My Son-in-Law and the Government Shutdown

This Saturday morning finds us preparing for the second big snow storm of the season here in Short Pump. Back in early December we were visited by 13 inches of the stuff. Today, our crack team of local meteorologists have gone out on a limb to predict the possible damage with their usual confident precision...2-10 inches. While we wait, Pam and I will be working at my church’s thrift store this afternoon.

Meanwhile, my daughter and her husband are busy enduring the government shutdown, which has deprived them of my son in law’s income since he is a park ranger at Congeree National Park, and as such, an employee of the Department of the Interior and furloughed for three weeks now. I inquired of them last night how they were doing, and my daughter’s response was so typical of my oldest child. She calmly assured me that so far they have been able to get by due to extreme frugality and putting off necessary car repairs, etc. She considers themselves fortunate since they have the benefit of her income and a savings account to fall back upon if it drags on into February. She pointed out to me that they know others who are far worse off because of the shutdown. Her biggest concern was the impact this all was having on her husband, who absolutely loves his job and feels very disrespected at the suggestion that he is non-essential. Who wouldn’t be? His concern is for the health of the park and the visitors that he cannot serve while sitting at home waiting for Washington to come to its senses. While he ponders getting a side hustle as an UBER driver, the incompetent boobs in DC stage photo op news conferences to revel in their pettiness. The fact that Congress voted to guarantee all furloughed workers back pay once this is all over, while reassuring, only underlines their incompetence since it essentially is saying that the federal government is fully on board for paying 800,000 employees to stay at home and do nothing. Brilliant. All of this over 230 feet of wall on a 1900 hundred mile border. All of this over a 6 billion dollar appropriation out of a 4.4 Trillion dollar budget.

I’ve heard all the arguments on both sides of this issue, both the sane and the insane ones. None of them on either side are convincing. This conflict is about politics and politics only. It’s posturing. It’s gamesmanship. It’s each side trying to win an unwinnable argument. Trump cares very little about the border, he cares much more about appearing to keep a campaign promise and owning the libs. The Democrats sense a winning hand and have dug in their heels due more to a visceral hatred of this President than any real concern about border security. Meanwhile, 800,000 puppets sit at home trying to figure out how they are going to pay the rent and put groceries on the table.

Who is at fault? Well, if the President’s actual words can be trusted...eye-roll...then he is. He is on record as being proud of his position and has vowed to keep the government shut down indefinitely. He seems intent on declaring a national emergency and building the wall without approval or the required appropriations. If he does many on the right will cheer. But for those of you who cheer the loudest, I wonder how you will feel when some future Democratic president decides to declare a national emergency with regards to say...gun violence? Live by national emergencies, die by national emergencies.

Friday Stress

As we all know, Friday’s can be the most stressful day of the week. Deadlines often fall on Friday. Important meetings fall on this day for some reason. Many of the worst sell-offs in stock market history have occurred on Fridays. To that end, as a public service, I have gone to my friends at The Far Side for some handy tips for dealing with the added stress associated with this final day of the work week...

As usual, they never disappoint.

An Old Man Pet Peeve

It has been quite some time since I have written a blog about a pet peeve. Now that we find ourselves firmly in the dreadful grasp of winter, I figure that now is as good a time as any. This particular pet peeve runs the risk of making me sound like an old man screaming at the clouds, but, when has that ever stopped me in the past?

Here’s the thing...when I hear people arguing about politics, especially the roll of government, tax policy etc..I get the distinct impression that most people who argue such things on the internet, and doubly especially—younger people, have come by their opinions solely by parroting their favorite pundits, or their ability to perform Google searches faster than their competition. Their thoughts always seem to boil down to cut and paste hot takes from someone on National Review, The Daily Kos or Vox. Honestly, if I came of age in the internet era, perhaps I would do the exact same thing. But, I didn’t. I attended college during the heyday of libraries and the dreaded card catalogue, where finding a hot take took you all night. As a consequence, if I wanted to figure out what I believed about such weighty matters as economics or political theory, I was reduced to reading source material...and believe me, source material on these topics is dreadfully dull reading. For example...

