The Meaning of Friends

The To Do Lists are getting crowded. Time is starting to feel short. One week from today we leave for Maine and I think I’ve got a cold, which is suddenly big news in the post-COVID world. I haven’t had a cold in almost two years because of all the hand washing, hand sanitizing and mask wearing. But recently I have done several things that placed me in close proximity to thousands of my fellow human beings. I have attended a baseball game, taken long rides on the crowded DC Metro etc. So a couple days ago I started with cold symptoms. But post-COVID, how do you know what is a cold and what might be …the big C? Sure, I’m fully vaccinated, but its not 100% effective. Since we are leaving for Maine next week I decided to get a rapid test at Patient First last night, out of an abundance of caution. (Having just used that dreadful phrase, I feel an apology is in order). Good news: I do not have COVID. Bad news: I have a cold. On an optimistic note, this is the time to get a cold, not next week.

Attended a funeral yesterday. One of our dear friends lost her mother after a battle with dementia. She lived a fruitful life of 85 years and was truly beloved by all who knew her. The chapel was packed. I know from personal experience how terribly difficult it is to stand up in front of a large gathering of family and friends and eulogize one of your parents. You so desperately want to say the right words, to convey the appropriate sentiments while simultaneously realizing it is impossible. You can’t reduce anyone’s life to a ten minute speech, much less the women who gave you life. Plus, as soon as you arrive at the podium and look out at the crowd your heart begins to beat louder and your stomach is suddenly in your throat. But, our friend stood up in that podium and honored her mother with a gracious and tender speech all the while holding herself together with great poise. Well done.

It’s funny what happens in the week or so leading up to Maine. I’ve noticed it before but this year more so than other years. Although Pam and I cherish nothing in the world more that the weeks we spend in Maine, we also feel this strange need to get together with people who we love before we leave. Pam has spent almost every day recently having lunch or breakfast with all of her dearest friends. We just scheduled a dinner for next Monday night with our Hope small group so we can see them all before we leave. How lucky are we to be surrounded by so many people who we love? This is what really matters, isn’t it? We won’t miss Short Pump. We won’t miss our house. We will only miss the dear people who make Short Pump and our house worth coming back to…the incredible human beings we call friends.

Reputation

No…you’re not seeing double. Yesterday I posted a photograph of this cool Father’s Day present I received from my wife. Well, thirty minutes later the doorbell rang and there were my two angel girls from next door, Sully and Kennedy along with their sweet Mom. They had a gift they wanted to give me for Father’s Day too….the exact same thing.  So now I have one for my home office and one for my work office. I also have to admit that I’m a bit concerned that I have developed such a predictable reputation in my neighborhood…slayer of squirrels and dad-joke teller.

Just Another Night at the Ballpark

Sometimes the best laid plans don’t end up turning out the way you wished. Take last night, for example. My big brother picked up a couple of Nationals tickets from a friend of his who has season tickets and was out of town. The two of us had planned to meet up at the center field gate around 5:30 for the 7 o’clock game. We were both taking the Metro to the ball park, he from Rockville, Maryland and me from Springfield,Virginia. We had both been looking forward to it for weeks and the weather turned out to be absolutely perfect. All seemed teed up for a great night.

I leave my house in Short Pump at 2:10 in the afternoon. My GPS assured me that the Springfield Metro station was a mere hour and forty minute drive. All was going swimmingly until I got onto Interstate 95 heading north…

Yes kids, that tiny green sign in the distance is the Elmont exit and this photograph was taken while sitting graveyard-dead still. Not a good sign. But, Let not your heart be troubled, I reminded myself. This is exactly why I left so early. Ignorance of 95 traffic is no excuse for anyone who lives near the thing. It is the place where travel plans go to die a painful, excruciating death. 

But eventually the traffic began to thin out, just in time for this…

Was there an accident, you ask? No. Was there road construction? No. Was there flatbed truck full of naked models pulled over on the side of the road causing a festival of rubber necking? No. So, what caused the traffic to grind to such an inexplicable halt all the way from Quantico to Springfield? I have no idea. It is a profound mystery. Nevertheless, I didn’t arrive at the Metro station until 5:12. Then, the real fun began.

I am not a city guy. The Metro is a city thing. I’m sure if I had to use it every day I would get used to it and grow to appreciate its charms. To the uninitiated, this is not charming…

Yes, it goes without saying that I missed a connection that I was supposed to make and wound up going considerably out of the way. All the while I was texting big brother with my ETA. Finally I saw the big lug standing there in his Strasberg Jersey at the centerfield gate. It was 6:15. For those of you keeping score at home, that’s four hours.

Donnie’s friend’s tickets were awesome. There was a restaurant there with tables outside…

So, the Dunnevant boys were finally together with plenty of time to spare. We ate some ballpark food, caught up a little bit and marveled at the glorious weather and the obnoxious Met Fans who had somehow gotten tickets far to close to us.

