Sofa Church, Socially Distant Umpiring and a Wedding Anniversary

It’s May 18th and there’s no baseball. The MLB is presently in negotiations with the players trying to cobble together a shortened season for 2020, the year of dashed hopes. Meanwhile, my wife and I have pretty much exhausted the present supply of watchable shows on Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, and Starz. On the plus side of the ledger, our COVID-19 Rummikub tournament continues uninterrupted. As of this hour my wife is slightly ahead on points due to her diabolical sandbagging talents. Yesterday was the 10th consecutive Sunday that we have attended Sofa Church. The Live-streamed service is fine. Our staff tries really hard to do it well. It still sucks. When your communion elements are grape flavored Sparkling Ice and a sandwich thin, something of the poignancy of the moment gets lost. 

But, there’s always good news lurking out there if you know where to look. The State of Maine just lifted the quarantine rules for out of state visitors effective July 1. That means that we will not have to confine ourselves in the lake house for the first two weeks of our stay! It had been originally through the month of August so this is a huge relief. Of course I can think of many fates worse than being quarantined here:

With this view every night:

So, I’ve been thinking about how baseball can possibly have a season, even a shortened one, in the world of COVID-19. The first item on the agenda will be...how is anybody going to get professional baseball players to refrain from...spitting??? Assuming that miracle can be performed, how is it possible to maintain social distancing between the catcher and the home plate umpire. If the umpire has to move six feet behind the catcher, his ability to maintain a consistent strike zone (already damn near impossible) will be hilarious to behold...

UMPIRE:  STRIKE ONE!!!

CATCHER: Dude...he hasn’t thrown a pitch yet!!

 The complete elimination of sunflower seeds from the dugouts of the big leagues will be like asking Congressman to go a week without hogging a microphone. It will be like asking Donald Trump to quit Twitter. Unthinkable.

Tomorrow is a big day. It will be our 36th wedding anniversary. It will be pouring down rain. Our kids will be hundreds of miles away. No restaurants will be available. I have yet to come up with a proper plan for the evening. But, we will celebrate nevertheless. She is the love of my life, the one indispensable person in my world. She was my best decision, the one thing about which I am most proud. Although a couple of nights ago, she gave me pause. I happened to be walking through the den and there she was watching a television show about celebrities watching television. She was giggling and chuckling, throughly enjoying herself. I said, “what the heck are you watching?” She replied happily, “Its so funny...there are all these famous people being filmed watching television, just regular shows.” It might have been the very first time I have ever been embarrassed to be married to Pam Dunnevant. Then I thought that after 10 weeks of COVID-19, I should cut her some slack. Right now I suppose we all take our entertainment wherever we can get it.

Anyway, I’ve got 24 hours to come up with a plan for our wedding anniversary. Wish me luck.

His Eye Is On The Sparrow

I was walking around the culdesac yesterday afternoon when I saw one of my neighbors firing up his grill. I walked up his driveway and struck up a conversation. I was interested in how his wife was holding up in her job as an ICU nurse. It was crazy hearing about the protocols they go through each time she returns home from a shift. But then he told me about her very first survivor of COVID-19, a 54 year old man who just recently was taken off the ventilator after five weeks. It looks like he’s going to make it. Every other case they have had has been fatal. The one bit of information I forgot to ask was, how many cases they’ve had? Next time I see him, I’ll remember to ask. He did say that some of the cases have been otherwise healthy people, one guy who was an avid runner. But, think about this 54 year old man who spent five weeks on a ventilator, heavily sedated, isolated from every single person who ever loved him. Think of his wife and children, unable to see him, comfort him as he lay in a hospital bed fighting for his life. Think of the disorientation he must have felt to wake up and be informed that it’s been over a month since he was admitted!

The past two evenings Pam and I have sat out on our deck in this marvelous weather we’ve enjoyed, as the sun has set behind the houses in the distance. We are able to lounge around for hours out back thanks to the wonderful people at the Mosquito Authority, by the way. Best money I’ve ever spent. Both nights right around 8:05 every bird in the neighborhood begins singing all at once, a mad, frantic chorus. Each night it happens just before sunset. Our bird watching son in law informs us that it is their night song, an instinct inbred in birds of all kinds which causes them to herald the rising and setting of the sun. We listen to the delightful sound and marvel. Then it becomes dark and the sun catching lanterns on the railings of our deck come on, having stored up solar energy all day, and now illuminating the stained glass cardinals...

