Inauguration Day

Inauguration Day. When I was a kid I remember watching them on our old RCA Victor black and white with the aluminum foil wrapped around the tips of the rabbit ear antennas. The first one I remember was Richard Nixon. I was ten years old and bored to death, but I was told that it was an important thing, an inauguration. It was a symbol of democracy, this peaceful transfer of power, where the vanquished sat next to the victor, smiling and shaking hands.

I watched them all back then. Eventually there was color TV and the picture was clearer. I watched mostly smiling politicians looking for all the world like best friends as they chatted with each other in the grandstands behind the podium. I watched the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court administering the oath of office to a succession of men. Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, Bush the elder, Bush the son, then Bill Clinton and finally Barack Obama, the first time but not the second—and nothing since. I won’t be watching today either. The reasons for my lack of interest are puzzling, even to me.

First of all, where politics is concerned there has never been a good old days. Politics has always been a troubling business shot through with duplicitous, back-stabbing charlatans. Spin the dial of American history and no matter where it lands you will find Washington DC positively seething with unsavory people. It is one of the inherent problems with democracy—brain surgeons and poets aren’t the kind of people that seek higher office. This is not to say that all of them are bad. America has had its share of fine men and women who, after a life of achievement, spent their last years devoted to public service. But it’s the 99% that give the rest of them a bad name, I suppose. Somewhere over the last forty years or so, politics became an occupation. Young men and women would go off to college with a career goal of running for office. The most popular on-ramp was the law, resulting in the herd of lawyers we now have running the country. Search high and low in the halls of power and you will not find any plumbers, electricians, engineers, or high school government teachers. But you can’t swing a dead cat anywhere in DC without hitting a lawyer, bureaucrat or now…billionaire.

The last one of these things I watched was Obama. I hadn’t voted for him, but it was historic, this handsome black man taking the Oath of Office. So I watched and listened to his speech. On the substance it was fairly boiler-plate progressive platitudes, he being firmly convinced of the government’s ability to remake the world, to right every wrong. But other than what I considered to be the wrongheadedness of some of his policies, the speech was…beautiful. He delivered a speech that gave power to the ideals of America. It was intelligent. It was in places stirring and even poetic. I remember thinking to myself, “Good luck, Mr. President. Godspeed.” Isn’t that odd? That someone who didn’t vote for him would wish him success? It sure seems odd now, but back then it seemed almost normal. My reasoning was that a failed Presidency was bad for the country. Why would I want him to fail? Suppose the policies I thought were wrongheaded actually worked? Wouldn’t that be a good thing? What was I thinking?

But by the time his second inauguration came around I was done with it. I’m not even sure why. I suppose for one thing, my life had entered a different phase. Our kids were grown up and in the process of moving out on their own. I had finished paying for their education and was now paying catchup with saving for my own retirement. Secondly, my Mother had just died in her sleep and we were scrambling trying to take care of my Dad. My patience for politics ended. It all seemed so small and petty compared to losing your parents. So I tuned out. Since then there has been Trump, then Biden, and now Trump again.

To everything there is a season. The season I’m in right now is taking care of my family, finding people to help and encourage, and trying to love my neighbor as best I can. 

Little Feet

Today is my turn to make dinner. First I had to go to the grocery store to buy the ingredients, then prepare the meal. It’s not a complicated recipe and it would embarrass me to name the dish, but it’s a start. However, I did notice something at Publix, our grocery store of choice. As I walked the store I noticed not one other retired gentleman. There were plenty of ladies, several workers rearranging the shelves, but as far as men of a certain age—just me. At that point the thought occurred to me that perhaps I have stumbled in to some sort of trap by volunteering to cook dinner for my still employed wife. Regardless, it seems only fair for me to share some of the dinner making responsibilities since I am freshly in possession of free time and she is not.

