It’s Complicated

COVID and all of the related angst and upheaval it has visited upon the world has turned 2020 into the dark punch line of a joke that nobody laughs at or understands. It has touched every corner of our lives in one way or another. When combined with the racial unrest and resulting violence and destruction in America’s cities that it has spawned, a dystopian stench has attached itself to 2020 and it becomes stronger every day. But...it’s not the Great Depression, it’s not World War II. Heck, it’s not even 1968 Newark, New Jersey. But, it’s something.

Much is currently being made of a poll that was taken about the “acceptability” of the number of deaths from the Coronavirus. Seems like a strange question, and I would love to see the exact wording of the question, but nevertheless, 57% of republicans say that the current number of deaths via COVID are acceptable. This has prompted a great hue and cry from many quarters. I am awfully glad that I was not asked this question, because it would have left me in a gigantic quandary of conflicting thoughts. The pollster would probably have fallen asleep before I was able to answer the question. I would have peppered him or her with many questions of my own, primarily, compared to what?

Last year, in the United States there were 170,000 accidental deaths, ie deaths that were unintentional, many job related, most of them motor vehicle accidents. I would imagine to the families of these 170,000 souls, not a single one would have been acceptable. But, what about to the nation as a whole? Considering how much physical work gets done in this country every year, considering the millions of miles that Americans drive every year, 170,000 deaths would be considered acceptable as a natural consequence of human activity. I doubt there would be any calls for parking our cars, or avoiding work because of the potential for fatal accidents. However, nobody would object to precautions taken to lessen the number of such accidents through things like seat belts, airbags, driving slower, and work place safety measures.

When it comes to COVID deaths, 174,000 deaths over the past six months is a lot of death. Moreover, unlike car accidents or falling off os a scaffold on a construction site, COVID is contagious. Anything that is so seems scarier. But, to those who say, this amount of deaths is unacceptable, what does that mean exactly? Do they mean that 174,000 deaths from COVID could have been avoided with some different policy provisions? Perhaps if we had followed New Zealand’s example, we could have saved many lives? New Zealand is home to 4.5 million people, similar to the population of Kentucky. Yet, its land area would cover the east coast from Florida to Pennsylvania. New Zealand isn’t a financial center of the world. New Zealand doesn’t have people from all over the world traveling to and from its shores. Maybe what worked for New Zealand is impractical for us, maybe not. But isn’t context important? 

If the point of the poll question is How many deaths from a currently incurable disease is acceptable in the context of a free society with a trillion dollar economy, then I might be inclined to answer...yes. One has to answer another question, it seems to me...what amount of destruction of businesses, increased domestic violence, increased suicides, along with rises in mental health problems are acceptable as the alternative? The question of risk always involves trade offs. If you shut down a nation as large and economically consequential as ours, attempt to quarantine 300 million people as volatile as us, you are basically accepting the above risks as more desirable than the loss of 174,000 people from COVID. That’s an entirely fair and justifiable position to take, and I’m not saying you are wrong to think so. But, the question seems over simplified. Perhaps some of the folks who answered the poll question had these trade offs in mind. Maybe some of them thought the question a strange one. Or, maybe some of them are heartless money-grabbers who care nothing about deaths. Who knows? What would have been my answer? Probably something like....it’s complicated!!

Greatest Headline Ever

Every now and then I see a headline on the Drudge Report that gets my undivided attention. This morning it was this one:

Pecker Out At National Enquirer 

I think, Well sure...its the Enquirer! Then I read further and decide that this might be the greatest headline of the year. CEO of the National Enquirer, David Pecker, has stepped down after a merger of the company with A360, LLC.

These days we have to find laughter anywhere we can.

So, the Democratic convention is over, and from what I have read Joe Biden gave a good speech. The Obama’s gave speeches, as did the Clinton’s. Lots of other people gave short speech-etts. The consensus opinion seems to be that the first virtual political convention was pulled off rather well, considering the fact that it had never been tried before. Next up will be the Republicans, who will attempt the same thing, albeit with far inferior star power. They won’t have any beautiful actresses, handsome actors and hip entertainers to glitz up the proceedings, unless you still consider the dude who played Chachi on Happy Days glitzy. But, the Republicans have never been able to compete with the stranglehold that the other side has on Hollywood. All of the beautiful people are always Democrats. Nevertheless, it hasn’t stopped Lincoln’s party from winning elections, so maybe it doesn’t matter. 

As of this morning there are 80 days until Election Day.

It’s going to be excruciating.

Revolution?

In August of 1968, Americans were jolted by two disturbing images on their television sets. The first was from Chicago as policemen violently clashed with protesters in the streets outside the Democratic National Convention. The second was the appearance of Soviet tanks rumbling through the streets of Prague, Czechoslovakia crushing the nascent Prague Spring movement. It seemed that the world was coming apart, the streets filled with discontent and blood. Three months later, The Beatles released Revolution, John Lennon’s reaction to the violence and chaos. Some on the left praised his commitment to peaceful protest and non-violence. Others were shocked and disappointed. You be the judge:

You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world

But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know that you can count me out
Don't you know it's gonna be 
All right, all right, all right

You say you got a real solution
Well, you know
We'd all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well, you know
We're doing what we can

But if you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell is brother you have to wait
Don't you know it's gonna be 
All right, all right, all right

You say you'll change the constitution
Well, you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well, you know
You better free you mind instead

But if you go carrying pictures of chairman Mao
You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don't you know it's gonna be 

An observation or two 52 years later...

First of all, how in the world has it been 52 years since this song was released? Secondly, in my opinion, it’s remarkable how well these sentiments have held up. I’m still not interested in—giving money for people with minds that hate. My attitude towards destruction remains—count me out. And frankly, I’m still waiting—to see the plan. But most of all, I still turn away in disgust for people who do the 2020 equivalent of—go around carrying pictures of Chairman Mao.

But, aside from the lyrics, Revolution was a rocking great tune that still makes me want to crank up the volume, roll down the windows and sing at the top of my lungs!

