Beware The Thieves of Wonder

Famed New York Times outdoors columnist Nelson Bryant wrote what follows to his two daughters shortly before his death at age 96.

“The secret I would have you know……is that even though the years will steal your fresh beauty, it need only be, in truth, a minor theft. What you must guard against is that jaded state wherein there is nothing new to see or learn. Marvel at the sun, rejoice in the rhythmic wheeling of the stars and learn their names, cry aloud at the swelling beauty of an orchid in the white oak woods, or December’s first snow; slide down the wind with a hawk and cherish the smell of woodsmoke and mayflowers, or the caress of a warm wool blanket; tarry by a stream where willows bend and flee tedium’s gray embrace. Cherish laughter and whimsy, but battle unrelentingly for what you know is right and be aware that the thieves of wonder can enter any heart.”

Dodging Bullets

Nearly eight decades ago, wave after wave of American, Canadian and British teenagers were dodging bullets while storming the beaches of Normandy to begin ridding the world of the Nazi menace. Seventy eight years later, here’s what was going on in America yesterday:

For the first time in my life I spent $90 for a tank of gas.

Meanwhile, the Congress of the United States has hired a former ABC news executive to produce the upcoming Thursday night hearing on the January 6th riot, to be broadcast in prime time at 8:00 eastern time. While nothing can apparently be done about runaway inflation, this Congress may be the first to be nominated for an Emmy.

The Carolina Panthers of the National Football League have hired the first ever bald, transgendered female cheerleader. Now, if only they could find a quarterback.

I received a letter delivered by the United States Postal Service a mere 13 days after it was placed in the mail…from six miles away.

A reporter with the Washington Post was suspended from his job after it was discovered that he had “re-tweeted” a joke posted by someone else. The re-tweet set off a firestorm of protest throughout the newsroom with colleagues demanding the re-tweeting reporter be disciplined. The offending joke was:

“All woman are bi. The hard part is figuring out whether its polar or sexual.”

I shared a joke via social media which did not result in nearly as much controversy…

I think I dodged a bullet.

Dealing With Lucy’s Embarrassment

The Dunnevant Estate has a new house guest. Ever since our kids moved out, Pam and I have enjoyed opening up their end of the house to a series of temporary tenants in need of a place to live. We have hosted groups of students on choir tours. We housed several semesters of Liberty University nursing students in town for their clinical studies. Most famously, we housed our nephew’s then fiancée—Bernadette—for eight months while she was homeless and  stranded between college graduation and matrimony. Now, Bernadette has struck again, a little over a week ago asking us if we could possibly house a youth intern at Hope Church whose housing had fallen through. Since neither Pam nor I are able to refuse Bernadette anything, we have a new house guest for the next 10 weeks or so. This time, its a boy. He arrived here tall and thin, quiet and well mannered. From the looks of it, after eating Pam’s cooking this summer, he will leave here much thicker but hopefully still well mannered. Lucy seems to approve, always a good sign.

After months of longing we have finally entered the 30 day window on our annual Maine summer season. Actually, we enter it tomorrow morning, but who’s counting? We finally have commitments from the kids on their weeks of participation. We are thrilled that they will both be joining us this year but disappointed that they will be with us on different weeks. Once again Pam gets to celebrate her birthday at the lake (July 19), and this year our stay will be for six weeks, our longest sabbatical to date. Miss Lucy will be joining us and is delighted to have a place to go to hide her hideous haircut from all the other neighborhood dogs, who she claims have consistently mocked her since that horrible day at the groomers. Look at Lucy! She look like lab!! Yo, Luce..did you get cookie wid dat cut?? Hahaha. Your human must be blind as bat. He probably say ‘it grow back’…hahaha. Maybe by winter…bruhahaha!! Lucy can’t wait to see the expressions on all their faces when we back out of the driveway heading for Maine. Lucy will be like…Good luck with hot and hoomid, suckers. When I comes back, I will be gorgeous again and you will all still be ugly mutt-face!! I tell Lucy that the only reason the other dogs tease her is because they are so insanely jealous. I remind her of the many advantages that she was born with and that she mustn’t stoop to their level, that she must rise up and be the better dog, to which she sneezes and snorts her frustration…Easy for you to say, you not one with hack job cut…even squirrels laugh…squirrels!!

As you can see, Lucy has not gotten to a place of forgiveness. She has kept me at paws length ever since the Petsmart debacle. But whenever I mention the upcoming Maine trip her face brightens, her tail—or what is left of it—wags enthusiastically, and she allows me to give her head scratches. I’m thinking that by the time we return from Maine we will all have put the whole nightmare behind us.

Old Men Planting Trees

One suicide. Cancer. A heart attack while throwing football in the front yard with the kids. Kidney failure. Old age. Covid. An automobile accident.

I have lost clients in a variety of ways, more in the past five years than the previous thirty-five combined. There is a reason for this. Like me, my clients are getting older. With age comes increased chances for all sorts of surprise endings. On very rare occasions I allow myself to reflect on my mortality. When I do I quickly realize why I do it so rarely. It is not a pleasant experience.

It is said that no one knows the time or place, the day or hour of their own death. It’s a good thing. When life is lived with the assumption that it will continue indefinitely, it encourages us to make decisions we plan on having to live with. Maybe if we knew when we would die it would release all the selfish demons of hell into the world. 

When I was younger I never thought about what the world would look like after I was removed from it. That’s because when you are young such thoughts are incomprehensible. Once you reach a certain age, that all changes. You begin to think about it a lot. There’s even a buzzword for it…legacy.

I’ve always loved that old proverb: Blessed is he who plants trees under whose shade he will never rest. Let the old men plant trees, though they will never expect to eat the fruit of them. I can think of no better way to live life after 60 than this. Finding a way to leave your part of the world better than you found it seems like the most golden of rules. Its why parents want something better for their children than what they themselves had. Sometimes I hear people say that they want their kids to go through the same battles that they endured. “Why should I shelter them from hard times” the reasoning goes, “If I do they won’t become tough enough.” My reaction to this sort of thinking has always been, “What…are you nuts??!!” Why would I want my kids to have it as hard as I did? First of all, my kids will be dealing with problems that I never dreamt of when I was their age. So why not make it easier for them where I can so they can be freed up to tackle these new problems?

Leaving things better. That’s the goal. Its not always achievable. Some things can’t be fixed. Some struggles are eternal. But when we can, when we are able, we need to plant some trees that someone else will picnic under.

