican/Chinese Christmas tree is up. This past Saturday, my wife was a tree-trimming beast, setting up and putting lights on seven trees, and fully decking out three of the seven with ornamental finery. The one above is our family tree, the one under which Santa will unload our largesse. Perhaps I am assuming too much with that last sentence, since the issue of whether or not all six of us made it onto the NICE list is unknown at this hour. Actually, the wife and kids are shoe-ins. As always, my status will be a game time decision.

This year’s tree has 1,000 lights and over 125 ornaments, each of which tells a story of our family history. I assume this is true for every family tree in every home. You go somewhere cool for vacation or a weekend getaway and the first thing you do is buy a Christmas ornament to commemorate the experience. Big events like the birth of children and weddings have their own ornament, etc.. There’s one that we bought on our Honeymoon, one we bought that time we all got in our jammies on Christmas Eve and drove into town for Krispi Kreme doughnuts...it has a hot now light that flashes!

And, of course, our tree is chocked full of Maine-themed ornaments...

No Dunnevant Christmas tree would be complete without dog ornaments. We have three, one for each of the golden retrievers we have had...

It has been said by someone...maybe me...that you can tell what a man values most by what he would run into his burning house to save. Would he risk his life for a file full of stock certificates? That stash of emergency hundred dollar bills in the shoe box? I don’t know. Luckily I’ve never had a house burn down before. But, something tells me if it ever did happen...I would make a mad dash for the box of Christmas ornaments in our clothes closet upstairs.

Wouldn’t you?

Why is College Football More Fun Than the NFL?

I happened to post an observation about the differences between college and professional football on Facebook the other day...to wit, that college football is immeasurably more entertaining than the professional game. An enthusiastic and regular reader of The Tempest actually challenged me to write a blog attempting to answer the question...why? I know this reader very well and he apparently knows me very well since he knew that by so publically challenging me he was guaranteeing a response. 

I should first point out that I don’t really care enough about professional football to write persuasively about it, having lost interest in the NFL several years back. But, I still love the college game, especially Alabama...roll tide. I mean, it’s not baseball...but I suppose college football is my second favorite sport. However, I think I can answer the why question by using baseball as an example.

I LOVE Major League Baseball. But, I have many times in this space taken my favorite sport to task for its short comings. However, the most enjoyable baseball to watch occurs in the low minor leagues. Why is this? Single A and Double A teams are filled with 19-22 year olds who either don’t have the skills to make it to the bigs, or their skills require more work. So, the quality of the baseball you see on the field doesn’t even compare to the major league product. That being the case, why is it more fun to watch? Here’s why...

Everybody hustles. Everyone busts their butts running down to first base. They sprint from the dugout to their places in the field. Hell, even the pitching coaches run out to settle their pitchers down. Speaking of pitchers, they don’t take forever shaking off their catchers. You know why? Because they are on a pitch clock and if they don’t throw it fifteen seconds after they get it back from the catcher, they get penalized. Oh, and the batters aren’t allowed to take a thirty second stroll after each pitch, and unlike their big league counterparts, they consider their first job to be swinging at anything that looks close. As a consequence, minor league games are over with in a couple of hours! Another thing, the enthusiasm level of these kids is off the charts. It’s always more fun to watch people doing what they love...especially when you know most of the guys are getting paid 30 grand plus a $30 per diem for food! 

By the time players are good enough to get to the bigs most are making 3-4 million a year...even utility players. Stars get paid 15-20 million a year. With all that money comes fame, ego and entitlement to all but a few rare exceptions that never lose their love and passion for the game. This, we are treated to the spectacle of the 20 million dollar super star, Manny Machado loafing to first base during the World Series.

The Why of the college vs. pro argument in football is much the same. College players aren’t as talented as professionals. The vast majority of college players will never play a single snap in the NFL, so everyone of them knows that every game might be their last...and they play like it! Unlike the pro game where players are traded left and right and sometimes end up playing for four or five teams during their careers, college players play for their school. There’s the old fashioned notion of “team spirit”. Rivalries are real and ancient. The intensity of the competition is palpable. Plus...they are technically...amateurs. Except for their scholarships, these guys aren’t paid. (Yes, yes...I know all about crooked and slimy boosters). All of this results in two completely different games. College football is to pro football what a frat party is to a fund raising mixer for a Republican candidate at the Ruritan Club.

So, in summary, the common denominator in both the football and baseball examples above is?? Large and obscene amounts of MONEY paid to athletes which transforms too many of them into entitled, arrogant slackers who can’t be bothered to hustle.

Any questions?

George H.W. Bush...and my Dad

When I heard the news yesterday of the passing of George H.W. Bush, I didn’t think of politics. I didn’t recall his Presidency at all. I thought of my Dad.

They were the same age. They both served their country in the Pacific theatre in WWII at a very young age, both in the Navy. They both fathered sons and daughters who loved them dearly. And towards the ends of their lives, they suffered from Parkinson’s disease. Everytime I saw a photograph of the former president he reminded me of my father. They even began to favor each other, the way they held their mouth, the way they smiled.

Of course, aside from these similarities, there was a wide gulf between the two. While George H.W. Bush was born into great wealth, my Dad was born into rural poverty. Instead of prep school, it was back breaking farm work for my Dad. While Mr. Bush was making his fortune in the West Texas oil fields, my Dad was loading trucks on the midnight shift on a dock in New Orleans as a Teamster, trying to put food on the table for his four children while a full time student at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. Still, I have always connected these two men in my mind. They both had a great internal reservoir of dignity and class. They both possessed an abiding sense of duty to serve. It’s what drove them both to defy their fathers and enlist in the military at 18 the day after Pearl Harbor. It was and is difficult to find one of their contemporaries who had a bad thing to say about either of them. They were real men in an age where it is getting more difficult to find them.

