Yardsale’s Over...and I lived to tell about it!

About twelve hours ago, my eyes popped open from a long night’s sleep. Ordinarily when this happens on a Saturday, the first light of day brings a sence of euphoria, the thrill of possibility. But today, the first murky strands of thought were of impending doom, of grave foreboding. For, today was...Yardsale Day. Of course, by the time I awoke, Pam had already been up for an hour planning...strategizing, plotting out her steps. She had already struck several items off of her To-Do List, affixed to her game-day clipboard. She shot me a piercing side eye as I trudged down the stairs for my morning coffee, already disappointed with my inadequate sence of urgency. She had already placed our bagel order with the Mechanicsville Panera and we needed to be there at 6:45 sharp to pick it up..and she was not enthused with my lollygagging. Despite her early concerns, I rallied and we made it to Panera with 30 seconds to spare.

The same could not be said for the rest of the set up crew. When we pulled into the driveway at ground zero, only Ron was there. At 6:55, we only had 15 minutes to get 17 fully loaded tables out of the garage and into place before the early worms started stumbling, ghost-like out of the Mechancisville mist like a pack of bargain hunting zombies. Apparently, two of our crew had overslept...having not heard their alarm. Another had fallen victim to that rarest of all occurrences...the 7 am traffic backup on 295. Still another when she arrived, reminded us that she is not a morning person. An inauspicious and uninspired beginning.

But before you could say...What in the Sam Hill is going on around here?....the floor displays were all in place and the first of a nearly five hour wave of shoppers had descended on the place. They proceeded to pick over our merchandise like hungry jackals. 

Every year there’s this one item that baffles us all. Where did it come from? What the heck is it? Surely, nobody is going to pay real money for this, right? This...thing...is this year’s item. How to describe? It sort of looks like an attempt at a honey comb, or bee hive, maybe? It is festooned with an array of shiny little yellowish pieces of faux diamond knock offs. But, upon closer inspection, there appears to be a face at the top, the little pink ball nose of either a cat or a bunny, with darker pink eyes. Whatever this creature is supposed to be...he/she is carrying some sort of flower basket without the benefit of any discernible appendages. Adding to the mystery, the creature’s insides have been hollowed out in order to hold a string of Christmas lights, which, once stuffed inside, make it glow brilliantly, as if he/she had just eaten some radioactive gruhl. Well, I’ll have you know that somebody did pay real money for it. She even asked us to plug in the string of lights to make sure they worked...as if this was crucial to her decision. When the lights flashed, she was sold!!

To make this story complete, I must reveal that at the time of sale we discovered that the creature had...a hat. This piece of the ensemble added nothing to our understanding of what had just happened as we watched this delighted customer leave with her treasure.

Then there was this.

Ok, my sainted mother used to have this wall clock which every hour on the hour would emit the shrill call of a different bird. It always freaked me out whenever I was over there for lunch and that dreadful hoot owl would scare the crap out of me at noon with his entirely too loud and synthesized HOOOOOT. I couldn’t imagine any wall clock being worse than the Hitchcockian nightmare that hung in my Mom’s kitchen....until I was introduced to...Divine Time. This beauty, which comes with handy, glow in the dark minute and hour hands, and speaks two different languages, features the booming voice of the spoken word belting out passages of scripture to herald the arrival of each new hour. It is described as the Scripture reading time piece, which is misleading and, in fact, not true at all. This plastic clock with bonus fake wood stand does not read anything. It bellows out prerecorded scripture every hour, all through the night when most people are trying to, you know...sleep. But, before I could wrap my head around the existence of such a thing in our universe, it had vanished, scarfed up by an eager Spanish-speaking woman...

...the fastest two bucks we’ve ever made.

Of course, no yard sale would be complete without a few mishaps. Early on, I heard the faint sound of breaking glass, but by the time I made it over to the scene, the customers had disappeared. Clean up on aisle three!! A little mercury poisoning never hurt anybody!

At the Dunnevant Yardsale, even our plastic bags are organized and neatly folded...

One of our youngest family members was given cash register duties this year and performed like a champ. She was exposed to enough give and take, hustle and bustle, and wheeling and dealing to last her a lifetime. She was a natural. I can actually see her becoming a trader in the pit on Wall Street one day. This particular customer doesn’t appear convinced, however. Her side eye suggests that perhaps she thinks we should have a more experienced huckster at the register. To which I say...Well, how is the next generation going to learn how to make money selling worthless junk to the public unless we give them a chance? We can’t all work at Walmart, you know!

They kept coming. In long, relentless lines, they came. Even when we were tearing everything down and packing it all up for a run to GoodWill and then the dump...they still came, one dude paid us six bucks for a bag of crap that was in the going to the dump pile not fifteen minutes before we were about to leave.