Unspeakable Tragedy on the James River

Whenever this happens, it becomes clear to me that it is time to go to Maine. Unfortunately, we have 35 more days to endure before the glorious day when we arrive at Quantabacook. A friend in Maine replied when I sent him the above photograph, “It’s 75 with 40% humidity here.” He loves doing this to me. 

But as I spent half my day sweating through my shirt whenever I got in the car before the AC finally kicked in, I thought of the family of the girl who went missing on the James River this past Sunday and what their day has been like. For the entire week they and their friends have been walking along the banks of the river, mile after mile searching for their daughter. In 98 degree heat and stifling humidity, they have trudged through the trees, bushes, underbrush for miles while rescue and recovery efforts on the water by local officials has been underway. We are told that every day that passes, the odds of finding anyone alive get slimmer. At this point, they are most likely searching for her remains. And yet, they soldier on in the heat, hoping against hope. I ask myself what I would do if I were them after so long and I realize that I would be doing the exact same thing. Losing a child, losing a 28 year old young woman full of potential and promise, her entire life of endless possibilities in front of her, sounds like among the worst of all human experiences. Pam and I know the family. Although we were not friends, we attended the same church for many years. They were talented musicians who played in the church orchestra. Their beautiful daughter is the same age as my nephew. I have followed the parent’s updates on Facebook with a mix of profound sadness and admiration at their spirit, determination and their amazing grace. I have stopped several times throughout the week to lift prayers for them, feeble as they were. I have detected no self pity in any of their updates, just faith in God for whatever happens and gratitude for all the support that has come from lifelong friends. I wonder if my faith would be as strong. I wonder if I could maintain their hopeful spirit, their trust in a loving God. I hope so…but I’m so grateful I have so far never had to find out.

The Second Chance Trust

Last night, after two years of on again, off again inspiration, I finally finished writing novel number four. The previous three had all been wrapped up in 6-8 months. This one was different, a beguiling, frustrating battle. Maybe because it was written during COVID, the uncertainty of the last two years contributed to the frustration. The story came in torrents at times, then would recede into the hills not to be heard from for weeks, months at a time.

The last chapter of any work of fiction is the most difficult to write. How to end a story is far harder than beginning one. The idea for a story often comes in a flash of inspiration, but wrapping up a story is full of angst and doubt. Leaving your characters and their universe in suspended animation feels arbitrary and even cruel. But it has to be done. So last night, I typed out the last few words and put the story to bed. I am both proud of it and suspicious. Is it any good? Is it good enough to get published? Part of me thinks it doesn’t matter because I found great pleasure and satisfaction writing it which is its own reward, but another part of me is dying to know whether its good enough to be published.

So now it goes to my friend Denise Roy for a proofread, then to my daughter for a more literary editing job. This process will take a while. Each of them have day jobs. But eventually it will be ready for the next step. I have between now and then to decide what that next step is. Along the way I have sent chapters one by one to a few friends for their comments and thoughts, Dodie Whitt because she will read practically anything and has lots of opinions, Tom Allen who although disappointed that there were no pictures is always good for an insight or three, and a Maine buddy of mine, Alan Smith who is a fine writer in his own right. Eventually, I will let Pam read it. Her opinion is always the most valuable because at the end of the day she is the one I’m always trying to impress. I have stumbled upon a tentative title…The Second Chance Trust.

Wish me luck.

Tired of Being a Coward

When I first saw the news from Uvalde, Texas I decided that there wasn’t anything else to say about school shootings in this space since I had written over a dozen posts after similar carnage. Instead, I reposted two of the more detailed posts on the subject and let it go at that. 

Ever since I’ve felt like a coward.

The truth is that I can’t get the images of those children out of my head. I can never unsee the pictures of those two teachers who died trying to protect them. I can never shake the panic that wells up in me the instant I hear or read the words school shooting, that moment when the unimaginable enters my head…could it be Pam’s school, Kaitlin’s, or the classrooms of the half dozen other teachers I know and love? Then I immediately think of my nieces and nephews, the children of my friends and neighbors. When I hear that its some school in west Texas, I begin to breathe again. But, what about those west Texas kids? What about their parents? Those kids will never draw another breath, and those parents will never breathe again without the heavy weight of grief grinding away at their souls.

I’ve spent the last couple of days skimming through all the stale arguments about guns. I’ve read of statistics that suggest that this or that might work, others that draw the opposite conclusion. I’ve read passionate defenses of an unfettered 2nd Amendment, equally passionate pleas for banning assault rifles. 

On my Facebook feed, that hardy perennial—the calligraphy lettering against baby blue background which reminds us that guns are not the problem, just the people who use them—has made many appearances. I read the words and part of me agrees with the sentiment. Guns are inanimate objects, neither evil or good until put to use for either evil or good purposes. I get it. But the notion that a weapon designed to kill as many people as possible in the shortest amount of time is irrelevant to what happened in Uvalde, Texas is patently absurd. The fact that the particular weapon involved was purchased by a boy on his 18th birthday, even though that boy had a history of making unhinged claims on social media that he had big plans to shoot up an elementary school, is certainly not irrelevant…is it?

What disturbs me the most about this conversation is the fatalism of it all, the notion that at the end of the day we are powerless to prevent these horrors. There are 300 million deadly weapons in the United States, 17 million of them AR-15’s. Any attempt at confiscation would be a fool’s errand. Actually, I have made a similar argument in this space on more than one occasion and part of me still believes it.

But, as a citizen of a nation where school shootings are as ordinary as the common cold, to remain true to the proposition that there is nothing we can do to stop the killing is to give up, admit defeat, and get back to binging the Johnny Depp trial.

No. Not this time.

I am not at all convinced that any particular action we might take as a country would be a “solution”. I am equally unconvinced that any change in law we might enact would stop all such crimes. Preventing mass shootings will be a generational effort requiring many attempts at solutions. But I’ve grown weary of the defeatist attitude that has rendered us powerless to stop the mass murder of school children. 

I see this chart and I want to punch someone in the face:

Since the beginning of The Tempest in 2011 there have been the following number of school shootings:

Canada—2

France—2

Germany—2

Japan—-0

Italy—-0

Britain—0

The United States of America—-288

I refuse to accept this horrifying statistic as something that Americans simply have to endure. If this is the price we all are forced to pay so anyone anywhere at any time can purchase an automatic rifle, then I submit to you that the price is too damn high.

