Posted in Life

Door-to-door sales

Posted on by William Douthwaite

One of the signs of the end of the Covid-19 pandemic was the reappearance of door-to-door sales. It had been years since anyone was dropped off to knock on doors in our neighborhood. Even the Jehovah’s Witnesses resorted to handwritten letters rather that risk being exposed to disease. To be honest, I didn’t miss them.


Suddenly, like a weed that pops up in the garden overnight, they were back. The first wave offered pest control for my home. The first man wore a branded polo shirt, and started his pitch with the standard opening, “We’ve been servicing the homes of many of your neighbors and thought you might be interested in our monthly program.” I glanced at the logo on his shirt and then back at him. In my mind, I thought, “I haven’t seen any trucks or cars with that company name on it in our neighborhood. I doubt you’ve got much business here.”


“Do you have anyone treating your home for insects? There are lots of ants in this neighborhood. We are offering a really good deal today.”

“Actually, I do.” I shared with him how much I paid for monthly pest control.

His eyes widened. “They come every month for that much? Hey, I can’t touch that. Sorry for your time.” (Oh, and by the way, I’ve never seen an ant in my house.)


The second wave was selling security systems. One gentleman pulled up to my front door on a hoverboard and tried to ring the bell. I disconnected my doorbell because someone always seemed to ring it just when I or a grandchild had laid down for a nap.


I didn’t know anyone was at the door. But my dog Samson did. He went nuts, growling and barking and baring his teeth in the window.


“All right, Sam, let’s go see who it is.” I held him by the collar as I opened the front door just a crack. The salesman’s eyes widened, he took three steps back and pleaded, “Don’t let him go!”


“Samson, sit. Stay.” I stepped out onto the front porch, leaving Sam behind the closed door.


I smirked when he said, “I’m in the neighborhood today for XYZ security systems. Have you heard of us?”


I could hear Sam growling behind the door as I said, “No, I’m not familiar with that company.”


This guy then launched into a fast-paced presentation that lost me after about fifteen seconds. He knew he didn’t have much time, so he compressed his whole pitch into about three minutes. Switching back and forth from iPad to phone, he showed me equipment, plans, surveillance videos, and pictures of neighbors who had recently installed their equipment. I didn’t recognize any of the attractive couples he claimed were my neighbors. He quoted a monthly price and asked, “I’m only in town today and tomorrow. Would you like to sign up?”

I played the, “I need to talk to my wife first” card.

“OK. I stop back tomorrow, but then I’ll be headed for some other town. Here’s my card.” With that, he segued off to the next house.

I later heard from a neighbor that a sales rep from that company had been arrested a few streets over. Turns out he got into a yelling match with a woman who called the sheriff. When they checked him out, he had warrants for his arrest in three states. LOL, maybe I need a security system because of people like him!


Next up, the tree trimming guys. “Hi, we’re in the neighborhood and see you have a few dead trees. We can take care of them for you in the next few days.” After I point out that the trees in question are on neighboring lots, not mine, they leave a card and are on their way.


I’m surprised anyone does door-to-door sales anymore. I imagine many people look at their doorbell camera and ignore whoever they see at the front door. We don’t open up to strangers anymore. We’ve heard too much about home invasions, diseases, and scams.


As much as I dislike door-to-door salespeople, I have bought their products. At the exact moment when we had decided we needed a lawn service, someone stopped by with a deal. I signed them up on the spot. We hired a crew to trim our palm trees who just happened to be in our neighborhood. We had our roof replaced by a company that was working down the street. We’ve bought magazines from teens from who knows where to earn a trip to the Bahamas. Neighbor kids selling the world’s best chocolate bars always make a few bucks at our front door.

Maybe that’s the key. Bring chocolate.


Posted in Life

These blueberries are delicious

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I just about choked on my food when I heard the comment. If they only knew.