We even got a van load of church ladies who all wore orange t-shirt uniforms on a day trip from beautiful, down town Hayensville.
They were on a mission, their leader told me...a mission from God.

Well, I said, have I got a wall clock for you!!!

And just like that...it was over. The numbers are still a bit murky at this hour, but the estimate is that we netted somewhere between $850 and $1050.

God. Bless. America.

An Invitation

My family’s biennial excursion into the murky depths of unregulated, unrestrained Capitalism has begun. Last night, Pam and I loaded up the car with tables and as much inventory as we could squeeze in and made the first trip over to ground zero. Today, I will make a mid-morning trip over with load number two, followed by a third trip tonight. This year’s fare seems promising...plenty of worthless junk to compliment enough bigger ticket items to make it interesting. I’m thinking we might make a run at our all time record haul of $1100. If we do, it will be because of my salesmanship...

Customer: Do these remote controlled Formula One cars work?

Me: Maybe. Maybe not. 

Customer: Why would I want two Formula One remote control cars that don’t work?

Me: Look man...if you want two Formula One remote control cars that work, go to a toy store and pay a hundred bucks. Or, you could come to this yard sale and take a chance on these babies for 5 lousy bucks. What’s it gonna be??

Customer: But, shouldn’t you have tested them before hand to see if they work?

Me: (turning the car over to show customer the missing 12 volt battery). That would have required the purchase of a battery, which would have driven up the price. We thought it best to keep our cost down. Look Mack...you look like a decent guy, probably pretty good with your hands and stuff. Even if these things don’t work, a real man like you could figure out how to fix ‘em, am I right? Sure I am! Now, take these cars over to that good looking blonde at the cash table before I raise the price!

In a hundred such exchanges, merchandise gets moved at the Dunnevant Family Yard Sale. It is a dizzying display of audacious claims, dubious fact-free sales pitches and blatant hustling...

Claim: This sequined jacket was once worn by Elvis himself!!

FACT CHECK: false

Claim: This baseball glove never made an error in over 100 little league games!!

FACT CHECK: Technically true since gloves don’t make errors...players do.

Claim: Mrs. Williams, if you don’t buy this bejeweled purple statuette of Dolly Parton, you will regret it for the rest of your life.

FACT CHECK: false

Despite mountains of unverifiable statements, exaggerations and hyperbole...I am able to move more knickknackery than all other family members combined. It’s not even close.

So, if you’re looking for a fun and entertaining way to spend your Saturday morning, I want to extend a personal invitation to all of you to come out and see what all of Mechanicsville will be buzzing about. I look forward to seeing all of you at:

7105 Peach Orchard Lane

Mechanicsville, Va. 23111

8:00 am to 1:00 pm

Pending Yard Sale Panic

If you are a regular reader of The Tempest you will be familiar with the biennial Dunnevant family..(cue the suspenseful music)...YARD SALE. I have written about it many times, most notably,  here...https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2015/06/enduring-my-biennial-beat-down.html. And here...https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2016/11/dunnevant-family-yardsale-116-fall-2016.html. Well, once again, the dreadful thing has reared its ugly head. E-mails are flying around featuring raging debates on everything from the proper price point for children’s clothing to how many tables we need and who is bringing them and when the heck we are supposed to show up both Thursday and Friday evening for the crucial pre-sale table prep. This year, if e-mail trash talk can be believed, there will be a new feature adorning the sales desk...a Square App on my wife’s iPad!!...a huge update from that worn out abacus we’ve been using. Of course, we still employ a cash box and strictly enforce our No checks, No credit, No dang way policy.

This week was supposed to be the week that my wife was going to clean out the attic and haul down all of the candidates we would offer for sale. But, each day when I come home from work, the pile doesn’t seem very large, and my wife doesn’t seem too concerned about it either. She seems strangely calm, sedated even. There has been no fevered activity, no agiated mumbling, not even one word of profanity. Moreover, despite the looming deadline, there hasn’t been the slightest trace of panic in her eyes. This has been a disturbing development. When she acts this way...calm, serene, and unhurried on yard sale week, I start to worry. What is going on? What possible explanation could there possibly be for the complete absence of drama?

1. Is my wife using illegal narcotics?

2. Is she gravely ill?

3. Has the thick pollen coalesced in her brain causing it to short circuit, dramatically altering her personality?

A more likely explanation is that, having just finished packing up her room at school, combined with being on the road to Nashville and back last weekend, she has simply been unable to rouse herself to action due to mental and physical exhaustion. Sometime either this afternoon or tomorrow, it’s going to hit her. Who knows what might trigger it? She might glance at the calendar, or she might stumble upon some worthless piece of junk in one of the kids rooms and it will hit her...Dear God in heaven...THE FREAKING YARD SALE IS TOMORROW!!!! AGRGGHHHHH!!!!

