Beto’s Do-Over

Beto O’Rourke. I’m told he’s Kennedy-esk. He’s running for President and having a rough go of it. Still, everybody keeps saying he’s Kennedy-esk.

But, there he was yesterday, hat in hand, on The View, attempting a do-over. Beto regrets many things about the way he introduced himself to the Country. One of the things he regrets is this Vanity Fair cover. When Joy Behar, a celebrity with a 12 million dollar net worth asked Beto if he thought that perhaps the photo came across as elitist, he agreed. But when I look at Beto on the cover of Vanity Fair I don’t think Kennedy-esk. I think of Ronald Reagan...

Only, Reagan was smart enough not to put his dog in the shot. I’m thinking that Beto’s dog needs some love.

So, Beto regrets lots of things. He regrets being white. He’s very sorry about his privilege. He really wishes he wasn’t a wealthy man. He would have so much less to overcome as a candidate if he were say...poor, or Latino. Better yet...a poor Latino. Of course, the perfect storm would be if he were poor, Latino, disabled, and gay...but you have to play the cards you’re dealt. All of which brings me back to this Kennedy-esk business.

I’m here to tell you guys that there is nothing Kennedy-esk about Beto except maybe this look...

Aside from the striking physical similarities, there is nothing remotely Kennedy-esk about Beto. The Kennedy boys were all exceedingly proud of their upbringing. They worshiped the ground their old man walked on and were grateful as hell for their ginormous trust funds, since the financial security it provided allowed them to pursue public service. It would never have occurred to any of them to feel remorse for their whiteness or their privilege. Were they elitist? You bet they were. If they were eaten up with guilt about it, they had a funny way of showing it, inviting the press onto the grounds at Hyannis Port to showcase their privilege the way they did...

So, although Beto is no Kennedy, maybe he can retool his flagging campaign somehow by doing this apology tour. I suppose next up will be Oprah...

If he can manage some tears his numbers will bump up to double digits overnight.

There Goes The Neighborhood

I have walked through this door for over 21 years now. Just had it painted for the second or third time...I can’t remember. We’re the only people to ever live here. When we first moved in, the street out front hadn’t been paved yet. The place is almost paid for. Time flies.

I’ve watched a thousand sunrises through the Palladian window upstairs. Sure hope the Anderson’s don’t think I’ve been stalking them...

We’ve hosted many large family gatherings around these tables, with dogs walking beneath them, pestering everyone for a treat.

I have slaved like a beast to keep my lawn looking like this...

The inside of the house has always been Pam’s domain. The decor, the paint, the flair and warmth...all her.

And although most of the time we would rather be on a lake in Maine, this is the place we can’t wait to come home to.

Our neighborhood has changed a lot over the years. As our house has gotten older, our neighbors have gotten younger. There are kids everywhere, dogs too. While I may not be able to tell you the first name of everyone who lives on our culdesac, I’m on a first name basis with every dog in the subdivision. I think that means I’m a terrible neighbor. 

This particular corner of Short Pump is a melting pot. It didn’t feel that way as much when we first moved in, but now the place is much more diverse. There are Asian families, Russian families, African-Americans and Indians. Although, the changing ethnic balance in America at large has been associated with tension and acrimony, for me it’s been kinda fun. The fun comes with the kids. When I see all of them at play in the streets when I come home from work on warm summer days, I wonder why older people are so anxious to move to upscale retirement communities. Why would anyone want to surround themselves with a bunch of old farts? I would much rather live in a community which features an occasional appearance of a pickup truck full of princesses...

This is not to say that life in a suburban neighborhood is all moonlight and magnolias. The downside of unleashed pups is the appearance of dog poop in your yard. Having a peaceful dinner, alfresco, on a beautiful evening more often than not gets ruined by someone deciding to cut their grass across the way. And those beautiful kids? They can get quite noisy at times. Pam and I recently had dinner with some friends who had just built a house out in Goochland on five acres of farmland. As we sat on their back deck admiring the gorgeous view we couldn’t believe how...quiet it was...beautiful, beguiling quiet. But, if they get a hankering for ice cream at 10 o’clock at night, it’s a twenty minute drive. Life is about trade offs, I suppose.

At some point we may decide to downsize. Thats a big thing now, I hear. We might need a place with a first floor master bedroom, I’m told. Pam may get to the place where she wants the land, the wide open spaces and the quiet more than she wants a full service grocery store three minutes from her front door. Once I get grandkids of my own, I might not be so accommodating of other people’s kids. But for now...this is the place...