Today was also the occasion of my first retirement project fail. My wife hates to be a nag so instead she leaves random lists lying about with items listed with little check boxes next to them with no one’s name at the top. She leaves these lists in inconspicuous locations but also locations where I am likely to not miss them entirely. She is a diabolical genius. Anyway, on one of these lists I noticed entries mentioning the need to replace two dimmer switches in and around the kitchen. They need replacing, it should be noted, because of errors made by the previous installing electrician, which I feel obligated to point out was…me. Nevertheless, I drove over to the hardware store, bought the new switches and then proceeded to fail miserably getting them installed. By way of explanation I have to admit that when I was growing up I showed zero interest in many traditional male adolescent fascinations like cars and building and tinkering with small engines etc..I was into sports and girls and not much else. So, I bring no skill and even less enthusiasm  to many homeowner-type tasks that men are expected to know how to do. I do not have the disposition of an engineer or tradesman. I’m more like a wise-cracking rogue who knows a truck load full of worthless information that never includes anything useful to the task at hand whenever that task is something that needs to be done around the house. So, I will have to suffer the eye rolls of either Ron Roop, my handyman brother in law, or Chip Hewette, my engineer friend. One of them will soon get a call.

But all of this morning’s electrical failures have been eclipsed by news I just received from my daughter. My grandson is now the size of a banana! In addition, his little feet are the size of the metal tab from a soda can…

My First Real Retirement Day

Ok, I finally had my first real day of retirement. It started this morning when Pam went back to work. I had written up the items for today’s agenda last night while eating my last pack of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls that I got for Christmas. This morning was not only the first real day of retirement but also the first day of our self-imposed no sweets ban. We both figured that our 2025 weight loss plans should start slow. Before diving into the deep end of the Weight Watchers pool and all the meal-prep hassles involved in that nightmare, we figured we would first give up sweets. So far it’s been 24 hours now and I haven’t even been tempted. But, I digress. The point is that I had a plan for today as soon as Pam left the house…

* Did my exercises and my stretches 

* Spent zero time checking the stock market

* Hauled an old Christmas tree down from the attic and into my car. Lost control of a large box containing the limbs of the tree in question, sending it sliding down the attic stairs where it made a very loud and rumbling sound just before it crashed through the attic door, upon which time the ancient cardboard box basically disintegrated sending artifical tree limbs cascading onto the carpet and causing poor Lucy to pee on the floor. Once all was cleaned up I successfully took it all to the dump.

* Visited some of my Hope Church Volunteer peeps at the Cafe.

* Took on the out of control plastic container cabinet in our kitchen, discarding any container without a lid and any lid without a container. Threw the useless lids/containers in the recycling and deftly organized what remained after the great purge…

* Even though what follows was not on my written agenda for the day, I cleaned our bathroom to within an inch of its life.

* Stopped by the office to sign some document for Penny. Shared two awesome dad jokes to all my adoring fans who still work there. More than once I was told how much more boring the place is without me. Someone even said that they’re actually getting stuff done now.

* The only item on today’s agenda that I failed to complete was—making dinner for Pam. She had left two recipes on the kitchen counter and I thought I would surprise her by having one of them prepared when she got home. But, as I read through these two recipes it occurred to me that there were significant sections of the instructions that I didn’t understand. Discretion being the better part of valor, I deferred to her superior skills and decided to wait for a less intense meal was in the works—like soup from a can and grilled cheese sandwiches or barbecue cups.

And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. My first real retirement day is in the books—and if you don’t count the unfortunate incident with the 15 year old Christmas tree box—it was a smashing success!

The California Fires

I’ve been watching Los Angeles burn for over a week now, the images and videos painting a hellscape of destruction. Palm trees spitting sparks like Roman candles. Entire neighborhoods reduced to soot and ashes. I learn that some celebrity’s house was destroyed. Lots of celebrities have lost their homes. There are thousands of ordinary people who have lost everything. I’ve watched video of incredibly brave pilots flying helicopters and fixed wing airplanes dropping water on the fires despite the most dangerous flying conditions you can imagine. The amount of heroism on the ground of this tragedy has been astounding, from firefighters to homeowners coming together in crisis. I watch the destruction and the destroyed communities and my heart is broken for my fellow Americans in Southern California.

