My Daughter’s Moment

I must begin this post by stating the fact that I am generally not favorably inclined to the concept of going on strike for something. The entire concept flies in the face of one of my bedrock beliefs...ie, that you don’t get ahead in life...by demand...you get ahead in life ...by performance. But, life is all about the exceptions, isn’t it? Very few hard and fast rules hold up in every case, there are always exceptions. In my 40 year association, by proxy, with this nation’s public education system—being married to, sibling of and father of public school teachers, I have come to the conclusion that no tool, no matter how blunt, should be denied anyone unlucky enough to be employed as a teacher. Especially, if you are employed in South Carolina.

I will not regale you with all of the details of the issue. Suffice it to say that when your state ranks at or near the bottom of practically every measurable educational outcome that exists, there are truckloads of blame to go around. South Carolina education is a hot mess. So much so that a couple of weeks ago, my daughter shared with me about a decision she was trying to make with regards to a planned teacher walkout planned for today, May the 1st. Her conundrum was that while she too was fed up with the incompetence of leadership and the ignorance of politicians, not to mention the deplorable conditions under which she is asked to teach...she also dearly loved her students and had a great admiration and respect for her Principal. The thought of abandoning her students bothered her. The terrible inconvenience  and disruption this walkout would cause made her feel badly for her Principal...since nonbe of her problems were his fault. 

To make a long story short, my daughter sent him an amazing e-mail, explaining her decision to participate in the walkout. It was full of respect for him, gratitude for his support, and offered her help in fashioning a solution to what would be the distruptions of the day. In other words, it was the perfect way to have a disagreement with a superior. Be part of the solution, not part of the problem. His reply to her was equally gracious and respectful. An amazing corrrespondance that had me shaking my head...Why can’t our elected politicians disagree like this? 

So, today is the big day. Kaitlin, along with scores of other teachers from around the state are marching on the state capital. Let me allow my daughter to explain. This, from her Facebook post of this morning...

My school adopted a character education curriculum recently. This month, we’ve asked students to identify their core values, to assess how well their actions align with those values, and to live a life of courageous integrity. The morning News Show today ended with these words of wisdom: “If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for everything.”

Today, I told each of my classes that I’d be marching to the State House tomorrow to stand up for what I believe in . . . and what I believe in is THEM. 

They — my students — deserve smaller class sizes; access to more mental health professionals and programs; safe, calm learning environments; and the freedom to LEARN, uninterrupted by excessive testing. My students deserve teachers who are fairly compensated, supported, and treated with respect: teachers who want to stick around. My students deserve to live in a culture that views education as an honorable and competitive profession.

What do I stand for? I stand for my 12 and 13-year-olds, who deserve infinitely more than a “minimally adequate” education.

#alloutmay1 #scfored ❤️💪🏻

This, from a teacher who has won every award for outstanding performance it is possible to win as a school teacher. This, from someone who loves teaching, loves learning, and loves her students. But what she doesn’t love are gutless and incompetent politicians and administrators who pile one ridiculous demand after another on top of her each and every year with no regard for how any of it will affect her students, or her own ability to do her job. 

So...she is walking out today. 

Kaitlin Elizabeth Manchester is a hero.

My Father In Law

The guy in this photograph is my father in law, Russ White. This was taken a couple of years ago up at the lake house in Maine. However, it could very easily have been taken at Dummers Beach...any year over the past four decades. This is what he is known for whenever he gets near water in Maine. Naps. The only thing missing is an open copy of a Reader’s Digest folded across his stomach and those dreadful olive drab cut-off shorts he used to wear. His birthday was last week. 

One of the reasons that my wife is such a kind and tender hearted person is the influence of this guy. All he has ever done in his life is demonstrate for his kids and anyone else who knew him what it means to be...a gentleman. He treats people well, always more interested in their welfare than his own. He has reservoirs of patience that seem bottomless. He also possesses an excellent sence of humor, and a willingness to humiliate himself for the benefit of teenagers. When I was one, his performance with Roy Fama as Mario Pepperoni was an epic show that still gets talked about 45 years later!! Speaking of that epic patience? He was an Awana commander for a couple of decades at his church. If corralling a hundred elementary school kids in a church gymnasium every week isn’t the very definition of patience, then I don’t know what is!