When it happens, I want to make sure I’m home and ready. She’s gonna need some muscle...some dumb, cheap labor to do her bidding. I know just the guy!!

I Object!

I have lived long enough on this planet to know that having a positive attitude is the most productive and happy way to live. Perceiving the glass as half full makes all the difference in the world. Instead of devoting all of your energy bemoaning what you don’t have rather than being grateful for what you do have has served me quite well during my 61 years. However, every once in a while, it can be therapeutic to howl at the moon, to vent one’s spleen at life’s injustices, to allow yourself permission...briefly...to succumb to an airing of grievances. What follows is my current list of objections. They are in no particular order. I offer them randomly, as they come to mind.

1. Preachers Who Flaunt Their Wealth.

Recently, a friend of mine sent me a link to a story about which he wanted my opinion. It was about some Instagram channel called PreachersNSneakers, and it featured several mega-church pastors who were going about bragging about their expensive kicks...

       

I have written about prosperity gospel preachers before and my disdain for them is well known. But, there was something especially grievous about this sneaker business. While I can find nothing virtuous about poverty, and nothing necessarily evil about wealth and success, seeing alleged ministers of the Gospel wearing $5000 sneakers and bragging about it strikes me as about as close to heresy as it is possible to get. The fact that there exists in this world a pair of tennis shoes that someone would be willing to pay five grand for is horrible enough...but that the purchaser in question would be a guy who professes to be devoted to matters of the soul is the sort of thing  that makes me want to scream. These two preachers above...neither of whom I have ever heard of...probably drove their Bentleys passed at least a hundred homeless people on the way to pick up their shoes. I object.

2. The Design Flaw of Spring

I love Spring. After a long and dreary winter full of snow, ice and freezing temperatures, the warmth arrives, and with it the joyful chirping of birds, the dazzling color of a million flowers and a spectacular array of greenery. Driving home from Nashville on a gorgeous day was a treat. The glory of Spring was on full display all around us. As soon as we got home and I had a chance to cut the grass, it occurred to me that last night would have been a perfect night to eat our dinner out on the deck. Except...that would be impossible...unless we wanted our food served with a coating of thick yellow pollen. Additionally, our plates would have needed to be fitted with little plate umbrellas to protect the food from the downpour of oak tree strings which were falling all around us like some sort of Old Testament plague. 

In my opinion, this is the design flaw of Spring. The most delightful temperatures of the year are accompanied by rampant flower and fauna copulation, which, like all public displays of affection, makes everyone exposed to it sick! I strenuously object.

3. .500 Baseball Teams

Mediocrity has always annoyed me. There is nothing quite so tiresome than being in the middle of the pack. Sure, no one wants to finish last, but sometimes being really bad at something can be endearing...the1962 Mets come to mind. We even have a name for really, really bad teams...loveable losers. Nobody comes up with cute nicknames for mediocre teams. Even our Lord and Savior agreed...”You are neither hot nor cold, therefore I will spew you out of my mouth” Having said this, I offer the current rendition of the Washington Nationals. Through the first month of the season they are 11-11. They are in the unique position of not being able to serve as either a good or bad example...of anything. Either suck, or be great. But with that roster, mediocrity is an insult. I object.

4. Mail Fraud

So, yesterday I got my giving statement from my church in the mail for the 1st quarter of 2019 with a form letter asking me to consider systematic giving through me checking account, via auto-withdrawls. Apparently, my church has been having difficulty with checks being lost or fraudulently cashed. When I checked my giving statement I noticed that my February contribution was missing. I looked at my bank statement and saw that it was cashed, so I emailed the lady who’s name was at the bottom of my letter. She informed me that the church had been the victim of mail fraud. If I obtained a copy of the cashed check from my bank I needed to check the back of the check to see if the Hope Church stamp was there. If not, there was a procedure I would need to go through, an affidavit to sign..etc. etc. Are you kidding me?? What kind of dirtbag comes up with a scheme to fraudulently cash checks made out to churches? How does this even work? I will be calling someone at church today to find out the details, but honestly...is this the worst thing ever? I angrily object.

Well ok...there you have it. The first four objections that come to mind today. Now that I have shared them with all of you, I feel much better. Now, I can go back to being positive and grateful for all of the bountiful gifts of life.

Nashville

Four days in Nashville managed to shut down The Tempest. 1350 miles later, I am ready to reintroduce myself to my profession, but grateful for the chance we had to visit with our son and daughter in law. Just a few weeks ago, we spent 36 hours with our daughter in Myrtle Beach. When your children live in far off places, this is what you are forced to settle for. Of course, it could be much worse. They could live in Sri Lanka.

