Where Am I?

A friend of mine sent me an email recently to inform me that he was reading a book that I just had to read—immediately! It was written by Dave Barry about his ten year old dog and carried the title: Lessons From Lucy: The Simple Joys of an Old, Happy Dog. Barry was a guy I used to read all the time back in the day, and since his dog’s name was “Lucy”, it seemed a perfect book for me. My Lucy is also ten years old. I downloaded it that same afternoon.

Mr. Barry was something of a hero to me years ago, he of the sharp wit and Beatles haircut. His sarcastic and hilarious observations about, well everything, suited my tastes back then. Eventually I tired of him. As a writer he was very much a one trick pony and since I stopped taking the Times-Dispatch two decades ago, we lost touch. It’s been wonderful to get reacquainted.

I bring this up not to talk about the book, which by the way was wonderful, but because after I finished reading it I found myself in quite the sentimental mood. The fact is that Lucy is getting old. In dog years she is 70. Her face has taken on that white glow. She is on the back nine of her life. She has probably two or three more years with us, then we will have to say goodbye. Its how it works with dogs. They are not life-long companions. They blaze into our lives like a meteorite, light us up in a thousand ways and then go back where they came from…most likely, heaven.

Which brings me to a Christmas present I received this year that I haven’t been able to stop staring at…

Perfect. Its just perfect. Lucy, standing at the end of a dock, gazing in wonder at the lake and the hills across the way, waiting for someone to come sit down next to her. Waiting for me. But where am I? What is keeping me? What could I possibly be doing that’s more important than sitting in that chair having a conversation with Lucy? For me, this photograph is two things. An invitation and a rebuke. And thanks to Mr. Dave Barry a reminder that time is short.

Reminiscing

My wife likes to have the television on when she’s busy on the sofa with some project or another. Sometimes she actually watches what’s on but mostly its just background noise. Occasionally I will come downstairs and she will have some impossibly gorgeous snowy cabin scene up on the screen, the sounds of an unseen roaring fire in the background. Other times it will be an endless scrolling slideshow of every photograph we’ve taken in the digital era, all 10,000+ of them. She was in the kitchen the other night making dinner when I walked through the living room and saw a photograph of my Dad with my nieces Jenny and Christina around him, all smiling brightly. It was taken at the beach many years ago. The girls looked so young and carefree. Dad looked proud and contented.

I sat down on the loveseat and watched a series of random pictures scroll by, no two of them having any connection to what came before or after. There was one of Pam and me along with Patrick and Sarah in front of a restaurant in Nashville. It was the night we met her for the first time. There was another of Lucy when she was a six month old puppy. Her fur was short and blonde and she was smiling at the camera. I watched those pictures roll by for maybe ten minutes, each of them evoking a memory, each of them a snapshot in time, a glimpse into my past.

It is an odd sensation, the reminiscing that photographs produces in me. On the one hand it warms the heart to be reminded of the joys you have experienced in life, on the other it ushers in a surprising melancholy, a longing for a simpler time, only it wasn’t simpler back then. Each year of our lives has its own difficulties. Its only after we survive and look back that we tell ourselves that life was simpler back then. But mostly its an overwhelming sense of the relentlessness of time. It stops for no one and reminds us that as each day passes into history we will never get them back. We get one shot. The most important day of our lives, the one with the most opportunity is always…this one.

Speaking of Great Books…

 New Year’s day, I spent three hours alone in my office cleaning out the clutter. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t like to leave anything on my desk when I go home each day so throughout the year, lots of stuff accumulates in every drawer of my desk and credenza. This year it was three tall kitchen bags full since I haven’t purged in several years. In the middle of this project I came across something that’s been with me in that office for nearly 30 years. For some reason I dropped everything and sat there staring at it wondering where the years have gone…

My daughter was five years old when she made this for me for Father’s Day. Her Mom helped her with the words since she could hardly write legibly at that point. But the story and the drawings were all her. The plot was simple enough. She was out to prove the title of this book with examples of my awesomeness…

I can attest to the accuracy of her account. I, in fact, did play the guitar for them often during bath time. Back in those days, this amounted to the sum total of quality time I had with them. I was working my tail off trying to provide for them the best I could in a business that offered zero guarantees, so I wasn’t with them very much. Bath time was wonderful.

