Day of Reckoning

April 15th has always been my Day of Reckoning. When you run a business that produces uneven and unpredictable results, paying taxes is very much a hope so proposition, as in...I sure hope I paid enough this year. I almost always fail to pay enough estimated taxes during the year, so my tax return comes with a terse cover letter from my accountant informing me of the shortfall. However, over the past few years I have gotten better with my estimating, and have even enjoyed a couple of small refunds. It is a glorious feeling to be told that you have paid the IRS too much money. It’s like reaching into your newly dry cleaned pants pocket and finding a crisp $20 bill. 

Tiger Woods won his 5th Masters yesterday and this morning nearly everyone is over the moon about it, calling it the best comeback in the history of sports. Of course I watched it. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. It’s the Masters...for a golfer, must see TV. Although Tiger Woods is great for golf in that nobody cares about the sport unless he’s in contention, and Tiger Woods is the best golfer I’ve ever seen, I wanted someone else to win...anyone else. I just can’t for the life of me bring myself to like the guy. Before all of his marital and drug issues I didn’t like him. After all of that I liked him even less. I like a redemption story as much as anyone else, but in Tiger’s case, he probably doesn’t think he’s ever done anything that he needed to be redeemed from, so...sorry, no warm fuzzies here.

I worked at Hope Thrift this past Saturday and as my reward I was allowed to pick out any book to take home. I ran across this one...

I didn’t even think this thing was still in print. I’m only a few chapters in and I am spellbound by the thing. Getting inside the heads of Nazi war criminals is a bizarre journey into delusion, blame shifting and outright denial. Fascinating.

Off to play in a charity golf tournament today while my big sister goes into the hospital for an outpatient procedure. I don’t like it when my big sister goes into the hospital for an outpatient procedure. She is one of the very few indispensable people in the world, and although this procedure isn’t life threatening, I still don’t like the idea of my big sister going into the hospital for an outpatient procedure. And, thats all I have to say about it...don’t like it one bit.

What a World We Live In...

So, this blog is about nature, more specifically, the nature that has been distracting me over the past couple of days. 

First of all, most of the time I am oblivious to nature. I am just too busy and distracted to notice the natural world. But lately that has started to change. Maybe as I’ve gotten older beauty has more power to get my attention than it used to. For example, there’s a private road right across the street from my office that I see literally every single day as I am waiting to make a left turn onto Cox Road. But a couple of days ago, I looked up and saw this...

Out of nowhere, a bank of lilacs had burst onto the scene. Where had THAT come from, I thought. Then, the weirdest thing happened. I found myself turning right and driving over to the private road, pulling the car over and turning on my emergency flashers. I got out of the car and took this picture, then walked over to the curb and took a deep breath...the aroma was glorious. Then, suddenly, I realized how silly it must have looked to see a grown man smelling lilacs in the middle of Short Pump. It occurred to me that this was the sort of thing I never would have done when I was a younger man. Never.

Then, yesterday, I had another encounter with Mother Nature, and this time she was playing the role of deranged and vengeful mother in law. I had been stuck in the office for several hours. When I walked out to the parking lot to go to lunch, the pick up truck that was parked two cars down from me looked like this...

Seriously, Mother Nature? What the heck??

Finally, this morning at roughly 6:15, I head out the front door for Lucy’s morning perambulation. While she is sniffing a snout full of pollen I notice what sounded like a symphony of bird songs. There must have been a hundred different birds all belting out their favorite tunes at the exact same time. It was deafening...and beautiful. I stopped to listen. Even Lucy seems to notice. She stopped for a moment too. It was magical.

What a world we live in...

A Word From Lucy

Good Morning. Lucy, here. Although I try to stay positive and this smile is best I can do under circumstances, past two days have been horrible. Ever since humans got back from puppy-less vacation, my house has been disaster.

First of all, Monday morning, after they both left for work, I had just settled down for first morning snoozle when all of sudden man drove up driveway in big scary truck. Before I could hardly sound  proper bark alarm he started blasting  house with water from large snake hose. Over and over he blasted house with loud, terrible water...not just front of house, but all sides. Splashy sound nearly made me wet myself. Relentless splashing took rest of morning. So much for first and second snoozle.

As if that not enough horrible for rest of life, yesterday it get much worse. Two scary trucks pull up in front of house, waking me from snoozle. Four men climb from truck with large metal stairs which they lay against house, making horrible clanging sound. I think end of world is near. I bark loud and long time...all dog alert. Then men begin scrapping against windows, even windows in my room. Scary man even open window and scrape...and even try to talk to me. Again, I nearly wet myself!! This go on all live long day. Human forget to let me outside to tinkle when he come home for lunch. I hold it in...probably would have been too scared to make water even if he remember. Finally my pretty human come home for mid afternoon tea with friend. Men still outside scrape, scrape scraping. I about to bust. Pretty human ignore me for friend even though I whine like Poodle. I finally wet myself on floor. Great shame descend on me.

Then pretty human say she sorry for not taking me outside. But she no say sorry for horrible scary men who scrape windows and make no mention of water snake man from previous day...like he never even happen. I not forget...he happen!!

No telling what today bring. Maybe more of same. I sleep with one eye open. Lack of proper snoozles wearing me down...but I stay positive and offer you fake smile above...

We Can Quit Anytime We Want

Ever notice how the first day back at work after vacation is almost always problematic? I’ve taken a lot of vacations in my day, so I should know. But, more often than not, bad things happen when you get back to the grind. It’s as if life is trying to remind you that while vacations provide a break from labor, that break is brief and fleeting, so don’t even think about getting cocky. Take yesterday, for example...

We are about to have the exterior trim of our house painted, the first step of which is a power washing. The guy showed up on time and by the time I came home for lunch, he was gone. As I sat down to eat, I noticed that the Internet didn’t work. I restarted everything. Still, no internet. I didn’t have time to investigate so I headed back to work. Pam hurried home from work so she could be at the house when the guy came to install our new dishwasher. While he was doing so, she noticed the lack of internet, and then something else...Alexa had gone silent. Shortly thereafter, the television went dark. We had been hit by the unholy trinity of outages...no internet, no cable, and no Alexa!! In one frightening moment, our house had been cast into the technological black hole of death. To make matters far worse, we both received that dreaded text from Verizon...You are now out of data and will be placed in safe mode for the next seven days. Pam, fighting back a growing wave of panic, went to work on the Verizon app on her phone, troubleshooting the cause of the problem. I blamed everything on the power washer guy...This is what we get for cleaning the outside of the house! How vain to you have to be give your house a bath!! When Pam finally completed the diagnostics, she sighed heavily, fighting back the tears...The earliest we can have a technician come out is Wednesday!! 