Rest In Peace, George Herbert Walker Bush, 41st President of these United States.

Rest In Peace, Emmett Douglas Dunnevant, Dad, Grandfather, greatest man I’ve ever known.

Enthusiasm Deficit

We have a bit of a Christmas problem here at the Dunnevant house. That Chinese/Mexican tree Pam bought several days ago? It’s still in the box, and the box is still in my living room...taunting me.

There it is. We both have spent the last four days walking around the thing, never speaking of it, as if it’s invisible. Buddy the Elf would be appalled at our lack of Christmas spirit. I hear that Friday evening is supposed to be a miserably rainy affair. We have tentatively agreed that this might be a good night to open the box.

It’s funny how the entire Christmas enterprise changes once the nest empties. The urgency has completely disappeared. It has taken us a week to get the candles in the windows...and even that has been an ordeal. Last year we spent the money on those fancy candles that come on and turn off at pre-set times, only to discover this year that half of them no longer work! And, of course, no stores within a hundred square miles of our house have any in stock. So, Pam ordered replacements online someplace and had them shipped in. Now there are two candles that can’t seem to get with the program, refusing to turn on and off with the rest of their breathren, frustrating my wife to no end. Just what we need...a couple of renegade, malcontented Christmas candles.

Automatic Timer, it claims...right on the box...8 hours on/16 hours off, it promises. But, then I notice on the back of the box down at the bottom those three ominous words...

Made in China. Where are tariffs when you need them? Wait...what’s this Choking Hazard business? How can a seven inch long plastic object with a four foot long electric chord be a choking hazard? I mean, I get the-This is not a toy thing- but, choking hazard?? Maybe if you’re like a giraffe or an elephant...but how could a child possibly choke to death on a Christmas candle? Now, I can see a kid electrocuting himself maybe. My son, back in the day, happened to unscrew the bulb on one of theses things one year when we weren’t looking (which, around Christmas was all of the time!). The next thing we know, he sticks his finger down in the place where the bulb used to be, and discovered the awesome power of electricity for the first time. He walks into the kitchen with his little blackened fingertip in the air and said...Christmiss candle hurt you!! That’s back when Christmas was fun! Good times...

Stop Complaining About Technology Already!

Over the past several weeks I bet I’ve seen a dozen stories about two supposedly horrible developments brought on by technological advancement. First, the social destructiveness of Facebook, and second, the ubiquitous overuse of cellphones. The Facebook thing is a load of manure. Cellphone overuse is not.

Yes, so I’m constantly being told horror stories about how Facebook and other forms of social media are turning us into terrible people. No, they are not. What Facebook is doing is revealing terrible people to us...a valuable service. All of the deleterious qualities of Facebook can be completely eliminated by a series of handy tools which Facebook provides for each and every user. So, essentially...if you are having a difficult time with Facebook, it’s because of user error, not some Russian plot. Here are but a few examples:

If someone keeps posting objectionable things on your wall....block them.

If you’re tired of talking about politics on Facebook...stop talking about politics on Facebook.

If you’re tired of all the phoniness and Facebragging...start sharing pictures of your latest bout with hemorrhoids. See how that works for you!

Here’s the thing about Facebook. The kinds of things you post tells all the world about what you value. If 90% of your Wall is taken up with pictures of your grandchildren, or your dog or your political opinions, you are telling the world what you care about. There is absolutely nothing wrong with grandkids, dogs, or political opinions. So...what’s the problem? Oh, but some people are constantly yapping about Trump or making rude comments about this and that... so, block them. Problem solved! Listen people, if you don’t like this blog, or dog pictures, horrible Dad Jokes, and snarky trashtalk, I would be an excellent candidate for blocking. Everyone has the power to have the Facebook they want by a series of editing tools available to all. Either use them, or stop whining.

The overuse of cellphones is a problem. For one thing, in the entire history of mankind and civilization, this is brand spanking new technology. We are just now learning what these things can do. They are very much the shiniest new toy in the human toy box. So, at the moment we are infatuated. I think with time we will learn better user habits. Right now, most of us are on the thing entirely too much, me included. One suggestion I read somewhere (probably on my cell phone!) was to establish a basket somewhere in your house where everyone’s cellphones must be deposited during certain agreed upon hours of the day...like mealtime. Sounds smart. 

My default position when it comes to technology is this...for all the moaning and groaning we do, I don’t know anyone who longs to go back to the era of folding maps, encyclopedias, and phone booths. Mostly, technological advancement has been a boon to mankind and has made our lives infinitely easier, and a whole lot more fun. 

So...garbage in garbage out. If you want a more interesting Facebook wall...be more interesting. If you think that your cell phone is taking over your life, understand that each cellphone comes equipped with a power button. Developed discipline and better user habits...but don’t pretend that you’re going off the grid anytime soon. 

Bad Dad Jokes...Christmas Edition

It’s been several months since I last shared some Dad Jokes in this space. Luckily for all of you, I am in possession of ten Christmas-themed Dad Jokes which feature the perfect combination of stupidity and cringe-worthiness that you have come to expect from my previous collections. The fact that I offer these to you absolutely free of charge is more evidence that I am in the giving back to the community business here at The Tempest. Enjoy!

