Sophie’s Choice

For most of my life I’ve done a reasonably decent job of taking life one day at a time. Of course no one is perfect in this regard. All of us have been guilty of occasionally wishing the week away when there’s something big happening on the weekend. Who of us hasn’t secretly wanted the child to be done with the toddler stage already, only to take it all back the day they get their driver’s license? But since the arrival of COVID, my ability to stay in the moment has slowly deteriorated to the point now where I am constantly longing for...the future.

I know this is no way to live. John Lennon’s words are still true, “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” And yet, restricted life in the Age of Pandemics feels something like the terrible twos to me, something to be endured until better days arrive. But with each passing day, now approaching the one year anniversary of COVID, comes the feeling that it may never truly be “over”, some limits may linger for years. Whenever I read the words variant strains they sound crushing to me. As a consequence for about six months now I have found myself sleepwalking through the present, dreaming of the future. In particular, I have become obsessed with my 66th birthday, the date I set for myself some years ago as the demarcation day of retirement, or some form thereof. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.

Now, President Biden is placing travel restrictions on incoming flights. Other countries are banning travel of any kind. I see the death toll numbers, I read the stories of new South African, Brazilian and British strains, so I understand the necessity of these measures. It’s not even like I had plans to travel, its just another shrinking of my options which feels diminishing. Freedom of movement has always been like oxygen to me, something I never ever think about. It just is. Not so much anymore.

I am certainly not alone in feeling the isolation that comes with COVID. All of us do in one way or another. My thinking and understanding of COVID has gone through many stages over the past eleven months, from skepticism to bewilderment to acceptance of the reality. But merely acknowledging something isn’t enough unless it changes your behavior, and my behavior has changed over these months. There are the ubiquitous masks, the incessant hand washing, that chill that spreads over your hands like fog shrouding a mountain when you squirt that hand sanitizer. At work there are virtual appointments, which feature me smiling awkwardly at a computer screen while I try to navigate the two second time delay.

Then there is the matter of our friends and neighbors who have come down with this dreadful virus, and the feeling of helplessness that overwhelms. When our next door neighbor got it, at least we could check up with her from across the way to see if there was anything she needed. When dear friends of ours in our  church small group came down with it we were limited to delivering a meal for them on their porch, when what we really wanted to do was march inside and clean their house, run errands and hug them close. Speaking of that group, our last face to face meeting was almost three months ago and that was a rarity in and of itself. Church? It has morphed into just another screen experience. We briefly started meeting together in reduced, socially distanced numbers, but then there was a COVID visitation among several volunteers so that’s on hold now.

Which brings me back to living in the moment. One reason I’ve become so bad at it is the fact that I truly hate this moment. So my mind constantly drifts to 2024 and what needs to happen between now and then, some things which are in my power to control but many other things where I am at the mercies of fate and chance. My choices seem to have been reduced to feeling annoyed and adrift by the here and now or nervous and anxious about the future, a Sophie’s choice for the ages.

Losing My Man Card

Ok, I think all of this social isolation is finally getting to me. Last night I made a charcuterie board. I choose not to offer photographic proof of this fact to preserve what is left of my dignity, but I did prepare my first ever charcuterie board and thought it was worth mentioning, especially considering the fact that up until a year or so ago I had no idea what a charcuterie board was, let alone how to make one. Sure, I knew that anyone could throw a bunch of cheese and sausages on a platter and serve them, I just didn’t know it had such a fancy name...charcuterie board...sounds like a board game for old ladies.

Anyway, a couple summers ago in Maine, we started having charcuterie boards every afternoon on the dock down by the lake along with Maine-themed cocktails. Whenever my daughter-in-law Sarah was in charge, these things were like works of art. She would slice up three or four types of meat, Italian sausage, pepperoni, prosciutto, summer sausage. Then she would slice up all manner of delectable cheeses and fan them out like decorations on the tray. There would be Gouda, Brie, sharp cheddar, Gruyere, etc. I learned that the cheese was key to the whole enterprise. Cheese pairings, they all called. Then there are the crackers. We can’t forget the crackers. There are thin round water crackers, rectangular focaccia crackers and the more pedestrian wheat thins. Then, to make the feast look healthier, there were grapes and sliced apples sprinkled here and there. Off to the far corner of the board there would be a small bowl full of a positively dreadful jellied concoction, the best I could tell it was some sort of soft cheese wrapped in a weird jelly/nut glaze. No thanks! On the opposite end of the board there was another small bowl of humus into which one could dip a small selection of sliced raw vegetables. 

This treat was not meant to be an actual meal, rather an afternoon snack to tide us over until dinner. But when its just the two of us here on a Sunday night with football on the television, it will do quite nicely as a meal. So there I was last night fanning the cheese around in a circle surrounding the two types of meat piled in the center of the board. I put the gross jelly thing in a side dish in the corner just like Sarah does. I even placed a couple bunches of grapes atop the pile for appearances. The board I used was a gift given to us by my nephew for Christmas—word having gotten around that the Dunnevant clan is now thoroughly addicted to this sort of thing.

