48 Hours of Christmas

Christmas is over at the Dunnevant house. For us it was the 27th of December and it lasted all day. We all gathered in the family room to open presents around 8:30. Five hours and two meals later, we opened the last stocking stuffer...

Meal number one featured scrambled eggs, fruit, copious amounts of bacon, and homemade cinnamon rolls. And yes...those are matching Christmas pajamas.

Despite my best efforts to contain the mess, at the halfway point it looked like an explosion at an Amazon warehouse.

When it was all over we had celebratory mimosas.

Just in case any of you are wondering what my favorite present was...this year, the winner was clear...

This gift had me at Cajun bacon...

Actually, the gifts for me had a decidedly meatish theme. You can see my beef jerky haul in the background. In addition, I received four bacon wrapped filets from Omaha Steaks...with a congratulatory atta boy from Ron Swanson!

Today is our second and final day together as a family. My son is busy making homemade bread for our lunch. Later we are heading out to Ashland to see Mary Poppins at the newly rejuvenated Ashland Theatre, then a lavish dinner at The Ironhorse. What a marvelous 48 hours this has been.

Manny, Moe and Jack...their story.

These guys deserve their own story. I posted this photograph online this morning just for the pure joy of it, hoping that some frantic parent running around in mad preparations for Christmas might see it and take a breath. But the more I look at it I realize that it’s true what they say about photographs telling stories, that whole 1000 word thing. I named them Manny, Moe and Jack but that’s just the beginning. Here’s their real story...

Manny, on the far left, has a mind of his own. Sure, he’s all about fun, frolic and mayhem and can chase his tail with the best of them, but Manny marches to the beat of a different drummer. Notice that he isn’t looking where Moe and Jack are looking. Something, or someone else has caught his eye. This tendency for distraction will not serve him well in obedience school one day. Manny will be the type of dog who will do his most extensive sniff job before peeing when it’s pouring down rain outside. Manny will be the dog voted most likely to chase squirrels and least likely to catch them because he noticed a weird looking stick mid-chase. 

Moe, on the other hand, is a piece of work. Clearly, the alpha male of this group. Notice that he’s a bit taller...and proud of it. His pink tongue is just a bit larger, his mouth just a bit more agape. There’s a reason for this...Moe is ready for action! Moe will always be the instigator during his long and turbulent life. He will be the destroyer of furniture, the bespoiler of trashcans, the devourer of socks. Even now, in this photograph, he is clearly hatching some scheme to make a break from the photo session and get back to terrorizing the cat.

And then there’s Jack. Poor Jack. I recognize my Lucy in his eyes. Yes, he’s happy, like his exuberant brothers...but take a closer look. There’s a hint of trepidation. His eyes are a bit more cautious. His tongue a bit more subdued. Jack doesn’t want to get in any trouble. He wants so bad to be a good boy, but not so much that he is willing to drop his guard. Something could go wrong at any moment! Someone might drop something in the next room, making a loud scary sound. What’s that over there, by the way...is that a box? What might be inside that box. Let’s be careful, guys! Jack will be full of plenty of fun, but will always give the rest of the world the side eye.

So, there you have it. Three beautiful Golden Puppers, three unique personalities. 

I would take either one...wouldn’t you?

The Feeling of Christmas

Last night I heard those magical words from my wife that I long to hear this time of year...I think I’m finished buying presents! It’s true. We are done. With four days to spare. That’s not to say that we have nothing else Christmas related to do. Yesterday’s big job was giving Lucy her all important Christmas bath. Today’s will be cleaning the house from top to bottom, while Pam tends to all of the Christmas baking that she hasn’t had time to do. At some point this weekend we will need to wrap all of the stocking stuffers.

Up until now Christmas has been a hassle for me. Long time readers of this space know all about my antipathy for what Christmas has become in America, so there’s no need to rehash that. But, once it gets close, and I can pry myself out of its consumerist grip, my heart melts....a lot. Something comes over me when the big day nears, a deep appreciation for and awareness of the wonderful people in my life.