1. Why are Christmas trees so bad at knitting?

Because they keep dropping their needles.

2. Why did Santa’s helper go to a psychiatrist?

Because he was suffering from low elf esteem.

3. What’s the difference between Donald Trump and that clementine in the bottom of your stocking?

Nothing. They’re both a little orange.

4. What do you call a crowd of chess players bragging about their games in a hotel lobby?

Chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.

5. What nationality is Santa?

North Poleish 

6. Which famous playwrite was terrified of Christmas?

Noel Coward

7. What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?

Frostbite

8. How did Mary and Joseph know that Baby Jesus was 7 lbs. 6 ozs. at birth?

They had a weigh in the manger.

9. Why do Dasher and Dancer love coffee?

Because they are Santa’s star bucks.

10. A man and his wife were walking in Moscow one night when some precipitation started to fall. The husband thought it was rain but his wife thought it was snow. The husband said, “Let’s ask this Communist official here...they are always right!...Excuse me, Rudolf...but is this precipitation rain or snow?” Rudolph glances up quickly and answers, “This is rain, comrade” The husband smiled at his wife and said...

“See? Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear.”

Our Latest Import

We have a new Christmas tree. It replaces one that is probably twenty five years old. It also replaces another one Pam bought two years ago for a ridiculous amount of money that was used exactly once and nearly ruined Christmas because it was...entirely too skinny. So, we are hoping that this new behemoth will do the job. It was on sale, I’m told. It is also the first pre-lit tree to grace the Dunnevant living room, and it has white lights, also a Dunnevant family first. It stands 7.5 feet tall and comes festooned with 1000 lights.

However, upon closer inspection this morning, I have discovered a couple of troubling things. Pam apparently bought the Mexican version of the Trim-a-Tree18, since there isn’t a word of English anywhere on the packaging. Luckily, I can figure out what pre-iluminado means, and I recall enough from my tenth grade Spanish class to figure out that this tree isn’t intended to be used outside...solo para uso en interiores!! To make matters even more confusing, the back side of this box informs me that the Trim-a-Tree18 was manufactured in China. (Distributed by Nicholas Holiday Inc. Taipei, Taiwan)

So, my wife went out and bought a Chinese-made Christmas tree, intended for sale to Spanish-speaking customers, from a Lowe’s Hardware store in Short Pump, Virginia.

This United Nations amalgamation of Christmas is the sort of thing that will warm the hearts of internationalists everywhere, but I’m wondering how Santa is supposed to keep it all straight. If we wake up on Christmas morning to find serapes and Baja jackets under the tree, I’m not blaming Santa.

One other thing I noticed about this tree...it weighs a ton! Actually, 32.2 kgs (71 pounds). Lugging this brute into the house from the car was hard enough. I cannot wait for the post-Christmas fun of hauling this baby up two flights of stairs where it will have to spend the rest of the year with the six other English-speaking trees in the attic.

What The Hell Is Wrong With People?

Every now and then something happens which forces you to confront one of life’s big time questions. Not the classic questions of philosophy like...Who am I? Why am I here? No, I’m talking about the question that has been on the lips of human beings for millennia, but especially in the 21st century...What the hell is wrong with people?

This morning I received a private message from an old friend of mine. He was asking me to pass along an urgent prayer request from a friend of his concerning an 18 month old child who had tragically shot himself with his father’s nail gun and had been rushed to the hospital. The situation was grave.

Ok, at this point I should probably confess to the fact that these types of stories usually fail to move me. It is a character flaw, no question about it. My first reaction would normally be something along the lines of...what kind of bonehead parent let’s a toddler anywhere near a loaded and operational nail gun? The kid should have shot the Dad instead! I know, I know...this is a horrible instinct which someone who calls himself a Christian should fight to overcome. Nevertheless, it is what it is. I am preternaturally disposed to skepticism, and much too quick to cast judgement on the foolishness of others.

But, this particular message moved me, partially because of who had sent it. My friend is a minister who works with a lot of blue collar workers in South Carolina. Maybe it was true...and if it was, what an unspeakable tragedy. So, without thinking it through, I selected a handful of family and friends who would be open to praying for this unfortunate child. Within minutes I discovered the truth courtesy of my son-in-law who forwarded me the article from Snopes.com. This was a spam notification that has been circulating around the web in various iterations since 2010!! I had been had. I fell for what was essentially a chain letter....to which I ask you...what the hell is wrong with people??

This is America, which means that at some point a very real toddler is going to get ahold of a working nail gun and accidentally shoot himself. I would be willing to wager large amounts of money on this outcome. And when this unfortunate lad is rushed to the hospital and his parents desperately send out an urgent request for prayer, their pleas are going to be met with....*crickets* People like me are going to read the email and think...Yeah...right. I suppose the next thing you’re gonna tell me is that if I don’t pray for this kid, I will be forfeiting my million dollar inheritance from my long lost Nigerian prince-Uncle. 

So...to all the people who received this message from me this morning, I offer this embarrassed apology. I promise that in the future all such heartfelt pleas I receive for urgent prayer will immediately be deleted.

What a world we live in....

Why I Hate Making a Christmas List.

There are few things I hate more than filling out a Christmas List...the frustration, the simmering anger, the exasperation!! And that’s just while trying to figure out how to use Google docs!! Wait, I should probably back up. I forget that most of you out there don’t belong to a family like mine. Very few, if any of you, have to deal with a family Christmas website, featuring the dreaded...Google Docs Of Death.

