What a Depressing Morning

I just had one of the most disturbing thirty minutes of my news consuming life this morning. Before I share it with you I must offer a caveat. What follows is not about ideology. It’s not just another tired right vs. left thing. No, this is more a fundamental analysis of the consequences of the choices we make in a democracy.

In rapid fire succession I watched a series of videos of prominent politicians doing routine things extremely poorly.

First up was our President. There was a video of him being walked across the White House lawn by what looked to be a General, who had a firm grip on the President’s arm. He had that stumbling hesitant gate and slack jawed facial expression so familiar to me from the last months of my Dad’s life. The leader of our country is in a diminished physical state and to listen to him speak there is ample evidence that his cognitive abilities have been reduced. To see him finish a speech then wander around aimlessly on the stage having no clue what direction he should go is a sad thing to watch.

Then it was our Vice-President’s turn, she of the incoherent, word-salad speeches punctuated with awkward and inappropriate laughter. The fact that someone so unimpressive and unserious is a heartbeat away from the Presidency of a man with a limited number of heartbeats remaining is troubling, to say the very least.

Then it was a story about a Congresswoman from Colorado, one Lauren Boebert. After running for Congress as a family-values darling, she had served her husband of twenty years divorce papers. In her defense, she wouldn't be the first politician of either party to file for divorce and certainly won’t be the last. But what was disturbing about this particular story was the personal histories involved. In their twenty years together, the two of them had a rap sheet a mile long! everything from indecent exposure and public intoxication to drunk driving and destruction of public property. While I am not a resident of Colorado, I suppose its none of my business who they choose to elect but…merciful fathers, what in the hell is going on with democracy in our country when literally anyone can get themselves elected?

Then, there was video from a Senator from Pennsylvania, John Fetterman, in what was apparently the first live performance of him doing his duty post-stroke, questioning a bunch of bankers from his position on the banking over-site committee. Honestly, I couldn’t make it through the four minute video. I felt extreme pity for the man, who spoke on maybe a fifth grade level…and that’s being generous. The man is a United States Senator.

Finally, there was this…

89 year old Senator Diane Feinstein is finally back in the Senate after a three month health related absence. In an interview for Slate magazine it was abundantly clear that the Senator doesn’t even think she has been away. “Oh no…I haven’t been away. I’ve been working.” When asked by the incredulous reporter if she meant to say that she had been working from home, the Senator doubled down…”No, I’ve been here. You either know or you don’t know.”

I happen to be a man who has a deep respect and love for the elderly. I believe that they deserve our best when it comes to their care and dignity during their declining years. But that does not include the reins of power. I think that it is past time for a Constitutional Amendment that places a maximum age for service as elected officials, including the Federal bench. We need to lower the working age and raise the vitality both physical and cognitive of our elected leaders.

As far as electing unaccomplished, credential-free candidates? That’s all on us.  

What’s Happening…current-ly?

I have an appointment this afternoon with an electrophysiologist. So, yeah, I’ve got that going for me. The appointment was set almost a month ago, so the details are a bit fuzzy at this point, something having to do with the heart and its electrical system. I’m nervous even though its only a consultation. The purpose of the consultation is to determine whether I am a candidate for a procedure that involves the use of catheters…so here’s hoping that I am not. 

Meanwhile, as this appointment has gotten closer and closer I have used attempts at humor as my go-to coping mechanism. Specifically, what would be the perfect name for an electrophysiologist? So far I’ve come up with Buzz, Sparky, and Voltimore. As far as catchy descriptions for the business? How about, “map it and zap it” or “the way to a man’s heart is through his groin”. 

Attempts at very bad humor would have been a better description.

Lucy’s Birthday Present

So, a couple days ago was Lucy’s 9th birthday. It seems impossible that she’s that old. Especially when she still has the temperament of a puppy…a quite befuddled and perplexed puppy. To mark the occasion Pam came home from the grocery store with one of those bones that looks like a cow femur…

This thing still has ligaments attached and everything, and I must admit that if I were a dog I would be all over this thing like a fat kid on a box of donuts. Lucy’s initial reaction reminded us of just how strange she is. She picked the bone up and carried it around through practically every room in the house while whimpering and whining. Don’t as me why, its just something she does when we buy her something like this. Its like she feels the need to give it a tour of the house before she starts chewing. Anyway, for the past few nights she has been gnawing on this bone like nobody’s business. We first spread out a large towel on top of the rug so she doesn’t make a mess. But it isn’t long before she has shoved it towards the end of the towel. This is due to the bizarre fact that Lucy refuses to touch the bone with her paws for reasons that will never be revealed to mere humans. When this happens, she looks over at Pam and me with this huge dorky smile on her face, wagging her tail a hundred miles and hour. Clearly, she expects one of us to walk over and place the bone back in the center of the rug for her. Of course, we oblige. If we don’t she will entertain us with incessant barking. Yes, Miss Lucy is a hot mess.

