Archive for the ‘Words’ Category
Saturday, January 31st, 2009
“It is not the least of the advantages of allowing sailors occasionally a day of liberty, that it gives them a spring, and makes them feel cheerful and independent, and leads them insensibly to look on the bright side of everything for some time after.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
HITCH—Can I finish my coffee first? COLE—You surely may.
Terie’s power was restored last night, so all of us ate dinner at her place in Junction City and watched the Ed Harris picture, Appaloosa. (Superb western!) Terie fixed me up with a replacement mobile phone before we left. Even though KU has declared our residence restored, there was no power when we got home, but things seemed a bit more tolerable, just for having been in a warm, functional space for a few hours. Dana and I shifted our sleeping arrangements to the downstairs room in front of the gas grate. I was restless most of the night, until early morning, although probably better off than I would have been on the frigid second level.
Worked outside today on the “endless” expanse of fallen limbs—slow progress without a chain saw. I talked to Bill, our business neighbor, and, although he still had no power at his Parksville residence, he discovered he had electricity in his law office across the street. Dana got through to the light company again and informed them of our status. The CPAs next door are still without power, too, and, since we’re both connected to the same utility pole, all we can do is wait for someone to show up to fix it. Ruined limbs are visibly putting pressure on the line. Bill thinks that might have triggered something.
Dana is anxious to get out of the house, so we’ve decided to use the locker rooms at Centre, find an open restaurant, and then spend the evening at Lee and David’s, not knowing what we’ll come back to. Bruce went to Terie and Marty’s, so we’re shutting off the gas and leaving for the evening—with our fingers crossed.
Posted in Bruce, Community, Crashology, Dana, Family, Friends, Home, Marty, Movies, Nonfiction, Technology, Terie | No Comments »
Friday, January 30th, 2009
“A man is no sailor if he cannot sleep when he turns in, and turn out when he’s called.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
Power to the People!
Everyone here made it through the night without mishap, but I’m not sure about sleeping again in that cold bedroom upstairs. Shelters continue to accept more people as house temperatures drop and it becomes harder to tough it out. Radio reports indicate that the north side of Danville is still basically without power, and this would include Jay’s new house, although I haven’t heard from him. Terie and Marty are still here with us. Junction City and Perryville are still dead. Boyle County is one of the worst-hit areas in a state-wide disaster. Sounds like local officials are getting their act together with a declared state of emergency and multi-agency coordination. Hometown Radio continues to suspend all music and commercial activity for ’round-the-clock emergency broadcasting. Chunks of the city are returning to normal, but it’s clear that we’re at the center of a federally declared disaster. Some people around here have more difficult days ahead. Will that include us? I’m not optimistic about our power being restored today. I would think differently if I saw a KU truck somewhere in the vicinity. All we can do is hang in and try to stay out of a shelter ourselves. At some point there will be big bills and a big mess to clean up.
To break the monotony, I decided to tackle our personal disaster zone, since the city is supposed to start picking up debris this weekend. Decided to clear the driveway again and made a good dent in the piles of debris out front, cutting limbs to the recommended maximum length. While I worked, I started to see more utility trucks moving through the neighborhood; this was encouraging. Amazing what some physical exercise and a hot shower can do for one’s disposition. That and some reheated soup made me feel like a man reborn. I have to say that we’ve been eating well. Dana can sure make do with the most meager kitchen basics.
Even if our power comes on, Bellsouth says that it will be next Wednesday before our downed phone line is re-connected. That means no Internet before mid-week. Must find a way to check email before then. Dixon Design is a business in name only as we deal with basic survival.
Posted in Community, Crashology, Dana, Family, Home, Jay, Marty, Nonfiction, Technology, Terie | No Comments »
Thursday, January 29th, 2009
“But all these little vexations and labors would have been nothing—they would have been passed by as the common evils of a sea life, which every sailor, who is a man, will go through without complaint—were it not for the uncertainty, or worse than uncertainty, which hung over the nature and length of our voyage.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
We are out of champagne and I’m stuck my dear…
Water pressure came back around breakfast time. I immediately began filling a bathtub, but forgot about it, and it almost overflowed (my tub is so old it has no safety drain). Still no power, though. More areas of the city have been restored, including Lee and David’s neighborhood, but the whole idea of our benefiting from a downtown priority was in error, because Main Street is back in action with traffic lights and storefront electricity. Obviously, we’re not part of that circuit. More likely, we must pay the price for all the tree damage on Lexington Avenue and the block of Broadway to the west. Fortunately, our new gas water heater is operating again, so at least we now have hot, running water, which makes taking a shower the most inviting development of the day.
Two KU trucks were out front for a few minutes and linemen were examining the service connection next door, where the anchor is broken and the conduit is touching the roof of the car port. It looked like a promising sign, but a neighbor told me that the utility guys said what they’re currently working on would not affect this end of the block. I get the notion that nobody considers our area “low-hanging fruit.” I understand they want to restore the greatest number of customers as rapidly as possible, so if one happens to be on an oddball circuit, tough luck. As our house continues to lose its residual warmth, we cling to the idea that we’re on somebody’s checklist.
In the event that it could still be days before we have electricity, I’m starting to urge more conservation of cooking propane, but, at the same time, push for a more open distribution of heat throughout the rest of the house to safeguard pipes. This results in a lower temperature for the main gathering room—not a popular condition to be advocating.
Posted in Angst, Crashology, Family, Friends, Home, Nonfiction, Technology | No Comments »
Wednesday, January 28th, 2009
“Such are the trifles which produce quarrels on shipboard. In fact, we had been too long from port. We were getting tired of one another, and were in an irritable state, both forward and aft.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
IDEAL FOR: Camping, Tailgating, Emergencies
We made it through the night without any “casualties.” Before bed, Dana had reached her brother in California to discuss carbon monoxide safety issues. We cracked a window for fresh air and verified that the flames were burning a steady blue. I’d already made sure to set the flue damper for a decent exhaust draw. Dana also had contact with Joan. She was burning wood at a socked-in Kelley Ridge. Mombo had been evacuated to the Keep by Glenda, and the Hellyers were reportedly clustered around a kerosene heater. We hoped that they also had made certain of adequate ventilation.