Pam tried to distract herself with her shiny new appliance. It is quite an impressive dish washer, with lots of new gizmos and features that makes our old dishwasher look like a washtub. Then she read this line from the decidedly thin instruction book that came with the thing...To learn the proper way to load your new Dish-Killer 2000, please consult the owners manual...online at GEAppliances.com.

Great, she cried, I spend a fortune on a dish washer and they dont even give me an owner’s manual? I’ve got to go online?? And our internet doesn’t work and we’re out of data??!!

I slowly disengaged from the room, sensing that hostilities might soon break out, figuring that the best strategy at times like this might be benign neglect. After fifteen minutes or so, I circled back into the silent kitchen. Pam was peeling carrots over the sink....We are out of ginger, she said to no one in particular, And I can’t even ask Alexa to put it on my grocery list. How will I ever remember?

I hesitantly placed my hand on her back and gave her a gentle rub. Then it hit me...Wait...we don’t have television? How will we watch the game tonight?? Well, I could either find it on my ESPN app or I could just follow Andrew Freiden’s Twitter account...but wait...we have no internet!!!

It was a long and very quiet night. We were forced to have dinner around the kitchen table instead of on the sofa in the living room. Instead of watching a Frazier rerun, we were reduced to talking back and forth about our lousy days at work. If that Wednesday story that Verizon told us is true, there will be two more days of this Stone Age silence. The only unread book in the house was stored on my iPad...a digital copy of James Joyce’ A Portrait of the Artist as A Young Man. I am here to tell you, if I have to wade through the most overrated writer in the history of the English language over the next 48 hours, I might have to kill someone.

And, just in case you’re wondering...no, we are not addicted to technology. We can quit anytime we want to!!

Wait...Lending Institutions Charge Interest?!

I just watched a video clip from last night’s edition of 60 Minutes, where a young student said that the $76,000 loan she had taken out for her first year year of medical school would wind up costing $100,000 if she paid it back over a ten year period. To this, her interviewer, Leslie Stahl, professed profound astonishment...That’s unfathomable, she gasped.

No, Leslie...that’s called interest. Let me explain the concept to you...

When a consumer borrows money, the lending institution charges you interest. The longer you take to pay the loan back, the more interest you pay. For example, if I were to borrow $250,000 to buy a house, and I was charged 5% interest for a 30 year mortgage, I would end up paying the bank $483,000. If I was appalled at the amount of interest I would pay the bank, I could refinance to a 15 year note and perhaps a better interest rate, say...4.5%. In that case, I would only pay the bank $344,000. However, my monthly payment would be nearly $600 more, so I would have to consider whether or not I could afford it. In either case, there is absolutely nothing unfathomable about it. Borrowing money isn’t free.

Of course, the purpose of the 60 Minutes piece was to bang the drum for some sort of free college tuition scheme to be born by some combination of tax-payer subsidy and/or institutional endowment gift-back. For professions that the government deems to have social benefit, tuition would be free. That’s all well and good, and is a discussion worth having...but, for the love of God, Leslie...don’t get the freaking vapors over as simple a concept as loan interest!!

Later in the piece, we are introduced to another medical school student, who lamented his debt load by observing how much of a better doctor he would become if he didn’t have to pay for his education...For one thing, I wouldn’t have to work while I’m in school, so I could spend more time learning. This is very true. When I look back over the years I have spent paying my mortgage, it boggles the mind to imagine how much better a financial advisor I would have been if I didn’t have to pay for my house. And he’s also right about what a drag it is to have to work 30 hours a week while attending college full time.

There are a whole slew of things that would be far better if we didn’t have to pay for them, or better yet, if someone else was forced to pay for them. Maybe medical school is one of them. Maybe housing too, or basic transportation. And what about food? Nothing quite so life sustaining as food. Don’t even get me started on health care. Why, if I didn’t have to worry about paying for health insurance, hell I might be able to go back to school myself and finally get that Master’s Degree in Intersectional French Poetry I’ve always dreamed about.

Things are expensive. Really good and important things like medical school are ridiculously expensive. But, pardon me for not brimming with confidence when people like Leslie Stahl advocate for making stuff free, when they can’t even wrap their minds around the fact that interest is charged on loans!

What States Have the Most Stress?

I recently read an article about some study which was done to determine which states are the most stressful to live in and which were the most stress free. Based upon the headline alone, I immediately constructed my list. For me, the most stress free state was Maine, but to be fair...I don’t live there, especially in the winter! The study produced a top three list. What states would you imagine were on the list?

Most Stress Free States:

Utah

Minnesota

Massachusetts 

Most Stressed Out States:

Louisiana 

Mississippi 

Arkansas

The article went on to explain the methodology of the study, which used measurements of the following qualities to determine their results...work-life balance, low unemployment, less student loan debt, and access to Mother Nature.

Ok, right off the bat I’m suspicious of the study. First of all, every state in the union provides access to Mother Nature. It’s called, “going outside”. Secondly, this work-life balance thing is very much a modern construct which would have been unheard of for 99.9% of human history, along with the historically brand new concept of leisure time. Imagine lecturing Thomas Edison about work-life balance? Try explaining work-life balance to the men and women who settled the West. Besides, the proper mix of work and life I would think would vary widely among human beings. How did these researchers decide on what the proper balance was? Who died and placed them in charge of determining the correct amount of work and life for each person in each of the 50 states? Less student debt is one of the four most important contributors of determining the stress of an entire state? Wait...what?? What a bunch of maroons!!

I look at the results of this survey and one thing practically jumps off the page at me. There is one thing about each of these states that is a dead giveaway as to why they appeared on these lists....the presence/absence of oppressive heat and humidity.

I lived in Louisiana for three years. Whenever I am tempted to complain about the humidity in Short Pump, I think back to what it was like to spend my summers in New Orleans. Try to imagine what it might be like to walk through a Turkish bathhouse in August wearing  a water suit, a parka, and a wool ski mask. Mississippi and Arkansas are right next door. They all share that thick, damp air. You want some work-life balance? I’ve got your work-life balance right here...work for ten minutes, then spend the rest of the hour submerged in a bathtub full of ice.

Utah and Minnesota wouldn’t know humidity if it slapped them in the face. Oh, I’m sure that the fine people of St. Paul still remember exactly where they all were that day back in the 90’s when the thermometer reached 88 that bizarre day in July, when literally everybody wore short sleeve shirts!

The fact is that most stress in life is in direct proportion of how oppressively hot and humid it is outside. Why is it do you think that there is so much violence, hatred and discord in the Middle East? It’s not religion. It’s not the Arab-Israeli conflict. It’s the fact that those poor people spend practically every day of their miserable lives drenched in sweat! You try getting along with your neighbor when you can smell him from 100 yards away!

You want more evidence? When the Dunnevant Clan heads to the Outer Banks for our biennial vacation together, it is mostly a joyous celebration of familial fellowship, where the work-life balance runs along at about 90 to one. But, all of this family love would evaporate faster than a water puddle in Bangkok if the air conditioner went on the fritz. If the 20 of us had to co-exist in an eight bedroom beach house with no AC for more than 36 hours, it would be the Donner party all over again!

