Where Are All of These People Going?

Yesterday morning I left the house around 8:30 on one of my inexplicable pedestrian quests. This time the goal was to walk farther than I had ever walked before, return home without broken bones or other medical issues, then brag about the accomplishment the rest of the day. Two hours and six minutes later I did just that. Having wandered a circuitous 8.2 mile route around greater Short Pump. The goal will now be to complete the same circuit in a better time than 2:06:42. Even I am starting to think this is stupid. (See ridiculous map at the bottom of this blog)

After a delicious lunch at Tazza kitchen with Pam, I was looking forward to a long afternoon nap with Lucy. But then Pam announced that there was a cool thing happening at Bryan Park that she wanted to check out, something having to do with the Richmond Symphony and quintettes. Before I knew what was happening, Chip and Lynn Hewette were in the back seat of my car and we were on our way to a park I hadn’t visited since I was in my 20’s.

Where in the heck are all theses people going? Apparently, there is an appetite for classically trained musicians who are willing to perform under little tents spread out along a one mile trail in the woods. First up was a brass group, then woodwinds, then strings etc..

Each stop along this walk was a delight. There was classical music, some American standards, and even a Beatles song in the mix. All free of charge.

The only drawback was the fact that it was the hottest day of the year. Consequently, shady spots to stand or sit were at a premium. We found ourselves hustling along to the next tent before each mini-concert was over to find a spot. But other than that it was a fun afternoon. Bryan Park wasn’t anywhere close to how I remembered it. Of course, my memories are 40 years old and most likely unreliable.

Now its Sunday morning and time for church. David is preaching, I know because this week it was my turn to prepare the discussion guide. Its an interesting topic that was challenging for me for a variety of reasons. Can’t wait to see how he delivers this one. If you are a member of Hope Church and reading this in your pajamas debating whether or not to come or watch it on livestream, take a shower, get dressed and stop doing that…forsaking the gathering together…thing!!

*ridiculous map

Three Thoughts From This Memorial Day Weekend

Notes on this Memorial Day weekend:

- Yesterday morning I headed out for another long walk. While still within the confines of my neighborhood I came upon an inspiring sight. There was a young father pushing a stroller. There was a boy in the stroller maybe 2 or 3 years old with a death grip on one of those cheap 10 inch balls you always see in big wire cages at Walmart. Walking along with these two was an elderly man, maybe the younger man’s father. He was stooped shouldered and shuffled along with the help of a walker which was making a terrible racket on the rough surface of Aprilbud Drive. I nodded at them as I passed on the other side of the street as a smile came to my face. Watching the three of them together made my day, if you want to know the truth. There they were, three generations making accommodations for each other, like you do when you’re part of a family. I’m sure that Dad would have preferred walking along faster without the grating noise of his father’s walker. I feel certain that the old man wished he didn’t need the walker. He probably would have preferred sitting in his recliner taking a nap. The little boy wasn’t going anywhere without his ball, probably would have been perfectly happy kicking it around in the back yard. But there they all were taking a morning walk together. I thought about them for most of the remainder of my walk. I identified most with the Dad. It seemed like just yesterday when that was me. But truthfully, I’ve much more in common with the old man. I might not be hunched over and using a walker, but my day is coming. I wondered about the little boy. Did he have any idea how precious a thing it is to spend time with your father and grandfather? What will this little guy become? Maybe he will be the one who finds a cure for cancer. He might end up being an artist or a businessman. His future is sprawled out in front of him for the taking. I wondered what it must feel like for the old man, what emotions were at play as he walked beside his son—walking his son. I imagine a mixture of pride, gratitude, and bewilderment at how fast time flew by from his days as a boy. 

