A Fifteen Minute Break

So, yesterday was a typical Monday at the office. I was busy getting the week’s appointments organized, putting together reports for a half dozen annual reviews I have scheduled. There was also a problem brewing with some paperwork from last week which I was trying to straighten out. In other words, I was as busy as a one-arm paper hanger, when a got this text from my daughter:

Kaitlin: Do you have any animal related dad jokes? I’m asking for Bailey.

(Bailey is Kaitlin’s best friend in Columbia and a real sweetheart.)

Me: Of course. What kind of animals?

Kaitlin: Any kind. If she’s asking for Milo, I know that dinosaurs are involved.

(Milo is Bailey’s super cool little boy)

Me: I’ll see what I can do. 

Kaitlin: It’s for a friend who teaches science. Anything appropriate for Middle School.

Me: Are you kidding? That’s my specialty!! Wait, “uh excuse me Mr. Client, but there’s a kid in Columbia who needs some animal dad jokes. Can I call you back later?”

Kaitlin: Ha! Bailey says, “Tell Mr. Client this is PRIORITY ONE!”

Sometimes its the little things that happen throughout the day that refresh your mental health. I’ve heard them referred to as grace notes or serendipity. Whatever you want to call it, these little interruptions have the power to recharge the soul. They can be literally the pause that refreshes. I immediately dropped everything and went to work. Within ten minutes I had sent her this:

The rest of the exchange went like this...

I suppose that the lesson here is, sometimes the most important thing isn’t the most important thing. Sometimes a fifteen text conversation with your adult child can be a golden moment. Sometimes, a sidebar that involves middle school humor is just the thing to steady you for a return into the serious business of your adult life.

Thanks, Bailey and Kaitlin. I needed it.

WELCOME!!

I would like to be the first to congratulate the Month of March for arriving on time as advertised. Those of us who have been held in the vice grip of February could not be happier at your appearance. Although it is raining and gross outside, we are all confident that you will bring much better times to Central Virginia and beyond.

You have many things going for you:

- During your time with us Spring will officially arrive.

- Warmer temperatures will spread over our neighborhoods.

- St. Patrick’s Day.

- Spring training baseball.

- The Masters

- International Women’s Day. Ok, I didn’t even know this was a thing, but if it’s sunny and 70, I’m in.

- Yard work...when the yard finally gets dry enough to actually walk in...and all the preparations required for outdoor living.

March, we have always seen you as a sign of hope. By the end of February, we are all at the end of our ropes, fed up with cold, snow and ice. We have grown weary of leafless trees, colorless skies and dead things. We have become sick and tired of the inside of our homes. The prospect of another snow storm hovers over us like the angel of death. Even the possibility of a snow day no longer brings joy, only aggravation. Our spirits lag every time we see our deck furniture without their cushions. They look naked and afraid, like frail, emaciated prisoners of war, sitting out there alone and worthless. But now you have arrived, the army of liberation.

Yes, we are aware that on relatively rare occasions, snowstorms come during your reign. When they do, they are particularly fierce and devastating to our mental health, coming at a time which seems to all of us completely unfair and unjust. We beseech you to do all in your power to prevent such a catastrophe this year.

Once again, we thank you for your arrival and wish you all the best over these next 31 days. 

Warmly,

Your biggest fans

Sigh...

The view from Syria......

A Chilling Memory

A couple of weeks ago I remembered a story my Dad told me many years ago. I hadn’t thought about it in years. I suppose it came to my mind after reading the news about the posthumous fall from grace of Ravi Zacharias. Many of you will know who RZ was, but for those of you who don’t, he was a brilliant Christian apologist, speaker, debater and philosopher from India who played an enormous role in stabilizing my faith during a time of doubt many years ago. I first saw him when he was at Oxford debating some atheist about the existence of God. I was mesmerized by his eloquence and the intricate patterns of his arguments, using logic and rationality along with an erudite wit that disarmed the largely hostile crowd that packed the hall to hear him. So, all these years later to learn of his personal and moral failings was a blow. It is so strange to me how many times something that my dad had said to me comes flooding back during times of great agitation. The story I am about to relate isn’t complete. I don’t remember every detail. I will have to backfill in places, but the moral of the story I remember with crystal clear certainty...

Back in the early 1960’s, I was a little boy and my dad was a giant. He had moved the entire family from Richmond, Virginia to New Orleans, Louisiana so he could attend The New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary as a 39 year old freshman, the only student on campus with four kids and zero money. During that time Dad was given a church field, a little church in a one horse town called Nicholsville, Alabama. Every Friday night we would make the long drive from New Orleans to Nicholsville, passing through Laurel, Mississippi around the halfway point on Highway 59. I include this detail because it was on Highway 59 just outside of Laurel where our story comes to its shocking conclusion.

There was a young, charismatic preacher from Mississippi back in the early 60’s who was making quite a name for himself in Southern Baptist circles. His name eludes me and I’m not even sure Dad ever told me his name. It would have been like him to leave it out. Anyway, this man was the pastor of a thriving and rapidly growing church, but that church couldn’t contain this man’s ambition or his talent. He was invited to be the revival speaker at every big church in the south it seemed. He even got invited to speak at convocation at the Seminary, such were his gifts as an evangelist. Everywhere he preached, people responded. He was a captivating speaker and mixed with his dynamic personality, the sky seemed the limit.

Then, one day, at the peak of his popularity, it was discovered that he had been having an affair with a young woman who sang in the choir at his church. When the governing body of the church confronted him he refused to repent, claiming that his new love was the work of God. Just like that, his ministry was over. He divorced his wife and left the church to run off with his new girlfriend. Everyone in dad’s circle of friends in Seminary were stunned and disheartened by the news. How could he have done such a thing? It was not only a dark day for those who looked up to the man, but also for the cause of Christ and his Gospel.

But the story didn’t end there. Just a few months after his fall from grace, this man was traveling at night on Highway 59 with his new wife in the passenger seat. They were just outside of Laurel, headed towards Hattiesburg when the front left tire blew out. The man was able to guide the car to a stop just off the road. He got out, walked back to the trunk, lifted the spare out and began changing the tire. Suddenly a speeding 18 wheeler came roaring past. Just before the truck pulled along side the car, a giant piece of tread let loose from one of the wheels, flew through the air and in a blink of an eye, decapitated the dynamic, charismatic young ex-evangelist.

The news spread like wildfire on the campus of New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. Students began quoting the old prophets in hushed tones...There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it brings death. In Dad’s telling the lesson was simple...whatsoever a man sows, that shall he also reap. Dad believed that the calling into ministry was a sacred thing and that with it came a grave responsibility...your walk better match your talk or there would literally be hell to pay. I remember this part like yesterday, Dad turning to me after telling this ghastly tale, “Son...God will not be mocked.”

The good that Ravi Zacharias’ words and deeds did for me was incalculable. Without his intelligent voice during that time in my life, I might have totally abandoned my faith. But to learn of his double life and hypocrisy was crushing. Although he never had to answer for it in this life, I agree with my Dad. With a great calling comes a great responsibility. God will not be mocked.

