Watch Out!!! My Wife Has a Plan...

It's that time of year again. Vacations are over, it's too hot and sticky outside to do anything fun...so it's time for my wife to turn her attention to home decor. A couple of summers ago it was painting the family room and kitchen. This year she is more ambitious than ever. She has determined that she must paint my library and the dining room, and completely redo our bedroom. Actually, that's the wrong choice of words...since our bedroom has never been done in the first place. The paint on the walls in there came with the house 17 years ago. Nevertheless, I was greeted yesterday afternoon by my wife lugging in armful after armful of decorating stuff from the car. She had hit the mother load at both Khol's and Bed, Bath and Beyond. It was an impressive haul. There were curtains, curtain rods, throw pillow covers for the chairs in the library, and the Holy Grail of bedroom decoration...the coveted comforter set. Today she is off to buy the paint and painting supplies.

You guys should see her when she gets on one of these decorating binges. Honestly, it's adorable. There is a gleam in her eye, a bounce in her step. She's transformed into the Energizer bunny! Then she starts peppering me with the questions...

Pam: I was thinking that we could hang these panels in here. The shiny grey color really brings out the design of the pillow covers, and once I paint, the rooms will flow together much better, don't you think?

Me: Yes.

Pam: But, now that I look at it in this light I'm not sure it's the right shade of blue. Of course, we just have to get rid of the wing back chairs in the dining room, or we could always have them recovered. I wonder how much Cathy paid to have those chairs at your office redone? Could you ask her tomorrow?

Me: Yes.

Pam: Our bedroom is going to be a monster to paint. But, I just love the new comforter! The colors are perfect, although I worry that they might be too bright in the daylight. What do you think?

Me: Yes.

Pam: I think if I can buy the paint tomorrow, I might be able to paint the library and the dining room this weekend and be finished by Sunday evening. Of course, the bedroom and bathroom upstairs will take forever to finish. Oh, and we will need to buy new light fixtures for our bedroom. I will be so glad to be rid of that hideous ceiling fan, and won't it be awesome to have more light in that room?

Me: Yes. Awesome.

Pam: Oh, did I show you the rugs and towels I found at Bed, Bath, and Beyond for the bathroom? They match the comforter perfectly! But I hate the way they make you use a different coupon for each item you buy! So frustrating!! 

Me: The nerve of those people...

Pam: I do worry about what Lucy's paws are going to do to this new comforter. You know, I've half a mind to use my 30% off coupon and just buy a second comforter as a back up in case her paws eventually wear this one out. What do you think?

Me. Yes. Just in case...

You will notice a pattern in our discourse on the topic of home decor. My job is to say as little as possible. I don't want to do anything that might sow seeds of doubt into her mind. Once she makes a decision about this sort of stuff she is a dynamo of determined and focused energy, the enemy of which is self doubt. This system works perfectly because I truly have no opinion on matters of style around my house...except for my library, which I was allowed to pick out. The truth is, if she came home with lime green paisley-print throw pillows I would probably go along with it....

Pam: I've decided that what our foyer needs is a velvet Elvis portrait where that hideous Thomas Kinkaid is hanging. What do you think?

Me: Yes.

See, if it was up to me, our family room would probably feature a sofa-sized painting of Dogs Playing Poker, so having Pam in charge of all things aesthetic is the right move. 

Black Lives Matter vs. Elvis

AP-Memphis, Tenn.

As Elvis Week draws to a close, this city lets loose a giant sigh of relief that no violence broke out despite the promises from the Black Lives Matter organization to, "shut down Graceland." Several news media outlets had hyped the possible confrontation between the fledgling civil rights organization and the tens of thousands of Elvis Presley fans who gather here each year to commemorate the singer's death. Instead, a few hundred protesters gathered outside the entrance to Graceland and peacefully spoke to this reporter about how Elvis is the perfect symbol of what is wrong with white America.

Kareem Lewis, local BLM spokesman, explained that although he owned a couple of Elvis records himself and actually "kinda liked his sound," Elvis still was nothing more than an "appropriating rich white cracker."

Reporter: But why Graceland? Why come to Memphis?

Lewis: Well, one, for the money...two, for the show.

Reporter: Money? I don't understand.

Lewis: Read the paper, son! Didn't you hear that we just scored 100 million in cash from guilty white liberals up north? For that kind of money, we gotta put on a show! You know..a little less conversation, a little more action, dog.

Reporter: I have noticed that this demonstration has been remarkably peaceful...

Lewis: That was our theme for the week...don't be cruel.

While the Black Lives Matters protesters were on their best behavior, part of the peace was insured by a massive police presence in the area surrounding the Graceland compound. This reporter has never seen so many policemen in one place in all of my time in Memphis. Police seemed to outnumber the protesters by at least two to one. I asked Captain Goudol Beau about the overwhelming police presence...

Reporter: Captain Beau, for such a small demonstration, this sure seems like a lot of cops...

Captain Beau: This ain't all of them neither, we've got another 100 officers positioned in case there's trouble.

Reporter: Where?

Captain Beau: ...in the ghetto.

Reporter: What would you say to people who might call this a provocative overreaction?

