Quoting Jefferson

"Thomas Jefferson wrote to a friend that University of Virginia students ‘are not of ordinary significance only: they are exactly the persons who are to succeed to the government of our country, and to rule its future enmities, its friendships and fortunes.’ . . . I encourage today’s U.Va. students to embrace that responsibility."

UVA President, Teresa Sullivan


This is the unfortunate paragraph that has sent over 500 students and faculty at the University of Virginia scurrying to their safe spaces in horror. Mr. Jefferson's high opinion of the quality of future UVA students has had the effect of sending some of them to their fainting couches. Perhaps if the old man were alive today to see what has become of the student body of the school he founded, his exalted opinion of them would come crashing back down to earth. . .where it surely belongs. For us, the living, we must devoutly wish that UVA graduates do "not succeed to the government of our country."

The petition signed by the aggrieved parties at UVA objects to the use of a quotation by its founder not on the merits of what he said, but rather who he was, namely. . .a slave owner. The complaint is that although Jefferson was a great man, he also owned other human beings, so quoting him cannot be allowed because of the message of exclusion, and disunity which his past sins represents.

Ok. . .

Yes, by all means, let's throw out the wisdom and contributions of our ancestors whenever we discover them acting like men and women from the 18th century. I mean, how virtuous can they really be if they particated in an institution like slavery? No, men like Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and George Washington have nothing whatsoever to offer  enlightened 21st century humankind. No mention of their words, no matter how lofty, any longer has a place in polite society.

I feel quite confident in my conviction that the combined future output of the entire student body at UVA will not produce anything more lasting and durable than the Declaration of Independence. I feel sure that all the future scribblings of the 500 buttercups who signed this letter will not eclipse the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom for its advancement of liberty. But yeah. . .the bastard owned slaves. 

Our heroes often disappoint us. We wish they were more consistent. That a man who wrote, "All men are created equal" could own slaves jolts 21st century man. How could a man with such progressive attitudes towards government like Woodrow Wilson be such a bigot? How could someone who did so much for the poor and downtrodden in America like FDR be such a homophobe? The answer is, A. We are all deeply flawed, and B. We are all reflections of the times we grow up in. I hate to break it to the tender reeds in Charlottesville, but it is quite possible to have been a great and even indispensable man and to have been a slave owner in  the 1700's. The two are not mutually exclusive. We can at once acknowledge the greatest of Mr. Jefferson and ponder the inconsistencies in his life. Why was he such a spendthrift? Why was he so late in acknowledging the abuses of the French Revolution? Why did he lie about Sally Hemings? Why didn't he take up arms during the revolution? Why did he own slaves? But friends, I am here to tell you that without the man, the American experiment would have failed, and the delicate flowers in Albemarle county would be matriculating elsewhere.

Best Joe Biden Meme Ever?

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Aaron Paul 

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Joe: Yes, that was me.

Obama: Please stop.

Joe: I will not stop. This room will smell so bad when he gets here.

Obama: Joe...

Joe: Nope.

4:57 PM - 12 Nov 2016

 
•   10,04010,040 Retweets
 
•   23,36323,363 likes

It's Been a Week. . .

A week has passed since the election. I had promised not to comment about the protests for a week, but now I'm having trouble articulating anything interesting on the subject. It's all been said by voices more prestigious and informed than mine. I will make an attempt here but I fear that you will be disappointed. It would appear that my politics tank is on fumes.

Post-election America has become a meme's war. From the right have come photographs of empty streets with the caption: Scenes of angry protests by disappointed Republican voters in 2008 and 2012 when Obama won the election. From the left a whole host of Joe Biden memes, my personal favorite being this gem:
https://mobile.twitter.com/aaronpaul_8/status/797559068999069697/photo/1

As is my habit, I have not seen footage of any of the protests since I do not watch television news. I have read plenty and seen scores of pictures, enough to get a flavor of what is going on, and enough to form an opinion, which basically is. . .much of the overwrought histrionics on display in America's streets is one of the primary reasons Donald Trump got elected in the first place. I have the sense that many people are worn out by the sight of the perpetually aggrieved. Many of the same crowd that just a week ago were talking about how America was already great, were now carrying signs declaring that AmeriKKKa was never great in the first place. The same people who a week ago ripped Trump for suggesting he might not accept the result of a rigged election were now screaming, "not my president" at the top of their lungs. I will freely acknowledge that the vast majority of these demonstrators were peaceful and fully within their constitutional rights of protest, however, the accompanying violence and property destruction dealt out by the knucklehead fringes is always what makes headlines. At some point, one would think that these folks will abandon the streets and either go back to class, or back to work. But maybe not. Maybe slogan-chanting protests will be a permanent feature of life in Trump's America. Lovely.

While I am aware that many post-election stories of anti-immigrant hate crimes have been exposed as hoaxes, there are two stories that I know to be true as they involve my son. A friend of his, who I know personally, was accosted at a stop light by a man yelling vile things at him for the crime of being a "f**king Mexican."  Actually, Elias is a legal immigrant from Venezuela who just recently became an American citizen, and you will search far and wide before finding someone who loves this country more than he does. My son's church door was bespoiled by a swastika just in time for services this past Sunday. And while it is true that random graffiti and racial slurs do not equal Nazi Germany's rebirth, and cannot fairly be attributed to all Trump voters, its still disturbing to see, no matter it's origin. Some things are always wrong at all times from whatever source.

I didn't vote for Donald Trump. I have a boat load of concerns about his fitness and temperament. But  he won. I will give him a chance just like I have given every other duly elected President in my lifetime. When he does something right and good, I will cheer him on. When he does something wrong and destructive I will rip him a new one. But, the Republic endures. I've got a life to live and bills to pay. It's time to buck up and get on with it.

The Twelve Days of Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving. I have testified to that love many times in this space. I have pointed out its superiority to Christmas in every measurable way. For one thing, it is uniquely American and as an American I'm thinking that we desperately need to find things to be thankful for about now. So, this Thanksgiving comes at a good time.