It starts with my family. I begin thinking about each of them, and how fortunate I have been to live nearly 35 years with my wife. I marvel at my two grown children and am overcome with pride at what they have become. I consider the kind of people they chose to marry and it occurs to me how profoundly lucky I am.

But, it’s not just family. In the days leading up to Christmas I think about the many friends that populate my world, some life long, others new. They are the people who add substance and richness to my life. They are people I work with, people I go to church with, neighbors and even Facebook friends. How empty would my life be without them? 

When Christmas Day nears I find myself filled with more grace, more forebearance, quicker to forgive, less likely to take offense, more willing to grant the benefit of the doubt. It is this time of year when I wonder why I find it so much easier to be a better man? What is it about February and August that drains away the warmth? What is it that hardens the soft heart of Christmas? I don’t have the answer and over the next few days I won’t spend much time trying to find the answer. I will simply stay in the moment and enjoy the better angels of my nature that the Savior’s birth uncovers. 

Maybe the feeling of Christmas is God’s way of reminding us of the kind of people we could be if we could just get over ourselves...if we could stop pursuing our mansions long enough to consider the child born in a stable.

Of Shutdowns and Quagmires

It wasn’t my plan to write about politics four days before the day of our savior’s birth, but...that’s 2018 for you. In a year marked by an unending series of baffling ineptitude in high places, the last few days have brought the chaos to a fever pitched crescendo. In less than 36 hours we have witnessed the President declare the fight against ISIS won, followed by the resignation of his Defense Secretary in protest, and a government shutdown hanging by a thread in the United States Senate over a 5 billion dollar appropriation for the border wall...or roughly the amount of wealth wiped out by the stock market’s reaction to this shit show during the first five minutes of the President’s explanation of the mess during his press conference. Yesterday afternoon was a dizzying example of what the world becomes when you decide to elect a television show as president.

I don’t care about the wall one way or the other. It’s a football, and a meaningless one. Every President, from both parties, over the past twenty five years has voiced support for a wall. The amount of money requested by the President doesn’t even qualify as a rounding error in a trillion dollar budget. This is about politics, not border security. It’s posturing, not policy. Given the meaningless impact it will have either way, the fact that it can shut down the government is an open, mocking rebuke of logic and reason.

As far as Gen. Mattis’s resignation goes...I do care, but not all that much. When Trump was first elected, one of the things that I hung my hat on was the idea that he would surround himself with competent, professional patriots who would discourage him from his most loony tendencies. The lynchpin of this strategy was...General Mattis, the adult’s adult. Now that he has finally had enough, I count exactly zero adults left in the administration. Maybe you can count Pence? It’s hard to tell about him though...sometimes when he’s sitting there in the Oval Office listening to Trump prattle on about some cockamamie idea in the full hearing of a dignified foreign leader and the press corps, he has the look of a man gazing upon a chimpanzee in a suit juggling a bottle of nitroglycerin, a ticking bomb and the nuclear codes while blindfolded...struck dumb by the spectacle, and powerless to do a single thing about it!

What I do care about is the President’s decision to withdraw the 5,000 American troops from Syria. Word on the street is that this edict will be soon followed by a similar edict for Afghanistan. I have spent the last 36 hours reading all the Washington DC beltway crowd along with all the smart internationalists among us decrying this betrayal of our allies. I have listened to all the pearl clutching pundits declaring this withdrawal as a dark day for American leadership in the world. In response, I have the following to say:

# How does the presence of a mere 5000 troops guarantee anything but an eternal presence in a war zone? If the threat of ISIS is so potentially catastrophic to the survival of civilization, why have we committed so few to the fight? And...where the hell are the troops representing the rest of civilization?? Where are France’s divisions? Great Britain’s? Where are the legions of blue helmeted United Nations troops rushing to fill in the gaps in the line? The foreign policy gurus at the State Department who have set this open ended, unending, and unwinnable war on terror before us have never had a plan for victory. Their plan has always been a permanent presence on foreign soil of the American military as some sort of mythical deterrent. What I see as the result of this is permanent hostility towards America in that part of the world. What I would like to ask each of these pearl clutching pundits is this...Why do you insist on asking American men and women to continue to die trying to save the lives of people who hate us?

