At the end of the workday, Dana and I rushed over to EKU for the opening reception of the “Compassion” exhibition. I saw Beth and Jim at first, and was even more surprised to see that Mombo had come along with Joan. I felt oddly self-conscious, almost as if I was sure they’d be disappointed. It was a completely irrational thing, because everybody seemed to think it was an interesting show, and the best part was to be together and talk about it. My collage earned a hundred-dollar merit award. I also got to meet and talk to Dobree Adams. The head of the art department told me about the media and animation lab he’s currently setting up. After a quick inspection of progress on Fourth Street House, we had a yumptious Indian dinner with Joan and Mombo to top off a very special night. The others had to dance around the big news, because I hadn’t recently paid a visit to NFD, but I found out as soon as I got home —Brendan is doing it!
Archive for the ‘Friends’ Category
I’m not used to this yet
Thursday, January 25th, 2007: : : : Why must I read this stuff? : : : :
Friday, January 19th, 2007I think I understand why writers must write. It’s really no different than why sketchers must draw or why dancers must move, but why do we read? Why do we engage in this intensely self-centered activity with books? And what’s even more perplexing to me is why our society seems to exalt this particular kind of internal isolation, because, for the most part, it raises a collective eyebrow at meditators or deep, introspective thinkers. It wouldn’t be considered socially acceptable to spend much time playing golf by yourself, or going to movies by yourself, or drinking by yourself (certainly not), but almost all of us feel differently about reading.
My friend Danny would say we must read to train and develop the mind—to understand influences and work backward to the early sources, the original premises.
My “big sissy” is a librarian, so I asked her, and she said that reading makes us a more interesting person—reading may be solitary, but it’s not inherently selfish.
Watkins, Wolfe, Hammett, Hemingway, Twain . . . Why do I read their fiction? What am I looking for?
Every so often, I find myself listening to the lyrics of Eric, a talented friend. He writes:
You can seek your life to find
Answers that satisfy your mind,
But Jesus spared your life by giving his,
And, Brother— That’s all there is.
Mombo in St. Henry
Monday, January 15th, 2007Mombo made a nice entry in her blog about her memories of St. Henry, Ohio. You should go there. I mean the blog, not the town, although it’s really a pleasant place to visit, too. I’ve always liked to hear stories about her years there. We made some photos in St. Henry on the day of the Gels 70th wedding anniversary.
I just learned from my good friend Bill Barefoot that two of the buddies we fish with in Michigan, JD and Jack, both lost their mothers within the past week. Bill sent the following message to me (and anybody else listening):
Cherish your mothers while you can.
Left to right: Mombo at St. Henry Church (where she was baptized in 1925); Mombo with her brothers Jack and Art (at the corner of Columbus and Sycamore Streets); Mombo outside the house where she was born.
Departing Barefoot’s Resort— You don’t know how lucky you are boys
Thursday, September 21st, 2006Ah, the Salmon Lords have smiled. Bill and I made our final trip over to the dolomite port last night and caught three fish for the freezer— 10lb-4oz / 12lb-8oz / 13lb-14oz. We’d decided to divide up the two sides of the boat between us, two lines per side, but after Bill had two straight catches on the starboard downrigger, he granted the next fish to me, regardless of location. It hit on the very same pole and was the biggest of the three! And so there we have it—another evening for the fishing log, and the kind of event that will keep us loving this sport and coming back for more. The fresh memory of it seems a bit unreal as we head south today through Michigan, and I try to jot a few notes for the record, with an image before me similar to that old Jackson Browne album cover, clouds like marshmallow baguettes lined up as an invasion fleet in a milky-blue sky, and golden-green trees stippled with burnt orange marching by, with an ochre crust of fading ferns beneath the old-growth cedars, punctuated by unreformed “dickhead” drivers cutting around us at high speed, as if it’s the only way to move with traffic, all the time LaSalle’s soft black head resting comfortably between us, holding her contented dog-thoughts of home…
Day Eight at Barefoot’s Resort— Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong
Wednesday, September 20th, 2006Phoned into the KBBC conference out on the dock this morning, reminding me of taking the July call when I was here, while out on a boat with Marty. This kind of technology has just sneaked up on us, but would have seemed like Star Trek to me not that long ago. After that, Foot and I mounted our last perch run across Muskellunge Bay to the Point. I had one 11-inch baby that made the outing for me, although we were still hoping for a limit catch. They just haven’t bitten like that on this trip. Foot was miffed at hooking little channel cats and sunfish. I cleaned and froze the batch when we got back. Now we’re cleaning, organizing, and packing so we can leave as early as possible tomorrow morning. I guess I’m ready to depart, but I sure would like some “final night luck” later this evening and bring in a nice salmon.