During my four years at the University of Richmond I read the following works about economics and politics:

Das Kapital

The Wealth of Nations

The Road to Serfdom

The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money

The Federalist Papers

Capitalism and Freedom

The Gulag Archipelago

The Communist Manefesto

Witness

The Prince

Leviathan 

Back then I must admit that I didn’t fully understand every word I read, but I picked up enough to develope a world view on matters of geo-politics and economics. When Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged was all the rage, I picked up a paperback copy and labored through the thing. Although there were parts of it that I liked, I quickly rejected her ideas because I didn’t believe them to be consistent with my Christian faith, and that was that. Over the years, some of my views from all this reading have changed, modified by changes in the world. But, the point is, before I could have enough confidence to develope a reliable opinion, I felt the need to at least attempt to understand the source material upon which all the debating was about...not someone’s review or critique of the material, but the material itself. Maybe I’m wrong, but my trick knee tells me that the most self assured keyboard warriors on these topics haven’t spent ten minutes in any of these books and never will. Their views on politics and economics are forged on websites that reinforce what they already think about such matters. This parroting of hot takes is a bipartisan practice. People today tend to form their opinions about politics base upon how they feel about what makes sense to them, then find pundits and websites which agree with them and presto...instant infallibility.

I am an unrepentant reader. I will forever be a consumer of ideas. They fascinate me. It makes no particular difference to me whether or not I agree with an idea, I just want to know about it. When my daughter came back from three months of teaching in China a few years back, as a joke she brought me a little red book of the sayings of Mao, the butcher of Communist China...tiny little thing about the size of a pocket New Testament, which she said were on sale practically everywhere in Beijing. Guess what? I read it! Total authoritarian bullshit...but I couldn’t resist.

I’m not saying that people who have never read any of these books don’t have honest and heartfelt opinions on these things, and I’m not naive enough to think that very many people care at all about what John Maynard Keynes had to say about macroeconomics, or what exactly Frederick Hayek’s fears were about the power of the state. But I sure would feel better if more people would take the time to avail themselves of something more substantial than a Google search of hot takes before deciding what they think about our complicated world.

The Promise of New

A couple of days have gone by now since I sat in a folding chair on the aisle at Hope Church and heard David Dwight deliver a message entitled The Promise of New. I’ve wanted to write about it but haven’t known where to start. I’ve listened to a recording of it on the church website twice, taking notes, each time...not wanting to miss anything. As the son of a minister and someone who because of this accident of birth has been in church since he was born, I sometimes feel as if I have heard every sermon topic at least a dozen times. I’ve listened to all types of preachers, heard every style imaginable. Some have been inspiring, others not so much. Some have insulted my intelligence with moronic formulations and non-sequiturs. Others have sounded like scolds who could hardly stand to look at the horrible sinners before them. Still others gave off the clear impression that they had figured it all out, every anguishing cruelty of life, every cosmic contradiction, every confusing disappointment was simply a matter of too little faith which could be remedied with simplistic sloganeering. 

But the message I heard Sunday was perhaps the best thirty minutes I have spent inside a church in a very long time. What follows is an attempt to explain why nearly three days later it still dominates my thoughts. I doubt very much that I will do the thing justice, but I must make the attempt, if for no other reason than to provide myself with a reasonable record for future reference.

It may seem odd that after such a glowing introduction I should begin with a criticism...but I do have one nit to pick. David began with a request for a show of hands...How many of you have made Resolutions? When he got very few responses, he changed his question to...How many of you have set goals? Then he laughed and made a suggestion that there was little difference between the two. WRONG. In fact, there is a world of difference between a resolution and a goal...goals being things that are quantifiable, while resolutions are nothing more that worthless, airy abstractions. I resolve to lose weight, is a resolution. I intend to lose ten pounds by June 30, is a goal. Goals are actionable and failure to reach them represent a glaring failure of discipline. Resolutions are wishes, and nobody cares! But, enough of quibbling. 

David then proceeded to a verse of Scripture from Matthew where Jesus prefaces a remark about the future with the throwaway line...At the renewal of all things. He then went to great length to explain the import of the idea that Jesus intends to ultimately make all things new and what that concept actually means for us in the here and now. The first part of this making things new business is the redemptive power of Christ to transform the human heart, the evidence for which is all around us in the personal testimony of millions. If we accept this power as true, it gives us every reason to live a life full of hope rather than despair and gloom. Here’s where his words got very personal for me. When he points out how we have every reason for optimism over despair, and hope over gloom, he is essentially calling into question my default point of view about life. I must here confess to being a natural cynic. I have spent a lot of time throughout my life assuming the worst out of most people, especially people who hold great power or wealth. My reasoning is based on the quantitatively sound principle that no one has ever gone broke undervaluing the corruption and duplicity of the human heart. But as practical as this clear-eyed view of human beings might be, it is a terrible way to...live. To buttress his point, he put a quote up on the screen by someone named Eugene Patterson, a man who he often quotes, and after Sunday...someone I have determined to get to know...