So this morning, I headed upstairs after my morning routine like I always do. Once in our bedroom I first made the bed, a common occurrence. Then I jumped in the shower. By the time I finished my shower and walked back into the bedroom, Lucy had done this…

Yes, Lucy decided that her boney-bone needed a special place to hide. What better place than shoved only partially hidden amongst the pillows of our bed? I should point out that this is Pam’s side of the bed.

We gave up long ago trying to figure out what color the sky is in the world where Lucy lives. But, oh do we love that girl. 

Mouseketeers

I must confess that there are times when I can be a little…extra, and not in a good way. Take yesterday for example.

When I arrived at the office I noticed that we had finally caught the mouse we had set traps out for near the Keurig machine. I could very easily have picked up the trap and walked it out to the dumpster around the corner with no fanfare. I actually considered that option for maybe two minutes, but then I realized what a goldmine I had stumbled upon. At that point I went to work.

First, I went on a tour of the office, making special stops at the desks of Lindsey and Brenda to make sure they were aware of the catch. To say that they were not happy with this news would be to engage in a massive understatement. Several curse words and physical threats were hurled my way. Talk about shooting the messenger??!!

The next step was to take a couple mouse selfies…

Then it was time to put our high dollar digital printer to work. The resulting 8x10 portraits made for the perfect surprise gifts for the ladies at various locations around the office throughout the rest of the day.

Out of an abundance of caution I have decided to take a personal day…

Naming The Trip

As of this morning at 10:00 am, our 2023 Maine itinerary has been finalized. We already had secured the six week summer leg months ago, but this morning closed the deal on the three week Fall adventure. Here’s the plan…

We will arrive on gorgeous Quantabacook Lake on the 30th of June where we will spend two weeks at the lovely Summer Dreams:

Then, on the morning of 14th of July I will paddle all of our boats and gear south along the shoreline to our single favorite Maine cabin of all time, the unprecedented, never to be duplicated, Loon Landing:

Four weeks later we will be forced to pack everything up and head back to Short Pump, where I will be expected to work for a mere six weeks before we do it all over again. We will arrive at a new cabin (for us) called Vacationland:

We will be staying at this beauty for three weeks, from September 23rd until October 14th. This place is on a body of water we last stayed on in 2016 called Hobbs Pond.

So, there you have it. In case you’re keeping score at home that would be 9 weeks in Maine for the Dunnevant’s in 2023. Just in case you’re thinking that this seems a bit excessive, you are probably right. The only good thing I have to say about the amount of money this obsession is costing me, it is still cheaper than buying a place, and until the ridiculously inflated real estate valuations up here come back to earth, this will be an every year thing. At the end of the day, its only money. What good is money if it can’t be used to purchase joy? 

The only job left now is naming the trip. Pam has taken to naming each of these jaunts to Maine. In 2020 she named our fall trip the Loon Landing Leaf Peepers. In 2021 it was the Quantabacook Quintuple, while 2022 turned out to be known as Six Loon Summer. Her excuse is that she needs a name for the shared picture albums that she creates to hold the thousand photographs we take. I’ve come up with all kinds of suggestions over the years but she rejects them all…Catching Fish and Bouncing Checks, Recklessly Spending the Kid’s Inheritance, and my personal favorite…Pretending That Lucy is a Grandchild. 

“What is man that you are mindful of him…?”

I have always loved this photograph. It was taken in July of 2018 at Pemaquid Point Lighthouse on the Coast of Maine. It does a nice job of capturing the feel of this special place. You see the vegetation in the foreground, the great expanse of rock and the churning azure water. But what makes this particular shot so special is that man standing on the edge of the rocks on the far left. At first glance you might have missed him but without him its just another picture of The Point. With him, you realize how immense this majestic place really is, and just how small and insignificant is man.