Captain Beau: I would say that they have...suspicious minds. You know, the people of Memphis are an easy going bunch. We can put up with a lot. You can burn our house, steal our car. Hell, you can even drink our liquor from an old fruit jar! I mean, you can do anything you want to do to us...just don't mess with Elvis.

Reporter: Well Captain Beau, I must congratulate you and your men for the tremendous restraint you have shown today.

Captain Beau: A very wise man once said...only fools rush in.

I thought that Kareem Lewis might have a different perspective on police behavior so I asked him whether his people had been treated well.

Lewis: You know, I've got to admit that these Memphis pigs have been alright. I mean, we were expecting them to knock us down, stomp on our face...slander our name all over the place. We all figured by now we would be all shook up. But it's like we've got a good luck charm or something.

So, after a very long, hot and violent summer, the nation finally experiences a peaceful civil rights demonstration in the Deep South. In Memphis there were no burning grocery stores, just burning love.

Perhaps there's hope that race relations will thaw. Perhaps there won't be a blue Christmas after all. 

My Heat-Wave To-Do List

Things to do today, August 17, 2016

1. Make "shave" decision

2. Iron thinnest shirt in closet...curse the fact that nobody makes business shorts.

3. Liberally apply baby powder all over despite the fact that I hate baby powder.

4. To guard against dehydration, drink copious amounts of water.

5. Try to break yesterday's record of 16 trips to the bathroom.

6. Encourage ladies in the office to bring blankets if they don't like the thermostat set at 69.

7. Spend an hour staring at my weather widget showing the 75 and sunny forecast for Camden.

8. Shame myself for my weakness by looking at pictures of Teddy Roosevelt wearing a wool suit, signing a treaty in an unairconditioned train car in Panama....in freaking August!!!

9. Suffer raging bouts of guilt when Lucy comes up to me, frisbee in her mouth, begging me to go outside.

Why Go To Church?

Every now and then as a writer, something pops into your head that you want to write about even though it's not at all exciting. This is one of those times. It's the answer to the question, Why do you go to church, and it hit me this past Sunday.

Now, I know what the Sunday School answer to the question is, I know what I'm supposed to say. It's some combination of, "I go to worship God" or "I go to fellowship with other Christians." But after attending church for a lifetime, what keeps me going back besides habit and tradition? For me I have recently discovered the answer...I go to church to be confronted by and comforted by...the truth.

I can sit through the most insipid, juvenile music. I can tolerate poor acoustics, boring announcements and ugly buildings. I can put up with modern translations of the Bible which strip it of its lyrical beauty. But if I hear the truth, communicated by an honest, authentic voice, I'll always come back. I'm not interested in book reviews, politics, social commentary, or bad poetry. But if a man...or women...of God stands up and delivers the unsanitized truth to me, then I've been to church. I don't want to be told how great I am. I'm not interested in learning all about how much God wants me to be insanely rich. I want to be confronted with the reality of my condition as a flawed man and the incredible miracle that is grace and forgiveness. I want someone to challenge me to be better, to live better. I want someone to expose my selfishness, to challenge me to care for the least of these. I want to hear about the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son because even after 50 years as a Christian, I'm still bad at the former and too often feel like the latter. I don't want some phony poseur telling me about how persecuted I am for my beliefs. I'm not interested in some self promoter whose only goals are building monuments to his own vanity. I want a preacher who isn't afraid to look me in the eye and tell me the truth, even if he knows it might make me angry or uncomfortable. 

So, I'll sit through 7/11 lyrics, somber, minor key ballads which drone on and on about nothing. I'll tolerate all the corny church stuff for the chance to hear an authentic presentation of God's Word. If church doesn't offer that...I'd rather sleep late and go for a drive in the country.

Look on the bright side!

Ok. At this point in the Presidential campaign it has become clear that Donald Trump isn't going to become President, and that outcome seems like a huge relief to...Donald Trump. Never in my lifetime have I seen a major party candidate so expertly self-sabotage his own campaign. Never. So, I feel like it's my patriotic duty to try to buck up all of you out there who truly despise Hillary Clinton. I include myself in this group. But, I have always preferred to look at the glass as half full rather than half empty. So, let's all look on the bright side, shall we?

1. At least our new President won't spend half her time on the golf course.

2. Having chosen Tim Kaine as her running mate, the nation will be spared the humiliation of watching Hillary throw out the first pitch at the World Series.

3. All of us who disagree with the President's policies will no longer be called "racists." Sexist has a less sinister ring to it.

4. Feminists will no longer be able to harangue us with the charge that we live in a country led by a fascist, patriarchal government.

5. Hillary isn't cool enough to be asked to appear on late night talk shows, saving all of us that perpetual annoyance.

6. Can you imagine how perfectly horrifying the inside of the White House would have looked at Christmas under the Trump Administration? The giant, black lighted velvet manger scene alone might have permanently scarred us.

7. Once Hillary becomes President, money will finally become available for other private charities and foundations once The Clinton Foundation is taken off the market.