But, my father in law has his faults too. For one thing, he’s an unrepentant Redskins fan. Although, he almost makes up for that by hating the Yankees, so that’s a wash, I suppose. See, even when I try to balance this tribute with a listing of his faults, I just can’t. Russ White is simply...the man.

Best part is...he gave me this woman, who inherited his graciousness, kindness, and servant’s heart.

Happy Birthday, Russ.

My Future Plans

2024 will be a big year in my life, assuming that I’m still alive. I take nothing for granted when contemplating the future. None of us is guaranteed anything in this life, and besides, obsessing about the future can rob you of the present. The famous John Lennon lyric comes to mind...Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans. So, I try to stay as grounded in the here and now as much as I can...with varying degrees of success. But, 2024 will be big and to ignore it would be foolish. What’s so special about 2024, you ask?

1. I turn 66 and become eligible for full retirement benefits from Social Security.

2. My house will be paid off, leaving me completely debt free for the first time since I was 18.

3. It is the year I have always circled on my life clock to begin the process of winding down my professional career.

Number three will be a process. I actually enjoy parts of my job, namely the relationships I have built with hundreds of clients, working closely with them over the years to help them reach their goals, and now watching them enjoy the fruits of their labors. That amounts to roughly 25% of the job. The rest is the soul-crushing stuff...the mountains of paperwork, the legal and compliance issues, the ever more complex regulatory gauntlet that must be endured each and every year. Since I never want to give up the relationships part of the business, I plan to hire out the drudgery of the other 75% to someone else starting in 2024. This will dramatically free up my schedule for other pursuits:

1. Purchasing a lake house in Maine where I intend to live from June through September of each year. Pam and I will spend our summers in our favorite place in the world. We will host a procession of guests throughout our four months there, from our kids, to other family members, to dear friends who we can’t wait to introduce to the Maine experience. If an opportunity doesn’t present itself to purchase a place, we will become someone’s all-time favorite renter. Either way, we are doing this.

2. Being Grandparents. By 2024, surely we will get our chance. I don’t know that I have looked forward to anything quite so much as becoming a grandfather. I have watched my friends do it, seen all the pictures, heard all the stories. I can’t wait! I fully intend to spoil them to within an inch of their lives. I’m also quite sure that I will scare my children to death with the plans I have to instill a sence of risk-taking exuberance into my grandchildren. 

3. Become a published author. Just because I will have backed away from the day to day demands of my business does not mean that I will abandon the pursuit of accomplishment and a new source of income. 2024 will herald my second professional act, or a grand side hustle if you will. I intend to write...a lot. And, finally, I will have the time to devote to pursuing getting stuff published.

4. Travel. I have been fortunate enough in my life to visit some beautiful places, but nowhere near enough of them. I want to see all of Europe that’s worth seeing, not just Switzerland and Britain. I want to go to Australia, would love to visit Africa to see what all of my missionary friends have been raving about all these years. I could even be persuaded to spend a couple of weeks in the South Pacific.

Of course, all of this is tentative, totally dependent on fate and God’s will. But, I have found that it does help to have at least the outline of a plan for the future. The key is to not write everything down in ink. Always be willing to employ an eraser if life throws you a curve. But, this is the plan today...April 29, 2019.

Can’t wait.

Yardsale’s Over...and I lived to tell about it!

About twelve hours ago, my eyes popped open from a long night’s sleep. Ordinarily when this happens on a Saturday, the first light of day brings a sence of euphoria, the thrill of possibility. But today, the first murky strands of thought were of impending doom, of grave foreboding. For, today was...Yardsale Day. Of course, by the time I awoke, Pam had already been up for an hour planning...strategizing, plotting out her steps. She had already struck several items off of her To-Do List, affixed to her game-day clipboard. She shot me a piercing side eye as I trudged down the stairs for my morning coffee, already disappointed with my inadequate sence of urgency. She had already placed our bagel order with the Mechanicsville Panera and we needed to be there at 6:45 sharp to pick it up..and she was not enthused with my lollygagging. Despite her early concerns, I rallied and we made it to Panera with 30 seconds to spare.