Dogs of the Culdesac

Lucy’s morning constitutional was adventure-filled. We went out earlier than usual, so it was still dark. As we approached our neighbor’s yard Lucy began to growl towards the general direction of where her buddy, Pippen, usually hangs out. I turned, squinted into the darkness and discovered that Pippen had been replaced by our other neighbor’s giant mastiff, Boss, a lovable lug of a dog who enjoys nothing quite so much as a roughhousing romp with any other dog. So, there I am holding on to Lucy’s leash for dear life as the two of them frolic around in circles, hoping not to do any further damage to my still ailing back. One thing was clear, there would be no doing of business on this adventure. There would be no time for such mundane routines while Boss was around! So, I led Miss Lucy to her fenced in back yard/mud pie and let her loose back there. The paw-cleaning required once she finally finished was extensive.

The culdesac at the end of Aprilbud Place is home to seven dogs, each with their own idiosyncrasies. The aforementioned Pippen is a Golden Doodle who wouldn’t hurt a flea and lives outside 90% of the time, kept in place by one of those electric collar things. All the other dogs love Pippen because he is always there to play with. Then there’s the newest Puppy on the block, a black lab named Tucker, who replaced the recently departed and sainted black lab, Maverick. Next around the circle would be Buddy, a mutt of uncertain origin and grumpy personality, who all the other dogs ignore. Then, there’s the mighty Kane, a huge German Shepherd who’s bark would put the fear of God in any potential burglar dumb enough to try something. Our next door neighbors have two dogs, who when seen together paint a rather comical picture. Boss, the gangly giant goof-ball, along with his wingman, the diminutive Vander, a pug. The two of them always remind me of these guys I used to watch on Saturday mornings when I was a kid...

In the cartoon it was always the small dog who called the shots, with the big dog trying his best to please him. A great example of art imitating life on our little slice of suburbia. Of course, the seventh would be Lucy, the beautiful, psycho dog who’s afraid of literally everything except people and other dogs! Good thing!

Bad Back

Back problems are fun. You wake up one morning and realize the minute your feet hit the floor that something is wrong. There seems to be a giant knot half way between your neck and your waistline on both sides of your spine. This knot makes fully upright walking painful, so you make adjustments in your gait to the point where it is clear to literally every other human being you will encounter on this day that something is wrong with you. You think that a hot shower will help but it doesn’t. The full implications of this back issue don’t become clear until it’s time to brush your teeth. There is no way to perform this crucial part of your daily hygiene regimen without excruciating pain. But you do it anyway because...well, because...ewww!

You take a couple extra strength Tylenol. They do less than nothing. You go through your day walking very slowly, listing slightly starboard, while answering the question everyone never fails to ask, “What happened to you??”  When you arrive home for lunch you take another couple extra strength Tylenol, eat a quick lunch, then plop yourself down slowly into your trusty recliner, and adjust the heating pad perfectly in the center of your ailing back and turn the button on to high. Thirty minutes of this does next to nothing. You head back to the office only now the back feels worse than it has all day. Only trouble is you have two clients coming in back to back. They both arrive on time and watch me walk up to them as they wait out by the receptionist, with a concerned tilt of the head right before they both ask, “Whoa Doug, you’re moving awfully slow there, big guy. What happened to you?”

After my last appointment I head back home, take two more Tylenol—for reasons that remain unclear—then retire once again to my recliner. Only this time, I decide to try ice. I pull the frozen back thingy out of the freezer, wrap it in a dish towel and place it dead center of my now throbbing back and settle down. Again, thirty minutes of this new treatment yields a freezing cold back...that still is as stiff, tight and painful as it has ever been since the first tentative steps of the morning. After a delicious meal prepared by my sainted wife along with a tender massage, I am back upstairs to the recliner. Only now I have taken the first muscle relaxers of the day, the only slightly remedial course of action I have taken all day. The trouble with the muscle relaxers are that taking them in sufficient quantities during the day I have found to be unwise. When you invest money for a living, it is kinda crucial to be in full command of all of one’s faculties, although even that does not insure success. But its better than being so sleepy you can’t put together a simple declarative sentence without a yawn.

This has been happening ever since Monday morning. If the past is prologue, it will continue like this until Saturday or Sunday when, like magic, it will suddenly heal itself and I will be back to normal.

So what do I give as an answer to all the questions I got all day? My wife thinks it has something to do with all the heavy lifting and cleaning I did to help her prepare for the big bridal shower Sunday. Maybe, but who knows? What I tell people is that for many years now I have had a quirky back that acts up every once in a while, for reasons that remain elusive. Its nothing serious and I will be fine in a few days. All true. However, it still sucks. If you’ve never had back problems, say a prayer of thanks for your good fortune. If you have had back problems, I am open to any and all suggestions for home remedies or back pain hacks you would like to pass along!

Lucy’s Balloon Nightmare

Ok, the bridal shower was a roaring success...

But this isn’t a blog about a bridal shower, which will come as a huge relief to my male readers, no doubt. No, this is a blog about Lucy. In the week leading up to this shower she has been walking on eggshells what with all the boxes and furniture rearranging and what not. Lucy isn’t a big fan of things moving around in her house. Whenever we put all the leaves in the dining room table she knows that something big is in the works and begins snooping around giving everything the side eye. So yesterday, about an hour before the guests were due to arrive, we banished her to the upstairs for the duration. Then we were free to garnish the downstairs with the final flourishes which included several balloon bouquets like the one in the above photograph. Fast forward to four hours later...

It was time for Lucy to be released from jail and taken out for what was sure to be a long awaited constitutional. But half way down the stairs she stopped in her tracks when she spotted the balloons tied to the banister at the foot of the stairs. No, no...this would not do. Lucy was not about to budge until the horrifying balloons were dispatched! Pam quickly removed them and eventually the poor girl was persuaded that it was safe to continue. I then grabbed the leash and told her it was time for a potty break which she was very happy to hear. As soon as I opened the front door, she eagerly bolted for the porch....only to immediately slam on the brakes when confronted with yet another balloon bouquet monster attached to the rail at the bottom of the porch steps!! If it were even possible, this batch was even more terrifying than the first since these danced in the wind!! “What da hek?” I somehow managed to coax her to slink down the front steps ever so slowly, keeping a sharp eye out for sudden movements from the hecking balloon demons. As soon as she was clear, she bolted down the sidewalk and around the corner, then raced down the driveway to her favorite urinating spot. But, what’s this???? Again, she applied the brakes. There, tied to the mailbox was a third grouping of the sinister new terrors to invade her happy home. That was it. She immediately squatted down and relieved herself right in the driveway...a first...and turned around to head back to the house. But there was no way she was going back up the front steps. So, I took her back through the garage, a balloon-free zone.

This morning, Lucy still hasn’t come down the stairs. Fortunately for her, the balloons are gone...except for one that somehow in the night broke free from the porch railing and drifted into the night sky, only to become lodged in the pine tree branches in the front yard. Hopefully Lucy will not notice. If she does, I will have to employ my BB gun to deflate the monster.

Never, EVER Mess With the Teapot Kid

After yesterday’s rather self-indulgent post, I feel that I owe all of you something much lighter on this Saturday morning...

How do you tell the sex of an ant?

Stick it in water. If it sinks it’s an girl ant. If it floats it’s a...buoyant.

The man who stole my diary died in a car accident yesterday.