In a minute, the stars will come out and the birds will be silent. Then the crickets will begin their dull chirping, rhythmic and enchanting. My wife lifts her cell phone skyward and watches it’s screen reveal the constellations with a new app she has downloaded. Here is Capricorn, there Sagittarius. I watch her face lit up by the soft glow of the screen and ponder my great good fortune that I am not the 54 year old man on the ventilator, or the avid runner who’s life was snuffed out by a virus.

The birds and the crickets know no such virus. They chirp and sing at every sunrise and every sunset all the while running the risk that some creature larger and more powerful than they will devour them. For them, every minute of their existence is a risk. And yet we are told that their creator takes notice when even one of them falls. As I sit in the darkness of my backyard, listening to the hum of the crickets, I take great comfort in the fact that...his eye is on the sparrow.

Mr. Dunnevant Goes Grocery Shopping

So, yesterday afternoon I had a new COVID-19 experience. I went grocery shopping. Sure, I’ve popped in to my local Publix before to pick up random stuff during this pandemic, but not until yesterday was I entrusted with a full grocery run. Pam was feeling worn out so I volunteered to go in her place. Tired as she was, she hesitated to give such an important task to me. My wife is one of those people who knows exactly what she wants and where to find it, and she doesn’t much care for delegating. Nevertheless, there she was handing me...the list...and sending me on my way with great fear and trembling.

Wait...you didn’t expect my wife to send me to the grocery store without specific, written instructions did you? Nooooo. This list was amazing in that it was organized by aisle from the right of the store to the left, and, came with handy idiot-proof notes hand written in green ink. When she handed it to me all she said was, “Make sure you remember to bring a pen with you so you can mark things off the list as you find them.”

I arrived at Publix at exactly 3:07 pm, pen-less. Luckily, the friendly guy at the help desk, displaying male solidarity, handed me a loaner in a gloved hand with the encouraging, “You got this, bro.”

I head to the produce section and start checking stuff off. Everything is going great until I get to the green beans. Pam has written “small bag, if fresh...or none.” I take this to mean, only buy a bag of green beans if they look fresh. Question: how does one discern the freshness of a sealed bag of green beans? I stood there pondering the package looking for freshness clues for what felt like five minutes, eventually throwing a bag in the cart. Then it got even worse when I got to raspberries. Her instructions in green were quite clear...only if they look firm. Ok...she didn’t say only if they feel firm for good reason. These things come in sealed containers as well. No, she asked me to judge their firmness by...sight. Another five minutes of incredulous indecision.

By the time I made it to the canned fruit aisle I was presented with yet another fork in the road moment...the list said pineapple rings. My first thought was WTH is a pineapple ring?? I saw crushed pineapple, pineapple chunks, and even something called pineapple tidbits, but the elusive pineapple rings were nowhere to be found. However, there was one lonely can of pineapple slices:

My powers of deduction came into play here as I reasoned that this pineapple product was shaped suspiciously like a ring. As a bonus, these “slices” came in “100% pineapple juice...which sounded to me like some sort of extra thing. It was thrown into the cart with cocky confidence!

The most difficult purchase was yet to come. There I was standing in front of the dairy case. The item in question was Dannon vanilla yogurt. My eyes scanned the astonishing array of yogurt products in the case. I thought to myself, what in the Sam Hill is this? Don’t people realize how disgusting this stuff is? People actually purchase and voluntarily consume something that smells spoiled and curdled as soon as you open the package!! There must have been 15 different brands of the stuff, but the only thing that said Dannon was one lonely package of...I’m not even kidding...coffee flavored yogurt! I text Pam: nothing in the dairy case that says Dannon. She quickly replies: It says “Dannon” in tiny little print. She wasn’t kidding...

If you squint really hard you might be able to make out the manufacturer’s name in tiny letters right above the light & fit thing. See, even Dannon knows that this stuff is disgusting, even Dannon is embarrassed to be selling such a horrible product!! 

As I reached the 45 minute mark of my foray into grocery shopping while wearing an N95 face mask, I began to sweat profusely. I pawed and picked at the mask, adjusting it to let in some air. Then I got the idea to head over to the ice cream case, not to buy ice cream, but to open the big glass door, stick my sweating head inside the case and slip the mask off for some sweet relief. It was glorious. While doing so, I received a couple of menacing side eyes from professional grocery shoppers passing by. But, I made no apologies. I offered no explanation to these people for my behavior. It was this or I was going to end up creating a scene by ripping the thing off and screaming profanities. You do what you have to do.