Yeah, I could have saved these researchers a lot of trouble.

Keep America American?

I have managed to stay almost 100% off the news grid for the past 6 days.

What have I missed?

I mean, I know that the stock markets have behaved beautifully while I’ve been away, and I am fully up to speed with all the happenings in Major League Baseball, but other than that, I am blissfully unaware.

Here’s something odd...while on yesterday’s run, I passed a couple of posters that had been plastered unto the back of some road signs out on Ocean Boulevard. I stopped and took a couple of pictures, but just now decided not to display them here. They were from an outfit called Patriot Front, and there was something familiar about one of the images I saw on one of them...an eagle with arrows in both claws with an odd emblem affixed in the middle of the eagle’s breast. When I got back to the condo I Googled it...sure enough, it was a dead ringer of an old blood and soil poster from Nazi Germany, circa 1935. Digging further I discovered that these Patriot Front dudes were the same guys responsible for the Charlottesville riot back last year. The posters were filled with relatively benign exhortations about Life and Liberty and the importance of free speech. Then, I saw the warning that America was being “conquered” by illegal aliens, and if we know what’s good for us we better Keep America American! Then, I noticed the smaller print which suggested that if we were to encounter any suspicious-looking illegals, we should report them to the authorities because...they are criminals.

Long time readers of this space know of my views on immigration. I’m basically all for anyone from anywhere who wants to come here and become an American, as long as they do so properly, respecting our laws that govern the process. So, no...I am not in favor of the free for all down south and all that it entails. But, neither am I in favor of rounding up 10 million immigrants here illegally and shipping them back to where they came from. They are not cattle, they are human beings. Anyway, the thing that I found amusing about these posters was where I found them...on a street which featured several million 6,000 square foot McMansions and one twenty story resort beach hotel. I thought to myself...What a great place to look for illegal immigrants...the big hotel where they spend 12 hours a day cleaning out our toilets and changing our sheets..and the huge beach houses where teams of them swoop in every Saturday morning to tidy up the place for the new family of vacationers fortunate enough to be able to afford to rent a beach house for 7 grand a week!!

Maybe a better plan would be to storm into the headquarters of the resort hotel and make a citizens arrest of the Human Resources guy who hired the undocumented laborers in the first place! Let’s frog march a dozen contractors down to the county jail for hiring teams of roofers and landscape laborers for a change. How about we stop demonizing a bunch of people doing hard work that most of us would never want to do, and start going after the real demons...the businesses who profit from their cheap labor and circumvent our immigration laws to line their own pockets?

Thank You.

Yesterday was the best weather day of the week, and since it was my birthday I decided to play a round of golf for the first time since September. I chose the nearest course...a place called Possum Trot...and was fortuitously paired with three older snowbirds from New Jersey. What my golf game lacked in entertainment value was more than made up for by my new friends, Rich, Irv, and Corky, ages 69, 78, and 79. Between the three of them, I learned all about life growing up in Atlantic City, the joys of retirement, the manifold shortcomings of their current spouses, and some of the most colorful profanity I’ve heard in years. As far as the my golf game? I started off beautifully, a mere one over par thru the first six holes, which prompted accusations of ringer status from my playing partners. But after that my game went to hell in a hand basket, and I was lucky to shoot 95, which involved seven three putt greens, and an 8 on a 135 yard par 3! 

When I got back to the condo I spent some time on the beach, which is to say...I fell asleep. I am a huge advocate of the afternoon nap, as many of you know. Its recuperative powers are legendary, but let’s not call it by that ridiculous name...the power nap. It is nothing of the sort. Taking an afternoon nap is not powerful. It is comforting, relaxing, and calming, serving to recalibrate the mind amidst the stresses of the day.

After my siesta, it was time to pick a restaurant for my birthday dinner. We settled on a place called the Thoroughbred Chop House, which turned out to be an excellent choice. Having expensive red meat for the first time in months was wonderful! The kind waitress brought me a free slice of cheesecake...

However, this gratuity was not enough, since as soon as we got back to the condo, I did this...

After sufficiently gorging myself, it was time for presents! I got lots of very cool stuff. 

Then, each of my kids FaceTimed me to wish me a happy birthday and to secure their places in the will. After these two delightful conversations, I looked at my phone and noticed all of the Facebook messages, texts and emails from so many of you. It was overwhelming. It meant the world to me...everyone of them.

Now, the morning has come and the party is over. I am preparing to go down to the beach and put in a 4 mile run, hoping to reverse some of the damage done to my newly slim physique by yesterday’s extravagance.

But, yesterday was just about as perfect as it could possible be. Much of that is because of the kindness and affection of the wealth of great friends I have accumulated over the past 61 years.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Top Ten Reasons Why Getting Older is Cool

Yup...it’s my birthday. 61 years. Looking back over the nearly nine years of this blog, whenever commenting on birthdays I have been remarkably consistent. Generally, I have chronicled the latest physical decline, bemoaning my decreased flexibility, or the most recent loss of vigor. One year I actually went to the trouble of providing my ballooning times in the 5K. But, not this year. This year, I have decided to list the things that I have gotten better at with age, the benefits of aging, as it were...

1. I cannot remember the last time I had a zit.

2. I no longer sit up at night wondering how I’m ever going to pay off my debts. There’s very little of it left at this point.

3. I am free of that most American plague of keeping up with the Jones’ ...mostly because I’ve finally realized that that Jones family is in debt up to their freaking eyeballs, and Mrs. Jones is getting ready to file for divorce.

4. I no longer feel the need to impress anyone. I’ve never really cared an awful lot about what others think of me anyway, but now I really don’t care. It’s quite freeing.

5. Because of number 2 above, I am much more able to act on generosity impulses.

6. Pretty soon Pam will finally have a legit excuse for my sometimes intemperate language...As he’s gotten older, I never know what’s going to fly out of his mouth!

7. With each passing year I get to spend longer and longer periods of time in Maine.

8. The older I get the less afraid I have become.

9. That old line...There’s nothing new under the sun...has finally turned into something that feels more like reassurance than it does sadness. Finally understanding that what is new actually isn’t so new doesn’t feel limiting any more. It is comforting now. I dont have to be thrown for a loop by bad news anymore. Been there, done that.

10. When I was getting ready to marry Pam I used to sit up at night worrying about what would happen if I woke up one day and didn’t love her anymore. What an idiot I was. What a maroon! 

Weather Bad...Company Good

So far, its been quite cold at the beach. Now, it’s raining and cold. According to the local weather people, today will be the worst day of the week. Tomorrow, my birthday, promises to be sunny and 68. We’ll see.