This year, it will be a Dunnevant/White affair, and it will take place at our house. Pam's parents, sisters and their families will join us along with all of my tribe, including Miss Sarah Upchurch for her first ever Virginia appearance. So, there will be seventeen of us along with two large dogs, Lucy and Jackson.

Pam is already planning the event with painstaking precision. The appropriate linens have been purchased, along with the requisite table decorations. The meal will be a work of art. But, lest you think that she's doing all the work, I have important tasks on my plate as well. For example, I am in charge of the after dinner football game. This year, since we are in the suburbs, it will take place in the street, so I will have to borrow my neighbor's "SLOW...CHILDREN AT PLAY" sign. Football on pavement could get chippy, so I will have to be sure that the first aid kit is well stocked. I'm thinking that this year's contest might very well become a Dunnevant vs. White affair. I will be paying particularly close attention to the competitive instincts of Patrick's girlfriend, having never observed her in athletic efforts before. . .a crucial test.

When it's all over, the six of us will settle in for the evening, listening to carefully chosen Christmas music as we decorate our tree. There will be hot chocolate. There will be turkey sandwiches. There will be a lump in my throat.

And this year there will be much to be thankful for. 2016 has been a profitable one. All of us have been healthy. All of us have enjoyed job successes. Patrick got his first solo apartment. Kaitlin and Jon moved into their first house. For the first time in our lives together, Pam and I got to spend an entire month on vacation in Maine. We have recently discovered a new church and can't wait to get out of bed every Sunday morning to go, that in and of itself, a miracle. And. . .the election of 2016 is finally over. 

So, I am ecstatic at the prospect of having all of my family sleeping under my roof, even if only for a few nights. Let the Twelve Days of Thanksgiving begin. Wait, that's not a thing, you say? Well, it should be!

A Dryer-rack For My Head

Sometimes there's a million things banging around the inside of my head, but I can't get any of them out. It's like when you put wet sneakers inside a dryer when you were a kid and listened to them bang around until your Mom came running in asking what in the name of Sam Hill was going on, then promptly ordered you to go outside barefooted. . . not that this actually ever actually happened to me personally, but you get the picture. I believe that an excess of ricocheting thoughts inside your head is where headaches come from. Well, ever since the election, there's like a dozen pairs of sneakers in the dryer.

First of all, I'm tired. Aren't you? Tired of the names, tired of thinking about big weighty things. Tired of hearing the names...Newt, and Huma. I'm also tired of being wrong about everything. I used to be pretty savvy about things political. I didn't see a Trump victory. Yes I did predict that he would win the nomination long before the NYT got around to it, but I never dreamed he would actually pull off beating Hillary Fricking Clinton in the general. Never. So being wrong is no fun.

Prior to election night my biggest fear was what angry, disillusioned Trump voters would do when their man lost. I never once considered what Clinton voters might do if she lost. Never. In keeping with my pledge to give all sides a full week to vent without comment, I will defer until the 15th to opine on that subject.

But now that the election is over, we will soon be into the miserable, boring business of actually governing. The Trump people will be announcing the makeup of their team. Partisans will scream their glee and displeasure with every new offering. Newt Gingrich for Secretary of State. . . "Brilliant choice!!". . . "My God!! It's the end of the world!!!!" By the time the inauguration rolls around the entire country will be exhausted, beaten up and left for dead by the side of the road by the hysterical hyperbole of the media. My Lord, if I have to watch so-called journalists openly weeping on television one more time, hell. . . I might move to Canada!!

I understand that they actually make a tray thing that you can set up inside your dryer to stack sneakers on so that they don't fly around inside the dryer. I need one of those for the inside of my head. I could organize into neat little stacks all of these disparate, competing thoughts, then line them up on the tray. . . We elected the first president ever to have appeared in a porn video. . .what will Huma do for a living now?. . .wonder what the tuition is to go to the Electoral College?. . .what do you do with yourself  after you've served two terms as President of the United States and you're only 55? I mean, you could play golf every day, but he already does that. . . who is going to be willing to pay Hillary $250,000 for a speech again?. . .will Jerry Falwell Jr get a cabinet post, and if so, which one?. . .who is more likely to get assassinated, Trump before the end of his first term, or Anthony Weiner before Inauguration Day?. . .will Ryan Zimmerman get traded over the winter so the Nationals can get a power hitting first baseman for once?

See? It's a mess up there.

Swinging Pendulums and Protests

Four years ago I sat down at my desk to write about my disappointment with the outcome of a Presidential election. My guy had lost. The punditry was unanimous in their belief that the Democratic Party was on the cusp of perhaps fifty years of dominance. For a small government, liberty-loving Libertarian like me, despair was a reasonable position. But the contrarian in me just couldn't bring myself to buy in to all the gloom and doom. You see, there's an advantage to being a student of history. Who knew that my History degree from the University of Richmond would come to my rescue at such a time as this?

So, I wrote what follows. I post it here as I watch footage of angry, disillusioned, mostly young people exercising their constitutional guaranteed right of protest, demonstrating in the streets. It's worth reading if you are angry about the election. It's also worth reading if you're excited and perhaps  feeling a little cocky. Take a look. . .

Now, to those of you who feel exultant as well as those of you who feel despair at the outcome of this election, I offer the following history lesson. The election of 2012 will usher in neither a 50 year reign of Democratic Party dominance, nor the death of the Republican party. How do I know this? History. Here’s my theory. In times of great uncertainty and tumult, the American people have often warmed up to a beefier, more aggressive and dominant attitude toward government. However, when the crisis passes, the American people have consistently preferred a lighter touch, as follows:

World War 1 and it’s upheaval usher in Woodrow Wilson and his merry band of Progressives bent on transforming American society. As soon as the war was over, and before the ink was even dry on the Treaty of Versailles, America quickly soured on Wilson’s Progressives and opted for 12 years of laissez faire Republicans. It was time to have fun and make money, and we did both in record breaking ways. Then the Great Depression and the rise of totalitarian regimes round the world ushered in FDR and the New Deal. Things got scary, so we wanted our government to beef up and protect us. After the war was over though, we got tired of all the fussiness, all the rules and regulations and do-gooders. It was time to rebuild, to get back to growing the economy and making some money. Yes, that nice man, General Eisenhower will do nicely. Then the civil rights movement and the social upheaval brought on by the war in Vietnam turned the sixties into a caldron of chaos. Whenever that happens, America turns to government and so we got LBJ and his Great Society’s war on poverty. Which was fine and dandy until the radicals started getting a little too weird. Then it was time for some law and order, and who better for that job than the Republicans and Richard Nixon? But, America doesn’t much care for paranoid crooks in the White House so we decided to give a big-toothed southerner a try. Thankfully Carter gave way rather quickly to Ronald Reagan. When he left and was replaced by his Vice-President, the first George Bush, the temptation was to believe that this time, the Democrats really WERE dead. Wrong again. Hello Bill Clinton.