Why My Church Runs a Thrift Store

This is going to be a long but fun day.

My church runs a thrift store in the West End that Pam and I have been volunteering at for a couple of years now. It’s a typical thrift store in many ways except it has really nice stuff priced really cheap, so they move merchandise like nobody’s business. The store makes a lot of money and  plows it back into a wide variety of charities and ministries here in our city and around the world. The stories I could tell about what a blessing that place has been to people down on their luck are incredible. It’s been a great place to volunteer our time, along side people who want to make a difference in the lives of people who enter the building.

Well, today, we are opening a second store over at the Belgrade Shopping Center south of the river. Pam and I took a shift from 11:00 to 3:00. I haven’t seen the place yet but I’ve heard the stories and can’t wait. I blame Renee Norton for getting me hooked up with this thrift store gig. She is, for lack of a better term, the general manager of the operation, the boss lady who happens to be in our small group at Hope. But she isn’t the only passionate cheerleader of the store, I could rattle off the names of at least a dozen others who have devoted large chunks of their time to make the place work. There are only a handful of full time employees of the store. The vast majority of those who work there are volunteers like Pam and me. You can imagine how difficult it has been to get the nearly 190 such volunteers to venture back out to work once again after the shut down caused by COVID. I mean, this isn’t exactly what anyone would call a sterile environment. (There are dumpsters involved!!). But, here we are, opening a second location in the year of a pandemic. 

One story...a year or so ago there was a young mother with three elementary school aged kids. She was clearly struggling with the enormity of the task of getting three young children ready for back to school with very limited resources. As she got to the register she laid out a ton of cute clothes that looked like new clothes, enough to give each child several outfits for the new school year. When the order was rung up it was an insanely small amount of money. The look on her face...the relief, the gratefulness that she had found so much for so little shown from that face like a beam of light. Tears welled in her eyes.

That’s exactly why my church runs a thrift store and why we are opening a second one in the middle of a pandemic. Stop by if you get a chance.

The Conventions

There will be a virtual political convention this week for the first time ever. The Democrats will nominate Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. It will all be live-streamed and covered on the networks and many cable channels. I will read reports about what happened later but I won’t be watching. Whenever it’s the Republican’s turn, which I assume will be sometime later this month, I won’t watch that either. It’s not that I don’t care what goes on at these things. It’s not that I don’t think it’s important and all. The thing is, I just don’t have the stomach for it anymore. Whenever I see a high profile politician giving a speech at a high profile television event like a convention or, even worse, a debate, part of me really does want to watch. Sometime, I even start out watching. Then after ten or fifteen minutes I start getting sick on my stomach. Not throwing up sick, but more like a queasiness that you know won’t end in vomiting, but will still be quite uncomfortable. I find myself sitting there offering my silent objections after every third sentence or so...that’s bullshit...that was taken out of context...that’s a half truth...what a lie...that’s a deliberate distortion...and that’s just when the journalist are talking! Once the politicians start in, these silent objections become not so silent. My blood pressure starts going up, and before long my entire week gets ruined. So, no. I will not be watching.

Another reason I won’t be watching is that these things never—-and I mean never—change anyone’s mind. Political conventions are for the party faithful. It’s like a pep rally for the already converted. If I was a partisan Democrat or Republican, I would love a convention. What partisan wouldn’t, right? There you are surrounded by like minded people getting fired up about the man or woman you are convinced is the only person who can save the country. Back when I used to tune in, from about 1968 thru 2000, the delegates all looked like they were having a blast, well, except for the Dems in ‘68. Some of them would dress up in crazy patriotic costumes and stuff, parade around with huge elephant hats and carrying donkey shaped purses, all looking ecstatic to be there saving the world.

Then, there was the big balloon drop on the last night after the nominee’s speech. When I was a kid I thought it was so incredibly cool watching those red, white and blue balloons filling the arena, a sea of color and fun. It all seemed so magical. 

Now everything seems poisonous. Where once these events radiated a sense of joy and possibility, now they seem angry and out for blood and revenge. The other guys aren’t just wrong, they’re evil. They’re not just mistaken on policy, they want to destroy the country, strip us of our freedoms, turn us into a communist state, destroy the environment. It’s all so overwrought and pompous, their comportment about as self absorbed as it is possible to me. 

Somebody once described politics as the art of the possible. Nothing could possibly be further from the truth. There is no art, and the only thing possible is whatever we have enough votes to pass and then shove down the other guy’s throat.

Nope. No sale.

Missing Pam

So, Pam’s girls weekend has been extended for another day because of this rain. She doesn’t feel comfortable making the drive carrying three of her family with bladders the size of thimbles. She also has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from the the time we drove to Maine in a driving rainstorm a few years ago. It took very little coaxing to convince her to stay another night with Kaitlin. Of course, this means that I will have to actually cook something for dinner tonight.

Now that I think about it, this is the first time I have been separated from my wife for three consecutive nights in I don’t know how long. It’s been a strange experience. Lucy and me alone in the house...while it rains outside. Lucy has been discombobulated by the lack of women. She wanders around, looking out the front door windows waiting for Bernadette to come for a lunch time visit. When Bern didn’t come yesterday, she was quite put out. Once she remembers that it’s just the two of us, she sighs heavily and plops herself on the floor at my feet, dejected. Even now as I write this, she sits at the front door waiting patiently for someone more interesting than Dad to show up...

So, what have I been up to since Thursday? Gallivanting with the boys, drinking copious amounts of adult beverages at a sports bar somewhere, making inappropriately large wagers on a golf course?? A. My gallivanting days are over. B. COVID and C. It’s pouring down rain. Instead, I have busied myself doing a few things around the house trying to distract myself from missing my wife. I spent nearly an hour inside our large shower scrubbing mildew stains and disgusting grout. I vacuumed the house. I cleaned the bathrooms. Then, I flipped the mattress, changed the sheets and dusted the furniture. Which brings me to the task at hand...making dinner.

So far, I have gotten by with left overs and a hearty dinner of tuna fish and crackers. Tonight, it’s time for me to actually cook something, and to that end, Pam left a handy suggestion for me...

