Lt. Governor Delbert Hosemann, who had a severe case of COVID-19, wants to delay the 2021 Legislative Session. Speaker Philip Gunn, who had a milder case, wants to go forward with the session.
I don’t have any pull when it comes to the Time Person of the Year, but if I did, I’d nominate our pets.
Yes I know, I can name lots of people who are equally deserving (if I were to name a human, it would definitely be our medical workers). Yet as I sit here in my house (I work from home most of the time these days), I look over at my dog Pip and think how she has saved me from cracking up. She definitely deserves MVP — Most Valuable Pet or at least an extra chewy ring. Since April, she has been the one I’ve talked to the most — and she has done a good job of listening. She has hung out with me when I have been recovering from medical procedures and has sat next to me when I draw. We take walks when I need a break and she is always thankful to get a treat when offered. Today, I did my radio show from our fairly soundproof master closet. Right after the first segment, she scratched on the door, I let her in and she promptly demanded I pay attention to her during a break. I bent over and started petting her soft, brown fur. Scratching behind her ears seems to help both of us stay calm. For an hour, she helped cohost my radio show — and did a really good job.
Pip is eight and I’ve gotten to know her better this year than ever before. I like her and I think she has learned to like me a little bit more than she did before (she has always been Amy’s dog). As I look at her sitting on the back of the couch and peering our of the window at the world, I am grateful for her quirky personality and her constant ear. She has kept the walls from closing in on me this pandemic. And for that, I am grateful for my little brown dog.
When I was in college, I wanted to become an editorial cartoonist. I had drawn cartoons while in high school and when I hit the campus of the University of Tennessee, I started trying to figure out how to become the editorial cartoonist for the Daily Beacon. They had one — who was pretty good — but I was young, hungry and stubborn. I wanted to see my work in print. My R.A. (Resident Assistant) was a guy named Rusty Gray. Rusty, a go-getter (who later on was elected SGA President and is now a lawyer in Chattanooga) encouraged me to try out. I put together a few examples and headed over to meet with my advisor for a regularly scheduling advising schedule. She looked at my work and gave me probably the worst advice possible — she said, “The Beacon already has a cartoonist.” She’s now a published author but was in graduate school at the time and I’ve always wondered why she said something so discouraging. But it had the opposite effect on me. I marched downstairs and tried out. They picked one of my ideas — it was a cartoon about UT’s parking situation (which I assume is still bad). That’s when my career began.
TAKE A CHANCE
I wasn’t great at first. I’m not even sure I was that good. But I had fire in my belly. I wasn’t published everyday in the beginning but I kept turning in work. There was no greater thrill than seeing my work in the morning when I picked up a Daily Beacon. My sophomore year, I was given a comic strip. It wasn’t that good but it did teach me deadline discipline. Yet my first love was the editorial cartoons and I kept working hard to get better. I had met my mentor (Knoxville Journal cartoonist Charlie Daniel) thanks to a speech class assignment and was learning more and more about my craft. The editor at the time HATED my comic strip and made a deal with me: Drop the strip and I could do the editorial cartoons daily. I leapt at the opportunity. For the next three years, my worked was in EVERY edition Daily Beacon. (I copied Charlie’s work ethic — he was the Carl Ripken of editorial cartooning)
DO THE WORK
When I graduated, I could not find a job at a newspaper. It was a Catch 22 (if you don’t know this reference, read Catch 22 — Great book, decent movie): you had to have experience to get a job as an editorial cartoonist and I didn’t have enough. But I couldn’t get published to get the experience I needed. I ended up moving back home and being a high school janitor. Like many of you, I did what I had to do — but my attitude sucked. I was like a fart in the elevator — no one wanted to be around me but couldn’t escape me. I stopped drawing for about six months and immersed myself in a pity party. I’ve told this story in other places, but it was a trip to church, a sermon on the Parable of the Talents and an epiphany that woke that monster back up in me. I got busy, won The John Locher Memorial Award for cartoons I was doing at a local university (where I was taking a painting class). The award opened doors. I soon was working at the Marietta (Ga.) Daily Journal (not drawing cartoons) and then at the Conroe (Tx.) Courier (drawing a few cartoons). The pilot light relit inside of me
DO EVEN MORE WORK
It was a work ethic that I maintained until The Clarion-Ledger made me part time in 2010. I drew seven cartoons a week for them and even didn’t miss a paper after I had cancer surgery. I still have a similar dogged worth ethic. When I went “part-time,” I just drew six (for half the pay). I draw six today for Mississippi Today (most of the time) — plus everything else I do. I am a blessed man.