It brought to mind this photograph, the only one of its kind that I’m aware of, probably over 30 years old now…

-  Speaking of running, yesterday I determined that I would replicate the 7 mile walk from a week ago for which I took lots of heat on Facebook by the usual suspects, namely, my sister Paula who opined, “What is this compulsion you have to push yourself?!? Good grief. Chill out.” I should point out that this is nothing new from her. She always has something snarky to say whenever I do something fun or dangerous. But, I must admit that she asks a good question. The problem is that I have no satisfactory answer to the question of why I have always been thus, always pushing myself to do better, do more, go faster etc…But, yesterday my goal was a second 7 mile walk, only this time I would concentrate of walking as fast as I could possibly walk to discover how much time I could shave off. The original walk took an hour and 50 minutes which upon reflection seemed embarrassingly slow. So yesterday I finished in only an hour and  thirty nine minutes…eleven minutes faster, baby!

So, what was the point, you may fairly ask? I’ll tell you what the point was—I set a new personal best time for walking seven miles! That’s the point! I proved that I can do better. Until actually doing it, the possibility of improvement is only a theory. The proof is on this little scoreboard. I’m sure that this explanation will not satisfy my opinionated sister or any of the other naysayers and worry warts out there who will warn me of future replaced hips and knees. They may all be right. To which my response is, so what? YOU go out there and walk seven miles at a pace of 14:11 per mile! 

-  Last night our social calendar was full. First off was a baby shower held out in Hanover County, then a dinner out with three other couples to celebrate a birthday down in Chesterfield County on the western end of Midlothian. Both events were great fun. The baby shower thing featured one of my old Sunday School students from the Grove days, along with his older brother and sister, also kids I was close to back in those youth group days. To look at these three siblings now and see their lives flourishing despite the considerable headwinds they have faced is one of life’s greatest rewards. But despite their hard earned adulthood status, when I see them I still think of them as adorable, fun and mischievous kids. Always. I suppose that will never change and I’m fine with it.

Batting Cage Fail

Every once in a while in my profession I am presented with a vexing case which doesn’t lend itself to easy remedies. I spend hours and hours pouring over the details, trying to pick the right strategy. Which risk do I want to remove? Which risk am I willing to tolerate? Whenever this happens I feel the need to do something sporty to distract my mind. Sometimes I’ll go for a run or walk 18 holes while carrying my clubs, anything that will wear me out because when I’m exhausted I stop thinking obsessively about everything.

So this afternoon I threw my golf clubs in the back of the car and drove over to Bogey’s Sports Park to hit a bucket of balls. It was nice. I hit the ball well and the weather couldn’t possibly have been any finer. As I was preparing to leave I looked up the hill and noticed the batting cages.

I have a history with batting cages. Years ago when I was just starting out in business and well and truly broke, I used to use my lunch hour over at the batting cages just south of Ashland on Number One Highway. Back then they had a 90 mph cage and I used to wear that cage out until I was dripping wet with sweat. Of course, now that I’m 65 my days of putting a 90 mph fastball in play are over. Besides, nobody has a 90 MPH cage anymore. Anyway, before thinking my decision through properly, there I was buying two tokens, walking up to the cages with a too skinny, too light aluminum bat and one of those one size fits all helmets. Upon arriving I noticed that only two of the cages were open…70 MPH and 80 MPH. Gulp.

I dropped the first token in the 70 MPH machine and prepared for the worst. To my astonishment, I only swung and missed once in 20 pitches, fouled off maybe 4 or 5 and laced the rest of them right up the middle. For a brief and unrealistic moment I let myself believe I was a kid again.

One more token. Twenty more pitches. I determined that the 80 MPH cage was my destiny. How much harder could 10 lousy miles per hour be? But this was when I realized that I was out of breath and sweating profusely. Yep. Still 65 and not fooling anyone! So I sat down at one of the picnic tables to gather myself. I noticed that both of my hands were red and raw looking after only 20 swings. Better loosen the grip on the bat, I thought. Then it was time to step in against Mister 80 MPH heater.

When I finished, my hands were stinging and cramped with pain. My shirt was soaked through and thankfully there was no one up there to witness my pathetic performance. I managed to foul tip maybe four or five. I did put exactly six balls in play—all ground balls toward the second base side. The rest of the pitches were giant whiffs. Pretty humiliating, but my strategy had worked—I was no longer thinking about my troubling case.

