Jane Lou Hovis Willoughby Booton
1 9 2 5 – 2 0 2 1
a life of faith, kindness, strength, and dignity
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Archive for the ‘Family’ Category
Wednesday, February 3rd, 2021
A successful venison harvest at the farm
Monday, November 23rd, 2020I arrived at the Valley on Saturday, opening day of modern gun, but one thing led to another, including a satisfying visit with old chum “Bilbo,” and I was still puzzling my way through scope adjustments into Sunday. With the help of a spare box of factory .44 magnum from James, I didn’t finish getting Dadbo’s Marlin sighted in to a level of satisfaction until late Monday morning. I admit to feeling like I had already botched the whole process to some degree. I went out in the afternoon to a couple of different spots that had concealed observation points facing hay fields, including Joan’s expanse where we had held our “safari.” No luck with either one before sundown. Did not see a single deer. For me, it seemed like being “in the right place at the right time” would rule my hunting time, because I gave up tree stands a while ago to adopt a more primitive, admittedly random approach.
The next morning I had the success for which I’d hoped. I went back to the same area before daybreak and chose a high point underneath a bushy cedar tree. By around 9:30am, I was stiff and a bit numb in the ankles and feet. I was ready to give up that location, find another for a spell, or try to flush something from cover. It was sunny now, but cold and breezy. I was standing up from my hiding place, getting ready to sling my rifle over my shoulder, and a medium-size buck came out of the brush near Robin Lick. I was right out in the open, but he didn’t spook. I couldn’t tell if he saw me. He was moving slowly across the field, left to right, up toward the road and wooded knob. It was about as slowly as a deer moves with any kind of deliberateness. For some reason, I was immediately convinced he wasn’t going to pause, so I got iron sights on him and shifted up to the telescopic cross-hairs. He was moving gently enough that my instinct was to take a shot, even though I had a corresponding doubt about it being wrong, or in bad form. All of this without really thinking. Ka-pow.
I had matched my motion to his pace, aiming just a bit in front of his fore-shoulder. He bolted for the road and leaped into the woods. A voice in my head cried, “Blew it. You blew it! Why weren’t you more patient?” Instantly dejected, I knew I’d better check the area at least. It was 75 to 80 yards away. I levered another cartridge and took a moment to pick up and pocket the empty one, putting everything back into safe status. I found what might have been a few spots of blood in the field. When I got up to the road, I saw more clearly a blood trail across the crushed stone. Needless to say, my attitude was transformed. And then I saw him in the woods, looking at me. There were multiple limbs and saplings between us, but the deer wasn’t that far away, certainly less than 50 yards. I had no idea how wounded he was. Should I try to shoot again or finally be patient?
For a second time I had the hammer back, safety off, and trigger in contact. He snorted loudly and took off up the knob, still apparently strong. 
I lost sight of him. There was significant blood when I examined his standing ground. Well, I had no choice but to begin tracking now. “Dadburnit, the Sweeneys have their dwelling site up there” was the next thing in my mind. I set off up the hillside, looking for more sign. I didn’t find it. I was pretty far up when I heard some thrashing behind me, off to my left side. There he was, less than the distance I had seen him climb. He must have collapsed and slid downhill, before or after I made the decision to follow up the knob. Or perhaps I just hadn’t heard it when I made my own noise clambering up off the road through the dried leaves. At any rate, I’d misjudged the trajectory. When I descended to his location, the rib cage was still heaving, with a bullet entry past the shoulder and heart zone, but it was now evident that the blood had come from the mouth and nose, not the body. 
Presently, the animal expired before I needed to end it for him. It seemed like barely a minute since practically giving up on the outing, but now I was looking down during the customary prayerful moment. Ever so quickly, the next two days were unfolding in my mind. I had pulled it off. My hunt was over for the season.
Loving her from a distance . . .
Friday, March 20th, 2020
I’m pleased that Dana and I were able to visit Mombo at ‘The Grandview’ in Campbellsville, before the facility was locked down as part of the pandemic response. Jerome is now the only member of the Clan who can enter the building. There was a time when she would’ve been vitally interested in all the daily developments and whether or not we’re on the verge of a potential “Crash” (an ongoing topic of discussion in our family for decades).
Monday, February 24th, 2020
V i r g i n i a – 1 9 4 3
~
Today is our mother’s 95th birthday. Of all the souls we have intimately known, hers is the most worthy of imitation.
~
Happy Birthday, Mombo!