The pattern should be pretty clear by now that the preferred political philosophy of the American people is highly fungible. The pendulum swings in slow motion sometimes, but it does swing. In 2012 America, has turned once again to Obama. We have experienced in the past ten years the worst terrorist attack in history and the second worst economic collapse in our history. Time for an aggressive, vigorous government. But, as sure as day follows night, these trying times will fade, this government will overreach, and the American people will tire of the Nanny state at some point.

That’s my theory, and I’m sticking to it. Oh, and one more thing. I’m going to do a better job of praying for the President than I did during his first term. Now that he’s our guy for another four years, he’s my guy too.

I'm going to refrain from criticizing anyone who protests an election for the first week or so after. I think there should be a grace period in politics, a cool down period where both sides can freak out freely. I very well remember some on the right who trotted out the not my President idiocy back in 2008 and 2012. Who can forget the 2000 protests against George W. Bush? In a bitterly divided nation like ours, this is what happens. But with time, most reasonable people will give the new guy a chance, albeit on a short leash.

The Morning After

I watched the returns last night in my library on my iPad, having lost faith in television media the day that Tim Russert died. I spent the evening and a fair part of the wee hours of this day going back and forth between the New York Times website, the AP and Reuters wire, and the Twitter feed of the #NeverTrump guys over at National Review. It was an astonishing upset which I have still not completely come to terms with. I am fully aware that this is a deadly serious matter and many of you are either exultant or devastated at the moment, so I must tread lightly. But, I only know one way of dealing with life's difficulties and that's through humor. Some may call it gallows humor, but humor nonetheless. So, with my tongue lodged firmly in my cheek, I offer you a more lighthearted interpretation of last night's historic election.

1. The most anticipated and longed for nine words in the English language will be, "May I help you with your bags, Mrs. Streisand?"

2. Job number one for the Clinton team is finding property in a country without an extradition treaty with the U.S.

3. If I owned stock in the Clinton Foundation, I would be selling.

4. One ironic thing about last night was the fact that the Democrats were ultimately done in by their own preferred strategy...identity politics. Only this time, instead of blacks or Latinos voting as a monolithic block, it was the white working class, who gave nearly 70% of their vote to Trump. To my Democratic friends I can only say, "frustrating, isn't it?"

5. One thing that popped in my head when they called Pennsylvania for Trump. . .where are they
going to put his tanning bed in the White House? Surely not in the Oval Office, right?

6. To my great dismay, I saw Facebook posts last night from Christians about how their Bible Study groups had been transformed into celebratory Trump parties. Yeah, I get it. . .abortion. . .but if I live to be a hundred I will never be able to wrap my head around this Trump-love among believers. I just can't. . .

7. Here's a prediction. Four years from now, abortion will still be the law of the land.

8. With the election of Donald Trump, the American people have now permanently lowered the bar for admission to the Oval Office to serial adulterers, gropers, and casino and strip club owners. Way to go, America. Good luck with that!

9. Evangelical Christians have lost forever the spiritual authority to criticize the immorality of politicians seeking the highest office in the land.

10. The American people finally drove a nail in the coffin of the Clinton Dynasty. Not at all a bad thing.

11. It should be fairly pointed out that there was not a single incident of violence perpetrated by an angry, disillusioned Evan McMullin voter last night.

12. I'm told by many of my Christian friends that Trump will be guided by and faithful to the Republican Party platform. This despite the fact that he has been an actual Republican for approximately 15 minutes of his life.

13. If it is true that during the campaign, Mr. Trump became a Christian, then Mike Pence has just become the single most important accountability partner in the history of evangelism.

14. The poor men and women at CNN must be thinking, "If our 24-7 cheerleading for Hillary couldn't put her over the top against freaking TRUMP, what good are we??!!"

Nervous Voting

In roughly 48 hours from now I will be disappointed, having long ago given up any hope of a positive electoral outcome. If it's Hillary, I will be embarrassed, if it's Trump, horrified. But today at church I heard the words of a prayer offered up by the pastor which spoke to me and apparently many others in the congregation since an audible approving murmur rose up around me, a rarity in the church I'm currently attending. These words. . ."God, no matter how this election turns out, many of us have the sense that we are in trouble as a nation." Something has gone off the rails. He went on to pray that the election result would be received by the American people without violence and bloodshed. Honestly, I have always assumed that as an American, I would never hear those words from a pulpit. But, given the fever pitch of emotion, the hair trigger hatreds which have grown up among us in 2016, it is a real concern. So, along with 300 million other Americans, I wait.

I will vote on my way into work on Tuesday morning, like I have always done. I'm too old school for early voting. I will stand in line with my countrymen. In the past, my time waiting has been comforting, a time of pride, a time to feel good about my amazing good fortune as a citizen of a country such as this. This year, I will be nervous, restless, eyes peeled towards my perimeter at all times. Virginia is one of three states listed by Homeland Security for heightened security because of vague Al Qaeda internet chatter threats. It would be just like those bastards to pull something on Election Day. If you're wondering, "who would a terrorist attack on Election Day help the most," then you, my friend are part of the problem.

