Archive for the ‘Dana’ Category

Have you been aware, You got brothers and sisters who care

Wednesday, April 19th, 2006

Dana just left to drive Bruce back to his home in Indianapolis. He seems very weak, but in reasonably good spirits.

I could accept that few members of my extended family were able to make the same trip while Bruce was in the hospital for the better part of a year. It’s much harder for me to understand how only three of them—Joan, Brendan, and Caitlan—could manage a visit while he was in the hospital for more than a week, right here in Danville. Mombo stopped by today, but just missed them. I think she feels very sorry about it.

Nobody likes hospitals, except perhaps for some of the people who work there… perhaps… However, there’s got to be more to it than that.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m part of a wonderful Clan, but life can be strange, and certain things happen that just don’t make any sense, and probably never will.

My soul mate

Tuesday, April 11th, 2006

• She deserved to have a calm birthday, but “the wheels fell off” last night. Bruce started to run a fever and his blood pressure dropped so low he couldn’t even sit up without passing out. Dehydration was setting in. He ended up at the ER. Dana spent most of the night at the hospital with him. These recurrent spells are part of the recovery process, I guess, but it doesn’t make it any less worrisome.

• If you’ve been reading this log, you know what she’s been through for over a year. There’s not much that can be done to mitigate the emotional upheaval. That’s just the way it is when you’re a mother, isn’t it?

• Many, many moons ago she was minding her own business when they stuck me in the same office with her. Who would have thought that a couple years later we’d be starting our own business together in the studio her father built? Who would have thought that we’d be wed in the yard of Dixonwood three years after that? We’ve done our best to guide this boat we share, and managed to steer it to Kentucky, but the current seems to have a strong life of its own.

• She is my dearest friend. Hers is the hand I reach for in the squall, the person I trust to tell me the truth about myself, the one who saw the real me, and whose laughter feels the best.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my “partner in all things.” I love you, forever…

Lying Fallow—a story of survival

Sunday, April 9th, 2006

After the Shared Silence at Mack’s cabin, Bruce was the featured provider of words. I can’t remember ever having heard a more awesome extemporaneous commentary (and I’m even taking into consideration some of Uncle Bob’s and Uncle Clarence’s memorable remarks at family gatherings over the years). I actually started to tremble, and at least one person noticed that it probably wasn’t due to the morning air’s unseasonable chill. Dana prepared blueberry-walnut muffins, pecan coffee cake, and a variety of fresh fruit. Lee and David came for the first time, and it was standing room only. Without a doubt, it was one of those powerfully unique, you-had-to-be-there moments, and Bruce left everyone with the profound message that NOW is the time to make your mark as a creative being.

We’re about to go out the door now, to take Bruce for his first trip to see Kelley Ridge, and what a spectacular day to do it!

Walkin’ heavy

Thursday, April 6th, 2006

Two incidents contributed to a higher level of perceived insecurity here on West Broadway.

The other night, somebody broke into the public library just to steal the loose-change jug at the circulation desk. It had been a well-known, symbolic part of the fundraising drive to build the major expansion toward our home. It was the second time the jug was stolen. After the first time, it was attached to a drawer with cable. The burglars took the drawer, too. The result: library managers have said they won’t put out a third jug.

Yesterday, while Marty was helping me trim back the heavy bushes between the Town House and the CPAs’ building next door, we found a discarded purse. The driver’s license was still in the wallet, but no money. It was hard to tell how long it had been there. It was immediately taken over to the police department. Marty shared a few insights into the behavior of crack addicts that I wished he didn’t have at his age. The result: when Dana had to walk over to the ATM last night after dark, I tagged along and packed heat in downtown Danville for the first time in recent memory.

Various & Sundry, part thirty-five

Tuesday, April 4th, 2006

— Dana and I had an impromptu dinner with Mombo last night and I took the opportunity to show her my example of “Legacy Art.” I’m starting to wonder if that’s the best terminology for it, but I haven’t come up with anything better. I like the non-specificity, and the wide range of niche markets it could cover. When Seth saw it, he thought the style might appeal to high-end extreme sports devotees. The first example does have an “Indy Jones” visual flavor to it, and that could be appealing to any number of different target audiences—pilots, speed-boaters, racers, sailors, deep-sea anglers, climbers, divers, skiers, eco-trekkers, equestrians—I don’t know, as long as they have some dough and are fascinated enough with the significance of their own exploits to document themselves with an uncommon work of art. I need to define my ideal, well-heeled “mark.” How does “Raiders of the Flossed Mark” sound? Ooh, that was bad. See yesterday’s entry…

