Buddy the Elf and Mrs. Claus

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Today we all wake up to December the 2nd staring back at us, making demands. Thanksgiving was late this year which means that there are only three weeks left before Christmas. That dull ache in the pit of your stomach is the first flaring of panic rising from deep within when you contemplate all that remains to be done between now and then. All the Google docs and family Christmas websites in the world can’t change the fact that there are only 20 shopping days left until Christmas. Nothing says Let’s celebrate the Savior’s birth like a three week mad dash to buy as much gold, frankincense and myrrh as we can get our hands on!

I always feel out of sorts in the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas. For one thing, business is winding down, end of the year requirements being largely administrative. This frees me up to be of assistance to my wife during this hectic time. But I never know exactly how to go about helping her. She becomes like a whirling dervish this time of year, flitting about here, there and everywhere doing elf-like jobs. Take yesterday for example. We enjoyed a brunch with Kaitlin and Jon before they left to drive back to Columbia. When they were out of sight, she asked me to help her rearrange the family room furniture so we could get the big tree down from the attic and in place. Once that was done, she seemed content. She had working feverishly as hostess all weekend so I thought she was done with decorating. I even left to head over to the gym for a workout. When I arrived back home, it’s like a crew from Flip This House had descended on the place. Not only was the big tree in place, but five others as well. Gone was all the fall regalia, replaced by the Christmas finery. She had been at it for almost five hours and showed not the slightest sign of fatigue....

This is by no means all of it, there are four more trees in place upstairs. None of the trees have been decorated yet, not all of the seasonal knickknackery has been hauled down from the attic...but this was an astonishing accomplishment for one woman and one terrified dog to get done in one afternoon while I was doing cardio!!

So, now I have guilt. Once again, the majority of the prep work gets done by my wife, while I roam around the house asking if she needs me to pay for anything, write a check for something. Yes, it is true that I will be in charge of outside decorations. I am also tasked with anything that requires heavy lifting, something for which I am increasingly ill-suited due to a variety of age related issues which I would rather not discuss. So, basically I become my wife’s hired hand during the holidays, an entry level laborer with few skills but very eager to impress the boss, a real life Buddy the Elf to her Mrs. Claus...

Thanksgiving In Four Photographs

There are four photographs from Thanksgiving that tell the story of how the day went for the Dunnevant’s.

This is the Over The River and Through the Woods shot. We were heading over to Linda’s for the big meal. The rule is supposed to be that Christmas music cannot be played until the return trip, but that rule got violated. 

This was to be the first Thanksgiving ever without Patrick in attendance. We were missing him, missing Sarah... a lot. But, while we were eating the meal, they were busy posting a video of a gorgeous song that Sarah had composed about Thanksgiving and the longing that rises in the heart on this day. It was beautiful and made our day.

Then, there are these people, my brother and two sisters. Life without them would be unimaginable and nowhere near as fun.

Meanwhile, Miss Lucy’s life was being interrupted by our prolonged absences and the presence of her ginormous and incorrigible cousin, Jackson. When we finally returned from our very long day, I snuck upstairs to take a quick nap on my recliner. As soon as I extended the foot rest, she appeared at the door, big old goofy smile on her face. Then she did what she does every single time I attempt such a nap. She deposited herself on top of me, with her back legs on the floor, demanding head skritches. She stays up there for five minutes or so, then jumps down and curls up on the floor at my feet.

I hope that each and everyone of you had as wonderful a Thanksgiving day as I did. God Bless you all.

A Thanksgiving Plea

Ok, I am not a cook. I am not burdened with having to prepare a Thanksgiving feast for anyone. However, I have a lot of experience eating, and as a world class consumer of Thanksgiving feasts, might I make a couple of suggestions? For the sake of all that is holy and sacred, please do not serve either of the dishes above.

Canned Cranberry Sauce

One of the few curses of living in an advanced, consumerist, capitalistic country is the unfortunate fact that if it is possible to put literally anything in a can and sell it at a profit, somebody will. Thus, the persistent survival of this ghastly mistake. Anything with the word sauce in its name should not be able to be...sliced. Moreover, sauce should not respond to the human touch by...jiggling. Generally speaking it is always a dependable rule of thumb that sauce which has...ridges...should always be avoided.