And yes, it is monogrammed. 

Now that I have shared this confession It occurs to me that I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. What is more manly than chunks of meat and cheese that you are encouraged to eat with your fingers? Sure, the way Pam and Sarah put these things together makes them look like oil paintings, still life’s that you’re afraid to touch. But at the end of the day, its just sausage and cheese, the two finest taste combinations in all of Christendom. We just need to come up with a better name than charcuterie board.

The Death of a Hero

I opened my laptop at 6 in the morning while rubbing the sleep from my eyes and saw the headline, Hank Aaron had passed. For reasons I cannot explain, I felt my throat constrict and tears forming in the corners of my eyes. As I have gotten older this sort of thing happens more frequently than I would like to admit. My childhood heroes, like me, are getting older, and yet when one of them dies it always comes as a shock to the system. Now Hammerin’ Hank is gone.

When I was 8 years old I began a life long love affair with baseball, largely due to my older brother’s devotion to the game. His favorite players became my favorite players. For me it was always Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, and Hank Aaron. In that order. I was a Mickey guy, mostly because Donnie was a Mickey guy. I remember checking a book out of the Claiborne Elementary School library in New Orleans, Louisiana that told the story of Mickey Mantle. It was entitled, The Commerce Comet, and I was in the 3rd grade. It was the first book I had ever checked out from a library. I read it in one day. There was much to like about The Mick. He was movie star handsome, could run like the wind and hit a baseball to the moon. But I also loved Willie Mays. He did everything with style and flash, the best center fielder in the game. Then there was Hank Aaron who did nothing with style and flash. He wasn’t particularly handsome, hardly ever had anything to say. While Mickey’s smile beamed out from the cover of magazines and Willie was in every highlight reel, Hank just plugged along. The PR people with the Braves tried to juice him up with the national sports media who were Mantle v Mays obsessed by giving him the nickname Hammerin’ Hank. But it never really worked. He was just a ball player more comfortable with his real name...Henry Aaron. He lacked both the charm and charisma of Willie and Mickey, but never the talent. The press was in love with the charmers who’s rivalry started in New York City. The Yankees and The Giants, the two glamour teams. Nobody cared about the small market Braves no matter where they played...Milwaukee or Atlanta. But Hank kept showing up for work every day, playing the game brilliantly. Then one day it occurred to the baseball writers that he had an excellent chance to make a run at the most hallowed record in a sport full of hallowed records...Babe Ruth’s home run title. Finally, after a spectacular career of excellence, he would be plunged into the white hot glare of national scrutiny in the summer of 1973 and the spring of 1974 as he chased down the Babe. Suddenly after each game a throng of reporters were at his locker sticking microphones in his face. He answered their stupid repetitive questions with short, boring answers.

During this pressure packed pursuit of an icon’s record, Hank Aaron received hate mail. Tens of thousands of letters of vicious, racist hate mail. Death threats poured in among them. Yet Henry Aaron kept hitting and kept up his largely silent quest. When he finally launched a pitch by the Dodger’s Al Downing over the left field wall into the waiting glove of reliever Tom House, it was finally over. At home plate he was mobbed by his teammates, but that didn’t stop a strong, long suffering and worried to death woman from plowing through the crowd to reach her son...

And now this strong, proud and unassuming man is gone.

Willie Mays was asked once about Hank Aaron. His words seem appropriate as an ending for this tribute:

“ Hank Aaron was the best person I ever met.”

Hope Springs Eternal

Wednesday 20, 2021. Our system of government, beaten and battered though it may be, has worked. The candidate with not only the most Electoral votes, but also the most vote votes has won. The candidate who lost is leaving Washington, albeit in a childish snit. The winning candidate, who has never left Washington for over half a century, will become President today in a diminished ceremony. I will tune in for the speech. I always do. However I can’t promise I’ll stick around for the entire thing. I seldom do. One thing I will notice will be the politicians sitting behind the President, and how very old they all are. The president himself, ancient and frail, Pelosi, McConnell, and Schumer, old and sagging under the weight of all that backstabbing, guile fairly dripping off them like beads of sweat.Why are politicians so old? Where are the forty-somethings, men and women with energy and new ideas? In other lines of work, thats where. And who could blame them?

What I will not watch is the insufferable virtual parade/entertainment that the triumphant Democrats will foist on us for the rest of the day. There will be all of the beautiful Hollywood types cooing about this and that along with a procession of pop stars. You have to hand it to the Democrats though, they always have all the big stars at these types of events. Whenever Republican’s are in charge, they serve up something like Scott Baio or Tom Selleck while the music is always a couple of Country singers. Its like whoever they send up there, my first thought is always, “Wait...that guy is still alive?” But, there’s nothing to be done about it. The cool kids have always been leftists.

