One of the highlights of each year has become my participation in the traditional British Single-Shot Sporting Rifle Match held at Simpson Range. In the busy lead-up to this annual event, I clearly lost interest in a daily log entry for the March Exercise, so now I’ll just focus on applying for the rest of the month my regimen for self discovery, putting aside the blogging ritual. The combination of friendship, hospitality, competition, precision activity, history, fine food, and the joy of life make for a unique weekend that holds a place in my heart to rival September in the Les Cheneaux and our quarterly Clan gatherings. I am a privileged man to have gained access to touchstones of authenticity such as these. John O’Donohue said that “the duty of privilege is absolute integrity.” There’s my food for today’s thought.
Archive for March, 2011
Shoot, Munch, Quaff
Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011Buds For Yu
Wednesday, March 16th, 2011
March Exercise —day sixteen— I got a project back on the rails and completed today after an unforeseen production delay, and the client was pleased enough to use an exclamation point in his email—a first. Hey, I’ll take whatever small bits of encouragement I can scrounge, because “it ain’t getting any easier out here.” Conditions were still chilly when I trekked over to campus for my laps, but when I headed back home, the cloud cover was breaking up and the air was calm and noticeably milder. The weatherman is hanging his hat on Spring-like conditions this weekend, and they can’t arrive any time too soon. I noticed that the Japanese-style magnolias were fully budded and ready to “bust out.” I thought of my friend from Japan, Yu, my former endurance-running partner, who loved to see those tulips bloom overhead each cycle. I lost touch with him a few years after he returned home, and now I wonder how he and his family are doing in the midst of the crisis. It seems everyone has some friends or family on those islands. The events so far are bad enough, so we can only pray that the worst is over. If not, we are about to witness one of the most disastrous outcomes we shall ever remember.
Today’s sight bite— Tulip tree blossoms, eager to unfold —c-l-i-c-k— as soon as conditions say, “Open. Open.”
Tomorrow— Hold onto your breath, hold onto your heart, hold onto your hope . . .
Ides of Pooch
Tuesday, March 15th, 2011
March Exercise —day fifteen— Spent most of the day with interactive classwork on the Web. Can’t believe how quickly the hours pass when I immerse myself like this. KET replays Charlie Rose at noon, which makes for a convenient lunch in front of the tube, if I don’t swim laps. It was another hour devoted to the NYT guys who write about emerging personal technology, and that means they talk mostly about the newest Apple products. I don’t really lust after that stuff if I don’t pay attention, but how can I not pay attention? I can’t seem to put my finger on it yet, but there’s something vitally important about these advances that directly affect my future as a creative person.
Today’s sight bite— A pit bull, brownish lab, gray shih-tzu, and some sort of Jack Russell-chihuahua mix —c-l-i-c-k-e-t-y-c-l-i-c-k— were among the assortment of canines sparked into animation by my brisk town walk this evening.
Tomorrow— Perhaps the warm sun will be back . . .
Pray For Japan
Monday, March 14th, 2011
March Exercise —day fourteen— Needless to say, there’s been a hazy layer of melancholy over my year, but nothing about it can compare to what so many souls across Japan have been forced to endure since last week. With no cable news feed, I can’t say I’ve spent any time with live coverage. Nevertheless, I’ve watched enough video to feel sick over the heartbreaking developments, and no self-respecting crashologist can fail to recognize how abruptly this type of disaster could befall any of us. We are more accustomed to appraising the aftermath of nature’s fury in less-advanced, relatively unsophisticated places. There’s something about seeing this devastation visited upon such a meticulous, aesthetically refined culture that rips deeper into my sense of well-being. When we were little, we would block up the creek or the pond overflow, build little villages out of sticks in the channel, and then release the water to see the miniature dwellings swept away. The boyhood pleasure we would derive from such activities comes back to haunt me now. Is some unseen cosmic juvenile at play with our little wet rock, or must we accept that each of us is merely a scintilla of this devilish lad—one of the billions of tiny cells that make up this singularly inept planetary steward?
Today’s sight bite— The swirling, gargantuan black mass oozing over everything in its path —c-l-i-c-k— as terrified observers cry helplessly, yet continue to point their video cameras at the unthinkable.
Tomorrow— The annual regime is nearly half over . . .