That’s right, a Dunnevant family standby...beef nacho Casserole...only Pam has substituted chicken for steak, owing to what she knew would be my horrible eating habits while she was gone. I have taken the time to set out all the ingredients in preparation for the job...

If Pam were here, this meal would be served with a salad to provide vegetables. But, Pam is not here, so tonight’s dinner will be served only with two fine beers that my son bought while in Maine. No vegetables, unless you count hops. Wait, that’s a grain. Yeah, no veggies. I will post an “after” photograph once this comes out of the oven.

As far as the missing my wife thing goes, listen I make no apologies. Can I help it that I would rather be with her than anybody else? She’s smart, pretty and fun. So, shoot me for missing her after only three days!

Six Months of COVID

It’s been six months since I first wrote the word Coronavirus on this blog. Six disturbing, unprecedented months. The sum total of inaccurate predictions about COVID made by very smart people in this country has been staggering. Almost all of us, smart or not, have been spectacularly wrong about everything from how long it would last, how many people it would infect and how many would perish. Wrong. Consistently wrong. The World Health Organization, the Center For Disease Control, and politicians from Bill de Blasio to Donald Trump...wrong. In six months we have been told that mask wearing did little to protect against the virus, only to see mask wearing become ubiquitous as well as a symbol of both virtue and rebellion. Almost weekly some new development shakes our understanding of the thing, and calls into question past assumptions, leaving all of us feeling battered by conflicting and inscrutable data. Some point to the constantly changing official narratives as evidence of some grand conspiracy on the part of either Donald Trump or the Democratic Party to advance nefarious unarticulated agendas. I propose a different interpretation for all of the tumult.

Has the government response been a third world dumpster fire of incompetence? Yes. Has some of the incompetence been intentional and politically motivated? Probably. But incompetence and treachery should to a certain extent be expected when you’re dealing with A. An unprecedented pandemic and B. Politicians who have long traded in the currency of treachery. A better explanation of the constantly changing narrative has to do with the fact that every single day of this fight we are learning something new. Right now, not just here but all around the world, the very best minds on Earth are working on the science of COVID 24/7. Doctors, scientists, researchers, pharmaceutical companies, think tanks, universities, all delving into the nuts and bolts of this virus, scrambling for a vaccine and in the process, the universe of knowledge about COVID-19 continues to expand daily. With all of this brain power, money and institutional focus, we are discovering that earlier information we thought to be true was not true. This isn’t the result of some convoluted Rube Goldberg conspiracy, rather, its the result of the scientific method of trial and error yielding new information. What do you do when you obtain new information that calls into question what you thought to be true in the past? Hopefully, you use this new information to make smarter decisions going forward. Or...you could just say, “what the hell? I’ll just keep doing things the way I’ve always done them.” I personally expect the government to adapt to this new information, even if it means contradicting a previous position. Heck...especially if it means contradicting a previous position. That’s not weakness, that’s simple intelligence.  

So, hearing one thing from leaders one week and something else a couple weeks later might be frustrating and confusing, but it’s the nature of what we are up against. For someone like me, who instinctively distrusts politicians of all stripes, this has been a very difficult six months. It has taken much effort for me to guard against easy cynicism. But there’s nothing easier or quite as intellectually lazy as the false comfort of conspiracy theories. If something goes terribly wrong in the world it’s so much easier to blame it on your political enemies, even with thinly sourced and unverifiable plots undertaken by some shadowy confederacy of dunces on the other side of the aisle. It’s far harder and much less emotionally reassuring to acknowledge that highly contagious and deadly viruses are complex and devilishly difficult to overcome quickly and painlessly. 

So, I’ll wear the mask. I’ll try to socially distance myself from those outside of my circle. I’ll wash my fingers to the bone and use hand sanitizer whenever appropriate...right up until the moment I’m told that new and credible information is available that says these things are unnecessary. What’s credible? I would say, scientifically tested and peer reviewed data produced by someone other than the Daily Kos or World News Daily.

Happy Weekend...

It’s Friday. Make of this what you will...

Back in the day, I took my 8-year old girl to the office with me on, "Take Your Kid to Work Day." As we were walking around the office, she starting crying and getting very cranky, so I asked what was wrong with her. As my coworkers gathered round, she sobbed loudly...

“Daddy, where are all the clowns you said you worked with??”

I looked my Pops straight in the eyes and with my best poker face said, “If I had a dollar for every time someone over forty told me my generation stinks...

...I could afford to buy a house in the economy they ruined!”

I was going to tell a joke about COVID-19...

But there’s a 99.42% chance you won’t get it.

Girls Weekend

My wife is leaving me today. No...it’s not what you’re thinking. She has organized a trip to go see Kaitlin down in South Carolina. She has recruited her mother and two sisters. The four of them haven’t gone anywhere overnight together in years. All of them have been driven half crazy by the isolation and monotony of COVID-life. So, my wife hatched a plot to travel down to see Kaitlin for three days and two nights of girl stuff, which I’m told will include such ghastly things as pedicures and the like, long lazy gab sessions where they will talk about whatever it is that women talk about when they are allowed to assemble without the annoyance of their husbands. Sounds dreadful to me, but she is thrilled to be able to spend some times with her girls. This will also be Kaitlin’s last hurrah of the summer, since next week her school year will be revving up.

Of course, any trip that involves two or more Dunnevant women must have a functioning snack table. Long time readers of this space have been treated to photographic evidence of the many snack tables of past vacations. They are a monument to high blood pressure, cholesterol and diabetes, and represent the complete and total abandonment of all self restraint, and without them we would all perish. So, despite the fact that this particular trip is only for three days and two nights, a snack table still has to be erected. To that end, Pam spent much of yesterday preparing an assortment of trail mixes and cookies. Because she is Pam, she didn’t forget me, or Bernadette and Isaac...