Bruce and I disagreed over his wanting to go outside to begin clearing fallen limbs. In addition to the hazard of continuous downfall, he’d just been released from the hospital over the weekend after recovering from pneumonia. I protested harshly and we both over-reacted in turn, which is usually how these stress-induced arguments take hold. As it turned out, we soon apologized and teamed up to clear the driveway just in time to relocate our other two vehicles before more heavy limbs from the big maple crashed down. Old “Simon Kenton” is taking a horrendous splintering, and the worst may be ahead, if the wind picks up. I’d dodged a bullet with one night of “Ned” sitting underneath, but once the knee-jerk emotions were cleared out, I knew we had to get the truck and Bruce’s Corolla over to the funeral home parking lot right away. Too bad we blew our cool for a minute. I shouldn’t have been so tactless with my objections. In fact, by myself, I might’ve been unable to extract both cars in time.
So far, several massive limbs have cracked and jack-knifed to the roof of the house and garage, but none have caused significant damage. The pin oak out front has shed major downfall, too, but the only real damage to property up ’til now is one severed telephone wire. The power line looks unharmed, but we won’t have a net connection, even if the electricity is restored, until the broken land line is repaired. Our second phone line is intact, but has no high-speed service. It will be a bitch to deal with all of this when the weather breaks, but we have it no worse than nearly every property owner in sight, and clearly there are some who have sustained severe damage.
It’s a good thing I’ve been reading Two Years Before the Mast, or I’d believe that this was true hardship. Nothing must compare to laying aloft in a gale of freezing rain to furl a sail with your bare hands off Cape Horn. Lord, how did they do it? Youth and necessity, I reckon—how it does remind me of the soft life I live by comparison!
One of the first orders of the day was to get the propane camp stove from the attic, so Dana could prepare the hot meals she prescribed for all. I finally went down to the basement and opened the “crash bucket” to claim its fuel canisters and spare batteries. So long in storage for just this kind of misfortune, the large Rubbermaid tub filled with emergency supplies hadn’t been disturbed or replenished since the Y2K scare. We defied the warning against using the camp stove indoors and set it up in the kitchen, but closed off the room to the rest of the house, keeping the back door open for fresh air. While in use, the kitchen’s temperature was not much different than that outside. Dana is nothing else if not a trouper. She used some poultry that was in danger of spoiling to fix a tasty fried-chicken dinner, and I helped make the mashed potatoes.
We had plenty of drinking water, since we routinely distill our own and maintain several days worth on hand. I dug out my Sony Walkman to listen to local radio reports. Garrard County has no public water. Wal-Mart and Food Lion sold out of bottled water. Inter-County Energy phone lines are out and even the 911 call center can’t make contact with them, due to jammed lines. Reportedly, crews are now closing in on 30 hours without sleep in their efforts to restore power. With the forecast of 15 mph winds tonight, lines could continue to come down again, even after repairs are made. If the current comes back on, I can’t think of anything to do first except distill more water, in case we lose power again. Other priorities? Cook food and run the furnace as long as it lasts. I can presume that downtown Danville will be a priority for responders, but, with the latest news, we may need to face another cold night without electricity before we have the benefit of repairs—maybe two.
As the light begins to fail, I’ll make these last notes of the day. Lamp oil has been added to the lantern and new batteries have been inserted in preparation for another night without power. Radio says the entire twelve-county Touchstone grid is down, with a spokesperson declaring “several days” before expectations of wide service. No word from Kentucky Utilities about the city, but I would assume the prospects are better. No more news from Clan. Dana tried to reach Eagle Nest, but no success. Bruce was able to charge a cellular phone battery with his car’s converter. It’s getting too dark to write comfortably, so it’s time for me to be about my duties at nightfall. It will be colder than last night, but the gas is still on. God knows how much it’s costing us to burn constantly like this. My prayer is for a quiet night, and the return of power on the morrow.
Posted in Angst, Bruce, Cliff, Community, Crashology, Dana, Family, Food, Home, Jeanne, Joan, Mombo, Nature, Nonfiction, Prayer, Priorities, Technology | No Comments »
Tuesday, January 27th, 2009
“Whatever your feelings may be, you must make a joke of everything at sea; and if you were to fall from aloft and be caught in the belly of a sail, and thus saved from instant death, it would not do to look at all disturbed, or to make a serious matter of it.”
—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
The Great State of Denial
It’s now painfully obvious that we didn’t take the warning signs seriously enough, delaying our emergency preparations until we suspected the power was down for the long haul. Given the morning ice storm and the momentary outages throughout the day, we should’ve anticipated the worst case scenario. The dialysis center called and asked us to come pick up Bruce, so we scraped the thick ice off “Ava” and made a run out west of the bypass. A few branches were down along Main Street, and there were small trees snapped off around the Boyle Schools campus, but it really didn’t look that bad to me. The temperature had risen and the ice was melting. Bruce said he was just sleepy and would’ve been fine to drive before long, but the staff were just eager to shut down early and go home. I drove “Bert” back, avoiding the 400 block of West Broadway. Dana and Bruce tried to return that way and reported it nearly impassable, due to the tree damage. Another clear warning sign that this was not typical winter weather.
When the power went out and didn’t immediately come back on, I knew to ready the candles, lanterns, and flashlights before darkness arrived. Tree branches were shattering all around us and sirens were screaming. Our good fortune was that the gas was still flowing and we could fire up the decorative hearth log in the front room. Foolishly, we hadn’t thought earlier to fill the bathtubs as a precautionary measure. The pressure was gone, and now we’re left with whatever tap-water jugs we had in storage plus anything we could still capture from melting roof ice. The temperature outside was rapidly dropping. Terie and Marty showed up as evening fell. We ate a cold dinner, huddled before the heat source, and sorted out the sleeping arrangements.
