The Devil Is In The Details

Finally gotten around to reading one of my Christmas presents, the new biography of Ulysses S. Grant by Ron Chernow. I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with Chernow. Although he is, at times, a brilliant writer and historian, his style can be irritating...never failing to employ a thousand words to say something he could have said with twenty. This thousand page doorstop will be a chore to get through, but so far it is fascinating.

What are the first thoughts that pop into my head when it comes to Grant? There are several, and none of them good...drunkard, scandal ridden, plodding, heartless meat-grinder of men and materials who, on a level playing field couldn’t have generalled his way through a wet paper bag when compared with Lee, Longstreet, or Jackson. It seems that Mr. Chernow is determined to raise my estimation of our 18th President. So far, 100 pages in, its still 1854, and a picture is emerging of an entirely unrecognizable figure. In Chernow’s hands, Grant is merely an occasional binge drinker, an easy mark for con men, and a deeply compassionate soldier with a quartermaster’s grasp of logistical detail. Hmmm....

In other news...

This coming weekend, my son and his fiancé will drive up from Nashville for the last time before the wedding. The occasion is a shower for the bride-to-be thrown by the Dunnevant/Schwartz women. Now that Pam’s school year is over, she has taken up the full time position of wedding planner/coordinator/trouble-shooter/organizer/plotter/schemer/travel agent/technical advisor/logistics maven/purchasing agent/tailor/tinker/soldier/spy. The old saying is, The Devil is in the details, and I can personally attest that right now, Lucifer has the upper hand! While the ladies are enjoying the shower, my son and I, hopefully along with a couple local groomsmen, will search for wedding suits of the slim cut variety. Of course, I gave up slim cut anything quite some time ago, but I understand they are all the rage among the flat-bellied set. Then, I hope to have time to make a pit stop at a local brewery for a couple of Richmond’s newly famous craft beers. By the end of the weekend much progress will have been made, sending Beelzebub into a headlong retreat.

Tom’s Defense

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And Now...Tom Brokaw

The Today Show. NBC Nightly News. Author of The Greatest Generation. 

Those are the three things I think about when I think about Tom Brokaw. Now, this morning, if fresh allegations from 25 years ago can be believed, a fourth thing will enter my mind...sexual misconduct.

On the same day that Bill Cosby gets convicted of rape by a jury of his peers, one of the few remaining members of the national news media who can safely be described as beloved, is dealing with allegations from two woman who claim that back in the 1990’s, Tom Brokaw acted inappropriately towards them. So far, there are no claims of rape, but rather, claims by veteran reporter Linda Vester that he “physically tried to force her to kiss him on two separate occasions, groped her in a NBC conference room and showed up at her hotel room uninvited.”

Ok...what the heck?

I suppose there are two ways to look at this story. If you are inclined to defend Brokaw, you would question the time line and point out that what Vester is describing might be boorish behavior, but doesn’t rise to the level of criminal sexual misconduct. You might accuse her of wanting to jump on the MeToo bandwagon and take her place among the honorable celebrity victims for her fifteen minutes of fame. So, he “tickles you around the waist with others in the room looking on, you wait 25 years, then call it groping???” He tried to kiss you a couple of times, showed up at your hotel room once uninvited, you rebuffed him, he took “no” for an answer, you suffered no career demotions as a result....where’s the fire??

On the other hand, you could read this story and ask yourself, what the hell is wrong with men?! Tom Brokaw was then and remains a  married man...to one Meredith Lynn Auld since 1962. If you’re keeping score at home, that’s 56 years. Mrs. Tom Brokaw was a former Miss South Dakota, and by every account is described glowingly as an amazingly strong woman and devoted wife and mother of five children...

But, apparently, she wasn’t enough for Tom? If these allegations are true, Brokaw was making advances to a 28 year old co-worker while this woman was at home raising his children. How does this even work? How would you go home after making passes at another woman, and look your wife in the eye and ask, So, how was your day? I am at a loss at how to explain this sort of thing. If he was able and willing to comfortably lie to his wife, how much easier would it be to lie to the rest of us in his role as a journalist?

