Either Way...I Win

My daily joke therapy for my friend with cancer is now well into its second month. This responsibility has been a challenge for me. No, its not hard encouraging someone with cancer every morning...its hard to find jokes!!! I have had to search far and wide for material. The good news is I’ve found several amazing sources for some of the worst/best Dad Jokes ever. Some are so stunningly bad, they boggle the mind:

My daughter wants to drop out of college to become a midwife.

She thinks it’s time to...cut the cord.

My wife bought me some soy sauce to ease my depression.

Kikkoman when he’s down, she said.

I ran into my very short friend, Peter, down at the pub. He started telling hilarious stories about the flatbread factory where he works.

I love the pitta patter of tiny Pete.

Now, when my friend reads jokes like these at six o’clock in the morning, she has a decision to make. She can A. Roll her eyes, B. Laugh, C. Question my sanity, or D. All of the above. In addition, she can realize that no matter what the day may bring, it couldn’t possibly be any worse than Doug’s jokes. Either way...I win.

Our Fall Getaway in Pictures

Ever wonder what it would be like to be forced off the internet? The Dunnevant family is finding out! The lovely cabin we rented for our Fall getaway was advertised as having WiFi, which is technically true, I suppose, since it does have a network. But we have come to the conclusion that the router must be powered by two gerbils spinning a treadmill...somewhere back in Short Pump. To call the internet around here slow is to abuse that word. The internet at Carolina Dreamin aspires to one day be slow.

So, I will write this post, attach some of the pictures I’ve taken, then attempt to publish the finished product. If I’m lucky, it will appear on Facebook sometime before we leave for home on Monday!

Ok, what is wrong with this picture? This was taken Thursday night after dinner and before any of the kids arrived. Lucy is resting. I am resting. Pam is doing dishes. Now that I think about it...there is nothing wrong with this picture!

We finally got to meet this very good boy, Frisco. All of us fell head over heels for this adorable, lovable goof ball. By the way, Patrick and Sarah are going to make excellent parents someday!

...I was clearly his favorite.

Of course. Jon and Kaitlin brought my favorite wrecking ball, galloping galoot of a dog to ever to grace this earth with his presence...Jackson. 

I am clearly his favorite.

Occasionally I had to have stern talks with them about the proper way to interact with the new puppy. Here, Lucy and Jackson listen intently to my admonition about patience being a virtue when dealing with little Frisco.

Here, Pam lectures all three of them about the importance of sharing their toys.

Here’s a shot of Sarah urging them to put their paws together in solidarity. Jackson was unmoved by such crass sentimentality.

Frisco, wondering what kind of family he has gotten himself mixed up with.

Just in case you’re wondering if we took any pictures without the puppers...yes. 

I am clearly her favorite.

Need a New Vision?

A friend sent me this poem this morning. I forwarded it to another friend who, like me, needed to hear it. Now I pass it on to you...

Disturb Us

 

Disturb us, O Lord, when

We are too well pleased with ourselves,

When our dreams have come true

Because we dreamed too little, when we arrived safely

Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, O Lord, when

With the abundance of things we possess

We have lost our thirst

For the waters of life;

Having fallen in love with life,

We have ceased to dream of eternity.

And in our efforts to build a new earth,

We have allowed our vision

Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, O Lord, to dare more boldly,

To venture on wider seas

Where storms will show Your mastery;

Where losing sight of land,

We shall find the stars.

We ask You to push back

The horizons of our hopes;

And to push us in the future

In strength, courage, hope, and love.

This we ask in the name of our Captain,

Who is Jesus Christ.

Prayer of Sir Francis Drake as he left Portsmouth, England To circumnavigate the world on his ship, “The Golden Hinde.” December 13, 1577.

Getting The Right Perspective

Every year, my broker-dealer puts on an annual meeting. It lasts for three days or so and features a series of speakers, dozens of break out sessions, and cocktail parties. In other words, lots of sitting in meetings, and rubbing shoulders with a thousand people you don’t know, trying to make small talk, “Hey, how ‘bout those new compliance regs, eh? Sheesh!” It would be almost impossible to design anything for which I am more ill-suited by education, training and life experience than a three day meeting. So, I avoid them like the plague. Thank the God of the Universe that these confabs are not mandatory. I attend once every five years whether I need to or not. 

So, yesterday my partner and his girls—who always go to these meetings—conducted a debriefing where they shared the highlights of what they had learned from this year’s session with me. I sat at the end of the conference table and girded my loins for what I was sure would be a white knuckle emotional roller coaster. I was not disappointed. Let me summarize:

1. All of us are one mistake away from being sued and losing everything.

2. IF we don’t get sued, we will probably get fined a gazillion dollars if one of our office computers gets hacked and client information gets compromised...oh, and our errors and omissions coverage probably won’t cover it.

3. None of us know the first thing about computers and this fact will probably wind up causing our financial and professional ruin.

4. The way I do business is likely to be rejected by the latest regulatory regime within a year or so, causing me to change the way I charge clients for my services, the net result being I must charge them WAY MORE in exchange for less performance.

And this, my friends, is why I don’t attend these meetings. This industry is tough enough without having to be beaten over the head with  just how tenuous my survival is for three days in a meeting that I have to pay to attend. I mean, if I wanted to cultivate suicidal thoughts I could stay home and watch CNN for free.

