— released from the hospital yesterday
— recuperating here at the Town House
Archive for October, 2007
Bruce is back at home.
Tuesday, October 30th, 2007— Molina Watch —
Thursday, October 25th, 2007
Giant Geek — introducing Big Brother’s nephew . . .
Monday, October 22nd, 2007Do you ever get slightly nervous about somebody else gaining access to your personal information or knowing too much about your private behavior patterns? Do you like to go to malls, sports stadiums, or amusement parks? How do you feel about the possibility of the casino industry setting up shop in your community? Do the nosey inclinations of government make you uncomfortable?
Read this article before you answer any of those questions.
Punching through the odds again
Saturday, October 20th, 2007Bruce had his re-constructive abdominal surgery at U.K. yesterday, and it was a long Friday for all of us. I slept in a deep, dream-filled state, waking up to a bizarre, nightmarish memory (Dadbo being lost in a sinkhole at the farm), in addition to a separate—but quite lucid—idea about writing the definitive history of the anti-fluoridation movement, wrapped in a biography of our erstwhile friend and client, John Yiamouyiannis, the central figure in a decades-long struggle against the corruption of entrenched political power. Yes, it was a rather strange morning, but that’s not uncommon when I sleep like the trunk of a fallen oak on Widow’s Knob.
Bruce came through his latest ordeal with flags flying, although he’s experiencing a bit of severe pain that complicates matters, to say the least. Most of what was left of his long-idle large intestine was stapled to the ileum, and the bothersome contingency from 2005 is history. This should solve the problem of his chronic dehydration. There’s a portion of descending colon that could neither be utilized nor removed, so that segment remains, taking advantage of a previous drain-hole in his side to complete the overall plumbing design. Surgeon Chang seemed pleased with the outcome, considering the very real possibility that he might face no option except shrugging his shoulders and sewing up Bruce’s belly, had the scenario proved too dangerous or daunting. There was no way to tell how “do-able” the procedure might be until the team was inside. Everything was accomplished in less than three hours.
So, now he faces 5–10 days in the hospital. His summer fitness program should give him a distinct advantage in bouncing back. I’m praying he can win the coin toss, as far as the 50-50 chance for developing an infection following this kind of surgery. Once again, he stays on top of the odds, and successfully knocks off another obstacle in his marathon recovery from pancreatitis. The outlook for a potential kidney transplant has just improved significantly. Hang in there, my son…
Thirty years ago . . .
Thursday, October 18th, 2007When Dana and I marked our silver anniversary last month, it was recognized that a separate milestone we’d failed to observe had passed us by a couple months earlier—
thirty years since we’d first met. About half a year after my abrupt departure from Chicago, kind Fate placed us in the same small basement office in Wright State University’s publications department. Life as a freelancer in Dayton hadn’t worked out very well, so it was with a measure of keen anticipation that I sat down one afternoon with the classified section, a Cassano’s thin-crust pizza, and a pitcher of lousy beer. I don’t remember applying for any other full-time job during that summer of ’77. To be guardedly candid, if it were not for my journal and the extant artifacts of my creative meanderings, I would recall even less about those months at J’s INN.
Ah, yes… J’s INN. Even the sound of it on my mental tongue conjures a mix of both exhilarating and disturbing sentiments. Thirty years later, J’s INN is less a set of recollections than it is a reservoir of emotions and sensory vignettes. Jeffrey’s scheme to rent the sprawling compound near the airport in late 1976 was just the catalyst I needed to make my escape from that metro-leviathan which bear-hugs the southwest corner of Lake Michigan. I returned to Ohio. Chicago was, and still is, “my big city,” but I knew I couldn’t live there with any level of mental peace. It was just too big. I had this nagging idea that I really needed to reside some place where I could see a cow now and then. J’s INN would be the place. J’s INN would be the perfect environment where I could shake off the city, reconnect with my brothers, and map out a new life as an independent creative professional, and, to a remarkable degree, I somehow managed to do just that. I enjoyed a privileged status. One memory that survives is the time other tenants complained to the INNmaster that he was too lenient with me with respect to our division of duties, and he firmly replied, “What makes you think fairness has anything to do with it?” Although life at J’s INN was conducive to many things, it was far from perfect, and it became too large a phenomenon to fully control, despite Fron’s valiant effort as the legendary INNmaster. J’s INN had its own appetites and its own aura of defiance that could never be tamed. Eventually, one could only betray and abandon it to its own devices. When it finally spent itself and met its match in the bulldozer, it surely left a crack in the hearts of my Clansmen, but it’s difficult to accept that its legacy, as hopelessly scrambled as it is, has not proved to be a good one in the final analysis. To think otherwise is to deny the galvanizing purpose it played in Brotherhood, and to deny its role in drawing me to my lifelong “partner in all things.” So be it, J’s INN— May your forgotten crimes be expiated. May your limestone bones and fallen timbers decay in peace at last.