Many years ago, my sainted wife, having become overcome with frustration while watching my mother open her fourth clear glass tea pitcher of the day, decided that enough was enough. The Dunnevant family had grown too large and unruly at Christmas. The opening of presents had become a disaster of duplicate gifts, misunderstanding and chaos. The lack of communication between family members had become embarrassing, as the great tea-pitcher debacle had proven. When Uncle Bill opened a present that same year and was surprised to find what appeared to be dog feces inside a bottle, he deadpanned...This is nice, but I asked for a SHIP in a bottle. So, having seen quite enough of this disorder, Pam sat about bringing the Dunnevant clan into the modern computer age. Thus was our Christmas website born, necessity being the mother of invention.

Not that I’m complaining, mind you. This website has been a Godsend. In all the years that this thing has been operational, I haven’t gotten one single duplicate gift...although I have had to endure many raised eyebrows whenever the subject comes up with outsiders...Wait, you guys have a Christmas family website?? Um, er...sorry, but I just remembered I have a root canal appointment, see ya later!!

But, I digress. What I really wanted to write about was this business of Christmas lists, and why I hate them. As instructed, I recently updated my Christmas List Google Doc, which involved eliminating everything that I had asked for and received from 2017. That left me with this sorry excuse for a list (or so I’m told)...

Of all the 28 family members currently enrolled on Christmas Central, I am told that my list is at once the shortest and the least helpful. What they don’t understand is how difficult it is for me to comprise such a list in the first place. When the first item on the list is gourmet beef jerky, that should give you a clue that I’m seriously grasping. The fact is that at this point in my life, there just isn’t anything that I want that anyone in my large family is capable of purchasing. Besides, I much prefer giving than getting, a fact that owes less to any altruistic instinct than it does to simple fact that giving is just more fun...for me...which I guess means...I’m selfish.

Of course, there’s something else about this list business that troubles me. The fact is that if I put what I really wanted on the list it would prove quite embarrassing. What responsible, mature, 60 year old man would ask for a squirrel catapult, the Deluxe Squirrel-Launcher 2000? Or, what normal man of my age and station in life would ask for the latest cutting edge technology Dolby surround sound remote control fart machine, or the very latest remote control electric zapper soup spoon? Could you imagine how hilarious it would be to watch old Uncle Ned spewing minestrone all over the table cloth while the spoon lands in the middle of the gravy boat?? Talk about your unforgettable holiday memories!!!

So...that’s out of the question, I suppose.

My 50% Drop!!

For about a month now I’ve noticed the strangest thing about this blog. Starting on October 21st, the traffic to The Tempest has dropped. A lot. Prior to that date, each of my posts were getting read roughly 350 times, the readership of this blog hovering between 7,500 and 8,000 pageviews per month. All of a sudden, as if somebody flipped a switch, I’ve only had one post hit 100, total pageviews for November are on pace to reach less than 4,000, a 50% drop. Either there’s been a large drop in Facebook traffic, or my writing has become boring and monotonous...both very real possibilities!

Luckily, or unluckily—depending on your taste—I have no plans to stop writing. I’ve always considered the fact that people actually take the time to read this stuff some sort of miracle anyway. If nobody ever did I would still write, largely because it’s fun. But it also serves as an historical account of what I was thinking at the time, something that I imagine will make for very entertaining reading on my 80th birthday, and even more entertaining for my yet unborn grandchildren one day...Whoa, Mom...Pops was kinda crazy, huh?

Wait a minute...maybe this is some sort of Russian plot, or even worse, a Trumpian purge of all critical bloggers post mid-terms. Yeah...that must be it. Some shadowy operative in a dark office in the West Wing fooling around with a new algorithm that finds and isolates all sarcastic, wisenheimer comments about the President....

Nope...I’m going with boring and monotonous.

The Wolf You Feed

This past Saturday, I was absently watching Alabama steamrolling their latest opponent, the suspense having been ripped away from the game halfway through the 1st period, when I clicked on the Drudge Report tab on my iPad. It has been my news aggregator of choice for the past ten years or so. I honestly can’t recall a single headline that I read on Saturday. What I can remember is the wave of nausea that passed over me. It was as if I had reached some sort of limit, a threshold of inhumanity which I simply couldn’t cross. I felt like someone might feel who had been asleep since 1950 and suddenly wakes up, desperate for news of his country, only to discover that he has woken up in some strange, post apocalyptic land being led by an army of  mentally ill adolescents. Between the hysterical, raging anger of the politics to the childish narcicissism of the citizenry, a visitor from 1950 might conclude that not only had we lost the Cold War, we had probably lost virtually everything else in the aftermath.

I have always prided myself on my ability to take the long view, to not get swept up in fever pitches of any kind. My feeling has always been that no matter how loud, passionate and agitated things get, it’s never as bad or as good as it seems. It’s a philosophy rooted in that reliable old phrase...This too shall pass. I still believe it...but, like any good philosophy, from time to time, adjustments have to be made. So, I’m making one. I have embarked upon a news cleanse. Except for financial news vital to my profession, I have presently gone 86 hours without watching, listening to, or reading the news.

I do not know how long this cleanse will continue. If I hear rumors of something horrible going on, I may fold under the power of curiosity. The voyeur in me might not be able to resist the potential humiliation of the next politician or celebrity to get swept under by a #METOO accusation. But, for as long as I am able, I intend to opt out of the 24/7 news noise machine. Here are my two primary reasons for this disengagement...