Yes, I did. This probably explains the chronic back pain I suffer from to this day. But, what fun this was!

You might be wondering why I have kept this little book close to me all these years. Maybe in the darkest corner of my mind I think, Well, when I die and if it turns out that salvation comes from works after all, I’ll hand this to Saint Peter! 

Correct. I always gave them treats when they visited me at the office, because it was always the highlight of my day and cause for celebration.

I’m sure this particular aspect of the story will be troubling to my younger readers. I must confess that I did tell my kids some pretty terrifying stories. Some of them might have been a tad too graphic for five year olds. But, the moral of the stories was always the same—the world is full of danger, bad people and things, and the best way to live your life is with both eyes wide open…and never stray too far from your Dad because he and he alone can save the day. 

This might be the only embellishment in her account. The word always there is doing some serious heavy lifting in that sentence.

This is my favorite part of her story. My Dad told me once that the best thing I could ever do for my children was to love their mother. He was right.

But that doesn’t mean you have to share everything with Mom. These special treats of which she speaks were often just between the two of us!

So, there you have it. One of the finest works of literature you will ever read. Only one copy known to exist and it belongs to me.

The Latest Book News

On this, the most overhyped day on the Gregorian calendar, I thought I would update you all on the most recent book progress.

As of December 31, 2023 the editing process is finished. The proofreading is nearly complete. Now all attention is on two things, writing the teaser for the back cover and picking cover art, both inside and out. The single most surprising thing about all of this is how much fun it has been. Usually in my life when it comes to details I am a mess. Details bore me. The grind of working out the mechanics of a thing is usually something I happily delegate. But in this endeavor, although I have lots of talented people helping me, ultimate decision-making authority is mine along with all the responsibility that comes with it. So Mr. Dunnevant, describe for me in 200 words or less the driving force of your story, making sure to make it interesting and provocative, something that will grab a potential reader by the throat and compel him or her to buy your book!” No pressure. No pressure at all! Here’s what I came up with on my first attempt. I am currently awaiting the edited version:

Percy Hope had an extraordinary talent that earned him a fortune and the affections of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

Although his otherworldly talent had laid the world at his feet, Percy would soon tire of the lifestyle, and in time, he would lose it all, his talent, his fortune, his beautiful but troubled wife, and his will to live. After an unsuccessful suicide attempt he moves back home to take care of his dying parents and try to rebuild his life. That’s when the dreams begin.

A Life of Dreams is a story about a man who has it all and a women who took it all away, leaving them on the edge of despair, neither of them able to discern what is real and what is a dream, both of them wondering how it all went so wrong so fast. But its also about the miracle of forgiveness and the power as well as the limits of redemption. Its a story about healing and renewal where the agent of the supernatural just might be a stray dog named “Sam”.

But, compared to writing a teaser, picking cover art is so much harder! The art department at Atmosphere Press has sent me three different covers for review. I rejected one of them out of hand but the other two were both terrific. How to chose? Right now they are working on a couple of tweaks I requested along with coming up with a fourth attempt of an idea I’ve been kicking around in my head for a week or so. It’s from one of the central scenes from the book that I though might make a pretty cool cover. Sometime in the next couple of weeks I will have to make a decision. Although I have asked for a couple of minor changes, this is the one I’m leaning towards at the moment:

So…would you buy this book?

The Christmas Wrap-up

Christmas is finally over. I could break it down for you, tell you what happened each day since Christmas Eve, describe every event in detail to help you understand just how overwhelming it all was. But in order to do that I would need a better short term memory than I currently possess. The truth is I have forgotten exactly what happened on which date over these past four days. Nevertheless I will attempt to piece it together as follows:

Sunday, December 24th

We drove downtown to the Altria Theatre for our church’s Christmas Eve service at 9 o’clock in the freaking morning. When the service began with a fake-candle Silent Night, the world seemed to be spinning out of control, temporarily detached from its axis. It’s weird enough to be attending a Christmas Eve service in the morning, but to have it open with what is normally the show-stopping final number was quite disconcerting. Besides, the irony of singing the words silent night at daybreak seemed lost on our leadership team. However, the rest of the service was phenomenal. The music was inspired and skillfully performed, Pete’s spoken word was beautifully written and expertly delivered, and David’s message was pitch perfect for the moment. Still, having to squint into the brightness outside after the service was a reminder that it was now 10:00 and our brunch reservation at Tarrant’s West was calling. Since I had parked on the street instead of the time-suck parking garage, I made a hasty retreat and was sitting comfortably in the restaurant long before Paula, Ron and Ryan finally showed up. My breakfast pizza was exquisite. 

