Reflections From the Wee Hours

I am currently having difficulty sleeping. This week I have woken up at some bizarre times, 3:45, 4:00, 4:45 etc…It’s nothing that I haven’t experienced before but its been a while. I have no trouble at all falling to sleep, usually between 10:00 and 11:00, but I don’t stay asleep for long. I’ll open my eyes randomly and glance at the digital clock across the room which is blurry since I’m not wearing my contacts. I squint and see that its 1:45 or 2:30. Then I drift off again until the next time I wake up and can’t go back to sleep, this time around 2 hours later than the first.

While I am asleep I dream, big, lush, expansive dreams. These are big productions, the kind of dreams that back in the day would have gotten some magician in King Nebuchadnezzar’s court killed. I remember every detail when I wake up the first time and have to lay there for a minute to assure myself that it was, in fact, a dream and I am not playing a round of golf at Augusta National with Tiger Woods, Big Papi, and David Dwight—wearing overalls. 

Most of the dreams are of the nonsensical farce variety, but some have been dark and disturbing, placing me in several dangerous and compromising situations out of which I am desperately trying to escape. We’ve all had these sort of dreams and we wake up from them trying to figure out what they could possibly mean. It is a pointless exercise. It was probably just something we ate. Nevertheless, it is no fun going through a week of dreamscapes.

Speaking of something I ate, last night an aroma coming from the kitchen was so provocative that I left my reading chair upstairs to investigate. There in the kitchen I found my wife experimenting with a new recipe which featured—Italian Sausage. You will notice that I have capitalized the word Sausage out of respect, since it is the one thing I always look for in the description of any dish on any menu at any restaurant. It is also one of the few aromas that can get me out of my reading chair…

I know what some of you are thinking…”Well Doug, there’s your dreaming problem right there!”…to which my response is, “I don’t care.” If sleeping better means I have to give up Italian Sausage, that’s a hard pass. Eating well is one of the genuine joys of life. Sleeping is not.

Speaking of joys of life, ( yes…my writing after a week of this is stream of unconsciousness), this morning when I opened my iPad there was an email from my church sent from Meg Carroll. I have no idea who this woman is, although I have probably seen her around. She is the Outreach Coordinator, it says underneath her byline. Anyway the reflections found in her email were so beautifully written and wise, I once again marveled at the length and depth of the bench at Hope Church. The staff at the place is crawling with smart and thoughtful people, all of whom are luckily given the chance to share their thoughts with us through these weekly emails. They have been a consistent blessing to me. Well done, Meg Carroll.

The Third Column

The conflict in Ukraine which began a month ago when Russian troops invaded that sovereign nation has now entered a dangerous new phase…

News of the war has now been regulated to the dreaded third column on DRUDGE. The famous news aggregator, like all other news organizations, is in the eyeball business, and has made the decision that the American people are no longer interested in the story. It’s back to the travails of the former President. Once again the famously short American attention span strikes.

Soon, news of the war, the plight of innocent civilians, videos of the plucky Zelensky will drift down further to the lower regions of the third column until finally they vanish altogether. This is a fact of life in the 24/7 news saturated digital age. The minute we are no longer shocked, horrified, or titillated by a story  we move on.

Meanwhile in Ukraine, the Russian army is still bogged down, having been held at bay by heroic resistance and exposed as a paper tiger. In response they have lashed out with the wholesale slaughter of civilian infrastructure while one after another of Vladimir Putin’s top advisors disappear into the ether. The world waits to see what will happen to Mad Vlad as he is nudged further and further into a geopolitical corner. As the brave Ukraine people suffer from hunger, depravations and death, we Americans are cheered by the prospect that our government is contemplating sending us a brand new round of stimulus checks to help us cope with the temporarily higher price of gas…

A Parable

In a village there lived a man who enjoyed favor among the brethren round about him. And it came to pass that when, after the passage of time he turned 3 score in years and behold, he stepped on the scales and became vexed at the number that did display itself thereon, 200 talents. The man tore his garments, put on sackcloth and sat in ashes for a fortnight. After much time spent in weeping and gnashing of teeth the man besought many healers and diviners throughout the Kingdom but found no remedy for his affliction. 

