Hope Thrift...a Volunteer’s Story

My church runs a thrift store called, unimaginatively...Hope Thrift. It is a sprawling place filled with everything from soup to nuts. It is run by a handful of full time employees, and an army of volunteers. As fate would have it, Pam and I ended up in a small group with Renee Norton, the top dog at the place. Naturally, Renee roped us into joining the ranks of volunteers. 

My first day of work was the first time in my life I had ever entered a thrift store. I have generally made it a habit to avoid such places. They give off the same, creepy vibe as yard sales, and you guys know how I feel about that miserable franchise! But, Renee was not to be denied, so off I went that first day nearly a year ago. As a first timer, I was shuffled to the back room, which I was told was the nerve center of the entire enterprise. In fact, it was actually the most chaotic part of the experience, the place where a nonstop procession of people would appear at the back door, eager to drop off all of their reject possessions in exchange for an orange receipt for their taxes. Once they did, it was my job to sort through it and determine what was fit to sell and what would get thrown in the giant dumpster out back. To my great surprise, I found that there was something...fun...about it. For one thing, the group of veteran Hope Thrifters I was working with were all great fun. There seemed to be a cheerful camaraderie among them, and their patience with me was appreciated. By the second or third shift, I was promoted to books, which meant...organizing the gargantuan mountain of mostly worthless and unreadable paperbacks, encyclopedias published before I was born, and coffee table books with provocative titles like...The 100 Deadliest Snakes of the Brazilian Rain Forest. (Why in the name of all that is holy would anyone get rid of that?)

But soon, my reputation for having no particular skill set for retail, combined with my tendency towards doing physical chores quickly got me promoted to the coveted position of DMLA...dumb manual labor associate. I now am free to roam around the floor looking for things to lift, clean, straighten up, etc. I still get book duty, and I must say that the selection of books on display has vastly improved since my insistence that we stick to works published in the last half century. Oh...one more thing...the single greatest part of the Hope Thrift gig is dumpster duty. Thats when Renee or Brenda or Jennifer, (one of the incredible women in charge) asks me to roll the reject cart out to the dumpster and throw everything in. I can’t tell you how much fun it is...especially when the dumpster is empty. The sound of breaking glass, the sight of hideous knickknackery busting into a hundred pieces at the bottom of a filthy metal dumpster is quite a thrill!!

My wife, on the other hand, has a much more responsible and respected position at Hope Thrift. She is...a cashier. There are many reasons for this...her cheerful smile, perky demeanor, pretty face and gift with numbers. She also works much more often than I do, especially once her school year if over. I only work the second Saturday afternoon of each month. The team of Pam and Lynn Hewette are quite the pair behind the register. One blond, one brunette, two perky smiles...stacking Benjamins all day long!

So, tomorrow is my day to work. Can’t wait, actually. It’s a wonderful place to serve. Many of the people who come there are in desperate need of things that most of us take for granted. To see them find incredible deals on essential items is a great feeling. To have a chance to share the love of Christ with them is a bonus. If you’re reading this and have never been to Hope Thrift, tomorrow after 1 o’clock would be a great time to visit. I’ll be available to help you load your treasures into your car. If you happen to be a member at Hope and have never volunteered at the store...get off your backside and sign up already, you slug! (This is probably why I never get asked to be a cashier like that silver-tongued Tom Allen)

The Month of May

 May is my favorite month. It’s the month of new beginnings, that month that punctuates my life with reminders of the best things that have ever happened to me. In order, they are...

May 11...my daughter Kaitlin’s birthday.

May 19...my wedding anniversary

May 25...my son Patrick’s birthday

In more recent years, the end of May also brings to a close the busy season of my work. I have intentionally front loaded my calendar with appointments and reviews with clients, so that I can free up the summer months for Maine and other pursuits. This would have been impossible not that very long ago, but after 36 years on the job, perseverance has rewarded me a measure of freedom. God bless America!