I have family members who will be voting for Hillary and others who will be voting for Trump. I have friends who support both candidates. Some enthusiastic readers of this blog love Donald Trump, despite my opinions to the contrary. But, I am proud to say that I have not lost one single friend because of this election. I will not think less of those who disagree with me in this regard because friends and family are far more valuable to me than mere politics. A month from now, we all will have moved on. We will be back to arguing about far more important things. . .like which yard chore is more obnoxious, raking leaves or shoveling snow?

So, go out and vote on Tuesday and keep your eyes peeled. On the other hand, if you're one of those people who can't name your congressman, or if you think that the Supreme Court is the name of Diana Ross' second album. . .feel free to sit this one out.

I'll patiently await the day very soon when we Americans once again remember that not everything is about politics. Oh, happy day...

Yard Sale Highlights

Dunnevant Family Yardsale #116, Fall 2016 edition, is in the books. Although the haul of $660 was on the low end of expectations, that is not to say it was a failure. The treasure trove of anecdotes alone made it worthwhile! Here are a few of the highlights:

So, it started Friday night when we all gathered at the site for set up, that euphemistic phrase which translated means "We all just had a long hard week, so let's get together and have a Chinese Fire Drill in Mechanicsville."

 Step one of this set up business involves Ron putting up yellow crime scene tape along the road with 

signs clearing warning customers that under no circumstances are cars to be parked here. Because it's dark, and Ron being Ron, he thought to bring his coal miner head lamp. But, this is America. More specifically, this is Mechanicsville, Virginia, America, where rules are for other people.

This particular Mechanicsvillian was especially bold in her disregard for instruction, parking her tiny, toy car directly in front of the driveway, where she left it for nearly an hour while she haggled with us over the fair black market price of curtain rods.

Once again, yours truly won top salesman honors for like the 116th time in a row. I was able to move not one, but two of the most tacky hunks of knickknackery ever offered for sale east of the Mississippi. The first was a set of black cat cheese knives that defy my powers of description. I am
quite sure that beside the Webster definition of kitsch you will find a photograph of the four black cat cheese knives. My pitch was based on the fact that since Halloween just happened, now was the best
time to stock up on all of your Halloween decorative crap needs while prices are low! My second triumph was another decorative figurine whatnot which looked like a cross between an angel and
Lady Liberty attempting to clear a high hurdle. There were red, white and blue ribbons festooning
this hideous creation which seemed to be making some statement about 9-11, since the Twin Towers loomed in the background. My sisters had voted this particular item as the worst, most tacky thing in our entire inventory, which I took as a personal challenge. Soon, I spied a likely mark hovering around the offending table display. I meandered over, picked up Lady Liberty and said with a straight face, "Wow, this is about the most moving thing I've ever seen." The poor woman replied, "You know, my brother is a fireman. I wonder if he would like this?" I closed with..."Can you say, 'stocking stuffer'?" BOOM!!!

Other highlights:

An elderly man was looking puzzled at the small box of odd shaped Fram oil filters being offered for
.25 each. He asks, "You have any idea what these filters are used with?" I answered, "Haven't the foggiest notion." To which he remarked. . ."Well hell, for .25 I can throw them at a barking dog!" He bought the entire box!

Here's Ron trying to convince this hapless shopper that these windows aren't as bad as they look. "Sure, the wooden frame is rotted through by termites, but the glass is still relatively clear."


SOLD!!!

Of course, no Dunnevant Yardsale would be complete without a tent being erected inside the garage to hold in the heat from the Kerosene heater that Ron set up to keep the ladies warm. Here are the three queens taking a rare break.

Another day, another dollar.

The Unity Cup?

Just in time for the election, there's a new controversy brewing at Starbucks. The purveyor of overpriced, and over roasted coffee unveiled a new container called the Unity Cup.

The cup features a hundred different people drawn in a continuous pen and ink style without lifting the pen, illustrating how connected we all are, I suppose. I haven't examined the cup with a magnifying glass, so maybe there's some sort of satanic symbol hidden in all of the humanity. Otherwise, it's hard to understand the insane uproar that has greeted this cup on social media. Boycotts have been organized. Starbucks has been accused of liberal bias and trying to brainwash voters on the eve of the election. Wait,. . .what???

"During a divisive time in our country, Starbucks wanted to create a symbol of unity as a reminder of our shared values, and the need to be good to each other," offered CEO Howard Schultz in way of explanation. Sounds reasonable to me.

Ok, I get the fact that Schultz is a big liberal and supporter of Democratic candidates. But, it's his company, and he can promote whatever he wants to promote. Now, if he introduced a cup with VOTE Hillary emblazoned across the thing and her picture smiling back at me, yeah, that would probably give me yet another reason never to enter a Starbucks. But, here's the thing. . .I'm a capitalist, and as such, I'm a big fan of the whole free exchange thing, whereby I don't want anyone or anything to interfere with my ability to exchange my money for your product. So for me, boycotts seem like stupid and ineffective annoyances. People who organize them seem small and overly strident for my taste. It's a form of group-think. If you disagree with "X" you can't buy "Y" or you must not really disagree with "X." Listen, nobody is going to pressure me to buy or not buy anything based on politics! Are you kidding me? Do you boycott people realize how ridiculous you sound, and how hypocritical? "Let's boycott Starbucks because their cup is liberal," says the angry lady as she pulls into the Citgo station to buy gas. . .a Venezuelan company, then whips out her Chinese made cell phone to Google the closest ABC store so she can buy a fifth of Russian vodka. Please.

No, I will not be purchasing any coffee from Starbucks in these subversive cups. But not because of some paranoid craziness that assumes that everything in the world is about politics. I will not be buying coffee from Starbucks for purely market based reasons. . .their coffee stinks.

Game Seven vs. Election Day

Tonight, America will be treated to the ultimate winner take all sporting extravaganza, the seventh game of a World Series. Roughly a week later, America will experience the ultimate winner take all political extravaganza, Election Day. Let's compare and contrast, shall we?

