An observation…and some really bad jokes.

Today is packing day. Its also the day where a thousand last minute details need to be taken care of. Leaving your house for 5 weeks isn’t as easy as we make it look! So, as my dear mother used to say, we’ll be running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. By the way…this was no abstract colloquialism to my mother, who as a ten year old was tasked with actually cutting the head off a chicken to start preparing it for dinner. After the hatchet came down, the unfortunate bird ran around the barnyard for several minutes before succumbing to its fate, making a lasting impression on my mom. But instead of years of psycho-analysis, mom just moved on, got married and raised four kids. It was a different world.

Since this will be my last blogpost for a few days while we travel to Maine and get settled once there, I need to make it memorable. The jokes I have chosen for the occasion were carefully selected for their cringe-worthiness. I left no stone unturned to uncover these beauties:

Where does a coffee maker go when it dies?

Percolatory…

Went to a restaurant with my parents and they were arguing about whether ordering the fries or salad were better to go with the meal so they asked me my opinion.

I said, "Oh, no. I'm not picking sides"

I work in a factory that makes clown shoes.

It’s no small feet…

Last night I experimented cooking some Ribeyes with cannabis oil.

Not gonna lie, the steaks were pretty high…

One last thing, I’m running a little low on toll money so you guys need to click on a few ads here so I don’t get stranded in Connecticut on the side of the interstate with a tin cup!!

One more last thing. Killed squirrels number 20 and 21 of the year yesterday…an all-time record before July 1st!!

We’re Goin’ to Maine

There is something that I have noticed about being married and that is that human beings have a tendency to drift apart. It seems hardwired into our DNA. The extreme version of this tendency is captured in the phrase, Familiarity Breeds Contempt. This drifting is one of the things that successful marriages find a way to overcome. Every marriage needs to find something that transcends the drifting, the indifference that can so easily creep into even the most solid of relationships. For Pam and me that transcendent thing is…Maine.

She started it. She was born there. She had the history in her bones and blood. For me, I had it thrust upon me. It was an acquired taste. But, because I loved her, I was curious enough to give it a try. Although my first trip up there was while we were still dating and got off to a famously horrible start, in the first light of my very first day there, I was hooked. I had never seen so beautiful a place as Webb Lake in Weld, Maine. Thus began a 39 year streak of annual summer visits. Burdened by a two year old and a newborn? No problem. Stick them in their car seats at 7:00 at night and drive straight through the night to get there so we can live in a tent for a week. I’m sure that sounds positively dreadful to anyone reading this who has or has ever had a two year old and a newborn, but in a miraculous way…every word of it is true.

Over fifty years ago, when my wife and her sister Sharon would lay awake in bed the night before leaving for Maine, they started something that has survived all these years, handed down to us and even to my own children. They would lay in the darkness, giddy with excitement, and whisper to each other the enchanting incantation, “We’re goin’ to Maine…we’re goin’ to Maine.”  Patrick and Kaitlin took it up when they were little. “We’re goin’ to Maine…” Now, fifty years later, Pam comes down the steps after her morning shower, sees me sitting on the sofa and whispers across the room, “We’re goin’ to Maine.”

Maine has united the two of us over the years. It’s become something that both of us have a passion for. In so doing it has brought us closer together. We share a love for the place. We both know that no matter how difficult life gets…We’re goin’ to Maine. When we get there, it starts to change us. We feel different, eventually we start to look different. Then we start noticing each other again. We remember why it is that we love each other. Being there brings out the best in us and stops the drifting dead in its tracks. Never is my wife more beautiful than when she is on her paddle board. Never am I so content as I am having my morning coffee on the dock.

So, for all of my married friends out there, find a Maine. Search for a transcendent place or thing that unites you. Then, make it yours.

We’re goin’ to Maine!!

Those Florida Cops Need to Chill Out

Sometimes, dad jokes just write themselves, especially when it concerns a Florida man.

This morning at an ungodly early hour, I read a story that began this way:

“June 25. A Florida man was arrested this morning at a 7-Eleven in St. Petersburg for throwing a 15 ounce jar of Tostitos salsa at a fellow patron with such force that it broke open on the man’s back. The assailant, Le’Trail Tresalus, was arrested for the unprovoked attack and charged with felony battery.”

But the very best part of this story was the epic headline:  Man is Charged With a Salsa and Battery.

Outstanding!! What do you want to bet that the headline writer was a dad?

However, the case gets even better once we learn that the 6’ 2”, 300 pound perp, the aforementioned Le’Trail Tresulas was also facing a theft charge for allegedly stealing a Choco Taco ice cream bar from the same 7-Eleven. 

Hmmm…several observations come to mind.

I have no idea what was going through Le’Trail’s mind when he threw the Tostitos fastball into that poor guy’s back, but I’m not sure how I feel about the ice cream arrest. I mean …its hot in Florida this time of year. Locking a guy up for stealing ice cream seems a bit cold to me. At the very least its a second-dairy offense. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not cone-doning theft here, but its not like he stole 31 flavors or anything. That would have been a Baskin-Robbery. Besides, there is such a thing as buying too much ice cream…Breyer’s Remorse. Are we really going to send a man to prison for stealing ice cream? Seriously? Is that just desserts? 

