Sunday, May 21, 2023

My Seven Mile Walk Through Short Pump

I have been discouraged from running for the time being. Until I am able to get this heart business resolved it has been suggested that I limit my cardio to walking. So, that’s exactly what I have done for the past couple of months. However, me being me, I have turned it into an internal competition whereby I come up with made up challenges which I have to overcome, including but not limited to—ridiculously long walks and attempts to break personal best times per mile with each event. This is the sort of thing that drives Pam nuts, especially when I forget to bring my phone along and she has no idea where I am are when I’m coming back. Take yesterday for example.

It started off as a peaceful family stroll, Pam, Lucy and me walking along uncompetitively, waiting for Lucy’s morning bowel movement, which was a doozy that involved a PBM (poop bag malfunction), never a good thing. But we recovered nicely and continued on until Pam made the decision to head back to the house while I continued on. This was a baffling and exceedingly unpopular choice with Miss Lucy, who always looses her mind when anyone breaks up the pack. Pam was able to eventually wrangle her home while my real competitive walk finally was able to begin. Thanks to Lucy’s shenanigans my time for that first mile was an abysmal 18 minutes and 26 seconds! This simply would not do so I had to pick up the pace.

Previously in my walking adventures the longest walk I had managed was a 6 miler about a week ago. Naturally, I decided that today I would go for a personal best…seven miles. If I had run this idea by the beautiful and talented Mrs. Dunnevant she might have said something along the lines of, “Um, aren’t you working at Thrift this afternoon? Do you think it wise to walk seven miles on a day where you will walk at least four more miles in the store?” This would have been an excellent point—which I would have breezily dismissed. The truth is, it never entered my mind until she said that very thing when I finally arrived back home almost two hours later. A dramatic eye roll might have been included. I can’t remember since I was delirious.

So, I thought I would share with you all some of the many sites I saw on my walk. Lots of you don’t live in Short Pump so you might be wondering what kind of scenery I enjoyed. First of all, here was my route, totally unplanned, spontaneous and uninspired:


I should point out that I resisted both Italian temptations, although Ray’s Italian Ice was touch and go for a moment.


Over in the Shoppes at Wellesley I happened upon a new Thai place that I had never noticed before. The name alone demands that I give this place a try very soon.


Speaking of Wellesley, although I would never choose to live there, I must admit its a pleasant and beautiful place to walk.



Eventually my route took me past this monstrosity. Its on a new road that I seldom use so the place surprised me. Where did this place come from?? Its one of those Over 55 Luxury Communities, exactly the kind of place I wouldn’t move to if they gave me a million bucks. This one had the perfect pretentious name…Everleigh. How about Neverleigh??


When I finally got back home some of my favorite members of the Under 55 crowd had turned the street in front of my house into a horse barn where they had parked their horses, “Pickles”, “Buckles” and “Firefly”.

So, I finished the seven mile walk in a respectable time of one hour, fifty minutes and sixteen seconds. My heart behaved beautifully throughout. 

I suppose some of you are wondering how I did at my afternoon shift at the Thrift Store. I did quite well, working circles around Tom Allen, I might add, which is admittedly a low bar. However, if truth be told, this morning my body has registered several complaints about yesterday’s agenda in the form of sore muscles, creaky joints and uncooperative fine motor skills. But I intend on remedying the situation with 500 MG of Naproxen and this breakfast of champions:











Wednesday, May 17, 2023

What a Depressing Morning

I just had one of the most disturbing thirty minutes of my news consuming life this morning. Before I share it with you I must offer a caveat. What follows is not about ideology. It’s not just another tired right vs. left thing. No, this is more a fundamental analysis of the consequences of the choices we make in a democracy.

In rapid fire succession I watched a series of videos of prominent politicians doing routine things extremely poorly.

First up was our President. There was a video of him being walked across the White House lawn by what looked to be a General, who had a firm grip on the President’s arm. He had that stumbling hesitant gate and slack jawed facial expression so familiar to me from the last months of my Dad’s life. The leader of our country is in a diminished physical state and to listen to him speak there is ample evidence that his cognitive abilities have been reduced. To see him finish a speech then wander around aimlessly on the stage having no clue what direction he should go is a sad thing to watch.

Then it was our Vice-President’s turn, she of the incoherent, word-salad speeches punctuated with awkward and inappropriate laughter. The fact that someone so unimpressive and unserious is a heartbeat away from the Presidency of a man with a limited number of heartbeats remaining is troubling, to say the very least.

Then it was a story about a Congresswoman from Colorado, one Lauren Boebert. After running for Congress as a family-values darling, she had served her husband of twenty years divorce papers. In her defense, she wouldn't be the first politician of either party to file for divorce and certainly won’t be the last. But what was disturbing about this particular story was the personal histories involved. In their twenty years together, the two of them had a rap sheet a mile long! everything from indecent exposure and public intoxication to drunk driving and destruction of public property. While I am not a resident of Colorado, I suppose its none of my business who they choose to elect but…merciful fathers, what in the hell is going on with democracy in our country when literally anyone can get themselves elected?

Then, there was video from a Senator from Pennsylvania, John Fetterman, in what was apparently the first live performance of him doing his duty post-stroke, questioning a bunch of bankers from his position on the banking over-site committee. Honestly, I couldn’t make it through the four minute video. I felt extreme pity for the man, who spoke on maybe a fifth grade level…and that’s being generous. The man is a United States Senator.

Finally, there was this…


89 year old Senator Diane Feinstein is finally back in the Senate after a three month health related absence. In an interview for Slate magazine it was abundantly clear that the Senator doesn’t even think she has been away. “Oh no…I haven’t been away. I’ve been working.” When asked by the incredulous reporter if she meant to say that she had been working from home, the Senator doubled down…”No, I’ve been here. You either know or you don’t know.”

I happen to be a man who has a deep respect and love for the elderly. I believe that they deserve our best when it comes to their care and dignity during their declining years. But that does not include the reins of power. I think that it is past time for a Constitutional Amendment that places a maximum age for service as elected officials, including the Federal bench. We need to lower the working age and raise the vitality both physical and cognitive of our elected leaders.

As far as electing unaccomplished, credential-free candidates? That’s all on us.  

Monday, May 15, 2023

What’s Happening…current-ly?