— I haven’t mentioned it, but after the events of the weekend, I was stunned when my pal David decided to present me with two unbelievably nice gifts—a pair of early 20th-century British Enfield military firearms, an officer’s revolver and a bolt-action rifle. I still don’t know what to say to him. He must appreciate the portrait that much, so I really shouldn’t joke about it. On my part, it’s a genuine attempt to find an unmet need in the art world, and I’m not going to put the venture aside just because I didn’t set the room on fire with my initial foray into the marketplace. It gave me pleasure to complete my first in the series with my friend as the subject. Now, the next step is to execute the second under the supervision of my great white huntress. That sounds much more provocative than it’ll play out, I’m sure…

— Yes, I really shouldn’t joke about my effort to reposition myself as a commemorative illustrator. Beside the fact that it wouldn’t amount to funny, the objective tends to epitomize everything that’s held me fixated for over a month, which actually turned out to be a rather serious project of self-study and introspective behavior modification. If poking fun at the pursuit would help my evaluation, than I’m all for it, but I’m more inclined to start looking at the lessons learned and assign myself some new action items to preserve my momentum. One of the primary things that came to light was how much doubt and fear I’d allowed to penetrate into my outlook, workstyle, and personal ambitions… mild, perhaps, but insidious nevertheless. That just has to go, and there are still pockets to root out, but at least I’ve developed the sensitivity to identify and counteract such an undesirable emotional undercurrent. It’s been a major source of wasted energy, as was my habit of distracting myself. It’s amazing how many typical trains of thought and everyday diversions seem trivial to me now, or at least unfocused. I’ve known for awhile that the pattern was there, but it took a diligent effort to unwind the nature of the chain reactions and recognize the old ruts for what they are. Once again, I come back happily to Emerson:

“Profligacy consists not in spending years of time or chests of money,—but in spending them off the line of your career. The crime which bankrupts men and states, is, job-work — declining from your main design, to serve a turn here or there. Nothing is beneath you, if it is in the direction of your life: nothing is great or desirable, if it is off from that…”

V & S

Now and at the hour of our victory

Sunday, March 26th, 2006

March experiment—day twenty-five— I spent my 30 minutes of silence at Mack’s increasingly dilapidated cabin praying fervently for my uncle, who’s fighting his way back from critical care, so he can get the heart surgery he desperately needs.

I ran back to Danville afterwards, just as I had run the five miles out to the cabin, but my legs became alarmingly stiff at nine miles or so and I had to walk a bit. I smiled to think that only a few minutes before I’d been advising J M on how to accomplish his 50-miler next month. Obviously, I’m no ultra-marathoner these days. When I mentioned it to Dana at breakfast she reminded me that it’s been four years since I did mine. True enough.

After the silence, our friend J R (Buck) shared eloquent words about how an aging athlete faces the traumatic decline of the physical body. Fortunately I have no experience with this subject, so far. Uncle Joe does—more than he deserves.

For decades, there was no greater advocate for physical fitness in Southwestern Ohio than Joe Sullivan. He’s had a positive influence on hundreds of educators and literally thousands of young people. He introduced things like tumbling mats and trampolines to the region and designed numerous state-of-the-art gymnasiums. And that doesn’t even touch on his contributions to coaching or his achievements as a college professor. You would think that he’d earned some points that would spare him the pain and indignity of a physical breakdown—he of all people, but it looks as though the Lord makes no such deals. Grace, on the other hand, is another issue.

I will continue to pray the Hail Mary for Uncle Joe.

Today’s sight bites— The march of ditch clutter, to the lower left of my stride, a parade of Newport packs and green Mountain Dew bottles—c-l-i-c-k—Little Caesar’s cartons—c-l-i-c-k—blue Bud Light cans—c-l-i-c-k—Long John Silver’s boxes—c-l-i-c-k—red McDonalds French-fry pockets—c-l-i-c-k—Arby’s bags—c-l-i-c-k—dip containers, soda straws, and orange candy wrappers—c-l-i-c-k—with the helpless notion that I should at the very least interpret all this as an artistic statement, an homage to Kurt Schwitters called Scenic Kentucky Highway 52

Tomorrow— Drawing a good friend in Africa, plus an important call to Virginia (the Mother of Presidents, not Mombo—the Mother of Me—although that’s not a bad idea)…

Million Dollar Babies and Fifty Cent Maybes

Thursday, March 23rd, 2006

March experiment—day twenty-two— When I got back from the gym, I finally finished resolving Tuesday’s surprise request, and shoved it over the wire with a sense of relief. Then I was able to settle back into designing the equine symbology, benefiting from Dana’s help and a bit of synchronicity when the realization struck that it’s never too late to revisit research mode if things get into a rut. Twyla writes about this in her book. By afternoon I had a new momentum of progress. She knows everything!