Just a few months ago it was the people in the North Carolina mountains, entire towns wiped off the map by floods and landslides. Months later those folks are still homeless. It will take years for their recovery. Same for California. Natural disasters have the power to wipe out in minutes what it took a lifetime to build. For the people of North Carolina, the freak hurricane was a once in a lifetime disaster. For the people of Southern California, destructive wildfires are a fact of life due to a collection of conditions from drought and the Santa Anna winds to questionable land management restrictions—or lack thereof. But in either case watching people dying and their homes being burnt to a crisp is a catastrophe.

Along with the bravery of so many there are also examples of human depravity. Seeing men walking around with blowtorches starting fires intentionally is the sort of thing that makes my blood boil.

But, just like the disaster in North Carolina, it hasn’t taken long for the conspiracy theories to sprout up on social media. We humans want to assign blame, it is unavoidable when people are angry, I suppose. The Los Angeles Mayor has come in for her share of criticism with her deer in the headlights press conference to being out of the country—in Ghana??—while her city was burning. The California Governor has come in for lots of criticism as well, as have some of the policy decisions that his government has made that many people believe have contributed to the severity of the fire. But there have also been other theories thrown into the mix claiming everything from deliberate malfeasance on the part of the governments involved all the way to blaming the fires on a United Nations plot to destroy LA to make room for a smart city! Now, there’s a new one that claims that the fires in Pacific Pallisade were set deliberately by Hollywood big shots to destroy Sean “Diddy” Combs’ home and all the evidence to be found inside and underneath his house. Sigh….

By far the worst take I’ve encountered watching this story unfold is one that thankfully I’ve only seen once or twice but even that is too much. California is being destroyed by fire because of God’s wrath and judgement. People who feel this way also seem to delight at the prospect of this so-called divine justice. Be careful what you wish for. If you think that God is behind this because of the sins of Southern California, you better hope he doesn’t start looking for sinners in Short Pump. I happen to know that Short Pump is crawling with them, including the one writing this blog. So, I’ll just let the conspiracy folks believe anything they want. I don’t know enough to cast blame, especially while the fire is still burning. What I do know is that some really good people have lost everything. My heart is with them.

Grandson Update!!

Thursdays have become big around the Dunnevant house. That’s the day when we get the latest status update on our grandson’s development. Kaitlin is subscribed to this super cool website called The Bump that gives her new info every Thursday including, but not limited to, the approximate size of the little guy. Unfortunately, the creators of this website  are under the mistaken impression that we are familiar with the sizes of obscure fruits and vegetables. For example, this morning Kaitlin informed us that the little buddy is now the size of a…mango. A couple of weeks ago it was a kiwi. Before that it was a plum. Do these people know that we’re Americans? If they want to help us visualize how big the kiddo is wouldn’t they be better served by using something more familiar? How about, “Congratulations! At the 19 week mark your baby is now the size of a pack of Twinkies. Next week he will be almost the exact size as a Poptart.” Instead, I have to Google…mango…size of, where I find a bunch of confusing data. Apparently these things vary in size depending on what continent they come from, time of year, weather conditions. I’m no closer to knowing how big my grandson is now than I was before this new information! This would not be a problem if they told me that he was as big as a package of peanut M&M’s. Nobody would be left Googling the size of a pack of M&M’s because we all know exactly how big it is. I mean they might as well tell me that my grandson is now the size of a pomegranate harvested from the plains of Uruguay after an unusually dry winter.

But I suppose I should be thankful that he’s growing like a weed…and soon will be the size of a overripe Carambola!

An Uneventful Beginning

I have been retired now for 8 days, but it doesn’t feel like retirement. Because of the snow, Pam hasn’t been back to work yet so it’s like—“Honey, how can I miss you if you never leave?” Plus, I’m going a little stir crazy being cooped up in the house all day. We did manage a morning walk through the neighborhood yesterday, and I paid some bills after having lunch at Boychik’s. But last night around 9:30 I looked at Pam and made the observation that I hadn’t taken a shower all day. Don’t worry, I won’t turn into that guy—two showers a week guy. It was a one-off oversight. This morning I returned personal hygiene to its rightful place in my daily routine!