Day Seven at Barefoot’s Resort— Because the sky is blue it makes me cry
Tuesday, September 19th, 2006A few days ago I sat out on the dock and wept without tears. It didn’t last very long. I wasn’t able to remember when or why until just now— I was reading the words of Paul Watkins. I should have known. Today I convinced myself to put on my wet-suit and get back in the water a second time. I needed some exercise and I figured it might be my last chance to do a channel swim. The water was quite cold but tolerable. I covered more than a half mile. Bill had driven into town. I honestly felt like I had that entire part of Michigan to myself, except for the geese, swans, and cormorants. The air temperature getting out of the water was more shocking to the system than the experience of getting in. The wind has continued all day and discouraged any fishing outings. Yesterday we caught several yellow perch, including Bill’s 11-and-a half-incher, probably the largest one any of our gang has ever hooked up here. Later, we reverted to salmon trolling again and that proved just as fruitless as Sunday’s session with casting rods. With a cold front predicted, we had to keep a constant eye on a changing sky. The two of us fished until dark and then came back to a deserted resort. I had to hold the spotlight so Bill could see the pier.
Day Six at Barefoot’s Resort— I’ve changed my mind, I’ve opened up the doors
Monday, September 18th, 2006Foot sounds serious about starting his little house next year, talking to Mr. Hill when he stopped to discuss sand-truck access to the adjacent property (apparently the neighbors want to create a beach like the natural one here at this resort). The contractor said he was no relation to the Hill who originally owned the entire island. He and Foot looked at the spot where the A-frame will be sited. Hill said that code compliance and getting a permit will be more difficult than the excavation. He seemed like a nice man with helpful advice. His own father also bought lake frontage not long after Bill’s parents first came to Hill Island in the 1950s. My friend hopes to sell his business in Ohio and move up here to manage the resort within five years. His dream excites my own desire to have a retreat in the woods, but the inner determination to reverse my personal downturn and accomplish that goal must come from inside me. At the same time, I have concerns for my friend. Earlier this year, Bill quit smoking for 12 weeks—long enough to live as a nonsmoker—but he started up again after a quarrel with Amy (their first?). Much buried tension in the man, like there was in my dad, and perhaps more than a little rage; it bubbled to the surface last night when I touched on a political subject. Like most proud Americans, the direction our country is moving disturbs him and he takes it personally, and then hides it inside. Stress and cigarettes—an unhappy combination. There’s little I can do about it, of course, and the same is true for my family members who smoke… too many of them… but how can I be judgmental when I have unmanaged problems of my own? Ok, where do I start? Review priorities and take even greater control over my use of time. Should I curtail many of my extraneous activities? Should I suspend this online journal? Is it time to set a few simple, practical goals and then banish all conflicting objectives until they’re achieved? Mike spoke to me about the misconceptions of setting priorities and defining daily tasks. He has decades of experience and impressive, tangible results to show for it, so put his advice to the test, and for God’s sake forget about sharing it in a public log. If I don’t take this last opportunity to gain command over my financial status, I’ll face radical changes over which I’ll have minimal capacity to direct. I must prove I can make a few specific things happen in my life that are essential, and that means everything else has to be put on hold. Period.