However, the three great milestones of my life mentioned above are far more important than my job. They are what give meaning to my work. Those three dates on the calendar are the ones highlighted bright green in my planner.

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

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

Look at these two kids. Good Lord, how did anyone allow these babies to get married 35 years ago? I look like the guy who realizes that he just pulled off the greatest heist in history. Pam looks angelic, blissfully unaware of what she has gotten herself in to. Poor thing. Neither of us knew what we were doing. We had no clue how hard it would be, understood nothing of what being an adult meant. But, we were in love, my friend...and that was enough. The fact that we still are is the single greatest blessing of our lives. So, we will celebrate 35 years. Of course, the celebration will have to wait until some time in June because thats what our life is like these days!

May is the greatest month.

TRUMP 2020 Slogans...

By my count it has been over six weeks since I have had anything to say about politics here at The Tempest. The last time was when I wrote about the Jussie Smollett affair back in March. It’s not that there hasn’t been lots of political news out there, its just that I haven’t been able to rouse myself to offer an opinion. For one thing, other things have been more interesting to me lately, but honestly after the last two years or so...politics has just worn me out. I think this is probably true for most people. No matter your opinion about Trump, or whether you are Democrat or Republican, conservative or liberal...its been an exhausting time. Every day brings a fresh story that in normal times would have gotten a three inch, screaming, above the fold headline. But now, you stumble upon it on page 16 right across from the soybean prices in section C. Look at me...using newspaper metaphors. How quaint!

I have come to believe that there is an evil genius quality to Donald Trump. One way to overcome bad news is to change the subject, and nobody in the history of the White House has done a better job of changing the subject. He has a knack of flooding the zone with one outrageous Tweet after another so furiously that before you can even respond to one provocation, he has raced on to the next one, leaving his detractors in the dust of their outrage. There has been nothing like it in my lifetime. The pure volume of his comments is staggering. And if you don’t like something he says, hang on for a few hours and he’s likely to contradict himself by the end of the day. I have come to think that its all...intentional. It’s hard to hit a moving target, harder still to hit one that moves as erratically as one of those lottery ping pong balls.

Another thing about Trump that I have come to understand is that among his supporters, nothing he says or does seems to bother them. Their support for him is as unwavering as the tides...

Trump Stabs Visiting Diplomat With White House Letter Opener...

Approval Rating Holds at 50%...highest support found among evangelicals

So, one consequence of his unique style is that guys like me, who used to spend half of our time staring at the latest headline, mouth ajar, thinking, What the hell??...now just shrug our shoulders and mumble, Meh, it must be Tuesday. Donald Trump has managed to turn    the vice of unstable narcissism into a virtue. “Eccentric” and “volatile” are no longer character flaws in a President. A good friend of mine who is a big Trump supporter told me that he enjoys it when Trump “tells fibs” because it shows that he knows how to keep his enemies guessing. You just never know what the man is gonna say or do, my friend says, meaning it as high praise. This is usually followed with...He doesn’t take any s**t from anybody, also intended as a compliment. When unpredictability, telling “fibs”, and refusing to take s**t from people are desirable traits, then its hard to imagine Trump doing anything which might cost him my friend’s support. Multiply my friend by 45 million, and you have the most solid base of support in the history of American politics.

Maybe the man gets impeached. Maybe he gets re-elected. Hard to tell...you just never know what the man is gonna say or do. Come to think of it, that might be the perfect slogan for his re-election campaign...TRUMP 2020...No Clue What He Might Say or Do. Or maybe this...TRUMP 2020...Like My First Term?...Hold My Diet Coke.

God Bless Good Friends

The Dunnevants had a very social week. We hosted two groups of friends for dinner, and babysat my grand niece for a day. The house has been eerily clean all week. The dishwasher has been taxed heavily. Our local grocery store now has us on their Christmas card list. But now, with the arrival of the weekend it’s all over. We have nothing on our social calendar for the next couple of weeks...and it feels good. But all of this socializing has me waxing philosophical about the need we humans have for good friends.