Two Great Monkey Jokes

Yesterday I posted a hilarious (to me, at least) video of this crazy attack monkey. A friend of mine, who knows hilarious videos when he sees one, sent it to me. As soon as I managed to stop laughing, I shared it with the world on Facebook. Funny thing is, until my buddy sent me that video, I hadn’t given monkeys a second thought in a very long time. Good thing, though...since it has sparked a memory of two of my all time favorite jokes, one a pun, the other a monkey walks into a bar joke. First, the pun:

Why did the monkey stop playing poker in the jungle?

He couldn’t find an honest game...too many...cheetahs.

A monkey walks into a bar, sits at a table and orders a martini. The bartender can’t believe it...a monkey in his bar!? But, he decides to play along, so he makes the martini and carefully sets it down in front of the monkey. The monkey takes the drink and gracefully begins sipping it like a pro. Then he hands the bartender a fresh twenty dollar bill. The bartender is astounded. He goes back to the register and watches the monkey sipping his martini like he’s been doing it all of his life! Then, the bartender decides to try something to see if the monkey notices...he walks back over to the monkey’s table and hands him one dollar in change. The monkey makes no response, just sits there sipping that martini. After a few minutes, the bartender just can’t stand it anymore...You know, he says, we don’t get too many monkeys in here.

The monkey looks up at him and says...Well, at nineteen dollars a drink, I’m not surprised.

Hope Thrift...a Volunteer’s Story

My church runs a thrift store called, unimaginatively...Hope Thrift. It is a sprawling place filled with everything from soup to nuts. It is run by a handful of full time employees, and an army of volunteers. As fate would have it, Pam and I ended up in a small group with Renee Norton, the top dog at the place. Naturally, Renee roped us into joining the ranks of volunteers. 

My first day of work was the first time in my life I had ever entered a thrift store. I have generally made it a habit to avoid such places. They give off the same, creepy vibe as yard sales, and you guys know how I feel about that miserable franchise! But, Renee was not to be denied, so off I went that first day nearly a year ago. As a first timer, I was shuffled to the back room, which I was told was the nerve center of the entire enterprise. In fact, it was actually the most chaotic part of the experience, the place where a nonstop procession of people would appear at the back door, eager to drop off all of their reject possessions in exchange for an orange receipt for their taxes. Once they did, it was my job to sort through it and determine what was fit to sell and what would get thrown in the giant dumpster out back. To my great surprise, I found that there was something...fun...about it. For one thing, the group of veteran Hope Thrifters I was working with were all great fun. There seemed to be a cheerful camaraderie among them, and their patience with me was appreciated. By the second or third shift, I was promoted to books, which meant...organizing the gargantuan mountain of mostly worthless and unreadable paperbacks, encyclopedias published before I was born, and coffee table books with provocative titles like...The 100 Deadliest Snakes of the Brazilian Rain Forest. (Why in the name of all that is holy would anyone get rid of that?)

But soon, my reputation for having no particular skill set for retail, combined with my tendency towards doing physical chores quickly got me promoted to the coveted position of DMLA...dumb manual labor associate. I now am free to roam around the floor looking for things to lift, clean, straighten up, etc. I still get book duty, and I must say that the selection of books on display has vastly improved since my insistence that we stick to works published in the last half century. Oh...one more thing...the single greatest part of the Hope Thrift gig is dumpster duty. Thats when Renee or Brenda or Jennifer, (one of the incredible women in charge) asks me to roll the reject cart out to the dumpster and throw everything in. I can’t tell you how much fun it is...especially when the dumpster is empty. The sound of breaking glass, the sight of hideous knickknackery busting into a hundred pieces at the bottom of a filthy metal dumpster is quite a thrill!!

My wife, on the other hand, has a much more responsible and respected position at Hope Thrift. She is...a cashier. There are many reasons for this...her cheerful smile, perky demeanor, pretty face and gift with numbers. She also works much more often than I do, especially once her school year if over. I only work the second Saturday afternoon of each month. The team of Pam and Lynn Hewette are quite the pair behind the register. One blond, one brunette, two perky smiles...stacking Benjamins all day long!