The “crash bucket” I keep in the basement is on my mind as I complete this entry by candlelight, but I figure I’ll deal with that contingency if we’re still without electricity when morning comes.
Posted in Bruce, Crashology, Dana, Family, Home, Marty, Nature, Nonfiction, Terie | No Comments »
Friday, January 2nd, 2009
— Year of 2008 workout totals: Swim-21; Bike-47; Run-21; Lift-19; Yoga-10; Pilates-29; Lupus Drill-18
— If I have doubts about whether physical conditioning should be a top priority for me this year, all I have to do is look at my workout totals from the past twelve months and that should be enough to convince me a new diligence about fitness demands a high place on my list of New Year’s resolutions. I shall also add:
• An improved habit of creative goal setting for artistic output.
• More robust business development efforts into new markets.
• Periodic infusions of nature, including more time in the woods.
• Steady progress toward the 30th anniversary of our studio.
from Scott-Martin Krosofsky’s The Book of Customs
— Joan sent me a link for some interesting Venetian woodcuts that I’ve never seen before. In spite of my ongoing investigation into wood engraving, I’ve yet to try my hand at an authentic woodcut, which is executed on the plank side of the block, in contrast to the end grain. Pete gave me some hemlock slabs from the Broadwing sawmill that I intend to use for my first effort, but I need to find an effective way to plane them down.
— Got a nice reply to our Christmas e-card from my cousin, Dr. Dave. For a pleasant look at a branch of our extended Clan, visit It’s a Sullivan Thing. A cool site for a cool family.
— Australia! I feel sorry for anybody who doesn’t get to see this movie before it departs the wide-screen cinema. Can they still make a full-length motion picture with the same scope and spirit as the classic epics? I say they can, and they did!
— Uncle Bob’s “Farm Woman: 1936” earned third place this year in NC’s poetry contest for seniors. It was also published in Western North Carolina Woman. According to our poet, “Such times may be more relevant than we would like, I’m afraid.” I shouldn’t publish it here, but you must read it. Let me know and I’ll send it to you…
V & S
Posted in Art, Exercise, Family, Holidays, Joan, Movies, Priorities, Verse, Words | No Comments »
Thursday, November 13th, 2008
Pearallel Universe
John Andrew Dixon
Mixed media collage
25 x 21 inches, 2007
Collection of Saint Joseph Health System
— Month of October workout totals: Swim-3; Bike-3; Run-1; Lift-1; Yoga-0; Pilates-3; Lupus Drills-1
To the heart of the matter
— I believe the latest recommendation for adequate exercise is 30 minutes a day, 4-5 days a week. Although my workouts are longer than that, the totals are falling short by a long shot. Can I get the daily habit back to preserve my health?
More library deprivation
— It’s been nearly a year since the library hauled itself off to the edge of town, and, although I knew it would be a bit of a hardship, I didn’t expect this level of low-grade suffering. Man, had I ever come to rely on that nearby environment for a periodic dose of mind-restoring tranquility—the kind that is unique to a truly fine reading room. I’m thoroughly impressed with the design for the new wing, but Karl told me recently that construction was three-to-four months behind schedule, so now I have no choice except to hang on until spring. I must have that extraordinary place available out my front door again or I shall go mad!
Sweet Owen County
— On Halloween I made my return to Larkspur for another printmaking retreat. It was a special time with creative people whose friendship I value more each year. An exhibition at the vineyards was mounted to honor Wesley’s work, and I was invited to include four of my wood engravings, since he’s had such a profound influence on my development in that medium. I sold one of my remaining proofs of Waiting for Joe, in addition to an unframed print of Penn’s Store, the latter to a collector interested in acquiring examples of my final edition numbers. Now all I have to do is print more limited editions of blocks that I’ve only proofed so far. I managed to complete a small block of a tiger, but was unable to finish during the workshop my larger, more complex engraving of a paddock scene I shot the previous week at Keeneland. It’s my first attempt at engraving a human figure, plus I had to include a horse and a stone wall, too, of course. What was I thinking? When I get it done, I’ll spend a day in Gray’s shop and print another block or two as well. Dana and Lee came up to the winery on Friday night and got to meet Wes and hear Juanita perform. Make no mistake about it—one can develop significant friendships at every stage of life.
Feeling a trifle exposed
— County employees demolished the little retail cottage next door to “put up a parking lot,” and it’s as if somebody yanked my gym shorts down. Whatever meager backyard ambiance we possessed is now lost. Instead, we have more noise, urban light pollution, and litter. I remember the year we held an open house and backyard gathering for Brendan’s graduation from Centre. If I’m not mistaken, that was the summer Carol and Bob came to the Brass Band Festival and spent time with us in the backyard. There are circumstances when a setting is at its peak and one rarely knows it at the time.
Custom built for a guy like me
— In a perfect world, Gene Wolfe might have contacted me to ask, “What type of a story idea would you like for me to develop that would please your singular peculiarities?” He didn’t have to. He wrote Pirate Freedom for his own reasons, and I became the grateful beneficiary without ever having to request “an absorbing tale of spiritual contemplation, time travel, and the golden age of piracy along the Spanish Main.” Unbelievable!
Dr. Quest’s pear-a-power ray
— I finally sold the mixed media piece I called Pearallel Universe. It was completed around the time of the original “March Experiment,” was part of my KOSMOS show, and made it out to New Mexico and back for the SLMM anniversary (but not without sustaining some damage to the frame, which the Albuquerque Museum people were kind enough to repair). It was purchased last week by Saint Joseph Health System to hang at its new ambulatory care center in Jessamine County. A hearty tip o’ the hat to LexArts!