If someone were to ask me what the key ingredients are for a good life, I would probably say things like...family, faith, good health, and a job you enjoy. Don’t misunderstand...all of these things are important. But what about good friends? How crucial are they?

Every human being develops over time a personal guidance system which helps them identify dangers and avoid them. This guidance system is built slowly over your lifetime. All kinds of things contribute to the construction of this GS...your genetics, your environment, education and experience are big contributors. But, this GS doesn’t just help you identify the dangers in life, it also helps you spot the opportunities and equips you to discern an opportunity from a scam. The trouble is, nobody’s GS is foolproof...because we are all susceptible to error. That’s where good friends with good judgement come in.

If you are lucky enough to have a large and supportive family, you’ve got at least half of life licked. For me, this is particularly true. I have a wise and thoughtful wife, smart and discerning siblings. When my parents were alive, they were towers of common sense. Now, my two grown kids have turned out to be surprising sources of sharp insight. So, I am extraordinarily fortunate in this regard. But, even I need wise council from outside my family from time to time.

Now, every friend, even every close friend, isn’t always a reliable advisor...

ME: I think I’m going to take a second mortgage out on my house and buy that Bentley I’ve had my eye on.

FRIEND #1: Go for it, man! You only live once. Seize the day is what I say!

FRIEND #2: Wait..what? Are you freaking nuts?!

In this example, friend #1 is probably a lot more fun to hang with. He’s also the guy most likely to call you in the middle of the night to ask if he can crash at your place since his wife just threw him out of the house. Friend #2 however, has probably earned the right to get in your grill about this hair brain Bentley scheme, because he’s known you long enough to understand your weaknesses. He remembers the time you almost quit your job to pursue becoming a full-time poet. He was the one who slapped you across the face and reminded you that the last time an American made a decent living writing poetry it was Walt Whitman...but poor old Walt never made beans until he had been dead fifty years.

Sure, these are extreme examples, but you get it, don’t you? Each of us have friends like #1 and #2 above. And, thank God for both of them.

So, on a week where we have been surrounded by them, a tribute to dear friends seems in order. They are the people that enrich our lives by their existence. They are the people who laugh with us, celebrate with us, pray with us and cry with us in equal measure. They are the ones who are happy for us when we succeed, not resentful. They are the ones who are crushed by the things that crush us. They are the ones who in the midst of the worse times in life can be counted on to be there with their sleeves rolled up doing what needs to be done, without even asking...because they didn’t need to ask...they just knew.

God Bless good friends.

Lucy and Evelyn

Lucy has a new best buddy.

Yesterday, Pam kept Evelyn for the day. For those of you who haven’t met Evelyn, she is the beautiful little red-headed daughter of my niece, Christina Garland. Chrissy had some sort of daycare issue this week so the family helped fill in the gaps for her. Yesterday was Pam’s turn. Of course, Pam being Pam, the day was filled with learning activities and fun projects. Essentially, like a day at one of those expensive private pre-schools only this one was actually great fun. What nobody counted on was Lucy and Evelyn becoming...a thing.

It was surprising because Lucy hasn’t spent a lot of time around children. Our previous Golden, Molly (The World’s Greatest Dog)...grew up around kids, hundreds of them. Our house was constantly being overrun with teenagers during Molly’s time so she developed a love of them quite early. It resulted in a level of patience that seemed supernatural, and caused her to be willing to suffer practically any humiliation as long as it made everyone happy...

Lucy, on the other hand has lived a more isolated life. But yesterday, from the beginning—after the introductory excitement wore off—Lucy and Evelyn hit it off tremendously...

When I got home from work, I went upstairs to my dependable recliner, only to find that my reclining room had been commandeered and repurposed...

In other words, my house had magically been transported back in time, looking exactly as it did 25 years ago when my own kids would sprawl out on the floor with all manner of toys, lost in their make believe world. Of course that meant that the house always looked like a bomb had just gone off...but it was a glorious mess. Good Lord in heaven, I cannot wait for a grandchild...

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.