Today’s sight bite— Freezing a noisy blur with eye and hand—c-l-i-c-k—as gloved fists strike the black speed bag.

Tomorrow— A client’s reaction, after a kick to the finish line…

Hey, it’s a hey

Saturday, March 18th, 2006

March experiment—day seventeen— It was a physically active day, which, after my morning run, I spent mostly outdoors. Our yard is a mess because 2005 didn’t lend itself to fooling around with the hedges and flower beds. Across the street, workers were removing the stained glass windows from the Baptist church in preparation for its demolition. JT told me that he won’t know whether we can get the surplus stone for my driveway concept until the Library board takes possession. The month of May seems awfully close in time, and I hope I can be ready to keep my end of the proposition. I couldn’t believe how fast those guys up on the cherry picker were working—real professionals. That must be an expensive contract.

I spent an hour or so away from my chores by going out to Chrisman Lane with Dan. We picked up litter as part of our “Friends of Mack Jackson” Adopt-A-Highway project. The two of us “drew a short straw” with our task of clearing a steep embankment of trash. It’s always tough to confront how disgustingly negligent people can be, but Mack would be happy with the effort of our informal group. If we keep after it on a regular basis, it shouldn’t be this bad again, I would hope.

I was worn out by the time Dana and I arrived at the English Country Dance with Lee and David, but it was a delightful event—even more enjoyable than the first time. It’s not something I’d want to do that often, but I’m starting to appreciate the simple, wholesome joy of it, and you can’t knock a Berea potluck spread. Yum.

Today’s sight bite— A misty Angus snout bursts with the luminous backlight of sunrise—c-l-i-c-k—as dark gray, plank-fence patterns and long, tree-shadow brushstrokes move rhythmically underfoot.

Tomorrow— Spend some overdue time with the Marty-Man, and slow down a bit before Monday hits like a whirlwind…

2nd half, 2nd wind

Friday, March 17th, 2006

March experiment—day sixteen— Woke up thinking I needed to dissolve last night’s angst about how I chaired the steering group meeting. Rather than stew about it, I trusted the “in-nerd” and resolved it by 7 am with a note to the guys who were there. Simple—thank them and pledge to do better. You wouldn’t think that I’d be figuring these things out at age 53, but there it is.

On our way to and from the Rotary lunch, David and I nailed down our strategy for promoting my pen and wash commissions. The timetable will be a bit of a crunch, but it dovetails with the home stretch of my prevailing time-management experiment.

Had some major breakthroughs on the equine graphics this week, so I locked myself into a presentation next Friday. The practice of self-imposed deadlines is a delicate art. Too far out is another form of procrastination, but too soon can invite disaster. Exactly right is a proven stimulant to creative productivity and concept integration. I don’t always get it right, but I’m a believer. If you don’t have an external due date, you have to create your own. Sadly, I have a wealth of experience trying to avoid what should be a self-evident truth.

After my conversation with Dr. Williams, a wave of fatigue came crashing in from behind me and I had to nap before Dana’s tasty fish-with-wild-rice supper.

Today’s sight bite— A Martini rifle, a walking horse, a hunter and his warthog, ten smiling handgun competitors—c-l-i-c-k, c-l-i-c-k, c-l-i-c-k—a flurry of digital images that etch the memory.

Tomorrow— Nine-mile run at daybreak, yard work, house cleaning, fine art, and English country dancing…

A Secret Garden of Mine

Saturday, March 11th, 2006

March experiment—day ten— Tackled the lopsided landscaping in front of the Town House porch (between thundershowers) for most of the day until it was time for our trip to Richmond. We had a pleasurable “first-date observation” at the Punjab, and then attended the St. Mark’s annual theatrical performance—my sister Joan’s last to organize there, before she moves on to new adventures.