Ambushed By Sorrow
Sunday, March 13th, 2011
March Exercise —day thirteen— It turned out to be a rough day for both of us, but especially for Dana. It had little to do with externals. It was just one of those days that keep rising to the surface in a long process of managing grief. We spent the bulk of our time at David and Lee’s cabin, helping them prepare for the rifle competition next Saturday. Dana and Lee worked on separate tasks. David and I took on a big two-man job and also fit in a little practice on the range. We left in time to get to Blue Bank for what was to be the first Mission: Madness, a ritualized screening of the entire seven-year run of Mission: Impossible. Because of my scheduling error, we arrived at an “empty” valley. Seeing the grave site, untouched since January, was enough to induce a fresh wave of sadness. We were unable to cope by plunging into the distraction of our planned episode-viewing shindig. The evening wound down from there, although I was able to complete my driveway hedge clipping and commence the spring pruning of the front-yard bushes. Even if I go about my own business, I believe we can still sense one another’s emotion. We ended up streaming an enjoyable movie, but, to be honest, we don’t really salvage these occurrences. We just ride them out and set our sights on the following day.
Today’s sight bite— Small steel targets in sun-dappled woodlands, —c-l-i-c-k— surprisingly crisp to the eye above my familiar sites.
Tomorrow— Back to the studio grind . . .
The Human Condition
Saturday, March 12th, 2011
March Exercise —day twelve— Thematically, the best motion pictures often can be summed up in one word: Determination. Togetherness. Manipulation. Fortitude. Delusion. And, with the film that took the Oscar— Friendship. At least, that’s what I took away from The King’s Speech last night. Both men, in entirely different ways, put everything on the line in loyalty to their deepening friendship. Is it the highest form of love? I don’t know. Perhaps. There can be true love without friendship, but never true friendship without love. For some reason, it calls to mind the story of the split that took place between my Dad and a man that was his neighbor when I was a child. When we moved away and my Dad’s life became even more complicated, this man gave him an ultimatum. He’d had enough of making the trip to visit my Dad if the effort was not reciprocated. An impasse. My Dad was raising seven kids that he expected to be college bound. He was married. He was fighting the Cold War at work. His friend was retired, divorced, with a grown daughter. Nobody knows the actual words exchanged, but it resulted in my Dad’s decision. Something like, “If that’s the way you feel, then don’t come back.” He never did. I’ve always seen it as a clash of incompatible viewpoints. “If you were a true friend, you would make time for me. You would want to be fair, and to preserve the bond we have.” “If you were a true friend, you would appreciate my life and not make demands. You would not keep score.” Naturally, I saw it Dadbo’s way. He had other friends who went the extra mile. In turn, he was generous and loyal to them until each went to his grave. For me, the two most fascinating questions in the human condition: What is unconditional love? What is true friendship?
Today’s sight bite— The huge crow, sitting on the street lamp bulb —c-l-i-c-k— and scolding me with his imperious “Haw! Haw!”
Tomorrow— Rifle match preparation, topped off with pure escapism . . .
First Date Day
Friday, March 11th, 2011
March Exercise —day eleven— Something had me out of bed and down the street to the soccer field before daybreak, and it felt different than the prevailing energy of the regimen so far. Perhaps it was watching that “Wilderness” guy on KET last night, building by hand his cabin of spruce logs above an Alaskan lake. The brisk air actually felt pleasant, which is a good sign that my exasperation with winter cold has turned a corner. Later, I was glad I’d shifted my swim time from yesterday, otherwise I’d probably not have run into Mike N on campus. Another thing postponed to tonight was the dinner-and-a-movie to celebrate 33 years since our first date. We couldn’t think of anything more enjoyable than having a Japanese meal and seeing The King’s Speech.
Today’s sight bite— An amazing facial chord of sadness, fear, and determination on the big screen —c-l-i-c-k— in one of the past year’s great acting performances.
Tomorrow— The joy of pruning . . .
Year-Old Roof
Thursday, March 10th, 2011
March Exercise —day ten— Another day of rain, but my mind is drifting back almost a year to when we replaced our roof here at the Town House, or, I should say, after we replaced it. I arose from a fretful sleep and could see out the bathroom window that it was raining. A familiar distress clutched at my gut, and I prepared myself to climb up into the attic to check on my array of buckets and plastic sheets. And then, for the first time in years, I reacted to the knowledge that it was just a bit of welcome rain, that there were no more roof leaks to magnify the stress that had accompanied any amount of precipitation. Everything was fine. I could go back to sleep without worry. Through most of my life I have enjoyed the rain—being out in it, just hearing and smelling it. What a comfort to think it could be like that again!