When I arrived back home I cleaned up, then opened my computer to check the closing numbers on Wall Street. Thats when I saw the picture. It had popped up on my Facebook wall, a memory from 8 years ago, back when I could have done much better in the cage…

It’s probably my favorite picture of her. We were in the Cayman Islands, getting ready to go out for dinner. I took the photograph of her on the staircase in the front of the hotel. I studied it carefully and it brought back memories of that wonderful week. She is elegant, graceful and approachable. Her smile isn’t forced or tired. She is charming and fun, the kind of women who would never embarrass you. Her beauty is natural, never overdone or showy. She is tender hearted and kind, always thinks the best of people sometimes to a fault. The best thing is…that girl belongs to me.

My difficult case will take care of itself. Later tonight when my back starts to tighten up and my hands start pulsing with pain, she will look at me, knowing that I brought it all on myself and roll her eyes. 

But, she loves me anyway.

My Seven Mile Walk Through Short Pump

I have been discouraged from running for the time being. Until I am able to get this heart business resolved it has been suggested that I limit my cardio to walking. So, that’s exactly what I have done for the past couple of months. However, me being me, I have turned it into an internal competition whereby I come up with made up challenges which I have to overcome, including but not limited to—ridiculously long walks and attempts to break personal best times per mile with each event. This is the sort of thing that drives Pam nuts, especially when I forget to bring my phone along and she has no idea where I am are when I’m coming back. Take yesterday for example.

It started off as a peaceful family stroll, Pam, Lucy and me walking along uncompetitively, waiting for Lucy’s morning bowel movement, which was a doozy that involved a PBM (poop bag malfunction), never a good thing. But we recovered nicely and continued on until Pam made the decision to head back to the house while I continued on. This was a baffling and exceedingly unpopular choice with Miss Lucy, who always looses her mind when anyone breaks up the pack. Pam was able to eventually wrangle her home while my real competitive walk finally was able to begin. Thanks to Lucy’s shenanigans my time for that first mile was an abysmal 18 minutes and 26 seconds! This simply would not do so I had to pick up the pace.

Previously in my walking adventures the longest walk I had managed was a 6 miler about a week ago. Naturally, I decided that today I would go for a personal best…seven miles. If I had run this idea by the beautiful and talented Mrs. Dunnevant she might have said something along the lines of, “Um, aren’t you working at Thrift this afternoon? Do you think it wise to walk seven miles on a day where you will walk at least four more miles in the store?” This would have been an excellent point—which I would have breezily dismissed. The truth is, it never entered my mind until she said that very thing when I finally arrived back home almost two hours later. A dramatic eye roll might have been included. I can’t remember since I was delirious.

So, I thought I would share with you all some of the many sites I saw on my walk. Lots of you don’t live in Short Pump so you might be wondering what kind of scenery I enjoyed. First of all, here was my route, totally unplanned, spontaneous and uninspired:

I should point out that I resisted both Italian temptations, although Ray’s Italian Ice was touch and go for a moment.

Over in the Shoppes at Wellesley I happened upon a new Thai place that I had never noticed before. The name alone demands that I give this place a try very soon.

Speaking of Wellesley, although I would never choose to live there, I must admit its a pleasant and beautiful place to walk.

Eventually my route took me past this monstrosity. Its on a new road that I seldom use so the place surprised me. Where did this place come from?? Its one of those Over 55 Luxury Communities, exactly the kind of place I wouldn’t move to if they gave me a million bucks. This one had the perfect pretentious name…Everleigh. How about Neverleigh??

When I finally got back home some of my favorite members of the Under 55 crowd had turned the street in front of my house into a horse barn where they had parked their horses, “Pickles”, “Buckles” and “Firefly”.

So, I finished the seven mile walk in a respectable time of one hour, fifty minutes and sixteen seconds. My heart behaved beautifully throughout. 

I suppose some of you are wondering how I did at my afternoon shift at the Thrift Store. I did quite well, working circles around Tom Allen, I might add, which is admittedly a low bar. However, if truth be told, this morning my body has registered several complaints about yesterday’s agenda in the form of sore muscles, creaky joints and uncooperative fine motor skills. But I intend on remedying the situation with 500 MG of Naproxen and this breakfast of champions:

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.