After tasting my smoked salmon again, I decided that it
didn’t come out so badly (it should get better with some
practice). I unpacked, reorganized, and sorted through my
email. Read over and thought about the report James
prepared on Mombo’s Trust. Got a nice reply from Kyle (no,
by Heaven, he’s not a God-cursed Spaniard!) and learned
that BCA accomplished his assigned missions. Checked out
the “Invasion” pilot on ABC. Wasted my time; it stunk…
Archive for the ‘James’ Category
Home again
Wednesday, September 21st, 2005Saturday sojourn
Saturday, July 16th, 2005Headed north to hit the Seitz Family Reunion, and then west to Indy for a visit with Bruce.
I switched to a digital camera this year to take the portrait. It was tricky, but the group was surprisingly cooperative and full of good cheer. At least I had a real-time verification, which reduced the stress of whether I got a decent shot. Seth gave me a VHS tape of his editing work. I didn’t have time to talk to Brendan; wanted to discuss Urban Dead. James and I got a kick out of Mark’s hundred-foot row of zucchini. What was the poor devil thinking!?
(ps — Did anyone else get chiggers?)
Oldenday X
Saturday, June 25th, 2005My family was never far from my mind during the seven months I lived in Europe during 1974. (In fact, I so turned off a pretty Flemish girlfriend by admitting I missed my family that she dumped me within hours for a Belgian doofus named Bruno.) One way I could feel connected to my brothers was to think about “The Legend,” and it was easy to be inspired, surrounded as I was by all the fascinating history of feudal conflicts, life on the manor, warring political factions, imperialistic ventures, and Napoleonic exploits. I was constantly encountering the art, architecture, accouterments, and weapons of the general time period we’d chosen to frame our imaginary world of swashbucklers and tyrants. When my brother James sent me a letter mentioning Hedda Keeh, one of our beloved characters (a native of the Western Plaines and Peace Chief of his nation), I plunged into the creation of a comprehensive map and sent it home along with our most ambitious document to date—a long letter from Joncules Dix to his half-brother Jimcus (otherwise known as Chaims-Dan, or Man-With-Flying-Feet, from his years among the outcast monks of Chap). Before long, the nonlinear structure of our narrative was firmly rooted in the idea of producing documents and artifacts that revealed only a portion of the totality, which would then lead to further discussion, attempts at integration, and ongoing creativity (often using dioramas built with the very type of plastic figures that influenced our imagination from the beginning). It became a perfect organizing principle—not original to us, I suspect—and reinforced the historicity of our approach, removing it forever from a strictly oral realm. An explosion of development followed, with numerous drawings, carvings, models, and written fragments. Spinning yarns within “The Legend” has never been the same since.
Baggin’ dee bunny gold
Friday, June 24th, 2005Since I’m trying to bolster a few spots in my yard with some quality organic fertilizer, I asked James about his stockpile of “bunny gold” under the rabbit pens. It made me think of when we were kids, and Mr. Wagner was shocked that we hadn’t jumped on the opportunity to earn pocket change by filling empty feed bags with manure at 50 cents a pop. As James aptly sums it up: “We just weren’t money driven, and not much has changed since then.”
Various & Sundry, part one
Friday, January 21st, 2005— I’ve gotten a week into this experiment and have yet to properly thank Brendan, my undaunted sponsor and kind host. So far so good. I managed to solve most of the anomalies I was experiencing by updating the firmware on our Netgear firewall/router. Although I began my first private journal in 1971 and have maintained regular entries for the past 20 years or so, this online record of thoughts is a new and stimulating venture. In time I’ll gain a better sense of how its public nature affects the tone and quality of my postings.
— Last weekend our family gathered at Kelley Ridge for a mighty demonstration of Clan-Power to achieve as much physical transformation as possible. Uncle James mused that it was the kind of event that could inspire Clan legend. With the bitter wind knifing through us as we split and stacked firewood at the edge of the ridge, Seth replied, “You won’t ever hear me talking about this day.”
— There hasn’t been much of a downside to my accepting an invitation to join the Rotary Club ten years ago, but I am beginning to notice something. One of the serious drawbacks to building relationships of affection with a bunch of great old guys pushing 80 is to witness their failing health. What have I gotten myself into?
— As true as it is that there’s no greater love than to lay down one’s life for another, I want Josh to accomplish in Iraq what he was trained to do and then safely return to his family. That is my simple prayer. I’m not precisely sure what he was trained to do, but I know that living and working each day in harm’s way is a given. I’m reminded of the closing line in The Bridges at Toko-Ri, “Where do we get such men?” The answer to that question is the same with every generation, and, as far as I’m concerned, no poet has described this vital breed more eloquently than Katharine Lee Bates when she wrote, “Oh beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife, who more than self their country loved and mercy more than life!”