So, I am open to trying to stop it. Let’s try some reasonable restrictions designed to prevent crazy people from getting their hands on weapons of mass killing intent. At least make it harder, right? I’m tired of hearing how easy it was for some lunatic to buy an AR-15, how insanely simple it was for them to arm themselves with such deadly tools. If we enact a law that doesn’t work, we’ll have to try something else. It will be a process, a crucible we all will have to endure to make our nation less dangerous for our school children. But whatever you do, don’t tell me there’s nothing we can do. That is defeatist bullshit of the highest order and frankly, un-American. We put a man on the moon for God’s sake. What we truly can no longer afford to do is…nothing.

Patrick’s Day

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

Poor Lucy and Her Traumatic Beauty Shop Experience

Every so often I have to take Lucy to the groomers for a haircut. I don’t like to do it, mostly because I hate leaving her with strangers anywhere for half the day, but also because she never looks right when I get her back. First of all, she’s a Golden. She’s supposed to have frills, fringes and a poof of a tail. She’s not a lab, for heavens sake. But eventually Goldens can get a bit out of control with the fringes and what not, so you take her over to Petsmart and drop her off at 10:00 in the morning and await the text informing you that she is ready.

They promise you that she will get a luxurious bath complete with some sort of milk conditioner, a thorough teeth brushing, and a nail grinding, plus a fresh haircut. When you drop her off, the stylist points out that Lucy has several mats on her belly which must be dealt with first. I was aware of the existence of these mats, a rarity for Lucy, but the primary reason I have her at the groomers in the first place. I’m figuring that if her hair has gotten long and shaggy enough to develop mats, its time for a cut. No need to worry, I am assured by the perky stylist, she will take care of everything.

The text comes at 1:45. I drop everything and dash over to Petsmart full of nervous apprehension. Poor Lucy has been cooped up over there for nearly 4 hours. What the heck were they doing for four hours? I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine.

Ok. When they bring her out the first thing that comes out of my mouth is “Um..why did you cut her hair so SHORT?” 

Immediately, the stylist launches into a long and unnecessarily technical dissertation about how tricky mat-shaving can be, how to make everything blend in she was forced to cut her hair “a little” shorter than usual. I was so distracted by her absence of frills and fringes that I completely missed the total hack job that was done on her ears. Poor Lucy was mortified with the shame of it all, refusing to perk her ears up no matter what the provocation happened to be on the ride home. Its as if she knew that her ears were a train wreck and the poor girl didn’t want to draw any attention to them!

Normally, this is what frilly, fringy Lucy looks like:

Here she is post hack job:

The good news is that we don’t leave for Maine for 44 more days. Maybe she will look like her old self by then. But for now, she is quite upset with her grooming experience. Any condolence comments you all can offer up will be read aloud to her in an attempt to cheer the poor girl up. 

Thank You!

Max and Patron

Got back home yesterday afternoon after a fabulous few days away only to discover that I now have a new deadly virus to lose my mind over…Monkeypox. If that wasn’t bad enough I then see a headline about how Southern Baptist leaders have been stonewalling and denigrating sex abuse victims within the denomination for years, according to some third party investigative report. The trifecta of horribleness took the form of a recent poll that states that more Americans care about the Johnny Depp v Amber Heard trial than care about abortion or the war in Ukraine…combined.

Impossible as it might seem for things to get any worse, I then discover a story about a new low to which the Russian armed forces have fallen…

Meet “Max”, the Belgian Malinois special forces dog who was abandoned by the Russian army and left to starve. Ukrainian forces found Max and nursed him back to health, taught the super smart dog to understand Ukrainian commands and have now redeployed him as a bomb sniffer where he is doing great work and has become a soldier favorite. In doing so, Max has joined the ranks of many medal-winning canines in service to Ukraine, none more famous than this guy:

This is “Patron”, a Jack Russell terrier who was recently awarded a medal for meritorious service to the Ukrainian nation by his heroic and tireless efforts to find Russian land mines. Patron—who’s name translates in English to “bullet”— weighs in at a mere 4K which means that his weight does not trigger the mines. However, this also means that his handlers have to be careful giving him treats. The picture of Patron receiving his medal has been one of the most popular photographs of the entire war in Ukraine…

One more thing…a shoutout has to go out to my sweet cousin Peggy. When I got back home there was an envelope addressed to me in her handwriting. When I opened it there was a note from Peggy who had been going through some old things belonging to her mother, my aunt, Mary. One of the things she found was our wedding invitation from 1984. She had enclosed it in the envelope and sent it to us to fondly remember during our anniversary. One of the sweetest, most thoughtful things anyone has done for us in a long time. Love you, Cousin.

What We’ve Been Up To

So, today was amazing and fun. We decided to rent a couple of bikes and ride over to Assateague Island and do the wildlife loop trail. It was a delightful 74 degrees and sunny at 9:00 am when we peddled out of the Bike Depot on Chincoteague. We hadn’t made it a quarter mile before I got my first reprimand from Pam who was behind me. She took exception to me showing her how I could ride with no hands. The woman has zero sense of humor when it comes to my brand of high jinx, something that has caused her 38 years of indigestion. She probably wasn’t thrilled when she saw me attempt this selfie while we were on the trail, but it just had to be done…

It should be pointed out that numerous times I offered to surrender the point to her, but each time she refused, while muttering something like, “no, no…you go ahead. Just try a little harder not to give me a heart attack”

Anyway, about halfway through the loop trail there was a brief detour that took you close to the beach. Once there, you were asked to park your bike and walk the hundred yards or so over the dunes to see the view. When we crested the dunes, this is what we saw:

As far as the eye could see in both directions, untouched, unspoiled beach. Way off in the distance to the north we spotted one human being. It was breathtaking. We just walked around for a while taking pictures and smiling…

I finally got Pam to take the point on the home stretch…

One of the themes of this trip has been, down here, we eat kinda what we want, when we want it. Since Pam had eaten no breakfast before our 7.5 mile bike ride she was psyched to get back to the condo for a cup of fat-free yogurt sprinkled with all-bran that had her name on it. But in a surprising development opted for Mister Whippy instead…

…where haute cuisine meets island shabby.

As soon as we woofed these guys down we turned in our bikes, then drove back to the condo to apply some sunscreen, and headed back to the beach where all the human beings are. Once there we lunched on some really high quality kettle corn, Cheetos and washed it all down with Mountain Dew. Tonight we have reservations at AJ’s on the Creek, a nice restaurant, which we are assured, serves real food. It is pour intention to order an appetizer of questionable nutritional value, a couple of calorie-drenched entree’s which come with a 25% off coupon for your first by-pass operation, then indulge our sweet tooth with ice cream from the Island Creamery, who’s slogan reads, “Well, you’ve gotta die of something!”