Since this is 2020, planning for this getaway had to include a whole host of safety protocols. (For the record, the word protocol has become my least favorite word in the English language). Pam has packed enough masks, hand sanitizer and Clorox wipes for all of Columbia. The hotel rooms she has booked have already been chosen and set aside for maximum safety and convenience. The next three days will be as COVID-proof as it is possible to be. 

Special prayers should be lifted up on my son-in-law’s behalf, as he must face being the only man in the house with five female members of the Dunnevant /White family. No prayers necessary for Jackson who will think he has died and gone to heaven as soon a Lolly walks thru the door!

As for me, Pam has left me a couple of idiot proof recipes for my consideration. I will miss her. More important, if there is a thunderstorm here while she is gone, Lucy will miss her even more!

Kamala Harris

Joe Biden announced yesterday that he has chosen Kamala Harris as his running mate, making her the first African American woman on a major party ticket, this despite the fact that neither her Mom or Dad were African American, but rather, Indian and Jamaican...so I’m throughly confused. But, add to all that the fact that her husband is a Jewish white guy, and Ms. Harris certainly checks off all the identity politics boxes. So, unless Donald Trump kicks Mike Pence to the curb in favor of Kanye West, the 2020 contest is set. A match for the ages.

I’m told that Kamala Harris’ religious upbringing was split between a Baptist church and a Hindu Temple...think: teetotaler who dreams of being reincarnated as a Confederate General. 

Look, I know that I should have an opinion about this, something erudite and thoughtful, appropriately serious for the momentous moment in which we find ourselves. But I just can’t come up with anything. At a time of such great peril, a time of pandemics, a time when our national finances are as underwater as the Titanic, a time of great racial strife and social unrest, we are running two old men for President, two profoundly compromised old men. Our choices don’t seem to fit the moment. But here we are.

Now, for the next three months I will be bombarded with endless greater of two evils arguments. I will be warned by some that if I don’t climb on the Trump Train, the Republic will be lost. Others will assure me that should we re-elect the sitting President, civil war will be the best case scenario. My facebook feed will soon be crawling with clever memes, grave warnings, over the top fact-free broadsides, and lots of fire-breathing ALL-CAPS screeds from the motivated partisans out there. Part of me envies them their motivation. Part of me wishes I could find a sliver of their confidence. Instead, I wake up every morning, read the news and hope that, like Bob Newhart*, I’ll suddenly wake up and realize that it’s all been a dream.

* For all of you Millennials, Google “Newhart Finale”

August Sucks

I have written more than once in this space about my distaste for the month of August, which, along with February, competes each year for the status of most hated month. February’s sins are obvious enough. It’s the dead of winter. But why should August be singled out for ridicule? It is, after all, a summer month, a time when many people vacation. It should be a time of lazy days and memories.

But, there’s this...

To my friends in Maine, these may be curious images indeed. Why are the windows of your house fogged over with moisture at 6:15 in the morning? Is it raining outside? It looks like the sun is shining. Correct. The sun is shining. In fact, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. No, no...this is August in Short Pump, that delightful time of year when the simple act of walking to the mailbox causes you to sweat off a pound. You will never hear anyone from Virginia begin a sentence with the phrase, “Remember that delightful August day when...” No, August is something to be endured, like gout or diarrhea. There are no holidays in August. What would be the point? 

The conditions under which I took the above photographs were as follows:

6:25 am

Temperature: 73

Relative humidity 97%

Wind: 1 mph

How on Earth can the humidity be 97% if it’s not raining? Excellent question, the answer to which no Southerner knows. All I know is it will be this way until the middle of September. My Mosquito Authority guy is coming today to treat the yard, possible the most pointless exercise of all time, since there isn’t enough money in all of Christendom to make me sit outside on my deck during the month of August. August nights around here are for inside sports...like walking around the house naked lifting prayers of praise and thanksgiving for the invention of Air Conditioning. Speaking of which, why isn’t this man on Mt. Rushmore??

Wills Carrier. Inventor of Air Conditioning.

Is This The Handsomest Man in China?

Li Haotong is a professional golfer from Communist China. At the beginning of the third round of the PGA tournament, he was in sole possession of the lead, a first for a player from his country. The philosophical contradictions of a communist playing the game of golf for insane amounts of money is just one more thing to chalk up to the Twilight Zone that is 2020.

Mr. Haotong, unlike most professional golfers, seems to have a personality, in that he has proclaimed himself the most handsome man in China. Apparently he has the claim etched on the back of his sand wedge. Here’s a picture of him. You be the judge.

 I’ve never been to China. Maybe he is that nation’s handsomest man. I’m the last guy in the world you would want judging a male beauty contest, and handsome is most definitely in the eye of the beholder and all that, not to mention the fact that different cultures have different standards of what makes a human being handsome. But I’m thinking that he looks like a simple doofus, nothing more. Wait...I found a more flattering picture...

Nope...doofus.

Of course, who am I to judge?

Unfortunately for Li, the white hot glare of the spotlight took its toll on his golf game in yesterday’s third round when he lost his lead by shooting a 73, winding up in a tie for 13th place. But, at least he has his good looks to fall back on.

Worst Dad Jokes of the Week

Friday can only mean one thing. That’s right, it’s time for the very worst Dad Jokes of the week, compiled here for your reading discomfort:

Why did the mexican push his wife off a cliff?

Because he wanted...tequila 

What do you call a painter who loves running through the grass?

Jackson Frolic.

Where does virgin wool come from?

Ugly sheep.

How many ADHD kids does it take to change a light bulb?

Let’s go ride bikes!

How do we know that Matt Damon is a religious man?

Because he’s always...Bourne again.

I think I know why people get so angry when you call them “average”.

It’s a...mean...thing to do.

I told my wife, “Don’t get upset if people call you “fat”

...”you’re bigger than that.

A Day of Dread

Men of a certain age will totally understand this post. Younger guys either won’t or will smugly roll their eyes. But, today is a day that I dread every year...my annual medical exam.

