Rainy Days and “the look”

Yesterday was a rainy day and a cool 64 degrees. Maine in June. I hear that my friends in Short Pump are simmering in the heat. If I were a more empathetic person I would feel for them. I should work on that.

So, after a gorgeous Sunday, we are in for a three day rainy spell it would seem. Tomorrow will at least have some sun, along with a thunderstorm later in the day. By Thursday the forecast brightens considerably for the Holiday weekend, sunny with high temps in the 70s. Glorious.

My fisherman skills seem to have gone the direction of ethics in politics...they have disappeared. So far, I have landed exactly one fish! Meanwhile, I have hooked five others, only to see each one leap out of the water and shake free. Embarrassing. Of course, I only go fishing when I’m in Maine, so what skills I have atrophy while I am in Virginia. I’ll get better by the time it’s time to leave. Eventually I will send photographic evidence of success.

This photograph is something of an embarrassment. Whenever the huge Dunnevant/Roop/Schwartz clan goes to the Outer Banks for vacation there is always a snack table. There are close to 20 people in the house, it’s vacation, so we all just let our freak flag fly when it comes to eating. You will find no gluten-free, lactose intolerant paleo-vegans in our tribe. It’s a free-for-all. So, when this much smaller family heads to Maine, we have a snack table too. But with only two of us, this seems excessive. We comfort ourselves with the notion that...”yeah, but soon the kids will be here, what about their needs?” Still, there’s enough artery-clogging trans fats on this table to last two people the rest of the year. The table should come with a disclaimer, something like:

Warning: The Surgeon General has determined that if the snacks on this table are consumed by any human being, that human being is screwed.

But, look closer at the picture. You probably missed it at first glance. There is evidence that the table was assembled and organized by wife. Do you see it? Yes...that’s a pump bottle of hand sanitizer. Sure, we might gain ten pounds here, but ain’t nobody catching no COVID on her watch!!

Speaking of Pam, she’s still asleep. She already has the look, that shine and sparkle that comes over her face when she gets to Maine. It’s truly remarkable. I think we might drive into town today. It’s not really raining, just a fine mist and low clouds. That makes for a beautiful view of Penobscot Bay from the porch off the back of the Camden Deli. Maybe it’s time for blueberry pancakes. Besides, I need to buy a few books from The Owl and Turtle...

It’s the sort of bookstore you can get lost in for hours. Hope it’s open. Of course, I could always just go to the Library and hang out. That would be this gem of a building overlooking the harbor...

I’ll figure something out...

You Can Run But You Can’t Hide

It has been said by wise men through the ages that you can run but you can’t hide, a wise reminder that although we might change our exterior circumstances, what plagues us on the inside survives all of our schemes of self improvement. I was reminded of this truth at 6:00 am when I was confronted with THIS:

Behold, the bane of my existence. I plan and scheme. I plot my escape. I drive 800 miles away. And yet...within 24 hours of filling and hanging our old bird feeder we brought along for the Maine birds...this guy...flaunts his renewed presence in my life. No, this is not the common grey squirrel of Virginia, but make no mistake, this is a squirrel, the Maine variety, smaller, quicker, browner, looking more like a chipmunk than a squirrel, but every bit the diabolical fiend of his Virginia cousin. This one has designs on the delicacies inside the bird feeder. Meanwhile, I am without my trusty Daisy Powerline 35. However, I can look forward to watching him fail in his efforts to steal nuts, and he will...no squirrel has ever solved the riddle. The difference with this bird feeder is that failure for the squirrel will result in not your ordinary fall, since this thing hangs from the upstairs deck of the cabin, 30 feet above the ground. I will try my best to get that blessed event on video.

Last night it started to rain after we went to bed. The sound it makes on the roof of our upstairs bedroom is magical. Looks like today will be rainy as well. This will mean a more relaxing day for us. The first two days or so are usually filled with chores, yesterday was our initial grocery run along with my continued efforts to make the outside of the property more efficient for our needs. So, now that all the heavy lifting is over, today we will slow down, do some reading. I might write a chapter or two of my latest book. If the rain lets up, Pam will probably take out her new SUP out for another trip around the lake. 