And it came to pass that the man set forth on a regimen of eating only food which had not been defiled by sugar and other impurities common in the land of the Fatstines and the Cholesterolites. And lo, it came to pass that the man began to drink much water and exert great effort in the lifting and moving of stones. Soon the neighbors in the village began to see the man laboring vainly day after day pacing about in great haste upon every road and path throughout the town and great was the laboring therewith. There arose then a murmuring among the people saying, “Wherefore doth our brother so vainly toil in our streets? For behold it appeareth that he cometh near to death during his daily vexations.” Many of them began to beseech the authorities both in heaven and on earth because of his peculiar habits. Still, the man persisteth in his habits until lo, three months had passed. Once again he visiteth the scales upon which he had stepped before, hoping that a new number would appear. Great was his confidence in the righteousness of the course he had taken, when behold, indeed a new number did appear…201 talents. The man’s countenance fell and great was the fall of it.

The man then straightaway sat out to find an answer through great learning. He read both ancient parchments and the newest scrolls from learned men and women throughout the kingdom when Lo, out of the east there shown a great light. A vision appeared to him and he was sore afraid. But a voice was heard coming from the great light saying, “Why fighteth thou so against the number which appeareth on thy scale? Knoweth not that once thou turneth 3 score years, in vain wilt thou lift stones and hasten through the streets, and deny thyself savory food to eat and fine wine to drink? Be still and cease with thy useless toil, and turn your eyes upon the fatted calf.”

Then behold the man discerneth that the vision was of the devil and straightway rose to his feet and with a loud cry spake into the midst of the light, “get thee behind me, Satan!”

Verily, the man vowed to redouble his efforts thinking that perhaps if he cutteth out the noontime raisin cakes, the thrice again visitations to the bread and honey bowl at the evening meal he would yet triumph.

Hope springeth eternal.

Forget March Madness…Here’s My Basketball Experience

Ok, this is the sort of thing that happens to you when you reach the point where your emotional age lags too far behind your physical age. Yesterday I had finished up a relaxing afternoon of yard work when I heard the sound of basketballs on the pavement next door. Sure enough, all three Garland pups were out there shooting hoops. So, I think to myself, I know what I’ll do…I’ll go over there and play with them for a while. When I arrived, there they were, each kid with their own specially sized ball, having a good old time. I made eye contact with Cash—the oldest—and he immediately hit me with a perfect bounce pass and I promptly shot an air ball from the top of the key. In my defense, I hadn’t shot a basketball since the first year of the Trump administration, so I was rusty.

But soon I started hitting my stride and made a few shots. It was great fun, especially when I managed to sink a nice fade away jumper from 15 feet despite being hammered mercilessly with a pool noodle by Sully—the youngest. It was about this time when one of my mother’s most famous lines flashed through my mind—It’s all fun and games until somebody puts an eye out! I had just been fed a beautiful pass in the corner by Kennedy—the adorable middle child— when I had the ridiculous notion that I would step back to make the shot I was about to make a “three pointer” The next thing I know I am ass-over-tea-kettles head first in the mulch after careening over a very large tree trunk log. The kids stopped and looked at me with very concerned expressions—“You ok Mister Doug?”

As is often the case after such asshattery, I sprang up like I had actually meant to nearly kill myself, and assured them all that I was fine. I was, I convinced myself, fine that is, or at least I hoped so. I could feel something happening with my left leg and my right knee, but I continued on in our lively shoot around. Then their Dad, Stu walked up and started telling me about how much progress Cash had been making with his game. He didn’t need to tell me. I could see that the kid could shoot. He sunk a couple of long baseline jumpers. I was very impressed. But in all that time, I never checked on any of the spots on my nearly 64 year old body that were now starting to hurt. The reasons for this trace back to a coach I had way back in my childhood who advised all of his little charges to never touch the place where you get hit by a pitch. Just run down to first base like nothing ever happened. I came through youth sports in the rub a little dirt on it phase of trainers and it has stuck with me ever since. 

Anyway, I get home and took a quick inventory. Left leg abrasion bleeding with two long folds of scraped off skin flapping in the breeze. Two contusions on right knee. Three large dirt stains on my freshly laundered shorts. But all things considered, not too bad. But then a couple hours later after dinner I lowered myself onto the living room floor to play with Lucy when I noticed a sharp pain coming from my ribs as soon as I landed on my stomach. Getting off the floor proved far more difficult than getting on it had been. When I made it into the bathroom I raised my shirt and noticed a six inch thin red line across my lungs where apparently my chest had impacted the aforementioned tree trunk log. Just a couple of bruised ribs, I’m thinking.