The best part about today—if we make it through without incident—is that it will hopefully begin a new era where politics will become boring again. Sure, for awhile Biden will be news because he’s a new President. But eventually, after his first 100 days, that tiresome legacy of FDR that forces every new administration to act like the world is on fire and they must put it out with rapid fire initiatives, things will calm down. Suddenly we will wake up and realize that every headline on the news is not about Washington infighting. It will dawn on us that politics and politicians have stopped being entertainment and gone back to being necessary but dependable annoyances.

Hope springs eternal.

My Prayer For The Week

One of the ingrained assumptions of being an American is the peaceful transfer of power from one administration to the next. I have watched it a total of ten times during my adult life, the outgoing President riding in the motorcade with the incoming President from the White House to the Capitol, then sitting behind him and watching him take the oath of office, then politely applauding. Its always a cool moment, satisfying, even comforting. This year at the beginning of inauguration week, I’m holding my breath that it goes off without bloodshed. There will be no huge throng of people on the Mall watching. There will be no parades and no fancy balls to mark the occasion. Only members of Congress, a few guests, and a thousand masks. But there will be 25,000 American Troops and newly erected fencing, even some razor wire, photographs of which will be gleefully distributed on Chinese, Russian, and Iranian media. Add this embarrassment to the growing list of things I thought I would never witness during my lifetime.

So, my hope and prayer is that when this week is over there will have been no violence, no deaths, no destruction of property, that all 50 state capitols will be secure, and that we can begin to move forward to the very difficult task of learning how not to hate each other so much. I wish Joe Biden all the best. I can honestly say that I have wished every new President the very best at the beginning of their term in office. I did for Clinton, Bush, Obama and Trump. Generally speaking, when a President fails it’s a failure for the country. When they succeed, generally the country succeeds. Good will should be the default emotion for any new President from every citizen of this country. When Biden does well, I will commend him here. When he screws up I will let him have it in this space. What I will not do is engage in inflamed rhetoric fantasizing about his gruesome death like I saw from Alec Baldwin this weekend. I will not tolerate violent language here. I believe it is possible to disagree, even strongly, with politicians without stooping to ad hominem attacks. After ten years and over 2000 posts, I’m sure if you search thoroughly enough you will find examples of such attacks here, but I hope very few and nothing recently. I am not a perfect witness in this area. Sometimes I forget myself and get caught up in the moment. But we all have to get better at this, better at disagreeing, better at talking to each other.

Maybe, a year from now, we won’t be so obsessed with the travails of politics. Maybe at some point our attention and our interest will be towards more nobler things. Maybe one day soon our disagreements will be less vitriolic. Maybe on that glorious day in the future when the masks finally come off, there will be smiles underneath.

Ten Things To Look Forward To

Since it is all but impossible to find even a shred of good news these days, I have taken it upon myself to assemble a list of ten things that we all have to look forward to in 2021:

1. That first blissful, 70 degree day in mid to late March when you scramble through the drawers to find a pair of shorts to wear.

2. The smell of hamburgers on the grill before your first meal of the year taken on the deck.

3. Opening Day of the baseball season.

4. The giving and receiving of robust, enthusiastic, heartfelt hugs.

5. A President who isn’t on Twitter.

6. Standing shoulder to shoulder in a packed church, singing at the top of your lungs.

7. That unique thrill that passes through the body and mind when you back the car out of the driveway, headed out for summer vacation.

8. The first tailgate of the college football season with trash talk filling the air unfiltered by face masks.

9. That first gathering with your small group from church around somebody’s fire pit, where you hear the sound of someone’s voice lifted in prayer thanking God for his Word and for these good friends.

10. That first delightfully cool day in late September when you scramble through the closet to find a sweater to wear.

Coping With 2021

What do you do when you’ve had maybe the most disturbing, disappointing week of business in at least ten years? How do you deal with that creeping feeling that the world is falling apart and there isn’t a single thing you can do to stop it? What next, when you’ve come to the conclusion that people are in the process of losing their minds? How do you cope with the knowledge that all of this has happened in a mere 15 days of the new year??

DAD JOKES. You go out there and dig deep for the worst, most pitiful ones you can find, collect them, then share them here on The Tempest. At least that’s what I do.

- Why did the couple buy stale bread on their wedding day?

Because they wanted to grow mold together...

- Did you hear about the dad who burnt the Hawaiian pizza?

He should have put it on aloha temperature...

-How did the carpenter find her spouse?

She used a stud finder...

- If you want a job in the lotion industry, the best advice I can give you is...

Apply daily...

-I got you a refrigerator for your birthday.

Can’t wait to see your face light up when you open it...

-I bought a dictionary only to get home and discover that all the pages are blank.

I have no words to describe how angry I am...

-I used to date a girl named Ruth. Whenever I was with her, she made me a better person. Then she dumped me.

Now I’m ruthless...

-Why was the superhero the one to flush the toilet?

Because it was his duty...

-What’s the easiest way to remember your wife’s birthday?

Forget it once...

-Kids: Dad, we want to see the new Pirate movie!!

Dad: No way.

Kids: Why not??!!

Dad: Because its rated Arrrrgh!!

-The Surgeon General has determined that listening to too much Queen is bad for your health.

Probably because of the high Mercury content...