Tomorrow night, either the Cleveland Indians or the Chicago Cubs will become world champions. If it's the Indians, it will be their first such championship in 68 years. If it's the Cubs, it will their first in 108 years. Either way, there will be great, unbridled joy unleashed throughout the land. Someone will be chosen as series MVP for their outstanding play. Fans of the losing team will be crushed, having come so close after all those many years only to come up short. A minority of them will rail against the umpires, others will bemoan the bias of Fox Sports for unashamedly rooting against their team. But most of them will take the loss in stride since they have so much experience dealing with defeat and disappointment. We will be treated to images from inside the winning clubhouse of grown men giddy with victory, dousing each other with expensive champagne, acting for all the world to see like teenage boys after a victory over a cross town rival on Homecoming night. Baseball fans will rejoice to see the entire nation focused on "our" game. But as the clock strikes midnight, and all of the commentators have finished giving us their take on the game, we will all be a bit sad since pitchers and catchers don't report to spring training for another three and half months!

Next week this time either Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump will become President of the United States. An election that took what seemed like years and took us to depths never before probed in our moral and ethical history will finally be over. Either way, there will be no joy, unbridled or otherwise released throughout the country, only profound relief that it is finally over. There will be no MVP selected. Supporters of the losing candidate will be enflamed with anger. A majority of them will rail against the entire rigged process and claim that the election was stolen from them, others will rail against either Fox News or the mainstream media for their blatant bias. Hopefully, only a minority of them will take to the streets, Molotov cocktails in hand. We will be embarrassed to see the winning candidate make his/her victory speech. But, when the clock strikes midnight, nobody. . .and I mean nobody will be sad that the 2020 New Hampshire primary is 39 months away. Why? Because for the next four years we will be lead by either this. . .

Or, this. . .

We will have far more immediate things to be sad about.

My Wife's Only Flaw

This blog is for men only. Women just won't understand. If you happen to be a woman and are offended by this notion that there are some things in this world that are beyond your comprehension, I apologize in advance.

Some of you who read this blog faithfully might be quietly annoyed by the unalloyed praise that I am constantly heaping on my wife. The truth is, she is an amazing woman, so it comes easy. But, today, I am here to let you know that she is not perfect. There's this one thing she does that drives me crazy. I never complain about it because. . .well, why?  But, as a man, and I think I'm not alone in this matter, this time of year it's especially egregious. By now, I'm sure that all of you are fascinated as to what the beautiful and sainted Pam could possibly have done to cause me to write a critical blog post. Ok. . . here's the problem:

Several times a year my wife heads off to a truly vile establishment called Bath and Body Works and comes home with a bag full of this stuff. . .gentle foaming hand soap. I mean, she loves this stuff. Apparently this is a seasonal purchase, since every three months I get tortured by a new set of scented  hand soap. Pump the handle and get lost in the fragrant allure of "sunny mandarin, autumn leaves and blonde woods." (What the devil is blond woods??) Whatever it is, these three fragrances combine to produce something called Golden Autumn Day. Not to be outdone, I could choose a second fragrance, Marshmallow Pumpkin Latte featuring the frolicking combination of "creamy pumpkin, toasted marshmallow and warm praline. Thank goodness, since there is truly nothing worse than cold praline!

Ok, listen. I enjoy pleasant smells as much as the next guy, but when I'm washing the filth of the day off my hands, I don't want to smell anything.  When I was a kid, I would go into the downstairs bathroom to wash up. That's where there was a bar of Lava which felt like washing your hands with sand paper and smelled like. . .absolutely nothing. It didn't come in a container with a pump. It just laid there in the soap dish waiting for your dirty hands to pick it up. This new age hand washing pump top soap is just trying too hard. Take this stuff, for example:

Fall Lakeside Breeze exhorts me to "Pack a picnic. Grab a sweater. Get ready for gorgeous leaves and crisp fall air. YOUR AUTUMN ADVENTURE STARTS NOW." I'm not making this up, its right here on the back of the bottle. Look, I just picked up an entire week's worth of Lucy's bowel movements, I'm about to eat dinner, and I am taking no chances. All I want to do is clean any poop residue off of my hands. I'm not looking for an autumn adventure, even though this particular soap treats me to the heavenly fusion of blue sage, basil and sandalwood! I just want to wash my hands without smelling like I just spent an hour in a French whore house.

So, there you have it, my wife's only flaw, obnoxiously scented hand soap. I suppose I'll survive.

Foiled by a Weiner?

James Comey, the director of the FBI, has managed something quite remarkable in this day and age. He has become the most hated man in America, at a time when Donald Trump is his competition. The  amazing part of it all is that he has become hated precisely by the people who just three months ago were fitting him for a halo. You see, when you essentially clear Hillary Clinton of mishandling classified communications in a way that would have had any other State Department employee in prison, you instantly become a paragon of judicial virtue. . . to Democrats. But, when you stumble upon thousands of her emails on the home computer of her top aide's husband's laptop while investigating him for being a pervert, then reopen the investigation because of the new emails, you transform yourself into a monster intent on interfering in an election for the benefit of your enemy. Hell hath no fury like a Democratic woman scorned.

But, the Republicans are no better. When Comey announced his decision to exonerate Mrs. Clinton in July, the howls and insults were thick and heated. Comey was a "Hack" and part of a conspiracy to protect Hillary. The FBI he runs had become a laughing stock, proof of the far-reaching tentacles of Clinton Inc. corruption. Some even suggested that Comey was part of a determined strategy to rig the election for Hillary, he was probably even on the Clinton Foundation payroll! Now, many of those same voices are now praising him for his commitment to justice and the rule of law, and lauding him for his bravery in the face of the deadly Clinton machine.

So, it would seem that one's reputation in Washington these days depends very much on who's ox is being gored.

For me, I'm not sure what to think of this. It isn't known exactly what is in these new emails. Could be about Yoga and wedding plans for all I know. But there is one delicious irony, inescapable to anyone paying attention for the last 30 years. This guy!!

If Hillary Clinton's quest for the White House ends up being torpedoed by this guy, it won't be the first time her ambitions have been foiled by a Weiner!!