Beets

This lowliest of all forms of vegetable life shares a color with canned cranberry sauce, and is equally revolting. Yes, yes...I know all about how good they are for me, their abundance of iron and whatnot. But the trouble with beets is the fact that cooks the world over have been trying desperately to insert this pitiful thing in recipes since Alexander was only Good. They stew them, broil them, steam them and the meaner cooks out there eventually pickle them, all with disastrous results. Leave them at it long enough and inevitably they come up with a dish called Red Flannel Hash...

If this looks like a skillet full of raw steak, strawberries and uncooked hamburger, you are right. Oh if that were only the case!! No, no...those red things you see everywhere are chunks of beets. Trust me folks, there isn’t enough salt, pepper and hot sauce in the world to make this edible. Because I married a Maine girl, this dish appears all too frequently at family gatherings...like Thanksgiving. Upon reading this I’m sure that my wife and her sisters and parents will leap to the defense of Red Flannel Hash. They always do. It’s a pride thing.

Pretty much anything else that is on the table at Thanksgiving is a winner. But, for the sake of humanity, lose all the purple stuff!!

A New Car

Ten years ago, I bought a car. Ten years before that, I bought a car. So naturally, yesterday I bought a car. I didn’t set out to purchase automobiles every ten years, it’s just worked out that way. It’s the same way with Pam, I buy her a car roughly every ten years. There are several reasons for this, I suppose. First of all, I don’t like buying cars. They are expensive. They are also depreciating assets and I am not in the depreciating business. The fact that the car I purchased yesterday is worth considerably less this morning as it sits in my garage is profoundly disappointing. The process of buying cars, although improved, is annoying, as it involves sometimes ruthlessly disingenuous salesmen and their equally ruthless managers, all intent on separating me from as much of my money as is legally possible. Nevertheless, there I was at Moore Cadillac yesterday enduring my once in a decade unpleasantness.

As is always the case with my car purchases, this one was a demonstrator. Why should I take the initial depreciation hit when I can let someone else do so? Usually the cars I buy have two to three thousand miles on them at time of purchase. This one, happily, had only 227. Like my old car, this new one was also red. I like red cars. They are easier to find in parking lots. I fully intend to keep this one for another ten years.

The problem with buying cars only once every ten years is that when you get a new one, it takes three hours for the sales guy to explain to you how to turn the thing on. The technological advancements in automobiles over the past decade has been astonishing. As my man Bob sat beside me explaining all of the bells and whistles of my new Cadillac XT5, I felt like I did when I bought my first smart phone, “what the heck??” There I was taking my test drive when all of a sudden my seat began furiously vibrating beneath me. At first I thought there might have been a squirrel trapped down there, but was informed that I had merely allowed the car to drift out from between the white lines of my lane. OOOO-K, good to know! Then I was warned that if I was foolish enough to not slow down fast enough because of an approaching backup, first the car’s seat will start to vibrate, then a bright red flashing light will illuminate the entire dash, then the car’s computer will suddenly and violently apply the brakes, along with a caustic warning by Charles, my computer’s British-sounding voice...Hand’s on the wheel, eyes on the road, mate! In fact, it became clear to me as the two hour tutorial continued that there would be many such tongue lashings, flashing lights and beeps directed my way as the new owner of this vehicle. To drive this car will be an exercise in computer based denunciations and stinging invective directed at me for my various shortcomings as a driver by a pleasant but firm British chap who does not suffer fools. I am told that there is a way to shut off this abuse, but I rather think that it will do me good to be dressed down every once in a while by my car. Back out of many parking space too fast and this thing will slam on the brakes and demand to know where the freaking fire is!! Let your speed creep up to 80 on the interstate? Better be ready for old Chuck to chime in, “Yes, indeed. This will be a fine day to die. Proceed!!” Weave in and out of traffic too frequently and my friend will inquire as to whether or not my life insurance is paid up.

As I drove my new car off the lot at 5:30 in the afternoon, after arriving there at 1:00, it occurred to me that this will probably be the last car I buy which allows me to drive. Ten years from now when I’m 71, my final car will most likely be of the fully automated self-driving variety. No telling what kind of backtalk that computer will dish out!

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. A review.