My thoughts are with his family...

Hey Ted, just because you cancun doesn’t mean you shouldcun.

What do cowboys use to move from state to state?

Yee-Hauls...

I asked my doctor what I could do about my irritated eyes. He said, “check out conjunctivitis.com”

I answered, “What’s that?”

He said, “It’s a site for sore eyes.”

What do you call the walking trail around the Psychiatric Hospital?

The Psycho Path... 

The Winter of my Discontent

For the first time in the going on eleven years of this blog, I’m finding it hard to write. This is significant since for me writing is the easiest, most effortless thing I do. I may not always write well, but the act of writing itself has always been easy. Subjects to write about fly in and out of my head constantly with no effort on my part. I simply open up my iPad and poof, it comes to me like magic. But this past year has changed things. Its been a combination of many factors, I suppose, not the least of which might be how long I have been at this. Eleven years is a long time to do anything. Maybe after nearly 2500 posts, there simply isn’t anything left to say. Nothing lasts forever.

But I think it might be something else. These past twelve months have seen a unique combination of events mixing together to produce a new atmosphere in this country, one that I have never experienced before. I will attempt to list them here and figure out how they relate to each other. But by doing so I must admit that I won’t know what my conclusions are until they appear on the screen. Thinking and writing at the same time sometimes produces inconsistencies, for which I apologize in advance.

COVID

It has been a year now. Very few of us thought that it would last this long. The most informed voices are saying it may be several years before, or even if, we get back to normal. I am an optimist in this regard. I am encouraged by the reduction in cases, the distribution of the vaccine, etc. But the virus itself (like everything else) seems to have divided us. Through it all there have been those who have taken precautions, those who have given in to irrational and crippling fear, and those who have pretended that COVID isn’t even real. The simple wearing of a mask has somehow become a contentious and controversial act. There are large communities throughout the country who’s suspicion of the government is so great, their political attachments so rigid, even a virus that has killed a half a million of us gets dismissed as a political conspiracy by them. But its not just the politicalization of COVID that has been so troubling, but also the protocols necessary for its containment. COVID has isolated us from each other. We have travelled less, worked from home, Zoom calls and chat rooms have replaced personal interaction. That ghastly term, social distancing, has done its work. I have never felt more socially distant from my old life as I feel right now. 

POLITICS

America has always been divided. We have always been a contentious and difficult people. There is nothing new about our divides. We are not a homogeneous nation. Never have been. We are from all over. Always have been. We come together to form alliances warily. We are persistently independent people who rarely agree to give up personal liberties even for the greater good. But its that very same independent streak that has made America unique and contributed greatly to our innovation and accomplishment. But, gradually over time the idea of personal liberty and freedom has morphed into something else entirely. Any sacrifice we are asked to make for the common good from wearing a mask to paying taxes has been rebranded as creeping Socialism. On the other hand, if citizens reject the brand spanking new sexual identity constructs being thrust upon them, or rise up against the notion that they should be appalled at themselves for being white, they are suddenly Nazis. So, beliefs and ideas that in the past would have divided us only politically, now place a wide and dark social chasm between us. We can’t go to the same church, listen to the same music, even be neighbors or neighborly with anyone outside our political tribe. This politicalization of literally everything has extended to the marketplace, with CEO’s now taking positions on politics as a signal to their customers that it’s alright to buy from them, “It’s cool. We get it,” they Tweet.

RELIGION

This has been very much the winter of Christianity’s discontent. The tragic posthumous fall of Ravi Zacharias has served as a bookend of sorts to cap off a horrible year for the faith, which started when support for Donald Trump became somehow a litmus test for genuine Christian faith. I will not dignify that absurdity with further comment. However, being deprived of...the gathering...during these tumultuous times has been a blow for me personally. No, it hasn’t been a communist conspiracy to stamp out religion. It has been a prudent public health and safety initiative that I support. But that’s not the same thing as saying it hasn’t had a downside. Human beings were not meant to live this way, walled off from each other. Any attempt to do so must be temporary, and balanced by careful attention to the emotional, mental, and psychological costs. I think of how this is affecting school kids in particular. Virtual learning, heck, virtual anything is a feeble replacement for the real thing. While I am thankful for the technology, as it has gotten us through a very difficult time, it is not a perfect solution. Human beings need other human beings...especially when it comes to Christian faith and practice.

WINTER

It’s hard to blame a season of the year for this. Winter is just doing what Winter does, only this year it seems like cruel and unusual punishment. Just in the month of February alone, people in my area have had to deal with six days of snow and ice, and another seven days of clouds. While I am sure that others have endured far worse...(those obnoxiously arrogant Texans with their ten gallon hat egos come to mind)...for us the ice-encrusted landscape serves as yet another isolating barrier, sending us inside our homes for yet another round of hunkering down.

It is all of these things and probably some that I haven’t mentioned that have contributed to my discontent. I place them in no rank order. I accuse none of them of being the worst offender. Its more like a witch’s brew of ingredients that taken together produce something close to depression.

But, Spring is coming. The sun will eventual come out. I will snap out of this funk at some point. When I do, my writing will get better.

The Sock Snatch

Behold Lucy striking a pose caught in the very act of defiance and rebellion. My dog is well known for her, how shall I say...idiosyncratic behavior. One example has been brought into sharper focus since Bernadette has come to live with us, the now famous sock snatch.

Lucy has always had a thing for socks, but never quite so much as she has since Bernadettes’s arrival. First of all, she adores her, treats her like a rock star every time she comes home from work. But early on we learned that if she left the door to her room open when she left, this would happen. Lucy would quietly make her way into her room and look for any stray socks on the floor, grab one of them—never two—and bring it with her to our bed, and sit close to it. Nothing more, just sit there...next to her sock. She wouldn’t chew the sock, rip holes in it or anything destructive. Eventually she would leave the sock on our bed and go about the rest of her day. This phenomenon happens every single time Bernadette leaves the entrance to her room unguarded for even just a few minutes. 

Of course, as I have explained to Bernie, this all could be avoided if she wouldn’t leave her socks on the floor. Lucy seems uninterested in any other articles of clothing. The downside to leaving her bedroom door closed all day is that by the time she returns from work the place is an icebox. So early on we devised a work-around...

Lucy respects the gate. Actually, she’s always been slightly afraid of these flimsy barriers. As long as it is in place, she will not even think about trespassing. But Bernadette often forgets. Every single time she does, Lucy slinks in, searching for her prey, grabs one and swiftly retreats. Her favorite  seems to be the engagement ring socks, which she has snapped up multiple times.

So, if there are any dog lovers in this audience, or psychiatrists, or even better...dog psychiatrists, I would appreciate an explanation of this bizarre behavior.

The Best Valentine’s Day Story Ever

This is a very special photograph. It was taken 14 years ago today...

