The Very Bottom of the Dad Joke Barrel

For her birthday, I took my wife to an orchard and we stood there looking at the trees for half an hour.

…not the Apple Watch she had in mind apparently.

I quit my job as a personal trainer because the weights were too heavy.

I just handed in my too weak notice…

Know why the Jedi don’t have a navy?

Because sailing is a path to the dockside…

What did the digital clock say to the grandfather clock?

“Look Grandpa, no hands!!”

What do you call a crowd of chess players bragging about their wins in a hotel lobby?

Chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.

I had to call the IT guy at work because of a tech issue on my laptop. He says, “Have you tried disabling cookies?”

I said, “Well, there was that one time when I bit the legs off a gingerbread man…”

“I wonder when they close?”

It is currently 7:16 pm eastern time on Monday evening, August the 2nd. My wife just announced that dinner would have to wait until she returned from her evening sunset paddle. She gave me vague background on what she intends to fix, clearly hoping that I would summon some initiative if she is gone more than an hour. I am ambivalent on the subject, my initiative gene having disappeared since the kids left. Pam isn’t much better. We have basically been flying by the seat of our pants with no plan whatsoever. Last night, for example, we were enjoying our dinner out on the screened in porch when suddenly Pam brought up the subject of ice cream, in particular, the hand made variety served up at the Wild Cow Creamery in Belfast which we had discovered mere days ago during an excursion with our kids. Since Pam’s iPad was on the table, (don’t judge us), she pulled up their website and began regaling me with tales of their ice cream creation process, what with its small batch, all natural, home made, ethically sourced, free range etc etc etc…I made the mistake of saying…to no one really, “ I wonder when they close?”

The website said 8:00 pm. It was 7:30. It’s a twenty minute drive. It was then that my wife shot me a dangerous expression, as if she was planning a raucous march through the Seven Deadly sins. Before I knew what was happening, she was literally stuffing a bite of her half finished hamburger into her mouth while getting up from the table, “You get the keys and your wallet, I’ll grab a jacket.”

Anyone who knows Pam knows that she is the sort of woman who always looks completely put together even if its just a quick trip to the grocery store. But there she was, no purse, no make-up…no problem. “Floor it, we only have 25 minutes!”

When this woman gets it into her head that its time for ice cream, I am here to tell you that it is time for Ice Cream. I put the dog-tired Hyundai Santa Fe through her paces and we made it with 8 minutes to spare…

Of course, the down side of all this hand made natural crap is that they only sell whatever they have made that day! So, all the flavors we were salivating over scrolling through their webpage weren’t on the menu. We had to chose between a variety of eclectic offerings…

The long line began to creep forward. The pressure started to mount. You get one shot at this thing, you can’t choke when it’s your turn. After nearly 25 minutes of soul-searching and self evaluation…we were up. Pam ordered…

“I’ll take the Cosmic C3 in a sugar cone, and my husband will have two scoops of the Pecan Turtle.”

It was done. We would have to live with our choices. The anticipation was borderline manic. Finally we were handed our ice cream. Since we were parked illegally, (sadly, not one of the seven deadly sins), we felt it wise to eat it in the car so we could make a hasty getaway should any of Belfast’ finest show up. My ice cream was delicious beyond my powers of description. Pam loved hers so much she almost choked on it. Seriously, the poor girl inhaled a fleck of coconut down the wrong tube and proceeded to cough her head off for 15 minutes, complete with tears. But, my wife is a gamer. In between coughing jags she quickly licked her cone, not letting a single drop go to waste. Thats what the great ones always do…overcome adversity. She could easily have given up on her ice cream and concentrated all of her energy on like…breathing, but no way. This was home made, small batch organic ice cream we’re talking about. She wasn’t going to let something as mundane as choking stop her from enjoying every bite. 

That’s why she’s the champ, ladies and gentlemen.

What to do About the Delta Variant

One of the best things about being in Maine for five weeks is the escape it provides from the ubiquitous news cycle. I’ve read exactly one newspaper since I’ve been here, a rollicking publication called The Camden Herald, which has been keeping Mid-Coasters up to date on tide charts and the quality and quantity of the lobster harvest for 150 years now. But, other than local gossip, there’s no real news, which is exactly how I like it. There are televisions in this house, but they haven’t been turned on. The only thing we listen to on the car radio is a country music station ominously called The Bear. Of course, we still have the internet, so I do have access to the news, I’ve just chosen not to go there.

…Until this morning.