Today’s sight bites— Pre-teen waiters with slabs of cake—c-l-i-c-k—greasepainted faces caught in a spotlight crossfire—c-l-i-c-k—button-breasted singing maidens—c-l-i-c-k—a wide-mouth “Master Colin”—c-l-i-c-k—and the joyful expression of a mentor surrounded by her proud students.

Tomorrow— Early morning ride to Mack’s cabin, as well as a few stubborn issues in the studio to solve…

A day of being present at each moment

Thursday, March 9th, 2006

March experiment—day eight— Don’t have much graphic product to show for myself today, but my time sensitivity, efficiency, and focus were on track. Much of the day involved helping sort out the high-res PDF problems associated with software upgrades. I made decent progress on modifying the project schedule for IFP, plus I had enough energy to swim a 450-yard sprint in 8:05 (a personal record), run the vacuum cleaner, and make a get-well card for my Uncle Joe, too. Had my first look at Paul’s unfinished painting for the Brass Band Festival Poster. The letter I sent yesterday appeared on the Advocate’s opinion page, which helps my effort to organize the local bike-ped task force. Before the library closed I treated myself with “FLIGHT, Volume Two.”

Today’s sight bite— A colorful, plate-size Greek salad that Dana made me for lunch—c-l-i-c-k—a joy for the eye and a treat for the tummy.

Tomorrow— 28 years since my sweetheart and I went out on our first date…

Kono kuni wa mada, hontô no hero wo shiranai

Tuesday, March 7th, 2006

March experiment—day six— Transitioning back into the experiment was like getting on an escalator without stumbling, but I made satisfying progress on retooling a Website to target the thoroughbred industry.
Website Makeover™ Man lives!

Dana wanted to go to the Polish Chamber Orchestra concert with James Galway, so I decided to skip the Clark’s Run meeting, and it was the right thing to do. Last night I watched Ying xiong, which Brendan had recommended to me quite some time ago. Leave it to me to see cross currents and common threads among Yimou Zhang, Perlman, Jet Li, Mozart, and the little Irish flute virtuoso. Mastery is mastery—whatever the source or context.

Today’s sight bite— Sir Jimmy on the Newlin Hall stage with his golden flute—c-l-i-c-k—but that doesn’t get it without the audio track.

Tomorrow— Back at full pace. Sleep deprivation be damned…

Various & Sundry, part thirty-three

Wednesday, March 1st, 2006

— Month of February workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-4; Run-4; Lift-9; Yoga-5

— David and I spent most of last Saturday at the big National Gun Day event in Louisville. Anyone who has never attended a gun show should go at least once to experience the reality behind the propaganda and stereotypical distortions. The technology, heritage, craftsmanship, and diversity of enthusiasts must be appreciated firsthand. David said it was like visiting the Smithsonian and being able to pick things up without white gloves. I was amazed at one point to look down at a table of rifles and know they were collectively worth more than our Town House. I listened to an old man from New York discuss rare, obsolete cartridge cases. I listened to a guy with braided ponytail, tattoos and Harley shirt discuss arcane Victorian sporting calibers. I listened to a man who recreates authentic Kentucky flintlocks discuss the qualitative difference between his skill level and the work of the contemporary masters of the art form. I listened to a metal engraver contrast his techniques with the kind of wood engraving that I’ve done for printmaking. That’s a sampling of what I’m talking about.

— After the show, David and I drove to Campbellsville to meet up with the ladies. Our destination—Yorkshire Estate. The intent—to observe our first “Open That Bottle Night.” Janet and Jerome were splendid hosts, and the night couldn’t have been more delightful. We began with cheese, olives, and fruit, plus a Chilean Chardonnay, while an Australian Shiraz and a Washington State Cabernet awaited dinnertime in decanters. Using some of my Lake Huron fillets, Janet and Jerome prepared Salmon en Papillote, as Dana seared medallions of venison in balsamic sauce. Along with that, Janet provided some type of individual potato custard delicacies that were simply fantastic. Everything about the candlelight supper was magical, and it only got better when Lee served cookies and chocolate-bourbon cake with an exquisite desert wine brought back from South Africa. If we ever do it again, the evening will be difficult to top, but do it again we shall. Remember—the last Saturday in February is Open That Bottle Night

— Sunday was another relaxing stay at Simpson Knob. After rediscovering the childhood fun of playing Yahtzee, Dana fixed a delicious broccoli omelette for the four of us and then worked on a food-club order with Lee while David showed me the rifle course he designed for the upcoming match he’s hosting. I shot well enough to think I might be capable of competing, but knew that I’d be spending that day with Clan instead, as a participant in “Operation Watershed.” Something has transpired so gradiently over the past couple years that I can’t say exactly when these exceptional people became two of our closest friends, but it just happened, and it’s gratifying to know that such deep relationships can develop at every stage of life.