The back story is pretty epic, so much so that I was convinced that I had already blogged about Valentine’s Day, 2007. But, a deep dive into the archives produced no record of the tale. The basic facts are that since Kaitlin was two years old, I had taken her out to breakfast on Valentine’s Day. For years our restaurant of choice was Aunt Sarah’s Pancake House. But then, she went off to college at Cedarville University in Ohio, a seven and a half hour drive. Nevertheless, I made the trip her Freshman year. The following year, 2007, was set to be the year where the streak would end. I was swamped at work trying to make enough money to make the oppressive tuition payments every month. Plus, I had an appointment with a very important client in Wytheville, Va. at 5:00 in the afternoon the day before V-Day. So, I called her a few days before to break the bad news. She seemed totally understanding but a little disappointed. I could tell. My appointment was over at 6:30. I began the long drive home through the backroads of Wythe County. I soon found myself at the stop light near the exit onto Interstate 77. Head south to connect to 81 to go home or head north on 77 to Charleston, WVa. I hesitated. The drive to Cedarville was only four and a half hours. Maybe I could surprise her. I made a quick call to Pam. She gave me the go ahead. I made the decision and took off north. Only one problem. I was headed into a snowstorm that started just outside of Charleston and never let up. By the time I made it to Route 35 is what coming down so hard I couldn’t go any faster than 35 miles per hour. Couldn’t see a thing. It occurred to me that I might have made a terrible call. By the time I limped into the motel parking lot down the street from the University it was 2 o’clock in the morning and there was six inches of fresh snow on the ground.

The next morning, I drove to Katlin’s dorm parking lot at 7:00. I knew she had morning classes. I called her cell phone to wish her a happy Valentine’s Day. She thanked me, sounding down, “I wish we could go to breakfast this morning” My answer was, “Well, we might be able to work something out if you can meet me in the parking lot in five minutes.”

For the life of me I don’t remember where I got those flowers. We had a wonderful hour together, then I had to start the miserable drive home. LAter that day Kaitlin called me with a story. She was in her second class of the day when she overheard a couple of people talking. One of them says, “Did you hear about that girl who’s dad drove through a snowstorm all night so he could take her to breakfast on Valentine’s Day?” For that one day, Kaitlin was a rock star on the campus of Cedarville University. It was one of the very dumbest and very best things I ever did as a Father. Neither of us will ever forget it.

An Exhilarating Hour

This afternoon I was up in my reading room, settling in to my trusty recliner, when I opened up my browser and spotted yet another email from Zillow. For the past year or so I have been obsessed with lake house hunting in Maine, so these Zillow emails are a daily occurrence. I always open them even though at least 50% of them are for land only, another 40% are dumpy little shacks on some lake I’ve never heard of two hours from Camden, and the rest of them are for multi-million dollar estates. Yet, I open every single email thinking maybe, just maybe, this might be the one.

Imagine my surprise when I discover that today’s featured camp is on Quantabacook, a mere six camps up the lake from Loon Landing?! I thought I might fall out of the chair I was so excited. I immediately sent the link to A. My real estate agent, Tiffany Ford and B. Carolyn and Keith May, the owners of Loon Landing who know everyone on the lake and serve as our eyes and ears. They also have the distinction of being the sweetest, most generous people in Maine and since we love their camp so much they know exactly the sort of place we are looking for. 

The next hour was a whirlwind of texts, pictures, tax assessment statements, and a million unanswerable questions flying back and forth. The basic facts were that this place was built in 1940 but had just gone under a complete overhaul and upgrade. It had a main house close to the water’s edge with two bedrooms and a full bath, along with a guest house out back with a third bedroom and bath. This was no show-stopper like Loon Landing, but it was on the perfect lake, and the inside was quite charming. But in real estate, like in real life, it’s easy to get ahead of yourself. As my wise friend Keith May observed, “If you love something, it makes you pay.” How much, you ask?

Ok, the main house weighs in at a tidy and cramped 900 square feet. The camp is seasonal, which means you could only use it from May to October. It has no fireplace. Did I mention it’s only 900 square feet? That’s smaller than Nancy Pelosi’s walk-in closet! On the plus side, it comes with a 2011 Bayliner boat. All of this for a cool....$595,000.

Gulp...

Tiffany warns me that it will not go for any less, and frankly, will probably become the subject of a bidding war with someone from New York City who won’t care that the place is only assessed by the town of Searsmont at $258,000. He’s gonna pay cash anyway. 

She then explains that the market has been taken over by rich city people who are distorting values, but in a couple more years will be gone and prices will then drift back to something resembling normal. Further, she suggested that even if we have to rent for a couple more years, that would be better than paying $200,000 too much for a camp that you can only use for half the year. 

So, after an hour of exhilaration and wild dreams, eventually cooler heads prevailed. But one day, someday, we are going to find our camp.

Wonder how much this place will eventually go for??

A Friday Ramble

Woke up to somewhere between 3-4 inches of snow, with freezing drizzle coming down. My man Andrew Freiden tells me that the temperature will be hovering around 32 degrees for the next 48 hours with intermittent sleet, freezing drizzle and general suckiness for the entire weekend. My one appointment for this morning cancelled last night. So, it would appear that you’re in for a meandering post this morning.

First off..here’s a list of a few books that haven’t been written yet but surely need to be:

“How to Write Big Books” by Warren Peace

“The Art of Archery” by Beau N. Arrow

“Irish Heart Surgery” by Angie O’Plasty

“School Truancy” by Marcus Absent

“I Lost My Balance” by Eileen Dover and Phil Down

“Positive Reinforcement” by Wade Ago

“The Philippine Post Office” by Imelda Letter

“Things to Do at a Party” by Bob Frapples

Second...last night Pam asked me what I thought of the Impeachment trial going on in the Senate. I was a little embarrassed to answer that I hadn’t seen any of it. “Haven’t you even read anything about it?” She asked? Another embarrassed “no”. I could offer several reasons why I have not been engaged in Impeachment II, but primarily it boils down to two...Trump fatigue, and the fact that there seems no way possible that 67 votes will be found to convict. Plus, it is extraordinarily difficult to prove intent. I have my opinions on what Trump was up to leading up to that riot, but they hinge on my belief that he knew exactly what he was doing, firing up a mob and hoping they would storm the capital and put steel into his Vice-President’s spine. But, that’s my opinion based on my judgement, not a fact based, provable allegation. Today, I’m sure his defense lawyers will present a parade of Democrats using similarly inflamed rhetoric suggesting violence at some point or another. There’s been a ton of stupid rhetoric flying around these past few years so it should be easy to find. They will try to make the point that politicians of all stripes say dumb things. True. Of course all dumb talk doesn’t produce a riot inside the Capitol building, but I guess that amounts to a quibble. I’m thinking the vote will be somewhere around 56-44 to convict, falling far short of the 67 votes required. Then, can we all just close the book on TRUMP already? 

Have you guys ever messed around on the Ancestry.com website? It’s pretty cool. The other day I was poking around and decided to do a little research on Vincent Van Gogh. Absolutely fascinating!!

Because It’s Thursday...

*I’ve started telling everyone about the benefits of eating dried grapes.

It’s all about raisin awareness....

*What did the surgeon say to the patient who insisted on closing up their own incision?

Suture self...

*What do you say to comfort a friend who’s struggling with grammar?

There, their, they’re...

*I got over my addiction to chocolate, marshmallows, and nuts.

But I won’t lie, it was a rocky road...

*Bono and Edge walk into a Dublin bar and the bartender says...

“Oh no, not U2 again.”

*I lost my girlfriend’s audiobook, and now...