The actual game was a tight pitchers duel and the two of us had a blast providing expert analysis and color commentary to those within earshot. Through four innings it was 0-0. To change our luck, I decided to excuse myself long enough to go to the W store to buy a hat. Twenty minutes later, I returned. The score was still tied but my big brother seemed oddly quiet. By the middle of the sixth inning he informed me that he wasn’t feeling well with a look on his face that I was very familiar with. Our sainted parents bequeathed to their children many admirable traits, however, from our mother both of us inherited an unpredictable , confounding, and devilish condition that we euphemistically call stomach issues. It’s virtually impossible to predict with any certainty why or when it will strike. Lucky for both of us, it is a rarity. But when it does arrive on the scene it is almost always at the most impossible time…like the middle of the sixth inning at a baseball stadium, an hour’s metro ride away from your automobile!! I will not go into any details, but the next hour was quite the experience, involving everything from a five dollar bottle of water and botched Uber attempt to an amazingly professional ambulance crew that saved the day. My brother is fine and at home recovering from the ordeal. In the middle of all the angst and turmoil, the Nationals walked off the Mets on a run scoring single in the bottom of the ninth from Yan Gomes. We heard the roar even from the ambulance!

Of course, my night was not over because I had to once again sample the unique pleasures of 95 south. My handy GPS took me on a perilous detour at some point which was of nebulous benefit since eventually it placed me back here…

I trudged along, and trudged along and about when I was all out of trudge, I pulled into my driveway at 1:18, a full eleven hours after I left.

Just another night at the ballpark.

The Hard Wait

In less than two weeks Pam and I will begin a five week adventure at this place. This will be our home for the first two weeks, then we will head to the other side of the lake to this place for the remaining three weeks.

The alert reader will notice that I have not chosen to show pictures of the actual houses we are staying in. That’s because it’s far less important, and less interesting to me than the lake and these views. This is Quantabacook, and I will be spending far more time on these docks and in that water than I will be spending inside. Don’t misunderstand. The houses are important. Neither of them are dumps by any means. Both are actually quite lovely. The thing is, houses in Maine during the glorious summer months are places you go when its raining or its time for bed. But if you insist on lake house pictures…

Here’s the view of the lake from house number one. we will be eating our meals here if it’s raining and/or at night.

This is where I will be writing this blog for three weeks and eating lunch I imagine.

That’s it. That’s all the important things to know about where we will spending our time.

Oh, and another thing. This second place will be where our kids will be staying with us for as long as their hearts desire to do so. Six of us getting to hang out together on this lake is the greatest of gifts in this life. It makes everything I had to do to make it happen worth the trouble. And one day soon, instead of five weeks it will be all summer, every summer.

Morning Conversation

It had been several days since I had texted my friend in Buena Vista, so I knew her guard would be down. I just couldn’t resist…

Me: Hey Pup. How have you been this week?

Pam: Doing ok my friend. How about you?

Me: Not bad…except I had a colonoscopy yesterday.

Pam: That go ok?

Me: You know me, I struck up a conversation with the anesthesiologist. I asked her, “How long have you worked at this clinic?” She said, “About a year. I’ve been with field medical teams my entire career. This is the first time I’ve settled down in a clinic and the first time I’ve been in gastrointestinal.” I relied, “I see. So, after all those years in the field, how do you like working in an orifice?”

Pam: Geez, Doug!

….long pause

Pam: Did you get a good report? No polyps?

Me: GOTCHA!!!!!

Pam: ……you are such a punk!!

Me: Seriously though, yesterday my daughter Kaitlin was telling me about cheetahs and how skittish and nervous they are. They require a lot of attention and sometimes in zoos they even have a companion dog to help keep them calm.

…another long pause

Me: Turns out, without a lot of care, cheetahs never prosper.

Pam: It’s awfully early for this nonsense, Douglas.

Me: You know, as I’ve told you before, poop jokes aren’t my favorite kind of jokes.

…yet another long pause

Me: But, they’re a solid number two!!

Pam: (twenty eye-roll emojis)

Me: Your kids ever play The Oregon Trail when they were little? Mine did.

Pam: …….???

Me: You meet a man on the Oregon Trail, the man says his name is Terry. “Terry? That’s a girls name”, you laugh. Terry shoots you.

Pam: ….sigh

Me: You have died of dissin Terry.

Pam: Ok, I’ve had enough.

What a great way to start the day!!

Russ and Baseball

Yesterday, Pam gave me my Father’s Day present early by taking me and her Dad to a Flying Squirrels game…

Great seats, great food, and a beautiful day. Of course, after attending a game in Nashville recently, I was reminded just how much of a dump The Diamond has become. The concessions are a mess, the bathrooms stink, and the scoreboard is uninspired and hard to read. But any hopes that we might get a new stadium are dead simply because this is Richmond, Virginia we’re talking about, a city with perhaps the most pathetic and inept government in the history of democracy…but that’s a topic for another day. Right now, I’d rather talk about my father-in-law.