Not a Good Night For Angels

Pam and I took our first ever Uber ride earlier today. By doing so, we gained valuable street cred from our two Millennial kids who are constantly extolling the virtues of this new transportation system. Pam downloaded the app, and before we knew it, there was our driver picking us up in front of the Sheraton Grand Hotel in Chicago. He drove a shiny Toyota Camry with the cleanest interior you ever saw. He introduced himself...Thomas.

I will now try to faithfully recreate the conversation which took place between us during the thirty minute drive to O'Hare airport. I want to do this now while it's still fresh in my mind. I never want to forget it and think it's fascinating enough to share with you for reasons that should become clear enough.

When we entered Thomas' car, Jamaican music was playing softly in the background. He spoke English with a beautiful African accent delivered in a lyrical cadence that was calming. We soon discovered that Thomas was an immigrant from Ghana who had landed in Chicago six years ago. His "real job" was with a competitor hotel across town which he assured us was far superior to the Sheraton Grand! He had been an Uber driver just on the weekends for the past year. After the basics, I asked him to tell me his honest impressions of America.

Thomas: I have only ever been in two countries, Ghana and America, so I don't know about other places, but my feeling is...and the feeling of many people I know is...that there is no place like America.

Pam: Yes, America isn't perfect by any means...

Thomas:(interrupting)...certainly not, but compared to so much of the rest of the world...no place like America.

Me: How and why did you choose Chicago?

Thomas: It is beautiful and so clean.

Me: This is my third visit here and I can tell you that compared to most other big cities, you are right, it is beautiful and clean. 

Then he asked us what we had done and seen during our stay. He politely approved of our choices. Then I took a chance. I wanted to find out what a Chicagoan thought of the horrific amount of violence that has plagued this city for the past decade. Just in the four short days of our stay, 22 people were murdered, 16 of which were African-American. So far in 2016 according to the Chicago police department's numbers, 428 homicides have been committed in Chicago, the vast majority of the victims, African-American.

Me: Thomas, what's the deal with all of the murders here? In what part of the city is this happening? What is the reason for it all?

Thomas: Not in the beautiful parts, but all over really, much of it on the south side. It is so horrible. I ask myself and I ask other people, "Why are they doing this to each other? It is crazy. Much of it is turf wars over drugs. One gang sees that one neighborhood buys many drugs, so they move in to that neighborhood because they want the business, so a war breaks about between the gangs. So they continue to kill each other!! It's crazy! Then we hear about black lives matter, black lives matter...what is that?? It means nothing in Chicago because black lives don't even matter to them!! The worse is the little children, six so far this year. The other day a man pulls over to the side of the road to rest. Another man comes out of the trees and shoots him in the head for no reason, just gun play macho...it is crazy.

The more he talked the more animated he became, desperate to make us understand how crazy and meaningless it all seemed to him. 

Thomas: I come from Ghana to this place where the economy is so much better, more opportunity, and this is the way people behave?

When our ride was over I wanted to hug the guy and thank him for coming to America, for working two jobs. Instead, I shook his hand and thanked him for the ride. Thomas and his shiny Camry disappeared . I will never see him again. I wondered if he lives on the south side. I wondered if he too might become one of the nameless victims of the war raging just four miles from my luxury hotel on the magnificent mile. It occurs to me that Chicago has suffered more casualties so far this year than the United States has lost in Afghanistan in the last four years combined. 

On the night that Pam and I gathered with 40,000 joyous Cubs fans at Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs beat the Angels, less than ten miles away, no less than seven African-American males were gunned down in the streets. 

It was not a good night for angels.

Chicago

This is my third trip to Chicago, the first for Pam. Every time I come here I am stunned at how beautiful the place is. Sure, recently they set a record with 100 shootings in one week. Sure, they are on pace to shatter the record for homicides in 2016, with over 600 souls expected to get whacked by year's end. But the killing fields are a long way from Michigan Avenue, and we didn't see a single cop on our walk from the hotel to the dock on the Chicago River yesterday afternoon for our boat tour of the city. Our "Architecture Tour" snaked its way down the green water where the towering buildings of Chicago loomed overhead. Our guide was a native Chicagoan who lived up to its reputation as the "Windy City."

Dude was a living, breathing encyclopedia. Here are some of the sights...

Each magnificent building came with a story, including but not limited to the egos of the architects. It was fascinating and worth every penny....except for one thing, it was 90 degrees out, humid with only rare whispy breezes. We sat on the top deck in the blazing sun. Pam was a trooper. There is nothing on earth more intolerable to my wife than being hot..nothing! Yet, she never complained, and paid rapt attention to our guide throughout. I thought that at any moment she might suddenly scream out and cast herself overboard in a fit of rage, but she held it together like a champ. Of course, I kept disappearing below deck so I could keep her placated with lemonade and diet cokes. I've learned something  in 32 years of marriage!

Life Lesson in a Picture

"Winners focus on winning. Losers focus on winners."

Wegmans!!!!

Pam and I went to the grand opening of Short Pump's new Wegmans today. We should have known better. This may have been the most eagerly anticipated, most over-hyped store opening in the history of Henrico County, and since our county is over 400 years old, that's saying something. We knew it might be a madhouse when we saw this guy at the corner of Broad Street and Wegmans Way...