My standard nightmare is that I am back at UT working for the newspaper and I don’t turn in the work. I had it last night but it manifested in a different form: I was my age and it was present day. Last night’s nightmare’s hook was that my work didn’t matter. I was the old guy. It didn’t matter if I published cartoons or not.
I guess relevance is something you worry about when you get older and, Lord knows, if you’ve been in the newspaper industry. I have to admit, I have never worried about it when I am awake. But last night’s nightmare — and yes, it was a nightmare — was a vivid and cautionary tale. I am not Freud but something is rattling around in my head. I am sitting here this morning, drinking green tea, watching church and thinking. Doing the work is important. I have the work ethic. But I also need to make sure I am consistently navigating the storms of change.
DO WORK THAT MATTERS.
P.S. Yesterday, I took the day totally off. I did four drawings that brought me personal joy. They haven’t gotten a ton of likes. But as I get older, I find time for me to do work that I enjoy, too.
DO WORK THAT BRINGS YOU JOY
P.S.S. There is a thread that runs through this post that isn’t lost on me. Most of my growth as an artist and as a person has occurred when things didn’t go my way. I am grateful for that advisor (I later had another one who was a rock star), the editor who hated my comic strip, the fact I was a janitor and the fact I was made part-time at the Clarion-Ledger. All pushed me. I’m also grateful for my mentor Charlie Daniel, the “adults” at the Daily Beacon who were angels without wings for encouraging me. And of course, I am appreciative for my family, who have been on this ride with me. Maybe you do pull up your own bootstraps. But I am know I wouldn’t have had boots or straps or the motivation to yank at them without the help of a lot of people.
You had grown up during the Great Depression, a hellish time of economic collapse and sacrifice. You saw your parents struggle and maybe even were separated from them. All that you thought was normal wasn’t anymore. While FDR said that all there was to fear was fear itself, the uncertainty weighed on your soul. There was no future and even less hope. There was just the moment. You learned how to take care of yourself and helped take care of your brothers and sisters. You could hunt, fish, fix things and find food when there wasn’t any money for it — skills that would serve you later. And then on a Sunday afternoon, you heard the broadcast that changed your life forever.
Pearl Harbor had been attacked. America was at war.
If you were 18 (or could lie and say you were), you went and signed up to fight the Japanese and Germans. You either trained to go to Europe, to sail the World’s oceans or you were sent to rot in a jungle in the Pacific. You faced foes that were relentless and cruel. And a part of you matched that cruelty. Death became wholesale — 100 men here, a 1,000 men there. You fought for more than you country and your family back home — you fought for your buddy next to you in the foxhole or on the bomber or on your ship. Many times, you saw him die in a way that left scars inside you that would never totally heal.
1942 was bleak with a few glimmers of home (The Battle of Midway). 1943 saw a turnaround. 1944 was a march toward victory. And then 75 years ago today, you got word that the guns had fallen silent. Two giant bombs had flashed over Japan, changing the world forever. But the world was behind you in line — you had already changed. You had fought fascism. You had stood up to tyranny. Now it was time to come home and try to live a normal life.
Thank you to all of the veterans who fought, sacrificed and came home. Thank you to all the veterans who died in the service of our country. Those men and women came home and shaped the United States into the world power it became. That generation, named the Greatest Generation by Tom Brokaw, faced hardships we’ll never quite understand. We inherited the fruits of their sacrifices. Now, in a time of challenge of our own, what we do with those fruits is the ultimate statement of our gratitude.
I am fairly awkward when I meet famous people. I usually don’t know what to say and what I say comes out wrong. Not sure why that is — it just is. Recently, I met Archie and Olivia Manning, who are about as close to Mississippi royalty as you’ll find. I’ve lived here for nearly 24 years and never have crossed paths with them until a couple of weeks ago. (Spoiler Alert — they are just as nice and gracious as you’ve heard and would expect.)Me, being goof #1, turned on my dorkiness and said something to Archie like, “I am grateful it’s your number that’s the speed limit at Ole Miss and not Eli’s” and to Olivia I said, “Thank you for all you and Archie do for Mississippi.” Olivia’s response hit me in the heart, “We do it because it’s home.”