My annual knob stalk
— My pals David and Greg are the sort of knowledgeable gun aficionados that know a bargain when they see one, so I was stunned when they gave me the gift of a 50-caliber muzzleloading rifle they just couldn’t pass up. When I recovered from the shock of their generosity, they taught me how to safely operate it—just in time for me to test it out during our recent Clan gathering, which happened to be the lawful period for using primitive weapons to hunt white-tails. I came as close to the moment of truth as I would that weekend when I cocked the hammer early Sunday morning, as three does crossed Robin Lick and made their way across a hay field, on the garden side of the Irrylynn gully. But something spooked the lead deer about 75 yards from my spot beside a round bale—my scent, the motion of my aim, or perhaps the pattern in my profile. She snorted an alert, danced a bit, and took off in the opposite direction, never presenting me an acceptable shot. As I say, that was the nearest I came to using my muzzleloader while I was in the Valley. Three weeks later I found myself back at Simpson Knob with my Marlin 1894S carbine, full of optimism for a freezer harvest, but I never observed a single deer in the woods, and neither of my two friends had the opportunity for a shot. This gives me a couple more options for success—this weekend at Blue Bank with the 44-Rem. magnum, and another December time slot with the Hawken-style that I’ve decided to name “Girty.” As much as I want to bring home some venison this year, there is nothing like having an excuse to be in the wild knob-lands at daybreak, whatever the outcome.
You’ll never walk alone
— Originally, our Hurray Day events were planned to coincide with the fifteenth anniversary of Dadbo’s passing, but we still wanted to have a family commemoration, even though the quarterly gathering was moved to the previous weekend. I was preoccupied with my tedious progress on the stone flue in the Hall, but I knew Joan was thinking about what to do, which is so typical of her desire to properly plan this kind of thing. We were listening to some old music and the tribute wasn’t on my mind when I suggested she experience Judy Garland’s stirring rendition of the inspirational song from Carousel. I’d never heard that version before, and Joan was out of the room when the CD track played. Had it been up to me, I don’t think I would’ve made the connection, but she realized it would be the perfect accompaniment to our outdoor service. I enjoyed spending some “palsy time” with my “big sis” for those two days, and it reminded me of how distinctive a life-long bond we share.
V & S
Posted in Angst, Art, Brendan, Community, Dadbo, Dana, Exercise, Family, Fiction, Firearms, Friends, Gratitude, Hunting, Joan, Music, Nature, Personalities, Pirates | No Comments »
Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008
Detail: Pursuit of Happiness, John Andrew Dixon, 2008
When traveling north to the U.P. after Labor Day, I cling to the notion that it’s still summer, with thoughts of sunny fishing expeditions and refreshing channel swims, but everyone else is beyond vacation, and all the kids are back in school. The illusion falls apart by the time we head south. Another summer ends, as do they all, and, as I look back on it, I realize that it held many good things, in addition to the silver linings that come with the not-so-good things.
Although, as I write this, the results for The Mark of Great Art contest haven’t been released yet, the outpouring of support and online votes make me feel like a winner already, no matter what the outcome. My collage artworks will go to London and Madrid, and there is no telling what will come of that. Any way I look at it, a breakthrough for my mixed-media style has been achieved, and I can add that to my first gallery sale of a wood engraving print, with the potential for new collector interest. Dana and I scored a new design client during this past summer, too. There’s much to be hopeful about—while the doom-and-gloom static of a self-correcting society buzzes in the background like a big, late-summer housefly during its numbered hours.
Prayers continue for Susan during her extended treatment period. Bruce is doing better. Mombo bounced back from a bout with medical side-effects. Uncle Si and Aunt Marian passed away at 91 and 92. America will never see their kind again. Lots of other things (happy and sad, exciting and troubling) percolate in my Clan and the concentric circles beyond it. What else is new? What else is family?
My summer was fully charged with the incomparable imagination of Gene Wolfe, thanks to Bruce. Having him here since he moved home from Indiana has presented more than a few challenges in a small dwelling that is also home to a business. That shouldn’t be a surprise, but the physical discomfort and inconvenience he’s put up with during those months surely would have been maddening to anyone without his astonishing resilience. Hang on, stout soul. Circumstances will break your way before long.
I almost talked myself out of joining my friends on their annual trip to the resort near Cedarville, and was still vacillating on the way to Ohio with Dana, as preposterous as that seems now. Bill gave Amy an engagement ring that night at her 50th birthday party. Dana and I had a nice meal in Tipp City the next day. She insisted I shake my funk and enjoy the following week of fishing. When I first arrived in the Les Cheneaux, my spirit felt oddly stale, and I knew I’d better make the most of the break, because it was clear I needed it. It’s always good to spend time with real friends, setting everyday cares aside. By the time departure was at hand, I was more attuned with our natural surroundings and my creative pump had been re-primed. We didn’t catch many fish, but the intangible benefits of charging inner batteries aren’t as obvious as an empty cooler. Autumn is here, and I’m ready for it.
Posted in Art, Bruce, Business, Family, Fiction, Fishing, Friends, Gratitude, Mombo, Nature, Prayer, Words | 1 Comment »
Sunday, August 31st, 2008
First task: Joan, I am so sorry that Greg Brown is gone from your life. He was a good one, and always will be remembered in the lore of unique canine personalities we have known.
Wow. Thirty days since my last entry. It’s been one of the more intense months of my life, with all matters giving way to concentrated artistic effort. The result—two creative milestones disguised as brand promotions for Maker’s Mark—is perhaps the most mature expression of the mixed-media style that I’ve had under gradient development for more than a decade. Beginning with my first “cosmosaics” of the late 90s, I sought a personal approach to collage that would fuse the characteristics of my greeting-card miniatures with fine-art aesthetics at a new level of archival craftsmanship. A stronger forward momentum took place when I studied the work of Kurt Schwitters, in preparation for the 2006 CONNECTIONS exhibition, and to produce my KOSMOS show the following year. Concurrently, I’ve given greater attention to the durability of my pieces as “artifacts,” and, beginning with Pearallel Universe, to the introduction of more hand-rendered elements into my compositions. More details to follow as we get closer to the opening reception at the historic distillery.