I have an appointment this afternoon with an electrophysiologist. So, yeah, I’ve got that going for me. The appointment was set almost a month ago, so the details are a bit fuzzy at this point, something having to do with the heart and its electrical system. I’m nervous even though its only a consultation. The purpose of the consultation is to determine whether I am a candidate for a procedure that involves the use of catheters…so here’s hoping that I am not. 

Meanwhile, as this appointment has gotten closer and closer I have used attempts at humor as my go-to coping mechanism. Specifically, what would be the perfect name for an electrophysiologist? So far I’ve come up with Buzz, Sparky, and Voltimore. As far as catchy descriptions for the business? How about, “map it and zap it” or “the way to a man’s heart is through his groin”. 

Attempts at very bad humor would have been a better description.

Thursday, May 11, 2023

Lucy’s Birthday Present

So, a couple days ago was Lucy’s 9th birthday. It seems impossible that she’s that old. Especially when she still has the temperament of a puppy…a quite befuddled and perplexed puppy. To mark the occasion Pam came home from the grocery store with one of those bones that looks like a cow femur…



This thing still has ligaments attached and everything, and I must admit that if I were a dog I would be all over this thing like a fat kid on a box of donuts. Lucy’s initial reaction reminded us of just how strange she is. She picked the bone up and carried it around through practically every room in the house while whimpering and whining. Don’t as me why, its just something she does when we buy her something like this. Its like she feels the need to give it a tour of the house before she starts chewing. Anyway, for the past few nights she has been gnawing on this bone like nobody’s business. We first spread out a large towel on top of the rug so she doesn’t make a mess. But it isn’t long before she has shoved it towards the end of the towel. This is due to the bizarre fact that Lucy refuses to touch the bone with her paws for reasons that will never be revealed to mere humans. When this happens, she looks over at Pam and me with this huge dorky smile on her face, wagging her tail a hundred miles and hour. Clearly, she expects one of us to walk over and place the bone back in the center of the rug for her. Of course, we oblige. If we don’t she will entertain us with incessant barking. Yes, Miss Lucy is a hot mess.

So this morning, I headed upstairs after my morning routine like I always do. Once in our bedroom I first made the bed, a common occurrence. Then I jumped in the shower. By the time I finished my shower and walked back into the bedroom, Lucy had done this…



Yes, Lucy decided that her boney-bone needed a special place to hide. What better place than shoved only partially hidden amongst the pillows of our bed? I should point out that this is Pam’s side of the bed.

We gave up long ago trying to figure out what color the sky is in the world where Lucy lives. But, oh do we love that girl. 

Friday, May 5, 2023

Mouseketeers

I must confess that there are times when I can be a little…extra, and not in a good way. Take yesterday for example.

When I arrived at the office I noticed that we had finally caught the mouse we had set traps out for near the Keurig machine. I could very easily have picked up the trap and walked it out to the dumpster around the corner with no fanfare. I actually considered that option for maybe two minutes, but then I realized what a goldmine I had stumbled upon. At that point I went to work.

First, I went on a tour of the office, making special stops at the desks of Lindsey and Brenda to make sure they were aware of the catch. To say that they were not happy with this news would be to engage in a massive understatement. Several curse words and physical threats were hurled my way. Talk about shooting the messenger??!!

The next step was to take a couple mouse selfies…




Then it was time to put our high dollar digital printer to work. The resulting 8x10 portraits made for the perfect surprise gifts for the ladies at various locations around the office throughout the rest of the day.

Out of an abundance of caution I have decided to take a personal day…


Wednesday, May 3, 2023

Naming The Trip

As of this morning at 10:00 am, our 2023 Maine itinerary has been finalized. We already had secured the six week summer leg months ago, but this morning closed the deal on the three week Fall adventure. Here’s the plan…

We will arrive on gorgeous Quantabacook Lake on the 30th of June where we will spend two weeks at the lovely Summer Dreams:




Then, on the morning of 14th of July I will paddle all of our boats and gear south along the shoreline to our single favorite Maine cabin of all time, the unprecedented, never to be duplicated, Loon Landing:




Four weeks later we will be forced to pack everything up and head back to Short Pump, where I will be expected to work for a mere six weeks before we do it all over again. We will arrive at a new cabin (for us) called Vacationland:




We will be staying at this beauty for three weeks, from September 23rd until October 14th. This place is on a body of water we last stayed on in 2016 called Hobbs Pond.

So, there you have it. In case you’re keeping score at home that would be 9 weeks in Maine for the Dunnevant’s in 2023. Just in case you’re thinking that this seems a bit excessive, you are probably right. The only good thing I have to say about the amount of money this obsession is costing me, it is still cheaper than buying a place, and until the ridiculously inflated real estate valuations up here come back to earth, this will be an every year thing. At the end of the day, its only money. What good is money if it can’t be used to purchase joy? 

The only job left now is naming the trip. Pam has taken to naming each of these jaunts to Maine. In 2020 she named our fall trip the Loon Landing Leaf Peepers. In 2021 it was the Quantabacook Quintuple, while 2022 turned out to be known as Six Loon Summer. Her excuse is that she needs a name for the shared picture albums that she creates to hold the thousand photographs we take. I’ve come up with all kinds of suggestions over the years but she rejects them all…Catching Fish and Bouncing Checks, Recklessly Spending the Kid’s Inheritance, and my personal favorite…Pretending That Lucy is a Grandchild. 







Monday, May 1, 2023

“What is man that you are mindful of him…?”


I have always loved this photograph. It was taken in July of 2018 at Pemaquid Point Lighthouse on the Coast of Maine. It does a nice job of capturing the feel of this special place. You see the vegetation in the foreground, the great expanse of rock and the churning azure water. But what makes this particular shot so special is that man standing on the edge of the rocks on the far left. At first glance you might have missed him but without him its just another picture of The Point. With him, you realize how immense this majestic place really is, and just how small and insignificant is man.

The Psalmist asked the question of God, “What is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?” Good question. When I read news stories about men who shoot their neighbors in the head for running a leaf blower, it’s tempting to answer the question with, “Man is a piece of shit.” But we are more than just the worst among us. Each and everyone of us is much more than the worst mistake we’ve ever made. We are all mixed bags of wretchedness and nobility. Still, when contemplating the size and complexity of the world along with our smallness its hard to find your place. The poets tell us that we are nothing more than a mist, a vapor, and our life nothing more than a breath. This photograph would appear to be Exhibit A in this regard.