So, tomorrow is my day to work. Can’t wait, actually. It’s a wonderful place to serve. Many of the people who come there are in desperate need of things that most of us take for granted. To see them find incredible deals on essential items is a great feeling. To have a chance to share the love of Christ with them is a bonus. If you’re reading this and have never been to Hope Thrift, tomorrow after 1 o’clock would be a great time to visit. I’ll be available to help you load your treasures into your car. If you happen to be a member at Hope and have never volunteered at the store...get off your backside and sign up already, you slug! (This is probably why I never get asked to be a cashier like that silver-tongued Tom Allen)

The Month of May

 May is my favorite month. It’s the month of new beginnings, that month that punctuates my life with reminders of the best things that have ever happened to me. In order, they are...

May 11...my daughter Kaitlin’s birthday.

May 19...my wedding anniversary

May 25...my son Patrick’s birthday

In more recent years, the end of May also brings to a close the busy season of my work. I have intentionally front loaded my calendar with appointments and reviews with clients, so that I can free up the summer months for Maine and other pursuits. This would have been impossible not that very long ago, but after 36 years on the job, perseverance has rewarded me a measure of freedom. God bless America!

However, the three great milestones of my life mentioned above are far more important than my job. They are what give meaning to my work. Those three dates on the calendar are the ones highlighted bright green in my planner.

This girl was born on May 11th. She made me a parent for the first time. She is irreplaceable, impossible to duplicate. It’s as if she grabbed every good and decent trait from both of her parents and never let go of them. Somehow, she was able to pass on our baser qualities, with the possible exception of her father’s ultra-competitiveness and her mother’s perfectionist streak. She is impossibly bright, a supremely gifted teacher, a loyal and devoted friend, and knows how to pick a husband. If I had fewer fingers, I could count her failings on one hand. At the moment I can only think of a couple...her inability to promptly reply to my texts, and her lack of appropriate enthusiasm for baseball.

This boy was born on May 25th. He was and is the son I had always wanted. Every time I get into a debate with him about politics, it occurs to me that he is, indeed, my boy. When he makes a better case than I do, I’m so proud of him I can hardly stand it. He has the sensitive, discerning heart of an artist, a natural musical gift that cannot be taught, and a blistering, sarcastic wit...my one lasting contribution to his DNA. His mother would probably say that his only fault is the fact that the lenses of his glasses are always filthy. I would probably add that he is also a world class mess, although his lovely wife is slowly breaking him of that affliction. 

Look at these two kids. Good Lord, how did anyone allow these babies to get married 35 years ago? I look like the guy who realizes that he just pulled off the greatest heist in history. Pam looks angelic, blissfully unaware of what she has gotten herself in to. Poor thing. Neither of us knew what we were doing. We had no clue how hard it would be, understood nothing of what being an adult meant. But, we were in love, my friend...and that was enough. The fact that we still are is the single greatest blessing of our lives. So, we will celebrate 35 years. Of course, the celebration will have to wait until some time in June because thats what our life is like these days!

May is the greatest month.

TRUMP 2020 Slogans...

By my count it has been over six weeks since I have had anything to say about politics here at The Tempest. The last time was when I wrote about the Jussie Smollett affair back in March. It’s not that there hasn’t been lots of political news out there, its just that I haven’t been able to rouse myself to offer an opinion. For one thing, other things have been more interesting to me lately, but honestly after the last two years or so...politics has just worn me out. I think this is probably true for most people. No matter your opinion about Trump, or whether you are Democrat or Republican, conservative or liberal...its been an exhausting time. Every day brings a fresh story that in normal times would have gotten a three inch, screaming, above the fold headline. But now, you stumble upon it on page 16 right across from the soybean prices in section C. Look at me...using newspaper metaphors. How quaint!

I have come to believe that there is an evil genius quality to Donald Trump. One way to overcome bad news is to change the subject, and nobody in the history of the White House has done a better job of changing the subject. He has a knack of flooding the zone with one outrageous Tweet after another so furiously that before you can even respond to one provocation, he has raced on to the next one, leaving his detractors in the dust of their outrage. There has been nothing like it in my lifetime. The pure volume of his comments is staggering. And if you don’t like something he says, hang on for a few hours and he’s likely to contradict himself by the end of the day. I have come to think that its all...intentional. It’s hard to hit a moving target, harder still to hit one that moves as erratically as one of those lottery ping pong balls.

Another thing about Trump that I have come to understand is that among his supporters, nothing he says or does seems to bother them. Their support for him is as unwavering as the tides...

Trump Stabs Visiting Diplomat With White House Letter Opener...