Special Note:

I have a friend in Nashville I met years ago when Patrick was an undergraduate at Belmont University, one of his professors...Deen Entsminger. He’s a really cool guy and we hit it off from the first day. Anyway, Deen is one of those friends who, because of circumstances and geography, I don’t get to see very often. But, like all good friends, that never seems to matter much. Several years ago I got a cell phone call at literally 5:30 in the morning from him where he gleefully began telling me about this amazing woman he had met and was going to marry! It was so random a thing to do, and exactly the sort of thing I would expect from Deen. He did marry her, for what it’s worth, and we would both agree that Kim Daus was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Anyway, for some reason that I can’t explain, while I was kayaking around the lake taking in the grandeur of Crawford Pond, the thought came to me that I should return the favor. So, out of the blue, I FaceTimed him. This time it was my turn to tell him about something amazing that I had found that had made me terribly happy. Deen, being Deen, totally got it. It’s nice to have people like him in your life, isn’t it?

Arrival and First Foggy Morning

I had forgotten how early the sun rises up here...4:56. Not only was our bedroom filled with the early morning light, but also a loud chorus of birds began serenading us at that ungodly hour. I woke up and walked downstairs to make my coffee and saw that the lake was shrouded in dense fog. But yesterday evening I managed to take this picture of the view from our deck...

We did make it down the dock to catch our first sunset and while there spotted a rare bird specimen from the north country, the great Maine flamingo...

From four o’clock until ten c’clock Pam and I labored to whip Loon Call Cottage into shape. It needed lots of love. Apparently, the owners have not been here so far this year, and it showed. The deck was a mess, the gas grill is unusable, but thanks to the guys and girls at On The Water In Maine, a new one is on its way today! The inside of the cabin is beautiful but still needed to be Pamercized, all of the adjustments needed to make the place compatible with her sensibilities. This morning it looks much more like home. The deck is now ready for much lounging, coffee drinking, and general Lolly gagging...

Al Fresco dining has been arranged...

This morning’s breakfast will be eaten outside in the fog and in long sleeves. It’s a wonderful thing.

Ok, full disclosure. When we first arrived, I was disappointed in the place. This is our first stay on this lake and in this cabin. It's biggest flaw is that it’s not Loon Landing. But, mostly the place was not ready for us, which was a surprise, not something we are used to with On The Water In Maine. Yes, the inside of the cabin was clean and ready, but the outside was a disaster which I wore a blister on my hands fixing, a result of the strenuous overuse of the sorriest excuse for a broom I have ever had the privilege of working with!

I mean...seriously?

But, this morning the place is looking much more like home. Had our breakfast on the deck then went to the end of the dock and made my first cast of the season and immediately hooked a bass who rose out of the water and shook free of the hook. I’m out of practice! But three or four casts later I caught an 8 inch small mouth, so all is well. Now, awaiting the arrival of Dan the Man from DuckTrap Kayaks with our two rentals for the month. Later, we will attempt to inflate Pam’s SUP for the first time and launch her on her maiden voyage...if the fog will ever life.

We’re finally here, where we’ve wanted to be since we last left. So happy and grateful.

Annnd....we’re off!!

Heading up north in an hour or so. Beyond excited, if for no other reason than to see something that isn’t this house, Short Pump, or my office. I have absolutely nothing against those three places, but enough is enough. Lucy is deeply troubled inside her doggy soul at all the packing, all the frantic preparations going on around her. She has done much apprehensive pacing these past 24 hours, and sleeping with one eye open. Poor girl can sense that this time, she’s not coming with us. Lucky for us, Lucy is a dog, not a cat. Otherwise, she would be permanently scarred, and hold a grudge for years at this betrayal. As it is, she will whine for a while, then be sent into ecstatic spasms of joy when Bernadette arrives this afternoon to be her new best friend for the next month. Dogs are so straight forward. It’s wonderful.