Because it is home.
Mississippi is a complicated place. It is full of natural beauty and full of good people who are creative, talented and inviting. It is also a not-so gorgeous place at times that is full of issues that need to constantly be addressed. We hover around 50th in some good categories and near #1 in the bad ones. We suffer from poverty and yet are #1 per capita when it comes to giving. There isn’t much in the middle here. When I talk to ex-pats, they always talk longingly about the day they get to come home –– the #1 reason they left is usually “opportunity.” In Mississippi, you aren’t from the town you live in, you’re from the town where your mama lives. There is a love for this place that I’ve never experienced before — except for in Texas. So many kids I talk to tell me they’re leaving as soon as they can. Yet some come back and fight for their home state. What motivates them?
Because it is home.
I am not a Mississippian by birth but I am one by choice. My children, however are Mississippians by birth and I want the best for them. That’s what drives my cartoons. And if I had a dollar for every time someone told me, ” If you don’t like it, move,” I’d be able to fully fund education. I know a lot of other folks hear that as well. And I am grateful for those who hear it; they are the people who get up every morning and fight for better tomorrow for our state. They risk getting outside of the buoys to drive change. They don’t do it for fame or wealth; they do it because they see Mississippi’s potential. And they fight, scrap and sacrifice for it. It is truly a labor of love. They don’t believe “Only positive Mississippi spoken here.” They believe “Only positive action for Mississippi done here.”
Olivia Manning’s answer helped remind me why those selfless people give so much back to our state: Because it is home.
Amy and I have been taking care of some deferred maintenance on our home. I look at myself in the mirror and think, “I need to take care of deferred maintenance on myself.”
I walk around like a question mark right now because my back has formed to the shape of my chair (Thanks sciatica.) I have also gained the COVID-17. My knee is healing but not quite 100%. But it is so frustrating (and at times painful) not being able to exercise and to be this size. It’s seems so hard to change.
But it’s not. It’s all about routine. It’s making choices every moment. Do I put this in my pie hole? Do I get up a little earlier to stretch? Do I spent my time creating content instead of glued to a screen?
It’s time to finish out 2020 strong. I will eat good things. Do good things. Consume good things. It is time to love and care more and hate less. Fear is the enemy. Well, that my sciatic nerve. It’s time to take on the dragon and slay it. It’s time to take on some deferred self maintenance.
The house looks great, btw. Me? I still have some work to do.
As much as I need sleep right now (and like you, I could use some serious Rip Van Winkle rest), I crawled out of bed early today. There is something about the peace of the morning that is soothing. We have been doing some work on our house and things have been like the third runway at the Atlanta airport the past few days. But right now? Silence. There is a dim light coming in as the sun struggles to get over the trees. The air is cool for an August morning. I stare at my computer screen as I start to compose today’s to-do list. There is so much to be done today. I will turn what’s into my imagination into reality.
But not right now. I am focusing on my breath, getting ready to make my green tea and just enjoying the moment. There is no COVID, no politics, not stress. Just my breath. In and then out.
“Reality” will kick in soon. Work will get done. Crises will be handled. But right now? There’s only peace.
Heading towards The Hill past the Haslam Business School and the new Student Union. Both are new since I went to school from 1986-1991. Ayres Hall, in the distance, was there when my father was at UT.
My head lay on a pillow a block away from where I lived most of my college career. I woke up, looked out the hotel window at The Strip, the stretch of Cumberland Avenue where most of the bars were back when I was in school at The University of Tennessee. A few people sleepily walked down the street and sat in the McDonald’s drive-thru. Today The Strip is more about chain restaurants and small stores than bars. Heck, even the Krystal, the restaurant that kept me alive for a week my sophomore year when I ran out of money, is now a Verizon store. Even the bar where I played harmonica is now the site of a Panera Bread Company. High-rise apartments loom in places where my friends lived in worn-out houses. Old buildings have been torn down and replaced by shiny new ones. But the campus is still similar enough to my memories that every synapse in my brain fired on overdrive as looked around. I felt like my Dad when he’d walk the campus when I was in school.