Now I’m at the Cafe plotting and scheming my plans for 2025. I’ve gotten to chat with a couple of my favorite Hope Church peeps. I’ve gotten to brag about my pending status as a grandfather. Later today we have a Facetime appointment with Patrick and Sarah because it’s our daughter-in-law’s birthday. Her presents arrived yesterday, just in time, and apparently Patrick opened the boxes and gave each present a proper wrapping. Major props to us for raising such a thoughtful man. Not only is he lucky to have found Sarah, so are the rest of us. She is a gem and I am thankful that God brought the two of them together.

It’s not like I’ve accomplished nothing in these first 8 days. I have stepped up my Dad Joke game with beauties like this one:

What do you call a detective who solves cases accidentally?

Sheer Luck Holmes…

I texted this to some friends of mine and they responded with this:

“Is this what your retirement looks like for us?”

Yes. As a matter of fact, this is exactly what my retirement looks like. This morning I got a text from someone at the office:

“It’s boring when you are not here.”

Well, they can’t say that I didn’t warn them.

Everything You Need to Know About This Storm

Here in central Virginia we have been promised a snow storm beginning sometime tonight and lasting through Tuesday morning. As is often the case with winter storms in Virginia, these forecasts come with more codicils and disclaimers than a Hollywood prenup. We are reminded by our intrepid meteorologists that there are many very complicated factors with the storm which could go either way and depending on other equally mysterious conditions, the predicted outcomes could vary widely. So we are left with forecasts designed to give the forecaster lots of wiggle room should his/her predictions wind up being off the mark. I have taken the liberty of combining all the various forecasts in play from the local television stations, the Weather Channel, several weather apps as well as a couple fake weathermen on Facebook, into one overarching forecast that should cover all the bases:

Snow/sleet/freezing rain will start somewhere between 7:00 and 10:00 tonight and continue throughout the night until around 4:00 Monday morning when it most likely will change over to freezing rain/sleet/snow, then inexplicably change over to all rain for a brief period between 15 minutes and 3 hours, before finally switching back over to all snow around noon lasting for God knows how long before finally stopping in the wee hours of Tuesday morning. It should be mentioned that there may be a brief cessation of precipitation of any kind during a devilishly tricky DRY SLOT appearance at some impossible to predict moment. Or not.  Nevertheless, total accumulations of snow/sleet/freezing rain will be in a range between 2-85 inches.

To get ahead of this storm Pam did what all self-respecting Richmonders do when faced with the possibility of instant death brought on by a snowstorm power outage—she went to the grocery store to stock up on all the essentials. This list of must-haves includes but is not limited to: toilet paper, milk, eggs, bread, eye-liner, beans, chicken broth, pot roast, Beano, mascara, bottled water, bicarbonate of soda, Imodium, air freshener, and a bag of cheese puffs. There are very important reasons for each of these items, although I’m not totally sure I know what the eye-liner and mascara are all about. It probably has something to do with the fact that if the storm outperforms the predictions and were to dump, let’s say—12 inches on us, that would mean a walk in the neighborhood with Lucy which would mean pictures would be taken and the last thing you want in snow-frolicking pictures are tired looking eyes, am I right?

Of course the best part of this storm will be the postmortems afterwards. The one meteorologist’s forecast which turns out to be the most accurate will bestow on him/her bragging rights around town until the next storm comes through. We can all only hope that the winner doesn’t wind up being that blowhard facebook clown who was first to introduce trash-talking into the weather forecasting business a couple of decades ago from a computer terminal somewhere in his Mom’s basement. Now he’s turned his shtick into an actual business that people pay money for. Only in American, my friends. Only in America.

So, as I finish this up it’s 6:15 Sunday evening. So far no snow/sleet/freezing rain to report. But we’ve got plenty of toilet tissue at the ready and we got a pot roast planned for dinner tomorrow night.