1. I am now 60 years old. It’s getting late. Time is short. Every day I spend swept along in the sewer of our discontent is a day I have forever lost. There is a reason I call this a news cleanse. It’s because in my heart, the news, at least some of it, feels filthy. The ancient prophets warned us to...stand guard at the door of our minds. Ancient advice is often the best advice. 

2. The 24/7 news machine thrives on and often sells division. Hostility, resentment and anger get the clicks. I am not immune to this human weakness. I am drawn to the worst stories of my enemies, and the most flattering assessments of my friends. As a result, the more news I consume the more hostile and strident I become, and the more partisan. It is a vicious circle that feeds on itself...and a damned poor way to live.

There’s an old Cherokee proverb about a brave warrior teaching his grandson about life...

“A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. ”It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil–he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you–and inside every other person, too. The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf will win?”

The brave Cherokee warrior simply replied, “The one you feed.”

A Question of Intent

Yesterday, I wrote a blog about gun control. Afterwards, I sent the link to a buddy of mine who lives up in Maine. He has forgotten more about guns than I will ever know. I wanted his thoughts, figuring that he might have insights which I hadn’t thought of. Imagine that?...seeking out opinions of those who might disagree with you!! It works so well for Alan and me...why can’t Washington figure it out?

Anyway, he did bring up things that hadn’t crossed my mind, like what effect these laws would have on private gun transactions, etc..I learned some things. But, in the back and forth, he made some observations that I would like to address in a more expansive way than texting will allow. Besides, my thumbs are far too fat and clumsy!!

I will paraphrase Alan’s observations here, hoping to be as accurate as possible:

Why is it that we are so determined to stop “senseless deaths” when it comes to guns and yet there are far more deadly killers out there that we hardly bat an eye at...cars kill 30,000 a year. Why are we not seeking to limit how fast our cars can travel? How about alcohol, another legal product that people misuse...kills more people, destroys more families than guns could even think about. We accept this slow destruction of life with barely a whimper. There are no restrictions on how much alcohol one can buy. Why are we suddenly so intent on controlling the tool of evil(guns), when guns have been around forever? What’s different now?

Ok, there’s a lot here. First, I do think it possible to be grieved about more than one thing at a time. As Americans in 2018, we all have learned how to multi-task our outrage. But, he makes a good point in that the media doesn’t broadcast 24/7 everytime there’s a twenty car pileup on 95. Drunk driving deaths hardly get more than 30 seconds on the nightly news. Accordingly, there doesn’t seem to be equal outrage over these “senseless deaths.” So, to try to answer his What’s different now question, let me offer this.

I feel that the difference here is a matter of intent and the nature of the victims. When a guy is speeding and goes into a slide and wipes out three kids at a school bus stop, it is an unspeakable tragedy. The driver will spend a considerable part of the remainder of his life in prison for vehicular manslaughter. However, nobody will accuse him of intentionally murdering school kids. He didn’t leave the house that morning with this outcome in mind. He mishandled his car which, at 2000 pounds, was converted into a deadly weapon. This type of tragedy takes on a much darker quality if it were learned that he intended to murder those kids, that the accident was no accident at all. Intent is a game changer to how we perceive the tragedy. The same is true with regards to alcohol related deaths. Drunk driving has, in fact, been stigmatized today in a way that it wasn’t in the past...think how a song like Frank Sinatra’s One For My Baby and One More For The Road would go over today! But generally speaking, when a drunk driver kills an innocent family on the highway, the drunk driver is shunned and the dead family is grieved, but it still doesn’t carry the same stench of deliberate intent. Yes, alcoholism destroys families. A legal product, misused, can have devastating consequences. But, what rational person would place an alcoholic in the same moral category as a mass murderer?

While it is true that without guns, evil, disturbed human beings will find other means to kill. They might build bombs, wield knives, throw rocks. But, all of these other tools take either greater skill to assemble, or yield a much lower kill rate. If the guy who killed those people in that synagogue was armed with only a knife I dont think 13 worshippers would have perished.

But, there’s something else here. There is something instrinsically evil about the ease with which a mad man can kill. An automatic or semi automatic weapon is designed to kill as may things as rapidly as possible, and it is my contention that we as a society make it far to easy for that mad man to get his hands on these types of weapons. One more thing, and this might just be me...

When I see news of a huge accident on a highway that kills lots of innocent people, it is heartbreaking. When I learn of a drunk driver killing a family of four, it is tragic. But, when as an American, I am constantly hearing of crazy people walking into public places and opening fire, I feel that there is a sickness at the core of my country. I wonder, why does this happen in America so often, when no other advanced nation on earth has to deal with this? When someone opens fire in a bar in most other western nations, it’s stop the presses breaking news. Here, it’s Tuesday. This is the thing that makes mass shooting deaths different for me. It’s the question of societal health. Everytime it happens, I feel as though the social fabric that holds us together is getting ripped...yet again. At some point it will come completely apart. I never feel this way about drunk drivers and traffic deaths. I just don’t.

So, that’s my attempt at an answer for my friend.

My Gun Control Proposal

In the eight year history of this blog, the subject of mass shootings and gun control has come up what seems like 100 times. It’s interesting to see how my reactions to each subsequent incident have changed and how they have stayed the same. Running through the commentary is a dark stream of helplessness, a heaviness of heart. 