~
50 Years
Saturday, July 20th, 2019Certain things have a logic for me that probably make no sense to anybody else — a cropping of Marty’s Nineteenth Cosmosaic posted on the observance of the original moon landing.
Humanity’s “First Man” and my own “All-American Boy” seem like a fitting juxtaposition.
kia walaia
Tuesday, June 18th, 2019I’ve reached page 179 of In Search of Robinson Crusoe and Tim Severin finally brings tears to my eyes with his description of Marco’s farewell (kia walaia, which translates from Miskiti as “to smell, to understand”). An adequate substitute for O’Brian this summer, I discovered this writer and true-life adventurer while cutting up an old Outside magazine. When I finish this, I must find his book on the North Atlantic voyage of Saint Brendan, a feat which Severin dangerously re-enacted with an authentic skin-covered boat.
• When I thought, “What is the purpose of all this?” as I was taking care of a completely disoriented and feeble Mombo, the only possible answer is what John Paul II called “the law of the gift” — the giving of oneself as the path to true happiness. It aligns with the single greatest of commandments, to love. But it also requires the conscious awareness, consent, and acceptance of the giver, or the gift becomes something else, and can be perverted so readily into resentment, or the sense of injustice. And so, it is not just the doing. It must be the mindfulness behind it, too.
Tuesday, June 4th, 2019
This isn’t Before and After. Sadly, AFTER is when the baking plate is empty, but I enjoy every bite of the journey. Now you know that Dana’s elite-level pies are the reason I must regularly schedule a date with my bicycle. We recently cashed in on a bumper harvest of tart cherries. Thank you, Joan. Thank you, Terie. Pitting is no fun, but worth the effort. Yes, I get a kick out of taking pictures of her pies. About the steam cuts: She used to call me “Johnamo.” Eventually it got shortened to Mo. So I started calling her Mo, too. Too much detail? Hey, it’s a blog…
With a whole bunch o’ help from my friends . . .
Thursday, May 30th, 2019Here’s an overview from The Collage Miniaturist about the
creative development of my tenth poster for the GABBF:
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“While many modern-day album artworks tend to favor strict minimalism, The Beatles make a serious case for going bold and wacky without any type of restraint.”
— Nicole Singh
As promised, I’m devoting an entry to the project that kept me out of the collage studio for at least a dozen weeks. I shall beg your forgiveness at the outset for delving into the details of a digital process. Not only has this site kept a seven-year focus on traditional cut-and-glue techniques, but I haven’t indulged the applied-arts side of my multiple personality as a graphic artist. I’m going to depart from that now — perhaps just this once — because it’s been an extraordinary circumstance for me, and a few of you may find the description worthwhile. At any rate, I encourage everyone to read Patrick Roefflaer’s article for a story that is genuinely more interesting than mine!
Not so long ago, a prominent local musician and former brass band director took me aside at an exhibition opening. Based on her recognition of my fondness for collage, she asked me if I would take on a visual homage to the Sgt. Pepper’s album cover design. The purpose would be to mark the 30th production of the Great American Brass Band Festival, held each June in our hometown of Danville, Kentucky. 
It had always been her dream to link the announcement of her retirement at the annual weekend of concerts to the classic album, with a medley of tunes arranged for brass instruments. Sadly, a severe health crisis had forced her early retirement before that could happen, but she preserved hope that a multi-discipline Beatles tribute for the festival’s upcoming milestone might happen in 2019.
I’d already designed nine posters during the festival’s lifespan. To create a tenth was tempting, and this idea had a barbed hook. It really snagged me. My previous experience offered no sense of proportion about the magnitude of time to which I was committing myself when I said, “Sure.” The first obstacle was whether we were allowed to do it at all. we soon discovered that an enormous number of entities had made a visual salute to the famous image over the past fifty years, and that it had already become a ritual of pop culture, in spite of the complexities involved. There’s even a website that shows over a hundred previous parodies. Before long, we had mutually decided that it might as well be our local festival’s turn to pay homage.
The assignment was now in my lap, and I was overwhelmed with a desire to do it justice and exceed expectations. I found inspiration in filmmakers who I admired (like John Frankenheimer or Robert Altman), because their time-consuming approach would be required for what I’d bitten off. I wanted to bring the same passion, attention to detail, and collaborative leadership to my effort. I ended up shelving all other priorities and putting a ludicrous amount of time into the project, but not without the help of many partners. First and foremost was my wife, Dana, who jumped in head first to play a key part in nearly every aspect of the creative enterprise. After getting advice from an experienced model railroader, she began crafting a miniature flower garden to display the festival acronym for a mandatory foreground allusion. More than once, she would come back to the unfinished artifact to find that its spongy base had “spit out” some of the “flowers.”
