Squirrel #12 in the Books

Saturday was a fun day. Had a great little 5K run in the morning, cut the grass and putzed around in the yard for a while, got a massage, then went out to dinner to celebrate my sister’s birthday. I mean, other than the fact that it was hot and humid (94), Saturday was nearly perfect. But the central event of the day was none of the things I just listed. No, no...not even close. That would be the fact that I bagged my 12th squirrel of the year in spectacular fashion.

As you all know, squirrels and I have a long running feud in that they love to chew on our deck furniture, eat the flowers we plant, be-spoil my tomatoes and occasionally invade my attic, and I love to kill them. In this I am assisted greatly by my much celebrated Daisy Powerline 35:

Well, there I was Saturday minding my own business, when I spy one of the tree rats sitting up on his haunches on the peak of the A-Frame of my roof! I mean, the unmitigated gall!! I immediately stopped what I was doing and tip-toed away to fetch old Daisy. When I returned, there he was, still on his haunches taunting me with his arrogance, as if to say, “no way your Daisy can touch me way up here...” Unfortunately for Mister Squirrel, it was his last thought. One shot found it’s mark, wiping the little squirrel smirk from his little squirrel face and sending him tumbling ass-over-tea-kettle down my roof. I let out a triumphant grunt. Everything was going splendidly right up to the moment when this happened:

Are you kidding me? What are the odds?? So now I have a dead and rapidly decomposing squirrel stuck in a gutter that stands at least 15 feet off the ground, but less than five feet from my front door, and beyond the reach of my longest ladder. I guess I’ll have to borrow one from my neighbor. On the other hand, maybe I should leave him in there as an example to other members of his pathetic tribe as a warning to what will befall them should they try their luck on the Dunnevant roof.

Indulge Me

Indulge me. What follows has been percolating in my head since Friday afternoon of last week when the Biden Administration announced its federal budget for 2022. The fact that the decision was made to announce this bit of news late on a Friday of a holiday weekend should tell you something about how much coverage they hoped it would get, but that’s a story for another day. Below I have constructed a thumbnail sketch of the pertinent numbers:

Projected spending...6 Trillion dollars, which when written in numbers looks like this...$6,000,000,000,000.00

Projected revenue.....4.2 Trillion dollars

Projected deficit for 2022...1.8 Trillion dollars

For anyone quaint enough to be concerned about debts and deficits, the Biden Administration assures us that if all goes according to plan, the budget will become balanced in 2037, long after Joe Biden has gone on to his eternal reward.

What all this budget talk got me to thinking about was the last time this country actually had a balanced budget. Actually we ran a surplus of nearly 250 billion dollars. For younger readers of this blog, a surplus is when the government takes in more money than it spends. The year was 2000. It was the last budget submitted to Congress by President Bill Clinton, who had famously declared that “The era of big government is over!” 

Projected spending...1.7 Trillion dollars

Projected revenue.....2 Trillion dollars

Projected surplus......230 billion

So, 22 years ago the entire budget for the federal government was 1.7 trillion. In 2022 that’s just the amount of red ink. Wow. Let’s see now:

2000 spending = 1.7 Trillion

2022 spending = 6 Trillion

Spending is up 352% 

2000 revenue = 2 Trillion

2022 revenue = 4.2 Trillion

Revenue is up 210%

This got me to thinking. It’s easy for all of us to criticize the profligacy of politicians. We have at this hour 28 trillion reasons to do so. But, what about me? How has MY spending and revenue compared with that of my government? Good question. It wasn’t easy, but I found my old tax returns and here are the numbers:

2000 spending = NOYB*

2022 spending = NOYB*

Spending is up 192%

2000 revenue = NOYB*

2022 revenue = NOYB*

Revenue is up 211%

That’s funny, my revenue over the past 22 years has grown at nearly the exact same pace as that of the federal government, and yet I have run a surplus in all but two of the past 22 years (the dreaded two years when both of my children were enrolled in private, out of state universities at the same time!!). 

Of course, you can’t compare anyone’s personal finances to the economic life of a nation state except for kicks and giggles, but it is interesting. Actually, I must admit it would have been great fun to run 22 deficits in the Dunnevant home. Imagine all the amazing trips we could have gone on and stuff we could have bought. But, I was restricted by the fact that although I possessed an excellent credit history, I would have been expected to eventually pay all of that money back, with interest. That expectation would have been rather unyielding and I would not have had the advantage that a sovereign nation has of simply printing money. 