Approval Rating Holds at 50%...highest support found among evangelicals

So, one consequence of his unique style is that guys like me, who used to spend half of our time staring at the latest headline, mouth ajar, thinking, What the hell??...now just shrug our shoulders and mumble, Meh, it must be Tuesday. Donald Trump has managed to turn    the vice of unstable narcissism into a virtue. “Eccentric” and “volatile” are no longer character flaws in a President. A good friend of mine who is a big Trump supporter told me that he enjoys it when Trump “tells fibs” because it shows that he knows how to keep his enemies guessing. You just never know what the man is gonna say or do, my friend says, meaning it as high praise. This is usually followed with...He doesn’t take any s**t from anybody, also intended as a compliment. When unpredictability, telling “fibs”, and refusing to take s**t from people are desirable traits, then its hard to imagine Trump doing anything which might cost him my friend’s support. Multiply my friend by 45 million, and you have the most solid base of support in the history of American politics.

Maybe the man gets impeached. Maybe he gets re-elected. Hard to tell...you just never know what the man is gonna say or do. Come to think of it, that might be the perfect slogan for his re-election campaign...TRUMP 2020...No Clue What He Might Say or Do. Or maybe this...TRUMP 2020...Like My First Term?...Hold My Diet Coke.

God Bless Good Friends

The Dunnevants had a very social week. We hosted two groups of friends for dinner, and babysat my grand niece for a day. The house has been eerily clean all week. The dishwasher has been taxed heavily. Our local grocery store now has us on their Christmas card list. But now, with the arrival of the weekend it’s all over. We have nothing on our social calendar for the next couple of weeks...and it feels good. But all of this socializing has me waxing philosophical about the need we humans have for good friends.

If someone were to ask me what the key ingredients are for a good life, I would probably say things like...family, faith, good health, and a job you enjoy. Don’t misunderstand...all of these things are important. But what about good friends? How crucial are they?

Every human being develops over time a personal guidance system which helps them identify dangers and avoid them. This guidance system is built slowly over your lifetime. All kinds of things contribute to the construction of this GS...your genetics, your environment, education and experience are big contributors. But, this GS doesn’t just help you identify the dangers in life, it also helps you spot the opportunities and equips you to discern an opportunity from a scam. The trouble is, nobody’s GS is foolproof...because we are all susceptible to error. That’s where good friends with good judgement come in.

If you are lucky enough to have a large and supportive family, you’ve got at least half of life licked. For me, this is particularly true. I have a wise and thoughtful wife, smart and discerning siblings. When my parents were alive, they were towers of common sense. Now, my two grown kids have turned out to be surprising sources of sharp insight. So, I am extraordinarily fortunate in this regard. But, even I need wise council from outside my family from time to time.

Now, every friend, even every close friend, isn’t always a reliable advisor...

ME: I think I’m going to take a second mortgage out on my house and buy that Bentley I’ve had my eye on.

FRIEND #1: Go for it, man! You only live once. Seize the day is what I say!

FRIEND #2: Wait..what? Are you freaking nuts?!

In this example, friend #1 is probably a lot more fun to hang with. He’s also the guy most likely to call you in the middle of the night to ask if he can crash at your place since his wife just threw him out of the house. Friend #2 however, has probably earned the right to get in your grill about this hair brain Bentley scheme, because he’s known you long enough to understand your weaknesses. He remembers the time you almost quit your job to pursue becoming a full-time poet. He was the one who slapped you across the face and reminded you that the last time an American made a decent living writing poetry it was Walt Whitman...but poor old Walt never made beans until he had been dead fifty years.

Sure, these are extreme examples, but you get it, don’t you? Each of us have friends like #1 and #2 above. And, thank God for both of them.

So, on a week where we have been surrounded by them, a tribute to dear friends seems in order. They are the people that enrich our lives by their existence. They are the people who laugh with us, celebrate with us, pray with us and cry with us in equal measure. They are the ones who are happy for us when we succeed, not resentful. They are the ones who are crushed by the things that crush us. They are the ones who in the midst of the worse times in life can be counted on to be there with their sleeves rolled up doing what needs to be done, without even asking...because they didn’t need to ask...they just knew.

God Bless good friends.

Lucy and Evelyn

Lucy has a new best buddy.