The season-opening meeting of our small group included a “breakfast for supper” meal ahead of the discussion. With about twenty members, the group had outgrown “small” status, so everyone would bring something, sharing the meal prep load. We signed up for pancake toppings, which our host said should include syrup, whipped cream, and blueberries.

Whipped cream? To me that sounded more like dessert for dinner, but I went with it. I picked up bottles of sugar free syrup and a can of aerosol whipped cream. Who knew whipped cream had gotten so expensive? Since I’ve had blueberry syrup on pancakes at restaurants before, I scanned the breakfast shelves for some of that. I couldn’t find anything other than maple flavored. Where could I find some kind of blueberry sauce?

Maybe I could find something in the ice cream aisle. If not that, then strawberry, right? Nothing but fudge and caramel. Great toppings, but not for this event.

I know. Blueberry pie filling. I made my way to the baking aisle. There it was. Perfect. I didn’t think many would choose that as a topping, but it was the cheapest one of my items.

When we arrived at the meeting home, the hosts quickly took my bags of toppings and set them out on a serving table not far from a mountain of plate-sized pancakes. A warm pan of scrambled eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy, and fruit salad were all lined up and ready to go. I passed over the pancakes that night, opting for all the rest plus a second helping of biscuits. I was astounded at how much food some piled on their plates. I watched as several loaded up a few pancakes with syrup, blueberries, and whipped cream. The food was great and we all got to know each other a little better.

From the end of the table, I smirked at the comment, “These blueberries are delicious! I wonder who made these? I need this recipe.” I put on my best poker face and said nothing. I don’t know what it is, but something in that can full of processed blueberries made them delicious. I’m sure it was the sugar.

In that moment I recalled a soup supper from years ago at our church. Each week in the spring, families took turns bringing in their favorite soup recipes along with bread and butter before we gathered for some Wednesday worship. One week Erwin brought what he labeled his “famous” chili. It was really good chili. But it tasted familiar. Sure enough, as I helped clean up, I noticed numerous Hormel chili cans in the trash can. I chuckled and thought about how unrefined our palates really are. Bring some processed food with lots of salt and additives and everyone will praise your cooking!

We used to call them “cardboard” cookies. They were cheap store-brand cream-filled sandwich cookies, chocolate on one side and vanilla on the other. They really weren’t that good, yet we went through giant packages every week. It’s embarrassing to admit how many times I reached for a few of those over some homemade cookies. In the same vein, a package of Little Debbies snack cakes will disappear in no time, regardless of who you’re feeding.

I’ve tried some copycat recipes over the years. Glazed lemon cake from Starbucks. Chicken Marsala from Olive Garden. New York style pizza crust. Biscuits from scratch. Homemade ice cream. It’s never quite the same. I don’t know if it’s my ingredients, my oven, my lack of culinary skills or a lack of additives, but theirs is always better than mine.

There are a few things we make better than the store bought versions. My wife’s homemade pie crust is so much better than most of what we find at grocery stores or bakeries. Her cheesecakes taste as good as any we’ve ordered at restaurants. We’ve tried ceviche at several restaurants, but prefer mine, since I can include all the ingredients we prefer. It’s nearly impossible to beat homemade chocolate chip cookies. And we also prefer home-brewed coffee to most we find at coffee shops and restaurants. (We like it very strong and dark.)

Someone figured out that if you add enough fat, sugar, and salt to just about anything, people will keep coming back for more. They may even rave about your recipe!

Posted in Life

Let’s go for a drive!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

From the deep recesses of my childhood memories, I recall saying to my dad one Sunday afternoon, “Let’s go for a drive!”

I don’t know where I got the idea that is would be fun to go for a drive. It must have been a nice day, perhaps in the fall when colored leaves were still on the trees lining the streets of Delaware County (Pennsylvania). It must have seemed appealing since my family really didn’t go anywhere except school during the week and church on Sunday. We must have gone for a drive sometime before that, just to get away from suburban Philadelphia and enjoy some of the rural areas not yet developed by housing additions and shopping malls.