This is the sort of thing that happens to me more often than it should. I can’t explain it other than assigning some sort of  poor decision-making gene I inherited from one of the more challenged wings of my vast and storied family tree. Nevertheless, I can’t promise it won’t happen again. With age has not come the much ballyhooed wisdom. In my case I’m just as reckless as I’ve always been. Pray for Pam…

The Courageous vs. the Pathetic

You have no doubt noticed that I seem obsessed with the war in Ukraine. Since Russia launched its special military operation half of my posts have been about the war. Well, I am obsessed with it. I find it difficult to turn away from the suffering of innocents. What’s happening in Ukraine is having repercussions on financial markets all over the world including ours which means that its also having an impact on my client’s accounts—and my own. So, I suppose its hard to concentrate on anything else at the moment.

My sister sent me an article this morning about this girl…

This is Eva Ivanova. She is 18 years old and was recently arrested in St. Petersburg for protesting against the war. In custody, she was presented with a document admitting her guilt and asked to sign it…

“I’m not signing it, because I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. They got crazy. They tried to scare me with ‘Yeah, 20 years in jail!’ But, that wasn’t the worst part. You know, they can change your mind. They say something, and you start to doubt: Maybe they are right. I saw people get broken….I don’t think a protest can stop a ‘special military operation’ But I believe that that’s how we can show our protest and our respect to Ukrainian people. Furthermore, I want people from other countries to see that our government is not us. Russian people is not Russian government.”

The reporter then asked her, “Are you at all worried about showing your face on television?”

She answered, “A little bit. But I want people to see that I’m a good person, and that I have faith, I have voice, and I want that voice to be heard.”

18 years old.

Meanwhile, the armies from her country are losing the war. I’m no military expert but I have eyes and I can see that the Russian army has been within fifteen miles of Kyiv for almost two weeks and have made virtually no progress. I can also see that the entire operation has devolved into indiscriminate bombing of civilian infrastructure that has no strategic value. These are the actions of a desperate army that simply has no other viable options. The Ukrainian army and people are making a historically heroic stand, and all of us are seeing it for ourselves.

Then, there’s this…

While courage and bravery are on display everywhere you look in Eastern Europe, western Europe’s most famous country is reminding us all why we so despise the political class. What a pathetic display. Dude, you can wear all the hoodies and jeans you want. You can let your hair go unbrushed, let your beard go to stubble all day long…but nothing will ever change the fact that you are French, a cheese-eating surrender monkey. Put your $4000 Italian suit back on, tough guy.

A Note For My Future Self

The average life span of humans is made up of 80 years, give or take. That means that each of us are presented with roughly 29,000 days to live. That’s a lot of days….but, is it? First of all, you should probably throw out the first four or five years since you were too young to have developed any memory of them. Second, the average human being who lives 80 years spends over 200,000 hours asleep. If you’re doing the math, that’s roughly the equivalent of 8,500 days. So, what we really have is 19,000 days worth of being awake and aware. Everyone experiences a handful of truly memorable days throughout their lives, like Christmas, important birthdays and anniversaries, the birth of a child or grandchild, etc. But most of those 19,000 days can hardly be distinguished one from another. Or at least at first glance. Yesterday was an example of one such day. It was completely ordinary, as far removed from special as it possibly could be. But something tells me that when I’m 80 and barely able to get dressed in the morning I might look back on it and wish I could live it over again. But, since it was so ordinary, if I don’t write a record of what happened it will just fade into the mist of memory and never be recalled again, as if it never even happened. Consequently, I have decided to make this permanent record for my future octogenarian self to read about and hopefully recall with fondness.

6:30 I woke up to that wonderful feeling you get when you realize that the upset stomach you went to bed with the previous night has disappeared. Then I realized that Lucy was sound asleep squeezed snuggly between Pam’s head and mine. This could only mean that there must have been a thunderstorm during the night. Whenever that happens she jams her head under our pillows until her nose reaches the headboard, then begins trembling, turning our bed into a vibrating massage table. The odd thing was that usually once the storm passes, she hops down. Not this time. 