Every week, news trickles in about some marine who stepped on an IED in some backwater village somewhere a million miles from here. Nobody cares except the kid’s parents. Why? Why did we ask him to make such a sacrifice? Oh..we are there to protect the defenseless innocents, the Kurds, peaceful Afghanis who don’t want to be governed by the Taliban. There are plenty of defenseless innocents in the world, millions of them in Africa. What of them? Are we to place 5,000 troops in every hot spot on the planet to protect innocents? What about the innocents on the south side of Chicago? Who is protecting them? And what of the cost of these adventures? Will the other nations supposedly made safe by our vigilance in the Middle Easy quagmire pony up some Euros to compensate us for our trouble? If you believe that, I’ve got a bridge in Brussels I’d like to sell you. No, all we will get from our famous European allies is criticism and contempt, while they enjoy having the American taxpayer subsidize their own national defense. Let those stupid Americans police the world while we take potshots at them from the safety of our summer villas. Everybody hates the cops, right?

If nothing else, much like a broken clock that is right twice a day, if Trump follows through on getting us the hell out of Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan, I will actually be grateful to him. So grateful, in fact, I will remember to send him a Christmas card every year when he’s serving his prison sentence.

“Y’all Leave Douglas Alone!”

A couple of days ago I was minding my own business, having all my personal data shared with several multinational corporations on Facebook, when I stumbled upon a video which my big brother had posted. I should at this point, by way of possible explanation, say that he is now retired with lots of time on his hands and has in his post-workaday life discovered many new passions. Nevertheless, there he was hosting his own meal preparation video! All of the ingredients had been laid out in meticulous order on the counter, as he was extolling the virtue of the meal he was getting ready to create before our very eyes. However, in sharp contrast to..cough cough...other cooking videos shared by other Dunnevant men, Donnie had received no help from his wife. No no...my big brother has suddenly morphed into a regular Bobby Flay. My brother...who at one time couldn’t boil water without consulting a three page tutorial...is now showing off his cooking skills on Facebook.

Of course, the first thing that popped into my mind upon viewing this slickly produced video was...he’s copying me!! As many of you know, I have a running Wednesday evening cooking video gag that I’ve done for a year or so now featuring me in various attempts at cooking a meal for which 90% of the work and planning has already been done for me by Pam. So, big brother decides to get one over on me by cooking from scratch....a blatant rip-off. He is so copying me.

Now, in the old days, back when I was a kid, this is the sort of thing that would have prompted me to plead my case to the ultimate judge, jury and executioner in the Dunnevant household...my mother. I would have run into the kitchen and informed her that my brother was copying me. Then, she would have responded with her favorite judgement with the oft repeated injunction...Now y’all Leave Douglas alone!!

My siblings would immediately begin moaning, groaning and catawauling about what they all considered to be a clear example of judicial misconduct. When it came to me, they all thought that Mom should have recused herself since they considered her to have a conflict of interest. They would accuse her of a blatant disregard for any mitigating evidence that might change her decision...like the fact that I was a brat, for example. In their minds, I was the spoiled youngest child who always got away with murder.

Balderdash.

The truth was that our sainted mother had a Solomon-esk sense of justice and a finely tuned sympathy for the underdog. She knew that I was the youngest, and most vulnerable to bullying by my exploitive and malicious siblings. So, the catch all...y’all leave Douglas alone...served as remedial justice that did not require a special prosecutor or extensive investigation. She rightly deduced that the odds that one of the three— or perhaps all three— of my siblings had been up to no good were greater than the odds that I might have been exaggerating their crimes. Washington DC could learn a thing or two from the judicial temperament of Betty Dunnevant. Her rulings were fair and swift!!

But, now that she isn’t here to redress my grievances, I am once again left at the mercy of my big brother’s blatant theft of my cooking video idea. Oh well, it was good while it lasted. Mom and I had a good run. Now, I’ll have to learn to deal with getting picked on by my older brother and sisters. You know...mob justice!

Party Pictures

A couple of days ago, I wrote about the fifty or so letters I found from many years back when Pam and I had hosted New Years Eve parties for kids from Grove Avenue. Yesterday, I mailed them out.