Day One

There is an estuary just off the back of our condo in Chincoteague which is filled and emptied by the tides. When we arrived yesterday it had been reduced to a thin and shallow stream and a wide bed of mud teaming with life. When we got back from dinner it was three feet deep, reflecting moonbeams that lit up the grassy marsh. Now at 5:30 in the morning, it is emptying out again, the starlings flitting this way and that all along the water’s surface, while the sun lights up the eastern sky in the distance…

Speaking of dinner, our’s was delightful. We had the Bada Bing Shrimp appetizer at the Ropewalk Restaurant and could have left happy after that alone. Then they brought us the entree, a scallop feast on a bed of rice with lump crab meat and tomatoes…

Of course, after dinner we were obligated by the forces of nature and nature’s God to visit the Island Creamery for prodigious helpings of ice cream served on home made waffle cones.

Consequently, today will feature much outdoor exercise to make restitution for last night’s epicurean delights. A good thing since I feel certain that tonight will feature similar deliciousness.

I hate to mention this considering what our Short Pump friends will have to endure today, but today the forecast is for partly sunny skies and 72 degrees.

In a World Where You Can Be Anything…Be Kind

A word about my Aunt’s funeral today.

My brother Donnie was asked by the family to perform the service. He drove down from Maryland and did a wonderful job. Over the last several years since he retired, my brother has taken up being a professional encourager. I only recently leaned that he would call Emma every Monday morning to talk. She had been battling cancer for four years, perhaps that was why he called her so faithfully. At the service he deadpanned, “Hey, I’m retired now, I’ve got nothing else to do.” But I’m sure it meant the world to her. Because he and Emma had music in common, he would often play her his latest composition over the phone. So, at the funeral he played and sang a couple of her favorite hymns, then closed the service out with a wonderful, haunting arrangement of Wayfaring Stranger. In between the music, he retold some of Emma’s favorite stories from when she was growing up on the farm with my Dad. It was a lovely time spent with cousins and my brother and sisters.

But perhaps the most incredible thing about the funeral was what I learned about Aunt Emma that I was clueless about. I mentioned in yesterday’s blog that she was in a semi-famous country and western band back in the late 50’s and early 60’s called the Country Cavaliers. What I learned today at her funeral was just how much of a freaking big deal she was!! I walked in to the Bliley’s chapel over on Hull Street road and saw a big screen right above her casket upon which  a series of photographs were scrolling by, shots of Emma as a teenager, pictures of her and her sister and my Dad when they were just kids. But then, out of the blue, I see a picture of Emma looking movie-star gorgeous standing next to a smiling…Willie Nelson!! It was back when he had short hair and no beard, but it was Willie Nelson, or at least I thought it was. Then the next shot goes up. This one has Emma cozied up with Johnny Cash. The next thing I know, a succession of pictures of my beautiful Aunt Emma with a cavalcade of country music legends…Buck Owens, Porter Wagoner, Lester Flatt, Earl Scruggs. It was only then that I discovered that the Country Cavaliers served as the house band for the New Dominion Barn Dance which aired every Saturday night of WTVR for eleven years. In those years Emma’s band often played and sang backup for these stars whenever they came through town. Amazing.

But, here’s the best thing about the service. Everyone who spoke kept saying the same thing, using the exact same word to sum up who Emma was. that word was…Kind. That’s the word I think of when remembering her, but I knew her well when I was just a child. But apparently, it was no act because that’s all anyone could talk about today, how kind she was. What a glorious legacy for any human being.

My daughter probably doesn’t remember Emma, but as a teacher down in Columbia, South Carolina she has a slogan of sorts and she keeps it on display in her classroom and on her social media pages. Here’s what it says…

“In a World Where You Can Be Anything…Be Kind.”

Thanks, Aunt Emma for leading the way.

Attending a Funeral

I’ll be attending a funeral on Tuesday. My Dad’s youngest sister passed away last week. Most of my interactions with Emma were during my childhood, our lives having gone in different directions since the early 60’s. But she made a big impression on me back then that I have never forgotten.

I was four or five years old. My Dad was attending the University of Richmond full time during the day while working at Reynolds Metals on the graveyard shift. Every morning I would sit in the backseat of my Dad’s Plymouth with a guy named Jan LaPierre who was also a student at UofR, as we drove to Emma’s house, where Dad would drop me off to spend the day with Aunt Emma and my cousin Danny. As a bonus, my grandparents lived in a trailer in the back yard of Emma’s house. This went on for many months and years until I became old enough to attend school. Here’s what I remember from the experience.

For a five year old boy, Aunt Emma was the closest thing to a movie star that I knew. First of all, she was beautiful. Secondly, she was an actual star, the lead singer of the Country Cavaliers, a semi-famous country band in Richmond in the late 50’s and early 60’s. (Think Patsy Cline, only prettier). But the thing I remember most about Emma was her big smile and how incredibly kind she was. Every morning I was greeted with a warm hug and a kiss on the top of my head. Then after she had made sure that Danny and I had eaten a decent breakfast, the two of us were let loose to terrorize the neighborhood unsupervised with the only instructions being, “Make sure you are both back here for lunch!” Ahh yes, the early 60’s—when the most popular parenting style was benign neglect. Danny and I had great fun outside all day. Lunch was always delicious. Since Danny was an only child I remember he always had super cool toys and playing at his house was like an Adventureland. Then late in the afternoon, right before Dad would pull into the driveway to pick me up, Danny and I would gather around my grandmother’s kitchen table for our afternoon snack—peanut butter graham crackers and cold milk.

But it was Aunt Emma who always made us feel safe. I could always sense, even as a five year old that she loved me. Nothing bad would happen to me at Aunt Emma’s. She wouldn’t allow it.

So, I will attend the funeral today. I will reunite briefly with Danny and many of my other cousins from the Dunnevant side of the family. I will not be sad. There is no reason for sadness. Emma was a lovely woman, someone worth celebrating.

Friday the 13th

Whenever you’ve endured a truly terrible week, then wake up to the realization that it’s Friday the 13th, the sensation churning in your stomach is not a pleasant one! In my line of work, there aren’t many weeks as difficult as this one has been. The sell-off in the stock markets has been unrelenting and nerve-wracking. Your forty years of experience assures you that it’s temporary. History, not to mention the actual record, promises a full and complete recovery in time. Still, because we are human beings with beating hearts and not soulless machines, our stomachs churn. “In time, you say? How much time??” The answer is unknowable. But, that unknowability is the reason why long term investors in stock markets are so highly compensated. The price you pay for high returns is that churning stomach.