It can be an awkward and confounding thing to encounter a grown man in whom there is no guile. I discovered this last night in a theatre while watching the great Tom Hanks’ portrayal of Fred Rogers in A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. About midway through there is a scene where the character Lloyd Vogel, played expertly by Matthew Rhys, is interviewing Mister Rogers in his tiny apartment in New Your City. Vogel, a hard bitten investigative reporter for Esquire magazine, has been given the assignment of interviewing Rogers for an issue the magazine is doing on American icons. He is tasked with writing a 400 word summary of the famous children’s television personality, but is having a difficult time getting a handle on his subject. Every time he asks the man a question, Rogers finds a way to change the subject to Vogel himself. And now in Mister Rogers’ cramped New York City apartment, he finds himself having a conversation with Daniel the Striped Tiger puppet. It is all suddenly too much, the puppet’s questions hitting a raw nerve from his past, far too close to home, and Lloyd picks up his briefcase and storms out.

My sympathies were 100% with Lloyd Vogel. I remember thinking, Mister Rogers was such an odd duck, man...so strange. I would have probably stormed out too.

There were many such scenes in the film. Another strangely uncomfortable moment came in a Chinese restaurant where Mister Rogers asks Lloyd to do an exercise with him before they ate their lunch. “Let’s have a minute or two of complete silence while we think about all the people in our lives who have loved us into being,” he says. The camera pulls back from the table where we discover every customer at every table following his instructions. The silence continues for what seems like an eternity. Mister Rogers opens his eyes and stares at Lloyd, then slowly turns his twinkling eyes towards the camera and stares longingly into...our eyes. It is at once enchantingly sweet and moving...and slightly creepy all at once.

With our 21st century sensibilities, it’s hard to make sense of Fred Rogers. He just doesn’t seem entirely human. Can anyone be that calm, that comfortable in his own skin, that outwardly focused? Although the point is made many times in the film that Fred Rogers was not a perfect man, the viewer comes away with the feeling that if not, he was awfully close. 

But, the biggest impression that was made on me by this film is how odd he seemed. A man like Rogers should have had a towering ego. The fame that he earned should have dazzled him more. With a career as successful as his he should have picked up more self-promotion skills. What we find instead is a man who seemed drawn to broken people. People like Lloyd Vogel. We discover that Mister Rogers was the only one of the ten men and women who were to be the subjects of Esquire magazine’s hero piece who would agree to be interviewed by Vogel, all the others scared off by his epic cynicism and caustic writing style. Before the interview, we learn that Mister Rogers read every previous article that Vogel ever wrote to get a better idea of what kind of man he was. He detected correctly that Lloyd Vogel was carrying around a heavy burden of anger and resentment towards his estranged father, played perfectly by Chris Cooper. This tortured relationship serves as the basic plot driver of the film. We watch as, slowly but surely, Lloyd begins to open up to this strange man in the cardigan sweater.

Although Mister Rogers was a Presbyterian minister and a man of faith, there is nothing preachy about him. There are no sappy scenes of religious conversion or grand gestures of repentance. Instead, there’s just this graceful, nonjudgmental, grown man telling us the truth about ourselves in the sweetest way possible and looking like an alien from another world in the process. 

I’m sure there are plenty of men and women in the world who have the same qualities as Mister Rogers did. They live their lives away from the cameras, in anonymity, unnoticed and uncelebrated. But Mister Rogers was different in that his life was lived on stage for everyone to see. How many famous people familiar with the glare of fame turn out like Fred Rogers? Precious few. Therein lies the oddness, the disturbing optics of his goodness. The fact that such simple virtue makes us a bit uncomfortable is perhaps the saddest fact about life in America, 2019.

Handicapping 2020

In less than a year from now we will have elected the 46th President of these United States. To get from here to there we will have to endure the 2020 campaign which is just now starting to heat up. It promises to be a tortuous, cringe-worthy slugfest that will call into question our ability as a nation to sustain self government. On the other hand, comedians will have a field day. I have always prided myself on my ability to read the tea leaves of political momentum. In the past I have had a decent record of predicting the outcome of elections in advance. This year I haven’t the foggiest notion of what will happen. Just when I think I have a clue, something weird happens and I’m back to square one. Several times on this blog I have written handicapping posts where I examine the prospects of the various candidates. That’s out the window this time, partially because everything is so out of whack, but mostly because I haven’t watched a single debate and therefore aren’t as well informed as I used to be in these matters. So what follows is more a gut feeling than an analysis of facts. But, since nobody seems to care about actual facts anymore, I feel right at home!