I remember my dad’s response. “Why?” Throughout his career my dad commuted an hour to work and back Monday through Friday either in a car or on trains. For him, the weekend was finally a chance to be home, catch up on chores, listen to a ballgame, and be with the family.

My dad’s follow up question was, “Where do you want to drive to?” I had no idea. All I knew is that miles of road were out there just waiting to be driven. We would get a chance to see the world in color rather than on black and white television. We would see farms and woods and creeks and houses and fields. Where? I don’t know. Anywhere sounded exciting to my brother and sister and I. Although, we thought that the hour-long drive to the Jersey shore was unbearable, so we really didn’t like driving that much.

I don’t think I ever took my own family out for a “drive.” Once I became a dad, it was academic. As the one who paid for the gas and maintained the car, driving around for the sake of driving around wasn’t in the budget. We owned a couple of cars to get from one place to another. We drove to work, to the store, to visit family, to school, to dance lessons, or to some other destination. But we never just went for a drive.

However, I discovered that in the early 20th century, when cars were a new form of transportation, people actually went for Sunday drives. It was mostly an American thing. The car was a form of entertainment, not just for transportation. In a time when most stores and businesses were closed on Sunday, there wasn’t much else to do.

When gasoline prices climbed later in the century, the custom all but disappeared. Even though there are more roads than ever, there are also more cars and trucks on those roads than ever. Even in the most beautiful of areas on a beautiful afternoon, it’s just not that much fun to sit in traffic.

When I lived in New Jersey, I was just a couple of towns away from Ocean Grove, a small beachside community that prohibited automobile traffic on Sundays. If you were headed north or south, you had to detour around this town. I don’t think the law is still in place, but I guess no one who lived there went for a Sunday drive.

Over the last thirty years or so, I’ve gotten to know a lot of people who drove forty-five minutes or more to go to church on Sundays. Their Sunday drive was to the place where they wanted to worship.

I’ve gone for many of walks with my wife, dogs, children and grandchildren. I’ve been on plenty of bike rides, too. I’ve also been on boat rides, horseback rides, carriage rides, kayaking and paddle-boarding. I enjoy any and all of those so much more than going for a “drive.”

Posted in Moments of grace

Open the door (it might be someone with fudge!)

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Bang, bang, bang, bang, BANG!

I thought I was pretty clever, disconnecting the doorbell to avoid the pleas of door-to-door salespeople. No longer did midday rings wake me, the dog, or my grandkids from our much-needed afternoon naps. However, this post-pandemic breed of street vendors is passionate. No audible ring? No problem. Five or six knocks on the door, each one louder than the last, should get my attention.

Wrong. My two cars are in the driveway. The garage door is open. The dog is snarling. I can see your form through the frosted front door window. But I’m not even looking up from my book. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested. Better luck at the next house.

But today, something feels different. Maybe it’s not a stranger. Maybe it’s my neighbor. Let me sneak a peek out the kitchen window. Yep, it’s my friend from across the street. When I open the door, he’s holding a plate of homemade fudge!

Sometimes a check arrives in the mail. Other times, the sun breaks through the clouds after a thunderstorm. And once in a while, someone shows up at your door with fudge. Suddenly, it is a very, very good day!

I wanted to make sure I fully experienced the moment, so I immediately ate a couple of pieces. A milk-chocolate piece had some walnuts. The dark-chocolate variety had none. Both were delicious.

In the wake of this day-changing moment, I said to myself, “Perhaps I should open the door more often. Who knows? It might be someone with fudge!”

Sure enough, ten days later, I heard a knock at the door. It wasn’t a loud knock, nor did it sound urgent. But I had my radar on. In fact, I had casually mentioned to my neighbor just a few days before, “I’m all out of fudge.” Without hesitation, I answered the door and there he was, my friend with two small bags of fudge.