— Well, I’m excited about getting a new client today—me. I woke up this morning dedicated to the idea of redesigning everything to do with how we position our design practice. Over the next 30 days I intend to conduct a radical experiment in time management that includes transforming our company for a new chapter of success. The rapid changes in software development and desktop publishing, along with the increasing perception of graphic design as a commodity service, has made it a necessity. Long overdue perhaps, but I’m not in the mood to look in the rearview mirror. I’m prepared to put all I’ve learned to the test, subjecting our own business to the same kind of analytical scrutiny that we apply to any other client. The timing is right. Stay tuned…

V & S

Still drawn to the best of our breed

Monday, February 20th, 2006

It took longer than I expected, but my drawing for the Housing Authority was a pleasure to execute. The illustration technique I used was directly inspired by my favorite masters of pen and wash—Jack Unruh, Ken Dallison, Joe Ciardiello, and Alan E. Cober. Dallison is known for his automobiles and Ciardiello for his portraits, but all of them have worked with great breadth of subject matter. I’ve marveled at their skill for decades, but they have a similarity of approach that is close enough to my own capability that I can relate to how they visualize and have learned from their prolific examples. Unruh is exceptional—equally adept at rendering people, places, and the natural world—and I could die happy if I gain a fraction of his ability. Cober, who, of the four, actually did die (happy I hope, although much too young), holds a special place in my personal history. At the height of our indecision concerning what to do about the crumbling situation at Wright State, Dana and I had the opportunity to question him at a workshop. He counseled us to trust and follow our instincts, so the two of us got out together. He was a great adviser to hundreds of talents over the years, and I’m grateful to have been one of them.

Sight Bites / First Batch

Saturday, February 18th, 2006

Man with his car in the ditch, waving sadly as he waits for a tow truck.

400 yards of footprints in the fresh snow, to find two brothers at Still-house Spring.

One of Dadbo’s last ‘coon boxes, rotting in a treetop along Sledding Hill Road.

Four tofu burgers frying in a skillet, beside a pot of Mombo’s vegetable soup.

Frank the long-shot candidate, grinning broadly from his campaign card.

The veteran Norwegian biathlete, collapsing to his knees at the finish line.

Chalkboard calculations and a Honchovian decision to define the day’s effort.

An ancient wheelbarrow and a gutted Gravely, rusting in the cluttered barn.

Tiny newborn bunnies, nestled for warmth in a bunting of mother’s fur.

Dana’s cranberry coffee cake, golden brown and fresh from the oven.

Tales of the Graybeard Prospector VIII

Friday, February 17th, 2006

•   I flipped away the afternoon again at the Rotary Club’s annual Pancake Day, where I foolishly tried to expand my exalted reputation by attempting to make a cake with the shape of a Salvation Army Shield. I blistered the edge of my hand on the hot griddle and experienced the same agony of defeat as poor Lindsey Jacobellis. After that, Dana and I went into the city for the Gallery Hop, so I could participate in the reception at the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning. The “Art of the Alphabet” exhibition was a hit with all ages, and the original print of my letter H was the second one to sell. Steve Houston of Texas bought it for his daughter because all of the images present in the montage held significant meaning for him and his family. Quite remarkable.

graybeard prospector

No, you’re Schmoopie

Tuesday, February 14th, 2006

• We started another day together, when it was her turn to bring me a cup of coffee, and before long we were listening to Charles Matkin say, “Change comes over time, with hard work, focus, and repetition.”

• I told her to shun me until I broke the spine of my illustration assignment from the Danville Housing Authority. The only reason these things are ever difficult is because they come so few and far between.

• During my pool workout, as I finished a 200-yard sprint, she was already done with her walk and stopped by to watch me.

• I was over the hump on my ink drawing when she invited me to share her delectable dinner of butternut and Greek lamb chops. We toasted our enduring affection—spare, yet fully formed, like a bonsai.