 He was the first of at least a dozen of Henrico County's finest we saw patrolling the area, some in cars, some on foot and even a couple on bikes. Once we finally found a place to park we entered this monstrosity of a store...

Once inside I was astonished to see this...

If you squint you will see...yes, count them all...27 Checkout lanes, all manned( and womanned )by eager, smiling cashiers. Matter of fact, this store seemed to have an abundance of employees, handing out everything from glossy maps of the place to free beer samples. Speaking of adult beverages, if you're into that sort of thing, an entire wing of the building is dedicated to you...

...and that's only half of it. The rest contains three two story high shelving aisles full of wine from every corner of the globe. As awesome as the place was, it didn't take us long to decide that today probably wasn't the best day to be taking a tour. We only made it through roughly a third of the store, but what we saw can be summed up neatly this way...if you need something, anything really...you will find it at this store. 

"But, how are the prices?" you might ask. I have no idea. Probably not the cheapest in town. If I want the cheapest prices, I can drive down the road five minutes and buy my groceries at Walmart. If that's too embarrassing, I could always drop by Food Lion, the home of the perpetually sticky floor. Or, if I want to have my guilt assuaged for being part of the evil west, be-fouler of the planet, I can go drop truckloads of cash at Whole Foods, the world wide headquarters of self-flagulating white people. The point is, Wegmans is just another choice that a free market gives me.

My children, and many others their age don't have the same image of Socialism that I do. For them, Socialism is gorgeous Danes and Swedes eating ice cream while on one of their 12 weeks of paid vacation, courtesy of the State. For me and many of my age, Socialism looks like this...

This is the line forming outside a grocery store in Venezuela. The lines sometimes take ten hours to get through only to be told that there isn't any more milk.

This one is from Cuba, where the lines are a bit quicker, but the goods are limited. The Venezualians and the Cubans learned all of this from the pre-Gorbachev Soviet Union, which featured this sort of scene practically every day...

I can hardly visit Facebook without seeing some article written my some Millenial about the horrors of Capitalism, and honestly...Capitalism does have a few horrors. But whenever I hear this sort of argument, I always come back to the Wegmans of the world. Only a free market can deliver this sort of abundance. Do we have a free market in every segment of our economy? Not even close, and in the places where we don't like cable television, service and quality suffers. But Doug, but Doug...if capitalism is so great at allocating resources, how come we have 17 different brands of deodorant? Isn't that a waste of effort??? Well, I would rather let the marketplace decide the answer to that question. Apparently, there is currently enough profit in the deodorant game to compensate 17 different companies for making the stuff. Turn that decision over to a command economy government committee and we would eventually end up with one brand of deodorant which made us all smell like cat pee and nobody could find anyway since there would always be a shortage!

So, yeah. I'll take my Wegmans huge crowds and all, and be thankful that I live in a country where Wegmans is even possible.

A Scary Dream

I haven't had a decent night's sleep since Maine. I fall asleep alright but after that it's a mess...lots of tossing and turning, waking up at 2 in the morning for no apparent reason, and dreaming like a character in a Dostoyevsky novel.

A couple of nights ago I dreamed that my family was living in the parsonage across from Winn's, not so much of a stretch since I grew up in that house. In my dream, I walked out the front door and noticed that there was a small crack in the foundation of the house where the brick exterior wall had separated from the foundation by maybe a half inch. But, as I stood and watched, the gap began to widen, slowly at first, but with increasing speed until it looked like the entire structure was about to break free from its moorings and fly away! Of course, since this was a dream, there had to be some excruciating frustration associated with it, and for me it was...trying to alert my family to get out of the house. They just couldn't be bothered. There was something far too fascinating on television. I would run in the house screaming out warnings, then back outside to check on the house. Each time I did, the scene became more exotic and terrifying. Soon there was a giant abyss of a gouge in the earth stretching from the corner of the house's foundation all the way into infinity in both directions. Before long, the house was teetering on the precarious edge of this mighty gulf. Panicked, I ran back into the swaying house, desperately trying to rouse them from their collective disinterest. Suddenly, I woke up. Two o'clock.

Dream analysis is a dicey thing, even for the experts. For amateurs like me, it amounts to pure speculation. At this point, I would like to invite you the reader to participate. What, on earth, was the meaning of this dream? I'll start...

Possibility #1

The parsonage represents the efforts I have made to protect myself from the dangers of this world. The earthquake that destroys it represents the schemes of evil aligned against me. My family's preoccupation with television represents the powerfully insidious influence of evil that is so strong, it leaves us defenseless, unable to save ourselves.

Possibility # 2

Since I was a kid when I lived in the Winn's church parsonage, it represents my past. The earthquake represents the lies I tell myself about my past, glossing over the bad times and glorifying the good. The fact that my family doesn't heed my dire warnings is a reminder that nobody really cares about my past except me.

Possibility # 3

Never eat tiramisu after 8 at night...

So, which is it? Does my dream have some deeper meaning it is trying to convey to me through my subconscious....or was it something I ate?