I hope these allegations are false. I like Tom Brokaw. I’ve always liked him. But, my gut instinct is to believe Linda Vester. I don’t see what possible incentive she has for bringing all of this up now. Sure, she might be celebrated in some corners, but she will be vilified in others. And it’s not like this sort of behavior is new to NBC news, for heavens sake. It’s been one thing after another at 30 Rock.

Still, this is a sad state of affairs we find ourselves in, is it not?

Trump’s First State Dinner

I was reminded yesterday, while reading a news story about the upcoming State dinner at the White House for the President of France, that Donald Trump is a teetotaler. That’s right, our President doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol...which means that he behaves the way he does...stone cold sober. Ponder that one over your morning oatmeal.

There seems to be an odd bromance going on between Trump and Macron. They seem weirdly attracted to each other, what with the uncomfortable touching and prolonged and entangled hand shakes and what not. Trump was caught on camera dusting dandruff off the French leader’s shoulder before a photo was about to be taken so “he would be perfect.” It’s all quite unsettling. 

I wonder what was on the menu at the big soirée last night? If it had been up to The Donald, I’m sure that the Macron’s would have been appalled at the huge pile of McNuggets and french fries on their plates. But, I’m told that Melania was in charge of the menu, so I’m sure it was appropriately eclectic, featuring several Croatian delicacies like..uh...wait, is she from Croatia or Slovenia, I can never remember? Regardless, I’m comfortable with the fact that Donald will pick at his meal and wait until everyone leaves to have his Big Mac in the privacy of the family quarters. I don’t begrudge the man his pedestrian palate...especially if Melania chose the squid ink risotto for the main entree...

Doctor’s Office Magazines

I experienced the best and the worst of the American healthcare system this morning during my 8:45 appointment with my family doctor. This was a six month check up from the unpleasantness of last August, when...they tell me...I suffered a mild stroke. My cholesterol levels had to be checked, along with my blood pressure. There were no lines, no waiting, and very little red tape involved in the process. In fact, within ten minutes of my arrival, I had been processed and found myself secure in my doctor’s examination room awaiting his arrival. That’s the best of American healthcare. Very quickly on the heels of this victory came the crushing defeat of examination room magazines...

There was a stack of them neatly placed on the end table beside my chair. I combed through them, only after withdrawing two tissues from the box on the table across the way and a squirt of anti-bacterial gel. Nothing quite says, raging petri dish of potential ecoli like a stack of doctor’s office magazines. But, I digress. The real problem I have here is the horrible selection. I would think that doctor’s would want their potentially sick patients to read upbeat, motivational fare. I wouldn’t think that they would lay out the latest literature on end of life care, for example. Probably wouldn’t want to include the hospice trade association newsletter either. 

Of the ten offerings in my doctor’s room, the only one which was even vaguely interesting happened to be a year old, and featured a fascinating account of...well, see for yourself...

Somebody named Mama June lost a staggering 300 pounds. That’s the equivalent of an offensive lineman! Of course, the sad fact that this magazine was from 2017 leaves the burning question of...”But, did she keep it off?” entirely unanswered. Then, there’s the riveting blockbuster of Barry Manilow’s UNTOLD STORY. We are promised that the aged pop star will, for the first time, open up about being gay. As I flipped through the pages, I thought that this had to be the worst kept secret in the history of Hollywood. Barry Manilow is gay??? What!!??

Luckily, right before I was about to be informed all about Nicole Kidman’s twin sister, my doctor burst in, iPad at the ready, stethoscope hanging from his neck, looking embarrassed by his own pitiful magazine collection...

Doctor: How old is that one?

Me: April, 2017.

Doctor: Hey, hey!! That’s not bad, right?

Me: So, did this Mama June woman keep the weight off?

Doctor: I’ll have to get back to you on that...