I’ll never hear the end of it.

*Why is it unwise to share your secrets with a clock?

Because eventually time will tell...

The Garland Kids Strike Again

This afternoon, right after taking an extraordinarily odd call from a client, my doorbell rang. Lucy immediately stirred from a deep sleep, barking like a maniac. As I hurried down the stairs I saw the sweet faces of Sully and Kennedy, my neighbor kids. I opened the door and there they all were, Sully and Kennedy, with their big brother Cash and a friend of his on bikes behind them, obviously providing the muscle of the operation...since the girls were delivering my Girl Scout Cookie order. At my feet, their dog Vander peered up at me with rugged nonchalance. Kennedy handed me a grocery bag, “Here’s your cookies, Mr. Doug.”

I looked into the bag, having completely forgotten what I had ordered. Thankfully, Sully was fully up to speed, “There’s thin mints and caramel deLights and the new ones, the toast yay’s!!” Cash’s friend then offered his professional opinion that the new ones...the aforementioned toast yay’s were the bomb.

Then, I asked the obvious question, “Ok girls, have I already paid for these? I already paid for these, right?” Just as Sully began reassuring me that I had, in fact, paid in full, Cash blurts out, “Here’s how this works. We hand over the cookies and you hand over the money.” Kennedy jumped in with, “You already paid!!” I give Cash a sinister look as a mischievous smile spreads over his face.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I don’t want anything to do with a retirement community.

So, now that the 2021 GS Cookies have arrived, I am taking it upon myself to sample each and offer my food critic review...

On the far left we have what was formerly known as Samoas, but have now, inexplicably, been reintroduced as Caramel deLights. Perhaps a complaint was lodged by representatives of the American Samoa Anti-Defamation League, pressure was applied and that was that. Nevertheless, I can fully attest that nothing has changed about the flavor of these creations. They still melt in your mouth, the coconut shavings sprinkled on the top the crowning achievement.

Then, of course, no GS cookie collection would be complete without the iconic Thin Mint, the crack cocaine of fund raising treats. Crisp, chocolate goodness followed by the cool breeze of mint make this the classic go-to cookie to satisfy that craving for worthless calories. Pro-Tip...pairs extremely well with coffee.

Finally, the new kid on the block, the much ballyhooed toast yay’s. As a generally conservative man, I am naturally suspicious of new things. My reasoning is that if the GS cookie universe needed a new cookie, God would create a new disease for it to contribute to. I mean, if it ain’t broke don't fix it. The package practically gushes...French Toast-inspired cookies dipped in delicious icing and full of flavor in every bite. Yay. I rolled my eyes at their arrogance, “I’ll be the judge of that,” I snapped. I took the first bite and was overcome with a foreboding thought that I was forever hooked. These babies, to quote noted cookie aficionado,  Cash’s friend, are in fact...the bomb.

So, once again my diet strategies have been foiled by the notorious Garland Kids. Who am I kidding. For as long as they are our next door neighbors we will buy every thing they are selling. Every fundraiser, every lemonade stand, every entrepreneurial project they hatch will have us as the first customer. Why? Several reasons. When our kids were that age they sold everything from soup to nuts for either Little League, church or school. So, it’s cosmic payback. But most importantly, if you saw these kids you would realize that we are powerless against their charms, the ultimate soft target. When you’re a sucker for adorable children, you better have your wallet ready.

The Tempest is Back

Maybe you’ve noticed, probably not. I’ve taken a week off from The Tempest. Going a week without writing here is a rare thing. In the ten plus years since I’ve had this blog it’s only happened twice. This time I wasn’t sick or out of the country. I just got tired of hearing myself think. This time of year is the busiest for my business. I meet with clients to conduct annual reviews, one after another, non-stop. By the end of the day I am sick of the sound of my own voice. I am equally tired of thinking too heavily about things. So instead of writing blogs I have been flooding my Facebook feed with Dad Jokes. I explained it to my daughter this way...What’s better for humanity, bad Dad Jokes or political opinions?

Here’s the thing about jokes, making them doesn’t mean you’re not a serious human being. All it does is provide evidence that you are a human being. Yes, yes, I understand that these are serious times in which we live and very important things are happening which require serious thinking etc..etc. but along with all this seriousness comes mental exhaustion. It is simply impossible to devote yourself to earnestness 24/7 without becoming a colossal bore.

“But, how can you crack jokes about something as important as...” is a common refrain I hear from my more serious friends, to which my answer is always something along the lines of...Why not? Who died and put you in charge of humor?

So, yes, I consider myself a reasonably serious person who cares about very important things. But honestly there is nothing any more fun than cracking a joke during the middle of a highly charged political debate, especially when its at your own expense! To that end I had the following discussion with my daughter the other day:

Me: I want to start a movement on Facebook where every political rant gets answered with a similarly themed Dad Joke. Something along these lines: “The election was stolen from Trump!” Answer: “Not only that but the thieves made off with all the toilets at the Justice Department and now the FBI has nothing to go on!”

Kaitlin: Great!!

Me: Now, you try one.

Kaitlin: Ok. Give me a political rant suggestion.

Me: “Say what you want about Trump, but he was the most pro-LIFE president we’ve ever had!”

Kaitlin: Well, you know what they say, “Beggars can’t be CHOOSERS.”

Me: EXCELLENT. See how easy that was? Here was mine, “Maybe so, but sales of Cheerios and Frosted Flakes have tanked!!”

On a different subject, Tom Brady just won his seventh Super Bowl, the halftime of which featured a singer who I had never heard of...a first. Sure there have been other acts that I didn’t know very well, but this was the first one who I didn’t even know existed. The Weeknd. He’s Canadian, I’m told. What did I think? I don’t know really. Since I had never heard any of his music before I have no opinion on how well he performed them, because I have nothing to compare them to. I’ll say this for him...he was fully clothed and his performance lacked any pelvic thrusting gyrations into the camera. In fact the entire show seemed devoid of any sexual subtext...a rarity anymore. Much has been said about the underwear headgear of his army of marchers. I just figured it was a way to stay compliant with the mask mandate. The only thing about the show that set me back was when the jockstrap-wearing dancers started goose-stepping in unison—an extraordinarily bad look—after everything we’ve gone through in the past year! But, I’m thinking that The Weeknd is probably far too young to comprehend the historical optics of the goose step.

Oh...and here’s some great news!!

So, there you have it. The Tempest is back, as incoherent and scattered as ever.

Reader: You’re back? I didn’t even know you were gone!!

Now For Some Great News

Finally, some good news:

Cable News Ratings Fall Back to Earth In First Post-Trump Week...

Good. Excellent, in fact. It is my considered opinion that the mental health of the United States, not to mention the citizens who live here, rises and falls in complete correlation with the ratings of cable news. The more we watch, the more insane we become. So, any news suggesting that we are watching less cable news is always to be celebrated.

But Doug, you say, isn’t it the duty of every American to be well informed on the affairs of state? Perhaps. In theory, a working knowledge of current events has its advantages, I suppose. But, is that what the average cable news show is disseminating? Are they keeping us informed or enraged? Is their goal to present a straight forward summary of the major news of the day or to attract as many eyeballs as possible by telling the most salacious story in the most salacious way possible? If every cable channel offering news has an agenda, then viewers will be forced to decide whether the knowledge gained by watching is worth wading through that agenda, slogging through the spin to find the nuggets of truth. Last week, far fewer of us did, apparently.