Here are some cool pictures from our trip:

The Nashville Sounds baseball team (Triple A affiliate of the Texas Rangers), play their games in a beautiful ballpark which features a giant guitar shaped scoreboard. Instead of Racing Presidents, they feature Racing Country Music Stars. This picture shows from left to right...Dolly Parton, Reba McEntire, and Johnny Cash. The fourth place Star had a bad night and was so far behind he didn’t even make it into the picture...poor George Jones!

Patrick’s church is West End United Methodist. It is a beautiful structure with glorious stained glass windows and a thunderous pipe organ. The place was packed to the gills and when the organist employed the deep bass pedals on Christ the Lord is Risen Today, I half expected our Lord and Savior himself to appear before us for the organ solo. Amazing.

Sarah managed to whip up this amazing spiral-wrapped ham, encrusted with a heavenly mixture of pecans, orange zest and brown sugar, and other stuff that’s bad for you. It was fabulous. 

Not to be outdone, Patrick made this loaf of bread from scratch. Yes, it was as delicious as it looks. When Sarah then presented a small bowl filled with her butter...which she had whipped up homemade from scratch...the thought came to me that the kids are gonna be alright.

Here’s Pam, completely dominating her first encounter with a virtual reality video game. Hilarious.

Jackson, My Grandpup

Practically every morning when I open Facebook, I am treated to pictures of my friend’s grandchildren. I love everyone of them. They make me think of how incredible it will be someday when I have grandchildren of my own. When I do, many of you will eventual de-friend me because of all the pictures that I will be posting!! However, even though that day has not yet arrived, that doesn’t mean that I have nothing to share. After all, I do have a...grandpup.

This is Jackson, and his brand new stuffed elephant friend. He is very excited about this new friend and couldn’t wait to show the family. Jackson knows us as Lolly and Pops, and whenever those names are spoken, he gets very excited and walks towards the door expecting us to walk in. He is especially fond of Lolly, but does seem to prefer Pop’s ear scratches. He is a very good boy. Unfortunately both Jackson and Lucy share one dubious characteristic...exceedingly low intelligence. Whereas, our beloved Molly was the Einstein of dogs, with a better vocabulary than the current occupant of the White House, Lucy and Jackson are more like that sweet, kind hearted, slow kid who reached his mental apex in 5th grade. And while our Lucy is the most gracefully athletic dog we have ever had, Jackson is about as athletic as a tree. Watching him run is quite hilarious, all four paws flailing around at discordant angles, inefficiently pounding the ground like a jackhammer with a faulty hydraulic. While Lucy is like a speedy wide receiver, Jackson is more like a flat footed offensive lineman who rides the bench because he never can remember the snap count.

But...Jackson is currently my only grandpup, so I love him to pieces. Whenever Kaitlin and Jon send me pictures of this lovable guy I stop whatever I’m doing and smile. Dogs always do that to me. They always remind me that is possible to find incorruptible things in this life.

Wow! Look What I Won!?

When I woke up yesterday morning I immediately consulted my handy dandy weather app. I was to be fielding a team in a charity golf tournament at noon and wanted to know how to dress for the event. Sunny with high temperatures in the upper 60’s, it boldly stated. I chose shorts and a short sleeve golf shirt and only at the last minute decided to bring a long sleeve pullover thing just in case the wind picked up. This last minute decision probably saved my life. In my forty plus years of playing the game of golf, I have never played in wind like we had yesterday...the kind of wind that had flagsticks bent nearly at 45 degree angles...the kind of wind that had hats and trash scattered all over the place. In other words...a normal day in Scotland.

As one would expect, the conditions played havoc with my game. I have the kind of golf game that requires nearly perfect weather conditions, the precise alignment of planets, and the proper convergence of karma and feng shui to flourish properly. Needless to say, yesterday, my feng shui had left the building. Essentially, my team only had three functioning players, and luckily for me, I chose wisely. Mike, Scott and Renee were all on top of their games, and the 62 we shot was good for a tie for fourth place out of 22 teams.

Then, it was time for that hardy perennial of charity golf...the raffle. I had purchased two tickets and was unduly hopeful, considering my miserable golfing performance. But, perhaps since I was so unlucky at golf, I would strike raffle gold. Sure enough, my number was called, but in all the chatter and clanging of a hundred wind-crazed golfers, I didn’t hear what it was that I had won. I had my eye on that shiny new Titleist driver, and that set of Ping irons. I bounded to the front with great expectations, only to discover that I had won this...

Imagine how ecstatic I was to discover that I had won...a pair...of really high tech hearing aids...or maybe two nasal probes...or perhaps a couple of remote controlled quarter notes? No, soon I was informed that I was the proud owner of AirPods. As soon as I got home I presented them to my wife as an early birthday present, since there isn’t a way in hell I was ever going to be caught dead with these things dangling from my ears. She was thrilled and informed me that these things are quite expensive and currently all the rage.

Oooo-k.

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.