Day Five at Barefoot’s Resort— I should be sleeping like a log
Sunday, September 17th, 2006I guess we can say history was made yesterday when JD and Bob came back from the waters near the dolomite port with two large King Salmon caught by casting with light tackle from a small aluminum boat. Now everything we’ve learned about salmon fishing has been turned upside-down! No one has ever caught salmon with any other method than trolling in the conventional manner. With both fish to his credit, JD takes the 2006 Fish-Off Championship hands down. For the record, the method was Bob’s idea, and they waited until their last day to test it out. What a shocker! They endured rough conditions on top of it all, and reportedly had an anxious time motoring back with their life jackets donned. Well, it’s all documented now; Foot and I said good-bye to our chums today, anticipating the traditional “phase two” of our stay. We wasted no time using the Sartoris Technique out in the channel, but no nibbles, no nothin’ was the result, so we shifted gears and set off for Port Dolomite in a small craft, intent on duplicating or outperforming JD’s effort. We worked and worked, saw salmon rolling at the surface, even jumping, all points of the compass, cast after cast, with pike poles and dipsy-diver rods from the Sylvan, wrists getting tender, my hands on the verge of cramping. We watched the “Maumee” out of Cleveland come in and dock. I never knew exactly how these big ships did it—they come in fast, spin clockwise and then back into the loading area, with empty holds ready to be filled with high-grade dolomite for the steel industry. We kept fishing the entire time without a single strike, even though we knew the elusive creatures were close at hand. We saw them, breaking the water, as if to mock us. JD’s extraordinary “final night luck” was beyond our acquisition.
Day Four at Barefoot’s Resort— Painting testimonial pictures, oh, oh, oh, oh
Saturday, September 16th, 2006JD and Bob had a long and disappointing early excursion that took the wind out of everyone’s sails, as far as any enthusiasm for fishing, and so college-football-watching took over as the main activity of the day. When Bill, Mike, and Jack decided to go into town after the first round of games, JD and Bob proceeded to go on their “casting for salmon at the dolomite port” mission, which they’d been talking about all summer. I have to hand it to them—they haven’t given up. They’ve been gone for a while and what they’re trying to do is totally unprecedented in the fishing annals of Barefoot’s Resort. I was happy to stay here with my drawing tools and a Paul Watkins novel.
Day Three at Barefoot’s Resort— Gonna try with a little help from my friends
Friday, September 15th, 2006When I overheard Mike and Bob discussing sales goals, Mike said something so clear and plain-spoken that it hit my brain like a laser— “First you set an objective, and then you devise the strategy and tactics to achieve it.” I realized how reactive I’ve been in my professional life, rather than proactive. Mike knows what he’s talking about. After years as a leading sales executive for M&M/Mars, he now works directly with the owner of a top food distributor in the Midwest. We talked a lot today while Bill, JD, and Bob were out fishing. I know I can learn a lot from Mike if I open up. He’ll be more than pleased to give me advice, but do I have the discipline to use it? During a 90-minute phone call with Dana we confirmed the do-or-die aspect of what we face together, and the need for total open-mindedness in our problem solving, to turn the situation with our studio around.
Day Two at Barefoot’s Resort— You can syndicate any boat you row
Thursday, September 14th, 2006Bob and I were up early and put the rowboat in the water. Bill (Foot) found oars and an anchor locked in the unused shower house. I figured that with six guys, we needed a third small boat for fishing in the channel. Most of the perch caught while we were up here in July were taken between 8-11 in the morning, including that memorable outing Marty and I had with Sartoris on July 21st. It’s time to duplicate that success, if I can. At least we have the “elbow room” now and the Sylvan can be used exclusively for salmon runs. Before long, five of us were “fanning at the plate” out in the channel, so we gave that up and had a fair amount of success with another run to Connors. Nobody got skunked this time. Bob had multi-species and Foot caught an 11-inch perch—a nice fish by any standard. I had only four keepers. It’s frustrating for us not to have found the “zone” yet.