The same could not be said for the rest of the set up crew. When we pulled into the driveway at ground zero, only Ron was there. At 6:55, we only had 15 minutes to get 17 fully loaded tables out of the garage and into place before the early worms started stumbling, ghost-like out of the Mechancisville mist like a pack of bargain hunting zombies. Apparently, two of our crew had overslept...having not heard their alarm. Another had fallen victim to that rarest of all occurrences...the 7 am traffic backup on 295. Still another when she arrived, reminded us that she is not a morning person. An inauspicious and uninspired beginning.

But before you could say...What in the Sam Hill is going on around here?....the floor displays were all in place and the first of a nearly five hour wave of shoppers had descended on the place. They proceeded to pick over our merchandise like hungry jackals. 

Every year there’s this one item that baffles us all. Where did it come from? What the heck is it? Surely, nobody is going to pay real money for this, right? This...thing...is this year’s item. How to describe? It sort of looks like an attempt at a honey comb, or bee hive, maybe? It is festooned with an array of shiny little yellowish pieces of faux diamond knock offs. But, upon closer inspection, there appears to be a face at the top, the little pink ball nose of either a cat or a bunny, with darker pink eyes. Whatever this creature is supposed to be...he/she is carrying some sort of flower basket without the benefit of any discernible appendages. Adding to the mystery, the creature’s insides have been hollowed out in order to hold a string of Christmas lights, which, once stuffed inside, make it glow brilliantly, as if he/she had just eaten some radioactive gruhl. Well, I’ll have you know that somebody did pay real money for it. She even asked us to plug in the string of lights to make sure they worked...as if this was crucial to her decision. When the lights flashed, she was sold!!

To make this story complete, I must reveal that at the time of sale we discovered that the creature had...a hat. This piece of the ensemble added nothing to our understanding of what had just happened as we watched this delighted customer leave with her treasure.

Then there was this.

Ok, my sainted mother used to have this wall clock which every hour on the hour would emit the shrill call of a different bird. It always freaked me out whenever I was over there for lunch and that dreadful hoot owl would scare the crap out of me at noon with his entirely too loud and synthesized HOOOOOT. I couldn’t imagine any wall clock being worse than the Hitchcockian nightmare that hung in my Mom’s kitchen....until I was introduced to...Divine Time. This beauty, which comes with handy, glow in the dark minute and hour hands, and speaks two different languages, features the booming voice of the spoken word belting out passages of scripture to herald the arrival of each new hour. It is described as the Scripture reading time piece, which is misleading and, in fact, not true at all. This plastic clock with bonus fake wood stand does not read anything. It bellows out prerecorded scripture every hour, all through the night when most people are trying to, you know...sleep. But, before I could wrap my head around the existence of such a thing in our universe, it had vanished, scarfed up by an eager Spanish-speaking woman...

...the fastest two bucks we’ve ever made.

Of course, no yard sale would be complete without a few mishaps. Early on, I heard the faint sound of breaking glass, but by the time I made it over to the scene, the customers had disappeared. Clean up on aisle three!! A little mercury poisoning never hurt anybody!

At the Dunnevant Yardsale, even our plastic bags are organized and neatly folded...

One of our youngest family members was given cash register duties this year and performed like a champ. She was exposed to enough give and take, hustle and bustle, and wheeling and dealing to last her a lifetime. She was a natural. I can actually see her becoming a trader in the pit on Wall Street one day. This particular customer doesn’t appear convinced, however. Her side eye suggests that perhaps she thinks we should have a more experienced huckster at the register. To which I say...Well, how is the next generation going to learn how to make money selling worthless junk to the public unless we give them a chance? We can’t all work at Walmart, you know!

They kept coming. In long, relentless lines, they came. Even when we were tearing everything down and packing it all up for a run to GoodWill and then the dump...they still came, one dude paid us six bucks for a bag of crap that was in the going to the dump pile not fifteen minutes before we were about to leave.

We even got a van load of church ladies who all wore orange t-shirt uniforms on a day trip from beautiful, down town Hayensville.
They were on a mission, their leader told me...a mission from God.

Well, I said, have I got a wall clock for you!!!

And just like that...it was over. The numbers are still a bit murky at this hour, but the estimate is that we netted somewhere between $850 and $1050.

God. Bless. America.