Forty years ago . . .
Wednesday, October 17th, 2007I’ve shrugged off the disappointment of not having my design chosen for the new library logo, and continue to be excited about the expansion taking place across Broadway. When I assess the daily progress from the vantage of our upstairs bathroom window, my memory skips back to the 1960s. We used to ride our bikes a mile or so toward town to watch the construction of a large electric-power substation on Tipp-Cowlesville Road. It’s not surprising that the rhythmic coordination of massive earth-moving equipment was fascinating to a youthful male. However, at the time, it was just another element of relentless change that I was observing firsthand, most notably the steady development of Dixonwood, our family property on Shoop Road. Clearly, much was churning in America during those years, but I didn’t sense the powerful shifts taking place in the larger culture as much as I had the perception of personally hurtling through rapid change in my own physical and emotional existence. It’s wild enough to be an adolescent, but to experience it as a “new kid” in a more sophisticated community, just as all the norms of social interaction were being questioned or summarily discarded… Before long, nothing seemed to be immune from total scrutiny, and the pace of upheaval that was accelerating month by month was rippling over my life like the waves of an incoming tide. Indeed, it was a “radical” period during which to come of age. Similar to those who had The Great Depression or The War eclipse their years as a teen, the cultural meltdown of the 60s was a fact of life, and you were just there in the midst of it, living it a day at a time, unaware of how it could have been any different. I haven’t come close to sorting through it all, and, perhaps, I never can nor shall.
The Wednesday Gang
Saturday, October 13th, 2007Low temperatures have arrived too fast. This has been one of my most enjoyable seasons of cycling, and I’m a bit sad to see it close. Beyond safety in numbers, the best part is the group friendship—like most recreational pastimes…
Various & Sundry, part sixty-four
Friday, October 5th, 2007— Month of September workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-10; Run-5; Lift-7; Yoga-0; Pilates-2
— My exercise regimen is starting to come back into balance after a mighty season of cycling. The Wednesday evening rides are winding down. This week we barely got in a 20-miler before the light failed. Ernst and I managed an all-out sprint battle down Lebanon Road as a final salute to summer, but I still didn’t have enough to best him. It was a nice kicker to Sunday’s long ride. Although it was more windy than we expected, I got in a total of 60 miles, after I split off from the “Bardstown-to-Berea Century” group at Burgin. Ernst and the others continued east for the full 100. On another note, I’m making good on a challenge to myself by tackling the Tuesday-Thursday Pilates class at Centre. If I stick it out, I’ll eventually file an official report in this space.
— A huge Website proposal has kept us busy in the studio for a week or so, although I did temporarily fall under the spell of Ken Burns and watched a few series pilots, too (I may stick with a couple new shows if they aren’t yanked). For many years, Dana and I maintained a standard policy of refusing to propose visual concepts on a speculative basis. First of all, it seemed rather presumptuous to offer design solutions without adequate research and client consultation. Beyond that, it also seemed an unfair expectation—asking us to render our core creative service before making a commitment to hire us. Well, unfortunately, we’ve had to discard that practice during our lingering project drought, even though these types of competitive appraisals rarely involve comparing apples to apples. These days, everyone wants to shop for ideas and low fees, and it’s getting harder to remember when we could get retained strictly on the basis of our qualifications and past honors. It’s just one more aspect of our industry that’s changed radically in the new century. Many of the others are equally distressing. Meanwhile, I navigate the choppy waters and avoid hair dye, unlike Creed at Dunder Mifflin.
— Arts Across Kentucky finally updated its site with the fall issue, but offers no peek at my featured work. I continue to rotate layerist collages at the “Tree” without my first score. Wilma accepted my Band Festival painting at her new gallery on Main Street, and I’m optimistic about the potential for a sale. The “Egg” is the best downtown enhancement of the year, but the most exciting news item is the recent decision by Larkspur to upgrade the Manning job to a book project, with my most recent wood engraving, “Boss’s Bucket,” as the frontispiece illustration.
— Bruce has improved dramatically since he came home to Danville six months ago. The imminent surgery is a good measure of his progress, although the side-effects of dialysis are a continuous challenge for him. He’s able to exercise increasingly, and is much more energetic on a daily basis, both mentally and physically. To see him helping with the household drudgery, building a routine of creative writing, working on his car, composing letters to the newspaper, and more actively moving around the community is deeply satisfying to witness.