Listen, here’s the scoop. I’m sure Le’Trail has had a rocky road of a life and he has enough problems with this Tostitos throwing thing. I say we drop the ice cream charge. I mean…it is Florida we’re talking about so anything is popsicle…

The Divine Spark

You’re in your mid 50’s, married for over 35 years to a good man. You have grown children and several beautiful grandchildren. Life is good. Then one day you’re shopping at Walmart when your cell phone rings. You glance at it and don’t recognize the caller. Probably one of those robo-calls trying to sell you an extended warranty on a car you no longer even own, but you answer it anyway. The man on the other end of the line identifies himself as a Virginia State Trooper. Instantly your mind fills with a thousand nightmares. Someone’s been in an accident or worse. You brace yourself for his next words, but nothing can prepare you for what you hear…that your husband has collapsed at work and that the State Trooper needs to speak to you in person, face to face, as soon as possible. Everything else is a blur. There, in the middle of Walmart surrounded by strangers, you collapse under the crushing weight of the news.

But, we go nowhere by accident. At this point, with everything crashing down, you are approached by two strangers, a couple who look to be in their early 40’s. The woman speaks, “Ma’am, what’s wrong dear? Are you alright?”

You don’t remember exactly what you said in response, but it was conveyed with terrible anguish, “My husband is dead!!”

Then the strangers take over. They take you to somewhere you can sit down. The woman puts her arms around you and holds on tight. Your son is notified and he is on the way to pick you up. The kind woman tells you, “I will stay right here with you until your son arrives, ok?” And she does. She and her husband stay there doing their best to comfort you.

The rest of the day proves to be the worst of your life. You soon start having chest pains of your own and wind up in the emergency room. “Broken heart syndrome,” the doctor calls it. You stay overnight for tests. Your children gather around you. Things have to be done. There’s the funeral home arrangements. You just can’t. You’re not able, so your grown children take over. You are left in the grip of unimaginable grief. Your happy life has been turned upside down. With all the doctors and nurses and family buzzing around you and your heart broken over such monumental grief…you think of that couple at Walmart, you whisper a prayer for their kindness and compassion. You are so thankful that they took the time to stop whatever they were doing to stay with you during those first terrifying moments when you were at your worst. What would you have done without them?

This is not fiction. This isn’t the opening sequence of some new story I’m writing. This actually happened to a friend of mine a couple of days ago. It shouldn’t matter and it doesn’t matter, but since this is 2021 I feel compelled to mention that the couple who came to my friend’s aid in that Walmart were African-American. 

We live in a time of great racial tension and unrest. Every encounter between people from different races seems fraught with peril. The only stories we see in the media are bad ones. But the story I just shared and ones just like it that happen every day across this country don’t end up on the nightly news. My friend, a white woman in deep pain, gets approached by an African American couple who see her pain and can only think to stop whatever they were doing to come along side a total stranger, a fellow human being in great distress, to offer kindness, support and grace at the hour of her greatest need. They did so anonymously. They will get no credit for it, no accolades will come their way. But this story and it’s telling in this space hopefully will serve as a reminder that all of us has within us a spark of the divine, the better angles of our character which so often rise to the occasion. For my friend, it was strangers at Walmart who showered upon her their love and concern, offering the one single ray of light in a day of profound darkness.

Who will you be a ray of light to today?

The Meaning of Friends

The To Do Lists are getting crowded. Time is starting to feel short. One week from today we leave for Maine and I think I’ve got a cold, which is suddenly big news in the post-COVID world. I haven’t had a cold in almost two years because of all the hand washing, hand sanitizing and mask wearing. But recently I have done several things that placed me in close proximity to thousands of my fellow human beings. I have attended a baseball game, taken long rides on the crowded DC Metro etc. So a couple days ago I started with cold symptoms. But post-COVID, how do you know what is a cold and what might be …the big C? Sure, I’m fully vaccinated, but its not 100% effective. Since we are leaving for Maine next week I decided to get a rapid test at Patient First last night, out of an abundance of caution. (Having just used that dreadful phrase, I feel an apology is in order). Good news: I do not have COVID. Bad news: I have a cold. On an optimistic note, this is the time to get a cold, not next week.

Attended a funeral yesterday. One of our dear friends lost her mother after a battle with dementia. She lived a fruitful life of 85 years and was truly beloved by all who knew her. The chapel was packed. I know from personal experience how terribly difficult it is to stand up in front of a large gathering of family and friends and eulogize one of your parents. You so desperately want to say the right words, to convey the appropriate sentiments while simultaneously realizing it is impossible. You can’t reduce anyone’s life to a ten minute speech, much less the women who gave you life. Plus, as soon as you arrive at the podium and look out at the crowd your heart begins to beat louder and your stomach is suddenly in your throat. But, our friend stood up in that podium and honored her mother with a gracious and tender speech all the while holding herself together with great poise. Well done.