But my faith teaches me that there is something unique about human beings that separates us from all of the universe…we were created in the image of God and each of us has a living soul. We have intrinsic value. We are not lichen or rock or tree. Much more is expected of us, much more than killing each other because we ring the doorbell of the wrong house.

When I was younger I had a hard time finding my place in the world. I struggled to find an answer to the What’s the meaning of life question. Becoming a father is what caused the universe to make sense for me. From that point forward I knew exactly what the meaning of life was, to nurture these little creatures into loving, caring, contributing adults. But in doing so I discovered other purposes for my existence. It wasn’t enough for me to care only about my own children. I needed to help others with their children because I needed their help with mine. That meant that I needed to care about their schools. I needed to pay attention to the neighborhood. I needed to start helping out with Little League and volunteering at church. I discovered that life is not and was never meant to be a spectator sport. The one thing that needed to be guarded at all cost was the dignity of each and every human life. If everyone I meet bears the image of God, I can do no less.

Some years I have been better at this than others. Occasionally I have fallen into selfishness, turned a blind eye to suffering and even injustice because I was too busy protecting what was mine. Other times I have been overcome with the scope and scale of evil in the world, and turned inward, reasoning that the pathologies running rampant in the world were too much for one person to solve. But hope is far too valuable a thing to discard. Even if we can only save one from drowning, we must leap in the water, even if that water, like the beautiful ocean off Pemaquid Point seems too much.

Saturday, April 29, 2023

Life Was Easier When it Was Harder

Like most people I have a smart phone. This one has a smart calendar which displays itself towards the end of one month and the beginning of the next month. Yesterday, for example, I was informed that the month of May is LBGTQ+ month. I had no idea that was even a thing. I am up to speed on what each initial stands for but not sure what the plus sign represents, however I am 100% certain that I will be informed over the next 31 days of relentless awareness-building. But this was not the only surprising thing I learned about the month of May. I was reminded that my two kids both have birthdays in May…and they will both be squarely in their mid-30’s. How, in the name of all that is holy, did this happen?

 

It feels like only a couple of weeks ago when they were in Little League, just a few days ago we were moving them into dorm rooms, and fifteen minutes ago when they got married. Time flies when you’re living life.

Last night we brought dinner over my in-laws to celebrate my father-in-law’s 86th birthday. After dinner we sat around talking and I asked him some questions about his life. Its something I learned when we were caring for dad after Mom passed away. There is a world of wisdom swimming around inside our parent’s heads. It serves us well to mine it well while we still have the chance. Anyway, I pointed out that he had lived through almost nine decades on this Earth. I asked him which decade of his life was his favorite, and which one was the most difficult. His answers were quite instructive.

For the best decade he picked the years when he was in his late 40’s and early 50’s. He had hit his stride in his career, able to provide for his family, and his three girls were in middle and high school. His every spare moment was taken up with a series of volunteer positions at his church, which included everything from grown-up adult committee assignments, to bringing to life the unforgettable Mario Pepperoni character when he worked in the Youth department. I found it interesting that his favorite memories of life came from a time when he was the busiest.

But when I asked him about the hardest decade he said something especially wise, “I don’t really remember having a hard decade.”

Its funny. I asked my own Dad that same question late one night when he was in the hospital a year or so before he passed away and got virtually the same answer. His favorite decade turned out to be the years when he was working graveyard shifts and attending college and seminary while trying to raise four kids—in other words, the most insane and chaotic time of his life. When I asked him about the hardest decade I thought he would say when he was serving in WWII in the South Pacific in 120 degree heat, but no. I got the same words…I didn’t really have any hard decades, just different.

What about me? What about you?

The only thing I’m sure about is that life seemed easier for me when it was…harder. When you’re busy trying to make ends meet you don’t have time to sit around gazing at your navel, thinking things to death. You don’t have the luxury of introspection. You ponder less, do more. 

There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

Friday, April 28, 2023

They Didn’t Teach THIS in Pedagogy

My daughter teaches English to classrooms of seventh graders in Columbia, South Carolina. Although her job is insanely difficult, stressful and exasperating, there are moments of hilarity. The following is her account of one such moment…




























Thursday, April 27, 2023

Worst Blog Topic Ever?

What causes inflation? Why does the cost of a good or service increase? Although it has been an eternity since my economics class at the University of Richmond, I still remember the text book definition—“too much money chasing too few goods” In other words, when the demand for something combines with the scarcity of that same something, the price rises. When you think about this for a minute it makes perfect sense. Back in the 1970’s when OPEC had a strangle hold on the supply of oil, they could send the price of gas through the roof by simple turning off the taps, giving the OPEC states outsized power. In perhaps a less complicated version, if there is an explosion over at the Twinkee factory, Twinkee addicts buy up all the remaining Twinkees on the shelves sending their price skyward, since they have suddenly become scarce.

I know what you are all thinking…this might be the worst blog post topic in the history of The Tempest. You all may be right on that point but nevertheless I’ve been thinking about this whole inflation thing a lot lately. In a general sense, I understand how inflation can happen, it being a mechanical rather than a mercurial phenomenon. But lately, I’ve started to have my doubts.

In the aftermath of COVID with all of the quarantines and shutdowns it instigated through western economies, a huge monkey wrench got thrown in the interconnected world wide supply chain. Combining the predictable scarcity of supplies with the unprecedented fiscal stimulus from Washington brought the mother of all examples of lots and lots of money chasing fewer and fewer goods. So far, totally textbook. But, supply chain issues have long ago been remedied. Walk through any grocery store and hardware enterprise in the United States and you will find shelves overflowing with everything from soup to nuts. All the stimulus checks have come and gone, removing the excess capital in the system. And yet, Publix is still trying to sell this for $11.99…


My wife was having none of it. As a savvy consumer she knows that Publix does this all the time, trying to gouge their customers by charging a ridiculous price for a popular item. But if enough people say, “I’m sorry, I’ll pass”, then as sure as night follows day, a few days later that same item is suddenly on sale. Yesterday, Pam’s patience was rewarded when this very same box of Keurig cups cost $7.99. If you’re keeping score at home that’s a 33% discount. So when Pam bought three boxes, she saved us 12 bucks.