The Gift of Saturday

By all accounts, today should be gorgeous out, sunny and pleasant with a high temperature of 76. While that is a little hot for late October, I will fight the urge to slink into the fetal position and wet my pants worrying about global warming. Instead, I have a full day planned. My sainted wife will be in Williamsburg with her Mom and sisters shopping and lunching most of the day, leaving me alone with Lucy and a to-do list of my own making. It's going to be great!

First, I will spend two or three hours in the yard getting up leaves, cutting grass, removing a week's worth of Lucy's bowel movements, etc. Then I'll rustle up some lunch. Odds are high that the leftover container of creamy Cajun sausage pasta will do the job quite nicely. At some point after lunch, this girl...

will require an extended session of frisbee catching and retrieval. Afterwards, she and I will both settle in for a brief afternoon nap. Upon completion of this siesta, I will clean the bathrooms and vacuum the house, and maybe throw in a little dusting for good measure. Then maybe a late afternoon perambulation with Miss Lucy while we await Pam's return. We will both hope that she will be pleased with our efforts.

At no point in this day will the television be tuned onto a news channel. It will be on college football most of the day as background and then, baseball tonight. This Saturday is simply too nice, too full of potential to be mucking around in the sewer of politics. I'll just have to leave Trump and Clinton to themselves for the day. Same goes for tomorrow, the Lord's day. Come Monday morning, they will still be with us. I'll check back in then.

You should do the same.

The Sleeze Wars

As the 2016 campaign winds down, each day has featured a new Wikileaks revelation. Our media cover these revelations with great hesitation, practically gagging themselves on the questions, always asked to some campaign spokesman. . . never Hillary herself, thusly:

Media Hack: So, in this latest email, some might conclude that Mrs. Clinton might have been involved in what might be described by some of her critics as illegal activity. Do you agree?

Campaign Hack: I refuse to dignify that question with an answer since these emails were clearly leaked by the Russians in an appalling attempt to influence our election.

Media Hack: I totally agree and thank you for your forthright response. But, setting aside for a moment the origin of this leak, what about the actual content of these emails? Are they, in fact, real, and if so, what about the fact that Mrs. Clinton seems to have been involved in collusion with the DNC to subvert the Sanders campaign?

Campaign Hack: But...it was the Russians!

Media Hack: Excellent point.

On the other end of the media spectrum, the INFOWARS nuts report each word of these emails as proof that Hillary is the Anti-Christ:

Headline: New email provides iron clad proof that Killery has actual remains of aborted babies delivered to her dinner table every Wednesday night. Pictures to follow!!

There are 12 days remaining in our national race to the bottom. That's 12 more document dumps, 12 more opportunities left for character assassination. Although, in fairness, one has to have actual character before it can be assassinated, and between these two, there isn't much left. But, it will be fast and furious over the next few days. Wikileaks will reveal even more skulduggery. Clinton's team no doubt has a couple more bimbo-bombshells in the pipeline.

It's gonna be great!!

Sigh. . .

Pick Your Poison

When I was in elementary school, I used to sit in the back of Mrs. Winston's class and stare at the big clock on the wall behind her desk. It never seemed to move. It was as if it would get stuck in place whenever I looked at it, only moving when I got distracted with something or someone else. That's exactly how I feel about this election. Will it ever end? So, I write blogs about something else, anything else, to make the time go by faster. But, the more I think about it I realize what a ridiculous strategy this is. My Dad used to warn me not to "wish your life away." He was right. Why am I in such a ball-crushing hurry for this thing to be over with? Whatever happens, I'm going to be bitterly disappointed and most likely fall into despair at the prospect of four more years with a dope in the White House. So, why hurry things along? I need to savor each moment we have left where a relatively decent person is in the Oval Office. How's that for a commentary on our politics in 2016. . . I just paid Barack Obama a compliment. What's this world coming to?

So at this hour, depending on which echo chamber you live in, either Hillary Clinton is about to win a historic landslide victory in the electoral college and even the popular vote and wipe out down ticket Republicans as well, possibly winning back the House and Senate. . . Or, Donald Trump is on the verge of sending a shock wave through the political establishment by being swept into office by a wave of pissed off citizens, many of them first time voters, and an even greater number of them who have been lying to pollsters for months. As Michael Moore has said, it will be the biggest f##k you to the establishment in American political history. If this were to happen, it would also plunge a dagger into the heart of what is left of the American media. Hillary was clearly "their" candidate, and many voters will take great pleasure in sticking it to the Anderson Cooper's and Andrea Mitchell's of the world.

Either way, I'm screwed. I've about decided to go full Don Quixote and pull the lever for Evan McMullin, since my earlier semi-endorsement of Gary Johnson blew up in my face. "Who did you vote for Pop?"...."Never mind, kid. Want some ice cream?" If Hillary Clinton wins, my heart will be broken by the fact that someone so completely corrupt will have had her filthy, money-grubbing,  duplicitous life rewarded and validated by becoming President. If Donald Trump wins, I will spend the next four years perpetually nauseated every time I see his orange face on television. His election will forever disabuse me of my formerly confident opinion of American exceptionalism. His election will permanently exile me from political life, shift my entire world view away from the national to the local. . .what can I do to make life better around here? So, that may be the slimmest of silver linings, but at least it's something.

How To Explain Your Vote

Two more weeks and this 5 alarm dumpster fire of an election will be over. But, how to vote? Reading through the commentary on this decision is an exercise in rationalization. It's like nobody is proud of their candidate, so every vote comes with a caveat, a disclaimer meant to explain the unexplainable. Trump is a narcissist, but. . . Clinton is corrupt, but. . .

So, as a public service, I have gathered the better a**-covering qualifiers I've run across below. Pick whichever one feels best.