It appears that the COVID-19 sequel…the Delta Variant…is in all the theaters now and is getting decidedly mixed reviews. There’s talk of reinstating mask requirements, demanding vaccination passports, the return of social distancing, etc. along with the predictable blowback this talk was bound to generate. After reading a couple of summaries of the business from relatively reliable sources, I began searching for the views of several smart voices I normally read during confusing times. One of those is Andrew Sullivan, which for me is an admittedly odd pairing. I disagree with a lot of what he writes. He’s a gay, liberal who worships the ground that Barack Obama walks on. But, he is one helluva fine writer and can be depending upon to make me think. Anyway, I found a piece he wrote about all of this and in it was what follows. These couple of paragraphs perfectly reflect my thinking as of this hour:

“We are at a stage in this pandemic when we are trying to persuade the hold-outs — disproportionately white Republicans/evangelicals and urban African-Americans — to get vaccinated. How do we best do this? Endless, condescending nagging won’t help. Coercion is not an option in a free country. Since the vaccinated appear to be able to transmit the virus as well, vaccine passports lose their power to remove all risk. Forcing all the responsible people to go back to constraining their everyday lives for the sake of the vaccine-averse is both unfair and actually weakens the incentive to get a vaccine, because it lowers the general risk of getting it in the broader society. 

So the obviously correct public policy is to let mounting sickness and rising deaths concentrate the minds of the recalcitrant. Let reality persuade the delusional and deranged. It has a pretty solid record of doing just that.

The government cannot be held responsible for sickness and death it has already provided the means to avoid. People are responsible for their own lives. The government can do some things — like making vaccination mandatory for federal workers and contractors, and especially in the military as George Washington did in the Revolutionary War for smallpox. It could offer money — or entry into a lottery, as many states are doing. All good. But the most potent incentive for vaccination is, to be brutally frank, a sharp rise in mortality rates. The more people who know someone who has suffered and died the likelier they will see the logic of taking measures to avoid the same fate. In other words: if people recklessly refuse to face reality, call their bluff.

Those who live in denial, who have somehow convinced themselves that the virus is a hoax or a deep-state plot or a function of white supremacy or whatever, will experience what everyone in denial eventually experiences: reality. And reality is the most tenacious influencer I know.”

So, there you have it, my first and last serious take on the news since I have been in the great State of Maine.

Have a glorious Sunday, everyone.

Crushing News for Nats Fans

Two years ago the Washington Nationals were the world champions of baseball. This morning, they are a triple AAA team. Fame is fleeting.

Baseball, like all other sports, is a business and as such must be run with an eye towards the future, not just the present. I understand and fully accept this fact. This year’s team is eight games under .500 and going nowhere. So management decided on a fire sale. Overnight, they traded away their best starting pitcher and future Hall of Farmer, Max Scherzer. Then they traded away their two best relief pitchers, Daniel Hudson and Brad Hand. But they were just getting warmed up. Next on the block was Kyle Schwarber, a fan favorite who earlier this year went on a home run hitting streak that was one of the most prolific of all time. But the last trade is the one that has National’s fans crying in their beer. Trea Turner has been the most consistent player on this team for the past three years and one of the best 15 or so players in all of baseball, and unlike some of these other guys who got traded, he’s young. He is on a Hall of Fame pace through the first seven years of his career. Now, he’s gone.

I wonder what Juan Soto is thinking this morning? Poor guy wakes up and learns that all the best players on his team are gone and he’s left surrounded by a bunch of stiffs. 

But, what did the Nationals get in return for all this talent they dealt away? One word…prospects. Mostly a bunch of guys you’ve never heard of, primarily because most of them have yet to play a single game in the big leagues. 

So, was this trading frenzy a good or bad move? Too early to yell. Right now, it means that the Nationals are going to be God awful for the next couple of years. But if this batch of prospects pans out, we might look back on it later and call Mike Rizzo a genius. Still…its going to be painful to watch the Dodgers win the World Series this year with Max Scherzer and Trea Turner in their starting lineup. 

Go Sox!!!

The Excursion

Finally got to go on the Puffin Cruise after the fog had cancelled us the previous day. This time it was beautiful…

We left from the adorable village of Port Clyde awash in sparkling sunshine. Soon, we were out in Penobscot Bay on the Atlantic Ocean surrounded by what seemed like a thousand little islands like this one, Franklin Island…

This particular lighthouse was commissioned by none other than Thomas Jefferson when he was President. It’s still in service.