The rest of it hinged on two important elements — whether we could pull together our own “Fab Four,” and then surround them with a crowd of numerous figures. 
It was determined that the Beatles would be “represented” by the previous directors of the Advocate Brass Band, a Golden-Age-style band associated with every festival. Their initial formation to color a political rally in 1989 was a direct influence on the organizing of the annual event itself. This made perfect sense because the foursome would include the festival’s pair of co-founders and their band uniform jackets, although not psychedelic, would be an effective visual reference point. We immediately knew that some digital sleight of hand would be called for, since only two of the four were locally present.
One was near a university town many counties away, and the fourth had moved to a distant state. It took lots of coordination to solve that equation, and we pulled it off with the crucial participation of my friend, photography pro Bill Griffin, who took time away from his day job of wealth management. In keeping with the guiding theme of “a little help from our friends,” getting all the ingredients for the poster art to coalesce would demand the magnanimous assistance of others — furnishing space, props, and standing in at our photo shoot, plus image research and acquisition.
At a certain point, I began to focus on researching the background “crowd of fans,” to honor the countless performers, organizers, sponsors, staff, and volunteers who made three decades of festivals possible. It became a daunting, complicated task of culling and selection. I realized that the poster would be the size of a picnic table if everyone who deserved to be on it were included. The original setup by Jann Haworth and Peter Blake was peopled with life-size, hand-tinted cut-outs that imposed a certain physical limitation, and it was fabricated within two weeks. A virtual approach was too open-ended for comfort. There was a limit to how methodical I could become in choosing ingredients for the montage of faces. The solution was to approach it more intuitively, as I would any of my “maximalist” works.
All collage art worthy of the name is irrational at some level, and one of the reasons the original Beatles art is so iconic is the sheer illogic of it. And so, for us, that idea led to a few incongruous personalities, such as Carrie Nation and Howdy Doody. The final assembly was challenging, painstaking, rewarding, and fun, all at the same time. After refining the list of candidates and compiling the source files, each master image had to be sillouetted, retouched, color balanced, and optimized for inclusion. It seemed like the rearranging would never end before every element of the composition appeared to “belong.” I shall confess that I do not possess a powerhouse workstation. The increasing quantity of digital layers in Photoshop had to be continuously merged to prevent the composite file from paralyzing my Macintosh. Even so, it would often exceed 500 MB in size. I tried to save and back up as often as feasible without breaking stride, but there were periodic freezes that would result in “three steps forward and two steps back.”
There should be no misunderstanding, however. The marathon endeavor was punctuated by many fortunate, often astonishing developments. One of our “Fab Four” individuals made a vital connection with an outstanding photographer in Athens, Georgia, who went the extra yard in matching my parameters for an important superimposition of the black-suited Dr Foreman. He also shot an antique bass drum to add another convincing Sgt Pepper’s touch — the same one that appeared on the festival’s first poster in 1990, and it still had the original, hand-painted emblem! Dana took the lead in preparing the poster “mechanical” for offset production, as she always has done for Dixon Design. She also knocked one out of the park during the solicitation of bids. As a contribution to the landmark production, Mike Abbott of Thoroughbred Printing agreed to produce the job at cost, and spent an hour with the press operator, Dana, and me, making sure we were satisfied with the quality.
Our closing duty was to devise a printable key for identifying all the individuals and design elements. My original idea of including a longer “blurb” for each line item quickly became far-fetched when producing the abbreviated version dragged on. By the time we declared it done, the “labor of love” vibe had been exhausted. There wasn’t much love left in the air, and I just wanted all of it to hit the street, which it has, of course, and the positive response has been even more than I anticipated.
This post is already far too long, so I won’t get started on my Eva Marie Saint story, but I need to explain why we included a picture of the creators, and then I’ll finish up on an appropriate collage note. I was adamant that I would not fall prey to the Hitchcock Urge. I had no interest in, nor justification for, inserting myself, since I was making so many brutal choices to leave others on the cutting room floor. Dana was in total agreement, but the team of people who helped with the proofing process took an opposing viewpoint. Their collective drum beat was that the final rendition must include us! You can see that we eventually waved the white flag and stuck a small portrait on top of the Bourbon barrel.