Finding all of their addresses wasn’t as hard as I imagined it would be. Most of them are friends of mine on Facebook, even though I haven’t heard a peep from many of them in years. I simply sent out a private message to each of them explaining why I needed their current addresses. Literally within a couple of hours, almost everyone of them responded.

Last night, Pam searched through her computer files for some of the pictures she took of the ball drop moment each year, when as many of them as would fit would cram into our family room and throw confetti and scream and holler. She found pictures from five of the years. I post them below to give you an idea of how much fun it all was. As I scanned through each picture I thought of each one of these kids. Some of them I have kept up with and know how they have turned out. Some of these crazy, silly girls are now mothers, some have gone on to earn advanced degrees, one of them is a doctor now. A couple of these knuckleheaded guys are actually missionaries and pastors. It truly boggles the mind! But others have dropped off my radar. I have no idea what has become of them, where they are, what they are doing. These pictures are a freeze frame of an instant from a crazy, loud and raucous night from over a decade ago. Depending on who is looking, these pictures could conjure up fond and fun memories...or a melancholy longing for a simpler time before life got hard and confusing. That’s the thing with photographs, they communicate different things to different people. 

For me, these images recall a time of great purpose. I never felt more needed and more valuable then those years when I was hip deep in teenagers. But now it also looks so exhausting! You guys should have seen our house the next morning after one of these parties...Good Lord, what a mess!

So, now fifty two letters are on their way. I wonder what stories, if any will come back to me?

2005

2006

2007

2008

2010

Letters From 2008

Time flies. 

Back in the day, my wife and I used to host a New Year’s Eve party for the high school kids from Grove Avenue. Every year, 30-50 of them would all descend upon us and lay waste to every morsel of food in the house. The noise and chaos was off the charts. By the time the ball dropped, our house was literally shaking from the kids jumping up and down and throwing confetti. Usually around June the 1st, the first time we turned on the ceiling fan in that room, we would get reminded of their presence when a shower of confetti would drift down from the blades. But it wasn’t all chaos and tomfoolery. I always made them sit down at some point and reflect about their lives, usually in the form of a letter I asked them to write to themselves about what they wanted to change in the coming year. I would collect them all and hand them out the following year. One year I asked them to write a letter to their future selves. What would you like your life to look like in ten years?

That was ten years ago. 

I found the letters yesterday. They are all sealed up and self addressed to wherever they lived ten years ago. Most don’t live at that same address anymore. Getting these letters to them will be a logistical chore. I can’t be totally sure all of them are from 2008. Maybe some are from the next year. I can’t open them to find out because the contents of these envelopes are not for my eyes. Part of me doesn’t want to do it. What if the letter will disappoint them. Suppose they have had a hard time in life, and their dreams from 2008 will only serve as a bitter reminder of their failures? Some of them might be thankful for their blessings, others might laugh at how small their dreams were. The life perspective of an 18 year old can be a universe away from what a 28 year old’s would be.

Even though I’m hesitant...a deal is a deal. I promised them I would send them these letters in ten years, so that’s what I’m going to do. Maybe something good will come from it.

Drew Brees

We live in an age of what can fairly be described as celebrity worship, where simply being famous is imbued with virtue. It will be remembered by historians as a time when the answer to the question, What was Kim Kardashian famous for, was simply...for being famous. We see this tendency most prominently in sports. Lebron James isn’t just a very good basketball player, he’s The King. Tom Brady’s five Super Bowl rings has bestowed upon him an almost mythical status, something very close to football royalty, what with his good looks, supermodel wife and immense wealth. But it’s not just the entertainment and sports businesses which have given us our idols. Two years ago we elected as President perhaps the most shameless self promoter of all time, a man more famous as a reality television star than as a developer of gaudy casinos and builder of high rise hotel/phallic symbols, all of which bear his name. As a culture, we worship these men, and project upon them our own hopes and dreams.

And then, there’s Drew Brees.