Yesterday, after Dana and I delivered my new collage artworks to Loretto, we headed north to submit four of my wood engraving prints to the gallery at Elk Creek Vineyards as part of an exhibition that will feature Wesley Bates. We also stopped at Larkspur Press to meet with Gray and get an update on the project for Maurice’s poetry. As usual, the master printer is composing this publication with a stunning regard for letterpress quality. What started out as a broadside sheet has expanded to a limited edition of bound collector booklets. He showed us the latest proofs, and I borrowed back my maple block to do some additional clean-up in the white areas. Although I doubt if I comprehend how important an event this will be considered in the world of fine book arts, I do appreciate that my creative work never before has been presented in a context of such literary distinction.
After the marathon push to fulfill these August obligations, I figured I would spend today catching up on rest and doing a bit of reading and writing. We ended up taking Bruce to UK’s ER with another worrisome episode of GI bleeding. He’ll stay there indefinitely for more diagnostics and possibly some transfusions, too. Unlike earlier this summer, I hope that this time around they can identify the root cause and deal with it properly.
Posted in Art, Bruce, Craftsmanship, Creativity, Dana, Friends, Joan, Pets, Verse | No Comments »
Tuesday, July 8th, 2008
Hey, look, I probably get a buzz seeing famous people as much as the average guy, but I take absolutely no interest in celebrities just because they happen to qualify for the description. On the other hand, I really do like the stars I respect, especially if my admiration for them is rooted in the “silver age” of television, and I’d probably step on my Yorkie to shake the hand of Peter Graves.
When I learned that Johnny Crawford was coming back to Danville, I knew I had to meet him and experience his current style of entertainment. Like Kurt Russell and Ron Howard, he was a child star who kept himself on the rails, and he went forward to do an impressive range of cool things in his life as an artist, athlete, and entrepreneur. Most of all, he held true to his earliest passion—music.
If Dana didn’t fully appreciate how much I was looking forward to hearing Johnny’s vintage dance band, it was because I tried my best to avoid behaving like a groupie beforehand, but I think she understood when I dug out one of Dadbo’s old bow ties and taught myself how to tie it. It’s been quite awhile since the two of us had a nice picture taken, so I was tickled when Joan and Caitlan agreed to document our night out. Thanks, ladies!
The extra time for pictures cost us the opportunity to pick out a choice table at the Playhouse indoor theater, but I managed to discover an empty love seat near the stage. It was a fine spot to watch Crawford re-enact the period manners of a band leader from the 1920s and 1930s. We were treated to a superb group of musicians 
hired locally to become his vintage orchestra for the evening, including Miles Osland, Dave Henderson, and Rick Cook. Watching Crawford’s seat-of-the-pants coordination was a delight, and the entire effect was a testament to the sheer professionalism of everyone on stage. On top of that, the “CD Release Party” aspect seemed to put the star of the show in a heightened mood, and his vocals and repartee at the microphone were thoroughly entertaining. I think Dana would agree the only way it could have been more enjoyable is if I’d spent less time with the bow tie and a bit more with remembering how to do the fox trot. Maybe next time; I hope he’s invited back for an encore performance.
Years ago, when I fell in love with Danville’s brass band festival, I gained a new, profound regard for the quality of American band music from the mid nineteenth century to the era of The Great War. I also came to understand how much work it takes to resurrect all of the instrumentation to recreate a period sound. This summer, Johnny Crawford shared with our community the same preservationist spirit, and it makes me think he may be emerging as one of the country’s most important historians of our popular music, salvaging lost orchestrations and discarded arrangements of favorite dance tunes from that unique period between two World Wars. As David McCullough reminds us, Americans from a different period of our history were less similar to us than we like to believe. They lived differently, and they thought differently. It was the age of radio. Everyone aspired to be a musician, if they didn’t already sing or play an instrument. All popular music was music meant for dancing, and if people didn’t go out to dance, they probably were at a motion picture to watch others dance. There was a spirit in America that observers such as David Gelernter have told us is all but lost. Well, perhaps so, but not if Johnny Crawford has anything to say about it.
Don’t go ’round moping, hoping happiness will come.
That’s not the way; it doesn’t pay.
If you want happiness, help yourself to some.
Why don’t you try to take life the way I do:
Let the whole world sigh or cry,
I’ll be high in the sky,
Up on top of a rainbow,
Sweeping the clouds away.
I don’t care what’s down below.
Let it rain or let it snow.
I’ll be up on a rainbow,
Sweeping the clouds away.
I have learned life’s lesson: fighters who always win
Are those who can take it right on the chin—and grin.
So I shout to everyone:
“Find your place in the sun,
Up on top of a rainbow,
Sweeping the clouds away!”
Posted in Caitlan, Dadbo, Dana, Dance, Family, History, Joan, Movies, Music, Nonfiction, Personalities, Social Science, Television, Words | No Comments »
Monday, May 12th, 2008
Things have been a bit interesting since my birthday. If this is what being on the other side of the speed limit is like, I’d better keep my wits about me. A couple examples…
It’s the water, it’s the corn, it’s the wood.
Dana and I traveled to Marion County on Saturday for my orientation to the Maker’s Mark project. Sixty Kentucky artists were selected to create works inspired by a visit to the historical distillery, and we couldn’t have had a more pleasant day to be guests at the rural complex. I enjoyed having the freedom to roam the facility for hours and learn more about how the hand-crafted product is made. Because my mixed media collage relies heavily on found material, I arrived with the hope of gaining access to lots of “ingredients.” No such luck. The operation is a model of “green” best practices, so the kind of detritus on which I’d set my heart simply doesn’t exist. It was one of the tidiest work environments I’ve ever seen, and everything unused is totally recycled, including all the byproducts of bourbon-making. Afterwards: downtown Bardstown for a delicious dinner at a sidewalk table to process the day’s sensory load.