A very good thing.

Ahh, February

February has arrived, the Universe’s answer to the question, Is is possible for things to get worse? I have written often in this space of my feelings about February and will not badger the reader with anything further on the subject except to say that the 2021 version has the potential for all time status. What follows are just a few of the agenda items on tap this month:

- An impeachment trial of an ex-president, whereby the ancient cows of the Senate, though overwhelmed with other pressing business, prove that they can walk and chew cud at the same time.

- The continuing David v Goliath investment saga of the short sale where David is a band of basement dwelling keyboard warriors and Goliath is a pack of billionaire hedge fund managers. One can always hope that both sides end up spectacularly dead-broke.

- The slow roll out of the Great Vaccination, with the usual suspects gumming up the works with bureaucratic bumbling, and the other usual suspects making fools of themselves protesting the government’s evil plot to alter our DNA and sap our animal spirits...or some such thing. I can hardly keep up anymore.

- A Super Bowl played in a cavernous, mostly empty stadium featuring, once again, Tom Brady playing quarterback. No matter the outcome of the game, Brady is the winner, 43 and still at the top of a profession dominated by young men.

- Valentine’s Day, always a challenge even for the most amorous of couples, will be made far more difficult this year due to the fact that after ten months of lockdowns, quarantines, and isolation, veteran couples have long past exhausted every possible topic of conversation. “ Hey, Honey. How about we have a nice private dinner, just the two of us?”...sounds like the romance edition of Groundhog Day.

- Four more Sundays of sofa-church, where we get to stare blankly at our computer screens watching musicians sing, and preachers preach, trying to remember to close our eyes when somebody is praying, all while wearing pajamas and sporting bed head hair.

Can’t wait.

The Bottom of the Barrel

As most of you know, I’ve been sending three jokes a day to a friend of mine with cancer for the past seventeen months. She has completed the course of treatment which included much chemo, several surgeries and a host of other side effects. She is cancer free and getting stronger by the day, but it has been a brutal slog. Still, I send her jokes, not every day anymore, but I still send her jokes. Once you start doing something, it becomes a habit, I suppose. At some point, I expect she will turn on me and say something like, “No really Doug...you can stop anytime!!” This morning would have been a golden opportunity for her to put a stop to the harassment...

Just blew the sugar off my doughnut.

....dieting is so hard.

My ex-wife still misses me.

But, her aim is starting to improve.

How do pigeons elect their leaders?

They don’t. Pigeons can only gain power through a cooo d’etat.

I believe it fair to say that the bottom of the barrel has finally been reached.

Motivation Matters

My eyes popped open in the still, pitch black bedroom. I squinted across at the digital clock on the television. 4:43 am. The first thing I thought was, wonder if it snowed? The second thing I thought about was soldiers and mercenaries. It had been the last thing I remember thinking before I had drifted off to sleep seven hours earlier. And now the thought was still with me, soldiers and mercenaries, and the difference between the two.

Almost everyone has respect for soldiers. With the notable exception of Vietnam, soldiers have always been welcomed home with the warm thanks of their grateful countrymen. Even when we disagree about the wars they are asked to fight, we generally honor the men and women who do the fighting. We admire their training, tenacity and bravery, and especially their devotion to duty and each other. We build statues and memorials to them. We know that they put themselves in harms way, for little pay, so the rest of us don’t have to. We marvel at their acts of heroism. We stand in awe of those few who intentionally give up their own lives to save the lives of the men in their unit. The selfless sacrifice stirs us. It causes thousands of us to walk up to complete strangers in uniform who we see at the airport to thank them for their service. They hold a special place in our affections.

But, consider the mercenary. They are also well trained, tenacious and brave. They also willingly place themselves in harms way so the rest of us don’t have to. But no one writes songs about their heroism. There isn’t a single statue in a single town in America that honors them. Nobody would buy a book entitled, A Mercenary’s Diary. The very idea of someone who is willing to sell his killing skills to the highest bidder sickens us. We turn away from such people. We don’t see them as selfless and honorable. And yet, they perform the same function as a front line soldier when the bullets start flying. Why don’t we honor the mercenary? Because of one thing...motivation. The thought that someone would be eager to fight if the price was right, for whichever side wants him the most,  reduces the job of soldiering to a mere financial transaction. Fighting, even fighting our enemies, when stripped of devotion and love of country becomes the blackest of arts. The triumph of money over principle changes everything.

This thought has dominated my waking hours for the past few days. Why do we work? What motivates us to strive and struggle for money? Many noble things, no doubt. We want to provide for those we love. We want to have a nice home, a nice car, educate our children, go on nice vacations. All of these things require money. The motivation to provide these things is what drives us out of bed every morning. We know that we can’t just sit around expecting someone else to give us anything. This is right and proper. But is the pursuit of money all that matters. Does it matter how we earn our money? For this discussion, I am not referring to what is legal and what is not. I think we would all agree that selling drugs to middle school kids is an evil enterprise, no matter how profitable it might be. But, not everything that’s legal is noble. Not every profitable transaction is honorable. Each of us are asked to make moral distinctions on practically a daily basis. I am sick. I need a vaccine. To obtain that vaccine is it morally justifiable to skip the line, throw some money around to bypass those unable to do so? It is the same with how we earn money. Everyone must ask themselves, Although what I’m doing is perfectly legal, is it just? Is there such a thing as too much money, an amount that would change who you are were you to become in possession of it? From my perspective after 62 years, I believe that making money off the misery of others, capitalizing on the failure of others for profit feels like darkness to me. Ambulance chasing lawyers come to mind. Payday lenders. Loan sharks. Price gougers. Short sellers...

Motivation matters...and these days, motivation is everything.

My Take on Gamestop

WARNING: What follows does NOT constitute investment advice, but rather represents the random, scattered opinions of one guy who invests money for a living.

The GameStop Saga has dominated the financial news of late and for good reason...it has been insane. I will attempt a thumbnail sketch with as little jargon as possible to summarize the madness:

GameStop, a retail seller of video games and a business that is much the same as Blockbuster Video was just before it went belly up, has been a favorite short sell target of hedge fund guys on Wall Street. A short sale is when you’re betting that a stock is going to DROP in value. Anyway, a large group of retail day trader types at a Reddit site figured out a way to hype the stock among its 2 million or so subscribers over a period of months with the strategy of bidding UP the price of the stock. The purpose of this strategy was two fold, as best I can figure. First, if the price shot up as they hoped it would A. Make them a fortune in a very short period of time and B. Force the hedge fund guys to buy more shares of GameStop to cover their mounting losses, thus driving the price up even more...rinse and repeat...in so doing cause the hedge fund hot shots to lose a boatload of money. Call it a victory of the little guy over the Wall Street fat cats.

Ok, although I totally understand and appreciate the value in a healthy market of the short sale, at least in theory, I generally detest short sellers. They are the guys who I consider vultures, dudes who only profit when something is dying. So the fact that these renegade day traders have brought many of them low gives me vicarious pleasure that I’m not exactly proud of! If you hear suggestions that these day trading millennials are some sort of brand new and unique threat to the stock market, fear not. There is nothing at all unique about this except for the fact that now a bunch of nobody’s have figured out how to do what hedge fund managers have been doing for decades...front running a bunch of worthless stocks and then profiting through put options.