Day One at Barefoot’s Resort— Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Wednesday, September 13th, 2006We arrived here last night after enduring a terrible day for driving—downpours, wrecks, closed lanes, fog, detours—you name it. Settled into Cabin One about eight hours after leaving Tipp City and twelve hours after leaving Danville, the longest I can remember it ever taking to get to Cedarville. We got organized in the traditional pattern without having to discuss it, and I reacquainted with Jack, Bob, and JD, who had left together early and arrived much sooner. All five of us piled into the Sylvan today and boated to Connors Point to begin taking on the perch in earnest, but only Bill and I caught keepers. In the evening we mounted our first salmon expedition, but had no luck, even though it proved to be a decent shakedown. By the time we got back, Mike had arrived and had a crackling campfire going. Back at home, Dana is hosting her book club, if I’m not mistaken, so she’s with her good friends, too.
Please stand by
Tuesday, September 12th, 2006On my way to the U.P. and my favorite fishing resort. Outside the reach of the InterWeb, it will be a week or so before I can update this log.
Two wheels and a one-track mind
Saturday, September 9th, 2006I went to the Leadership Boyle County reunion Thursday evening and I was the only member of the 1990-91 class that showed up; that seemed way too strange. Almost anybody that sees me anymore starts talking about bicycling. This has to be good, but I also remind myself that I don’t make a living that way. I’ve got to balance this out somehow.
So how did I spend my day? I finished writing up bicycle project suggestions for the new Leadership class (as requested), and then I joined a group that rode the 47-mile round trip to Forkland for the “Great Outhouse Blowout.” I won’t even try to describe that event, but it was actually much nicer than I was led to believe, and the live music was outstanding. We were trying to be clever and avoid the rain, but we were just lucky instead. Although we crossed patches of wet pavement, it never rained on us.
Hugh (my friend the mayoral candidate) was at the festival and he pulled me aside to say he wants to talk about the meeting I had with the Danville City Manager on Wednesday about B.I.K.E. Hugh showed up and sat in on the meeting, but I’m not sure what he has on his mind, so I’d better chat with him soon. The subject of the meeting at city hall was the downtown Streetscape Project. We were seeking the formal inclusion of B.I.K.E. in the planning process, but it seems we’re too late to hold an official “stakeholders” meeting with the consultant. We did learn that there will be two public meetings in October, so we’ll plan to show up in force to advocate for a design approach that is bicycle friendly. Much of our group’s effort is now taking place outside of meeting time, and we’ve decided to converge monthly instead of every two weeks, as we’ve been doing all summer. B.I.K.E. now has three committees coalescing to take on the top priorities that came out of our deliberations last month. Maybe this means I can delegate more and start to diminish the time I spend with this activity, but I doubt it. I just need to stay organized and be efficient when I’m thinking about it.
Various & Sundry, part forty-three
Friday, September 1st, 2006— Month of August workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-7; Run-1; Lift-2; Yoga-7
— I saw Sheldon at the gym again this morning, well into Brian’s strenuous workout. I’m convinced that Sheldon really wants to get in shape. If Brian was putting me through that routine, I’d be having a tough time of it, too. Sheldon is one of the best fine artists in this part of the United States, but that distinction doesn’t exempt him from his sedentary profession. Good for you, my friend. Health, wellness, and life extension are something we can all be pro-active about, and that’s the service Brian provides. He’s one of the most fit young men in this part of the United States. On Wednesday night he came flying by me and called out, “Hop on!” I was already pedaling hard, but took the challenge to catch his draft at nearly 30 miles per hour. I could only “suck wheel” for a couple hundred yards before I fell apart. Man… Now that’s cycling.
— The Breidenbach 50th Anniversary collage had been sitting on my art board all week, so I set myself to the task of completing it this afternoon. While she was making constructive comments, Dana accidently smeared some fresh ink. She felt terrible. All I could say was “Just leave the area.” I wasn’t sure what to do at first, but within several minutes I managed to clean and repair the damage—with no indication of anything having gone wrong. I flashed back thirty-two years, when I’d doctor the dates on European rail passes. Yes, I could’ve been a master forger… I might’ve even become a David Halifax!