This is where it starts to get fuzzy. I can’t quite remember what we did after brunch but before our digital Zoom appointment with Patrick and Sarah that evening. I’m pretty sure I took a nap somewhere in there, but everything else is a blank.

Christmas Eve night featured the very first virtual stocking opening in Dunnevant family history. Due to circumstances beyond our control, Patrick and Sarah were not able to make the 9 hour drive home for Christmas this year, so there we were watching them opening Christmas pajamas live and in living color via a very jumpy internet connection which featured several screen freezes. It is quite possible to be in awe of and extremely grateful for modern technology while at the same time finding it annoying.

Monday, December 25th. Christmas Day.

Santa did not arrive at our house. Somehow the old man knew that the four of us were not having Christmas on the 25th. Instead, we would watch Patrick and Sarah open presents and let them watch us opening the presents that they sent us. Afterward, everyone went in to full-time slave labor mode as we launched ourselves into preparing our house for the arrival of the White family for Christmas. There would be fourteen of us for a huge lunch with all the trimmings, then several hours of gift exchanging and merry making. By the time everyone finally left, it once again gets a bit hazy. I seem to recall watching bits of a Christmas Carol, the animated version with Jim Carrie and Gary Oldman. Then some scenes from Elf, after which everything went black again.

Tuesday, December 26th.

The four of us along with the two very good dogs, Lucy and Jackson, finally were able to enjoy our Christmas together. We opened presents. We took a break to have the traditional breakfast featuring scrambled eggs with not one but two different flavors of hot sauce, lots of crispy bacon and Pam’s world famous orange cinnamon buns. After this amazing meal, we all felt sufficiently renewed to attack the unwrapping of the Christmas stockings. This is a long process that almost takes longer than unwrapping the regular gifts at Casa Dunnevant. We were finally done around 1:00, after which another killer nap was indulged. Christmas night Pam made steaks on an iron skillet with this killer butter and rosemary sauce drizzled over everything. Amazing. The drive around town looking at Christmas lights while eating donuts thing didn’t pan out, largely because no donut businesses were open!! 

Wednesday, December 27th

I actually made an appearance at my office this morning to take care of a couple of death claim related issues, a bummer of an intrusion of my real life into our little Christmas fantasy. But soon I found myself in the car driving out to Bill and Linda’s for the extended Dunnevant Clan Christmas. This involved a “light lunch” of chili, Italian beef sliders and a host of other deliciousness, followed by a desert cafe. In between all the eating, we all opened more presents and all us grownups looked on at the kids in amazement at how big they are all getting. Seems like only last week when they were all a bunch of ankle-biting toddlers. Now, they are all taller than us and speaking in complete sentences about subjects that none of the rest of us can understand.

As we were all packing up to head home I couldn’t help but think that Mom and Dad would have been proud of us…I think.

Tomorrow morning, Jon and Kaitlin will head back to South Carolina. Pam and I will hit the road to North Carolina to attend a wedding. The real world is growling at the door.

And So it Begins…

It’s Sunday. Christmas Eve. A disconcerting combination. When I was a kid I always hated it when either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day fell on a Sunday. When your Dad was the pastor this meant that church attendance played havoc with Christmas fun. Instead of opening presents we would all have to trudge off to church and listen to all the other miserable kids singing Christmas carols ten times slower than they were meant to be sung. Of course, now that I’m no kid anymore I actually like it when Christmas falls on a Sunday. It feels more authentic, holier even.

So this morning we will head down to the Altria Theatre for our Christmas Eve service at 9:00 am. I’m told its a sellout. I also informed my household that AIS time is 8:10 am. We’ll see how that goes. It takes forever to park down there and we don’t want to be late. It’s just Kaitlin and Jon this year, Patrick and Sarah will miss Christmas at home for the first time since he was born—another disconcerting reality. Nevertheless the four of us will join 3,500 others for what will be a delightful experience. Hope Church always does a beautiful job at the Altria.