I'm for Trump because of the Supreme Court.
I'm for Clinton because of the Supreme Court.
I'm for Clinton because it's about time we had a woman President.
I'm for Jill Stein because it's about time we had a woman President.
I'm for Clinton because Trump is unhinged and dangerous.
I'm for Trump because Clinton is a murderer and a liar.
I'm for Gary Johnson because I'm tired of having to sneak around to buy pot.
I'm for Evan McMullin because he puts principle over party.
I'm for Gary Johnson because he puts "let's party" over principle.
I'm for Clinton because she wants to tax the rich.
I'm for Trump because I want to be rich.
I'm for Jill Stein because it makes me seem environmentally conscious.
I'm for Clinton because it's about time we had a lesbian President.
I'm for Trump because it's about time serial adulterers caught a break.
I'm for Evan McMullin because 75 years without a bald President is enough.
I'm for Trump because he will lower my taxes.
I'm for Clinton because she will raise your taxes.
I'm for Trump because I don't want Bill Clinton back in the west wing.
I'm for Trump because Huma is an Islamic spy.
I'm for Trump because Melania is smokin' hot.
I'm for Trump because he will build a wall.
I'm for Clinton because it's her turn.
I'm not for either of these morons.

My People

The Dixon family reunion at Green Hill in Buckingham County is in the books. It was a delightful day, sunny and breezy with random memories whipped up in the wind all around us. There were probably 80 people there, 70 of whom I didn't really know. But it was like an episode from the twilight zone where in a room full of strangers, everyone looked familiar. Someone would pass by you and there would be a flash of recognition, that nose, those eyes, that facial expression, so closely held, so dear. 

". . . you must be Bubby's girl."

" Yep! You look like Betty's son."

My Uncle John, the war hero was my Mom's big brother. His family lived in Gladstone, Virginia in the big house by the railroad tracks. We would visit when I was a boy. He had four kids, my cousins. There was Bootsie, the oldest, Bubby who would go on to be a war hero himself, then Peggy and Joanne, the youngest who was my age. Yesterday, those three sisters were in charge of things. They had organized and planned the event. I watched them as they talked, saw them interact with everyone, felt the love of family and the pride they have in being a Dixon. I have it too. 

There was a table with pictures, all pressed behind plastic, some with short descriptions. . .  Alice Horsely Dixon 1910. . . John Henry Dixon in New Orleans. The pictures were mostly black and white and faded, over exposed here, bleached out there. But each of them sent out a message. . . We were here. Here's the proof.

Then I saw this picture of my mother. Bootsie suggested that it was either her high school graduation photo or maybe a picture taken for her wedding announcement for the newspaper. . . either way, she would have been. . .16. It took my breath away. Was my mother ever 16? But, there she was in 

glorious, faded black and white. I saw my son in her eyes. Her hair was my daughter's hair. I looked closer and saw myself staring back. I saw my sisters in her smile. That nose, the dead giveaway of my ancestors, the playfulness and great expectation in her face was stunning. She had her entire life ahead of her, about to marry the man of her dreams. And now, four years after her death, the grateful family she left behind stands on the spot where she grew up, with tears forming, fascinated by the transformative power of a photograph.

It's funny. When she was alive, this was the type of event I would have come up with any excuse not to attend. But now that she is gone, something inside of me was longing for it. The older I get the more aware I have become of my mortality. These people are my people. They share with me a common ancestry. Their blood is my blood. 

We wandered the grounds, visited the cemetery up on the hill overlooking the ghost of the old homeplace. There lie my grandparents. A few feet from them lie my great grandparents. It is an odd feeling, walking through a cemetery, something that is equal parts pride and sadness.

But on this day, it was mostly pride.

Glorious Thought For The Day

I woke up at the appointed time this morning, walked downstairs, made my coffee and settled into my cozy chair. I had just opened my iPad when it hit me in a revelatory flash...

. . . It will be four long years before the American airwaves are once again bespoiled by a Presidential debate.

That happy fact rolled over me like a wave of Caribbean water. It produced in me the same feeling I get when reaching for the first strip of bacon whenever Pam makes apple pancakes. It was like how I feel whenever I see one of my kid's cars making the turn onto Aprilbud Place at the end of a long, safe drive home. It was like. . . ok, now things will be better.

Did I watch? Uh. . . No. There was baseball. Did you watch? If so, did you change your mind about either of them? I didn't think so.

A Bittersweet Memory

This coming Saturday there will be a Dixon family reunion up at the old home place, Green Hill, which is now the James River State Park. It's the sort of thing that my mother loved to attend, while most of us kids always found excuses to get out of attending, shamefully. Now that my parents are gone, I am drawn to the idea. I will see people I haven't seen in years, some who I couldn't pick out of a lineup if my very life depended on it. But, I'm excited about it. Mom would be very proud of me.

As prepararation for the event, the invitation instructs us to gather up any old photographs of family members that we can find. Apparently there will be a scanner on the property to properly duplicate these pictures and enter them into the official record. In doing so, Pam pulled out the album she had put together of my parent's 50th wedding anniversary/vow renewal ceremony from 1997. It was a moving but quite sad experience to flip through the pages..

When these pictures were taken, none of us had any idea that they had less than fifteen years to live. They looked so healthy and happy. They were surrounded by all of the people they cared most about in the world, their family.

There we all were looking healthier and younger than we do now. There were some of Mom's Dixon family. There was her dear kid brother Jim who walked her down the aisle.

There was their dear friend and pastor Ron Boswell administering the vows, and a yard full of friends sharing the moment.

Favorite Food

Before....

After...

With all due respect to any vegans or Muslims who might stumble upon this blog...bacon is at the very top of my favorite food list, followed closely by sausage, in either form it cares to present itself, link or pattie. I am addicted to bacon in much the same way as Trump is addicted to tanning beds or Hillary to $250,000 speaking fees. I like any dish that starts with the descriptor bacon-wrapped. Bacon is good any way it is served. Although I prefer it crispy, if confronted with a plate of droopy bacon, I will eat them with no remorse or hesitation. You want to improve the deliciousness of your dinner entre? Sprinkle some bacon on it. 

I am told by a long list of puritan killjoys that bacon is bad for you. It is full of fat and it clogs the arteries, and bespoils the intestines. Yeah, well. . . to quote the great food expert, Luther Ingram, "If loving bacon is wrong, I don't want to be right."

