A Beautiful Thing

Today is going to be crazy. I can just feel it. You ever wake up and think, uh-oh, something’s up? Yeah, me neither. But this morning it was like that for me. I looked at the small digital time display across the room, the one I now have to squint to read, and saw that it was 4:59. I noticed that Lucy had slept through the night without the need to go outside with the squirts. There she was, stretched out to her full length at the foot of the bed like she owns the place—which she kinda does. I patted her on her sweet head and said, “little Miss Lucy,” which reminded me of the nursery rhyme, little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet eating her...which naturally morphed into:

An army led by Miss Muffet fails to arrive in Syria. Apparently there were Kurds in her way.

Once downstairs, I began searching for this morning’s jokes for my friend. Found a couple of decent ones:

How come the Hong Kong Police get up so early?

So they can beat the crowds.

Did you hear about the new movie they are making about a visitor from outer space who has three balls?

It’s called ET the extra-testicle.

What do you call a depressed vegetable?

A despairagus.

Then, it occurs to me that tonight the city of Washington will be hosting it’s first World Series game since 1933. That ballpark is going to be a madhouse. Win or lose, it will be an event. I will watch every pitch. I will yell at the home plate umpire for either A. Squeezing the strike zone or B. Calling pitches six inches off the plate strikes. I will bemoan each National batter who swings at ball four in the dirt. I will scare the be-jeezies out of Lucy every time I let out a wild shout whenever one of the good guys gets a clutch hit. I will delight in every gut wrenching moment, realizing that I may never get to see this again in my lifetime. I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. Nothing that comes my way today will have the power to dampen my enthusiasm for tonight’s game, even the fact that I have to complete my Broker-Dealer’s annual on-line compliance questionnaire, an hour and a half slow walk through the hell’s half acre of the internet. I will persevere. I will forge ahead with confidence knowing that I hold in my hand a ticket to Game Three of the World Series. I will be sitting in the climate controlled comfort of my living room, eating something delicious and sipping my golden beverage of choice, firing off texts to several like-minded buddies. It’s going to be a beautiful thing.

Game One and My Sick Puppy

Poor Lucy. For the third consecutive day our girl has had the runs. At night that means she wakes us up two of three times a night whining to be let out. Afterwards, we have to clean her up. Not fun. Then, this morning she unceremoniously threw up a rather large chicken bone in the doorway of our bedroom. We are flummoxed by this since neither of us feed her anything but dog food. She must have picked it up during her late night ramblings in the dark. The odd thing about this is that she has no other symptoms. Her appetite is good. She seems energetic and even her nose is relatively cool and wet. But for three days, nothing but mud pies every three or four hours.

Needless to say, her condition made watching last night’s Nationals win in game one problematic. Lucy seems to have horrible baseball drama timing. Every time the bases were loaded, or every time a pivotal moment of the game would arrive, she would need to go outside to do her business. Invariably, when I finally got her back inside and cleaned up I would tune in just in time to hear one of the announcers exclaim, “What a play!!!!!” Thank God for instant replay.

So last night I’m texting back and forth with my good friend, Al about the game. He’s a big baseball fan like me so we have fun doing our own twisted brand of color commentary. Every now and then one of us comes up with a pretty decent line. Last night it was Al’s turn. When twenty year old phenom, Juan Soto, crushed his opposite field home run onto the train tracks in left center field, he fires this one out to me:

“Can’t give that ball a Jewish funeral ‘cause it was TATTOOED!!!”

Unfortunately, I was out on a potty run at the time and didn’t see it until later. But, Holy Cow, what a great line. I would pay just about anything to hear Joe Buck say that on national TV!

A Hard Morning

This morning was hard. I shared a few jokes with my friend. She laughed out loud at one of them and I got a coveted four face palms on another. But then I asked her how she was feeling...