For those of you who don’t follow professional football, this guy just broke the all-time passing yards mark, eclipsing the record set by Peyton Manning. Despite his incredible success as an athlete, he has never gotten the kind of star treatment of Manning or Brady. When talking heads start discussing the...greatest quarterbacks of all time...the names that come up are Montana, Manning, and Brady, but hardly ever Drew Brees. He’s easy to overlook. If it bothers him, it doesn’t show.

So, back in October he breaks the passing yards record in a game against the Washington Redskins. Almost immediately, he began working on a plan to commemorate his great accomplishment, not by promoting himself, but by coming up with a way to...thank everyone who ever helped him. This week we find out that he has somehow located every single player who ever caught a pass from him, along with every lineman who ever started a game blocking for him, and all the coaches who played a roll in his developement as a player...and sent each of them a letter of thanks along with a game ball embossed with each of their accomplishments...

There were 174 in all.

Ask Drew Brees and he will tell you that there is no such thing as a self made man. These 174 balls testify to this fact. Everyone of us who have achieved anything in this world have someone else who helped make it possible. All of us stand on the shoulders of those who came before us. Our parents, who sacrificed for us, teachers who inspired us, friends who encouraged us...even enemies who motivated us. Each of us are a product of a group of people who came along side us at just the right time. How many game balls would I have to hand out if the spotlight ever shown on me?

Maybe this Christmas, instead of waiting until we are on our death beds to acknowledge these special people, how about we hand our game balls out now?

My 2018 Christmas Letter

The worst form of communication ever to enter the mind of human beings is, of course, the Christmas Letter. However, when it becomes time to write one, having a blog is invaluable. I can just flip through the archives and all of 2018 comes back to me as if it just happened...since cosmically speaking, it just did. Besides, relying on one’s memory can be a dangerous thing after a certain age. What follows is my attempt at an honest Christmas Letter for the year 2018, which, except for several notable exceptions, has truly sucked. I have taken the liberty of using initials for things that were important to the year’s narrative, but none of your business. I have gone with the bullet point style simply because it is my Christmas Letter and I can write it in any style that suits me. If it seems braggy at times, I offer no apologies since this is a Christmas Letter after all, and isn’t that the point? If it seems overly whiny in spots, it may be because I am not feeling well as I write this. Again, no apologies. You will note that this is not a Dunnevant Family Letter. I don’t presume to speak for everyone. They all had a better year than I did. This is just my 2018 story

Dear Family and Friends,

-January

2018 started with Pam and I spending 8 days in a hotel as our floors were being replaced because of an exploding dish washer left over from 2017. It was snowy and cold the entire week, which was great since our hotel had a giant hole in its exterior wall, which allowed sub-freezing air to flow into our room 24/7.

Our new church challenged us to attempt to read through the entire Bible in 90 days starting January 1...much like a spiritual version of binge watching British dramas. By the end of the month, words like beseech and verily had found their way into my vocabulary.

-February 

A dear friend becomes suddenly, deathly ill, and her struggle dominates our thoughts for the entire month. While we are so engaged, our washing machine dies, and we become embroiled in a three week saga trying to have a small hole in my library wall repaired, the first attempt at which required photographic evidence to believe...

I embark on an eight month battle with an UMI ( unnamed medical issue ). It will consume practically every minute of my private thoughts until October when I will finally discover that it was...nothing.

-March

I plan a getaway trip to Myrtle Beach. The first day we were there Pam is informed that she just bought a $1300 Apple laptop from a store in Va. Beach. Hours later, she starts getting emails from stores all over the world. We discover the joys of identity theft. But, after that fire got put out we had a wonderful time relaxing on the beach. Got to spend a couple days with my beautiful and talented daughter. By the end of the month I finished reading the entire Bible! About the time I did, and to the palpable relief of sinners everywhere, the Pope declared that hell isnt actually a real place.

-April

I turned 60, Tom Brokaw got accused of sexual harassment, and I fell out of this collapsing desk chair at work, to the hysterical delight of all of my colleagues....all in the same month!

-May

Celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary at the beautiful House Mountain Inn, with a side trip to Natural Bridge.

We also joined Hope Church, ending a nearly 60 year run of being Baptist. Absolutely love the place. It has been one of the best things to happen to us in a long time, finding this community of Christians. To end the month, and in perfect keeping with the theme of 2018 being...what the???....i saw a giant naked man in the middle of Three Chopt Road on my way to work.