How many life hacks have I read over the years? Hundreds. How many micro-habits have I adopted to become the best version of myself? Plenty. How many insights have I stumbled upon that I could share with others? Very few. In fact, this might be the first one,.

So rather than callously ignoring the irritating knock at my door, I’m going to remember this moment. I know, it could be another security system salesperson hoping my dog isn’t as vicious as he sounds. It might be another pest control company warning of an impending locust plague in my neighborhood. It could be someone with new religious insights to share with me.

But it might be someone with fudge!

Posted in Life

“Whatcha doin’?” “Nothing.”

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I went to the library a few weeks ago for the first time in a long time. I’ll bet I hadn’t been there in two years. With a little more (retired) time on my hands to read, I decided to see what was on the shelves.

When you think to yourself, “I want to spend more time reading,” you have to address the next question, “What do I want to read?” I don’t know. Best sellers? Great writers? Classic novels? Biography? A real page-turner? I really don’t know.

I put my library card in my wallet and drove to the library, a couple of miles from my house. The sign on the automatic-opening front doors read, “Masks recommended.” Lol. No one in the library was wearing a mask, except for the front desk staff who stood behind plexiglass shields. Just an observation.

I immediately went to the new arrivals shelf. They were filled with a large selection of fiction, non-fiction, young adult, biography, and audio books. I remember someone saying that I should be reading biographies, so I started there. I scanned the shelves and spotted an autobiography by Dave Grohl, a musician with Nirvana and Foo Fighters. He wrote it during the Covid-19 concert shutdown. It looked interesting. Why not?

New fiction was two steps to my left. James Patterson? Plenty of those. Right next to his, a new crime novel by Thomas Perry. The main character was all about being chased, disappearing, and going off-grid. Looks good to me.

Two books should be plenty. I don’t want to overdo it. Wandering out from the stacks, I paused to look at some of the other people in the library. This was the most interesting part of the day.

Who spends time at the library? I saw a sheriff’s deputy filling out a multipage application for something. A woman used one of many computers to look up something online. A young lady texted friends on her phone. A mother walked her young son to the children’s library.

I also noticed a man sitting at a table doing absolutely nothing. He wasn’t reading. He wasn’t looking at a phone. He wasn’t having a hushed conversation with a friend. He wasn’t studying for a test. He wasn’t writing. He was just sitting.

Then, I saw a second person doing the exact same thing. Just sitting, at a table, in the library, doing absolutely nothing.

I was fascinated. I can’t remember the last time I just sat and did nothing. Actually I can’t remember anytime I sat and did absolutely nothing. I’m always looking at my phone. I always bring something to read. I write. I draw or doodle. I have hushed conversations. I eat snacks.

But I never, ever just sit and do nothing.

I’ve spent a lot of time the last few decades reading about and learning how to be productive. I know how to get more done in less time. I’ve mastered the 1-3-5 system to get important stuff done first. A Kanban board in my office kept me on task each week, filled up with “to-do,” “doing,” and “done” sticky notes.

All that has changed. I have retired. I no longer have to be productive. I have no weekly deadlines, presentations (sermons), scheduled meetings, classes to perpare for, phone calls to return, visits to make, or conflict resolutions to worry about. For the first time in forever, I don’t have to do anything. In others words, if I so choose, I can do nothing.

Nothing? Oh, come on. You have to do something. You need a hobby. Friends. An avocation. A purpose. A direction. A mission. You’re not dead yet. What are you going to do?

That’s the question everyone asked when I announced and embarked on my retirement. “What are you going to do?” My answer then was, “I don’t know.” In a sense, I am still answering that question.

About five months into retirement, my days have not consisted of “nothing.” My daily to-do list is filled with gardening, painting, grand-parenting, and travel planning. I spend time each day exercising, reading, writing, and playing music. I have more time to talk with my wife, try a few new things in the kitchen, and sell things on eBay.