By the time I made it through the checkout line and had loaded my groceries into my car, it was 4:17pm. I had spent $124.90. It turned out that my bag of green beans was, in fact, fresh, the raspberries were firm enough, and pineapple slices are the same exact thing as pineapple rings.

It should be pointed out that when it comes to grocery shopping, actually going to the store to fetch these items is the easy part. I’m told that the preparation of the list is the hardest part, and often more time consuming. If so, now I totally understand why Pam so often comes back from the grocery store in such an ill-temper. Add to this having to wear a face mask and you’re talking about some serious first world problems here!!

 

Let Me Introduce You to Your Next Worry!!

I have made excellent use of this quarantine thing by plowing through some great classic works of literature that I had never gotten around to reading. First it was Middlemarch, then The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, and just last night I finished, Anna Karenina. While it's true that great big old Russian novels, particularly anything by Tolstoy, can be thickly ponderous things, I thought Anna was brilliant. The old weirdo could write, my friends. There’s a scene in the book where he describes a group of peasants and himself mowing a field of tall grass with scythes. The writing is so beautifully rendered you can smell the grass, hear the sweep of the blade and feel the tightness in your back and shoulders by the time he is through. Incredible.

Then, while scanning through some business news articles—something I don’t recommend—I stumble across a piece in The Atlantic that informs me that not only should I feel appropriate shame and guilt for my white privilege, my stable family privilege, my wealth privilege and all the rest, now there’s another privilege for me to confess to...flour privilege!! That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, it would appear that we have bought up practically every pound of processed wheat left in America for the purposes of satisfying our baking itch. In so doing I suppose we have hogged it all and now there’s a shortage of flour. If it weren’t for that British Baking Show, we wouldn’t be acting this way. I’m not kidding y’all. This is a real thing...

One thing that we will never run out of in this country? Things to feel guilty about, worry about and fret over. There will always be some new fresh catastrophe right around the corner to feed our ulcers. We will never, ever exhaust the raw materials from which our anxieties are manufactured. It is an infinitely renewable resource.

My Reopening Plan

Traffic has picked up on Broad Street. The parking lots around my office are starting to fill up. The lot at Lowe's the other day looked like they were giving away free beer. Whatever might be happening at my State Capital or up in Washington, and no matter what might be happening with the actual Coronavirus, the American people seem to be voting with their feet, and their verdict seems to be...enough already.

This coming Friday, my State begins Phase one of the great reopening. Assuming that there is no corresponding spike in transmissions, two weeks later, Phase two will begin. Like everything else in America, how one feels about this reopening seems to fall along party lines, Democrats generally being against it, while Republicans are for it. Of course, these stances are not absolute. I’m sure that there are plenty of Democrat small business owners out there who are desperate to reopen, while there are also plenty of Republican lobbyists not so keen to hop back on a packed airplane anytime soon. But what about me...Mr. In Between?

It’s weird. We’ve been at this going on nine weeks now. Pam and I have been very careful to abide by every guideline and mandate that has come down. Still, neither of us know anyone who has gotten sick and died from COVID-19. We suspect maybe that our daughter in law might have had it, but that’s about it. Of course, that’s anecdotal and by no means illustrative of anything other than our good fortune. If numbers from Johns Hopkins are to be believed, the United States has had over a million cases and over 80,000 deaths so far. This number is higher than the predictions from the last White House briefing I watched from three or four weeks ago when they were estimating the total deaths would peak at 60,000. This past weekend Pam and I attended a wedding which perfectly illustrates the conundrum in which we find ourselves. The fact that this wedding was held at a drive-in theatre tells you that the families involved were taking the Coronavirus seriously. And yet, when we arrived, the first thing that happened was, my wife and the mother of the groom found each other ...and hugged. Then they separated, startled by the embrace with an exasperated look on their faces...Is this ok? I don’t know, but I’m so happy to see you I just can’t help myself..its a wedding for God’s sake!!! I think that this is how most of us are feeling. We understand that COVID-19 is deadly serious, but as human beings we just don’t know how to proceed, what is proper and what isn’t.

In this regard it sure would help if we could agree on the facts. It would be such a relief if we all had a source of numbers and information that we could all trust. At this point, anything I hear from either the White House or anyone in Congress is highly suspect. Even the veracity of the CDC and WHO have been called into question. One minute I hear one thing, a couple days later the exact opposite, and usually from the same source! It is maddening.

Here are just a few of the many conflicting things I have heard recently:

Kids can’t get it.

Kids can get it.

Animals don’t carry the virus.

Dogs can get it.

Once you’ve been exposed to the virus, you have immunity.

No, you don’t.