A tiny figure seated at a kitchen table was provided by the Great American Dollhouse Museum as a nod to the Shirley Temple doll in the original composition, which also featured a Madame Tussauds wax figure of Sonny Liston on the opposite side. I knew there had to be a way to include Kentucky’s own Muhammed Ali in our version. Rather than take unavailable time to solicit permission to use a photograph that might get buried in the sea of faces, I turned to my friend Robert Hugh Hunt, who kindly let us insert the extraordinary collage portrait from his 20th Century Icons series!
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends!
30th GABBF Poster
digital homage by Dana and John A Dixon
24 x 36 inches
Purchase one now!
Online order page includes a printable key to identification,
plus a ‘special thank you’ to all our essential collaborators!
Two Degrees of Bauhaus Bacon
Wednesday, January 23rd, 2019BAUHAUS, the famous German school that disbanded due to Nazi harassment, will mark its centennial year in 2019. As much as I’ve been tempted, there’s no way I can downplay the significance of how its teachings have been embedded in my life as a graphic artist. In keeping with the popular Six Degrees method, I get a kick out of plotting my “two degrees of separation” from the legendary institution.
As a callow youth, I studied under and was branded by the powerful pedagogy of Professor Gordon Salchow during its embryonic period. During his long tenure at the University of Cincinnati, Salchow would go on to perfect his curriculum and become one of the most seminal graphic design educators in America. He had been at Yale University with the renown Bauhaus theorist Josef Albers.
My first professional position after graduation was offered to me by Bruce Beck, the influential Chicago graphic designer, typographer, and printing craftsman. When Beck was at the Institute of Design at the Illinois Institute of Technology, he was a student of László Moholy-Nagy, another leading Bauhaus faculty member.
I’ve never made a secret of how I tended to resist what each of these mentors wanted me to learn. Nevertheless, close exposure to their mutual example of focus, dedication, and professional enthusiasm made a deep mark on me as a creative person. How much of that transfusion is rooted in the Bauhaus philosophy of design is not possible for me to unravel. I’ve come to accept it as part of the hidden logic of an artistic trajectory. As a result, my regard for these four individuals has sharpened over the years, and my “double dose of Bauhaus” is something I look back on with satisfaction and just a bit of pride.
My two degrees of Bauhaus separation is a dual path:
Albers to Salchow and Moholy-Nagy to Beck. So be it.
Tuesday, January 15th, 2019
“I realize that people do listen to me, and I appreciate that extremely much. But one of the ways I get that hearing is that I don’t sound off on every damn subject.”
— Andrew Grove — WIRED magazine, 2001
another perfect visit to the Speed . . .
Tuesday, January 8th, 2019No matter where one resides, there is almost always proximity to wonderful artwork. One of the great aspects of living in Kentucky is the opportunity to frequent the Speed Art Museum. My choice of the word “frequent” may take on the quality of wishful thinking, but, for Dana and me, this past Sunday was wishful doing!
Dana and I took advantage of art from the Eskenazi Collection
being at the Speed before it returns to Indiana University.
Sunday, September 30th, 2018
Fowl Language
collage on structured panel by J A Dixon
11.5 x 11.25 inches
collection of Gio and Josey
Birthday season has arrived!
Sunday, April 8th, 2018
Although “birthday weather” has not yet arrived, Dana and I launched another season of natal celebration with a visit to the Speed Art Museum and its Women Artists in the Age of Impressionism. After replenishing our souls with art, we found an Ethiopian restaurant that hit the spot. Cheers, Mo!
35 years!
Monday, September 11th, 2017“As a husband, you have to remember the crucial importance of three little words — ‘I was wrong.’ That will take you a lot further than ‘I love you.’”
— Charlton Heston
After pondering what to do with my stash of birds for far too long, I decided to start a new series that I describe as “Crafted.” Here is an example — a 35th Anniversary present to my indispensable partner and dearest friend.
That Red Boot
collage miniature by J A Dixon
5.375 x 7.25 inches
collection of Dana Dixon
Wednesday, May 3rd, 2017
Brendan’s Birthday Comic Strip Artifact
collage artifact by J A Dixon
12 x 7.375 inches
collection of B C Adkins
four days in late April
Monday, May 1st, 2017Thursday ~ Cared for Mombo at the Hall, and she was trying to shake off some cold symptoms. Joan got home as early as possible, so I could get back to Danville for drinks and dinner with the visiting brothers Andrew and Rory from South Africa, along with local friends (Lee and David with granddaughter). The owner of the Bluegrass Pizza Pub invited us to draw on the wall with chalk, but only Zoey and I took him up on it. I cannot remember ever being uncomfortable with a piece of chalk in my hand, which stimulates a direct, electromagnetic current to my imagination. Nor can I recall life before my chalkboard career, as a matter of fact. Like clockwork, Scott V turned 65 first today, but, for some reason, I haven’t reached out yet.