Got the business part of this trip done yesterday, visited with two clients who live down in the Murrell’s Inlet/Pawley’s Island area. Now  I can officially shut down the business corner of my brain, a delightful feeling.

When my daughter was with us, she presented me with a two birthday presents. The first was a book that I have been putting off reading for 25 years or so...

Back in the day, I got on a Larry McMurtry kick, along with practically everyone else, and quickly read three of his novels...Texasville, The Last Picture Show, and Terms of Endearment. But for some reason, I never got around to reading his epic...Lonesome Dove. That grave oversight will be remedied this week. 

Unfortunately, I cannot at this time reveal the identity of the second present I received. That’s because, it is of a private nature, and to speak of it prematurely will ruin its ultimate effectiveness. That’s right...they gave me yet another highly prized, juvenile, practical joke, gag gift, which will have it’s debut in a few months at the Dunnevant family beach week. Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. However, I can promise that when the time comes, full video will be made public. Trust me, boys and girls...this one is going to produce record breaking screams of horror from the Dunnevant women, hopefully to the point of raging hysteria. Bennett and Ezra will be in awe of Uncle Doug’s endless practical joke capabilities, both will redouble their efforts to become just like me...their parents will be thrilled.

You, no doubt, have noticed the fact that we seem to have the entire beach to ourselves. You would be correct. It’s almost as if people have the view that 55 degrees and high winds are not conducive to beach living. This is yet more evidence of how soft we have become. 

So, today looks to be a cozy indoor day where we lay about reading, snacking, and talking. When I begin to get restless, Pam will come up with a chore for me to perform which will require me to drive somewhere...anything to get me out of the house. Tonight, if it’s not pouring down rain up in DC, I’m going to watch Bryce Harper, in a Phillies uniform, come up to bat against Max Scherzer. Although I wish Bryce no ill will, I would love nothing better than for Max’s first delivery to whistle two inches from the man’s chin, depositing him on his backside. Fifty years ago, it would have been a sure thing. Now, ball players are so much nicer.

Lucy Being Lucy

Last night, after a day of packing and planning for our trip to the beach, Pam sat on the sofa after dinner and soon had Miss Lucy at her side, head resting on her feet. She turns to me and says, How am I supposed to get anything done with this puppy on my feet? How indeed? 

A few minutes later, I headed upstairs to read a bit in my recliner. It should be pointed out that this particular recliner, being over ten years old now, has developed its own individualized squeak which it makes whenever deployed. It’s not particularly loud and the room is upstairs and all, but Miss Lucy hears everything...even recliners two houses over. So, like the sun rising in the east, Lucy jumped off the sofa and trotted upstairs, then down the hall and finally onto my lap...

She isn’t very pleased that the two of us are leaving her for a week. She knows. Although, she dearly loves our dog-whisperer, house sitter, Becca, she also knows we are headed to a No Pets Allowed condo and is none too happy about it. Dogs just know things.

As most of you know, Lucy is the third Golden of our almost 35 years of marriage, and easily the most difficult. At times, we think she is A. mentally disturbed, B. learning disabled. She eats like a bird, clearly sees things we cannot see, is terrified by practically everything. But, just like the other two Golden’s we have had...she possesses an incorruptible soul. Although she no doubt privately questions our judgement on a whole host of issues...How can you sit there and assure me that the thunder and lightening are not going to kill me?? Just listen to it!!!!...she never judges us, and always puts her disagreements with us behind her at the first opportunity. I’m sure she constantly worries that we seem blithely unconcerned with the deadly ceiling fans overhead, she forgives us our naïveté, chocking it up to that old dog adage...Hummans...what are you gonna do?

So, we will miss her while we are gone, and she will sulk until Becca arrives. But, when we return in a week, all will be forgotten. You never have to teach a dog to forgive. It just comes natural.

#LIFEGOALS

First quarter, 2019 ends today. For me its been great. I hit every marker I had laid down for myself...

- Exceeded my income goal

- Planned and executed 39 client reviews

- Lost 11 pounds

- Purchased and implemented pricey new client data system without losing me mind

- Finished my novel

- Completed fifth consecutive No-Vomit quarter 

- Noticed no significant new deterioration of mental acuity 

- Severely curtailed consumption of Drudge Report and other news aggregators

- Made it through entire quarter without getting fired from Hope Mentor Program

- Experienced advancement of Wednesday night cooking skills

- Only forced into two groveling apologies for losing temper with incompetent bureaucrats 

- Finally shamed readers into clicking enough ads to make The Temptest mildly profitable

Flush from these successes, I have come up with a new list of priorities for quarter number two...

- Survive Dunnevant family yard sale

- Do not gain back 11 pounds

- Attend no funerals

- Make the trip up to catch a Nationals game

- Give away all proceeds from newly profitable Tempest

- Make measurable progress in getting Saving Jack published

- Set all time adult mark with sixth consecutive No-Vomit quarter

- Attempt at least a 20%, 15%,....10% reduction in snarky comments

Well, there you have it, my Life Goals, for the second quarter of 2019. Who says I’m not capable of deep self reflection??

Once More, Unto the Breach

Every time I publish a blog about baseball, I am always disappointed how few of you bother to read. It’s like you’re all saying, Oh no...Another baseball blog! Doesn’t he realize how 1950’s baseball is? Why doesn’t he get on board with football, soccer or UFC?? Each time I see the abysmal readership numbers I sigh and sulk for a couple of days. But then I remind myself that this is my blog, and I can write about anything I want, and if my readership doesn’t have the same passion for baseball that I do..well, thats their problem. I will not be cowed into jumping on the NBA bandwagon, or the train wreck that is international soccer. So...for the 16 of you out there who are interested...here is my eagerly awaited(?) baseball predictions blog!!

American League East....Boston Redsox

Although the evil empire has an impressive lineup and the full throated endorsement of ESPN, they still don’t have the starting pitching of the Red Sox, or Mookie Betts.

American League Central....Cleveland Indians

Despite the timid, defeatist support of Sam Issacs, The Indians possess the best starting pitching in baseball, and have the advantage of playing in the worst division in the Major Leagues.

American League West...Houston Astros

The Astros still have the best lineup and the best pitching in the division, and despite Mike Trout and his $450 gazillion dollar contract, last time I checked...he can’t pitch.

Wild Card....New York Yankees, Seattle Mariners

                                                                                                          ###

National League East....Washington Nationals

The Nats will rebound from their disappointing 2018 campaign by winning this division because of their fantastic starting pitching. Even though they struggled to score runs with Bryce Harper last year, having Soto for a full year and the emergence of Robles along with the addition of two terrific catchers, it’s their division to win.

National League Central....Chicago Cubs

Yes, their starting pitchers are good but old, they have the best game manager in the game and I suspect Kris Bryant will have a bounce back year. If, suddenly Jason Heyward can finally play up to his talent, and Kyle Schwarber puts together a decent year, they might even be great.