So, just for fun, here's my list of favorite foods in the order of their awesomeness. Feel free to judge me.

1. Bacon

2. Sausage

3. Cheese

4. Bread

5. Steak

6. Beef jerky

7. Jambalaya 

8. Beer

9. Donuts

10. Cheetos (crunchy)

Great and Good

Here's something to consider as we enter the final three weeks of the most negative presidential campaign in my lifetime. . .  the United States of America is a wonderful country. That's right, you heard me. You and I live in an amazing country filled with great and good people who do great and good things every single day. Just last week. . .

On Monday, I played in a charity golf tournament put on by the Tuckahoe Kiwanis Club. I was joined by 79 other men and women who each paid $150 to enter and spent more money buying raffle tickets to raise even more money. Several dozen local businesses sponsored holes and donated prizes for raffle winners. All of this charity work was pulled off by a local service organization with only nine active members. The beneficiary of all this work was a local non-profit who works with abused children in our county. The leader of that organization gave a three minute talk to all of us describing the work. At the end of the afternoon, $10,000 had been raised. Each member of the Kiwanis Club donated hundreds of unpaid hours to the effort. This sort of thing happens every day, all over my amazingly philanthropic country.

Yesterday, Pam and I drove over to a brand new small business called The 21hundred. It's a coffee shop which serves gelato. It's owned by some old friends of ours, who later in life have decided to take a chance. It's a family affair, all hands on deck, fifteen hour days, six days a week. The place was packed with smiling faces on this, their grand opening. The coffee and gelato was delicious. They want their coffee shop to be a place where people come not just for coffee, but also for conversation and friendship. There will be no charge for any residual goodness and joy that might break out. I have determined to drive out of my way to The 21hundred the next time I'm craving a cappuccino. I want them to succeed, don't you?

This morning, Pam and I drove up to Graves Mountain with my sister and her husband to pick some apples and have a picnic lunch creek-side. The place was packed, thousands of people. There was a middle school-aged boy stirring a giant pot of steaming apple butter. There were craft booths selling every sort of American knick-knackery. There was funnel cake and apple butter donuts, and a huge display of something called Uncle Dave's Kettle Korn. We bought apples and browsed the shops. I saw a 300 pound man wearing a t-shirt that said, "I Beat Anorexia." We ate homemade sausage and kale soup that my sister had made while we watched kids playing in the mountain stream babbling along a few feet from our picnic spot. Within ear shot, a bluegrass band was covering Earl Scruggs. The beautiful tan upright bass thumped the notes in perfect rhythm. The guy playing the banjo looked to be in his 80's. We had driven 71 miles to pick apples but instead found America, big, generous, beautiful America.


All of this was unremarkable. None of what I have described will be a surprise to any of you because all of you recognize it. This is what kind of country we live in, one that we take for granted too often. Yes, there are Khardashian issues in our country. Yes, our politics are a mess, and there are inequality and racism problems that seem intractable. But, we are a great and good people who, when the chips are down, come up big time after time. There are more Good Samaritans per capita here than any place on earth. Despite all of the problems with immigration today, as a nation we have always welcomed the stranger. If we didn't we wouldn't still be the go-to destination of  teaming masses yearning to be free for over a hundred years. People aren't squeezing through the fence to get to Mexico, after all. Nobody is jumping on rafts trying to make it into Cuba.

So, I for one am proud of my country. I'm aware of its flaws, frustrated by its politics, and annoyed by some of its culture. But, I still love it and feel lucky to have been born in such a place. That will never change. . . especially on November 8.

November the 9th

November 9th is the day after Election Day. It's also a Wednesday. That means the recycling has to be out at the curb before 6 am. No matter who wins the election, the recycling better be out at the curb by 6 or it will pile up on the steps inside my garage leading into the house for an entire week. Every time I walk past the huge pile, I will kick myself for forgetting to take it to the curb on the day after Election Day.

November 9th is also the day that my Verizon wireless bill is due. It's always due on the 9th. I pay it electronically now, placing a stamp on an envelope having suddenly become medieval. But whether or not I pay through the mail or electronically, the bill gets paid on the 9th or my wife will get an email message notifying her that the Verizon bill is late. She will then remind me to pay the Verizon bill. It will annoy me that they send a late notice to my wife, even though I'm the one who pays the stinking bill. I think it's because she's the one who established our online account or something. Still, it always annoys me. This will continue to annoy me no matter what happens on November 8th.

November the 9th will be exactly two weeks before my two incredible kids will be hitting the road driving home for Thanksgiving. When they get here, I will be very happy and thankful that they made it home safe and sound. My happiness and thankfulness will not be dimmed in the slightest by what happens on November the 8th. By the time Thanksgiving Day comes along it will be a faded memory. Kaitlin and Jon will bring their awesome dog, Jack, with them. Patrick will be bringing his adorable girlfriend, Sarah, home for the first time for Thanksgiving. Jack will be awesome and Sarah will be adorable no matter who prevails on November 8th.

On January the 20th, 2017 the winner on November 8th will be inaugurated. It just so happens that Henrico County real estate taxes on my office condo are due that day. I can assure you that if I don't get that bill paid on time, I'm going to hear about it on Monday morning the 23rd! My county is dead serious about getting paid. Whoever the new President is, he or she will be of little help to me if I stiff Henrico County, this I can tell you.

For a small government Libertarian like me perhaps the single most annoying aspect of the 2016 election has been the overblown cosmic existential importance it has taken on. To hear some of my friends talk, you would think that the fate of all life on planet earth literally hangs in the balance of this Olympian struggle between good and evil, republican and democrat, liberal and conservative, male and female. Maybe they're right. Or. . . maybe some geek in a garage in Buffalo invents a perpetual motion device that produces clean energy out of apple cores, rendering politicians obsolete.

We will have a new President on January 20th, 2016. But, the grass will still need to be mowed, the leaves raked, the snow shoveled. We will still go to work, do our jobs, and love our children. And on the day after Election Day, we will still have to remember to take out the recycling.