My Olympic Fashion Commentary

I am so psyched. I get to do something today I haven't done in over a month...yard work!! That's right, I love yard work, cutting the grass, trimming the lawn, gathering up sticks and debris, and ridding the back yard of Lucy's bowel movements. Oh...and the fact that it's going to be hot and humid out today makes it even better because it means I will be a smelly, sweating mess after I'm done, virtually guaranteeing that I will have shed at least two pounds. Win, win.

But before I get at it, a word about the opening ceremonies of the 2016 Olympics. I watched maybe fifteen minutes of the thing. Pam, my Olympics-loving wife, sat firmly ensconced on the sofa, fully intending to watch from start to finish. I discovered this morning that she didn't even make it to the D's of the parade of nations before falling into a coma, meaning that she missed this...

Not bad. The guy holding the flag is a dead ringer for Michael Phelps...no wait...

But for 2016 the winner of the sharpest look goes to the Aussies hands down. 

.

...and I don't even like seer sucker that much, but somehow the Austrailians looked awesome in it.

Ok, that's my first and last fashion commentary. 

My Immigrant Encounter

Yesterday it was time for a haircut. Unlike my wife, I'm not very particular who cuts my hair. I usually go to one of those "guys only" places and roll the dice. It's a different girl every month practically, but they all seem capable so what the heck, right? Well, yesterday I got a new stylist...Anna.

Anna shook my hand and introduced herself with a timid, whispering voice. Her smile seemed forced and cautious. She was Hispanic. Her English was fine but she spoke with a thick accent. Making small talk, I observed that she must be new since I had never seen her before. "Yes...I am new. Would you like the MVP?" 

Anna stood out like a sore thumb. Unlike the usual loud, flirtatious banter common at a where guys get their hair cut, her attempts at conversation were whispered, polite and careful. Mostly she went about her business with single-minded concentration. There was an odd sadness about her. Still, she practiced her craft with great gentleness and care. It was a great haircut.

When I went to pay, I entered a more generous than usual tip in the gratuity line of the ticket. When I gave it to her and she saw it, she actually lifted a hand to her mouth in astonishment, looked at me with tears in her eyes and whispered the word...gracias.

The subject of immigration is a lightning rod issue nowadays, although for millions of people like me the issue isn't immigration itself, but rather...illegal immigration, which is no mere distinction without a difference. I have no idea whether Anna is an immigrant or an illegal immigrant. I would assume that since she has a job and speaks English, she is probably here legally. If not, then my first instinct would be to find the owner  and throw the book at him/her! In my opinion, the real villains in the illegal immigration saga are the employers who hire them. As for Anna, well that's where I get mushy. Even if she is here illegally, I have a hard time working up any indignation towards her. When I met her, she was in hour seven of a ten hour shift. She looked exhausted and lost, and yet she smiled and did her job with great care and skill. It's very hard not to root for someone like Anna. 

Of course, the cynical reader might point out that perhaps I would feel differently about the Anna's of the world if they were all trained investment advisors, competing in my business, willing to work for half the fee. True. But, to compete in my line of work, Anna would have to be here legally. There are just too many federal paperwork requirements in the investment world to overcome without proper documentation. Still, it's a valid point. But, as a human being with a beating heart, I suppose I have a gigantic weak spot for anyone willing to leave hearth and home to come to America seeking a better life. I want Anna to make it, and I'm not interested in throwing her on a bus and sending her back where she came from arbitrarily. But, while my heart beats, it doesn't bleed. We are a nation of laws and we must enforce them. Opening the borders to all comers, no questions asked is national suicide...hence the problem.

The solution has to contain elements of both the rule of law and enlightened compassion. Crafting that solution will require people of good will, intelligence and imagination in the halls of power.

Good luck with that.

What to Watch For on Inauguration Day

With every passing day it becomes more clear that on Inauguration Day 2017, Hillary Clinton will be taking the oath of office. I take no delight in pointing out the fact that I have been writing this for over a year now. But, it didn't take superhuman powers of observation to see how this all was going to work out, just a healthy level of skepticism. Still, the most disturbing part of her victory will be the fact that it will, for her, validate a lifetime of lying. When she places her hand on the Bible in John Robert's hand on that cold Janurary morning she will be smiling inside, secure in the knowledge that all of her machinations, all of the deceit, disingenuous maneuvering, and influence peddling was all worth it, that in fact, honesty, transparency and fair dealing are for chumps. She will have ridden a life long wave of lawless narcissism straight to the top of Mt. Olympus and from her perch she will look down upon all of the little people with freshly energized contempt. She will gloat over all of those who questioned her ethics, all of those who warned of her soulless appetite for power, of her complete lack of defining principles other than self preservation. She will think about all of those who made fun of her appearance back in college. She will think about the Lewinski humiliation, the humiliation of having to work for Barack Obama. She will think about those insufferable Benghazi parents, she will picture the faces all of those Bernie Sanders kids with their self righteous anger and contempt. Now where are they, she will think as she says, "I, Hillary Rodham Clinton, do solemnly swear," I'll tell you where they are, she will think, they are back to their miserable pedestrian lives, and I am where I deserve to be...President of the United States. 