This brings me to the point of this blog which is, at what point is inflation no longer caused by the laws of demand and scarcity but rather the laws of avarice and greed? I am famous for having no clue what anything costs and as such am a terrible consumer. My wife, on the other hand, knows the price of nearly everything, and although she knows that Publix isn’t the cheapest grocery store in the world it is convenient, clean and well organized etc. But I can’t tell you how many times she has come in the house and said something like, I’m sorry, I’m just not going to pay X dollars for X product. Piss her off enough and she will ditch her brand loyalty quicker than a fat kid on a box of donuts. If enough of us do the same thing, watch some of these prices start to drop. If “Big Grocery” thinks they can get away with making a quick buck by gouging their customers—they won’t hesitate to do so. But what happens if all of us say, “Shame on you. You can stuff that box of K-Cups where the sun don’t shine.”

Look people, I want everyone to prosper. I don’t begrudge anyone making a buck. If prices are up because of scarcity and high demand, that’s one thing. But if scarcity isn’t an issue and demand hasn’t increased, then I am left with the conclusion that a lot (although certainly not all) of price inflation is now a result of old fashioned opportunistic greed. To the extent that we have tools at our disposal to fight back, we need to do so. If that means going with store brands, or buying in bulk at big lots stores, or even ditching your favorite store for that messy cheaper place with the weird parking lot…if enough of us fight back, prices will come down.

Monday, April 24, 2023

The Trust Deficit

Every single source that I use to obtain news of the world has been screaming about the firings of Don Lemon and Tucker Carlson. Apparently it is a big story. Millions of people tune in every night to hear them, I’m told. Everyone who is anyone in the news business has an opinion. The only thing that the two of them have in common it seems is their polarizing personalities. Many people close to me often begin sentences with the words, “Did you catch Tucker Carlson last night?” The answer is always “No”. 

Here’s the thing. Its been probably close to five years now since I have watched either Fox News or CNN or any other broadcast news program. In my office, CNBC runs in the background on the televisions hanging on the walls with the sound off. That’s the extent of my television news consumption. Why? A well deserved trust deficit. Put simply, I don’t believe any of them. More charitably, I believe that the news that gets presented to the public contains grains of truth, but by the time the story gets spun through each network’s bias-filters, the end result isn’t news at all but an editorialized version of the truth. So, how do I get my news? The answer isn’t exactly encouraging or even practical for me or anyone else, but here goes.

The news I get comes from a combination of places, none of which is totally reliable. Each source requires healthy skepticism, and even then, there are no guarantees that I’ve gotten it right. I check out stories found in the Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, BBC online, NPR and during a breaking news story, any British tabloid can be depended upon to have pictures and video from the scene a few hours before any American operation even shows up. So, that’s my system. Its not perfect but its the best I can do. Its important to add that I get zero percent of my news from the most ill-named entity in the world…social media.

There is an enormous trust deficit that plagues my interaction with this modern world. I have come to the place where I have lost trust and confidence in practically every public institution in America. This has not always been so. But events of recent years has made it difficult to overcome. Here’s what it comes down to, without trust you become adrift. I don’t trust the Republican Party because of their seeming suicide pact with Donald Trump and obsession with waging culture wars. I don’t trust that the Democrats can govern the country without appeasing the lunatic left among them who seem determined to not stop until the entire country is throwing gender reveal parties with sixteen different colors. I don’t trust government in general but mostly the governments which are furthest away from the governed, ie…I’m kinda ok with Henrico County, less so with the people in Richmond, and far less so those in Washington. The corrupting influences of money and power have proven too much for far too many of those who assume to lead us. I don’t trust large corporations to ever act in anyone’s interest other than their own. I hate the lack of accountability for the thieves in corporate suites who get rewarded for their malfeasance with tax-payer bailouts. The institutional church, large and small, has also lost my trust. The horror stories throughout the Catholic priesthood, as well as the sexual predators within the Southern Baptist Convention have made a skeptic of me. The church that Pam and I found almost seven years ago has been a towering blessing for us both, but I keep my eyes wide open even there.  

You may fairly ask, Is there anything left in this world that you do trust, anything left that you believe in? The answer is “Yes”.

I trust every dog I’ve ever had. I believe in the words of Jesus. I trust the love of God. I believe in the beauty of music. I trust a beautifully written story. I believe in the power of forgiveness and grace. I believe in my family and their love for me. I believe that being kind is better than being right. I believe that a generous life is the best kind of life. I believe that the finest thing you will ever witness on an athletic field is a perfectly executed squeeze play. I believe that my parents loved each other. There is nobody I trust more than someone who is loving and generous to the strangers among us.

But that’s about it. From everyone else…cash only.

Saturday, April 22, 2023

A Road Trip Classic

I’m back from my 48 hour trip to Pawley’s Island where I discovered something rather pathetic about myself. I don’t like being away from my wife over night. I know…what a wimp, right? First of all, I have a devil of a time falling, then staying asleep without her. Its weird though. I didn’t call her while I was away. We only texted a couple times, but I felt out of sorts alone in that lovely house. I had fun playing golf with three strangers from Hickory, North Carolina. Spending a few hours on the beach in absolutely perfect weather was super nice, but after two days I was ready to come back home. I just missed my girl…both of them!

However, there was one benefit of being on a road trip without Pam. I could eat anywhere I wanted to eat. This morning, I was awakened around 5 am by a thunderstorm. When I looked at the radar I realized that if I didn’t get on the road in a hurry I would be driving all the way home in the rain. So, I threw everything in the back of the car and got on the road around 5:30. So by the time 9:00 rolled around I needed gas and I was starving. When, lo and behold, right there beside the Shell station was this American Classic:


When I was a much younger man and given to yearly golf trips to Myrtle Beach with the boys, this was our road trip breakfast joint of choice. I don’t remember ever partaking of this guilty pleasure with Pam. For starters, I know better. Frankly, she would have been appalled by this particular franchise, which might have been the greasiest I’ve ever encountered, and that’s saying something. Although WH has many benefits which I will detail shortly, it isn’t exactly what anyone would consider…clean. You’ve heard of the greasy spoon? Well, WH is the greasy spoon, knife, fork, table, floor, walls, ceiling and waitress. While this condition would be a non-starter for most women I know, guys can and do overlook it for many reasons…



Number One…the one page menu. Sure, I might have had to pick it up with a napkin, but what it lacked in cleanliness it made up for in simplicity. There are only six basic options plus a la cart items at the bottom. There’s none of this 16 page gothic novels for you to wade through like at the Silver Diner or even worse, The Cheesecake Factory. Besides, any man worth the title knows what he’s going to get before he even pulls the keys out of the ignition in the parking lot…the All-Star Special. My waitress, Yolanda, expertly barked out the crucial options.