Friday the 13th is the least of my worries. It’s just another day on the calendar. Aside from the alleged bad luck assigned to it by the poets, it is a Friday which for me brings relief since after 4:00 this afternoon the world’s stock markets will take a 65 hour break. We all will stop obsessing over it, turning our attention elsewhere to more fulfilling projects. Hopefully we will have the opportunity to watch a beautiful sunset while we ponder how it is that a fluctuating number on our balance sheet has such power over our sense of well being. I will spend some time planning for my wedding anniversary weekend getaway next week. We will have been together for 38 years. I think we will spend some time over in Chincoteague. One of the great things about her is that she fell in love with me when my balance sheet was zero. She stayed in love with me during the six years when every spare dime we had went to educate our kids. Now that the coffers are full—although not as much as they were 5 months ago!—she loves me no less than she ever has.

Kaitlin’s Day

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

Building a Brand and Other Foolishness

Today is packed with busyness, so not much time. However, on occasion this blog has served as an outlet for getting things off my chest, so I will indulge myself this morning. There is a term and philosophy that seems to be taking over the American landscape that annoys the hell out of me and it is this…branding. It manifests itself among athletes, actors and even politicians, and what it amounts to is the monetization of human personality. We hear phrases like, He’s building his brand, or that move was very off-brand. It’s also infecting the business world. Anyone who owns a business is advised to create, enhance, and maintain your brand at any cost. It is the differentiator, we are told. It should serve as a cautionary tale that the patron saints of this branding craze are the Kardashians.

Look, I have nothing against either making money or self-promotion, but viewing life as nothing more than one giant cosmic marketing opportunity is a colossal waste of a life. Human beings are not a brand. We are far more than a marketing scheme. Our purposes on this planet cannot be reduced to a slogan that can be market-tested for the widest acceptance. If being off-brand means anything like acting out of character, then some of the finest hours in my life have come when I have been decidedly off brand. Discovering new things, acting on whims, trying out new experiences that stretch you and challenge you might be off brand, but they constitute personal growth and provide opportunities for learning that following a brand building rubric could never provide.

So, all you people out there desperate to build your brand…get over yourselves. Build a life instead.

Keeping an eye out for Zombie-teachers

Ok, so last night my daughter and her husband FaceTimed their mother. This has become customary on Mother’s Day. Both of our kids place a call to their mother at some point during the day, their faces pop up on the screen and Pam makes do with this weary technological substitute. Earlier in the day, my son and daughter-in-law called from the front porch of their new home, still in their church clothes on a gorgeous sunny day in Nashville. By the time we got the call from Kaitlin and Jon, the family which had been gathered at our house for lunch had gone home, and we had just sat down for a snack supper. Her timing was impeccable.

Anyway, during our thirty minute conversation, Kaitlin casually mentioned that she had recently gone to Target to buy a pair of sunglasses. Now, ordinarily, this bit of news would have been unremarkable, but when she shared what had precipitated the purchase of new sunglasses, it became quite hilarious. My daughter, the one with the master’s degree in English Literature, master teacher, and official smarty-pants, had been astonished to learn upon looking into a random mirror that she had been walking around wearing a pair of sunglasses with only…one lense. She wasn’t sure how long she had been wearing these sunglasses but her best guess was weeks rather than days. Now, at this point I should point out that it is May, teachers everywhere are frantic, bedraggled, and have come to resemble the zombies of the apocalypse. But still…we found it unbelievable that she could have worn such defective sunglasses and not been aware of their defectiveness. Furthermore, how could her fellow teachers not have noticed and said something like, “Yo, Manchester. Your sunglasses are like, missing a lens. you look stupid.” Then, she sent us photographic proof…

Of course, because she has me for a father, I couldn’t let it go. After she had ended the FaceTime call, I started a text back and forth…

The lesson here is for all of you parents of school aged children out there. During the waning days of the school year be especially sensitive to the emotional and physical well being of the teachers in your life. If you see one of them staggering around at the grocery store bumping into things or see one of them trying to get in to the wrong car in a parking lot…or wearing pirate sunglasses, come along side them and offer some encouragement.

Pre-Dawn Dad Jokes

Sometimes when you wake up at 4:22 in the morning, open your iPad and see your country ripping itself apart over yet another contentious social issue it makes you want to write a long impassioned plea for clarity and understanding, hoping to build consensus and foster accommodation and compromise between your countrymen. This is not one of those times.

My friend tried to annoy me with bird puns when I realized…toucan play that game.

What’s the world’s best invention? Window blinds—without them it would be curtains for everyone.

Teacher: How much room is needed for fifteen grams of fungi to grow?

Student: As mushroom as possible.

Teacher: What did the completion of the $3 billion Palace of Versailles make King Louis XIV?

Student: Baroque.

A woman got on a bus with her baby. The bus driver says, “Why, that’s the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen!” The stunned woman went to the back of the bus fuming. She turns to the man sitting next to her and says, “I can’t believe it! That bus driver just insulted me!” The man replied, “You go right back up there and tell him off—go ahead, I’ll hold your dog for you.”

A defense attorney was speaking to his client, who was accused of murder. The attorney says, “I have some good news and some bad news.” “What’s the bad news?” Asked the accused. “The bad news is, your fingerprints are all over the crime scene, and the DNA tests prove you did it.” “What’s the good news?” “Well, your cholesterol is 130.”

One morning at a bank, a robber pulled out a gun, pointed it at the teller and says, “Give me your money or you’re…geography!!” The confused teller asks, “Did you mean to say, ‘or you’re history’?” The robber replied, “Don’t change the subject!”

A women was sitting at the funeral of her recently deceased husband. A man leaned toward her and asked, “Do you mind if I say a word?”

The woman replied, “No, go right ahead.”

The man then stands up and clears his throat and says, “PLETHORA.” Then sits back down.

“Thanks,” the woman says. “that means a lot.”

Professor Kirke: What are you doing in that wardrobe?

Lucy: Narnia business.

Florence: I was so unpopular in school that they used to call me “Batteries”.

Larry: What was that?

Florence: Because I was never included…

A thief comes upon a well dressed man, jabs a pistol in his ribs and says, “Give me your money!”

The gentlemen says, “You can’t do this,. I’m a United States Congressman!”

The thief says, “Well, in that case, give me my money.”

Teacher: Did you copy this essay about the Black Death off of the internet?

Student: Yes. I’m sorry. I am a bubonic plague-a-rist….

My ex-wife still misses me…

But her aim is getting better.