My friend is a tough broad. She’s a successful woman in a man’s world. To become so, she had to be tough. Now with cancer it’s been no different. She takes everything it has thrown at her with grit, determination and a positive attitude that is sometimes hard to comprehend from where I sit. But this morning she offhandedly made the statement that her doctor says that she is now anemic, which means that her immune system, already weakened by the chemo, is now even less effective. Her doctor’s advice is that she should work from home instead of going into the office during flu season. 

Something about that revelation got to me. And in my usual ham-fisted way, I blurted out, “OK...if you get the flu, I’m lodging an official complaint with God!!” Her reply was, “I’m trusting him with all of it. No need to complain, my friend. He’s got this.”

When I replied with, “Yeah, but sometimes enough is enough,” she offered this matter of fact description of her condition:

I know...I have sores in my nose, hands that are so chapped they peel the skin off, blurred vision, no hair, constant diarrhea and sores inside my mouth. But, I’ve been reading Job and reminding myself that I’m still better off than he was. Also, there’s a guy at our church who is younger than me and has stage four cancer in his jaw and throat. He has been on chemo and radiation. I think he’s already quitting and they are going to call in hospice. So, I can still see positives in all this mess. When your group meets this week remember to pray for my husband. I think he’s depressed about all of this but would never admit it.

Whenever I post something about my friend, it makes me uncomfortable whenever people respond by telling me what a great “friend” I am. When people do that they are completely and totally missing the point. What’s remarkable about all of this is not some guy who sends texts to a sick friend every morning filled with corny jokes. What’s remarkable is the almost supernatural endurance, faith and toughness of a woman who is battling cancer with more honesty and grace than humanly possible. After that dissertation of horribleness she asks me to pray...for her husband.

It didn’t end there. Before I could summon enough composure to respond she changed the subject to...baseball. She and her husband are big Orioles fans, they drive to Baltimore three or four times a year to their games. But she’s become a temporary Nationals fan for the Series. “I figure the Nationals are as close as I’m gonna get to seeing Baltimore win a World Series, so GO NATS!”

Just like nothing ever happened. She signed off with, “Have a happy Monday, Doug!”

I have so much to learn about toughness, grace and faith, it’s not even funny. 

Heaven on Earth

Now that the Yankees have been eliminated from the playoffs and the world is now back to spinning merrily on its axis, I can get back to other concerns. Of course by other concerns, I mean finding and disseminating the absolute worst Dad Jokes known to exist anywhere in the free world. Like:

Have you heard about that new strain of lice that are resistant to conventional treatments?

They have scientists scratching their heads.

What do you get when you divide a pumpkin’s circumference by it’s diameter?

Pumpkin Pi

I keep asking what LBGTQ stands for...

But I can never get a straight answer.

You may have noticed, (or not), that I haven’t been writing as many posts here recently. It’s because of this bizarre novel I’m writing. I’ve never experienced anything like it. My two previous books took between 6 and 8 months to write. This one has been flying out of my head and onto the page at all hours— morning, noon and night for just under 2 months now and I’m almost done. My friend with cancer says it reminds her of her diarrhea—which I found hysterically funny. The fact that she can find humor in her circumstances is remarkable. Anyway, between watching post season baseball and writing this story, The Tempest has gotten the short end of the stick. I intend to remedy this at some point very soon. I wouldn’t want any of you jumping out of windows from the overwhelming disappointment of not getting your Tempest fix. On the other hand, I’m sure there are plenty of you who are asking yourselves the question, “How can we miss him if he never leaves??” A fair point.

Getting back to the Evil Empire, watching the Yankees get beaten in the postseason every year for the past decade or so has been something very close to what I imagine heaven will be like. But last night was something special. There was their 330 million dollar walking hamstring pull, Giancarlo Stanton, riding the pine...their golden boy Aaron Judge getting doubled off first base, and their wife-beating closer getting lit up by the smallest player on the field, Jose Altuve. I mean if that’s not heaven, what is???

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.