It is far easier to languish in despair than to live in hope. For when we live in despair we don’t have to do anything or risk anything. We can live lazily and shiftlessly with an untarnished reputation for practicality. It is fashionable to espouse the latest cynicism. If we live in hope, we go against the stream. All acts of hope expose themselves to ridicule because they seem impractical, failing to conform to visible reality...Hope commits us to actions that connect us with God’s promises.”

I could have gone all year without hearing this. This Patterson guy was essentially talking to me, calling me out.

Then, as he always seems to do, David boiled the truth of the matter down to an illustration that I could grasp. After asking the rhetorical question, When you read the news today, do you find reasons for gloom?...to which this packed house of wealthy Presbyterians merely nodded. (It occurred to me that if I had been in a Pentecostal church, this hanging curveball would have been greeted with shouts and hand clapping...in a black church, the crowd would have wailed, Lawd, YES!!! In unison.) He then continued by pointing out that embracing hope did not mean becoming pollyanish simpletons and ignoring the messes of the world. But, it did mean not being overcome by the mess. He put it this way:

I have found in my life that gloom and discouragement grow all by themselves just like weeds in my lawn. I don’t have to do a thing to make weeds grow. They just do it all on their own. But, Ive been told that if you really want to get rid of weeds in your yard, you shouldn’t waste all your energy on the weeds. Rather, you should concentrate on growing the large yard full of green grass. When you do so, eventually the healthy green grass will overwhelm the weeds to the point where you hardly notice them anymore. In other words...don’t live in the weeds, don’t live in despair and gloom, rather cultivate hope.

He began to wrap up with the observation that a good indicator of whether or not your life is guided by hope rather than despair is how you would answer this question...What are you excited about? It’s a hopeful question since it suggests the expectation of something wonderful in the future. I have asked myself this question for the past couple of days and have decided to do a better job of pursuing the answers.

David then closed with a discussion of how to fight the inevitable post Christmas letdown by quoting a poem from a black pastor from the 1960’s who I had never heard of, Howard Thurmond...paying especially close attention to the very last line...

When the song of the angels is stilled

When the star in the sky is gone

When the kings and princes are home

When the shepherds are back with their flocks...

The work of Christmas begins

To find the lost

To heal the broken

To feed the hungry

To release the prisoner

To rebuild the nations

To bring peace to the nations

To make music in our hearts

Reading back over this, I see what a woeful job I’ve done of recreating the power of the moment. David did it so much better. I can only hope that the truth of the moment remains and that maybe, just maybe, someone reading this might be encouraged to try to cultivate a little more hope in 2019.

Closing the Book on Christmas

Christmas is never fully over until everyone uploads their photos to the shared album in the cloud...is probably the most 2019 sentence I will ever write. Imagine what someone from the 1970’s or even 1980’s would make of such a sentence? Be that as it may, it is a fact that pictures serve as prima facie evidence that something actually happened nowadays. As we all know, if it’s not posted on social media...it probably didn’t really happen. So, over the last couple of days my wife has prompted all six members of my family to upload any and all relevant Christmas pictures into the Dunnevant Christmas 2018 shared album. There are 122 of them. I have gone to the trouble of selecting the few which I believe tell the best story, the photographs that capture the moments that I want to recall in my dotage years. I hope you enjoy them.

My wife will be mad at me for including this picture of the tree in the library with a strand of lights burnt out at the bottom...but for me this is emblematic of the electrical problems which plagued us this year. Not only were there random strings of dark lights, but our high dollar programmable window candles seemed possessed by evil spirits. Although each of them were programmed to turn on at 4:00 every afternoon and turn off at 11:00...each window seemed to have a mind of its own. Some would cut on in the middle of the day, others not at all, still others seemed convinced that the optimum time to deploy was at 2 in the morning. Made in China, indeed!

Most of the time this space on our hallway wall features a piece of iron work that spells out the word Welcome in sweeping cursive. Over Christmas, it becomes festooned with every Christmas card we receive from friends and family. It’s one of my favorites parts of the holiday. Most people send picture cards today, a great development. (As a side note, I have made a resolution to use the word, festoon, in a sentence at least once a day in 2019. You should too!)