When you are young, everyone wants to know what you want to be when you grow up. But then, for most of our lives, we identify ourselves by what we do. Once you leave the work world, though, it’s now about who you are. It is very interesting when you start thinking about yourself untethered from a career.

I haven’t done that for a long, long time.

Posted in Life

What is that smell?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

When I opened the car door, I caught a whiff of something unusual and recited Will Smith’s line from “Independence Day” when he pried open the alien spaceship to welcome the alien who had come to destroy the earth.

“What is that smell?”


Rolling my eyes, I leaned in to smell the child seats in the back. Someone in potty training must have leaked. I wasn’t taking any chances. I took the seats out, took the covers off, and threw them all in the washer with an extra dose of Buff City laundry detergent. They came out smelling so nice. I reinstalled the car seats and left the windows open for the day. Problem solved.

The next day the odor was back. There must be old food in the car. The grandkids leave a lot of crumbs and uneaten snacks in the back. I’ll surely find something under the seat. I thoroughly vacuumed the car, finding lots of crumbs, lollipop sticks, and snack wrappers, but nothing very offensive. No rotten cabbage or open ketchup packets. No dirty diaper. I drove around with the windows open that day, and much of the smell went away. Mission accomplished.

One day later…

“What is that smell?” It was worse than ever. I can’t drive around like this. I’ll pass out. I had just had the car in for some routine maintenance. For the first time in a few oil changes, I took it to the dealer. They always check the cabin air filter and usually try to sell me a new one. No one mentioned it this time, so I just assumed it was OK.

After watching a YouTube video on replacing the cabin air filter, I unhinged the glove box, popped off a few clips, and exposed the cabin air filter. When I pulled it out, it was covered with white fuzz and bits of black foam rubber. Strange. But as soon as I pulled it out, I knew this is where the smell was coming from.

I threw it out and headed to the auto parts store. When I got home, I went to slide the new filter in but noticed there was still a little bit of fuzz in the slot. So I began to pick it out. There was more than a little bit. It looked like all the filling from a stuffed animal had been packed in, probably by a mouse who thought this would be a nice place to build a nest. The mouse had also chewed off some black foam rubber insulation for extra comfort.

After I pulled out some mouse fur I came across some internal organs. So that’s why my car smelled like someone had died in there. Someone had died in there. I am not an expert on mouse anatomy, but I think I saw a liver and a little bit of intestine.

I thoroughly vacuumed out the filter compartment. I reached inside and pulled a bunch of dried leaves and pine needles from beneath the fan blades. I sprayed the new filter with Febreeze and slid it in. I clicked the glove box door back into place and ran the AC for a little bit. I may have caught a whiff of dead mouse, but it quickly went away.

I don’t remember seeing any mice running around our house or yard. My across-the-street neighbor had plenty of them running around in his attic before a rodent-control guy caught them. He had mice because my other across the street neighbor thought it was fun to throw peanuts, bread, chips and other leftover food into nearby vacant lots to feed the wildlife. Unfortunately, the wildlife near us includes rats and mice. Thanks a lot. Yes, I’ve asked him many times to quit. That plea goes in one ear and out the other.
In addition, I drive that car just about every day. We don’t leave it sitting in the driveway more than a day at a time. So either the creature worked all night to build a nice little nest. Or he came back repeatedly to finish the project.

Cause of death? I don’t know. The mouse may have gotten stuck and starved to death. He or she may have gotten chopped up in the fan. Carbon monoxide poisoning? I don’t know.

But my car smells so nice.

Posted in Grace

Street corner violinist

Posted on by William Douthwaite

As I left Starbucks this afternoon, I heard accompanied violin music. A man was playing some new age-ish much on the corner of the driveway. I stopped to listen, and then stepped in to take a picture.

As I did, a man stepped up to talk to me. I remember seeing him inside Starbucks. He had an earbud and an ugly polo shirt. He said, “Did you take a picture of that guy?”