Yesterday I made a simple observation on Facebook about how frequent these shootings have become. As is always the case, that remark invited a back and forth debate about gun control, not my intent. Instead of examining the condition of our collective hearts, we prefer pedantic discussions about the 2nd Amendment, discussions that quickly send us scurrying into our separate ideological bunkers.

Here’s what I’m left with...I live in the only first world country in the world that has to deal with this level of gun violence. Nobody else is even close. Further, the violence is getting worse, not better. The current pace of these atrocities suggests that we will experience five or six more before Christmas. Think about that for a minute. It should disturb the hell out of us. 

I am not a gun expert. I have no political instincts, little knowledge of the Rube-Goldberg process required to get anything done. But, I have this blog, and a reasonably well functioning brain, and with that brain I have thought a lot about this topic. What follows is my gun control proposal. I am fully aware that, even if implemented, this proposal will not put an immediate end to this plague. Perhaps it would get worse before it gets better. However, I do think that over time, it will help reverse the trend lines. To some, it will appear too timid, others might accuse me of being a closet radical. Here goes...

My proposal has three parts:

1. Require a waiting period for the purchase of any firearm. The length of this waiting period is negotiable. I prefer a week, but would be open to other suggestions.  This will have the effect of reducing crimes of passion, since nothing as deadly serious as purchasing a gun should be allowed to be done either on a whim or during a time of roiled emotions.

2. Nationwide, mandatory, and complete background checks should be mandated for any firearm purchase. Current background checks are not thorough enough, not widespread enough, and not always completed. Changes to privacy laws for mental health records will have to be considered, since so many of these killers have mental health issues, that if shared in a background check would deny their access to guns. For anyone who might object to this as an intrusion on their rights, I should point out that no one can merely waltz into a DMV and walk out with a driver’s license. You’ve got to take a test, provide proper identification, etc..In my profession, I am constantly required to provide full financial documentation and demonstrate proficiency to maintain my license to practice my profession.

3. The sale of all automatic and semi-automatic weapons would be banned. I have many friends who are avid hunters. My Dad loved to hunt. I have never met a single person who uses an AK-47 to kill a deer. I can imagine no reason why any ordinary citizen of this republic would need an automatic weapon. Let me here address an argument  I hear frequently when this subject comes up. It goes something like this...Doug, the American people need automatic weapons because without them, we would be defenseless if ever our government turned on us. This is what the Founders had in mind when they crafted the 2nd Amendment. All the despots of the 20th century all confiscated the guns from the people so they would have a monopoly on deadly violence. We can’t let that happen here.

Ok, I have a grain of sympathy for this view, since I am very much a liberty-loving patriot. However, the practicality of this position disappeared probably 50 years ago. Have you actually looked at our military firepower lately? Everywhere you look, even in some local governments, you see SWAT teams decked out with armor-piercing bullets, body armor, even armored personnel carriers. Navy Seals, black ops, and other special forces of our military are awesomely endowed with cutting edge killing technology. Are you seriously tying to suggest that owning a semi-automatic rifle will allow you to defend yourself against such a force? When everyone from soldiers to farmers were armed with the same muzzle loaded long rifles, this was a much more powerful argument, and THAT was the argument the Framers were making with the 2nd Amendment. Today, it seems a silly one to insist on making.

So, what about the 300 million legally purchased firearms already in American homes? The constitutionality and practically of confiscating that much firepower is ridiculous. Yes, I know that Australia has attempted confiscation with some success, but they did so without the restraints of their Constitution, and even so, passed a sweeping law, fully debated in their congress to get it done. I believe that confiscation would not work here, and would violate the constitution. It’s like saying that we should round up 15 million illegal immigrants and send them back where they came from. First of all, impossible to do, and secondly, wildly Un-American.

So, even with these three changes, we would still be a well armed nation with at least one gun for every man, woman and child in these United States. Additionally, these changes would not provide an immediate fix to this epidemic of gun-wielding, mentally ill killers acting out their hateful fantasies. But, it would be a step in the right direction. It would demonstrate that we are not powerless, that we can agree to at least try to forge a path towards less violence. It does so while preserving the 2nd Amendment, but it does ask us as citizens to put up with a little inconvenience in order to make it more difficult for a mad man to get his hands on an instrument of death.

Discuss...

The Elephant Man

Luckily, I have no client meetings today. The only people who will have to look at me are my wife, who kind of has to, the guys and girls at the office, who will find it all very entertaining, and my assistant, who will be highly compensated for her trouble. You see, last night, at exactly 7:13—I was checking on the oven timer at the time—I felt a familiar pressure and heaviness in the corner of my left eye. I thought...Oh, crap.

Yes friends, once again I have been visited by what for me has become a hardy perennial...periorbital edema...or, if you prefer the Latin... hideously disgusting swollen eye. I will spare all of you a selfie.

What follows are the first responses I can expect from my buddies at work...and remember, these are my friends:

Holy s**t, what the heck happened to your eye??!!

Pam finally had enough of your smart mouth, huh?

I don’t know, I think it’s an improvement.

Then, my assistant will walk in, take one look and burst out laughing. She is not known for either grace or empathy where I am concerned. She’s more in the Oh, stop being a baby! school of nursing, which features a lot of pointing and laughing. Sometimes I think I could keel over in front of her, grasping my chest and she would say, O for heavens sake! Could you have at least signed these checks first? Honestly!!