Yolanda: You want sausage, bacon, city ham or country ham, baby?

Me: Country ham.

Yolanda: How you want them eggs cooked, darlin’ ?

Me: Over hard.

Yolanda: Plain grits, cheese grits, jalapeño grits, home fries or hash browns, baby?

Me: Hash browns

Yolanda: Want them plain, or smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped, or topped?

Me: Plain

Yolanda: Praise the Lawd! That right there is a man who know what he want!

That entire exchange took no more than thirty seconds. Then Yolanda disappeared behind the famously unclean counter …



I can say with very high confidence that my table was only slightly cleaner than that charmingly lid-less trashcan. Notice the high gloss shine of the ceiling above those famous ball lights. I’m pretty sure that acoustic ceiling tiles aren’t suppose to shine, but I put all of that out of mind five minutes later when Yolanda turned up at my table with this…


Number Two. Everything you see in this photograph was freaking delicious. While you can argue that perhaps Yolanda shouldn’t have placed the butter packet on top of the waffle, and maybe she could have been more fastidious with the creamer containers and the grape jelly packet, the actual food was a masterful piece of cooking. That country ham steak might have been the most delicious I have ever tasted and was big enough for three people. This American bounty of Breakfast That Kills cost me a mere $13.00. Heck, I paid $14 for an appetizer last night at dinner!! How can there possibly be food insecurity in this country when this much artery-clogging fare can be consumed for just thirteen bucks?? When Yolanda brought me the bill I gave her a twenty dollar bill and told her to keep the change to which she replied, “Bless your heart, baby.”

No, Yolanda. Bless you!




Friday, April 21, 2023

Some Days are Better Than Others

Yesterday I drove down to Pawley’s Island to have an annual review with some clients. They live in Murrells Inlet and we hadn’t had an in person face to face review since before Covid. They happen to have a place on Pawley’s Island which they insisted that I use if I wanted to stay the night. In appreciation for their generosity I took them to dinner last night at a place called The Hot Fish Club. Pro Tip: Best. Shrimp and Grits. Ever.

So, today I wake up in this beautiful house with an entire day ahead of me with absolutely nothing on the schedule. It is 72 degrees and sunny, I have just had a marvelous cup of coffee, and golf clubs are in the back of my car. After breakfast I plan on pleading with the proprietors of Litchfield CC to accommodate a single golfer for his first full round of golf since August of 2022 in Maine. Later, I might walk on the beach for a while then do some writing. At the crack of dawn tomorrow, I’ll head home. I already miss Pam.




Some days are better than others.




Wednesday, April 19, 2023

Now THAT’S Funny

Ok…so that clean bill of health I got last Friday has turned out to be not quite as clean as advertised. Its nothing terrible but I got another call from the cardiologist about something they saw when I was wearing the heart monitor that they need to address by sending me to a electrophysiologist, and putting me on a new medicine. When I got the news I was naturally bummed since I went from clean bill of health to here we go again so fast I got whiplash. When I told Pam about it she sprang into action likes she always does by pointing out all the positives of the situation. By the time she was finished she had convinced me that I was probably the luckiest man alive for getting to meet an actual, honest to God electrophysiologist!! Then yesterday she sends me this text:


Here’s a tip for all of you single people out there. If you’re looking for someone to marry, find somebody who is relentlessly positive, someone who will not abide self pity. But above all, someone with a wicked sense of comic timing!


Sunday, April 16, 2023

Doing My Part to Lift Your Spirits

You know what’s hard? Trying to post some decent dad jokes after you’ve read the news. First I see a video of a couple hundred teenagers running wild on Michigan Avenue and am told that during the chaos two kids were shot. Then I read of a sweet sixteen birthday party in Alabama which resulted in the deaths of four and the injuring of 16 others when gunfire broke out after a fight had broken out at a dance club…and I’m thinking, “who wants to deal with dad jokes after that?” Probably nobody.

But then I think, too bad, I’m going to publish them anyway. Its not my fault that the world is full of idiots with weapons. I’m getting annoyed with how often some whack job is given permission to steal my joy by shooting an innocent in cold blood. I’m either going to have to stop reading the news or get better at compartmentalizing. Since I can’t resign from the human race, I’m left with storing all of this mindless killing away in a dark corner of my brain and plowing forward with trying to be a blessing to someone every day. For me, part of that is trying to make people smile, laugh, or at the very least, roll their eyes. So…

What do you call a spinal manipulator from Egypt?

A Cairo-practor 


What is brown and rhymes with Snoop?

Dr. Dre


Two nudists were discussing politics. One says to the other, “Have you read Marx?”

The other nods, “It’s these blasted wicker chairs.”


A woman is on trial for beating her husband to death with his guitar collection. Judge says, “First offender?”

She says, “No, your honor. First a Gibson! Then a Fender.”


Why did the grim reaper get his eyesight checked?

He was worried about his death perception.


A blond teenager brought her new boyfriend home to meet her parents and they were appalled at his behavior and attitude. After he left they said to her, “Honey, I don’t think he was very nice at all!” The blond teenager turns to her parents and says…

“If he wasn’t very nice at all, then why would he be doing 500 hours of community service?”


What’s the difference between cats and commas?

Cats have claws at the end of their paws, but commas are the pause at the end of a clause.

Friday, April 14, 2023

A Clean Bill of Health!

My day started with a cellphone call which interrupted me in the middle of my sit-ups regime. A client was on the other end asking me if she had gotten her wires crossed, “I’m at your office for our 8:30 appointment.” I assured her that it was supposed to be for 10:00, but that I would be there in a flash. I cut my workout short, jumped in the shower, got dressed and walked in the door at 9:00 sharp. When I looked in my appointment book, there she was, clear as day…booked in precisely at 8:30 am Friday morning, the 14th of April.