• We started another year together, when it was time to stuff 2005 into the archives and breathe again. If we can get through something like that, side by side, perhaps we can still tackle our dreams.

• Long ago, they stuck us in a basement office together, so we made the most of it—for a lifetime.

HAPPY VALENTINE’s DAY to my “partner in all things.” I love you, forever…

Tales of the Graybeard Prospector VII

Friday, February 10th, 2006

•   Opening a statement from the Social Security Administration did not get my day off on the right track, and it began to go downhill from there. Fortunately, I was able to recover a bit by putting some good sales moves on the Republican candidate for Boyle County Judge Executive, who will definitely need a high-credibility graphic image as part of any success campaign to unseat the entrenched incumbent. After that, I attended the opening of “4 Seasons — 4 Directions,” Kathleen’s inspiring collage exhibition at Danville’s Community Arts Center. By evening, Dana and I were in Berea with Lee and David, eating delicious Thai food and learning English Country Dance—so the day ended fully back on its proper rails.

graybeard prospector

Various & Sundry, part thirty-two

Wednesday, February 1st, 2006

— Month of January workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-2; Run-2; Lift-8; Yoga-13

— Most who know me are aware that I ran—this is where I always have to stop and clarify or say something like “traversed under my own power,” since “ran” is not appropriately descriptive nor entirely accurate—50 miles on my 50th birthday. Later that same year I finished the Chicago Marathon under five hours. That’s my experience with long-distance running. At times I wonder why I didn’t keep it up, but usually I just wonder why I still feel any need at all to stay in running, biking, and swimming condition to be within striking distance of performing a triathlon. Well, it’s important to cross-train, I tell myself, and besides, staying in triathlon shape is not extreme, it’s just what I consider the baseline of physical fitness. I used to think of extreme as my friend who completed over 80 marathon runs, including one in all 50 states and all 7 continents (yes, I know, Antarctica). Or maybe extreme could be defined as competing in “Ironman” triathlons—a 2.4-mile swim, followed by a 112-mile bike ride, and then a 26-mile marathon on top of it, all in one day. And then I heard about the Hardrock Hundred, a 100-mile race that takes place in the mountains of Colorado. Is that extreme or what? Actually there are those who don’t think that’s enough of a challenge, and push the idea of extreme out to the borderlands of madness—the World Championship Quintuple Iron Triathlon. Believe it or not, that’s a distance equivalent to five Ironmans. There’a guy from Louisville who did it. He finished seventh, with a time that set a new U.S. record. A 12-mile swim, 560-mile bike, and 131-mile run. After four days, nine hours, and 40 minutes, he hobbled across the finish line, his body well into the process of cannibalizing his own muscle tissue. Do you think that’s extreme? Now try this—next November there’s a race in Mexico that requires ten Ironmans in ten days, and the Iron Kentuckian is thinking about an attempt. When I heard that I thought about the Athenian warrior Phidippides, who ran what’s considered to be the first marathon in the year 490 BC. He expired. We’ll keep you posted.

— The previous blurb brings to mind a recent article in Money Magazine that one of our clients brought to our attention. Jason Zweig explains in “The Thrill is Wrong” that the new science of “neuroeconomics” is helping investors understand that brain metabolism may cause us to make bad money decisions in much the same way we make bad decisions about food, drink, drugs and sex. Maybe they should add exercise to that list.

— After delivering my finished exhibition print to the Carnegie Center, Dana and I had a nice carnitas dinner in Lexington and then settled down to watch a late screening of Memoirs of a Geisha. I knew I’d enjoy it—actually, much more than Marshall’s “Chicago,” even though it’s garnered less acclaim—as I knew I’d enjoy “The Last Samurai,” because I can easily overlook the flaws in a picture like this. When the production design for a Japan-based story is this awesome, I can never leave the theater disappointed. I must make a note to check out any movie with set decoration by Gretchen Rau. It bothered me that they cast the two female leads with Chinese and Malaysian stars, but I think I was bothered more by the idea of it, going into the theatre, than during the feature. Ziyi Zhang deserved an Oscar nomination. It’s a powerful story, probably a better book, and almost worth the outrageous ticket price. Ken Watanabe is excellent once again, and I always get a kick out of seeing Mako pop up with his trademark scowl, even for less than a minute of screen time.