Friday ~ Spent a lot of time monitoring the stock market and setting up trades. Made a trip to Minuteman Press to arrange for the printing of the Carol & Bob portraits. The happy image was taken by someone at a Band Fest picnic years ago, but I have no recollection who it was — a total mystery. We watched the first disc of The Wire, Season Three. So far, there doesn’t seem to be any new ground being broken, but it always fascinates me to observe Dominic West’s acting, and the way he projects different characters without saying anything. I am still reading the new biography of Heston (Hollywood’s Last Icon), and the same basic sense of the great man is reinforced. Loaded with photos from his family archives. The first time I immersed myself in Heston, I was influenced by his values and principles. This time I am struck more with his stubborn refusal to allow personal, professional, or societal obstacles to remain unchallenged. Late in the evening I spent time on the phone with both Marty and Terie, trying to defuse another domestic flare-up. I believe they have exhausted their ability to live with each other at this point in their lives, and I can only trust them to resolve it and not let it spill over to affect those who love them.
Saturday ~ Up at 6am to go get a free load of compost from the city (out at their farm off Standford Road). Spent the rest of the morning working on the Town House yard, fueled by Subway’s new Keurig unit. Not a bad way to spend my birthday so far. We had a relaxing afternoon with early drinks, hot baths, and general sweetness. And then it was time to head to Lexington in search of Moules et Frites. We were early (imagine that), so we stopped into a pub to have a Belgian Red Ale. I was pleasantly surprised by its refreshingly dry, tart, slightly apple-vinegar quality, and it hit the spot better than a typical brew. Dana was still hobbling from her basement-stairs mishap, so we were moving a bit slow, but all went well. The moules marinière at Le Deauville were perhaps the tastiest mussels I have ever enjoyed, enhanced by an exceptional New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. I had crossed the line of no return into Medicare and hit the pillow hard when we arrived home.
Sunday ~ We had our typical brunch-with-morning-political-news-shows, and the exasperating scene in Washington, DC continues. Politicians are unwilling to forge anything balanced enough to anger everyone in the country, except for the few who remember what a compromise actually looks and sounds like. The problem is that most citizens who care are convinced that compromise will not actually solve anything and they want their side to hold sway. It hardens the polarity and ensures another pendulum swing. It is a pathological state. The rhetorical downtrend deepens. And, of course, many troubling problems such as health care only get worse. Later in the day we drove to Lexington to attend Drew Robertson’s graduation celebration. Dana was adequately ambulatory, but still treading very cautiously. It was a pleasant backyard bash. Mingling with extended relatives, plastic cup of iced Buffalo Trace in hand, I lost track of time and jeopardized our getting to Costco before it closed. Still feeling in the “birthday zone,” I treated myself to socks and underpants, and we finally had that misbehaving tire on the Avalon fixed.
Constrained Collage
Friday, April 21st, 2017“Every athlete, every musician practices every day. Why should it be different for artists?”
— Christoph Niemann
Creating a collage within constraints is one of the more enjoyable activities within the medium, because it is necessary to throw oneself upon the mercy of pure intuition. I was in the middle of a care-giving day at the Blue Bank Hall yesterday and assigned myself this exercise:
• Complete one full-page collage in my journal during Mombo’s two-hour afternoon nap, using only ingredients found in the recycling bin.
I am constantly experimenting, because I find it difficult to pluck a coherent idea from a “cold start,” and so I cultivate a habit of collage experimentation to preserve a state of receptivity and to invite the uncanny “synchronicities” from which a more rational concept can be refined. Naturally, my journal is the perfect place to conduct such exercises. I take what I learn from the small format and bring it to larger artworks. What is it that I learn? That, too, is primarily a matter of intuition. I hope to internalize the creative response that each experiment reveals and keep my collage process as subjective as possible. For me, nothing bogs down the making of a collage more than too much rational thinking.
Untitled (first cause)
constrained collage exercise by J A Dixon
9.5 x 13 inches
A Day in My Life
Wednesday, September 21st, 2016“Woke up. Got out of bed.
Dragged a comb across my head.”