So, Doug Dunnevant has racked up a healthy surplus over the past 22 years, while our government has added 23,000,000,000,000.00 (TRILLION) to the national debt since that heady day in February of 2000 when Bill Clinton sent the last balanced budget to Congress.

* None Of Your Business

Disturbing Photographs

So, a couple days ago I saw a news story about a small plane that had crashed killing seven passengers. Among the dead, I was told, were an actor and someone who was described as a Christian Diet Guru. Against my better judgment and giving in to my base curiosity, I clicked on the story. What I discovered was, er...it was, how shall I say...there are no words.

I must here confess that before this plane went down I had never heard of either of these two. The Christian Diet Guru is the one on the left, a Gwen Shambling Lara. The man on the right is an actor whose most famous role was that of Tarzan in the television series The Epic Advetures of Tarzan, which somehow I managed to miss back in the early 90’s.

I am fully aware that one should never speak ill of the dead, and I understand that what I’m about to say might be offensive to some but...what the actually hell?

Look...I am an unashamed and unapologetic follower of Jesus Christ, but why was my very first reaction to this photograph, “Well, of course she is a Christian Diet Guru!!!”

This poor woman looks like an anorexic Barbie Doll who is probably single-handedly responsible for the depletion of the ozone layer of our planet, there being enough hairspray on that head to withstand a stage 5 hurricane. And, if Tarzan there had anymore Botox in that face he might never blink again! (And I think that he is wearing the bow tie from my junior prom tuxedo). Unfortunately, this image right here is what far too many people have of modern Christianity, a bunch of tan-in-a-can, herbal supplement selling, self-help life coaching, Hollywood D-lister wannabes. Don’t believe me...?

I’m told that the woman in this photograph, Jan Crouch, co-founder of Trinity Broadcasting, recently went to her heavenly reward. Reports are that her hair arrived three days later.

I feel some obligation to say to the non-Christian world out there that...no, we don’t all look this superficially goofy. Most of us, I dare say, don’t even own a can of hairspray.

It occurs to me that some of you reading this might have benefitted from the weight loss powers of Mrs. Lara. Others may be in fact, Living Your Best Life Now, courtesy of the ministrations of Mr. Osteen. If so, I’m happy for you.

But sometimes I just wish that a prominent Christian voice would come along who doesn’t look like they could either be an alien life form or...possessed by the devil...

The End of Isolation

Yesterday, for the first time in almost 14 months, my big, fat, goofy family got together for a gathering at my sister’s house. No masks, no social distancing, and no politics. It was supposed to be a picnic, but it was freezing cold outside so Linda somehow shoehorned 20 of us around her ginormous kitchen table.

The kid’s table in the back left corner was especially rowdy and obnoxious, but they have all earned their rowdiness, having endured a year of virtual education. And because it was Memorial Day, Linda supplied all the patriotic decor. A couple of speeches about family members who paid the ultimate price to preserve our freedom were made. The food was spectacular. There were burgers and dogs of course, but also plenty of old family favorites like the aptly named pink fluff, (a concoction that our Scottish import Ruaridh can’t bring himself to try), and Nanny’s old ice cream cake. But mostly the afternoon and evening were spent hugging each other, it having been so long since we had been together. In this regard we are very lucky. Most families this large and diverse don’t get along as well as we do and would have considered an 18 month pandemic induced separation a godsend! For us it felt like an interminable and unholy thing.

After dinner we all gathered out on the deck and enjoyed a fire and several slices of ice cream cake. A thousand conversations were had, jokes were cracked, unmerciful teasing and exaggerated tales of family lore broke out like mushrooms after a week of rain...

Its funny how much my brother Donnie has begun to look like Dad recently. I’m glad. Makes me miss him a little less. Mom and Dad were surely smiling down on us yesterday. This was the kind of thing they lived for.

Not everyone was able to make it. My kids and their spouses were missing. So was Donnie and Baby’s son Sean, as well as our west coast operation of Lauren and Catherine.

But this was special. Someone made the observation of how grateful we should be for all the brilliant scientists, doctors and nurses who worked their fingers to the bone keeping us safe and finding the needle in the hay stack vaccine that made this day possible. Yes. God bless them everyone.