It’s funny what happens in the week or so leading up to Maine. I’ve noticed it before but this year more so than other years. Although Pam and I cherish nothing in the world more that the weeks we spend in Maine, we also feel this strange need to get together with people who we love before we leave. Pam has spent almost every day recently having lunch or breakfast with all of her dearest friends. We just scheduled a dinner for next Monday night with our Hope small group so we can see them all before we leave. How lucky are we to be surrounded by so many people who we love? This is what really matters, isn’t it? We won’t miss Short Pump. We won’t miss our house. We will only miss the dear people who make Short Pump and our house worth coming back to…the incredible human beings we call friends.

Reputation

No…you’re not seeing double. Yesterday I posted a photograph of this cool Father’s Day present I received from my wife. Well, thirty minutes later the doorbell rang and there were my two angel girls from next door, Sully and Kennedy along with their sweet Mom. They had a gift they wanted to give me for Father’s Day too….the exact same thing.  So now I have one for my home office and one for my work office. I also have to admit that I’m a bit concerned that I have developed such a predictable reputation in my neighborhood…slayer of squirrels and dad-joke teller.

Just Another Night at the Ballpark

Sometimes the best laid plans don’t end up turning out the way you wished. Take last night, for example. My big brother picked up a couple of Nationals tickets from a friend of his who has season tickets and was out of town. The two of us had planned to meet up at the center field gate around 5:30 for the 7 o’clock game. We were both taking the Metro to the ball park, he from Rockville, Maryland and me from Springfield,Virginia. We had both been looking forward to it for weeks and the weather turned out to be absolutely perfect. All seemed teed up for a great night.

I leave my house in Short Pump at 2:10 in the afternoon. My GPS assured me that the Springfield Metro station was a mere hour and forty minute drive. All was going swimmingly until I got onto Interstate 95 heading north…

Yes kids, that tiny green sign in the distance is the Elmont exit and this photograph was taken while sitting graveyard-dead still. Not a good sign. But, Let not your heart be troubled, I reminded myself. This is exactly why I left so early. Ignorance of 95 traffic is no excuse for anyone who lives near the thing. It is the place where travel plans go to die a painful, excruciating death. 

But eventually the traffic began to thin out, just in time for this…

Was there an accident, you ask? No. Was there road construction? No. Was there flatbed truck full of naked models pulled over on the side of the road causing a festival of rubber necking? No. So, what caused the traffic to grind to such an inexplicable halt all the way from Quantico to Springfield? I have no idea. It is a profound mystery. Nevertheless, I didn’t arrive at the Metro station until 5:12. Then, the real fun began.

I am not a city guy. The Metro is a city thing. I’m sure if I had to use it every day I would get used to it and grow to appreciate its charms. To the uninitiated, this is not charming…

Yes, it goes without saying that I missed a connection that I was supposed to make and wound up going considerably out of the way. All the while I was texting big brother with my ETA. Finally I saw the big lug standing there in his Strasberg Jersey at the centerfield gate. It was 6:15. For those of you keeping score at home, that’s four hours.

Donnie’s friend’s tickets were awesome. There was a restaurant there with tables outside…

So, the Dunnevant boys were finally together with plenty of time to spare. We ate some ballpark food, caught up a little bit and marveled at the glorious weather and the obnoxious Met Fans who had somehow gotten tickets far to close to us.

The actual game was a tight pitchers duel and the two of us had a blast providing expert analysis and color commentary to those within earshot. Through four innings it was 0-0. To change our luck, I decided to excuse myself long enough to go to the W store to buy a hat. Twenty minutes later, I returned. The score was still tied but my big brother seemed oddly quiet. By the middle of the sixth inning he informed me that he wasn’t feeling well with a look on his face that I was very familiar with. Our sainted parents bequeathed to their children many admirable traits, however, from our mother both of us inherited an unpredictable , confounding, and devilish condition that we euphemistically call stomach issues. It’s virtually impossible to predict with any certainty why or when it will strike. Lucky for both of us, it is a rarity. But when it does arrive on the scene it is almost always at the most impossible time…like the middle of the sixth inning at a baseball stadium, an hour’s metro ride away from your automobile!! I will not go into any details, but the next hour was quite the experience, involving everything from a five dollar bottle of water and botched Uber attempt to an amazingly professional ambulance crew that saved the day. My brother is fine and at home recovering from the ordeal. In the middle of all the angst and turmoil, the Nationals walked off the Mets on a run scoring single in the bottom of the ninth from Yan Gomes. We heard the roar even from the ambulance!

Of course, my night was not over because I had to once again sample the unique pleasures of 95 south. My handy GPS took me on a perilous detour at some point which was of nebulous benefit since eventually it placed me back here…

I trudged along, and trudged along and about when I was all out of trudge, I pulled into my driveway at 1:18, a full eleven hours after I left.

Just another night at the ballpark.