Old School Friends

I remember reading a very boring book once in college that tried to make the case that life was like drifting down a river. It was a clumsy metaphor, but the author stuck to it, suggesting that whenever the current was lazy and meandering, that was akin to dull, uneventful years that slip by with little notice, but whenever rapids came along, they represented the years of upheaval and chaos, etc..It was the sort of book that I hated having to read, the sort that were presented to me as deep and profound, but I found dull and pretentious. But, oddly enough, this weekend, although I can’t for the life of me remember the name of the book or it’s author, the metaphor has come to mind.

This weekend has been about old friends. We attended a wedding in Charlotte of a young woman who we were first introduced to when she was a teenager. Her parents attended our church. I was a volunteer with the youth ministry at the church. As such, I got to know a whole host of teenagers over about a ten year run. I was always much closer to the kids than I was to any of their parents, which is a hazard of youth work, I suppose. Over my time in youth work, I probably got to know four or five hundred kids. Although I wasn’t crazy about all of them, I can honestly say that I loved most of them despite, and sometimes because of, their difficulties. No matter what knuckleheaded thing they would do, I couldn’t help myself, I loved them anyway. The reason for this was primarily because when I was a teenager, I was a hot mess...the quintessential knucklehead, so...who was I to judge?

Anyway, every once in a while a kid would come along who would grab a little piece of my heart. The young woman who got married this weekend was one such kid. She was piece of work, this one...smart, driven, opinionated, with a high octane motor, oozing with personality. But, she also had that rarest of qualities in the teenager species...a tender heart.  Most teenagers are all arms, legs and raging hormones, so obsessed with themselves, and their perceived status. But, this spitfire had a heart the size of Texas. There was this one sixth grader, a newly minted middle schooler, who was eligible for the youth department, but terrified by all the big kids, and full of anxiety. But, this sharp, cool, and very with-it big kid would call her and invite her to come to things, even offering to save her a seat right in the middle of the cool kids’ row. That sixth grader was my daughter. And that cool kid with the big heart walked an aisle with a dashing young man on her arm last night.

I don’t see much of her anymore. Life has taken her to Charlotte. We don’t run in the same circles anymore. My time with her was during a season of rapids several bends down the river. But, at the wedding I saw others from those years. I saw a handsome young man with his beautiful wife. He used to be one of my boys. Back then he was a bit of a rakish rogue, smart, quick on his feet, and a bit of a charmer. But, I always knew he would do well for himself, as long as he found the right wife. He did, and he has. I listened to him tell me about his life, as a strange feeling of well being swept over me.

There was another boy from the old days there, he too all grown up and accomplished. Sharp, articulate, married to a beautiful doctor, carrying around an adorable eight month old boy. This young man has landed in the Midwest, as an architect. I watched them playing with their beautiful little boy, and I started to feel a bit better about the world. 

I ran into several couples from the old days at the wedding. All have stories to tell. Some have been blessed beyond measure, others have endured their share of darkness. We have all drifted apart, having been separated by the currents over the years. But, coming together to celebrate a wedding helps us to remember just how fortunate we all were to have known each other.

On the way home today, we stopped in to have lunch with some dear friends who recently retired and moved away from Richmond. These were friends who have been on the same river passage with us for nearly 30 years. These kind of ties cannot be broken by mere distance. So we saw their new house, shared a meal, and talked about upcoming big doings...another wedding and the arrival of their first grandchild. More twisting turns, swirling eddys to navigate, but navigate them we will.

Zack vs. The Megaphone

This. This is most definitely US in 2018.

Check out Zack. Dude is zoned in with the blankest stare in the universe. But, what’s he thinking with those horizontal stripes? Is this what came out of their racial bias training day?...Step one...never make eye contact!

Check out megaphone guy. Is this the guy who showed up demanding a free grande latte as reparations? Or, is he just super into coffee...I want coffee!! Give me a C!! Give me an O....

So many questions...

But, make no mistake, this is how we roll now in the United States, standing three feet apart from one another with a megaphone, and still not hearing.