It used to be that I never had an annual physical. I only went to the doctor when I was violently ill or leaking bodily fluids. Now I’ve become a regular, not just with my family doctor, but a host of specialists. I have a couple colonoscopies under my belt at this point, and one prostate exam, I think, so I got that going for me. Today is the annual physical, that appointment that my wife started insisting on after my heart thing 18 years ago and the mini-stroke misunderstanding of a few years back. Each year it’s the same. I set the appointment far in advance, forget to write it down in my appointment book, then get that frightening phone call a week out reminding me of the appointment I made six months ago. The friendly nurse reminds me to show up thirty minutes early, (not gonna happen—I have no intention of taking five minutes to fill out a form, then waiting in a room full of terminal germ machines for 25 minutes for my appointment), and that I can have nothing except black coffee and water eight hours before my arrival. Pam always gives me a helpful list of things I need to ask the doctor. It’s a good thing too, since without her list I would just sit there holding my breath waiting for it to all be over.

My doctor is great. Very personable. He occasionally even glances up from his laptop to make eye contact. Some of his helpful comments are:

Doctor: Wouldn’t hurt you to lose a couple pounds.

Me: Yeah...

Doctor: Does it hurt when I do this?

Me: Yeah. Stop doing that.

At some point he sends me down the hall to have blood taken out of my arm by a perky group of nurses in a small room where all of them are going on and on about something that happened last night at Bojangles like I’m not even in the room...

Nurse: Anyways, this cow starts yelling at the cashier—make a fist for me, honey—and I had just about had enough so I yell at her, “Yo, b**ch, shut the f**k up ‘for I come over there and mess you up”—-little pin prick now—I’m telling you, she was craaazy!

Then I am instructed to donate a urine sample into a handy little cup thing. Be sure your aim is true!! When I hand the specimen back to the nurse it always gives me the creeps for some reason.

Of course, no annual physical would be complete without the obligatory anal exam, which is a whole other level of awkwardness. Doc pulls on his gloves with an authoritarian snap, then begins his probing all the while trying to make conversation:

Doctor: So, how about this weather, huh? Hot enough for ya? Cough for me now. How’s the family?

The basic problem with the annual physical is the fear that this year will be the year when he finds something...

Doctor: Everything seems to be totally fine...wait, Hello...what have we here???

So today I will do my duty. I will faithfully ask all sixteen questions on Pam’s list...number 14–Why is he so_______? Hopefully, I will leave his office with renewed vigor, energized by his positive view of my overall condition, pending return of all blood work results.

Of course, every woman over the age of 40 is reading this thinking...what a baby! You want awkwardness? Try a mammogram and a gynecologist appointment every year buddy boy!!

Child of God

My friend has been battling cancer for a year now. Our text-correspondence began in earnest in August of 2019. It’s been a year of pain, agony, joy and miracles. It has also been 12 months of truly terrible jokes. This morning’s exchange was pretty typical...

She’s been through just about every set back you can imagine. Every single side effect you can possibly imagine from chemo has been faced and endured, if not overcome. This month will be a particularly difficult one for her. There are tons of tests and another surgery, plus more chemo. If it were me, I would probably have given up by now. But, Pam is a rock star of fortitude and faith. She just battles, grinds, does what needs to be done. 

Yes. She has had a few bad days, where she gets down on herself. Every once in a while she gives in to self pity. But it’s rare. When she is in one of those moods, she has been able to count on me to talk trash to her, give her hell for the bad attitude, etc... What she doesn’t know is that I always feel bad for being mean to her. Even though she always thanks me for my “straight talk” and assures me that it helped, I always feel rotten for doing it. I compensate with extra horrible jokes.

The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never gone through having a friend with cancer. Half the time I don’t know what to say. What I do know is that any difficulty or awkwardness that I might experience can’t be compared to the truckload of difficulty that has been dumped on her. There’s another thing I know...she is going to beat cancer. In many ways, she already has. But she will beat it for good one day, and that day is getting closer and closer.

Here’s a picture of her on her birthday a couple of years ago pre-cancer...

Here’s one of her from a couple of weeks back after a year of fighting...

Cool hat. Same smile, and as she would say, “Same child of God.”

Yay or Nay??

For over 17 years I have been a three times a week workout guy at American Family Fitness in Short Pump. Or, at least I was until it was closed down back in early March due to COVID. When you’ve done something for that long it becomes an integral part of your life. The reasons that I have been so committed to working out three times a week are complicated. Yes, exercise is good for my health, but it’s more than that. For me the primary benefit is stress relief. I always go around 3 o’clock in the afternoon when the crowd has thinned out. I do 45 minutes of cardio, then some light weights, hit up the sauna and pool, then take a quick shower and head home. Takes an hour and fifteen minutes. Three times a week. For almost 18 years.

Back in March, April and May AmFam was good enough to forego my membership dues. But for the last two months they have started hitting up the checking account for the fee on the first of the month. In June, Pam and I were still in super cautious mode, not wanting to catch anything that might jeopardize Maine. In July, we were in Maine the whole month. Now that I’m back, it’s time to consider returning. To that end, I thought I would head over and check the place out yesterday afternoon, to see what changes they had made. They were gracious enough to allow me to take pictures, a practice they normally frown upon, since they knew that I needed to convince the COVID police, ie...my wife! Here’s what I found:

No steam room. No sauna.

No basketball.

Social distancing at AmFam is 10 feet, not 6 feet.

No more free water.

Literally every machine of every description has it’s own disinfectant spray bottle.

Upon entering the facility, everyone must take and use a blue wiping off equipment towel.

Don’t get too close in the locker room, fellas.

Only use the equipment without the red cones!!

I went over right around lunch hour which is normally a busy time. On the entire first floor I saw maybe four and five people. I asked Al, the manager, about the crowds. he pointed to the nearly empty floor and said, This is about how it is all the time...

So, what say you? Should a 62 year old man with more than his share of risk factors go back...or not?