Congressman: I think I’m going to try the charm offensive

Constituent: Well,. I think you’re already halfway there.

Oh boy….

This morning brought terrible news to anyone who has grown weary of the factionalism, discord and division that has overtaken life in America over the past several years. With the overnight leak of a first draft of a pending Supreme Court decision which would overturn Roe v. Wade, we are about to enter in to the mother of all culture war battles that will make the unrest that followed the murder of George Floyd look like a walk in the park. If you, on the other hand, love shrieking, unhinged invective, absurd street theatrics, spittle spewing diatribes on cable television, weeping news anchors and traffic clogging demonstrations…you are in for the time of your life!

Then there’s this…

I’m not sure I have ever seen a more telling, ironic, and hilariously absurd photograph than this one. Whoever snapped this deserves a Pulitzer. (Do they give Pulitzers for photography?). This is our former Secretary of State attending the 2022 Met Gala. She looks absolutely radiant, beaming from ear to ear wearing a stunning gown that no doubt cost a zillion dollars. In the background, a line of photographers are capturing the moment, while an African American attendant is busy spreading out the train of her dress—all fully masked—while Mrs. Clinton flashes her perfect white teeth for the cameras.

I’ll just leave this here…

The Month of May

May has arrived and I couldn’t be happier. For me this month represents several important things, all of them good. First of all, its the month when my work load begins to lighten. Through the first four months of the year I will have conducted 60 client reviews and everything that goes along with that responsibility. No, its not splitting the atom difficult or stonemason hard, but its no walk in the park either, especially during a time of stock market volatility. In May that tight coil in my stomach begins to contract a bit and I am grateful for the relief.

But in my family May is something else. Its the month of celebration. My daughter was born on the 11th. Thirty eight years ago on the 19th, I married her mother. My son was born on the 25th. Three of the greatest days of my life, crammed into two short weeks. As a bonus there’s Mother’s Day and Memorial Day. The weather becomes dependably warm in May allowing us to set out plants and vegetables. May marks the renewal of hostilities between myself and the squirrel population of Wythe Trace, an event marked with great pageantry in my backyard, and the sight of Jamie gathering her kids close next door…Be careful, kids. Mister Doug is at it with the squirrels again!!

The baseball season kicks into high gear during the month of May. The flashes in the pan of April get exposed and we find out who can play and who can’t. The 2022 season will for me be a long one, with my Red Sox looking to be the fourth best team in their division, while my Nationals will be competing with the Reds and Orioles for the coveted title of Major League baseball’s worst team. But sometimes being the fan of a bad team has its own rewards—the camaraderie of misery.

May is also the month where I begin referring to my escape to Maine being, just around the corner. By May the first I’ve paid both halves of the rent, I’ve booked the kayaks and I start sending giddy texts to Tif at On The Water In Maine, warning her of our impending arrival. She tries her best to calm me down, Geez Doug, its eight weeks from now!! Settle down, cowboy!”

Mother’s Day is hard for me. Ever since Mom passed away ten years ago, the day brings a touch of melancholy…after ten years. 

Memorial Day is nice in that it heralds the beginning of summer.

So, yeah, the month of May is a delightful one around here with much to look forward to.

What’s in it for you?

College Loan Forgiveness

Here are just a few random thoughts banging around in my head on this Friday morning:

Worried about the stock market? Its like my proctologist told me last week, “This too shall pass.”

I’ve been hearing a lot about college loan forgiveness lately. It’s a very complicated issue the results of which could have some positive and some negative effects. But whenever this issue comes up I think about the 20 year old prospective lobsterman in Maine. Stay with me!

For some reason, many young men from Maine aspire to one day become lobstermen, owning their own boat and everything, despite it being one of the most physically demanding and dangerous jobs in America. But the State of Maine makes it extremely difficult to do. First, the kid has to enter a two year apprenticeship, providing evidence of a minimum of 1,000 hours of work therein. Then he has to be sponsored by an existing lobsterman, then he has to submit a lengthy and costly application, after which he must wait—sometimes years—before being granted a license. But to make serious money as a lobsterman, you really need to have your own boat, an even costlier obstacle. But even after buying the boat, becoming a successful lobsterman will require a lifetime of grueling work. Those who make it through this gauntlet of training and bureaucracy can make a six figure income—a rarity in Maine. Those who are unfortunate enough to get injured lose everything. So…what does this have to do with forgiving college debt?

Are there any plans in Washington to forgive the $80,000 loan this 20 year old kid from Maine took out to buy that lobster boat? Why not? Is the profession of lobsterman not as valuable to Americans than that of investment banker, lawyer, architect, physician, teacher, salesman?

I fully acknowledge the fact that the cost of a college education has gone up to ridiculous heights over the years, partly because we have convinced millions of high school kids that anything short of a college education will render them unemployable, but mostly because universities are governed as much by greed as any other giant business. I also fully acknowledge that predatory lending practices in the college tuition space have been epidemic and shameful. Additionally, it is a huge problem for our economy that an entire generation have found themselves burdened with college debt to the point where they have opted out of the consumerism that is vital for our continued economic vitality. So, I am open to some form of relief. However, I find it particularly galling that the same government which helped CREATE the problem by making cheap loans available to practically anyone who could fog a mirror are now stepping in to fix the problem they were instrumental in creating!

Then there is the issue of fairness. My understanding of the plan being proposed by Senators Sanders and Warren are that the loan forgiveness will be blankit and NOT means tested which current forgiveness and forbearance plans are. That struggling teacher with $50,000 of college debt making $45,000 a year will get her loan forgiven—-but so will that young podiatrist making $200,000 with $100,000 worth of debt. In addition, the fact of the matter is that this debt forgiveness plan will go down in history as one of the biggest tax-payer giveaways to upper middle class white people since the mortgage interest deduction! The vast majority of the beneficiaries of this largesse will be white kids from suburbia. Once its done, what possible objection can anyone make to whatever reparation package gets introduced for African Americans? I can hear old Al Sharpton now, “So you guys were more than happy to bail out all the white kids with college loans but nobody wants to hand out $50,000 payments to black folks??”

Which brings me back to my lobsterman. What about him and people like him, men and women who decided against college in favor of a trade? Kids who decided to become electricians, plumbers, carpenters, roofers, truck drivers and…lobstermen? Did none of them have to take on debt?

I am not persuaded that blanket debt forgiveness is the answer. I would prefer targeted relief for those most hamstrung by the debt load, using some formula of amount of debt in relation to income etc..As far as those parents like me who financed our kids education? What about us? That’s in the past. There’s nothing that can be done about that. To resent the fact that this relief came too late to help me is both foolish and petty.