But then I talk with me friend about her cancer and what kind of day she’s having and I check myself. It’s a hard day. She’s tired and fearful and feeling defeated. She’ll snap out of it because she’s tough as a two dollar steak...but this morning it’s rough. She wants to feel normal, she is tired of thinking about cancer, she’s tired of the relentless burden of it all. I tell her a couple of bad jokes. She laughs. Then she gives me a passage of scripture to look up. I do. It’s about perseverance. She tells me she feels better now. She reminds me that I don’t have...any problems. And unless you’re facing a chemo treatment this Thursday morning...you probably don’t either.

My Very Dumb Friend

I have a good friend who isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I mean, bless his heart...Anyway, he called me the other day to tell me that he was really bummed about his new girlfriend. He said he had to break up with her even though at first he thought she might be the one.

I asked him, “What happened?”

He answered, “Well, one night I was snooping around in her night stand and I found a French Maid outfit, a nurse’s outfit, and a police officer’s uniform.”

I said, “Umm....

He said, “I just figured if she can’t hold down a job, she’s not for me.”

The Latest News From the Fight

Up at 4:30 again. This is getting ridiculous. With the Nationals playing on the west coast tonight, this is going to be one very long day. 

But you know who’s also up every morning around this time? My friend who has breast cancer. She and her husband can never sleep past around 3:30 or 4:00 so, weather permitting, they go for a walk down by the flood wall in Buena Vista.

As you know, every morning since she got sick I’ve been texting her jokes and trying in my ham-fisted way to encourage her. Most of the time, she’s the one who ends up encouraging me. This morning's exchange was fairly typical. I share it here with just a few minor edits to give you a feel for what kind of person she is. . .

Me: I called my wife and asked her if I should pick up Fish and Chips on my way home from work and she hung up.

Her: ?

Me: She’s still angry she let me name the kids.

Her: Horrible! But, expected. Ok, hair started falling out in handfuls yesterday.

Me: To be expected. But, how do you feel about it?

Her: I wanted to cry but I didn’t.

Me: Oh dear girl...

Her: They told me I would be bald by October 8th when this all started. Even though I knew it was coming, it’s still another life changer.

Me: (Unable to think of anything helpful to say)

Her: So I went into my chart last night and saw where my first chemo treatment’s price was listed. Guess how much?

Me: No idea.

Her: $89,471

Me: Insanity! Somebody is getting rich off your illness. Pisses me off...wait, how many chemo treatments are you going to get? Four, right?

Her: Six total.

Me: Freaking chemo is going to cost somebody a half a million dollars. Grrrrr.....

Her: I know! It’s very sad. I’m so grateful for Johnny’s health insurance.

Me: Speaking of Johnny, did you hear about the time he took his granddaughter to a restaurant and the waitress reminded him that kids eat for free?

Her: Sigh....No. But you’re gonna tell me.

Me: So, Johnny said, “Ok then, I’m gonna have a glass of water and some chicken nuggets and she’s gonna have a T-Bone steak medium rare with a Bud Lite.

Her: You are not right.

Me: Oh, and what do you call a Wednesday without any rain?

Her: Lord Help me Jesus...

Me: A dry hump day.

Her: (three face palm emojis)

Me: Love you guys. Have a nice walk

I have listened to her describe her battle with cancer for weeks now. It’s a mixture of tragedy and triumph. Some days she is a pillar of strength. Other days she is worn out. But through it all her great faith and intrinsic optimism keep shining through. There’s very little self pity. Her biggest fear seems to be...how her cancer is affecting her family. She feels bad for putting them through this ordeal. 

I just shake my head and marvel at her tenacity.

Pass The Pepto-Bismol

And so it begins...

Last night my stomach was tied in knots. I spent long periods of time with my heart firmly lodged in my throat. I was frustrated, resigned to disappointment and wallowing in despair...right up to the moment when I began dancing around my house in a fist-pumping frenzy. What was the cause of this manic-depressive behavior?

Post Season Baseball.

My small group met last night, so i actually missed the first couple of innings—an act of stunning spiritual devotion I might add! By the time I arrived at home, my brother called declaring that all was lost and he simply couldn’t take it anymore. I replied, “Bro, the Nats are only down two in the fourth inning!! Weren’t you the guy who just yesterday was predicting a deep playoff run for this scrappy, resilient team?” Then he launched into a dissertation about the fact that our nation’s capital is home to loser franchises, blah blah blah. My brother can jump on and off a bandwagon quicker than a fat kid jumps on a box of donuts.

Anyway, I labored on as the Nationals blew chance after chance to mount a comeback. Then finally they managed to load the bases in the bottom of the eighth with their 20 year old phenom, Juan Soto at the plate. The kid promptly turns a 98 mph fastball around and sends it rocketing toward the right fielder, a single which could tie the game. Then the ball took a crazy sideways hop and rolled past the befuddled outfielder. Three runs score and the Nats go up 4-3. Now it was just a matter of getting three outs in the 9th to preserve the win...something that the Nationals have been tragically awful at all season. When Don Hudson retired the last Brewer hitter on a fly ball to center field, I scared Lucy half to death with my aforementioned demonstration.

It will be this way for the next three weeks, each game an agonizing nail-biting gauntlet to be endured. I will be up late watching every one of them, my headphones on to hear the radio announcers call the game instead of the far inferior TV talking heads. Lucy will keep a weary eye on me, fearing the latest irrational outburst. Pam will roll her eyes at me as she goes off to bed.

And I will know when it’s time to start paying closer attention when my brother calls to declare the season is over for the Nationals!