A word about my wife. On a recent run, I tweaked my back a little, so as a precaution I have been moving slower the past couple of days. I do 100% of the driving to Maine and I have a history of back issues. So, Pam has had to pick up some of my slack as we have prepared to leave. Some men like women who are dainty, delicate flowers. I have no problem with that. I get the attraction. But not me. I’ve seen it time and time again over 36 years, my wife is as feminine as it gets, but in crunch time, she is a freaking boss. There’s nothing delicate or flower-like about her when there’s a job to be done. She can out-hustle, out muscle, and out work any five men I know. She is a relentless dynamo when the stakes are highest, the kind of person you want in your foxhole during a crisis. I am in awe of her grit and determination. And I’ve got to tell you...it’s quite sexy!

Ok, wish us luck as we brave the two day, hopefully no more than 14 hour trip. Hope to stay in a Homewood Suites somewhere near Hartford tonight, then head into Maine by tomorrow afternoon.

...Oh, a shoutout to my sweet sister, Paula, who came over for five minutes last night to wish us luck and drop by a couple of gifts for my kids. Paula has always done this sort of thing for Patrick and Kaitlin ever since they were born. Every time they were home on break from college she would always send them back to school with a $20 bill pressed into their hands. She loves them as if they were her own. I come from a family of such people, generous and loyal. Thanks so much, Sis. You know they adore you, right?

My COVID Test Adventure

Today I have a relatively short To-Do list. I’m also very nervous. It’s this way every year on the day before we leave for Maine. I’m walking on eggshells afraid I’ll throw my back out packing up the car or something. Here’s what Pam wrote down for my To-Do list today:

1. Pay last minute bills.

2. Pack up your work computer.

3. Leave compliant away message on your business phone.

4. Cut grass

5. Pack car

6. Do not throw your back out

Just kidding...she didn’t leave me that list. She didn’t have to. She implies number 6 with her intense stare every time I do anything strenuous the day before we leave.

So, yesterday Pam and I went to Patient First to get our much ballyhooed and dreaded COVID tests. Much has been made of how horribly painful the test is what with a six inch long swab jammed up your nose all the way to your freaking brain where it could be doing God knows what. 

We even heard some moron suggest that he wouldn’t ever get a COVID test because it was all a government plot to implant a micro chip in your brain that makes you vote democrat or some such horses**t. Be that as it may, I was still quite apprehensive as we drove up into the parking lot and saw the little white tent. What made my apprehension even more acute was the fact that my wife was in the car. It’s important to my fragile male ego that I not show any weakness in front of her, so my worst nightmare would be throwing some kind of duck-dying fit in front of her as Nurse Ratchet jabs me with the swab, while Pam comports herself with calm grace by comparison. That’s the sort of performance it might be dang near impossible to live down.

So, the instructions were to remain in our vehicle, and present a picture ID when approached by the nurses in the hazmat gear. When they emerged from the tent, I have to admit to much trepidation. They looked like star fighters with their face shields but the talkative one was all business. She didn’t ask for my ID, she just asked me to blow my nose. Her exact quote was, “remove as much snot as possible.” I would have thought there would have been a more technical term for that like mucus...but she played the snot card. Ok. Then she took my temperature with one of those jabber things you place under your tongue. When she first whipped that baby out I thought I was a goner. What?? It’s made out of metal???!!! Then Nurse Ratchet turns to her assistant, Broomhilda, and says, “These people seem nice, lets not use the long probes on them.” Then she proceeds to place a regular looking Q-tip thing up both of my nostrils, swish it around a little, and she was done. Just like that, it was over. No pain, no discomfort, and no fatally embarrassing meltdown. And, as far as I know, no new found admiration for Karl Marx.

But seriously folks. The COVID test was the biggest nothing burger ever, in this, the Age of Nothing Burgers. So, let not your heart be troubled.

My Dad on Race

Woke up at 4:30 this morning. The closer I get to departure day the worse I sleep. I reached over for my phone and saw that my crazy pal from North Carolina (God bless her craziness) had sent me a text: So, for NASCAR I guess no noose is good news! What an awesome way to start your day, am I right?

It was a relief to hear that the whole thing was a misunderstanding/hyper-sensitive overreaction and not an honest to God noose left in a black driver’s garage! I mean, Holy Crap, are there still people out there playing the noose card? So yeah, it’s very good news.