Blanket debt relief sets up an already overdrawn government as the savior, the Santa Claus of last resort. It also pays off the debts of both the wise and the foolish, that plucky kid from the projects desperate for a better life along with the entitled and pampered kid from Connecticut who spent $150,000 getting a French Poetry degree and partying like a rock star for six glorious years.

What could possibly go wrong?

Administrative Assistant Day

Today is Administrative Assistant Day, or rather yesterday was. Luckily for me, the estimable Kristin Reihl was off yesterday since I naturally forgot. For the past eight or nine years (maybe ten), it has been Kristin’s job to see to it that I not forget stuff. No one in America has more job security than Kristin Reihl. A few observations are in order.

Kristin is very much a no nonsense, self-starting, blunt instrument kind of person. Never will she use long flowery sentences when telling me of one of my many mistakes when a simple, “You’re dumb” will suffice. Others will know her as the fiery red head unofficial mayor of Ashland, but around here she is known as the woman who keeps Dunnevant out of jail.

Over the years I have noticed something kinda creepy about her though. Although Kristin and Pam are so different in so many ways, there is an almost cosmic connection between the two when it comes to an alarming number of things. I will start describing something I did or plan to do and she will flash me one of her famous eye rolls and blurt out almost the exact words that Pam blurted out when I described it to her the previous day! In other words, when it comes to my sketchy ideas, the two of them form a monolithic alliance in opposition to me! Its almost like a conspiracy, if I must say so. It goes something like this:

Me: So, I decided to cut the grass, then go for a four mile run on the hottest day of the year yesterday.

Pam: You are an idiot.

Kristin: You are a f***ing idiot

But, aside from this annoyance, Kristin has proven her worth to me a thousand times over since the day I hired her. Pam lives in constant fear that one day Kristin will decide to quit. So do I.

Seriously, it is a rare thing to have an employee who turns out to be a dear and trusted friend. Lucky me.

Order

Spend four days helping your kids move into their new house and you learn some things about yourself. For me it was this…I had no idea how much I crave order.

The process of purchasing a home, then moving clear across town from an old apartment to a new place is one of the most stressful things any couple has to go through, especially when you are first timers. My kids handled it beautifully, at least on the outside. They were level headed and composed throughout. One thing that helped in this regard was the absolutely gorgeous Chamber of Commerce weather we enjoyed all weekend long. Delightful breezes, sunny skies and perfect temperatures made all the traipsing up and down stairs much easier than it would have been if it were 90 degrees and humid. But, its a grind, man. The older I get the less able I am to deal with the never ending parade of…stuff…and the boxes that come with it. As of this hour, only one of the 16 million of them has gone missing, one filled with valuable electronics—naturally. I have no doubt that it will turn up eventually. 

We have gotten a couple of pictures from them showing us their organizational progress, here a recognizable office has taken shape, there a tidy bedroom. They are plugging along.

It was only after the nine hour drive home when I walked into my own house that I noticed it…the palpable relief I felt when each room I entered was perfectly in order with no boxes in sight, no evidence of transition anywhere, everything settled. That, and the wildly enthusiastic greeting I received from Lucy, settled my mind and soul. Perhaps you don’t realize how much you value order until you experience its absence for four days. Although the routine of my life may not always be perfectly ordered, disruptions being as dependable as the tides, at least my house is, something that I have now discovered is vital to my sense of well being.

Another thing I have discovered? I am no longer capable of doing 100% of the driving on our many long car trips. Cramping hamstrings combined with sleepiness forced me to relinquish the wheel for a couple hours both ways. Grrrr…

And now this…a friend of ours who has been valiantly fighting an illness has made the decision to call in hospice. We have watched his noble battle via Facebook for quite a while and have marveled at his bravery. He fought the good fight. May God bless him and his family.

Proof of Life

I’m sitting alone in the lobby of the Hampton Inn, choking down really bad coffee, trying to psych myself up for a 9 hour drive back home. My body is a collection of sore, aching joints and unidentifiable pains brought on by three days and nights of loading and unloading, packing and unpacking, and lots of yard work. In addition, a dozen 35-40 minute commutes from southwest Nashville to northwest of Nashville, has taken a toll on the nerves. Nevertheless, it was a productive weekend. The kids are all moved in to their lovely new house. Now the really hard part comes as they must sort through the rooms filled with boxes, and transform the place into a home. At some point, pictures will follow. For the moment, this short dispatch will have to serve as evidence that Pam and I survived and are on our way home to Short Pump.

News of the Ordinary

I haven’t posted much here of late, at least compared to my normal output, not because there hasn’t been anything to write about but rather because I have been distracted by other pursuits. Business has been brisk, and the novel I’ve been working on for nearly two years now has been pouring out of my head in torrents after having been reduced to a trickle for months. Last night I wrote a lot because Pam was at a meeting with friends, leaving me on my own for dinner. Since I didn’t feel like going out anywhere I opened the fridge and threw some things together…

There was ham left over from Easter dinner. Accordingly, I opted for a ham sandwich on a toasted English muffin with cheese. To this I added three left over deviled eggs and a helping of Fritos. To round out the meal I decided on heating up three flour tortillas, spreading peanut butter and marshmallow fluff meticulously throughout and rolling them up to resemble cigars…for dessert, washing it all down with a Stone IPA. I’m not sure where this meal would have landed on the food pyramid, or whether of not there was any nutritional value involved, but it was delightful.

What was not delightful was what greeted me this morning on the Drudge Report:

These are the news stories deemed of most interest by this famous aggregator. Take a close look. Not a word about the ongoing war in Ukraine, but everything you could possibly want to know about a washed up actor’s defamation trial. There’s a breathless update about the British Prime Minister’s latest troubles, and the disturbing news that Prince Harry has decided that what America needs is the most pampered and entitled refugee in history. 

It is easy to look at this and come to the conclusion that you live in the most unserious nation on Earth. But the truth is that the vast majority of my fellow citizens never read the Drudge Report. Although more of them know who Johnny Depp is than can name their Senators, the fact is that most of us are not the deranged narcissists that social media tells us we are. We are busy working, raising our families, volunteering our time, buying groceries, bringing all the plants inside the garage to protect them from a late frost, and helping our grown kids move into their first house. But can you imagine how boring it would be to pull up a news aggregator site with those stories splashed across the headlines?