I suppose it safe to say that I had much on my mind these past few weeks. This was the second such crossed-wired appointments screwup for me since my unfortunate running incident back in March. But today was the day I was to get some answers from the doctor, so to mark the occasion, I woke up with yet another swollen eye! Oh, the mysterious power of stress.

There was nothing but good news from the nurse practitioner. All of the fears I had about my mitral valve repair having gone bad proved unfounded. Remarkably, my heart is in terrific shape. Every test I endured had the same result…a healthy, correctly beating heart. Although the heart monitor I wore for two weeks did report a couple of racing episodes, they were when I was sound asleep and caused her no alarm. My stress test  extra beats episode was nothing out of the ordinary. In short, I am fine. So, when I asked her, “Then what the heck happened to me  during that run??”, she answered, “I don’t know. Maybe you were dehydrated or your electrolytes were out of whack, and certainly if it happens again you need to tell us, but from everything I’m looking at, your heart is fine!” This was the proverbial clean bill of health.

So, aside from the fact that my bank account is a little lighter, I could not be happier. I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has been praying for me and sending me encouragement along the way. It was and is appreciated.

Tomorrow morning, I’m going for a run, baby!!

Wednesday, April 12, 2023

The Horns of a Dilemma

It was a Sunday evening, the hottest night of the summer, and Benny’s fifteen year old hormones were raging. The church service was finally over and the grownups had all drifted down to the fellowship hall for a covered dish supper, which left all of the old Sunday School classes in the old building dark and cool. Benny’s favorite room had always been the dark-paneled twenty foot square space reserved for the Sojourner’s, the Sunday School class where all the monied old men gathered to listen to someone read a chapter from the Old Testament then sat around talking about business until the bell rang. Benny liked it because the chairs were made out of wood and had soft red seat cushions. He loved the secretary’s desk that sat between the two towering stain glass windows, the solid maple frame and shiny surface held up a green-shade desk lamp, which when turned on in the darkness shrouded the place in soft yellow light. He didn’t have to wonder why this was the only class in the church which had seat cushions and wooden chairs. These were the old-timers, the power brokers whose ancestors had been the founding members of Bethesda Baptist Church, a proud congregation about to enter it’s third century of continuous operation. The fact that Benny’s father was the current shepherd of such a proud and pious flock was a subject of supreme annoyance to fifteen year old Benjamin Caleb Adams. Many nights Benny lay awake in the cramped quarters of his church supplied residence wondering if anything could be more inconvenient for any self respecting boy than being a preacher’s kid. But, he had not been given a vote on the subject of his father’s occupation. And although the assumptions that came along with having a minister of the gospel for a father were infuriating, Benny never held his father personally responsible. He loved him as much as it was possible for any teenager to love their father. But, on this particular night, any resentments he felt in this regard were the last thing on his mind. His every thought throughout the interminable service of the past hour had been fixed upon the ravishing Amanda Lockhart at his side, the beguiling blond with green eyes and delicious lips who was always game for any stolen moments of friskiness that Benny’s cleverness and audacity could bring to pass, and on this night, Benny had a plan.


After making a perfunctory appearance in the fellowship hall, and making note of the presence of both of his parents and Amanda’s equally ravishing mother, Benny led a giggling Amanda back down the hallway into the passageway that led into the sanctuary. Here they had to be careful. It was dark and hard to see and still close enough to the fellowship hall that you could still hear muffled voices. Benny, knew the route by heart and artfully led them around the baptismal pool, past the pastor’s office and around the janitorial supply closet without tripping on anything, until finally he came to the solid mahogany door with the bronze plaque attached to the arms of the cross…Sojourner’s Class.


It had been a conscious choice. Benny could have picked any number of dusty rooms in this wing of the old building. There was the largest class where the blue-haired women met—The Agape Collective— mostly the wives of the Sojourners. But they had folding metal chairs and the room smelled like mothballs and urine. There were any number of other rooms equally sufficient for the job at hand. But Benny had developed an intense mistrust and suspicion of this Sojourner crowd. Even at fifteen and having little interest in the inner workings of Bethesda Baptist, Benny had noticed that most of the people who were giving his father trouble came from this room. If he was going to risk trying to get around second and into third with Amanda, he couldn’t think of any room more perfect for such a pursuit. The prospect of getting caught was real, no matter how careful he had been coming up with the plan. So, in that hilariously dysfunctional way that fifteen year olds think, Benny figured, why not get caught in the room where the big shots do their plotting and scheming?


Once inside, Benny carefully closed the door until he felt the bolt snap into place, then waited for his eyes to adjust. He slowly made his way over towards the dark outline of the secretary’s desk, found the pull chain of the desk light and suddenly the room was bathed in intimate light. Amanda let out another giggle then, “Benny, I’d rather have that light off. Suppose someone notices?” Benny smiled at her then gave her a short kiss. “Sure, but don’t you want to see the place first?”


Benny pointed at the plaque hanging on the wall behind the secretary’s desk in between the two windows. It was shaped like the stone tablets of the Ten Commandments only made out of polished pine. Where the commandments should have been were little bronze plates with the names of all the previous class presidents going back at least a hundred years. The newest and shiniest one held the name of the current president…


“Well look here, the old buzzard himself, Horace G. Gardner—current president and president emeritus. How do you pull that off? Don’t you have to be dead to be emeritus?” Benny wasn’t sure what the word meant but when applied to Horace Gardner he figured it must be some sort of pretentious bullshit.


Mom says that Mister Gardner is a great man,” Amanda offered, her first giggle-free sentence of the night.


Yeah, that’s what everybody says. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. But his son sure is a dick.”


Harrison Gardner was the old man’s youngest son, current music minister of Bethesda Baptist and the sharpest thorn in the current Senior pastor’s side. He of the silky baritone, year round beach tan, and what passed for handsome good looks with the over forty crowd. Along with the good looks came an easy charm, an affably cheerful nature which everyone in the church bought hook, line and sinker. Everyone, that is, except anyone who lived in the worn down parsonage across the street from the church. There it was universally understood that Harrison Gardner not so secretly coveted the top job, indeed, thought he was better suited for it than the current pastor in every measurable way, and had embarked on a whisper campaign to force Benny’s father out. It had been these ugly internal machinations of church life that had begun to sour Benny on the faith, turning his youthful attentions elsewhere. Benny tugged on the pull chain, pulling Amanda close as the room was plunged once again into the blackest darkness.