These are the crazy people who make up the Dunnevant side of our family, me and my siblings seated in the middle together where Mom and Dad used to be. It is a particularly wonderful picture this year, I think. The little ones on the front row arent so little any more, but at some point they will be supplanted by new little ones—-from this page to God’s ears. The only thing that keeps this photograph from being perfect is the absence of Lauren and Catherine, the California contingent of the clan. Hopefully, they will make it when we take this shot again in 2020.

Here I am about to give Lucy and Jackson the treats that will ultimately be responsible for raging diarrhea in both. And, that is all I wish to say on the subject.

Both beasts competing for my attention and affection, while being careful not to make eye contact with each other...and ongoing theme.

When the White’s came over to unwrap presents, unplanned singing broke out in the library. Christmas carols were in the air, accompanied by myself on the guitar, my son on his new melodica, and Isaac on his ukulele. The latter came in quite handy when for reasons that escape me, Pam and her sisters decided to perform a rousing rendition of Mele Kalikimaka. The expression on my mother in law’s face captures the magic of that particular moment.

This dog...

Happy kids...

Happy kids...

Even more happy kids...

Beautiful and happy wife...

Family date night in Ashland...

One of the approximately 50 cups of hot chocolate consumed during the 48 hours that we had them all in our house.

My two dog loving boys...

Ok, that it. Officially done with all things Christmas until next December.

Dog Wars

Off to a sluggish start in 2019. The week of Christmas celebrating at the Dunnevant house was a delight, but also exhausting. I feel like I haven’t quite fully recovered from a house full of humans and two large, ponderous dogs. Speaking of which...

So, the combination of Lucy and Jackson is a witch’s brew of psychological dysfunction. Neither of these wonderful animals swim in the deep end of the intelligence pool. Lucy labors under the weight of nervous agitation, while Jackson rumbles and stumbles through life with the befuddled male swagger of a clumsy adolescent. Put the two of them in the same house for a week, and they both change, and before long both become passive aggressive, territorial beasts. Jackson insisted upon warning us about every single dog, person or leaf that happened to pass in front of our house...to the point that Pam actually taped sheets of paper up on the windows on either side of the front door to block his view! Neither of them could abide any of us showing undue affection to the other. This was particularly hard on Lucy, not to mention hypocritical, since normally she isn’t big on snuggling. Jackson, on the other hand, is a snuggle machine...

Luckily for us, the first thing on 2019’s home improvement agenda was to be replacing the upstairs carpet...so the four bathroom accidents which occurred last week were inconsequential events. But, in my opinion, none of them were accidents. They were all territory-marking, tit for tat demonstrations of dominance. What?...so you think you got more scratches then me today??...well, get a load of this!!!

Unfortunately for Jackson, by the time he left yesterday, the poor boy had the runs, done in by all the competition and excitement. Not to be outdone, Lucy wakes me up at 3 o’clock in the morning today whining at our bedroom door..which she never does. I sleepwalk her downstairs, put on a coat and take her outside only to discover that a cold steady rain is falling and Lucy is walking at an unusually brisk pace. To make a long story short, Lucy now has sympathy runs. But, this too shall pass.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to crank up the necessary energy level to face a new business year, my 37th trip around the calendar in the investment business. Here’s hoping there are no bathroom accidents at the office!

Be Better

As we stand on the threshold of a new year, the human mind naturally inclines itself towards schemes of self improvement. To that end, that hardy perennial, New Years Resolutions, rears its head. I am not immune from this annual excursion into wishful thinking.

Some of us have elevated the politely bemused, cynical retort to an art form of sorts, but that’s a subject for another day. With regards to the resolutions thing, I have never been able to improve on something I wrote on this day in 2012. Whenever I read it I am reminded of just how very flawed I am. But I am also encouraged by the fact I have made some progress since this was written. My project of self improvement moves slowly but it does move. I share it below in the hope that it might be an encouragement to someone, and as another memo to myself entitled...Be Better...

I could use less cynicism. It might be nice to look on the bright side every once in a while. It might help to be less critical, more empathetic, less of a smart-ass. My contentment level would probably rise if I was less obsessed with the future and more invested in the present. I should attempt to be a better listener, offer my opinions less frequently, and not hold those opinions in such high regard. I should pursue friendships with more vigor, hold grudges less tightly. I should spend more time in prayer. I should read the Bible more and the Drudge Report less. I should recommit myself to my hobbies, more golf and fishing, fewer excuses. Greater enthusiasm for my profession, more thankfulness, less fatalism. I need to escape the treadmill of politics since it only breeds frustration and resentment, and give the guys on the other side of the aisle the gift of my indifference

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.