Russ is in his 80’s somewhere. I won’t offer a specific number because it doesn’t matter. He’s not old, at least he doesn’t act old, which is the important part. He’s just a really smart, funny guy who is always fun to hang around. On the subject of baseball, he is one of the few people in my life who I can talk baseball with who…understands. He’s a baseball lifer and still follows his RedSox and the Nationals, mostly because they are on television a lot. But yesterday he told a fascinating story from when he was a kid. Pam had asked him if he could remember the first big league game he ever attended. Russ didn’t hesitate.

“I was around 14 or so and we had driven down to Fenway Park to see the RedSox play the Yankees. I was so excited that I was going to see my hero, Ted Williams. Only bad thing was when they announced the starting lineup he wasn’t in it. He had a cold that day so he didn’t play. I was so disappointed!! But later on my senior class in high school went to Fenway for two days to see the RedSox play the Kansas City Athletics. On Sunday it was a double header and Ted Williams had himself a day. In the first inning of both games he hit a three run homer!”

How great is that? First of all that his senior class trip was to Fenway Park, but second of all that he got to see Ted freaking Williams hit two home runs…and he still remembers the details?! When I asked him about the lineup that day he immediately mentioned that one of the guys on base for both home runs was Dom DiMaggio, Joe’s kid brother. 

There’s something about baseball that does that to you. It makes an impression that stays with you. Although its been over fifty years now, I can still remember the guys who played for the old Richmond Virginians from when I was like 7 years old…Joe Pepitone, Tom Tresh, and Al Downing. Then the Braves came to town and it was Hal Breedan, Shawn Fitzmorris, Ralph Garr and Dusty Baker. If I live to be 100 and all of my other faculties are gone, I’ll still be able to tell the nurses at the old folks home about who was in the starting lineup for the Mets in game five of the 1969 World Series.

And now, my son has taken up watching baseball videos on YouTube and sending them to me. Dad, have you seen this catch and throw?! Crazy!!
 

Writing Stories

For the past ten years or so I have taken up the hobby of writing novels. It’s not unlike any other conventional hobby in that it is fun, done in your spare time, and serves as a distraction from the demands of your day to day responsibilities. But writing long and complicated stories takes a long time to complete, especially if its a hobby. But no matter how long it takes, you never get tired of the story or the characters you’ve created. In fact, you find yourself quite attached to them as the weeks become months, and for my latest…the months become years. I started writing this current story in August of 2020 and I’m still probably only halfway done. When/If I ever retire from my real job, I plan on trying to see if I can get one or all of them published. But for now, its just a cool outlet for my devilish imagination doing something I’ve always loved to do…write. Here’s what I’ve written so far:

A Life of Dreams

This is a story about a gambling savant whose gift destroys his life and eventually leads to a suicide attempt, after which he begins seeing visions of his still living ex-wife, which leads to a pseudo-reconciliation as the two of them go on a search for her long absent father. They find him, a successful but tortured attorney who himself commits suicide after meeting his daughter after 30 years of abandonment. When her dying mother shows up on her doorstep months later, all kinds of weird semi-supernatural stuff begins to happen, some of which involve a stray dog.

Saving Jack

Jack’s wife gets murdered in the parking lot of a convenience store by a deranged drug addict. This random act of violence leads Jack to abandon his life and business and flee to his cabin in Maine to attempt a recovery. While there, a stranger from his past shows up with the news that his wife’s murder may not have been so random after all. Both of Jack’s grown children become concerned and suspicious of this stranger and her motives and race up to Maine to intervene. What is ultimately revealed has the power to destroy the family. 

Reardon’s Walk

This is a strange tale about a traumatic event of betrayal that leads to a bizarre time travel episode that takes the protagonist back in time to the year of his birth. In the year 1962 Charlie meets his mother who is pregnant with…him. Back in real time, Charlie is dealing with the fallout from the witnessed betrayal and the disturbing information he has learned from his trip back in time. More strange semi-supernatural things begin to happen with the appearance of a kind but weird old lady with a connection to Charlie’s mother. Every detail of the story seems to center around the ornate beach house on Hatteras Island named Reardon’s Walk, built by Charlie’s estranged father not long after he was born. 

Each of these stories were super fun to write and all three of them were completed in roughly 8 months. The one I’m writing now has no working title and as I said earlier is only half done. But by far, it has been the most difficult and disturbing to write. It concerns a man who is living a perfectly fine life with lots of success and happiness when he suffers a nasty face-plant fall while out for a run. The blow to the head causes at first subtle changes to his personality then everything goes off the rails as he loses almost all impulse control which causes him to disappear without a trace one afternoon after a business lunch. His elderly and oppressive mother hires a private detective to find him and bring him home after coming into possession of evidence that her son has written a six figure check to some random woman in Mississippi. Conflict is everywhere, between Danny and his angry and abandoned wife, between Danny’s wife and her overbearing mother-in-law, between Danny’s feuding  business partners, and between Danny and this new, post-fall version of himself. There’s an encounter at a bowling alley, a hitchhiker with a gun, and a female private investigator with tons of issues. I am totally invested, all in on this group of characters, but at this point I can’t even figure out who the hero is and who the villain will end up being. All of them have each impulse within their personality.

At my current rate of progress, I’ll wrap this story up sometime next year.