National League West....Los Angeles Dodgers

The return of Corey Seager and the trading away of Yasiel Puig (classic addition by subtraction), should be all the Dodgers need to repeat in this very good and competitive division

Wild Card....Arizona Diamondbacks, Colorado Rockies

American League MVP...Mike Trout

American League Cy Young....Chris Sale

National League MVP....Nolan Arenado

National League Cy Young....Stephen Strasburg 

Putting The Country In Time Out

Man-o-man...yesterday was crazy. Around mid-afternoon, American social media...and every other kind of media...became engulfed in a firestorm frenzy over the Jussie Smollett sweetheart deal with Chicago prosecutor stand-in, Joseph Magats, the hand picked replacement of Kim Fox, who had recused herself from the case. Not only did the Prosecutor’s office go against the grand jury’s findings in the case, they pulled off a sealing of the records, making the inside scoop impossible to discover. Even famed Obama fixer and current mayor of Chicago, Rahm Emanuel appeared blindsided by the deal. Emanuel, ordinarily someone who would celebrate a fellow liberal beating the rap, was positively angry in his hastily assembled press conference on the subject, although I refuse to believe the man capable of any real, honest emotion. Instead, I consider his presser performance evidence that he is, in fact, the superior actor to Mr. Smollett.

Most everyone I know on the right of the political baracades were positively apoplectic at the injustice of it all. You know, that feeling you get when you are absolutely convinced of someone’s overwhelming guilt and then the devastation which comes when that person 
gets suddenly exonerated. Hmmm...now maybe people on my side have a glimpse of what the other side felt like when the Mueller report came down.

On the other hand, people who dearly wanted to believe Mr. Smollett’s bizarre tale of  victimization, now have been given the fig leaf of permission to gloat which this deal has bestowed upon them. Now, perhaps they understand the gleeful delight felt by Trump supporters when after two years of hearing liberals predicting that the President would end up in prison for treason. Maybe now they have a sense of what having your core faiths vindicated feels like.

But, in order for either side to be able to understand what the other is feeling would require a willingness to do so. After yesterday, that willingness seems further away, less attainable than ever. The only thing that the events of yesterday afternoon have done is level the playing field of resentment. Now, literally everyone in the country is pissed off.

My offered solution goes back to my days as a parent of toddlers. When all heck was breaking out between the two of them, I would place them both in time out. Is it possible to place our entire country in time out? Just for a couple of days...

Mission Statements...sigh

For the past several months I have been involved in a mentor program through my church. I meet every other week with these two terrific guys who were assigned to me. It has been a great experience. In this effort, I have received invaluable assistance from the guy who is sort of in charge of the program. He is a volunteer, a successful businessman with an inspiring personal story, and he sends us a couple of emails every week to encourage us along in our efforts.

Well, a few days ago he sent us an email suggesting that we do something with our mentees which has suddenly become all the rage in the business world and elsewhere...crafting a personal mission statement. He laid out all the benefits of the thing, how it allegedly clarifies the mind, making it easier to make decisions about all manner of things, etc. etc. When I read the email, I let out an audible groan and executed a world class eyeroll at the exact same moment. Of course, me being me, I couldn’t just let it go...I just had to respond. I fired off an email of my own, communicating my distaste for the whole concept of a personal mission statement, as follows:

Ok, I will need some help with this one. I have always resisted this type of thing. I associate this sort of navel gazing with corporate types who are always trying to reinvent the wheel with the latest psycho-babble group think exercise. “Let’s write our corporate mission statement” sounds like practically the most self-obsessed, boring waste of time ever. On a personal, individual level...it seems a little pretentious. I mean, isn’t everyone’s “mission statement” pretty much the same?...Worship God, Use Things, Love People?  What am I missing here?

Many years ago, I got introduced to the world of “corporate buzzwords” by several speakers at conferences I was forced to attend. For a while the catch phrase d’jour was...The New Paradigm. A bit later it was...The Value Proposition. Before long, business English became this tortured tongue filled with airy phrases disconnected from reality, so awkwardly put together that nobody knew what the hell anyone else was talking about. This self inflicted Tower of Babble was soon followed by the latest craze...the mission statement. We were all assured that it was vital that every organization have one, that it be catchy, pithy and concise, and that its construction be done around conference tables after day long bull sessions with corporate psychologists and other hucksters who were making bank on this new corporate obsession. Then churches started doing it. And now, apparently, it has trickled down to the individual disciple level.

My biggest objection to this business is the fact that it seems self-obsessed. Don’t most Americans already spend way too much time thinking about nothing but themselves? This is just what the American church needs...every disciple with a slogan! When I think of what my PMS should be, I’m thinking that there is absolutely no way I could ever improve on Micah 6:8...

What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.

Yeah, I’m thinking that just about covers it.

But, here’s the thing. This guy who heads up this program? I really like him and more importantly, I trust him. Just because I have a personal problem with mission statements doesn’t mean that they are bad for everyone. Maybe my guys would benefit from this. I don't want to let my prejudices get in the way of something that might be very beneficial to my guys. So...I’m getting on board.

Wish me luck!

A Friend’s Pain, and Trump vs. Mueller

One of my best friends is in Ohio today, burying his sister. Several weeks ago she was given a cancer diagnosis. She made it a little over a month. My friend has two brothers and this one sister. His dad has already passed away, but his mother, in her 90’s, has lived long enough to bury a child. When I try to imagine what he is going through, I can’t. Thinking of one of my siblings passing away isn’t even something I can conjure up in my head. It would be like someone cutting off your arm, especially since I’m the youngest of four. They have literally been there for me for all of my life. So, all I can do is remember to say a prayer for him and his family at noon today.

Over the weekend, Robert Mueller released his long-awaited report to the Attorney General, who then released a summary of its findings to members of Congress. In that summary, the bottom lines seem to be as follows:

# The investigation did not establish that members of the Trump campaign conspired or coordinated with the Russian government in its electrion interference activities.

# Mueller’s report does not conclude that the President committed a crime, it also does not exonerate him.

# AG Barr and Deputy AG Rosenstein concluded that the evidence is not sufficient to establish that the President committed an obstruction of justice offense, noting that the government would have to prove a case beyond a reasonable doubt.

The Mueller investigation has been going on for almost two full years now. Long ago, it fell off my radar screen. I have lost track of the various players and indictments. Various commentators on television and the print media have largely followed partisan scripts when reporting on the interminable probe. Pro-Trumpers have downplayed every fresh indictment, and consistently called the entire investigation a fishing expedition and witch hunt being run by Democratic Party lawyers. Anti-Trumpers have talked a lot about the presence of smoke proving that there was an enormous fire in there somewhere, and any day now the President and his family were going to be frog-marched out of the White House in handcuffs. 

So, what’s my take?