We were curious why our vessel, the LauraB flew this flag…

Our very cool tour guide informed us that this flag can only be flown on boats that have seen military action. Turns out that the LauraB first served in the U.S. Navy in the Solomon Islands during WWII, at which time it sported two machine guns and a cannon!

Jon, naturally was in his element, since the ostensible purpose of this voyage was to spot the elusive Puffin, which we did, but with no definitive photographic evidence, you’ll just have to take my word for it. We did see several eagles…

Of course, no vacation excursion would be complete without my daughter taking the most unflattering picture of her father…

Looks like somebody needs to lay off the whoopie pies…Thanks for the reminder, Kaitlin!!

A Disturbing Reminder

Two of my kids are now back home. Patrick and Sarah made it safely back to Nashville yesterday, ending their time with us. Kaitlin and Jon will be here through Wednesday, then it will Pam and me for another week or so. Amazing how fast time passes up here. Today was supposed to be a complete washout but woke up to calm water and patchy sunshine, so I hopped in the kayak and paddled over to the next cove where I caught five beautiful bass in a matter of minutes. The mist was still roiling across the lake when I arrived back at the dock. By then it had started to rain, more like a soft, polite drizzle. Kaitlin and Pam decided that a trip into Camden for a clam chowder lunch at The Deli was essential to our happiness and well being. Mine came with a Reuben sandwich and one of those delightfully intense dill pickles. By the time we finished lunch, the rain had become real, coming down steadily while the high temperature hovered in the low 60’s.

While the rest of my family wandered off for pointless browsing in the many lovely shops on Elm street, I stepped into The Smiling Cow on a mission from God. Every year, I buy gifts for all of the ladies at the office, those poor souls who are forced to put up with my workplace harassment and high-jinks all year. I partially make it up to them by bringing them treats from Maine. They receive them with a very high level of entitlement, figuring that it’s the very least I could do.

Then there’s the matter of the sweet pups who live next door to us back home, the three Garland kids, Cash, Kennedy, and Sully. These wonderful kids have served as my grandparent-training guinea pigs, which means I get to spoil them with treats from Maine too. Their long-suffering parents go along with this spoiling for the most part, although I thought I detected an eye-roll from Jamie last year when I bought Cash a cool pirate knife with a disappearing blade and a collection of practical joke tricks he could use to terrorize his sisters. So, this year I scaled back the asshattery a bit, going with slightly more educational gifts. I hope they aren’t totally crushed.

Anyway, the point of this blog was to tell you about a disturbing message I received from my son this afternoon that actually sent a brief wave of nausea sweeping over me. He sent me this…

We might have two more weeks left up here but we are under no illusions about what awaits us back in Short Pump. This screenshot served as a disturbing reminder. Nevertheless, going home isn’t all bad. Take a look at my Grandpup, Frisco. Somebody missed his Mama!!

Wonder

It was around 7:00 in the evening. Patrick and Sarah were rattling around in the kitchen preparing dinner. Pam was in the shower. Jon was getting a fire ready for later while Kaitlin was sitting on the dock reading a book. I was in the living room reading book number four of this trip, when I got to the end of a chapter and thought to make myself a cup of coffee. As I got up I glanced through the big windows that face the lake and noticed a bright splash of color in a straight line across the surface of the water that seemed to be pointing straight at Kaitlin. It stopped me in my tracks. “Look at that on the water…what the heck?” Then I noticed Jon hustling down the path towards the dock. I thought to open the door to our bathroom to tell Pam that she might want to take a look. Then I too ran down the path until I realized that what I was seeing from the upstairs of the house was a reflection of the thing and not the thing itself…

Soon, all of us were on the dock, faces aglow with wonder, snapping photographs which were destined to disappoint. In a particularly delightful moment, my wife appeared, her hair bound up in a turban, having stepped out of the shower, camera in hand, determined not to miss the experience. Dinner would have to wait. next thing I know, Pam and Kaitlin were off chasing another sunset…

It’s very easy to romanticize our memories. Fond memories can easily become myths with the passage of time. How many of us have had warm memories of some childhood experience that when revisited 40 years later disappoints? But this rainbow is exactly the kind of thing that always seems to happen up here. Each new day up here brings to life the dormant capacity for wonder that is cooked into our DNA as human beings, but is largely neutralized by the relentless slog of our routines. Quantabacook inspires wonder like no place else for me. It reminds me that the world is a beautiful place. Up here, beauty isn’t an abstraction, its the air you breathe.

After we finally finished dinner around 9 o’clock, we gathered around the fire, mesmerized…