I admitted, “Yes.”

He said, “I’ve been watching him for two days. He’s been out here every day. I figure he’s making $30 an hour. He’s not homeless. Just out there taking advantage of people.”

I said, “Oh. I didn’t know.”

Honestly, I was going to put a few dollars in his box. Just like I would do for anyone busking. Just like I hope someone would do for me one day when I am playing my guitar somewhere.

I got in my truck and drove away. But I thought, “Can’t I throw a few bucks to a musician on a street corner without feeling guilty?” So what if he’s not homeless? He’s pretty good. He might play a request. He might have a family. At least he is doing something.

Posted in 2022 Lent Devotions

First thing in the morning

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Bonus “Mirror of the Passion” devotion for Easter Sunday. Photo by Tim Foster on Unsplash

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared. (Luke 24:1)

It’s early. It’s still dark. But I’m awake. I always wake up five minutes before my alarm. It’s how I’m wired, I guess. I might as well get up. My routine: feed Samson (my dog), start the coffee maker, walk the dog, pour a cup of coffee, grab my bible, journal and a pen. It’s time to find out what Jesus has to say today.

That’s right, he’s already up. His word is active and alive. It will easily cut through joints and marrow and speak to my heart. It might be something I’ve heard a hundred times before. It might be something I’ve never thought about before. It might be a promise I’ll need to get through the day. Or it might be one I can pass along to someone else.

Jesus is up before the women who went to the tomb. He is risen, the stone’s rolled away, the guards have fainted, and the tomb is empty (except for the linen). Maybe they can return those spices for store credit.

If you ever think you’ve go it all figured out, just remember Easter. Nothing went as expected. Yet it turned out better than anyone could have imagined! Add a bit of Easter to your daily routine and you’ll never be bored.

He is risen; he is risen, indeed! Hallelujah!

Posted in 2022 Lent Devotions

The stone

Posted on by William Douthwaite

“Mirror of the Passion” devotion for April 16, 2020. Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

And Joseph rolled a great stone to the entrance of the tomb and went away. (Matthew 27:60)

Impressive. All the art work I’ve seen shows the stone in front of the tomb as at least a thousand pound hunk of rock. Joseph rolled it there? Whoa, this guy’s in better shape than me.

The stone was meant to keep people out, right? Or was it to keep Jesus in? All of the above? I don’t know.

All we know is that the stone was in place on Saturday. On Friday it was open, til they laid the body of Jesus there. On Sunday, when the women showed up, the stone had been rolled away. On Saturday, the stone was doing its job, sealing up the entrance to the tomb.

How do you respond to a locked door? Walk away? Look for another way in? Jiggle the doorknob, hoping it will somehow open? Check the windows? Do you accept the reality? Or look for an alternative?

Saturday is one of those days. It feels like nothing is going to happen. It’s a done deal. Your hopes and dreams aren’t going anywhere. Monday will come soon enough. Back to the routine. Same old same old.

If they only knew. If they only knew what was happening behind that stone. If they only remembered Jesus’ words about resurrection and life. If they only knew what was happening in the dark. If they only saw the scene in hell. If they only knew what the women would find on Sunday morning.

We don’t know what’s happening behind the stone walls, behind the scenes, behind what seems to be unmovable obstacles in our lives. These are places we cannot go. But these are the places where the most important things are happening.

Just wait til Sunday morning. Just wait til the sun comes up. Just wait til you wake up. The biggest, unmovable assumptions of your life won’t be a problem any more.

That’s the power of resurrection.

So maybe this is Saturday. Maybe you’re stuck. Maybe you have no place to go. There is a big rock in the way. Maybe there is nothing you can do. Just wait. The sun will set. The sun will rise. And it will be a new day. It will be Sunday. And all of those worries will fade like the morning dew.

I’ll wait, Lord. I know the new day is just a few moments away.