“That wasn’t there and that wasn’t there and that wasn’t there.”
I closed the curtains, put on my shoes and walked UT’s campus at sunrise. As I climbed The Hill, maintenance staff busily manicured the immaculate landscaping. What had once been a concrete and brick jungle now bloomed with a variety of plants and trees. The campus is gorgeous. Millions have been poured into landscaping and new buildings. Neyland Stadium, which looked like an erector set when I was in school, now has enough brick to make code in Madison. I walked past the buildings were I had my classes. They came back to me, too — the successes I had and the near-failures (Accounting II). The sun peeked over the skyline of Knoxville and gleamed off the Sunsphere. I remember thinking it was really cool when it was built for the 1982 World’s Fair. Two years before that, Dad took my to my first UT game. I proclaimed to him that I’d go to school here that day. I did six years later.
On this trip, I had met Peyton Manning, several coaches and many of the football players I had once idolized. I saw my work proudly displayed on the wall of a fantastic new hotel (The Graduate Knoxville) and had total strangers tell me how much they loved it. I saw an old Beacon rack earlier in the day and smiled — Here I was so close to there it all began. As a bonus, I had seen my friend and mentor Charlie Daniel and my aunt Shug on this brief trip. I wish I could have stayed a few more days and visited with more friends but that will have to be next trip. When there is a next trip.
Greve Hall. My room was on the very end.
I walked past my old dorm room (in Greve Hall) and looked up at the window. It’s now someone’s office — it’s a good place for and office if you ask me. It was quiet when I lived there. Now that the dorm is an office building, it is even quieter. Memories flooded back. I felt 18 again. Age faded away off my bones. My knee even felt good as I hiked back to the hotel.
My heart was full.
I got my stuff, my car out of valet and then headed out of town. I drove to the split at Lenoir City and headed South on I-75. I passed all the familiar exits and there was even a Tennessee State Trooper hiding just where they’d hide back in 1990. But it wasn’t 1990 and I wasn’t headed to Atlanta.
At Chattanooga, I veered right instead of left. Atlanta is no longer home. I’m no longer 18 and my parents are no longer waiting for their son to come home. No, I headed towards Alabama and then Mississippi. That’s home now. Home is where Amy and the boys are.
I passed the exit to Atlanta and wiped my eyes. I thought about the passage of time and the 30 years that have flown past since I left UT. I am grateful there are good people taking care of my university — it’s in good hands. And I am grateful there are new students who will create their own memories.
As I was speaking to UT’s new chancellor on Wednesday, she said to me, “Thank you for loving UT.” I smiled and replied, “It loved me first.
Sprayberry High School’s Stadium. The little room was on the right side fo the upper part of the stadium you see. It was also used as a filming location for the movie “Remember the Titans.”
July 1, 2020
I remember piling into the little room under the stadium at halftime. We’d be behind and felt like every eye on the home side was glaring at us. We sat down, tired, sweaty and dirty, waiting for for butt-chewing that was to come. Cokes would be handed out and we could hear the muted sounds of the band. (Side note, I enjoyed it when my son was in the band — I got to see halftime shows!) The coaches would then talk to us, chew us out if we needed it and then give us a pep talk. Then they’d make adjustments for the second half. Then we charged back out onto the field with a new sense of purpose.
We won a lot of those games which speaks highly of both the coaches and my teammates. There wasn’t a lot of quit in the Class of 1986 — something that has been proven over the past 34 years in our post-football lives.
Since then, I’ve been fascinated with one specific aspect of football — making halftime adjustments. Some coaches are brilliant at it. Some? Well not so much. But the point is, the game lasts four quarters and the team who adjusts and plays with heart can come back and win.