Yesterday, Pam kept Evelyn for the day. For those of you who haven’t met Evelyn, she is the beautiful little red-headed daughter of my niece, Christina Garland. Chrissy had some sort of daycare issue this week so the family helped fill in the gaps for her. Yesterday was Pam’s turn. Of course, Pam being Pam, the day was filled with learning activities and fun projects. Essentially, like a day at one of those expensive private pre-schools only this one was actually great fun. What nobody counted on was Lucy and Evelyn becoming...a thing.

It was surprising because Lucy hasn’t spent a lot of time around children. Our previous Golden, Molly (The World’s Greatest Dog)...grew up around kids, hundreds of them. Our house was constantly being overrun with teenagers during Molly’s time so she developed a love of them quite early. It resulted in a level of patience that seemed supernatural, and caused her to be willing to suffer practically any humiliation as long as it made everyone happy...

Lucy, on the other hand has lived a more isolated life. But yesterday, from the beginning—after the introductory excitement wore off—Lucy and Evelyn hit it off tremendously...

When I got home from work, I went upstairs to my dependable recliner, only to find that my reclining room had been commandeered and repurposed...

In other words, my house had magically been transported back in time, looking exactly as it did 25 years ago when my own kids would sprawl out on the floor with all manner of toys, lost in their make believe world. Of course that meant that the house always looked like a bomb had just gone off...but it was a glorious mess. Good Lord in heaven, I cannot wait for a grandchild...

My Daughter’s Moment

I must begin this post by stating the fact that I am generally not favorably inclined to the concept of going on strike for something. The entire concept flies in the face of one of my bedrock beliefs...ie, that you don’t get ahead in life...by demand...you get ahead in life ...by performance. But, life is all about the exceptions, isn’t it? Very few hard and fast rules hold up in every case, there are always exceptions. In my 40 year association, by proxy, with this nation’s public education system—being married to, sibling of and father of public school teachers, I have come to the conclusion that no tool, no matter how blunt, should be denied anyone unlucky enough to be employed as a teacher. Especially, if you are employed in South Carolina.

I will not regale you with all of the details of the issue. Suffice it to say that when your state ranks at or near the bottom of practically every measurable educational outcome that exists, there are truckloads of blame to go around. South Carolina education is a hot mess. So much so that a couple of weeks ago, my daughter shared with me about a decision she was trying to make with regards to a planned teacher walkout planned for today, May the 1st. Her conundrum was that while she too was fed up with the incompetence of leadership and the ignorance of politicians, not to mention the deplorable conditions under which she is asked to teach...she also dearly loved her students and had a great admiration and respect for her Principal. The thought of abandoning her students bothered her. The terrible inconvenience  and disruption this walkout would cause made her feel badly for her Principal...since nonbe of her problems were his fault. 

To make a long story short, my daughter sent him an amazing e-mail, explaining her decision to participate in the walkout. It was full of respect for him, gratitude for his support, and offered her help in fashioning a solution to what would be the distruptions of the day. In other words, it was the perfect way to have a disagreement with a superior. Be part of the solution, not part of the problem. His reply to her was equally gracious and respectful. An amazing corrrespondance that had me shaking my head...Why can’t our elected politicians disagree like this? 

So, today is the big day. Kaitlin, along with scores of other teachers from around the state are marching on the state capital. Let me allow my daughter to explain. This, from her Facebook post of this morning...

My school adopted a character education curriculum recently. This month, we’ve asked students to identify their core values, to assess how well their actions align with those values, and to live a life of courageous integrity. The morning News Show today ended with these words of wisdom: “If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for everything.”

Today, I told each of my classes that I’d be marching to the State House tomorrow to stand up for what I believe in . . . and what I believe in is THEM. 

They — my students — deserve smaller class sizes; access to more mental health professionals and programs; safe, calm learning environments; and the freedom to LEARN, uninterrupted by excessive testing. My students deserve teachers who are fairly compensated, supported, and treated with respect: teachers who want to stick around. My students deserve to live in a culture that views education as an honorable and competitive profession.

What do I stand for? I stand for my 12 and 13-year-olds, who deserve infinitely more than a “minimally adequate” education.

#alloutmay1 #scfored ❤️💪🏻

This, from a teacher who has won every award for outstanding performance it is possible to win as a school teacher. This, from someone who loves teaching, loves learning, and loves her students. But what she doesn’t love are gutless and incompetent politicians and administrators who pile one ridiculous demand after another on top of her each and every year with no regard for how any of it will affect her students, or her own ability to do her job. 