Touch of a Woman / Voice of a Mother
Sarah shared her traditional holiday message at the cabin yesterday morning, “after silence,” although it was far from a quiet meditation. Wind gusts dominated the 30-minute ritual. After she began, the ancient tree just outside the north window cracked under the punishment and came down, striking the power line, but missing the startled humans only a few yards away. Her talk was entitled “A Woman’s Touch.” Mother Nature had decided to reach out and touch our gathering spot—without mishap to us, fortunately.
After spending the rest of the day completing my poster design for this year’s Brass Band Festival, I reached out to my own mother and conveyed my fond greetings on her annual day. As usual, I was the last of her children to call. I think she might’ve had a nicer observance, were it not for all the ongoing doctor and dentist complications. The endless appointments, procedures, and prescriptions seem to be dragging down her quality of life. Her inclination is to chuck it all and do without, but, obviously, that’s not something she considers a realistic option, so, just like our Mombo, she keeps plugging and hangs on for the next period of well-being. (She deserves it. That’s my prayer and I’m sticking to it.)
Posted in Art, Birthdays, Dana, Family, Friends, Holidays, Mombo, Nature, Prayer, Words | No Comments »
Sunday, April 27th, 2008
I know I haven’t been writing much lately, but I recently promised myself that if I couldn’t dwell on positive things, then I best not record anything at all in this space. Although that may seem to indicate my prevailing mood, good developments continue to unfold. It is necessary to remain focused on practical goals. Each day sees progress on multiple fronts, even in the face of adversity. Extra time spent at the Blue Bank Farm, working on the stone flue, allowed me to overcome the deficiencies of my extended learning curve. Now I know I can complete the masonry job this summer according to my original vision. I helped produce a successful annual dinner for The Salvation Army, which fulfills a major volunteer commitment. Although I cut back on my involvement with the Brass Band Festival this year, I felt obligated to complete the poster series I started in 2005. That should be wrapped up soon, which clears the deck a bit more in favor of a greater commercial workload. Yesterday I woke up with a solution to the Town House storm water drainage problems that have bedeviled me for years. I’m reading Dr. Dyer’s book on learning to live one’s imagined life. Creating the prerequisite balance is a daily challenge that I can surely meet, but only through the relentless re-alignment of my inner thoughts and awareness, and I’m convinced that I shall do that only by truly accepting the all-sufficiency of God’s love.
Far away in the sunshine are my highest inspirations.
I may not reach them, but I can look up and see the beauty,
believe in them and try to follow where they lead. . . .
—Louisa May Alcott
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Monday, April 14th, 2008
— As a kid, I think I first heard about Rube Goldberg from Mombo, and, although I never investigated his career in detail, he became another piece of supporting evidence with which I built the notion that I could grow up to be a cartoonist. The other day I was talking to a friend and fellow advisory board member at The Salvation Army HQ and learned he’d just attended the Rube Goldberg Machine Contest at Purdue University, where his grandson is an engineering student. Relying on their solid “home court advantage,” the Purdue team kept the prize at home for the third time in the last four years. My cousin Joe’s daughter, Michelle, goes to school at Purdue, but I’ve never asked him about her area of concentration.
— Watchmen is without a doubt the most satisfying “comic book” I’ve encountered since Joan and I discovered the story of “Superman-Red and Superman-Blue” at Pam and Lori’s house back in the 1960s. To call it a comic book will be off-target for those unfamiliar with the Hugo Award winning publication, which TIME Magazine included in its 2005 list of “the 100 best English-language novels from 1923 to the present.” When Brendan found out I’d never seen it, he dropped off a copy during his cross-country road trip. Thanks, NB. You know what I like.
— In less than a month, my level of inner peace, tenuous at best in this stage of life, was shaken twice. First I learned about my Godfather’s death in Ohio, which brought a deep sense of personal loss. I looked over some of his characteristic letters about dogs and gardening and things, traveling north with Dana to represent my Clan at a family service in St. Marys. Then came the aftershock news of Charlton Heston’s demise, a different kind of sadness, having of my own volition attached my spirit to his particular brand of patriotism many years ago. I took comfort in reading again the short letter he sent me around the time of his last public announcement. It was a personal note of appreciation for my having mailed him, over a period of years, a series of handmade birthday greetings. Greater consolation came in a message from my own Godson about my Uncle Don, and the statements Nic and his brother Seth made at Facebook about their regard for Mr. Heston, including recollections of meeting him with some of us who attended his book signing in Lexington. It was heartening to know that men of the next generation will value his enduring contribution to safeguarding the array of civil liberties we enjoy as Americans. Two resolutions honoring Mr. Heston—H.Res. 1091 by Congressman Don Young (R-AK), and S.Res. 512 by Senator Jim DeMint (R-SC)—were introduced this week in the two houses of Congress.
— Joan’s blogging has set a recent standard that can only be described as outstanding, and I need to regain my rhythm. Much to report about events in March and my current activities, but the emphasis remains with daily efforts to spin straw into gold. A life engaged in hustling after the next buck just seems to be the governing principle, or, as Mombo used to say when I rubbed the morning “sleepers” from my eyes:
Another day; another dollar…
V & S
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Tuesday, April 1st, 2008
— Month of March workout totals: Swim-1; Bike-3; Run-4; Lift-3; Yoga-0; Pilates-5; Lupus-3
— Another constructive “March Experiment” is under my belt, but it may be no longer accurate to call it an experiment. In its current form, the regimen has become more of an annual exercise. Perhaps next time around I shall discover and impose a breakthrough to make it truly experimental again.