Benny and Amanda were both virgins and neither of them were particularly ready for any change in the status quo. Their attraction to one another was a matter of electricity, hormones and the hypnotic coursing of blood carrying strange new warmth to exciting new places. Romantic sessions of the type going on in the Sojourners classroom were of the awkward groping variety which resulted in lots of dizziness and heavy breathing, but little else. In the midst of the action Benny thought to say, “the last time there was this much heavy breathing in here must have been the time old man Stanley’s oxygen machine blew a fuse.” Soon, the two of them were straddled across the secretary’s desk, its polished surface making it difficult to keep from sliding from one end to the other, making an already awkward encounter even more so. Suddenly, both of them froze mid-grope at the sound of shuffling footsteps coming down the hallway directly toward them. For an instant they laid there motionless, trying to listen over the pounding of their hearts. As the steps got closer, Benny made the executive decision to slide off the desk and dive underneath into the cramped space where a secretary’s legs were supposed to be. Just as was able to fit Amanda beside him he heard the door open along with the sound of whispering.


There had been many such moments in Benny’s life despite his brief fifteen years on Earth. He had a talent for trouble, a natural proclivity for recklessness. There was the time that he got caught sneaking back into the house through his upstairs bedroom window after several hours of mischief which had involved toilet papering a prominent deacon’s house. There had been the time when he had caused his father great embarrassment by getting caught practicing his short game in the church cemetery by a descendant of Thomas J. Clinton who’s towering obelisk had unfortunately been chosen as the flagstick. But this particular situation seemed particularly fraught with peril since getting caught making out with Amanda Lockhart in the Sojourner’s classroom would not have done his father any favors at this juncture of his career at Bethesda. All of this weighed heavily on Benny’s mind as he held his breath and hoped for the best. Whoever had entered the room had not yet turned on the light—either a positive sign or an omen of hellfire. Suddenly, there was the rustling of clothing and hushed words…


Oh Harrison…this is so wrong…(gasp)…so wrong.

“Yes baby…but if this is wrong, I don’t want to be right…oooh…”


Benny and Amanda both covered their mouths with their hands in horror, their bugged out eyes only inches apart. What fresh hell had they both stumbled in to? Was this Harrison freaking Gardner, and had he just quoted a Luther Ingram lyric?? And who was he with? Certainly not his wife. They were married with two kids for crying out loud.


If we get caught, we’re both dead, baby. But every time I glanced over at you playing the piano during that solo tonight I was imagining you naked. I just had to have you!”


This time the hands came off, their faces alive with a mixture of mortification and disgust as they both mouthed the name…Francis Powell?? It was at this point where everything changed for Benjamin Caleb Adams. Suddenly, he had become empowered. Finally he had been granted the one thing that he had never been able to grasp in his short life. Finally, against all odds the tables had been turned. Now…Benny had power. Harrison Gardner, the pretentious, slimy, phony windbag and erstwhile pretender to the Senior Pastor gig at Bethesda Baptist had now been caught doing the dirty with the church pianist and mother of three while his own wife was at home caring for his own children. How positively delicious?


“Oh Harrison, you’re incorrigible!!” 


Amanda’s eyes shone bright with something between glee and lust as she mouthed the word, “incorrigible??” Benny then had to discourage her surprising advances, which under the circumstances were not only physically impossible, but tactically inappropriate. This situation needed his complete concentration. A decision was going to have to be made shortly. How should Benny handle this fraught moment? Should he suddenly rise up from behind the desk and shout, “Surprise!! Caught ya!!” Or should he wait them both out, let them finish their wickedness then wait until the most opportune time in the future to blow this tanning bed wimp out of the water? 


Suddenly the breathing became louder along with one of them whispering to the other to be quiet. Benny tried to put the mental image of these two forty year olds having sexual relations while standing up out of his fevered mind, especially since both of them were people whom he would have to walk by practically every Sunday for the foreseeable future. Mercifully, it finally seemed to be over, as they both began whispering barely coherent professions of devotion to each other. Then, the sound of the door knob turning, the shuffling of clothing and the shutting of the door. They were gone. So much for a shocking reveal. Now it was just a matter of figuring the best use of his new found clout. Benny quickly shuffled the reluctant Amanda out of the room, down the hall and back into the fellowship hall.


 It was only much later that same night when sleep wouldn’t come for Benny that he realized the full implications of his information. Apparently, what his father had always said about the knowledge of good and evil was true…with great knowledge comes great responsibility. He was now in possession of the sort of incriminating dirt that could rid his father of his Harrison Gardner problem once and for all time. But as he lay there staring into the darkness it occurred to him that he was now on the horns of a dilemma. This damning piece of intelligence came with a profound personal conundrum. How was he to share this story with his father without also having to explain what exactly it was that he and Amanda Lockhart were doing in the Sojourner’s room in the dark? His Dad was far too smart and much too familiar with his son’s aptitudes to believe that they were “praying together.” As valuable as his discovery would have been to his father and as anxious as he was to provide all the gory details, Benny wasn’t interested in being grounded for the duration of the summer. After a fitful hour, sleep finally came. At the light of first dawn, Benny gave the situation another think and this time came to the conclusion that life just wasn’t fair.


The next six months had been among the most uncomfortable of Benny’s short life. Amanda had moved on, now vaguely attached to his best friend to whom Benny held no resentment. It had been an amicable split, and neither of them had spoken a word about that night to each other since. But every time Benny saw Harrison at church it had felt excruciating. Occasionally he would notice the two of them looking at each other a touch too long in the choir loft. Each time he would throw up a little in his mouth. Many times he had come close to confronting him, especially on the rare times when they would run in to each other someplace private like the parking lot. But each time Benny had given up on the idea. Besides, he would only have denied it, Benny having no proof of anything. Who would everyone believe, the son of a founding family member and beloved music minister, or a goofy, trouble making teenager with a history of asshattery?


By the time winter arrived, Harrison Gardner-instigated machinations had picked up their intensity. Benny’s father’s position was getting more tenuous with each passing Sunday. Factions had appeared in the congregation, those who supported his father and a more vocal and growing faction that supported the music minister. Benny had been struggling under the burden of his knowledge, and growing feelings of guilt had begun to grow within him. Was his personal freedom more important than his father’s happiness and continued employment? It was time to face the music. He would walk over to his dad’s office and confess all.