— Hugh (my friend the mayoral candidate) stopped by while we relaxed on the front porch this evening to enjoy the most refreshing air we’ve had in quite some time. We got to talking about the Town House, and tapped his wealth of knowledge about the history of local real estate. Our home on West Broadway was built in the 20s by W.A. Walker for a railroad man named Arnold, who also had a twin dwelling constructed for his daughter on St. Mildred’s Court, close to campus. She married a Bush Nichols, whose brother, one of Danville’s only Republican mayors, lived in the house across the street from ours. The Arnold daughter died at a young age. The second wife and widow of Bush Nichols still resides in the Twin House today.
— We haven’t indulged much network TV in ages, but last night Dana and I found ourselves glued for 90 minutes. We watched three consecutive episodes of “The Office.” Actually, the term “glued” is not correct usage. This might be the funniest show since “Seinfeld.” If that’s the case, it’ll be impossible to ignore.
Cross dog
Wednesday, August 30th, 2006We keep death close by—in our literature, art, news, and entertainment… perhaps most of all, in our humor. We tame it, sterilize it, and box it, so we can sprinkle it like black pepper for a bit of “zing” on the tongue each day. Death is like fire—interesting to watch in a fireplace, safe and familiar at the tip of a waxy stem, but when it decides to run its own course, it can be frightening and devastating, quickly rendering almost anything hideously unrecognizable. When it slips its leash, death’s bite is excruciating, and the pain lasts a very long time.
Martin joined the Wednesday bike ride tonight, and I heard myself utter the typically hollow words of sympathy. It seemed like I was watching myself do it; it was not much different than watching others do the same thing… mouths moving without any words reaching my ears. I found out more information than I really needed to know about his son’s tragic accident at Red River Gorge, but human nature has a perverse way of investigating details when a friend is mourning… God knows why.
Leave it to me to have made unwarranted assumptions about the circumstances, imagining a noble, athletic demise. Leave it to grim reality to assemble a colder, inexplicable scenario. This is how death operates outside of its package. This is what death is like on the other side of the illusory boundary we convince ourselves will contain it, for our insatiable fascination and amusement.
We can be such fools… and we know we are.
A giftbearer-rich environment
Monday, August 28th, 2006Bruce spent most of the day resting. He wanted to leave for Indianapolis after tonight’s concert. Quite some time ago, as a 40th birthday present for her son, Dana got tickets for a rare Bruce Cockburn performance at the Kentucky Theatre. Lee and David decided to go, too, and the five of us drove to Lexington for dinner at Natasha’s before the show. We had a great meal and great seats. Bruce was clearly pleased with his gift. Early this morning on her way to work, Joan dropped off hers—an excellent copy of “Walden” that belonged to Joe Wood. At lunch, Bruce and I had a good talk about writing as a subtractive process, and the necessity of brutal self-editing (not unlike the practice of “design refinement” drilled into me as a university student). I’m finally beginning to fully appreciate Bruce’s artistic spirit. My anticipation for his creative output is a familiar craving with which I’ve learned to live. I respond to artists in one of three ways—indifference, inspiration, or demoralization. Although Bruce Cockburn’s sensibilities tend to fall a bit farther to the left than mine, he doesn’t fit the description of a stereotypical liberal musician. Experiencing his creative energy inspires me to my own art, and maybe that’s one more thing my son and I have come to share.