The Psalmist asked the question of God, “What is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?” Good question. When I read news stories about men who shoot their neighbors in the head for running a leaf blower, it’s tempting to answer the question with, “Man is a piece of shit.” But we are more than just the worst among us. Each and everyone of us is much more than the worst mistake we’ve ever made. We are all mixed bags of wretchedness and nobility. Still, when contemplating the size and complexity of the world along with our smallness its hard to find your place. The poets tell us that we are nothing more than a mist, a vapor, and our life nothing more than a breath. This photograph would appear to be Exhibit A in this regard.

But my faith teaches me that there is something unique about human beings that separates us from all of the universe…we were created in the image of God and each of us has a living soul. We have intrinsic value. We are not lichen or rock or tree. Much more is expected of us, much more than killing each other because we ring the doorbell of the wrong house.

When I was younger I had a hard time finding my place in the world. I struggled to find an answer to the What’s the meaning of life question. Becoming a father is what caused the universe to make sense for me. From that point forward I knew exactly what the meaning of life was, to nurture these little creatures into loving, caring, contributing adults. But in doing so I discovered other purposes for my existence. It wasn’t enough for me to care only about my own children. I needed to help others with their children because I needed their help with mine. That meant that I needed to care about their schools. I needed to pay attention to the neighborhood. I needed to start helping out with Little League and volunteering at church. I discovered that life is not and was never meant to be a spectator sport. The one thing that needed to be guarded at all cost was the dignity of each and every human life. If everyone I meet bears the image of God, I can do no less.

Some years I have been better at this than others. Occasionally I have fallen into selfishness, turned a blind eye to suffering and even injustice because I was too busy protecting what was mine. Other times I have been overcome with the scope and scale of evil in the world, and turned inward, reasoning that the pathologies running rampant in the world were too much for one person to solve. But hope is far too valuable a thing to discard. Even if we can only save one from drowning, we must leap in the water, even if that water, like the beautiful ocean off Pemaquid Point seems too much.

Life Was Easier When it Was Harder

Like most people I have a smart phone. This one has a smart calendar which displays itself towards the end of one month and the beginning of the next month. Yesterday, for example, I was informed that the month of May is LBGTQ+ month. I had no idea that was even a thing. I am up to speed on what each initial stands for but not sure what the plus sign represents, however I am 100% certain that I will be informed over the next 31 days of relentless awareness-building. But this was not the only surprising thing I learned about the month of May. I was reminded that my two kids both have birthdays in May…and they will both be squarely in their mid-30’s. How, in the name of all that is holy, did this happen?

 

It feels like only a couple of weeks ago when they were in Little League, just a few days ago we were moving them into dorm rooms, and fifteen minutes ago when they got married. Time flies when you’re living life.

Last night we brought dinner over my in-laws to celebrate my father-in-law’s 86th birthday. After dinner we sat around talking and I asked him some questions about his life. Its something I learned when we were caring for dad after Mom passed away. There is a world of wisdom swimming around inside our parent’s heads. It serves us well to mine it well while we still have the chance. Anyway, I pointed out that he had lived through almost nine decades on this Earth. I asked him which decade of his life was his favorite, and which one was the most difficult. His answers were quite instructive.

For the best decade he picked the years when he was in his late 40’s and early 50’s. He had hit his stride in his career, able to provide for his family, and his three girls were in middle and high school. His every spare moment was taken up with a series of volunteer positions at his church, which included everything from grown-up adult committee assignments, to bringing to life the unforgettable Mario Pepperoni character when he worked in the Youth department. I found it interesting that his favorite memories of life came from a time when he was the busiest.

But when I asked him about the hardest decade he said something especially wise, “I don’t really remember having a hard decade.”

Its funny. I asked my own Dad that same question late one night when he was in the hospital a year or so before he passed away and got virtually the same answer. His favorite decade turned out to be the years when he was working graveyard shifts and attending college and seminary while trying to raise four kids—in other words, the most insane and chaotic time of his life. When I asked him about the hardest decade I thought he would say when he was serving in WWII in the South Pacific in 120 degree heat, but no. I got the same words…I didn’t really have any hard decades, just different.

What about me? What about you?

The only thing I’m sure about is that life seemed easier for me when it was…harder. When you’re busy trying to make ends meet you don’t have time to sit around gazing at your navel, thinking things to death. You don’t have the luxury of introspection. You ponder less, do more. 

There’s a lesson in there somewhere.