Happy Easter

It would be very difficult around my house to escape the fact that today is Easter Sunday…

He is Risen…

Hire a Professional

Ahh yes, April 15th. Tax day, the day that we are held to account for calling ourselves American citizens, whereby the price of that citizenship is set. Forty years ago, I was given maybe the best piece of advice I ever received from Dean Horger, a gentlemen not known for dispensing particularly good advice, who said to me, “Dunnevant, if you’re smart you’ll get an accountant to do your taxes for you. I know a guy.”

At the time, it was quite debatable whether or not I was “smart”, but I took Dean’s advice and called his guy…Carl Woo. As a consequence of that call, I haven’t prepared a tax return in over four decades now and wouldn’t know where to start. I often have thought that if some unfortunate accident or illness were to befall Carl, I would be forced to leave the country, forfeit my citizenship and go into hiding. On the downside, I have paid the man a small fortune over forty years. On the upside, he has saved me countless hours of grief, outbursts of profanity, peptic ulcers and mountains of money. Take 2021 for example:

2021 was an unusually profitable year for Dunnevant Financial, made so by a particular transaction upon which I knew that a capital gains tax would become due. As a result of this transaction, I made intentional increases in the amount of taxes I pay the Feds and the Commonwealth of Virginia each month. In addition, to minimize the impact of this transaction on my tax bill, I increased the amount I contribute to my SEP plan, church etc…Even with these moves being made, I had a gut feeling I might still owe a little bit. There was perhaps an outside chance that I might get a small refund, but the chances weren’t good. I made these assumptions solely on instinct since I have no idea how Carl does what he does. All I know is what I earn and what I pay and after forty years you get a feel for these things. A side note—I am not one of those guys who hates paying taxes and feels put upon on April 15th every year. On the contrary, I kinda like safe streets that are paved and well lighted, schools that aren't falling down, a functioning legal system etc, etc. So, as a general rule I have never gone in for Byzantine tax avoidance schemes. I’ve always told Carl, I want to pay every dollar of taxes that I legally owe…but not a penny more.

So, I nearly fell out of my chair yesterday afternoon when I got a two sentence email from the estimable Mr. Woo:

Federal and VA refund of $**,*** and $*,*** respectively.  Will mail returns to you.  attached are the efile authorization.  you and Pam can sign and return at your convenience via email or fax 804 ***-****.  we have filed extensions so no rush.

 

Carl

So, the lesson here is pretty simple. If you are a young business owner out there struggling to establish yourself in the world, find yourself a young accountant who will grow along with you. Hire him. Pay the man or woman the money. Turn your taxes over to a professional. Rid yourself of the headaches and perpetual frustration. In this world you get what you pay for. Then forty years from now you too will be planning on naming a wing of your lake house after your accountant.

A Night in the Life

My new “get better sleep routine”.

7:30 pm. Bring up Nationals game on MLB app. Bemoan lack of clutch hitting.

7:45 pm. Start searching archives for terrible Dad Jokes to send to long suffering friends and colleagues.

8:30 pm. Work on latest chapter of novel.

9:30 pm. Take 10 mg Melatonin pill

9:30 pm. Continue writing.

10:00 pm. Escort Lucy outside for famous Last Pee perambulation.

10:02 pm. Encourage Lucy to consider doing her business at some point soon.

10:04 pm. “While we’re young, Lucy…while we’re young!”

10:15 pm. Instruct Alexa to “Turn out the den lights.” Freak Lucy out!

10:25 pm. Perform nightly hygiene routine.

10:30 pm. Climb into bed. Ten minutes later, sound asleep.

3:50 am. Eyes pop open. Glance at clock. Heavy sigh. Nearly break neck tripping over Lucy in route to the bathroom.

4:00 am. Get back into bed, followed closely by Lucy who now wants to sleep where my feet are supposed to be.

4:15 am. Tossing and turning while listening to Pam enjoying the deep sleep of the just.

4:20 am.  Give up on sleep and head downstairs to empty dishwasher, make coffee and write this stupid blog.

Newest Listing in Wythe Trace

I’m beginning to think that the housing market is getting out of hand…

NEW LISTING in fashionable Wythe Trace. $349,000.

Cash offers only.

Inspection waived.

Buyer pays all closing costs.

Title doesn’t necessarily convey.

Great curb appeal.

Did It.

This morning I read the last chapters of Revelation, completing the 90 day reading plan. There was a much more efficient and tech-savvy way to keep record of my progress of course, but I am irredeemably old school in this regard, preferring as I do the one page tally sheet where I can highlight each day’s reading with a yellow marker. Most days I read, but occasionally I took advantage of the audiobook app on my cellphone. I started out using The Message version of scripture and indeed used it more than any other over the 90 days, but whenever certain books like Psalms came up, I reverted back to the King James because of the beauty and familiarity of the language.

What did I learn? Many things, actually. Most I already knew but needed a reminding. Some things I had never noticed before in previous readings. Some of what I read was disturbing, uncomfortable words to hear in the 21st century. I read things that were profoundly beautiful and soothing, other things that felt like a rebuke. The one thing that strikes you about the Bible is how vulnerable are the heroes. All of the saints and mighty characters of the Old and New Testament are presented in all of their flawed humanity. King David’s bravery and love for God is clearly conveyed, right along side his adultery, murder and cowardly treachery. Moses and Abraham were presented as the powerful men of faith that they were, but we were also told of their missteps, their lying and disobedience. In Jesus’ disciples we see men who were painfully dim-witted, often petty, and nearly universally uneducated, making their heroic deeds post-resurrection seem like maybe the most miraculous thing in all of scripture. In other words, the entirety of scripture seems brutally honest in the extreme. Lest we be tempted to venerate someone, we are told of their worst possible moment, cutting them down to size. This feature of the Bible is encouraging to me and always has been. Perfection of character is not a requirement for approaching God. Good thing.

There are plenty of themes that run throughout all 66 books. Here are just a few I picked up:

- God hates the prideful

- God has a heart for the sick, widows, orphans and the poor and expects us to look after them

- The Law was designed as a guide for human flourishing, keeping the Ten Commandments are still the best way to avoid poverty and human suffering.

- Anything God creates, human beings ultimately screw up.

- No matter how much we screw up, God has bottomless reservoirs of compassion.

- Forgiveness is the most vital ingredient for human happiness and the most difficult to both give and receive.

- The concept of grace is perhaps the most beautiful thing in all of creation.

- There’s a lot of messed up stuff in the Bible…human beings are nuts!

Yes, there are many more themes in the Bible and many of them are of far greater theological importance than these I have listed, but these are the ones that jumped out to me…this time.