So...she is walking out today. 

Kaitlin Elizabeth Manchester is a hero.

My Father In Law

The guy in this photograph is my father in law, Russ White. This was taken a couple of years ago up at the lake house in Maine. However, it could very easily have been taken at Dummers Beach...any year over the past four decades. This is what he is known for whenever he gets near water in Maine. Naps. The only thing missing is an open copy of a Reader’s Digest folded across his stomach and those dreadful olive drab cut-off shorts he used to wear. His birthday was last week. 

One of the reasons that my wife is such a kind and tender hearted person is the influence of this guy. All he has ever done in his life is demonstrate for his kids and anyone else who knew him what it means to be...a gentleman. He treats people well, always more interested in their welfare than his own. He has reservoirs of patience that seem bottomless. He also possesses an excellent sence of humor, and a willingness to humiliate himself for the benefit of teenagers. When I was one, his performance with Roy Fama as Mario Pepperoni was an epic show that still gets talked about 45 years later!! Speaking of that epic patience? He was an Awana commander for a couple of decades at his church. If corralling a hundred elementary school kids in a church gymnasium every week isn’t the very definition of patience, then I don’t know what is!

But, my father in law has his faults too. For one thing, he’s an unrepentant Redskins fan. Although, he almost makes up for that by hating the Yankees, so that’s a wash, I suppose. See, even when I try to balance this tribute with a listing of his faults, I just can’t. Russ White is simply...the man.

Best part is...he gave me this woman, who inherited his graciousness, kindness, and servant’s heart.

Happy Birthday, Russ.

My Future Plans

2024 will be a big year in my life, assuming that I’m still alive. I take nothing for granted when contemplating the future. None of us is guaranteed anything in this life, and besides, obsessing about the future can rob you of the present. The famous John Lennon lyric comes to mind...Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans. So, I try to stay as grounded in the here and now as much as I can...with varying degrees of success. But, 2024 will be big and to ignore it would be foolish. What’s so special about 2024, you ask?

1. I turn 66 and become eligible for full retirement benefits from Social Security.

2. My house will be paid off, leaving me completely debt free for the first time since I was 18.

3. It is the year I have always circled on my life clock to begin the process of winding down my professional career.

Number three will be a process. I actually enjoy parts of my job, namely the relationships I have built with hundreds of clients, working closely with them over the years to help them reach their goals, and now watching them enjoy the fruits of their labors. That amounts to roughly 25% of the job. The rest is the soul-crushing stuff...the mountains of paperwork, the legal and compliance issues, the ever more complex regulatory gauntlet that must be endured each and every year. Since I never want to give up the relationships part of the business, I plan to hire out the drudgery of the other 75% to someone else starting in 2024. This will dramatically free up my schedule for other pursuits:

1. Purchasing a lake house in Maine where I intend to live from June through September of each year. Pam and I will spend our summers in our favorite place in the world. We will host a procession of guests throughout our four months there, from our kids, to other family members, to dear friends who we can’t wait to introduce to the Maine experience. If an opportunity doesn’t present itself to purchase a place, we will become someone’s all-time favorite renter. Either way, we are doing this.

2. Being Grandparents. By 2024, surely we will get our chance. I don’t know that I have looked forward to anything quite so much as becoming a grandfather. I have watched my friends do it, seen all the pictures, heard all the stories. I can’t wait! I fully intend to spoil them to within an inch of their lives. I’m also quite sure that I will scare my children to death with the plans I have to instill a sence of risk-taking exuberance into my grandchildren. 

3. Become a published author. Just because I will have backed away from the day to day demands of my business does not mean that I will abandon the pursuit of accomplishment and a new source of income. 2024 will herald my second professional act, or a grand side hustle if you will. I intend to write...a lot. And, finally, I will have the time to devote to pursuing getting stuff published.

4. Travel. I have been fortunate enough in my life to visit some beautiful places, but nowhere near enough of them. I want to see all of Europe that’s worth seeing, not just Switzerland and Britain. I want to go to Australia, would love to visit Africa to see what all of my missionary friends have been raving about all these years. I could even be persuaded to spend a couple of weeks in the South Pacific.

Of course, all of this is tentative, totally dependent on fate and God’s will. But, I have found that it does help to have at least the outline of a plan for the future. The key is to not write everything down in ink. Always be willing to employ an eraser if life throws you a curve. But, this is the plan today...April 29, 2019.

Can’t wait.

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.