— Brendan stopped by today on his way west (Way, Way West), and it felt good to personally wish him Godspeed. He loaned me his copy of Watchmen, and we also talked a bit about The Book of the New Sun. I asked him if he’d packed plenty of listening material. He said he would be playing his CD of a popular presidential candidate reciting “99 Bottles.” (Yeah, that last thing was a lame April Fool’s joke. I got Dana with a much better one this morning.)
— With the price of gold hovering near a generational high, the Graybeard Prospector turned over a new leaf last month, using every trick he could think of to see if he might stake some new claims. In the process, he connected with some new friends and old, including one from the Cincinnati days. His former pal Ray is working on a book with photographs of drive-through expresso shacks, which apparently are a feature of the American Northwest. Based on this information, it looks like Nephew B has hit the trail for the caffeine mother lode. We’ll see if he can stay clean and somber.
Five years ago — 4/1/03
— When will the turning point in the war come, and will we even recognize it when it does? Today the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs made an animated defense of Rumsfeld, Franks, and the war plan, in response to aggressive media criticism. It’s amazing to me how the press is behaving at a time of war… Today Dana and I had lunch at the Carnegie Club, listening to a superb presentation by Vince about the music of Duke Ellington, but a lot of it was autobiographical. He talked more than I expected about his youth and evolution as a musician, as well as his attitude toward teaching—clearly the real passion for him.
Ten years ago — 4/2/98
— The new Mac is sitting on a chair in the conference room, unpacked but unplugged. The workload is just now easing up enough to consider tearing into our current configuration… It’s time for me to set it up. I should be more excited, but I usually feel this way—a bit nervous—when I have to disrupt an existing system. The excitement will come later.
V & S
Posted in Angst, Brendan, Dana, Exercise, Family, Fiction, Friends, History, Music, Personalities, Political Affairs, Precious Metals, Presidency, Studio, Technology, Words | No Comments »
Saturday, March 1st, 2008
My log is currently suspended for the annual March Experiment.
— Month of February workout totals: Swim-3; Bike-2; Run-3; Lift-2; Yoga-0; Pilates-3; Lupus-1
— If I accomplish nothing else over the next 30 days, I must find “the means.” I won’t try to define exactly what that means (hey, is that a pun?), but most of you know what I’m talking about. It can look like ferocity, but mere ferocity is no match for the kind of unrelenting competitive intensity that Uncle Don held out as mark of the victorious spirit. Well, maybe I did just define it. All I know right now is that I need to regain the source of it, and the man who coined the term is in the hospital and probably dying. He is my Godfather, and from him I inherit the challenge of “the means.” James and I were talking about him this morning when we accompanied Joan to inspect Joe’s Riverland. It was a wonderful outing that combined the gentle Lamb of March and memories of our lost Clansmen with an enduring camaraderie that is too rarely enjoyed (and I don’t mean scarce, but rare). I’m so glad we did it.
— Speaking of Joan: she uncovered this NPR feature that makes me think we might have been among the last of the “Oldenday Players.” This closing thought sums up the sad, ironic state of current affairs:
…in the rush to give children every advantage—to protect them, to stimulate them, to enrich them—our culture has unwittingly compromised one of the activities that helped children most. All that wasted time was not such a waste after all.
— Wow, did I ever miss the mark at the end of January when I failed to predict that the majority of Democrats were finally ready to kick their Clinton habit! Rather than Senator Obama’s campaign suffering from too many losses in too many states, it appears that the exact reverse has taken place, and now Hillary faces the need to complete an urgent end-zone bomb to stay in contention. Too bad that more conservative Republicans didn’t rally to Romney sooner and offer to the nation the kind of clear ideological choice that a Barack-vs-Mitt face-off would provide.
— Dadbo once gave us an item of firm advice: never work through a general contractor. He learned that lesson the hard way when he and Mombo built our house on the Shoop Road lot. The truth of his warning was born out last week by my experience with one of our clients who’s completing a new dental office. Due to the construction manager’s faulty information and his cover-my-butt attitude, what could have been a perfectly handsome interior wall treatment will fall short of what we worked to achieve on our client’s behalf. It makes me wonder how many other compromises they were forced to swallow in order to get the doors open on time. But maybe I’m missing the whole point—they did what they needed to do to achieve a massive relocation, with a net gain of significant improvement. What’s wrong with me? Done is better than perfect!
— On Saturday, March 8th, the Community Arts Center will hold its annual benefit and live art auction. According to the Center’s promotional material, the artwork is from some of the area’s top artists, and I can’t disagree with that, even if the list includes your humble correspondent. The online photo gallery offers sneak previews of artwork that will be on the block, and they did a good job of putting together that feature for the Website. The mixed-media collage I donated, Then Sings My Soul, was created nearly a year ago for KOSMOS: Discovery and Disclosure.
— Go back another year to the first March-X and that’s when I helped organize some local cyclists that would form the B.I.K.E. | Boyle County group. On March 11th, the local organization devoted to cleaning up and preserving Clark’s Run (C.R.E.E.C.) will host a community forum that will focus on trails and greenways. B.I.K.E. has not only promoted the idea of safer, more bicycle-friendly streets and roads in Boyle County, but has always hoped to collaborate with community partners as a catalyst for planning a network of shared-use byways and connecting trails.
Yesterday I finished a draft of our comprehensive recommendations to kick-start the development of a community master plan that envisions much more than the construction of a few off-street recreational trails. The process will take leadership, commitment, and years of effort. Available funding will go to the localities which combine a strategic vision with constituent support. It’s a challenging goal, but many places have already done it. Some of you know that from your travels and vacations. Those communities improved the quality of life for their populations and, at the same time, attracted visitors, new residents, and employers. Can we do it here? Stay tuned. Bye, everybody!
For the despondent, every day brings trouble;
for the happy heart, life is a continual feast.