Hillary Clinton is about to be exultant over all of her enemies, real and imagined, forever driving a nail in the coffin of the concept of personal integrity.

....and the most horrifying part of it all is, it will probably beat the alternative.

Favorite Photographs From Maine

I have complied my favorite pictures from Maine. It was difficult to sort through the hundreds of them taken while we were there, but these are the best...

When you tell people that the lakes in Maine are clear...this is what you're talking about.

How much is this memory worth?

A full moon rising over the lake at nightfall.

Just me and the ducks...

The view from Mt. Battie. That's the gorgeous town of Camden and Camden Harbor.

Patrick and Sarah kayaking on Hobbs Pond.

The whole gang after an Eco-cruise of Penobscot bay where we saw scenes like this...

And this...

Perhaps the most beautiful small town library in the country...

Made even more beautiful with these people standing in front of it.

A two minute drive from Camden and a mere twenty minutes from Hobbs Pond...the Atlantic Ocean.

Meanwhile, back at the lake, I couldn't possibly fish without Lucy...

I had just jumped into the lake and there was Lucy getting more air than I did, coming in after me.

My kids, enjoying River Ducks ice cream. What could I do? They had been good that day!

My two best girls on the float...

Perfect shot of Lucy. What in the world was she thinking, looking at such a place for the first time?

A Top Ten List No Nation Wants To Be On

Oman

Iraq 

Saudi Arabia

India

Malaysia

Ethiopia

Libya

Sudan

Mexico

Algeria

Whenever you see any of these nations in the news it's usually because someone has whipped out an AK-47 or machete and slaughtered a bunch of people. Sometimes it's because someone has blown themselves up at a crowded market, or driven an explosive-laden truck into a police station or something. You hardly ever see a headline about one of these countries announcing an exciting new vacation resort being built. No international conferences chose these countries for their annual meetings. Neither do celebrities choose to build exotic getaway homes there. Why?

At first glance one might say...poverty. Well, yes, some of these countries are quite poor, but not all of them. India does quite well in spots. Saudi Arabia has plenty of wealth. A second look might suggest the scourge of radical Islam. But, the last time I looked, there weren't a lot of Muslims in Mexico. So, why do so many terrible things happen in these countries? 

ANSWER: This is a list of the ten hottest nations on the face of the earth.

I dare say that if my wife lived in the Sudan and had to shop for groceries in an outdoor market in 110 degree heat, it wouldn't be long before she too would be sporting a bomb vest!! Everyone who knows Pam assumes her to be the kindest most loving person they know...an observation which is generally true, but let the air conditioner go on the fritz around here and it's like I'm sharing the house with a cross between Jack the Ripper and Charles Manson. So, when she casually responded in Maine to news of a murderous rampaging truck driver in Nice, France with a plaintive plea, "Why can't these people just come to Maine?"...she wasn't far from the truth.

So, as we soldier on through the rest of this brutal summer weather, let us say a prayer for the unfortunate souls who reside in places like Kuala Lumpur. And the next time horrible news comes to us from places which feature scenery like this....

...lets not be too quick to judge!

Heat...I had almost forgotten

This morning, for the first time in quite a while, I dressed for work...white dress shirt, dress pants, dress shoes and a tie. I left my house and walked to my car in the garage, started it, turned on the air conditioner and drove to my office. It was 8:00 am when I arrived. The short walk from the car to the office door wasn't too bad, a little muggy, but not so bad. At noon, I walked outside of my air conditioned office towards my car and was welcomed back to Short Pump properly. The air was heavy and damp. The power of the wall of heat that faced me on my short walk was staggering. But, I reminded myself that having been gone the entire month of July, I had missed the worst of it. Today was what passes for a cool spell to my beleaguered Short Pumpians, the high temperature only expected to reach 90.

But then...I reached my car.

My Cadillac CDS had spent the past four hours sitting in the sun, soaking it all in on a spongy blacktop. When I opened the door and got inside it was like...it was as if...I need to give this some thought. How to describe the heat coming at you from the inside of a car in Short Pump...in August?

Picture a Malaysian whore house... in the midst of a power outage... at 4 o'clock in the afternoon...in the middle of monsoon season.

How about the prospect of hopping an empty cattle car and laying on the metal floor with the doors closed as you inch your way down the tracks outside of Bangalor, India in April.

Imagine you're unlucky enough to be a woman in Saudi Arabia and are forced onto a chain gang laying asphalt dressed in a full body hijab.

Ok...maybe not as bad as that, but after being in Maine for a month, it was pretty awful.

Good to be back...

Made it back to dear old Short Pump at 2:30 this afternoon. Have spent the past few hours getting reacquainted with my house. It seems bigger somehow, but the yard feels smaller. Lucy was quite surprised to be back. It was as if she never expected to ever come back here...and she was fine with that. But now that she's back, she's a very happy dog.

The mail had been collected by the US Postal Service all month, and delivered to us in a double grocery bag. Took me thirty minutes to sort through it all. Based on my consumption behavior over the past thirty days, the marketing colossus which is the American banking industry saw fit to send me no less than eleven credit card offers. I took surprising joy in ripping all of them up. There were several bills and a few checks so, some good, some bad.