WARNING: Attempt at Humor Ahead

There is no getting around the fact that we are living in the Age of Woke. I have no idea whether it is a passing fancy or the wave of the future. To hear some people tell the story Wokeness is merely good manners and greater sensitivity to the feelings of our fellow man/women/ persons of more esoteric gender classification. To others its a minefield of new rules of human interaction where one false word can land you in a three week sensitivity class. A little like walking on eggshells in your Birkenstocks. Nowhere is this tension more acutely felt than in the arena of humor, or in my case...attempts at humor.

Yesterday, for example, I tried out a joke on my much more hip and with it executive assistant, Kristin:

Why did the cross-eyed teacher get fired?

Because she couldn’t control her pupils!

Kristin’s response was sure and swift, “You’re not gonna put that on Facebook are you? Please tell me you didn’t post that on Facebook!”

So, as a result of the hyper sensitive atmosphere that pervades the public spaces these days, much internal debate has gone on inside my head about publishing what follows:

I personally find this cartoon hilariously funny. Maybe its because I grew up in the world of Loony Tunes. Elmer Fudd was always a personal favorite. However, practically all of the laughs his character generated were at the expense of his speech defect, and as I understand the new rules, making fun of any sort of disability is frowned upon in Woke circles. So, I thought long and hard about what I should do...willy, willy hard. In the end I decided to go with it because its just a great strip.

If that makes me a waskle, so be it!

At Least We’re Not Mexico

I have often bemoaned the sorry state of political discourse in this country. I have also complained here many times about the rancor and partisan bitterness that has overwhelmed our politics. Well...at least we’re not Mexico!

“On June 6, Mexico will celebrate the largest subnational election in its history since there are 500 federal lawmakers, 15 governorships, 30 local congresses, and 1,900 city councils to be elected,” so states a story in a Mexican magazine article I read this morning. Apparently, the Mexican election season is even longer and more ridiculous than ours since it is reported that candidates have been been running in this election since early 2020. But the headline of this particular article was what caught my attention. So far 88 politicians have been killed.

Think about that for a minute. We probably haven’t had 88 politicians assassinated in the entire 245 year history of the Republic. And I thought we were the ones with the gun problem?! For many years now the nation of Mexico has been governed not by politicians at all but rather a confederacy of drug gangs and cartels. One can only assume that the cartels are taking out any candidates they view as hostile to their interests ahead of time, not willing to take a chance on the vagaries of the democratic process. But...88?? In America, a mob of a couple thousand disgruntled MAGA fanboys storm the capital and the entire country recoils in anger at the desecration. In Mexico, candidates for public office have been dropping like flies for months and this is the first I’m hearing about it.

Maybe our politics isn’t as bad as I thought.

Happy Birthday to the Buena Vista Flash

It turns out that three really special people in my life share this day, May 25, as the day of their birth. My son Patrick, the fearless leader of our small group at Hope Church, Chip (the Chipster) Hewette, and my dear friend, Pam Cole, the Buena Vista Flash. Regular readers of this space know Pam as the woman who was given a scary cancer diagnosis nearly two years ago now. Back at the beginning I made a promise that I would send her Dad Jokes every day until she got better. These jokes served several purposes, but primarily it gave me an excuse to chat with her every day. More importantly, it served as excellent training, serving as it did to toughen her up for the difficult days of chemo. She figured that if she could endure three of my jokes every day, how bad could chemo be?

On her birthday I would like to acknowledge her epic victory over the insidious enemy of cancer. While there may be no such thing as “back to normal” as a cancer survivor, Pam has made it through every phase of her treatment like a boss and is now getting back to the business of living her life. Along the way she has been carried along by an amazingly devoted husband, two wonderful kids and a bunch of grandchildren who think that she hangs the moon. She has also benefitted from a team of supporting and loyal friends. She has benefited from the skills of a team of brilliant doctors and nurses at UVA. But an awful lot of readers of The Tempest who have never even met her have spent much time praying for her recovery. You have asked me for updates on her condition and have eagerly kept up with her progress. I thank each and every one of you for that.

So, I warned Pam that I was going to embarrass her with a Facebook birthday salute via The Tempest, and asked her to send a current picture. She said she didn’t have any good ones, her hair is still too short, yada yada yada... but she finally sent this one which was taken this past Sunday before she and her grandkids and Johnny headed out to the lake for the day...

Trust me, underneath the brim of that cap are two very happy eyes!