Day of Death, Day of Life
Saturday, August 26th, 2006In Lexington this morning, a commuter jet crashed while trying to take off from the wrong runway, killing 49 of the 50 souls on board. I bicycled out to Shared Silence, and left for Kelley Ridge when I got home, to help Joan get her armoire to the upper floor. I didn’t find out about the accident until she told me. Jeffrey had to leave, but I stayed and had lunch with her, Caitlan, Josh, Pat, and Verla. Caitlan and I talked about her internship, and I also found out that Josh will be working full time as a screen printer for the 10th Planet. Joan sent me home with gifts, including Berry’s book on Harlan Hubbard and two of Joe’s old wooden boxes that will enable me to create assemblage under the influence of Joseph Cornell. She also loaned me a James McMullen book which totally throws open my thinking with respect to a concept for the Brass Band Festival poster. I worked outside when I got home, swept the driveway, and finished stacking my salvaged bricks. I got an email informing me that the son of a cycling pal (Martin V of Burgin) had died in a rock-climbing fall. I helped Dana finish her food preparations for Bruce’s visit, just as he arrived. It seemed so amazing to have him here after his first solo Interstate drive in a very long time. It was only a year ago that he was still in the thick of a battle against potentially deadly infections, so this marks another important milestone in his slow recovery. Jeannette and Ben stopped by to see him and have a bite to eat. Terie, Marty, Joan, and Caitlan paid him a visit, too. It’s been a happy evening, in a house not usually so full of life, but I’m acutely aware of the overwhelming sense of tragedy that so many other Central Kentucky families must be feeling tonight.
The sour and the sweetness
Friday, August 25th, 2006Even though Dana made me blueberry pancakes this morning, we almost quarreled about the upcoming pirate gig. I realized later that it really had nothing to do with that. I was upset about continuing problems with my Mac G4. Make no mistake about it, Apple Computer has manufactured at least one miserably poor product, and it happens to be sitting on my desk.
A more enjoyable thing was taking what I learned in Kathleen’s studio yesterday and starting work on Florence and Bill’s 50th Anniversary collage. However, the best part of my day was finding out that Fron had already string-trimmed the gully at the Clan graveyard. I was shocked to discover that it was finished, and all I had to do was mow the grass in the orchard. And then he filled my box with tomatoes again. I definitely like this guy…
A Kentucky Cosmorama
Friday, August 25th, 2006Kathleen invited me to collaborate on a collage that will become the featured artwork on gift cards for out-of-town artists participating in the “Connections” show. We produced it today and that turned out to be a delightful, informative experience. On top of it, she loaned me one of her favorite books, “Joseph Cornell: Shadowplay Eterniday.”
Open-agenda meeting of bicyclists
Tuesday, August 22nd, 2006
After months of organizing, public relations, and preliminary activity,
the B.I.K.E. group
we started last spring sponsored a meeting in the community room at Inter-County Energy, opening the floor to any bicyclist who wanted to show up and suggest ideas, express concerns, or identify issues that need attention. In my remarks I said that our common objective is to find solutions that will enable the community to become more bicycle friendly. I thought we could declare some success in boosting participation in local cycling and increasing awareness of cycling as an emerging trend. I challenged those present to take the framework begun and to build a vision for a community where it is safe and enjoyable to ride a bicycle. Whether we take this groundwork and develop effective partnerships to make improvements happen depends on the interest, enthusiasm, and energy of the cycling community, because the imagination of the general public won’t be sparked unless they see those of us who ride bicycles take the lead to identify, promote, and work for beneficial projects.
Steve did an excellent job of facilitating the session, and out of it came three major and three minor priorities:
Major
• Public Awareness of Cycling Issues
• Bicycle Infrastructure Improvements
• Grant Applications and Project FundingMinor
• “Share the Road” Promotion
• Safe Routes to School
• Cycling Events
It wasn’t a huge turnout. Many more people routinely show up for a Wednesday ride, but it was a quality group that will become a corps of activists. They took the time to be there and define the projects to which they are willing to devote their volunteer effort. They included a city commissioner who wants to promote cycling at a regional level and a Centre professor who wants to study the economic benefits of bicycle friendly enhancements.
It’s almost as if my flights of fancy from last December finally settled back to earth in front of me…
A murder of crows and David without his rook rifle
Sunday, August 20th, 2006You know you’ve found a bit of heaven when you can have berry pie with your early morning coffee, while sitting on a porch that overlooks a natural pond, and then complete a pen and ink sketch of a woodland path in time to be served a broiler-fresh asparagus frittata for brunch.
Janet and Jerome didn’t get to stay over last night and missed the patented Simpson Cabin Lazy Sunday, which, come to think of it, ranks right up there with the patented Yorkshire Estate Lazy Sunday.