V & S

Walk ahead with strength, my son

Monday, January 30th, 2006

Bruce‘s visible energy level was dramatically better today, a relief after several days of obvious discomfort and fatigue. This morning we had a visit from ND, who was kind enough to spend some time telling the account of his own horrible ordeal with pancreatitis, defiance of death, and long recovery. Believe it or not, his personal saga dares to upstage even Bruce’s amazing story, proving the adage that someone else has always experienced something worse—two years in the hospital, with a year of that without food, and over 80 surgical procedures. Even though his wife was a nurse, she couldn’t handle the intensity and walked away after the first two months. His internal organs were kept outside of this body in plastic for days until his abdominal cavity was clean enough to accept them back. His weight dropped from around 225 to under 70 pounds. He had to overcome countless temptations to give up or take his own life.

ND is an incredible man, with a depth of belief that was thoroughly tested. He is enormously blessed and gives full credit to the grace of God, without reservation. Very new people on this earth are alive to tell such a story, and I’m withholding his name to honor his privacy. He doesn’t talk about this on a regular basis and only to those he thinks will be receptive to the meaning of his personal testimony.

Sitting with ND and experiencing Bruce’s reaction has started to work some kind of quiet change in my attitude. Last year, Bruce always told me he’d get well enough to come back to Clan Valley. I have a new level of trust and respect for his ability to make judgments and decisions about his own life and the difficult challenges he’ll continue to face in the months ahead. Dana and Terie are driving him home, and how he chooses to deal with the various dysfunctional situations in his Indianapolis environment is something he’s capable of handling in his own way and in his own time. I believe he’ll do the best he can, and he’ll ask for help or advice if that’s what he decides he needs. Otherwise, he has my love, encouragement, and prayers for his complete recovery.

If you don’t think it can happen, it’s probably because you haven’t met the man who sat in my living room today, who lives each day as a gift from the Almighty, runs his own small business, and is back to benching more weight than I’ve ever dreamed of putting on the bar.

Double Homecoming

Sunday, January 29th, 2006

In spite of a lengthy planning meeting at the Clan Hall, our soldier celebrated being at home with his family. During a break in the deliberations, Rita took a group portrait outside, and then the cake was cut. Joan insisted on eating Joshie’s head. The long day ended with Dana taking Bruce to the ER after his visit to the farm. Jerome put in some overtime to help identify symptoms of medication withdrawal that were alleviated. Bruce improved so rapidly that he walked home from the hospital.

Various & Sundry, part thirty-one

Saturday, January 21st, 2006

— When I got up at 6:30 to check the weather, the wind with light rain was enough deterrent for me to call off my scheduled run. I guess I have to admit I’m not as hard-core as I used to be. Dana and I did yoga instead, with the Charles and Lisa tape, waiting for live TV coverage showing the return of the Kentucky National Guard’s 623rd. Josh and his unit had some initial delays in getting out of Iraq, since they had to fill up a plane first, but he’s been back in the States for a number of days now, and was supposed to fly into Louisville this morning. When he touches down and is greeted by family, it will mark the end of his perilous overseas deployment. Welcome back, Josh!

— Last night Hayley’s team met its match with some athletic, high-pressure ball players from Lincoln County High. Our Belle displayed some skilled moments, but most of her minutes showed a hesitancy that comes from inexperience with competition at this level of intensity. She faced a energetic, senior-dominated squad. I think she also defers too often on the floor to older teammates, rather than place more confidence in her own leadership, which she’s more inclined to do when she’s not nervous, and then she shoots more, finishes her powerful drives to the basket, or finds an open player. When she performs that way she usually has a high-scoring game. The consistency is sure to come, but she needs to find a way to bear down and trust her own abilities. I wish she had a better coach, and some day she will. She has a lot of basketball ahead of her. It will be a joy to watch.

— I made more progress today on remodelling the small kitchen off our upstairs conference room. It’s hard to explain why it’s been so neglected over the years, but this is the year to complete the project. It’s proven in many ways to be the log jam that impedes the last phase of physical organization that has to take place for us to have the kind of studio space we always intended for the Town House. I also wrote an email to the chairman of the Library expansion committee describing our desire to recycle some materials from the demolition of the church to take place across the street this summer. We’d like to take stone, brick, or both, and create a rubble-style paved driveway. I think there’s a good chance the project will get a green light, but it’ll take some “Clan-Power” for me to pull off my end of the deal.

V & S