My take is that the release of this report will change exactly no one’s mind about Donald Trump. Pro-Trumpers will be triumphant, crowing about vindication and how delicious it is to own the libs. Now, it will be the Trump-haters’ turn to attack Robert Mueller’s integrity. The new Democratic majority in the House will use their investigative powers to continue their own investigations into what they are convinced is Trump’s Manchurian candidacy. In other words...this will never end. 

One of the problems with the disappearance of the concept of absolute truth is that we as a society are no longer able to appeal to any outside authority. For Republicans the independent council wasn’t “independent” at all, but merely a tool of the Democratic Party to undermine Donald Trump’s election victory over the chosen one, Hillary Clinton. For Democrats, Attorney General Barr isn’t the top lawyer in the country who leads the Justice Department, he’s merely a tool of a corrupt President. So, everyone agrees to appeal to authority only when that authority validates their desired conclusion.

So...we plod on with politics. There will be another Presidential election in 2020. I can hardly wait.

This Saturday, Pam and I will leave for a week in Myrtle Beach. That week away will coincide with my 61st birthday, as well as the beginning of the baseball season, all of which means I will be able to frolic on the beach and stroll happily down a few fairways during the day, and sprawl out on the sofa and watch Major League Baseball at night. It will be a beautiful thing.

A Question For a Sunday Morning

This famous line from Abraham Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address...

We shall nobly save, or meanly lose, the last best hope of earth. Other means may succeed; this could not fail. The way is plain, peaceful, generous, just -- a way which, if followed, the world will forever applaud, and God must forever bless.

My question for you all is simple...are we, The United States of America, still...the last best hope of earth? 

Why or why not?

Show your work.

Married Couple Stuff

File this post under...Stuff that married couples love to do.

So, with the arrival of Spring comes a series of home improvement projects that have been gestating all winter long, projects which all began with the phrase...as soon as it gets warmer...For us it has been a whirlwind. First, we finally replaced the old, leaky, mold infested refrigerator in the garage, along with our loud and super slow dishwasher—the same one which flooded our house a mere 18 months ago. Next, I just hired a painting contractor to power wash the house, paint the exterior trim, and stain the deck. Then, I contracted with The Mosquito Authority to rid my back yard of that annoying pestilence. Now that we have reclaimed our backyard, last night, Pam and I did something really fun...went out and bought new deck furniture. This morning, as soon as it gets warmer, I will assemble it and figure out the new layout out there. It will be like adding a brand new room to the house. Once completed, the two of us will insist on spending more time out there, despite it being only 58 and intermittently sunny with pesky wind gusts that make it feel like -15.

Ok, if you are reading this and you have been married for any reasonable length of time, you will have to admit that I’m right...this IS something that married couples love to do. We love this sort of thing...putzing around the house, replacing old worn out stuff with shiny new stuff. I mean, we can’t replace each other, so we replace everything else in a never ending home-revitalizing project. It’s part of the innate human desire to want to make all things new. When we were young and poor, it was spring cleaning, a less expensive, more labor intensive effort, but the same basic human itch got scratched...start fresh. Starting next weekend Pam and I will do the same thing with our marriage...we will escape Short Pump for a week at the beach, just the two of us. New scenery, no schedule, new restaurants and hopefully, warmer weather. In a way, it will be like our 100th honeymoon. We have done these little escapes for years now. Sometimes, it was only long weekends at cheaper destinations, other times it’s been more exotic locales. This one is much more familiar...my partner’s condo in Myrtle Beach, where we have stayed at least a dozen times before. We love it, it is therapeutic, even when the weather doesn’t cooperate.

So, after breakfast, we will begin the rejuvenation of our deck. I will post pictures of the finished product.

Very exciting.

Soup and a Goddess

Last night was very cool. Wednesday night, Pam goes to her Yoga class from 6 to 7:30. She’s been doing it for several years now and we have developed this routine where I prepare dinner on Wednesday night. Back when she started with the Yoga class, she would actually make the entire meal herself and leave me a note telling me when to put it in the oven. But, as time has passed, she has allowed me more responsibility for the meal itself. At this point, I probably should add the very salient point that as a Dunnevant man, I come from a long line of witless cooks. My father couldn’t boil water without a tutorial. My brother, Donnie, recently retired with time on his hands, has taken it up and scored some impressive dishes...if doctored photographs on Facebook can be believed...but this doesn’t change the fact that I can recall a time when Donnie couldn’t identify the working end of a spatula. So, my genetic pedigree in the kitchen is marred by generations of ineptitude.

Luckily for me, Pam is an amazing cook. Since the kids have moved out of the house, I have taken to watching her prepare meals. She is organized and precise, one of those recipe following cooks who take great care in doing things right. She measures things out, none of this pinch of this and dash of that business. Watching her lay out the ingredients, assemble everything expertly, then pull the finished product, hot and gurgling out of the oven is quite therapeutic. So, when she asked me what I wanted to make for last night’s meal, I said that I wanted to attempt her lemon chicken orzo soup...from scratch...a first and quite a step up from the old days. I posted the before and after videos on Facebook last night which chronicled my triumph. It was amazing, if I must say so myself...and, I must.

But, here’s the thing that struck me most about the experience. By the time Pam walked through the door at 7:40, I was throughly whipped. Cooking an entire meal from scratch is like juggling chainsaws for me. I’m constantly setting off timers and watching the clock. Beep beep beep...wait, what is that one for??!! Wait, do I add the garlic before, after, or simultaneously with the other spices? And, when it says “boil for ten minutes, does that include the ten minutes the silly thing took to come up to a boil? Beep beep beep...crap!! What the heck? Oh yeah...add the orzo and half a cup of lemon juice from the two lemons...YOU FORGOT TO JUICE!!!

As the dish began to actually take shape and I glanced at the clock and realized that I was going to pull this off the thought occurred to me...Pam does this every night. But, not only does she prepare a meal every night, she decides what to cook, makes out a list of ingredients, goes to the store and buys the ingredients, then cooks the meal...every stinking night for 35 years. After what I went through last night, that is a staggering thing to comprehend. My wife...is a goddess.

Blame Shifting

...that feeling you get at 5:15am when you open the bank app on your iPad and see a negative number on your business account, then realize that you forgot to press send on that transfer from your personal account last night.

But, we will not let a simple mistake ruin our day. We will not allow a simple oversight cause us to question our mental acuity. We will not succumb to despair over the ravages that time has visited upon our faculties. We will simply accept this unfortunate incident for what it is...a miscue, a mishap, a flub, if you will...something that could happen to anyone. We will place this entire business behind us and not give it a second thought. Why, I imagine even Warren Buffet has forgotten to press send a few times in his life:

Warren: Gee Whiz...I wonder why my Coca Cola stock has dropped 65% this morning? Oh!! What the heck? I pressed the sell a million shares button instead of the buy a million shares button. Dang it...