-June

Got to see my son be united with the beautiful and talented Sarah Upchurch in holy matrimony in Nashville with 100 of our closest friends and family. Although the planning that went in to this blessed event was off the charts, and the expense was considerable, it had an unbelievable payoff, bringing much joy and happiness to me and my entire family. One of my favorite pictures from the day was this one...

...my wife, on the phone, taking care of some last minute detail...when suddenly a light shines down from above and a thunderous voice can be heard saying, Behold, the mother of the groom in whom I am well pleased.

-July and August

Got back to Richmond after the wedding only to discover that our upstairs air conditioning unit had decided to expire in the middle of a heat wave. But even this expensive annoyance couldn’t spoil my mood because July could only mean one thing...

...Maine. This was the first of two three week adventures which 2018 would provide, redeeming itself in sublime fashion. This first one was at the Chill Lake House (I’m not making this up), on Pemaquid Lake. Kaitlin and Jon were up for two weeks, and Patrick and Sarah spent the second week of their honeymoon with us as well. By the time we came home in mid August, I had forgotten about all of 2018’s pratfalls and misfortunes altogether.

-September

Between these two wonderful Maine escapes was a five week stretch of real, actual...work. Yes, I still work for a living, and I don’t get paid for time off. Luckily, 2018 has been a good year. After 36 years of my career, if I can’t afford to take this amount of time off, I’m doing something very wrong. In my case, my ability to disappear to Maine for long stretches during the summer and fall is made infinitely easier by the fact that my assistant, Kristin Reihl, is sharp, organized, relentlessly capable...and vastly underpaid. To my great relief, nothing horrible happened during this five week stretch of work. No household appliance broke down, I was not plagued by some new manifestation of physical decline, and there were no new sightings of naked human beings on the streets. Still, by the middle of the month, I was ready for another trip up north, this time to my favorite destination on earth...Loon Landing...

I caught fish like it was going out of style, ate clam chowder like it was my job, and was able to host two of our dearest friends for a week. Neither of them had ever been to Maine, and since we nearly lost her back in February, we figured it was time! They had a blast, and watching the two of them enjoying this place with us was one of the highlights of the year...

But, every trip to Maine, no matter how glorious, eventually ends. This one ended in a flash of beauty...

-October

October in America 2018 could only mean one thing...mid term elections. Trump this, Trump that. The transition from Loon Landing to American politics was like going from a suite at the Ritz-Carlton to a room at the Super 8 out by the interstate. It was like going from a five course meal at Ruth’s Chris to the drive thru window at Taco Bell. It was like...well, you get the picture. Eventually, I made the necessary adjustments...just in time to replace our water heater. Wait...was that October or July...?

-November

Started a mentoring program through my church which paired me with two younger gentlemen over the next eight months. Great guys. The fact that someone at Hope thinks me capable of providing worthy spiritual guidance to someone is quite charming, actually.  No, seriously, I’m enjoying it so far and am looking forward to getting to know my guys better in the coming year. Thanksgiving went off without a hitch. Great food. House was beautiful. Got to see the kids again for a long weekend.

-December

This month begins with a bizarre UMI that is causing me a great deal of angst and consternation. But I fully intend to have it dispatched by the time my kids all descend on the place in a couple of weeks for Christmas. Over the next ten days, I’ve got a lot of shopping to do. Pam will require me to perform many mundane yet crucial tasks to get everything done before the big day. Lucy will be blissfully unaware until Jackson shows up for a week of slobbering, wrestling, barking fun.

Ok...there you have it, my summary of the year of our Lord, 2018. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. But, it was the only year we had. A couple of other things that didn’t make it in to the narrative but are worthy of note...

-2018 was the second wettest on record for Richmond, Va.

-my small group at Hope is filled with wonderful people who have enriched my life and made church more fun

-I’m not entirely sure, but I think that 2018 may have been a vomit-free year, always a plus.

- got a weekend visit from Deen Entsminger, who managed to refill my coolness tank which was running on empty.

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.