The Wages of Fame

Since my return from Maine I have gotten back into the rhythm of my normal life, which includes a daily dose of news with my first cup of coffee. I’ve learned of Donald Trump’s plans to cling to office after the 2020 election, even if he loses. I’ve been brought up to speed on the 60 day protest lalapalooza that is Portland, Oregon. I have learned about the nine women who are being considered as Joe Biden’s running mate. I’m all caught up on the latest leaks from the Jeffrey Epstein case, including the shocking news that Bill Clinton was seen on the premises of Pedo Island with not one, but two underage girls on his arms. But, honestly, the story that has captured my imagination the most is the Fall of Ellen DeGeneres. Holy Crap.

Ellen has been on an unprecedented roll for what seems like decades now. The heiress to the vacated Oprah throne, Ellen had it all. She was funny and cute. Her show featured super fun stunts and gags. She was reliably progressive, famously lesbian, and all of the beautiful people adored her. What could possibly go wrong? I mean, seriously...if anyone in Hollywood was bulletproof it had to be her, right? Sure, Harvey Weinstein was powerful, but he was a man, and a Jewish one at that, in the age of #METOO. But, Ellen DeGeneres?? Untouchable, one would think.

Confession, back in the days before COVID when I was a three days a week American Family guy, I would find myself on the treadmill during the airing of her show, so I watched it quite often, sometimes with subtitles sometimes without. Either way I always found her incredibly charming and funny. I particularly liked her sign off line...be kind. Now, if I understand correctly, her show was a hot mess of racism, and sexual misconduct and Ellen herself was a diva-tyrant.

I have no idea what to think about it all. Does it really surprise me that a Hollywood type would wind up being an epic phoney baloney? Of course not. But on the other hand, isn’t this always the way? Isn’t this what we do to every big shot in this country? We love our stars...right up until the moment when we don’t. We applaud them during their ascension, then watch, transfixed, when they crash back down to Earth. It’s like a parlor game with us. Most of the faux friendships that Ellen cultivated when she was Queen vanished into thin air at the first whiff of scandal. She has become untouchable. That Quick.

Fame is fleeting, they say. But in America, too often, when it exits your body it leaves you with nothing.

I think I’ll pass.

Back To Church

On Sunday morning, March the 8th, 2020, Pam and I attended the 11:00 worship service at Hope Church. We didn’t know it at the time, but it would be the last time we walked through the doors of our church. The following week Hope announced a temporary suspension of Sunday gatherings because of the COVID outbreak. This morning, 21 weeks later, we are headed back to church. Much has changed.

For one thing, we had to RSVP online to secure a seat in this limited reopening. The gathering has a limited number of openings. The main auditorium is closed to the congregation, those attending will be gathering in three different spaces on the campus, watching the live service taking place in the main auditorium via Live stream screens erected in The Lodge, the movie room in the children’s department, and the multi-purpose room. Seats will be grouped for families and couples, but in a socially distant configuration. I’m not sure what the mask protocol is but I would imagine we will be wearing them. No physical offering will be collected. No coffee service.

It’s going to feel very strange. During this 21 week layoff Pam and I have watched many services on Hope’s live stream. Although they were better than nothing and they consistently improved week to week, we quickly grew tired of them. They were clunky and flat and I suppose they couldn’t possibly have been anything else. Our pastors didn’t sign up for preaching in an empty television studio, which is what our auditorium had been transformed into, and it showed. But, at least we could see their faces, hear a word from them. That helped. But something was missing...the rest of us, the church.

Today, I will see people, I will recognize pairs of eyes peaking out from the top of these accursed masks. I will strike up more conversations than I ever do on any other Sunday. I want to hear from others in my church. How have they been? Are they holding up? There won’t be any hugs on hand shakes. Will there ever be again? But I will elbow pump a few folks, air hug a few others. I will send my offering using the pay portal on the Hope app. Much has changed.

But today is a great day. I get to go to church. Inside a church building. Along side a collection of wonderful, kind, nervous, and flawed people who are, every one, just as wonderful, kind, nervous and flawed as I will be.

Can’t. Wait.

Friday Frustration

Yesterday wasn’t a good day in our politics, although admittedly, the bar is exceedingly low on that score. What would a good day look like?

First there was the absurd theatre of Mitch McConnell vs. Nancy Pelosi, two of the crustiest fossils on Capital Hill, negotiating over how many trillions of dollars the latest COVID relief package is going to be. Over the past four months in four different bills Congress has already spent 3 trillion dollars on Covid relief. This latest package will be between one and three trillion more, depending on which fossil prevails. Not one penny of these trillions of dollars was money that we actually...have. So, all of it was borrowed, a veritable geyser of red ink spewing forth from the Capital Dome. Thus we were treated to the preposterous assertion that Mitch McConnell’s one trillion dollar offer was miserly. 

How much is a trillion dollars, you ask? See, here’s the thing. You and I can’t fathom such a sum. We hear the word trillion and we think... a large sum, but we can’t comprehend such a number. Here’s how much one trillion is...if you went back to the year of our savior’s birth and began spending one million dollars every single day for the past 2020 years...you would still have over 250 billion dollars left. The United States of America currently has 24 trillion dollars of debt...before the two fossils come to an agreement over how much more to pile on top. How many of our leaders are troubled by this Mount Everest of debt and the every increasing percentage of the federal budget required to service it? None. Zero. In fact, our elected officials are busy coming up with even more ways to spend money we don’t have. There are serious people making serious proposals for free college education for all, a wiping out of student debt, universal health care, government paid daycare, even slavery reparations is now in the mix. I watch it all in a befuddled daze.

Then there’s this...yesterday, President Trump’s Twitter Feed—the inflamed canker sore on the lip of the Country—belched forth yet another towering pile of nonsense onto the body politic:

“With Universal Mail-In Voting (not Absentee Voting, which is good), 2020 will be the most INACCURATE & FRAUDULENT Election in history. It will be a great embarrassment to the USA. Delay the Election until people can properly, securely and safely vote???”