So, we will move on quickly from this unpleasantness, knowing that what we experienced at 5:15am this morning is not uncommon in the affairs of men, even the best and brightest of men...mistakes will be made. We will pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and continue to advance. And we will also continue to employ the plural first person pronoun...we...when referring to our mistakes, since it makes us feel better to include the rest of you as equally at fault. Collective guilt is more palatable than shouldering all of the blame yourself.

So, be careful out there today everyone, and don’t let this happen to you again, alright?

Bracket Dilemma

Yesterday, Bland Weaver, our office bookie, handed me an NCAA bracket to fill out, attach a twenty dollar bill to it, and get it back in his hands in 24 hours. We have done this every year that I can remember and a few years ago I even won the thing. But with each passing year I feel slightly more clueless than the year before. The reason is simple...I have not watched even one college basketball game all year. 

This is a perplexing turn of events. There was once a time when I never missed the ACC game of the week. I used to be able to tell you the names of at least one player on every important team in college basketball. Back in the day, I never would have dreamed of missing even one game of March Madness, in fact, I scheduled an annual Myrtle Beach golf trip around the first weekend of ...The Tournament. It wasn’t just college basketball either, I was well-versed in the statistical minutia of college football, the PGA tour, the NFL, and even NASCAR. Now, for reasons that aren’t entirely clear to me, my only remaining sports obsession is Major League Baseball and Alabama football. The weird thing is I don’t even miss it...except when Bland hands me that bracket. Then, all of a sudden, I feel disconnected...and I begin asking myself, What the heck happened?

Part of my disinterest stems from what has happened to sport in this country. Insane amounts of money have overpowered every organized sport in America, making each unrecognizable to me. College basketball, in particular has become a one and done proposition, whereby juniors and seniors have disappeared from college rosters. Just about the time fans get interested in a player...poof...he declares for the NBA draft. The term Student Athlete should now be erased from the Webster’s Dictionary, since it no longer has any meaning. With the PGA, as soon as Tiger fell from grace...what’s the point? NASCAR? Who are those guys? And why are there so many empty seats in the grandstand? Where the heck are Jeff Gordon and Junior? The NFL? How many players have been arrested for beating up their girlfriends this week? Wake me when it’s over.

So, I will fly through my bracket in a few minutes, picking the likeliest winners, being careful not to overdo it with the upsets, knowing that in reality there are always only 6-8 teams who are capable of winning the thing. Then I will turn it in and hope for the best.

Less than two weeks until first pitch!!=

The Dynamic of The Yard Sale

After several weeks of a packed itinerary of appointments, this week is starting out lighter on the scheduling. This will free me up to get started on that list of projects Pam and I had determined to do in the first quarter of 2019. Yes...I am aware that there are only 14 days left in said quarter...but better late than never. There’s mulch to put down, the outside of the house needs to be power washed and painted, the gutters need to be cleaned out, and the deck stained. Then I’ve got to get the guys from the Mosquito Squad to come and rid my yard of that blood-sucking pestilence. If there’s any time left, I will need to do a deep dive cleaning out of the garage where I will identify items to add to the...ominous music...YARD SALE PILE. Yes, boys and girls, it’s that time again, that glorious Dunnevant family tradition which rears its hideous head every two years with all the warmth and expectation of an un-lanced boil. Long time readers of The Tempest know of my hostile feelings about this particular tradition, so I will not regale you further on the subject, except to say that in less than a month, Mechanicsville will be the site of a ponderous pile of worthless knickknackery being picked through by the oddest collection of bargain hunters, antique sleuths, yard sale junkies, rednecks, and high society women out for a day of incognito slumming ever assembled in eastern Hanover County.

Enough about the Dunnevant yard sale...but what about a few observations about yard sales in general? I have never quite understood the attraction of walking through a collection of someone else's rejected junk, cash in hand, ready to pay money to take it off their hands. Listen, I know that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, but in my twenty years of yard sales I can tell you from personal experience that the definition of treasure has been bastardized beyond all comprehension. I saw a guy pay two bucks for a box of Fram oil filters in odd sizes that fit absolutely no engine that he possessed on the reasoning that for two bucks, they were cheap enough to use as something to throw at his neighbor’s barking dog! I’ve seen a reasonably intelligent looking woman buy literally the tackiest sculpture of an angel dressed in a firefighter uniform, an American flag firmly in her mouth, with the burning Twin Towers in the background, with the burning question...I wonder of my nephew will like this, I think he’s a fireman...I’ve seen a old man pulling his own oxygen tank on wheels around ask me what a box full of strips of metal in random shapes with slots hither and yon cut out of them were...to which I replied, Sir, if I live to be a hundred years old, I will never have an answer to that question. Then I watched him gather up the box and pay my sister 5 bucks.

I have no explanation for the dynamic of the yard sale. All I know is that there is something in the human spirit that loves the illusion of the bargain, the idea that you are getting over on the other guy. That moron just sold me a first edition of To Kill a Mockimngbird for 50 cents!! Everybody likes paying as little as possible for things...see Amazon, Walmart...and I get that, but paying as little as possible is one thing. Paying as little as possible for a Walkman cassette tape player without the headphones is something else entirely. But, it is this type of free exchange that has been the backbone of the Dunnevant Family Yard Sale success. We have averaged over $800 a year in revenue in the fifteen or so times we have staged the affair. That money has paid for the groceries for twenty people at fifteen beach weeks now. So, we keep doing it. And they keep coming...in teaming hordes, they keep coming, with their change purses, bulging wallets stuffed with one dollar bills, the official coin of the yard sale realm. And we keep taking their money and stacking it in our metal cash box until it is full. Then we stumble back home and stand under a hot shower for half an hour trying to clean off the detritus of hundreds of human interactions and regain the feeling in our extremities, secure in the knowledge that we will eat like kings on the Outer Banks yet again.

A Wonderful Saturday

March the 16th was a good day here in Short Pump, Virginia. It was a Saturday, for one thing, and it wasn’t cloudy, windy, wet and cold. It was sunny and 58 degrees, and I almost wore shorts before my wife did that eye-roll thing and reminded me that if it was 58 degrees on the first day of Fall I would be wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Be that as it may, I spent most of the morning working in my yard. It was glorious.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking...what’s so glorious about gathering up sticks, raking up leaves, cutting the grass and gathering three months worth of Lucy’s bowel movements out of the backyard?? I’m glad you asked that question...

During the winter months, the elements conspire to reduce me to the confines of the metaphoric four walls of my palatial estate. It’s not that I never venture into the yard in the winter, it’s more like when I do it’s to either shovel snow or stand like a statue in the foul weather begging Lucy to proceed with her business sometime this century....

Me: Alright Lucy, you’ve gone over that particular piece of ground long enough to determine if it is a suitable place to relieve yourself..get on with it!!

Lucy:  sniff sniff sniff

Me: No, seriously...that was the same spot you used yesterday..what’s changed??