Dana was up early and walked over to Centre’s track before I woke up and found the coffee hot. I needed to finish the digital file retouching of the RFs color composite illustration. I wanted to be ready to send it to the printer by the time she returned from her Architectural Review Board meeting. We were able to do just that, and I hand-cut a prototype mat so that I could show James my idea for a standard 14 x 11 framable print. The water was still warm in Dana’s tub, so I took a quick bath and dressed for the day. She suggested we get some lunch after showing James the test print. On the way to pick it up, the Avalon sedan’s brakes went out right before we got to Danny the mechanic’s garage on South Fourth, so we rolled right in. Wayne D happened to be there and we talked to him about his scheduled lower leg amputation (not a decision anyone would make casually). Clearly it was his only option, and he was down to choosing the surgeon. While Dana arranged for the repairs, I started to walk home to get the Toyota pickup (Joben). Turns out I would get a walk under my belt, too. When I bent to pick up what looked like litter, I discovered it was a 20-dollar bill in poor condition. Well, that was the second bit of luck. When I got back to the garage, we headed to Minuteman Press to get back on schedule. The test print was terribly dark, but when they re-ran it at the lightest setting, it looked fine. We decided to go have a Mexican lunch nearby, and followed that with a stop at the ‘Bean’ coffee shop. When I inquired about the senior discount with the lady there, she didn’t even know it was mentioned on the menu, and we joked around for few minutes before finding out that she knew Susan and James. Her name was Tammy Bernard, and James had actually been her ‘bundle boy’ decades before at Liberty Sportwear (1980?). She looked quite fit, and sure enough she was a fellow Boot Camp devotee with Susan. Her husband, Bill Devine, is a physician at UK Health. She ended up enjoying our chat so much that she gave us our Americano cups on the house. On to the 10th Planet to see James. 
He liked the final artwork and test print, so Dana called in the quantity for the order. James handed me $50 and persuaded me to see if I could get all the mats cut at the Frame Cellar by the close of business. We picked up the prints and headed back downtown to John C’s shop. Dana told me that she had seen him unlocking his place after 6 am, and I was worried that he might not have stayed open all day, but he was there working. I was astonished to find out that he hadn’t been in his storefront since the first of the month and that he was “playing catch-up.” Not a good time to ask him to drop what he was doing, but my luck held. He was willing to cut the mats for James right then and there. He told me that he had been in Florida visiting his son Paden (named after the Kevin Kline character in Silverado), and when he got back to Kentucky, he had to turn around and go right back after learning Paden had crashed his motorcycle when a woman pulled out in front of him (she never even saw what she had done). For some reason, Paden had returned to the hospital after they released him, and it was discovered that he was bleeding internally from a small rupture in a renal artery. (The surgeon reportedly said, “If you had gone to bed, you probably wouldn’t have awoken the next day.”) So, I managed to pick the first day he was back in the frame shop after this family ordeal, and to top it off, he gave me a discount on the whole rush job. I told him he had to think up a reason to ask me for a big favor. Back in the studio, I put all the new prints into the mats while Dana did the paperwork for James. I dropped her off at Danny’s garage before I went back to see James at the Planet. He was very satisfied with everything he needed for his RF gathering in Ohio. He and Susan were planning on leaving the next morning, and he was “trying to squeeze five days of work into three.” Even though he still had a late night ahead of him, he was in a relaxed mood and we talked about the extraordinary event on Blue Bank Road when the missing todder was found on the Sweeney Knob after a ten-hour search involving local first responders, hundreds of volunteers, and multiple law enforcement entities. This week will always be remembered for the miraculous rescue of the little Chumbley boy in the Clan Valley “forcefield.” Thousands of people must have been praying, but nobody’s pleas could have been more pure than Mombo’s. When I returned, Dana had brought home some organic wine, so I opened a bottle and we made fruit-&-nut plates for supper and watched three episodes of The Affair. I liked them enormously, except for one part that can only be described as pornographic. It was obvious why Maura T (Helen) had been nominated for an Emmy. I could not believe that Sebastian Junger did a cameo (was it meant to be tongue-in-cheek?), but I got a major kick out of his appearance. What a day! Very intense on many levels, but without the characteristic “fears and doubts.” It was time for bed, in preparation for an early start to prepare for my multi-day care-giving stay with Mombo (when I hope to finally complete the oak-trim details above the stone flue). There won’t be many more quite like today…
Friday, September 11th, 2015
Dana and I are observing 33 years of marriage, apart from each other. I have made an anniversary collage for her with the scraps of rubbish at hand. Is there not beauty and the potential for redemption in nearly everything, if you remember to look for it?
Les Cheneaux Sails
collage miniature by J A Dixon
5 x 7 inches
collection of D L Dixon