An Invitation

My family’s biennial excursion into the murky depths of unregulated, unrestrained Capitalism has begun. Last night, Pam and I loaded up the car with tables and as much inventory as we could squeeze in and made the first trip over to ground zero. Today, I will make a mid-morning trip over with load number two, followed by a third trip tonight. This year’s fare seems promising...plenty of worthless junk to compliment enough bigger ticket items to make it interesting. I’m thinking we might make a run at our all time record haul of $1100. If we do, it will be because of my salesmanship...

Customer: Do these remote controlled Formula One cars work?

Me: Maybe. Maybe not. 

Customer: Why would I want two Formula One remote control cars that don’t work?

Me: Look man...if you want two Formula One remote control cars that work, go to a toy store and pay a hundred bucks. Or, you could come to this yard sale and take a chance on these babies for 5 lousy bucks. What’s it gonna be??

Customer: But, shouldn’t you have tested them before hand to see if they work?

Me: (turning the car over to show customer the missing 12 volt battery). That would have required the purchase of a battery, which would have driven up the price. We thought it best to keep our cost down. Look Mack...you look like a decent guy, probably pretty good with your hands and stuff. Even if these things don’t work, a real man like you could figure out how to fix ‘em, am I right? Sure I am! Now, take these cars over to that good looking blonde at the cash table before I raise the price!

In a hundred such exchanges, merchandise gets moved at the Dunnevant Family Yard Sale. It is a dizzying display of audacious claims, dubious fact-free sales pitches and blatant hustling...

Claim: This sequined jacket was once worn by Elvis himself!!

FACT CHECK: false

Claim: This baseball glove never made an error in over 100 little league games!!

FACT CHECK: Technically true since gloves don’t make errors...players do.

Claim: Mrs. Williams, if you don’t buy this bejeweled purple statuette of Dolly Parton, you will regret it for the rest of your life.

FACT CHECK: false

Despite mountains of unverifiable statements, exaggerations and hyperbole...I am able to move more knickknackery than all other family members combined. It’s not even close.

So, if you’re looking for a fun and entertaining way to spend your Saturday morning, I want to extend a personal invitation to all of you to come out and see what all of Mechanicsville will be buzzing about. I look forward to seeing all of you at:

7105 Peach Orchard Lane

Mechanicsville, Va. 23111

8:00 am to 1:00 pm

Pending Yard Sale Panic

If you are a regular reader of The Tempest you will be familiar with the biennial Dunnevant family..(cue the suspenseful music)...YARD SALE. I have written about it many times, most notably,  here...https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2015/06/enduring-my-biennial-beat-down.html. And here...https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2016/11/dunnevant-family-yardsale-116-fall-2016.html. Well, once again, the dreadful thing has reared its ugly head. E-mails are flying around featuring raging debates on everything from the proper price point for children’s clothing to how many tables we need and who is bringing them and when the heck we are supposed to show up both Thursday and Friday evening for the crucial pre-sale table prep. This year, if e-mail trash talk can be believed, there will be a new feature adorning the sales desk...a Square App on my wife’s iPad!!...a huge update from that worn out abacus we’ve been using. Of course, we still employ a cash box and strictly enforce our No checks, No credit, No dang way policy.

This week was supposed to be the week that my wife was going to clean out the attic and haul down all of the candidates we would offer for sale. But, each day when I come home from work, the pile doesn’t seem very large, and my wife doesn’t seem too concerned about it either. She seems strangely calm, sedated even. There has been no fevered activity, no agiated mumbling, not even one word of profanity. Moreover, despite the looming deadline, there hasn’t been the slightest trace of panic in her eyes. This has been a disturbing development. When she acts this way...calm, serene, and unhurried on yard sale week, I start to worry. What is going on? What possible explanation could there possibly be for the complete absence of drama?

1. Is my wife using illegal narcotics?

2. Is she gravely ill?

3. Has the thick pollen coalesced in her brain causing it to short circuit, dramatically altering her personality?

A more likely explanation is that, having just finished packing up her room at school, combined with being on the road to Nashville and back last weekend, she has simply been unable to rouse herself to action due to mental and physical exhaustion. Sometime either this afternoon or tomorrow, it’s going to hit her. Who knows what might trigger it? She might glance at the calendar, or she might stumble upon some worthless piece of junk in one of the kids rooms and it will hit her...Dear God in heaven...THE FREAKING YARD SALE IS TOMORROW!!!! AGRGGHHHHH!!!!