I was thinking about my Dad the other day trying to remember the few times he and I ever talked about race. Dad was born in 1924, grew up in an entirely different era where ideas about race relations were far different than today. Honestly, it wasn’t a topic he enjoyed talking about much. He would talk about it sometimes in his sermons, but not an awful lot, like most people of his time. But I remember once when I was in college asking him what he thought about racism and he told me a story that I have never forgotten.

Dad grew up in the sticks of Buckingham County, Virginia. His Dad, my grandfather worked a farm as a share cropper. One of the other sharecropper families who also farmed for the same landlord was black and had sons my father’s age. Each year when it was time for harvesting, the families shared the combine and worked together. Dad told the story of the first time in his life when he realized what racism was. He said he was about ten years old, maybe twelve. He was working together along with all the other men when it was time for lunch. The first day lunch was served at the black family’s house. The next day lunch was served at his house. Dad said how confused he was when all the black men were served their lunch out in the yard under the shade tree, while all the white men went inside to eat. Dad ate his lunch outside with his friends but remembered feeling a strange sense of guilt. That night he asked his mother this question, “Mom, how come at lunch today my friends had to eat outside while everybody else went inside?” 

My Grandmother was born towards the end of the 19th century, over 120 years ago, and her answer was the best she could do. She looked at him with what my father described as a tired sadness and said, “Emmett, I don’t know why other than to say that’s just the way its always been.” My Dad, ten years old, confronted for the first time with one of life’s many injustices replied, “But, Mom...they worked just as hard as we did in the same hot sun...” 

And that’s where the story ended. No other explanation was offered. It’s just the way it had always been...was the best she could do. My father never forgot that moment because it was the first time he ever remembered understanding the concept of sin, the irrefutable truth that there was a right way and a wrong way, fair and unfair, just and unjust.

My father was no crusader. If he were here to speak for himself he probably would say he should have preached on the topic of racism more than he did...or maybe not. Dad wasn’t a man of many regrets. But for most people, the feeling you get in your stomach when you read of nooses being left in NASCAR garages was the very same feeling that stirred within the heart of my ten year old father under a shade tree in 1934. Some things are forever wrong, for all time.

A Metaphor

The death toll from the Coronavirus in the United States now stands at 120,000. Worldwide the number is fast approaching a half a million. While progress has been made in many states, others are experiencing a resurgence of cases. There is currently no vaccine. But around the world, the scientific community is working around the clock to find one. To that end, the Coronavirus is dominating new research, and gobbling up medical resources and rightfully so since it is killing people all over the world and the only way to stop it ultimately is to find a vaccine.

This doesn’t mean that scientists and researchers no longer care about heart disease or cancer. It doesn't mean that HIV suddenly doesn’t matter or that diabetes is no longer a horrible killer. It’s just that, right now, there’s an emergency, so all hands are on deck to stop the spread of this thing and find a working vaccine. Sure...all diseases matter, but right now, the priority is COVID-19.

I am losing patience with this All Lives Matter foolishness and those who persist in making the argument. 

“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And yet one of them shall not fall to the ground without your Father seeing. The very hairs of your head are numbered. Fear not, therefore, you are of more value than many sparrows.” Matthew 10: 29-31

Of course, all lives matter. We are all made in the image of God and we have inherent worth and value as human beings. So why is it so hard for so many people to acknowledge that, right now, at this moment in America, it doesn’t seem that black lives matter nearly as much? It in no way diminishes me as a white man to agree that Black Lives Matter. It is just an acknowledgment of the imbalance in the justice system that still, stubbornly persists. It doesn’t mean I have to support every single item on the agenda of the BLM movement. It doesn’t mean that I support the looting and violence that has happened at many protests. All it means is that when I see a police officer with his knee on the throat of a black man for 8 and a half minutes, when I see a black man get murdered for the crime of jogging through a white neighborhood and weeks go by without an arrest, I am agreeing that if Black Lives Mattered MORE, this wouldn’t be happening over and over again, all across the country. That’s all.

So, yes. All diseases matter. We still acknowledge that cancer, heart disease and diabetes are horrible afflictions. But, right now, we’re trying to stop a pandemic, so we will be trying desperately to fix COVID-19 for a while. Is that ok? Are we good?