When I woke up this morning, I knew instantly that it had gotten far worse during the night. No mirror was required, I just knew. The eye was heavy and I could barely see through the narrow slit that remained. When I finally steeled myself for a look, my instincts were validated. Holy Cow. After popping two Benadryl—the only known, sometimes effective cure—I looked again in the mirror. Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to tell you that no matter how attractive you think you are, and some of you are very attractive, one case of edema has the power to turn you into the Elephant Man.

So, this guy will be sporting a pair of thick, black shades today, indoors and out.

What a freak show!

“Always Believe The Poodle”

Now that the 2018 midterms are in the can, it’s time to turn our attention to the Presidential election of 2020. To that end, my daughter and I had the following conversation yesterday...

    

Kaitlin: Jackson and I had a long talk today about the importance of civic responsibility. You can tell, especially in the last photo, that it really sank in.

Me: Yeah...in that last picture it’s like he is considering the possibility that candidate “A” might outlaw snoozles.

Kaitlin: Jackson is considering running for office on an anti-firework platform in 2020.

Me: Anti-firework and a statewide ban on trash trucks...plus, free skratches for everyone, even bad boys.

Kaitlin: Sounds awfully liberal to me! Even bad boys??

Me: I’ve always suspected that Jackson is a socialist pupper...From each according to their ability to skratch, To each according to their need of a snoozle. And he’s probably in favor of open border collies.

Kaitlin: I’ve consulted with Jackson, and he has informed me that although he wants free cookie bones for all, he is unwilling to share any of his cookie bones with anyone. He also stated his refusal to share any of his stuffed frens with any other doggos. I’m concerned that this kind of waffling does not bode well for his campaign.

Me: Typical Limousine Liberal. Sounds like he harbors some 1%er ideas...now that he has his cookie bones, he wants to pull up the ladder behind him!

Kaitlin: we need to drain the swamp!

Me: Isn’t it also true that Jackson has promised not to accept any campaign cookie bone contributions from any outside lobby groups?

Kaitlin: I can neither confirm or deny that such cookie bones have been consumed.

Me: Can you confirm or deny the rumor that Jackson has steadfastly refused to debate any cat candidates who might be on the ballot?

Kaitlin: Confirmed. He drew a hard line on that one.

Me: And, what about that #METOO accusation lodged against him by the French Poodle down the street?

Kaitlin: I 100% believe the poodle....although, he’ll probably get elected anyway.

Me: As Jackson’s running mate, Lucy would like to say that she is in favor of a universal guaranteed income for all puppers so that everyone will able to enjoy unlimited snoozles.

Kaitlin: As you can see, Jackson is fully on board with this proposal...

Me: Ok then, all we need is a campaign slogan...

JACKSON/LUCY 2020...after Trump, retrieving the best of what’s left!

Words To Live By

The New King James version of the Bible translates Proverbs 14:12 this way...

There is a way which seems right unto a man, but the end thereof leads to death.

The New English Married Couples translation puts it this way...

There is a way which seems right unto a man, but then he runs it by his wife and she says, “What, are you nuts?”

My Election Prediction

No matter where you happen to live in these United States, you have not been able to escape the deluge of political propaganda over the last couple of months. Television ads, radio spots, Facebook videos, and a mailbox stuffed with slickly produced broadsides, all proclaiming this election to be the single most critically important election in the history of our country. In just a few days now, it will all go away. The question of the day is...Will the Democrats take the House, the Senate, or both? Or will the Republicans hold on to one or both? Here’s my prediction:

When we wake up on Wednesday morning, the 7th of November, no matter the outcome, the world will stubbornly, relentlessly refuse to end. When the new Congress convenes in January, whichever side lost will be proven wrong in their overblown rhetoric about the end of days. The side that won will be unable to deliver on any of their arrogant promises. In response to their failures, a new excuse will be made, a new villain identified, which will require lots of fund raising to defeat. Then, when 2020 rolls around, every media outlet on our planet will declare that election to be the the single most critically important election in the history of the country. 

I have made this prediction about election outcomes several times in my life. I have never been wrong.

...Making Us Into Devils

I am currently making my way through Mere Christianity for probably the sixth time. It has always been something of an obsession. I find it at once reassuring and sustaining of my faith, while also convicting of my shortcomings. This time through I was struck by this particular passage from the chapter entitled...Forgiveness. C. S. Lewis’ words about what happens to the human heart when forgiveness is abandoned reads like it was written yesterday, describing as it does the polarizing divisions all around us...

Suppose one reads a story of filthy astrocities in the paper. Then suppose that something turns up suggesting that the story might not be quite true, or not quite so bad as it was made out. Is one’s first feeling, “Thank God, even they aren’t quite so bad as that,” or is it a feeling of disappointment, and even a determination to cling to the first story for the sheer pleasure of thinking your enemies as bad as possible? If it is the second then it is, I am afraid, the first step in a process which, if followed to the end, will make us into devils. You see, one is beginning to wish that black was a little blacker. If we give that wish its head, later on we shall wish to see grey as black, and then to see white itself as black. Finally, we shall insist on seeing everything—God and our friends and ourselves included— as bad, and not be able to stop doing it: we shall be fixed forever in a universe of pure hatred.

Be Better

Friendship is a funny thing. Some friends make perfect sense, others sometime make you shake your head in amazement. This past weekend, I had a visit from one of my head shakers...Deen Entsminger. 