A couple things are required, though. You can’t live in the first half. Second, is that you have to have the conditioning to be able to have the strength to change and fight on. Today is halftime. 2020 is halfway over and we are about to head out onto the field. I wrote about this yesterday and I will say it again — I feel like I’ve had my butt kicked. I know you probably feel the same way, too. What we are experiencing is hard. It is OK to say that. But we all have it in us to not only survive the challenges that are being thrown at us but soar. So take a moment today and reflect on this year so far. What has gone right and what has gone wrong? Take inventory of your health, your bank account and your job. Look around at your relationships and your support system. Write down on a piece of paper the primary threats you face and the opportunities that are out there for you. It’s time to charge back out onto the field. 2020 is tough foe — one of the toughest we’ve experienced in years. But by the time the clock counts down to 2021, we will be victorious.
I know the day by events that happen. For example, I know that today is either Tuesday or Friday because it is trash day. And since I had a radio show yesterday, it must mean it is Tuesday.
Medical workers deserve a monument on the Washington Mall. And we all should have a new appreciation for the people who keep our economy moving — those who drive the trucks, stock the shelves and clean the places where we go for example.
When a cold goes into your chest, you get really sick and you can’t get tested, your brain will place you on a ventilator 100 times an hour until you get better.
I have gained 10-lbs. –– of hair. I look like I stepped out of 1986.
People are going through all five stages of grief: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance and are expressing it on Social Media. Acceptance is hard to attain but is the place where we have to be to move into the new normal. I continue to bounce around from anger to depression and acceptance.
My calendar reminds of events that have been cancelled. Pop-up reminders mock me as I mourn.
Human beings are resilience and adjust well — and will complain the whole time they do it.
Everyone has lost something: A job, a prom, a graduation, a loved-one, a paycheck — No matter what level of seriousness you think it is, it is devastating to them. Now is a time when we all should be exercising our empathy muscle.
A number is hard to wrap our head around. As I write this, There are 1.01 million confirmed cases in the U.S. (and God knows how many unconfirmed cases). Of the confirmed cases, 114,000 have recovered. And 56,634 have died in two months. Every digit represents a person, a story and a loved one. Every death is someone who died alone.
The relief when your lungs open back up and you finally start feeling human after three weeks of being sick is powerful. Take a deep breath right now. Hold it. Release is slowly. Never take that feeling for granted.
I’m going to get back on my Dave Ramsey plan. We have all learned that six months of savings is a very good idea.
That there are two curves that need to be flattened: The spread of COVID-19 and anxiety. Social distancing and hand washing helps with one. Helping others, staying connected virtually and trying to stay in the moment helps with the other.
People are like oranges: You can tell what it is inside of them when they are squeezed. Some people have risen to the occasion and made masks, given their talents to help others (like musicians playing on Facebook) and lived what they learned in Sunday school. I admire them. The others? No comment.
All the problems I had before the pandemic don’t seem as bad now.
I’ve seen people who are great at business who are (rightfully) scared. I’ve also watched them pivot and adapt.
I’m glad so many companies have my back during “this difficult time.” I just hope they have their employees’ backs.
Leadership hates a vacuum and it has been inspiring to see so many people step up to fill the void from the ground up.
I’ve gotten to know my dog better and she has gotten to know me better. I know I really like her. I’m not so sure that she likes me.
I have gotten very selective about where I get my information. I tend to trust medical sources and reputable media over a meme that Cousin Becky posted on Facebook.
Being a former janitor and a melanoma survivor, I could have told you not to ingest bleach and avoid UV radiation.
People have a right (and need) to vent on social media. I have a right to ignore them if they get abusive. The mute button is brilliant.
You don’t have to correct everyone on Facebook — it’s a waste of energy and time.
I have now made it a month-in-a-half wearing shorts everyday.
I miss eating at restaurants, going to concerts, watching my son run track, speaking in front of large groups, going shopping and not treating it like I am going on a combat mission.
I’ve tried to focus on the positive but I am not denying the negative. I have enjoyed spending time with my three boys, my wife and my dog.
When this happened, I vowed to come out of it better, stronger and more prepared for whatever happens. After a few weeks of being in fight-or-flight mode, I’m finally starting to plan for whatever may happen next.
If I ever do work full-time from home, I will have a separate studio in the house.
Keeping a regular schedule helps with sanity. So does walking in the neighborhood — and it makes my dog happy, too.
I might just get all the way through Netflix. Ozark Season 3 was incredible. Tiger King is way over the top.
I am grateful for the moment and will try to reside there as I prepare for the future and celebrate the past.