It will be the same tomorrow at work, some good, some bad. It was actually that way in Maine too...more good than bad but still a bit of both. Such is life. Our month on Hobbs Pond was a delight, a treasure trove of memories that can never be taken from us, making them even more valuable as years go by. But every one of them was made possible by the very mundane things done here in Short Pump, the work, the day to day.

So, I don't despair at returning here. I miss Maine. I count the days until I can go back. But I will never resent the here and now or wish it would pass. Tomorrow I get to go back to work to make it all happen again. I have missed the people there. They are every bit the blessings to me that the loons on the lake have been. Come to think of it...I get to be surrounded by loons all year!

Pam is at Martins replenishing the shelves. Lucy is happily asleep on her sofa spot, and I am writing this in my library while listening to a live performance by Duke Ellington...Take the A-Train...

Good to be back...

Last Day...

Day 29

This will be our last full day in Maine. We will head into Camden Deli for some blueberry pancakes. Pam will stop by the Smiling Cow to pick out her whirlligig thing...a polished bronze thing that catches the wind and twirls around. Something like this...

She's wanted one forever so today she will pick one out and have it shipped home since there won't be any room in our car. We will kick around in town for a while, then make the drive back to the lake where the packing up will begin. It's hard to believe that this month is almost over. It has flown by. While doing so, it has exceeded our wildest expectations. The weather hasn't been perfect, but pretty close. The house wasn't perfect but pretty close. We never once got bored or ran out of places to go and see and things to do. The fishing was crazy. The lake was beautiful. The call of the loons, enchanting. We read a load of books. The television was on maybe a couple of hours all month...for an inning or two of baseball. Having no wifi was a hassle, but we managed perfectly well gobbling up data on our cell phones. Having Paula and Ron for a visit and of course, the kids, was wonderful. But we also enjoyed our time just the two of us. Lucy was a champion. She has had the time of her life and is now a lake dog for life.

We will miss everything about Duck Cove Cottage and Hobbs Pond. It will be a strange feeling tomorrow morning pulling out of here. Gratitude and sadness.

Waiting On The Storm

Day 28

Astute readers will recall that ten days ago I played a round of golf at the Rockland Golf Club with three wonderful Mainers in a driving rainstorm. Well, today I decided that I couldn't leave this place without playing that course in the sunlight. So I left the house at 6:30 this morning with no tee time and took my chances. By 6:55, I teed off as the first golfer of the day, with rented clubs and a push cart. Two hours and twenty seven minutes later, I walked off the 18th green with my Map My Fitness app telling me I had walked exactly six miles. It was the finest six mile walk of my life.

I shot an 86. Not horrible, not great. 

Two stories... My worst shot of the day was a badly hooked tee shot on a par five which featured a partially blind tee shot. The minute I hit it, I knew it was deep in the woods and hopelessly lost. But when I crested the hill, right in the general area where my shot probably entered the woods were these guys...

Yes, a flock of wild turkeys reminded me just how bad my shot actually was!

My best shot was on an uphill, into the wind par 3 that the scorecard said was 215 yards but looked much longer. I hit a 3 wood to 15 feet...

Me, being me...I left the birdie putt two foot short!

This terrific course featured lots of gorgeous views which I hadn't noticed in the monsoon earlier. Pictures don't really capture the beauty...

This particular one is of number 16 I think. I took it because to the left rear of the picture is a big house on the mountain that overlooks not only the course, but Rockland harbor as well. The water can be seen beyond the spruce trees on the right.

Now, it's 4:30 in the afternoon and we are waiting on a storm to pass through. It's all over the radar about ten miles away. I'm on one end of the great front porch writing this blog while chewing on beef jerky. Pam is drinking her afternoon coffee and eating French horns. There is no illustration that better sums up our relationship!!

A Bad Dinner...sorta.

Day 27

So, last night...after a long and lazy day spent recuperating from waiting on our four kids for a week...Pam and I decided to drive into Rockland for dinner. There were over thirty restaurants to choose from in our handy Guide to Midcoast Dining magazine. We finally decided on this place...

Archers on the Pier was described as being located, "directly on Rockland's pristine waterfront." Analysis? True.

Then we were told, "come enjoy an innovative and tasty menu." Analysis? Misleading. Unless by "innovative" they meant...make patrons wait an hour for a table, then another thirty minutes for their food to arrive, resulting in ravaging hunger which would make boiled cardboard seem tasty. The best part of Archers was arriving and leaving. We parked on the far end of the harbor and took a gorgeous walk around the bay on a wide and flowered boardwalk with the sun setting behind us. When we arrived we were told that there would be a twenty minute wait. We found a seat at the outdoor bar and ordered a Cajun shrimp appetizer which turned out to be the very best thing we ate during our two hour stay. The breeze off the ocean was divinely inspired, it's staggered timing, perfect! Actually, we could have sat out there eating Cajun shrimp for two hours and left happy. But unfortunately, eventually our table was ready...inside, next to the kitchen, in very close proximity to two talkative Italian 

retirees from Ohio. It was a loooong night. This was the before-selfie...