I met Deen seven or eight years ago when my son went down to Belmont University for his audition. Deen would become one of his favorite music professors. We were walking through one of the music buildings on campus when we passed by his office. There he was, dressed in shorts, a festive and quite loud Hawaiian shirt, wearing bright red Converse Chuck Taylor high tops. Instantly, I knew I was gonna like this guy. In the following 4plus years, Pam and I were down for practically every chamber singers concert, partially because we wanted to visit our son, but also because the music that would come pouring out of that group was transcendently beautiful. Much of that beauty was a direct result of this chaotic, passionate, whirling dervish of a conductor. Before long, we became friends, not just acquaintances. Every chance we got, we would volunteer to house his choirs whenever they came through Richmond while on tour. The great thing about our friendship is that we don’t have a long list of things in common. I mean, we both love music, and we both love my son, and we both are quite fond of beer...but that’s about it. We probably don’t vote the same way, or worship the same way. But, none of that stuff matters. He’s just super cool and a blast to hang around.

While he was here over the weekend, I took him over to Big Al’s for a beer and we talked a mile a minute, catching up. We started discussing the sorry state of our politics and all of the hatred that seems to be dividing us. Out of nowhere, he told me a story that I want to share in this space. It was very moving, the kind of story that stays in your heart and mind long after the telling...

Deen is 8 years older than me. When he attended middle school in Virginia Beach, he was there when the first black student was admitted. Deen, like most middle schoolers in the early 60’s in Virginia had had very little exposure to black people. In the weeks leading up to the big day, his parents tried to prepare him for what it might be like. They warned him that because of the poverty that the kid probably lived in, he might not be dressed very well, might not have decent shoes...or shoes at all! Deen had no idea what to expect. When you’ve had no interaction with anyone of a certain race, naturally there is a bit of fear and apprehension. The entire school was filled with tension and anxiety.

The first few days after his arrival, Deen never saw him. But a week or so later, while Deen was at his locker between classes, he spotted him down the hall headed right for him...My heart began beating hard in my chest. I could see that we were going to pass within inches of each other. I was too nervous to even think about speaking! But, I did notice something immediately. He was wearing freshly ironed pants, and a madras shirt, which for an eighth grader was considered high fashion back then. He was impeccably groomed. But, when he passed by something amazing happened. It was the smell that I remember as if it happened yesterday...the fresh, familiar smell of...Ivory Soap. It was amazing, something like a revelation for me...he washed his face with Ivory Soap...just like I did, just like almost all of us did. Maybe we were more alike than we were different? To this day, whenever I smell Ivory Soap, I think of that brave boy...

Maybe this story needs to be told again and again as we approach this election. Despite the screaming headlines, and the voices raised in hatred, when we strip away all the noise, we are more alike as human beings than we are different. The love that is possible between us has got to become stronger than the hatred that so easily ensnares us. We can do better. We can be better.

1968 vs. 2018

Recency bias is the phenomenon that causes people to attach greater significance to things that have just happened than they do things that happened at some time in the past. For example, a young Baltimore Orioles fan might be excused the opinion that the 2018 version of his team was the worst team ever, only because he wasn’t alive to witness the 1962 Mets. A twenty-something kid who laments what has become of pop music today should have heard what it sounded like to live through the 1970’s disco plague.

 But, what about politics? I’m starting to hear this complaint...We are now more divided as a country as we have ever been. 

But, are we?

There is no denying the fact that our politics is toxic. The polarization in Washington is deep and getting deeper. Arguments over politics and politicians are more heated and emotional than they used to be, no question about it. Violence, especially politically tinged violence is on the rise. Our political disagreements are doing damage to friendships, families and entire communities. But, is what we are going through unprecedented? Is it, in fact, worse than ever??

Not even close. What is unique about what divides us today is the fact that we are reminded of those divisions 24/7 by multiple media outlets on radio, television, and social media. This is a very different observation than claiming that the news media is the enemy of the people. It is simply an observation that we all know about the ugliness of our divisions because we are constantly reminded by our technological advancements. This was not true during the Civil War, or even during the worst year I’ve ever lived through as an American...1968. Back then, we were informed of the latest mayhem only once a day, at 6:00pm by Walter Cronkite on a 15 inch black and white television set with rabbit ears. Occasionally there would be an interruption of our regularly scheduled programming for a NEWS BULLETIN, which amounted to Walter letting us know of some especially grevious developement from some riot infested, burning city.

In case you’re wondering, 1968 made 2018 look like a garden party. It featured everything from multiple political assassinations ( Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy), to over a hundred burning cities, a Democratic Party convention that had policemen beating protesters over the heads with clubs, while the Soviet Union was busy sending tanks into Czechoslovakia to destroy a democratic protest, and over 10,000 American soldiers were being killed in battle in Vietnam. I remember sitting on the floor in my grand parent’s trailer watching Robert Kennedy give his victory speech afte the California primary. I was ten years old and just becoming aware of the intensity of events happening all around me. Then, the chaos unfolded live. Something had happened. People were screaming and crying. Roosevelt Greer’s sad face on the television...the senator had been shot while walking through the kitchen of the hotel. Welcome to the land of the grownups, Douglas...

But, as divided as we certainly are right now, I do think that the 24 hour, insatiable news machine has amplified the divisions. How could they not? We can’t escape it. It’s in our face all the time. So, a real and substantive political division in America definitely exists. But, if we had the power or inclination to steal back the oxygen that the news machine sucks out of the room every day, we might discover a way to step back from the vitriol, to place our differences in a more historically accurate context. Maybe then, we will find that a middle way is possible, that an accommodation can be reached, and sanity and basic decency can be restored.

Or...maybe not.