But here’s my problem with all of this. It’s not investing. It’s stock manipulation and trading. Nobody is buying anything, nobody is making investment decisions because of the products or services of the underlying companies. Nothing at all is being produced except ginormous profits and staggering losses. It’s the exact same thing that happens every weekend in Las Vegas. 

I own a reasonably diverse portfolio of stocks and mutual funds that have been put together with an eye towards, yes...profit, but also sustainable growth. Every stock I own was invested in because I believed in the product or service they brought to the market. Further, I thought that they were well run, and in a position to be profitable many years into the future. By taking partial ownership of those companies I was rewarding them for their well made product or service, and helping them remain so. Now, I’m not a freak when it comes to this socially responsible investing thing. My portfolio is not a philanthropic enterprise. A company that makes the most socially responsible product in the world still has to be well run and profitable or I’m not interested. However, there are many companies that are both of those things that I would never invest in because I object to the product or service on moral grounds. That’s my right as an investor. What I will never do as an investor is seek to profit on the collapse of a business, in others words, I morally object to the implications of short selling anything. It’s just not in my DNA.

Does that make me a sucker at times? No doubt. But as far as I can tell, it hasn’t hurt my results long term. What this GameStop episode is doing is undermining the confidence that many ordinary retail investors have in the fairness and transparency of equity markets. How can a rag tag collection of dudes on the internet drive up the value of a company with very little prospects by 400% in just a few days? It seems shady and dangerous. And if two months from now billions of dollars have been gained and lost and GameStop stock is back to what it was before all of this started the question will be...What was the point? If it feels like manipulation, smells like manipulation, and looks like manipulation, its probably manipulation.

What it’s not is....new. 

Here’s an idea. Only buy things you can believe in. Only buy things that you can explain in less than two minutes to the kid down the street. 

Sophie’s Choice

For most of my life I’ve done a reasonably decent job of taking life one day at a time. Of course no one is perfect in this regard. All of us have been guilty of occasionally wishing the week away when there’s something big happening on the weekend. Who of us hasn’t secretly wanted the child to be done with the toddler stage already, only to take it all back the day they get their driver’s license? But since the arrival of COVID, my ability to stay in the moment has slowly deteriorated to the point now where I am constantly longing for...the future.

I know this is no way to live. John Lennon’s words are still true, “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” And yet, restricted life in the Age of Pandemics feels something like the terrible twos to me, something to be endured until better days arrive. But with each passing day, now approaching the one year anniversary of COVID, comes the feeling that it may never truly be “over”, some limits may linger for years. Whenever I read the words variant strains they sound crushing to me. As a consequence for about six months now I have found myself sleepwalking through the present, dreaming of the future. In particular, I have become obsessed with my 66th birthday, the date I set for myself some years ago as the demarcation day of retirement, or some form thereof. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.

Now, President Biden is placing travel restrictions on incoming flights. Other countries are banning travel of any kind. I see the death toll numbers, I read the stories of new South African, Brazilian and British strains, so I understand the necessity of these measures. It’s not even like I had plans to travel, its just another shrinking of my options which feels diminishing. Freedom of movement has always been like oxygen to me, something I never ever think about. It just is. Not so much anymore.

I am certainly not alone in feeling the isolation that comes with COVID. All of us do in one way or another. My thinking and understanding of COVID has gone through many stages over the past eleven months, from skepticism to bewilderment to acceptance of the reality. But merely acknowledging something isn’t enough unless it changes your behavior, and my behavior has changed over these months. There are the ubiquitous masks, the incessant hand washing, that chill that spreads over your hands like fog shrouding a mountain when you squirt that hand sanitizer. At work there are virtual appointments, which feature me smiling awkwardly at a computer screen while I try to navigate the two second time delay.

Then there is the matter of our friends and neighbors who have come down with this dreadful virus, and the feeling of helplessness that overwhelms. When our next door neighbor got it, at least we could check up with her from across the way to see if there was anything she needed. When dear friends of ours in our  church small group came down with it we were limited to delivering a meal for them on their porch, when what we really wanted to do was march inside and clean their house, run errands and hug them close. Speaking of that group, our last face to face meeting was almost three months ago and that was a rarity in and of itself. Church? It has morphed into just another screen experience. We briefly started meeting together in reduced, socially distanced numbers, but then there was a COVID visitation among several volunteers so that’s on hold now.

Which brings me back to living in the moment. One reason I’ve become so bad at it is the fact that I truly hate this moment. So my mind constantly drifts to 2024 and what needs to happen between now and then, some things which are in my power to control but many other things where I am at the mercies of fate and chance. My choices seem to have been reduced to feeling annoyed and adrift by the here and now or nervous and anxious about the future, a Sophie’s choice for the ages.

Losing My Man Card

Ok, I think all of this social isolation is finally getting to me. Last night I made a charcuterie board. I choose not to offer photographic proof of this fact to preserve what is left of my dignity, but I did prepare my first ever charcuterie board and thought it was worth mentioning, especially considering the fact that up until a year or so ago I had no idea what a charcuterie board was, let alone how to make one. Sure, I knew that anyone could throw a bunch of cheese and sausages on a platter and serve them, I just didn’t know it had such a fancy name...charcuterie board...sounds like a board game for old ladies.

Anyway, a couple summers ago in Maine, we started having charcuterie boards every afternoon on the dock down by the lake along with Maine-themed cocktails. Whenever my daughter-in-law Sarah was in charge, these things were like works of art. She would slice up three or four types of meat, Italian sausage, pepperoni, prosciutto, summer sausage. Then she would slice up all manner of delectable cheeses and fan them out like decorations on the tray. There would be Gouda, Brie, sharp cheddar, Gruyere, etc. I learned that the cheese was key to the whole enterprise. Cheese pairings, they all called. Then there are the crackers. We can’t forget the crackers. There are thin round water crackers, rectangular focaccia crackers and the more pedestrian wheat thins. Then, to make the feast look healthier, there were grapes and sliced apples sprinkled here and there. Off to the far corner of the board there would be a small bowl full of a positively dreadful jellied concoction, the best I could tell it was some sort of soft cheese wrapped in a weird jelly/nut glaze. No thanks! On the opposite end of the board there was another small bowl of humus into which one could dip a small selection of sliced raw vegetables. 

This treat was not meant to be an actual meal, rather an afternoon snack to tide us over until dinner. But when its just the two of us here on a Sunday night with football on the television, it will do quite nicely as a meal. So there I was last night fanning the cheese around in a circle surrounding the two types of meat piled in the center of the board. I put the gross jelly thing in a side dish in the corner just like Sarah does. I even placed a couple bunches of grapes atop the pile for appearances. The board I used was a gift given to us by my nephew for Christmas—word having gotten around that the Dunnevant clan is now thoroughly addicted to this sort of thing.

And yes, it is monogrammed. 