When it happens, I want to make sure I’m home and ready. She’s gonna need some muscle...some dumb, cheap labor to do her bidding. I know just the guy!!

I Object!

I have lived long enough on this planet to know that having a positive attitude is the most productive and happy way to live. Perceiving the glass as half full makes all the difference in the world. Instead of devoting all of your energy bemoaning what you don’t have rather than being grateful for what you do have has served me quite well during my 61 years. However, every once in a while, it can be therapeutic to howl at the moon, to vent one’s spleen at life’s injustices, to allow yourself permission...briefly...to succumb to an airing of grievances. What follows is my current list of objections. They are in no particular order. I offer them randomly, as they come to mind.

1. Preachers Who Flaunt Their Wealth.

Recently, a friend of mine sent me a link to a story about which he wanted my opinion. It was about some Instagram channel called PreachersNSneakers, and it featured several mega-church pastors who were going about bragging about their expensive kicks...

       

I have written about prosperity gospel preachers before and my disdain for them is well known. But, there was something especially grievous about this sneaker business. While I can find nothing virtuous about poverty, and nothing necessarily evil about wealth and success, seeing alleged ministers of the Gospel wearing $5000 sneakers and bragging about it strikes me as about as close to heresy as it is possible to get. The fact that there exists in this world a pair of tennis shoes that someone would be willing to pay five grand for is horrible enough...but that the purchaser in question would be a guy who professes to be devoted to matters of the soul is the sort of thing  that makes me want to scream. These two preachers above...neither of whom I have ever heard of...probably drove their Bentleys passed at least a hundred homeless people on the way to pick up their shoes. I object.

2. The Design Flaw of Spring

I love Spring. After a long and dreary winter full of snow, ice and freezing temperatures, the warmth arrives, and with it the joyful chirping of birds, the dazzling color of a million flowers and a spectacular array of greenery. Driving home from Nashville on a gorgeous day was a treat. The glory of Spring was on full display all around us. As soon as we got home and I had a chance to cut the grass, it occurred to me that last night would have been a perfect night to eat our dinner out on the deck. Except...that would be impossible...unless we wanted our food served with a coating of thick yellow pollen. Additionally, our plates would have needed to be fitted with little plate umbrellas to protect the food from the downpour of oak tree strings which were falling all around us like some sort of Old Testament plague. 

In my opinion, this is the design flaw of Spring. The most delightful temperatures of the year are accompanied by rampant flower and fauna copulation, which, like all public displays of affection, makes everyone exposed to it sick! I strenuously object.

3. .500 Baseball Teams

Mediocrity has always annoyed me. There is nothing quite so tiresome than being in the middle of the pack. Sure, no one wants to finish last, but sometimes being really bad at something can be endearing...the1962 Mets come to mind. We even have a name for really, really bad teams...loveable losers. Nobody comes up with cute nicknames for mediocre teams. Even our Lord and Savior agreed...”You are neither hot nor cold, therefore I will spew you out of my mouth” Having said this, I offer the current rendition of the Washington Nationals. Through the first month of the season they are 11-11. They are in the unique position of not being able to serve as either a good or bad example...of anything. Either suck, or be great. But with that roster, mediocrity is an insult. I object.

4. Mail Fraud

So, yesterday I got my giving statement from my church in the mail for the 1st quarter of 2019 with a form letter asking me to consider systematic giving through me checking account, via auto-withdrawls. Apparently, my church has been having difficulty with checks being lost or fraudulently cashed. When I checked my giving statement I noticed that my February contribution was missing. I looked at my bank statement and saw that it was cashed, so I emailed the lady who’s name was at the bottom of my letter. She informed me that the church had been the victim of mail fraud. If I obtained a copy of the cashed check from my bank I needed to check the back of the check to see if the Hope Church stamp was there. If not, there was a procedure I would need to go through, an affidavit to sign..etc. etc. Are you kidding me?? What kind of dirtbag comes up with a scheme to fraudulently cash checks made out to churches? How does this even work? I will be calling someone at church today to find out the details, but honestly...is this the worst thing ever? I angrily object.

Well ok...there you have it. The first four objections that come to mind today. Now that I have shared them with all of you, I feel much better. Now, I can go back to being positive and grateful for all of the bountiful gifts of life.