We are at least a year away from a vaccine.

A breakthrough might come sooner than you think.

We shouldn’t open until we have a cure...a vaccine.

Forget that, there are so many mutations out there we will probably need several vaccines.

Wearing face masks are critically important.

Wearing face masks makes little difference. At best a placebo effect since it makes the wearer feel safer.

Everyone needs to be tested before we can reopen safely.

That’s impossible and unneeded. We only need to test at risk populations in hotspots.

We are already past the worst of this.

The second wave of this will be twice as bad as what we have seen so far.

People who are sheltered in place in their homes at this point are babies and cowards.

People who are going about their lives are selfish money grabbers.

So, yeah. 

Here’s my plan. I am going to do my best to follow the guidelines handed down by my state and local government. I will wear a face mask when I go inside a store. I will continue to wash my hands a half dozen times a day. I will continue to use hand sanitizer every time I get in my car. When the restaurants open, I will probably limit myself to those with outdoor seating. I will still do my best to honor the six feet distance rule when interacting with others. Probably won’t shake anyone’s hands for quite a while. I will be patient with my church when it decides to reopen...I won’t get bent if I don’t get one of the tickets to attend the service I like. My business will slowly start allowing in-office appointments. We are still trying to figure that out. My gut feeling is that it will take several months of this reopening before I start feeling more normal with regards to personal interaction. It won’t be the end of the world if I have to alter a few lifestyle choices going forward, but they will have to be my choice, my decision as an informed, free citizen.

For me caution will be the theme of any reopening. And also, that old Ronald Reagan line comes to mind...Trust, but verify.

My Daughter’s Birthday

Today is my daughter’s birthday. The very first time her birthday rolled around after I started this blog was in 2011, nine years ago. That’s when I wrote what follows. I have attempted other birthday tributes, but none have ever been able to improve on my first attempt. I read it at her wedding as well, because when I was trying to decide what to say at that momentous occasion, I found that I kept coming back to...this.

Kaitlin Elizabeth Dunnevant. I’ve always liked the way her name rolled off the tongue. Lots of letters and syllables coming together to make a pretty sound. On her birthday I will take a minute to make a partial list of the many things that come together to make her so wonderful.

* She is the lump in my throat every time I watch Father of the Bride.

* She is the unexpected catch in my voice whenever I brag about her at work.

* In a life of mistakes she is evidence that I got something right.

* She is the smile on my face every time I see a blonde curly-haired two year old in a yellow dress.

* She was the pit in my stomach whenever teenage boys with bad intentions came around, and they all had bad intentions.

* When her softball team lost a thrilling game in the bottom of the last inning she was the only one with tears coming down her cheeks. She may be the most competitive Dunnevant of them all. It’s a glorious thing.

* On the five minute drive to school in second grade I could always make her smile at least once no matter how miserable she was and no matter how hard she tried not to.

* I marvel at the level of discipline she has developed.

* She is the pride I feel when I see her curled up on the sofa reading yet another book. My gift to her.

* When I see her fierce loyalty to friends, her tender heart to the less fortunate, her love and devotion to all things family I realize how amazing my grandchildren will be to behold.

* She is the shame I feel still that I spent the first 24 hours of her life disappointed that she wasn’t a son.

Happy birthday to my brave, talented, and beautiful girl with the beautiful name...even though her and I both know that her real name is  Kato Tomato.

Lucy’s Complaint

I try hard not to be drama queen. Hard when I live in booby-trapped house with my humans. Every day find new horror. It not enough that humans not concerned with out of control ceiling fan, trash can, peoples walking just outside of house with small doggers. They not see ghosts that live in corners of every room in house! Every day they walk down scary stairs without caution and expect me to follow them! Not in million years...I must first inspect condition of stair, check light and condition of wind like any self respect dogger. Well, this morning come latest crazy...

I come down for breakfast and not believe what I see. I stop short even though I hungry. I think...is this joke? Human think weird things funny sometime. I look around but nobody laughing. I take closer look. What fresh cat hell is this? Human has put kibble in...water bowl!! I make closer inspect. No two ways about...they have put kibble in water bowl and expect me to eat it. To make matter worst they compound foolish by putting water in kibble bowl!! Chip in very wrong place. Make it impossible to eat without grave worry. Do they not see problem?? I so hungry I could eat cat, but make no difference. Too much danger. Human plead with me to eat. Easy for her to say. Her not eating food out of wrong bowl!

Eventually, I summon courage of ancestors to endure wrong bowl fiasco. Human try very hard...but honestly!!