Then it will be on to Tarrant’s West for brunch with the Roops, after which we will head back to the house so I can enjoy my afternoon nap. Pam will no doubt be busy with a million things like always. I will not feel the slightest ounce of guilt for taking a snoozle since I have done everything asked of me in the weeks leading up to these festivities. Besides, nobody likes a tired and grumpy dad at Christmas. The last item on today’s agenda is a trip out to the Christmas Eve service at Winn’s. This will be the first such service I have attended there since the days of my youth when I was that miserable kid waiting for it all to be over with already so I could tear in to my presents. I will see lots of people from the old days. It will be nice to be with Pam’s parents and family.

Christmas Day will be weird. The first half of the day will be a chaotic mess since we will be all-hands-on-deck preparing the house for the White family Christmas celebration. They will arrive for lunch at 1:00 then presents. By the time they all leave, the four of us will have our first ever virtual Christmas with Patrick and Sarah. Their faces will smile at us from the television in the corner as they open their presents from us and ours from them. Odd.

The day after Christmas will be time for the four of us—plus Lucy and Jackson—to celebrate Christmas. The day after that, its off to my sister’s house for the Dunnevant family Christmas extravaganza. Then Kaitlin and Jon will pack up and drive back to Columbia, and Pam and I will hit the road for Raleigh, North Carolina to attend Lizzy Fort’s wedding. We will finally arrive back home to an empty house on New Year’s Eve. If this all sounds like a dizzying convoluted mess of a schedule, you are probably right. That’s why yesterday was so special.

Yesterday there was nothing planned. We spent all day doing regular things. I got up the leaves. Pam and Kaitlin made cookies all afternoon. We even had time to get ice cream last night at the Blue Cow. Pam made two incredible meals. 

This amazing thing for breakfast:

Don’t know what its called but it was stuffed with eggs, sausage and cheese.

Then she whipped up Chicken Caprese for dinner:

Merry Christmas everybody!

The Home Stretch

It is Monday morning, the 18th of December in the year of our Lord, 2023 which means that we have entered the home stretch of the Christmas season. We officially no longer have plenty of time. In point of fact we are pretty sure that we will not get it all done. It won’t even be close. But that is always the conclusion at the beginning of crunch time. Then, my wife presses her nitro button, launching herself into overdrive, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. By the time the clock strikes midnight on Christmas Eve everything will be in place and buttoned up. But right now, this morning? There’s no stinking way its gonna all get done.

My job this week is to provide aid and comfort to the hardest working woman in America. If she needs someone to pick up something at some store, I’m her guy. When its time to clean the house and give Lucy her Christmas bath I’ll be all over it. It’s the least I can do since she has purchased 90% of the presents that will get opened on Christmas morning. Then there’s this…

This used to be our dining room table, but for the next 7 days it will serve as the present wrapping station, and most of that wrapping will be done by yours truly. I actually enjoy the work, although on particularly long sessions, it plays hell on my neck and back. A small price to pay to take this portion of the labor off of Pam’s plate. Of course, Pam sometimes decides to intervene in the process by adding ribbons and bows to selected packages because she simply cannot help herself. I don’t have any problem with it since they always look better when she does.

One more thing. In our house we have not fallen prey to the annoying curse of the Christmas Elf nonsense. But thats not to say that there isn’t some innocuous thing that keeps getting moved mysteriously and just won’t go away. There is this…



Several weeks ago Pam purchased this menacing piece of equipment which is designed to troubleshoot the yearly problem of burned out Christmas lights. I will not here detail the mechanics involved, although it should be said that we have found it ineffective. But for reasons that confound, Pam has refused to throw away the…packaging…

Not only will she not dispose of this packaging, she is constantly moving it from place to place around the house. For a while it lay in the middle of the present wrapping table. Then it reappeared on the counter in the kitchen where the barstools are. Then, this morning I found it snugly positioned on the hearth of the fireplace…

Now, if I were to ask her why she decided that the hearth of the fireplace was the perfect spot for this I am sure that she will have a perfectly illogical reason. But, I will not ask. This is simply above my pay grade. That information is on a need to know basis only and I clearly do not need to know.

So, good luck to you all as we enter the week that try men’s souls. I will hopefully see you on the other side.