 

Where in the world to begin? Politicians of every stripe have always complained about the fairness of elections, especially the ones they lose. It’s an American tradition. Remember 1960 when John Kennedy inched out Richard Nixon? That was only because Democratic Mayor, Richard Daley saw to it that 9,000 recently departed Chicagoans pulled the lever for Kennedy, giving him the electoral votes of the great state of Illinois!! So, complaining about election fraud is nothing new. What is new is complaining about election fraud in an election that hasn’t taken place yet, when the one doing the complaining is the sitting President who hopes to be on the ballot!! Aside from Trump’s incessant need to be the center of every conversation, this Tweet had one purpose and one purpose only...to delegitimization an election that he believes he’s going to lose. If he can sew enough doubt in the reliability of the count, he will always be able to say in his dotage, “I never lost an election, I was robbed.” To their credit, Republican leaders were quick and unanimous in their rejection of this foolishness. This country, through pestilence, peril and even civil war, has never postponed a Presidential election, and we are not about to start now just to assuage Donald Trump’s fragile ego.

DISCLAIMER: Since this is a political blog post, many of you will be furious with the opinions expressed here and feel the need to engage me in debate about this point or that. However, it should be noted that this post was written not to persuade any of you, but rather to get a great deal of frustration off my chest. If you find yourself itching to rip my opinions to shreds, I have a suggestion for you....start your own blog.

What’s YOUR Plan Today?

On this morning, I am thankful. Everywhere I look people are suffering. I am not, and for this I am grateful.

I am thankful that my health is good, that nobody I am close to has come down with COVID.

I am thankful that my business has not been set upon by rock-throwing rioters, indeed, that I have a business that has been able to weather the disruptions of 2020.

I am thankful that I no longer have school aged children with all of the impending disruptions that virtual learning will visit upon those families.

I am thankful that my kids are healthy, employed and safe.

But, many of my clients haven’t been so fortunate. Many are hurting, their health and their fortunes are being compromised by things that they cannot control. Some have been furloughed, others have lost their jobs entirely. Seed corn which had been set aside for the future is being eaten now out of necessity.

My job, as I currently understand it, is to be on the lookout for people who haven’t been so lucky. Is there someone I will encounter today to whom I might be a blessing? Will God place someone in my path today who I am uniquely suited to help? If he does, will I be paying close enough attention to notice...and act? That’s the plan today. It’s the plan every day. Wish me luck.

All that is being asked of me at the moment, in exchange for all of this good fortune, is to wear a freaking mask when I enter a public accommodation.

I got this.

Something We Can All Agree On

It hasn’t taken me long to discover that we are still at each other’s throats. Despite all of the positive vibes I was sending out into the world while in Maine, America is still a nation at war with itself. I don’t even have to watch the news or read a newspaper. All I have to do is flip through my Facebook feed to see the hostility. We seem to be bitterly divided about...everything.

We can’t agree that wearing a mask in the middle of a pandemic might be a smart thing. Hell, we can’t even agree that COVID-19 is a pandemic. 

We remain stubbornly opposed on the subject of how or even if schools should reopen this fall. In this argument, many teachers find themselves disagreeing with parents, administrators and various elected officials.

The removal of Confederate statues and other symbols of racism throughout the country has done very little to assuage the appetite for protest in many American cities. Portland, Oregon seems intent on reinventing agitprop, creating all new ways to raise hell. Even here we are divided, some viewing these protests as blatant Marxist agitation, others convinced that the federal response is proof that Trump is at heart a Fascist.

Policemen have been cast as the enemy of the people by many, a tool of the establishment whose only real job is to protect property, this despite the gazillion dollars spent each year investigating murder and assault by police departments all over the country. Others view them as an unfairly besieged thin blue line of noble public servants who do ridiculously dangerous work for low pay only to be spit upon by rabble rousing malcontents. Many people view police tactics as severely flawed, far too violent and confrontational. Others believe that overly restrictive rules of engagement make it virtually impossible for them to do their jobs.

No matter what side people find themselves on in these fierce debates, we all seem to agree on one thing...it’s the government’s job to fix it. Those on the right want the government to crack down hard on rioters, and force schools to reopen despite health concerns. Those on the left demand the government continue handing out checks for every conceivable inequality that exists. 

So, maybe we have stumbled upon an area of agreement at long last....we all want the government to save us from...them.

Time For Your Vote

Y’all. The heat...

My first day back at the office was going pretty well, right up until the moment I stepped out to go get a much needed haircut at 11:00 am...

When I got home, I walked upstairs only to discover that my wife was already preparing my body for the viewing...

Don’t even ask me what the heck that is laying on the day bed in my house. It’s the sort of thing that a man doesn’t want or need to know when it’s 98 degrees outside. My nephew’s fiancé is living with us now. I assume that this body has something to do with her. 

Ok, while we were in Maine, my wife began just letting her hair go every morning. Instead of the hour it takes to blow dry, curling iron, and God knows what else she normally does in the morning, she just decided to go all natural. I LOVE IT. She’s not so sure. So, on our drive home she sent her pack of girl friends a side by side picture asking for their vote...

Her posse responded with a decisive landslide vote in favor of the lake house hair on the right. Which is better, Suburban Pam or Lake House Pam? Set aside for a moment the fact that Pam seemed far more interested in her girl friends’ opinions than mine. The real problem with this is simple...can anyone imagine a man doing this? How about if I sent a group text to a bunch of my guy friends saying something like, “Hey guys, trying to decide what’s a better look for me, this slim cut polo shirt or the fuller figure button down?” I just can’t imagine anything worse than how I would feel if one of my friends wanted fashion advice from...me?? I mean, how pathetic! But just for fun, I decided to give it a try...

On the left is button downed Doug, cotton dress shirt, silk tie, in my office. The dude on the right is in his kayak on the lake.

Or what about this shot, which admittedly has been manipulated to hide the extra vacation poundage of my gut. So which is better? Button down Doug or Lake Doug?

Goodbye, Loon Call

Heading home this morning. It’s beautiful out which makes the leaving harder. Took the kayaks out for one last sunset cruise last night.

We will miss this place. It was an adventure.