When he arrived at the church he noticed that the office to his father’s study was closed, a rarity. Just as he reached for the handle, the door swung open and he found himself staring into the red, puffy tear streaked face of Harrison Gardner who hurried past him without looking up. Benny cautiously walked into the office and saw his dad sitting calmly at his desk. 


Hello Son. What can I do for you?”


Benny, momentarily rattled, asked—“What was that all about? That was Harrison Gardner, right?”


“Yes,” came the non-committal reply.


Benny prodded—“And he was…crying”


“Yes. I believe he was.” 


It had always been virtually impossible to get any church gossip out of his father. This was understandable and even admirable considering the assumed confidentiality of the confessional and all, but this was Harrison-freaking-Gardner we were talking about here. Considering the purpose of Benny’s visit he felt entitled to know why the enemy of his father had just left his office in tears.


“Dad, seriously? Harrison Gardner just walked out of here crying his eyes out. What the heck?”


Have a seat son.”


Benny sat down as instructed as a feeling of dread swept over him. 


It doesn’t appear that Mr. Gardner is going to be a problem for me anymore. His position of influence in this congregation is now at an end. This is very good news, I believe for me as well as this church, but I’m afraid it is very sad news for Harrison and I take no delight in it.”


Benny leaned forward. “Wow. What happened?”


Then his father leaned forward, placed both fists under his chin and began…


“A couple of weeks ago I received disturbing news about Harrison. I followed up the allegation with the parties involved and found the report reliable enough to believe that it might possibly be true. To make a long story short, the person who provided the original information then confronted one of the people involved and received confirmation of the truth. I just finished talking this issue over with Harrison and he has admitted his guilt.”


Benny finally took a breath and tried to looked shocked. It appeared as though he had been saved by the bell once again, wiggling off yet another hook of his own making. Then his dad continued.


“Interesting thing though…You know Tammy Lockhart, right? Amanda’s mom? Yeah, she was the one who came to me with the information.”


Benny worked hard to keep his composure. “Yeah? Well, we broke up quite a while ago…”


“Something about the Sojourner Class, of all things…”


Once again Benny, now flushed with color—“Like I said…we broke up, so…”


“But, you know what this means don’t you?” A barely noticeable smile began to form at the corners of his father’s lips.


Sure, this means that you don’t have to worry about that greaseball gunning for your job anymore,” Benny answered with genuine happiness.


That’s right, son. You know what else it means?”


A surprising sensation flowed through his bloodstream as Benny realized that this was not a question he should answer. This was a time for circumspection and silence.


It means that you’re grounded.”


And just like that, in the blink of an eye, Benny’s world was back, spinning dependably on its axis.




Tuesday, April 11, 2023

Ten Years

Today was an eventful day in my business. It was the tenth anniversary of when Kristin Reihl came to work for me. Right before I went to work that day Pam warned me with a firm, “Don’t scare her off on her first day!!” Well, to the astonishment of practically everyone who knows me, not only did I not scare her off, she has hung around for an entire decade. This morning I brought her flowers, a Visa card and one of those blank cards where you can write your own message. Mine said, “Thanks for not quitting.”

Recently I have been reminded of how much of a slacker I have been as her employer. For one thing, in all the ten years she has worked for me I have never had a performance review with her. Recent events have brought this failing to light. A couple of months ago my friend asked if I would be willing to allow her to work for him a couple days a week. I agreed since I am slowing down my operation somewhat and Kristin wanted more hours anyway so…win, win. Well, my friend runs a much tighter ship and as proof she showed me the three page questionnaire she had to fill out in preparation for her first Quarterly Review. Here I’ve gone ten years with no reviews, and she’s already preparing for her first with my friend! I certainly felt a little bit inadequate. So I told her that it had inspired me to come up with a questionnaire of my own for her to fill out. Upon hearing this news she gave me one of her patented eye rolls, certain that I was just joking. Imagine her surprise a few days later when she was presented with this…

Quarterly Performance Review.

Question #1

How has your experience this past quarter increased your admiration for me?

Question #2

Which part of your job do you love the most?

A. Having to constantly remind me about stuff I’ve forgotten.
B. Listening to my hilarious dad Jokes
C. Correcting my rare mistakes

Question #3

Which swear words have you utilized the most often this past quarter. Why?

Question #4

Which of my amazing characteristics are your favorite?

A. Good Looks
B. Dad Joke Proficiency 
C. Organizational brilliance
D. Superior Mental Acuity
E. All of the above

Question #4

When did you first realize that I was the best boss you have ever had?


I would publish her answers but if I did I would be in violation of HIPAA laws and whatnot, but needless to say, there was more than one snarky remark tossed around along with several over the top eye rolls. But despite her outward show of disdain, I could tell that on the inside she knows how truly lucky she has been to work for such a solid professional for all these years. Actually, she’s planning on using that Visa card thing I gave her to pay for a visit to a therapist!


Sunday, April 9, 2023

The Week of my Birthday

At sundown tonight, the week of my birthday is over. My seven days of extra slack, undue deference, and undeserved favor will be over. Tomorrow morning I will be a normal, everyday, run of the mill 65 year old. Later in the week there will be tests and doctor’s appointments where I will discover what—if anything—is wrong with my heart. After that I will return to being the loud mouthed, opinionated, sarcastic crank I’ve always been…I hope.


Here’s the girl who made my week so very special. She’s been the brain to my brawn for almost 40 years now. Her presence in my life has softened my roughest edges, and brought out the very best in me. It has so often been her wise second thoughts that have managed to redeem my ill-conceived first thoughts. It has been her calm cool head that has tempered my hot headed overreactions. Her grace and elegance have rubbed off on me enough to make me mostly presentable in mixed company for the better part of four decades. 


This picture  reminds me of an old expression that I truly hate…behind every successful man is a good woman. That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. Although she might be behind me in this sunset-kissed photograph, she has been by my side in every good thing I’ve ever managed to accomplish. The only time she’s ever behind me is when we are shopping…’cause she walks so blasted slow. But she’s no quiet little woman toiling in the shadows. I hate that idea. Half the time I’ve followed her lead. No…she’s my full and equal life partner, and I would be lost without her.