—Proverbs 15:15 (New Living Translation)
V & S
Posted in Angst, Art, Blogging, Business, Community, Craftsmanship, Current Events, Dadbo, Exercise, Friends, James, Joan, Mombo, Nature, Playtime, Political Affairs, Presidency, Scripture, Studio | No Comments »
Friday, February 29th, 2008
I think I’ve accepted that happiness is not a state, but an event that should be savored each time it occurs. May we all be blessed with many regular occurrences, and learn how to pursue their arrival.
Kyle is right, and probably Caitlan knows it deep within, but part of coming to terms with that eternal “kk dilemma” is understanding that we aren’t called to perfect ourselves with a single endeavor or cycle of accomplishment. It’s more about the will to strive—and the steady commitment to a more difficult path—than it is the measure of any product at intervals along the way.
There’s one thing this graybeard has learned—the key is Balance. But, as I’ve so often stated, “Easier said than done.”
I recall a time in my own studies when I received the second of my two most treasured letters from Dadbo. The first was when I was an adolescent, but this second note was in response to my angst at the tremendous rigor of my undergraduate program. I could dig out the correspondence and include a quotation, but I won’t. In some ways, the message that sticks with me now (and always) remains more profound. He took time to reinforce for me the old wisdom of “all work and no play.” It was a lesson about Balance—a lesson that he was still learning at an age (then) that was a bit less than mine (now). Within a relatively short time, he would suffer his first heart attack. Easier said than done.
Nobody worth listening to will tell us the journey toward balanced self-refinement is an easy one. I’ve had my periods of 60-to-70-hour work weeks, as well as my indulgent—and ultimately pointless—excursions into doubt, fear, and denial. I guess it’s part of the terrain, or it was for me. Sometimes there is no discernible outward difference between compulsive depletion and focused commitment, or between apathetic procrastination and therapeutic relaxation. I hate to admit it, but it’s not always inwardly apparent either, although it usually is. The conscience is rarely fooled. Nevertheless, the intuition of the heart is not always equipped to pinpoint the nature of its discomfort, and can only signal that something doesn’t feel right. We must continue to train our faculties of spirit and intellect to solve the puzzle of personal destiny. And, take it from me—the whole thing can still look like a miserable mess without the proper physical component. It’s quite amazing how a brisk walk, a long bicycle ride, or a mile in the pool can provide a fresh perspective on most troubling situations (not to mention the value of sound nutrition and a good night’s rest).
My mind is running this course in part because I’m using Leap Day to prepare for a third annual March Experiment. I’ve decided to pull away from the online journal to enable a more sustained level of active concentration. Whatever can be temporarily set aside for intensified focus needs to be put on hold during the exercise. I’m beginning to get excited about it, feeling the positive anticipation that comes with diving into the regimen, much like putting on the wet suit for a Lake Huron swim, realizing it will be cold, but concerned more with the determination it will take, after the initial plunge and past the inevitable yelling of an underwater “fuck,” to gain the efficient forward momentum required to cross the channel safely, with no thought for my turning back, because mental defeat is unthinkable—no obstacles exist but the outworn patterns of consciousness.
Nothing is impossible to the man who can will.
—Mirabeau
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Tuesday, February 12th, 2008
During this month I’m attempting to learn more about the African-American men that I revere most. It goes without saying, but aren’t Wikipedia and Google something else? I can’t imagine what it would be like as a young student, having at my disposal these remarkable tools!
Posted in Education, History, Nonfiction, Personalities, Social Science, Technology | No Comments »
Saturday, February 9th, 2008
(match each number to a letter)
1) swing set
2) daddy-man
3) makko bird
4) stool chair
5) Father Mike
6) Uncle Art
7) Dr. Pfarrer
8) whitey rock
9) worm pits
10) Frank
11) Dodgie
12) Uncle Don
13) Hoc-Hoc Man
14) silver paint
15) Hugh
16) Uncle Joe
17) spring house
18) Uncle George
19) Roy Macy
20) Dante
21) Uncle Bobby
22) funny face
23) Paul
24) Orville
25) Barnamoe
26) gitzen |
a) Grandma
b) Flint
c) wasps
d) MVRBA
e) Hazel
f) Green Plane
g) Arlene
h) machine
i) big horse
j) Billy
k) sicu
l) grapevine
m) Vaseline
n) boundary
o) haircuts
p) bookshelf
q) rhubarb
r) Gravely
s) X-15
t) Cecilia
u) blackboard
v) Chippers
w) trampoline
x) Fibber
y) Lucy
z) Greenbriar |
(see comment for answers)
Posted in Family, Playtime, Trivia, Words | 2 Comments »
Wednesday, February 6th, 2008
The new Salvation Army leaders, Chuck and Karin, are in town, so I met Chuck at the Advocate-Messenger for an introduction to the executive editor, a good friend of the local Corps. After that we met up with Karin, and the three of us had sandwiches at the deli on Fourth Street. I really like this young couple, recently arrived from Pittsburgh (not unlike most people with the Army, they’ve lived many places). Given the bizarre circumstances which caused the departure of our previous Captains, they had only 24 hours to decide whether or not to move to Danville last month. Unbelievable.
Earlier, while at the newspaper, we’d talked about a welcome interview that was supposed to take place today—before the deadly storms struck in the middle of the night. This morning they took off with the mobile canteen, headed for one of the disaster sites. What a way of life! I’ve met many caring people in my journey so far, but these extraordinary people who call themselves Salvationists are the most selfless servants I’ve encountered.
Blessed are the pure in heart;
for they shall see God.
—Matthew 5:8
Posted in Community, Current Events, Friends, Scripture, Words | Comments Closed
Sunday, January 27th, 2008
My nephew is really on a roll with his story site right now. Seeing Anacrusis pop up on the screen each weekday is sort of like watching a slugger come up to the plate with a hitting streak on the line. Everybody gets nervous, but the player is out there just doing his job, trying to get some decent wood on the ball.
Hey, I’m only kidding around. Brendan was already in my Hall of Fame long ago, when he turned away from Benedict’s 9 to devote himself to better ideas.
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