7:30 Pam is planning a birthday outing for her Mom and sisters today which involves lunch at Tarrant’s West, then some sort of craft show, then presents and cupcakes with tea back here at the house. That means that last night she made a batch of strawberry cupcakes that were waiting for me in the kitchen. I had one with my coffee while I read of the latest horror out of Ukraine.

12:00 For lunch I decided on Mezah, a little Mediterranean version of Chipotle here in Short Pump. I go there every time I want to feel like eating something fresh and healthy. For the first time ever, I didn’t finish. Apparently my stomach issues are still with me. Maybe, given all the tumult in the world lately I am developing a nervous stomach. Wonderful.

Time unknown: I notice that my right eye has started tearing up and will not stop. All day, it is running. So I carry a tissue around in my pocket. I remove my right contact early in the day and use some allergy drops, to no avail. It will be a constant irritant that lasts all day.

1:30- 2:30 I enjoy a nap.

2:30 I wake up from my nap and notice that it has started snowing hard outside. I worry about Pam and all her crew out in the east end driving in the mess. I leave to drive over to Hope Thrift for my 3:00 to 5:30 Saturday shift. On my way over, I take a picture of the March snow:

2:45 Since it’s snowing, windy and cold, I decide to stop by Dunkin and get the volunteer crew at Thrift something yummy. Eight medium Dunkincinnos should do quite nicely.

3:30 The higher ups at Hope Thrift have made the executive decision to close the store early at 4:00. But that still gave me time to make lots of trips out back to the dumpsters. These trips featured high winds, freezing cold windchills and horizontal snow pelting the face. But one particular trip redeemed the otherwise unpleasant experience. There was a collection of plates, saucers and cups that hadn’t sold and needed to be thrown out. I spent five minutes or so slinging each delicate piece violently against the back wall of the metal dumpster wall smashing each into a million pieces and enjoying that sensationally satisfying sound of breaking glass ringing in my ears.

6:00 Pam made it home safe and sound and had a fun time with the girls. I had cleaned up the kitchen from how they had left it but in so doing had thrown out a container of milk that shouldn’t have been thrown out. Good intentions, bad execution.

7:00 By this time I was getting hungry, since I hadn’t finished my lunch. We decided to order pizza from Leonardos. I ate six pieces of a smallish pizza and sprinkled each with crushed red pepper. Pam looks at me with that look she gets when I do something that puzzles her. “If your stomach has been bothering you, why on earth would you eat six pieces of greasy pizza and cover it with red pepper flakes??” I had no rational answer for her. But, I didn’t get sick either, so I was right.

7:15- 8:30 Pam and I enjoyed two episodes of the most well-written, best acted television show available these days..The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. It was delightful.

9:00 Watched a little basketball. Worked a little bit on novel number four, then settled in with my 90 day reading through the Bible thing. (I’m five days ahead!)

As I’m sure you have noticed, there is nothing at all special or memorable about this day, Saturday March 12, 2022. But on the other hand, it was a good day. It was a day that reminds you that the majority of life is lived in the ordinary. Sometimes, the ordinary brings a sense of gratitude. So, you write it down for your future self to recall.

You’re Welcome

https://www.reddit.com/r/MadeMeSmile/comments/tavs0v/these_dogs_running_to_the_play_yard_wait_for_the/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf

Yesterday morning, my daughter-in-law sent me the above link. I had just spent twenty minutes combing over the depressing news from Ukraine and had settled in to a predictable funk over man’s inhumanity to man, when I noticed it on my phone. It is not an exaggeration to say that it totally saved my day. I attach it here in the hopes that some of you will watch at and have your day redeemed as well.

I am convinced now more than ever that dogs are God’s intentional gift to all humankind. He knew how hard life would be. He understood full well how overwhelming it can be some days. So, he made dogs and offered them to us free of charge so we could watch them and learn how to live well. 

When I arrived at the office, the mood was anxious, as it has been ever since the Russian invasion of Ukraine. I immediately went to work playing this video for everyone. It transformed the place in an instant. Everyone was laughing and smiling. One viewing wasn’t enough. Everyone wanted to see it again. I think you will too. The spaniel who takes the tumble towards the end is so positively perfect, words fail me. 

You’re welcome and have a wonderful day.