The Republicans

Officially there is only one candidate...the sitting President, Donald Trump. But at the moment he is the subject of an Impeachment inquiry, which calls into question his availability come Election Day. If he survives Impeachment, he will be the candidate. But if he doesn’t, all hell will break loose for Republicans. With Mike Pence being the successor President, he would most likely be the candidate. But, just suppose something happened to disqualify him, or he simply chose not to run? Who on the Republican side of the aisle has the statue and resume to become a Presidential candidate in a pinch? Only a few names come to mind... Condoleezza Rice, Nikki Haley, Mitt Romney, and ??? It really doesn’t matter though, since any candidate who is forced to run as a replacement for an Impeached President has zero chance of winning. So, it’s either Trump or nothing for Republicans. Looking at raw numbers, it doesn’t look good for the Donald. But this is America in 2019. Anything can happen, including his reelection.

The Democrats

I will pretend for a moment to understand the thinking and sensibilities of the Left. I think that of the 157 candidates running for President for the Democrats, only four or five of them have a serious chance at winning the nomination. In my view they are...Biden, Warren, Sanders and Buttigieg. Of those four, Biden and Warren feel like first tier. Sanders is too old and way too white. And I don’t think America or even the Democratic Party for that matter is ready for a gay President. That leaves Biden and Warren. Joe Biden seems old and spent to me, and not nearly liberal enough for today’s Democratic Party which seems to sense a generational opportunity to move the country further left than they thought possible in their wildest dreams a mere four years ago. So, I’m thinking that unless something unforeseen takes place, perhaps a personal scandal pops up out of her past bad enough to damage her, (bringing Hillary Clinton back into the race), its Elizabeth Warren’s nomination to lose.

Senator Warren loves to rail against the rich and has promised a grab bag of fresh new entitlements bankrolled by taxing their wealth. In doing so she has an easier path to victory. Who doesn’t relish the thought of getting free stuff paid for by the filthy rich? She may be right in her view that the American people want more socialism and less capitalism. To the extent that she can convince voters that the bounty of free health care, free college tuition, the wiping out of college debt and the Green New Deal etc. won’t cost us anything, just those treacherous billionaires, she could win. If I were a betting man...I would never bet on politics. But, say I was a drunk betting man...I would bet on Warren. Just in case you’re wondering...who would I prefer as President if it had to be a Democrat? Buttigieg. He’s the only non-millionaire in the race and he served his country in the military and is the only candidate running who passes the beer test—which candidate you would most like to have a beer with. He edges out Joe Biden for that honor.

So, there you have it. Trump v. Warren. Good luck, America.

About This Chick-Fil-A Thing...

I don’t know about you but my social media feeds have suddenly become dominated by Chick-Fil-A. Lots of rage from hardcore fans at the company’s alleged betrayal of their base and accusations of capitulation to the radical LBGTQ lynch mob. All of this coming as the result of a change in Chick-Fil-A’s charitable giving plans.

I will not here debate the specific issue at hand. The defunding of the Salvation Army and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, depending on who you listen to is either a grave betrayal of Christianity or simply the expiration of their giving contract and a change in giving strategy to concentrate more on local community organizations rather than national ones. I’ll let everyone else debate that. I will simply make this observation...

It used to be the view of most Chick-Fil-A supporters that as a private company in a free country, who they decided to make charitable donations to was their business. This was a practically unanimous sentiment up until about 48 hours ago when this story broke. Now, everything appears to have changed. Now, it is very much the business of a lot of upset customers who Chick-Fil-A decides to make charitable contributions to. I don’t get it...which is it? What’s the difference between LBGTQ activists pitching a fit over charitable donations made to organizations with whom they disapprove, and when aggrieved Christians pitch a fit based over a charity they like getting defunded? Whatever happened to “It’s their business”?

Here’s my view. I don’t eat there often, but I love Chick-Fil-A. They make one delicious chicken sandwich. Their employees are polite and courteous. Their service is terrific. As a result, they make a boat load of money. I am also very gratified that they feel a responsibility to actually make large and consistent charitable contributions in amounts and percentages that dwarf most other companies. But, that’s where my interest ends. I figure that, as a private company, they can make their own decisions about where to give their money. If I find out that they are big contributors to Bernie Sanders or Donald Trump, neither of these unfortunate choices will change the fact that the local Chick-Fil-A I go to still makes one heck of a delicious chicken sandwich, and the guy or girl who operates it had absolutely nothing to do with the charitable donation decisions made in Atlanta. Why would I want to punish him or her anyway? Besides, it’s almost noon and I’m starving!