Lucy: sniff sniff...waggle...sniff sniff

Me: For heavens sake, It’s freezing, raining, snowing out here!!

But, yesterday I finally was able to reclaim the entirety of my yard. By the time I was through, the place looked great. Then Pam and I went shopping for a new umbrella for the table on the deck, then Pam broke out the bleach to rinse the mold and mildew off the outdoor seat cushions.

When it was time for dinner, Pam decided to go all-in on our Irish heritage by fixing corn beef, cabbage and Irish soda bread...

When doing my Google search on the origins of my last name, no matter what spelling or derivative of the name I used..Dunnevant, Dunnavant, Donovan...I came up with the same thing...100% Irish, largely from the counties of Kilkenny, and Limerick and the meaning of the name in the original Gaelic is translated as black, brown, or chieftain. So, apparently my family is descended from an ancient tribe of, little known and mostly forgotten by history, tribe of black Irishmen!

The Phone Call

Yesterday morning I received a very special phone call. I had just gotten in to the office. It was around 8 o’clock. The caller ID told me that it was a client of mine who happens to be an old friend. I’ve known him almost all of his life. I will try to recall his words accurately. I want to write this down while it is fresh in my mind...

...I’m on the road, driving around on this beautiful morning, and I got to thinking about your Dad, of what a wonderful man he was, of how much he meant to me and my family when he was alive. You know, your Dad was famous for those long invitations at the end of services where he would sing 13 verses of the invitation hymn. Ha! Well, in my case, if he had limited it to just twelve I might never have become a Christian. Anyway, this morning I was wishing that I could call him up and thank him, but I can’t do that. But, I thought...if I can’t call up Emmett, I guess I should call Doug and pass along the thanks to him, instead. Be sure to pass the thank you along to your brother and sisters too, ok?

When I hung up the phone, I needed a minute to compose myself. I sat there in my quiet and empty office pondering what had just happened. I tried to imagine someone, anyone...five years after my death picking up a phone and calling one of my children to thank them for my life and just couldn’t.

So, thank you, Ray Melton. 

Intelligent Design?

Yesterday was a day for the ages. Every once in a while a day comes along that makes you wonder what’s going on. I mean, how many things can go wrong in one 24 hour period? How many things is it possible to screw up between sunrise and sunset? Listen, every day has its own challenges, I get it...but some days it’s like they are having a clearance sale on challenges...buy one, get two for free.

So, yesterday was going along just fine at first. Everything was on schedule, clicking along in a plodding, predictable way. Then the auditor showed up. A surprise, unannounced auditor...which is fine. We get one of these every few years. No big deal. But, getting audited is unnerving. Someone with authority shows up at your office and starts poking around looking for mistakes, and immediately your blood pressure ticks up. I came out of it largely unscathed, but annoyed by the process and its underlying assumptions. From there, things went downhill in a hurry. One setback after another, one foul up on top of another began raining down on me. It was as if, given an opening by the surprise auditor, the dogs of misfortune got loose from their pen and began rampaging through my office, leaving several odious piles on the carpeting.

But, there’s good news, because of the ingenious design of the the 24 hour day. We wake up with the sun, and as it rises, so do we. By noon, we are fully engaged in our work. When the sun gets lower in the sky, we too start to disengage. When it slips under the horizon, most of us retreat into our homes, the comforts of which begin to do their therapeutic work. Our favorite chair awaits. The dog greets you as a conquering hero. Over dinner you tell your best friend about your miserable day. She listens patiently, nods knowingly. She has heard it all before, but acts like she hasn’t. You then settle into your after dinner routine. You read some, you watch a little Grapefruit League baseball. Before you know it, it’s like the day never even happened. Then you wake up to a brand new day, yesterday’s disasters but a memory, and you think...wouldn’t it be horrible if we lived in a world where the sun never set? An incredibly intelligent design, the rising and setting of the sun, and the perfect rhythm it provides to our lives.

...not to mention the glorious views.

Questions About This Mornings Post

One of my young friends from back in my Grove Avenue youth group days asked me a couple of questions earlier today about this morning’s blog. The first question was about my trip out west after high school which caused me to miss my first Fall semester at U of R. He wanted details! The second question concerned how I managed to pay for the rest of my college experience after my dad forced me to pay my first semesters tuition with my own money. Since he asked, I will attempt an answer to both questions in what promises to be perhaps the most boring blog post in the nearly nine year history of The Tempest. 

After I graduated from Patrick Henry high school in June of 1976, I was not ready for college. I wasn’t ready for anything that looked or felt like being a grown up. So, along with my best friend, Al Thomason, I hatched a plan that would buy me some time. The two of us got jobs working in the warehouse of Lowe’s Hardware on Broad Street. We signed up for every shift they would give us. Our plan was to save every dime we made and blow it all on a cross country back-packing odyssey out west. While the rest of our friends would be moving into freshman dorms, we would be on the mother of all road trips cross country, heading for the Rocky Mountains. We both left Richmond on August 12th with $1,000 of cash each. Seven weeks later we wound up totally broke and almost out of gas near Bluefield, West Virginia. Luckily for us, we knew a freshman at Bluefield College who allowed us to crash in his room. His dorm took up a collection for us so we could make it home. Those seven weeks are mostly a blur now, but some of the highlights involved the Bad Lands in South Dakota, Mt. Rushmore, a rodeo in Gillette, Wyoming, Glacier Park, Montana and a motorcycle mechanic and his very hot gypsy girlfriend, Yellowstone, and a series of cowboy bars in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. The hiking was incredible, the life experiences even more so. Needless to say, my parents didn’t think much of my plan, thinking it dangerous and foolhearty. They were right.

Here we were, ten minutes before leaving on our trip. My dad probably was looking at us while Mom took this picture and thinking...What could possibly go wrong??

Now, as far as the second question goes...its a bit harder to piece together. Basically, I was only able to afford to go to U of R if I commuted, and even then, I couldn’t really afford it. My dad was a Baptist preacher and I was the last of his four college attending kids, so A. Dad didn’t make much money and B. By the time I came along he was tapped out. So that meant I had to find a job. Lucky for me, I did...building pallets and assembling shelving in an un-air conditioned, and unheated warehouse in the Hanover Industrial Air Park for a company called Trefz & Steenburgh. In the four and a half years it took me to graduate from college, I worked every single week, 25 hours, from 12:30 to 5:30 every day, Monday thru Friday. During the summers I worked full time there and built decks with my buddy Al on weekends. The money I was able to make over the summers helped keep the amount I would have to borrow in the fall more manageable. The money I made from that job...about $175 a week after taxes paid for about a third of the costs. Everything else was financed through loans that my dad co-signed for me and educational loans from an outfit called the Charles B. Keesee Fund. I graduated with roughly $18,000 in Keesee loans in 1981. It took me ten years to pay them all off.

So, there you have it.