A Blind Dog

Last days are the worst. For the first time since you got here you are no longer living in the moment. You’re trying to but you know that this day has an agenda all its own. Soon, the packing up will begin. First, Pam will drive Patrick and Sarah to the airport. She will hug them tight then cry as she pulls away from the curb. It has been wonderful having them here. They have thoroughly enjoyed themselves. When Pam gets back from the airport, we will try to enjoy some dock and lake time on what promises to be another gorgeous sunny day in the low 80’s, before surrendering to the task of gathering up all our belongings, including all the new stuff we have accumulated since we arrived, and stuffing it all back into our car...hoping that all the doors shut.

But, we will leave our mark. The owner of this house has suffered a terrible loss, we discovered, the kind of loss that is unfathomable. We collected rocks from the yard and painted them. Last night we placed them around the property, hoping that maybe she will see them and take heart.

This morning our neighbor is swimming in the middle of our cove with her sweet little blind dog. They look to be around a hundred yards out, she dog paddling as the dog swims in circles around her. He loves the water because its the only place he can move around without fear of bumping into anything or falling off an edge. His silver eyes gloss over with joy as he follows her voice calling his name. The lake is the one place where he feels safe

I know how that blind dog feels.

“What do you DO up there for an entire month??”

I get asked this question a lot when people find out that I go to Maine for an entire month. “But Doug, but Doug...what on earth do you do for a whole month?” A reasonable question. A month is a long time, and Maine isn’t exactly what you would call a beehive of activity, no thriving metropolis to be found anywhere once you cross the Piscataqua River. What follows is my attempt at an answer.

This morning I was out on the kayak, minding my own business, when suddenly my wife appeared off the port side momentarily startling me. As fate would have it, about the time she appeared on the scene, I hooked in to an impressive bass and began reeling it in...

One could say that I was showing off except for the fact that it was completely random happenstance, just one of many magical things that seem to occur up here. Once she was on her way, she took my good luck with her. I only caught two more the rest of the morning, both small and uneventful.

So, yes, I fish. A lot. Fishing allows me time to think and ponder, interrupted occasionally by fish. Most of the best fishing happens in the early morning, but every now and then I’ll catch something late afternoon. 

Ok, so that accounts for maybe four hours of my day, when it’s not raining, of course. In past years, at least twice, sometimes three times, I play a round of golf at Rockland Golf Club. Unfortunately this year due to the increasingly annoying COVID-19, golf was out because the course wouldn’t rent me clubs. That was a disappointment, but allowed me even more time for another of my major pastimes up here...reading.

These are the seven novels that I have had the time to read while I’ve been at Loon Call. All but two of these were already in the house library. They were all enjoyable reads except for Hunter S. Thompson who, I have discovered, I’ve outgrown since the days when he wowed me as an undergraduate. The Sunday Philosophy Club was an annoying little thing that disappointed, but everything else was amazingly good.

Then, there’s eating. There’s lots of eating. There’s the actual eating of the food, but there’s also the thinking about eating the food. There’s the plotting and scheming involved in the preparation of the food to be eaten. Then there’s the sitting around afterwards savoring the food that has been eaten, complete with lots of ooohing and aaahing and the rubbing of tummies. All of this takes up a surprising amount of time. But it’s something that cannot be rushed. Meals are central events of each day around which every other endeavor must subject itself. “Shall we go for a swim? Wait...what about lunch??”

Last night there was a rousing game of Monikers which featured an embarrassing attempt by me (during the charades portion of the proceedings) to illustrate necrophilia to a couple of my grown children. Needless to say, much hilarity ensued. 

On days when the weather isn’t good we are reduced to driving to the coast to have breakfast (again with the eating) in Camden, followed by shopping and visits to lighthouses and whatnot, all the while keeping a sharp eye peeled for any change in the weather which might result in a hasty retreat back to the lake for some bonus dock time.

That’s pretty much the itinerary...fishing, eating, reading, eating, shopping, sightseeing, and eating. It’s not for everybody. Some of you would get bored, I imagine. That’s why God created Myrtle Beach and New York City...for the rest of you.

Gratitude

Every time we come up here I am confronted with a different emotion. Some years it’s the beauty of it all that strikes me, other years it’s the peacefulness. Some years it’s an overwhelming sense of relaxation. But this year it’s been...gratitude.

Maybe it’s 2020 that’s responsible for this emotion. COVID, racism, and politics have produced a toxic quality to this year, and being here has felt like stumbling into an oasis in the middle of the desert. Whatever the reason, I have felt an overpowering sense of gratefulness that I am here. I never want to lose that. Gratitude has fallen out of favor as a sentiment of late, I think. Nobody seems grateful anymore. If something good happens, we assume it’s because we deserved it. When bad things happen to others, we sometimes secretly think to ourselves, “serves them right, the way they live” or “well you could see that coming the way they...” Then when some huge windfall or blessing falls in our laps we secretly credit our own skill, work ethic, and righteousness for our good fortune. This is the very definition of pride, the great sin of the scriptures.

You can go mad trying to figure out why bad things happen to good people. You can drive yourself crazy contemplating why fortuitous things happen to horrible people. I have no answer for the vicissitudes of life. Here’s what I do know. I have been extraordinarily blessed in this life with mostly good health, a functioning brain, great parents and siblings who taught me the value of honesty and hard work. Those gifts have led to a degree of success in this world that has allowed me the great privilege of being able to come here every year. Why me? Others are smarter, other people I’ve known work harder than me, are better looking than me and yet, have struggled. I don’t know. I don’t think I will ever know, this side of eternity. But I do know this...I am grateful for the blessings of life. I might not know the why. I will resist the prideful attitude that says, “I deserve this.” This year especially it has been overwhelming, this sense of gratefulness. Maybe its why we love bringing friends here. Maybe it explains why I post so many pictures. Part of me wants everyone I know to come here, while the selfish part of me wants it all to myself.

So, Kaitlin and Jon are back in Columbia, SC in the unrelenting heat. Pam and I get Patrick and Sarah all to ourselves for the next three days, then we pack up and head home Saturday morning. I miss Lucy. I miss my friends at the office. But I will mourn this place on the two day drive home...