We didn't take an after-selfie...good thing. Still, worse things could happen to people than having to spend over two hours at a restaurant. We could have caught the Zika virus or even worse...been forced to watch the Democrat Convention. I heard that Bubba was particularly gifted/disingenuous in his attempt to describe his relationship with Hillary as a romance. So, thank God for slow service.

Last couple of days have had Pam on edge. She doesn't do well if she's "hot." Although, outside has been a pleasant 82 or so, this house has been a bit toasty at times. No air-conditioning will do that. The beautiful ceiling fan above our bed would ordinarily provide welcomed relief from the sometimes muggy conditions. But in our case the fan is merely ornamental since turning it on would send Lucy scrambling out the door in a full fledged panic. So, we soldier on! 

Three more days here. With each passing day, the real world gets closer and responsibility starts to cloud the mind. Soon, this will all be over. Bummer.

Motives Unclear?

Day 26

When I scan the Internet for news, the headline is everything. For instance, if the words "Beiber" or "Khardashian" appear, the story isn't getting read. This is why I love the Wall Street Journal so much since every story in the paper begins on the front page, hardly any of which contain those two words, making my news gathering experience more efficient. Now, I'm aware that I probably miss many perfectly fine articles because of poorly written headlines, but that's life...you win some and you lose some.

But lately, a particular type of headline appears more and more in my news feeds. It is some variation of the same theme. This morning, it comes from the UK's Telegraph...

Isis Knifemen slit Priest's throat while yelling "Daesh"...motives unclear.

Yes, Telegraph, perhaps these Knifemen were unhappy with the Priest's views on Eucharistic adoration. Or maybe they were unhappy with the inconvenience of his confession hours. Why, just the other day there was the story of the Baptist Deacon who barged into a mosque shouting, "It is God's will!!!" and chopped that Imam's head off. What? You don't remember that story? Me neither, because it didn't happen. But, if it did does anyone believe that the New York Times would report that the killer's motives were unclear? It's like the old joke about the headline in the New York Times the morning after a meteor destroys New York City...METEOR WIPES OUT CITY....woman and minorities hardest hit.

...but enough about the path of death and destruction being cut through the world by radical Islam. Let's change the subject to something more uplifting, like the fact that even though all my kids are gone, Pam and I still have four more days in this beautiful place. There are still things we want to do and places we want to see. If I were reporting on our activities for the New York Times, perhaps the headline would read...Local couple frantic to cross "things to do on vacation" off of their list as vacation draws to close...MOTIVES UNCLEAR.

My Russian Problem

Day 25

This guy is big boy number two. I caught him last night around 8:15 after dinner, along with a couple decent sized lake trout. Then it got too dark to see the bobber. More fun than a barrel of monkeys. At that point there was only one thing we all could possibly think to do...go get ice cream.

There's an amazing little place in town called River Ducks. It sports this menu, which Pam has taken as a personal challenge. She fully intends to try each and every "Maine Inspired Flavor" on this menu before we come home!

A couple of odd notes...

When I woke up this morning after a fabulous night's sleep, I thought that one of two things had happened. Either Camden Cappuccino Crunch has regenerative powers that had miraculously healed my myopia overnight, or I had forgotten to take out my contacts. Unfortunately, it was the latter.

For no apparent reason, The Tempest has become quite popular in...Russia. For the past three days, I have gotten more page views from the land of Putin and Vodka than I have from the USA. Patrick suggests that it's probably something called a spam bot. Of course, his easy explanation ignores the very real possibility that my writing has hit a nerve in the Russian psyche. Is it so outlandish that the land that gave us Dostoevsky could warm to the stylings of my blog?? Patrick is sticking with spam bots. 

Still, what with all of the Russian involvement in the Wikileaks thing with the DNC, I shouldn't be too careful. If the Ruskies are in cahoots with Trump, my blog might be on some kind of enemies list. You know...the kind of blog that could reach an audience of hundreds with the subversive message that Donld Trump is a moron. Well, fear not readers...no matter what personal danger I might be placing myself in, my voice will NOT be silenced. Although...if I ever get arrested I fully expect all of you to set up a GOFUNDME thing to pay my bail.

The End Is Coming...but it ain't here yet.

Day 24

The kids fly back home tomorrow. Today was their last full day here. It has been everything that Pam and I were hoping it would be. And now that they are leaving, it's a bit sad for two reasons. First, we don't get very many opportunities to have them all together in the same house very often. Once during the summer, maybe for a few days at Christmas, and a fall weekend if everybody's schedule cooperates. So, these family times have become increasingly rare. But the real reason for sadness is that when they leave, we only have four more days left. These days have flown by.

But, there will be no whining and complaining. This has been an incredible month and we are lucky to have had the chance to come here. It has been a splendid getaway, more so than we ever dreamed possible. The fact is that God has been extrordinarily good to us, for reasons that remain a mystery to me. All I can think to be is grateful. 

We still have four more days, and I intend to wring every last drop of fun out of them. The rest of this vacation begins with tonight's dinner...a repeat of this...