Now that I have shared this confession It occurs to me that I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. What is more manly than chunks of meat and cheese that you are encouraged to eat with your fingers? Sure, the way Pam and Sarah put these things together makes them look like oil paintings, still life’s that you’re afraid to touch. But at the end of the day, its just sausage and cheese, the two finest taste combinations in all of Christendom. We just need to come up with a better name than charcuterie board.

The Death of a Hero

I opened my laptop at 6 in the morning while rubbing the sleep from my eyes and saw the headline, Hank Aaron had passed. For reasons I cannot explain, I felt my throat constrict and tears forming in the corners of my eyes. As I have gotten older this sort of thing happens more frequently than I would like to admit. My childhood heroes, like me, are getting older, and yet when one of them dies it always comes as a shock to the system. Now Hammerin’ Hank is gone.

When I was 8 years old I began a life long love affair with baseball, largely due to my older brother’s devotion to the game. His favorite players became my favorite players. For me it was always Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, and Hank Aaron. In that order. I was a Mickey guy, mostly because Donnie was a Mickey guy. I remember checking a book out of the Claiborne Elementary School library in New Orleans, Louisiana that told the story of Mickey Mantle. It was entitled, The Commerce Comet, and I was in the 3rd grade. It was the first book I had ever checked out from a library. I read it in one day. There was much to like about The Mick. He was movie star handsome, could run like the wind and hit a baseball to the moon. But I also loved Willie Mays. He did everything with style and flash, the best center fielder in the game. Then there was Hank Aaron who did nothing with style and flash. He wasn’t particularly handsome, hardly ever had anything to say. While Mickey’s smile beamed out from the cover of magazines and Willie was in every highlight reel, Hank just plugged along. The PR people with the Braves tried to juice him up with the national sports media who were Mantle v Mays obsessed by giving him the nickname Hammerin’ Hank. But it never really worked. He was just a ball player more comfortable with his real name...Henry Aaron. He lacked both the charm and charisma of Willie and Mickey, but never the talent. The press was in love with the charmers who’s rivalry started in New York City. The Yankees and The Giants, the two glamour teams. Nobody cared about the small market Braves no matter where they played...Milwaukee or Atlanta. But Hank kept showing up for work every day, playing the game brilliantly. Then one day it occurred to the baseball writers that he had an excellent chance to make a run at the most hallowed record in a sport full of hallowed records...Babe Ruth’s home run title. Finally, after a spectacular career of excellence, he would be plunged into the white hot glare of national scrutiny in the summer of 1973 and the spring of 1974 as he chased down the Babe. Suddenly after each game a throng of reporters were at his locker sticking microphones in his face. He answered their stupid repetitive questions with short, boring answers.

During this pressure packed pursuit of an icon’s record, Hank Aaron received hate mail. Tens of thousands of letters of vicious, racist hate mail. Death threats poured in among them. Yet Henry Aaron kept hitting and kept up his largely silent quest. When he finally launched a pitch by the Dodger’s Al Downing over the left field wall into the waiting glove of reliever Tom House, it was finally over. At home plate he was mobbed by his teammates, but that didn’t stop a strong, long suffering and worried to death woman from plowing through the crowd to reach her son...

And now this strong, proud and unassuming man is gone.

Willie Mays was asked once about Hank Aaron. His words seem appropriate as an ending for this tribute:

“ Hank Aaron was the best person I ever met.”

Hope Springs Eternal

Wednesday 20, 2021. Our system of government, beaten and battered though it may be, has worked. The candidate with not only the most Electoral votes, but also the most vote votes has won. The candidate who lost is leaving Washington, albeit in a childish snit. The winning candidate, who has never left Washington for over half a century, will become President today in a diminished ceremony. I will tune in for the speech. I always do. However I can’t promise I’ll stick around for the entire thing. I seldom do. One thing I will notice will be the politicians sitting behind the President, and how very old they all are. The president himself, ancient and frail, Pelosi, McConnell, and Schumer, old and sagging under the weight of all that backstabbing, guile fairly dripping off them like beads of sweat.Why are politicians so old? Where are the forty-somethings, men and women with energy and new ideas? In other lines of work, thats where. And who could blame them?

What I will not watch is the insufferable virtual parade/entertainment that the triumphant Democrats will foist on us for the rest of the day. There will be all of the beautiful Hollywood types cooing about this and that along with a procession of pop stars. You have to hand it to the Democrats though, they always have all the big stars at these types of events. Whenever Republican’s are in charge, they serve up something like Scott Baio or Tom Selleck while the music is always a couple of Country singers. Its like whoever they send up there, my first thought is always, “Wait...that guy is still alive?” But, there’s nothing to be done about it. The cool kids have always been leftists.

The best part about today—if we make it through without incident—is that it will hopefully begin a new era where politics will become boring again. Sure, for awhile Biden will be news because he’s a new President. But eventually, after his first 100 days, that tiresome legacy of FDR that forces every new administration to act like the world is on fire and they must put it out with rapid fire initiatives, things will calm down. Suddenly we will wake up and realize that every headline on the news is not about Washington infighting. It will dawn on us that politics and politicians have stopped being entertainment and gone back to being necessary but dependable annoyances.

Hope springs eternal.

My Prayer For The Week

One of the ingrained assumptions of being an American is the peaceful transfer of power from one administration to the next. I have watched it a total of ten times during my adult life, the outgoing President riding in the motorcade with the incoming President from the White House to the Capitol, then sitting behind him and watching him take the oath of office, then politely applauding. Its always a cool moment, satisfying, even comforting. This year at the beginning of inauguration week, I’m holding my breath that it goes off without bloodshed. There will be no huge throng of people on the Mall watching. There will be no parades and no fancy balls to mark the occasion. Only members of Congress, a few guests, and a thousand masks. But there will be 25,000 American Troops and newly erected fencing, even some razor wire, photographs of which will be gleefully distributed on Chinese, Russian, and Iranian media. Add this embarrassment to the growing list of things I thought I would never witness during my lifetime.

So, my hope and prayer is that when this week is over there will have been no violence, no deaths, no destruction of property, that all 50 state capitols will be secure, and that we can begin to move forward to the very difficult task of learning how not to hate each other so much. I wish Joe Biden all the best. I can honestly say that I have wished every new President the very best at the beginning of their term in office. I did for Clinton, Bush, Obama and Trump. Generally speaking, when a President fails it’s a failure for the country. When they succeed, generally the country succeeds. Good will should be the default emotion for any new President from every citizen of this country. When Biden does well, I will commend him here. When he screws up I will let him have it in this space. What I will not do is engage in inflamed rhetoric fantasizing about his gruesome death like I saw from Alec Baldwin this weekend. I will not tolerate violent language here. I believe it is possible to disagree, even strongly, with politicians without stooping to ad hominem attacks. After ten years and over 2000 posts, I’m sure if you search thoroughly enough you will find examples of such attacks here, but I hope very few and nothing recently. I am not a perfect witness in this area. Sometimes I forget myself and get caught up in the moment. But we all have to get better at this, better at disagreeing, better at talking to each other.

Maybe, a year from now, we won’t be so obsessed with the travails of politics. Maybe at some point our attention and our interest will be towards more nobler things. Maybe one day soon our disagreements will be less vitriolic. Maybe on that glorious day in the future when the masks finally come off, there will be smiles underneath.