Today’s sight bite— Sidewalk puddles energized with a steady drizzle —c-l-i-c-k— is enough to convince me that my walk to campus can wait until tomorrow.
Tomorrow— Our date postponed . . .
The New Cheese
Wednesday, March 9th, 2011
March Exercise —day nine— There is much for me to learn about adapting to the evolving field of graphic design. I simply don’t know yet what it will be like to make a living as a designer during this decade of the twenty-teens. I’ve given most of my creative life to that profession. There are things that I will do to keep pace with changes in the communication arts, but there are other things that I will watch pass by, with no intent to chase. On the other hand, I’ve determined to accept the challenge of learning entirely new skills and frames of reference for an emerging phase of life. I’m not prepared to disclose more about this now, but suffice it to say that I’m currently a couple years into a learning curve that will enable me to generate income in a completely different way. It’s something of which I’ve always been capable, and in which I’ve always held a strong interest, but advances in technology now make it feasible for me to follow my enthusiasm for developing such a new kind of expertise. I should be able to apply these new skills in earnest by the time I turn 60 years old. I expect it to become a vital part of my work-style into later years, and, when fully successful, to provide new levels of creative freedom. In actuality, there is no summer and autumn of life. There is only the promise of perpetual springtime.
Today’s sight bite— The brave blooms of March —c-l-i-c-k— that rear their purple heads when nothing else looks like spring.
Tomorrow— An important observance . . .
Geekhood or Else
Tuesday, March 8th, 2011
March Exercise —day eight— When your “cheese” has been moved, it often takes time before disbelief gives way to action, but unconscious denial is complex, and it peels off in layers like sunburned skin. I’ve been slower to adjust in some areas and quicker to respond in others. The core aspects of being a graphic communicator were disseminated into lay culture in such a gradient way that it was too easy for me to believe that people still valued the basic skill set. Which services a customer might now consistently look to the professional to achieve is increasingly more difficult for me to identify. For over 30 years we have scrupulously avoided working “from the hands down,” convincing ourselves that what clients really wanted were concepts. But now that nearly anyone can quickly execute one’s own ideas in an adequate fashion, I’m beginning to think that what most of them desired all along was someone fluent in an esoteric technical process beyond their ken. Question: What shall I do, now that producing graphics is no longer mysterious?
Today’s sight bite— The shapes, colors, and textures of downtown, —c-l-i-c-k— ready to shake off drab winter and preside over another season of human activity.
Tomorrow— Publication design continues to be the counterbrace of my life as a functioning designer . . .
My Cheese Moved
Monday, March 7th, 2011
March Exercise —day seven— During the worst of our deep sadness, as I stepped back from a chasm of self-pity, I reached out to my brother, James. He listened, assessed, and loaned me a copy of a tiny book with an odd title: Who Moved My Cheese? The message is simple, but not simplistic, and its thought-provoking theme makes me think more about the true nature of change in our lives. It takes me back to a time when radical change was the norm, and I considered it my friend. One of my greatest blessings is knowing my brothers have my back, and no one has it more than my first best friend. I like what his daughter Rita said about him not that long ago: “The thing I admire most in anyone is my dad’s ability to weigh any situation and give the most level headed advice and explanations in an inspirational way—whether we are talking running, work, school, life, family, friendships—even love!”
Today’s sight bite— Pink-gold striations stacked on a slate-cold horizon —c-l-i-c-k— with Abe’s immortal address cast below as silver letterforms against a field of black.
Tomorrow— Find the cadence and crank harder . . .
The Do-over Day
Sunday, March 6th, 2011
March Exercise —day six— That feeling in the pit of the gut when one’s new car gets its first scratch on bumper, fender, or door— exactly what I sensed today after my well-meaning blunder rendered Dana’s refurbished Mac Pro unable to start up. Yes, it meant I couldn’t present to her a pristine configuration as the result of my several days of work. But that’s all. No need to get agitated… no need to react as I might have in the past. Finished is better than perfect. Apple anticipates such a thing with its “Archive and Install” option, so use it and don’t fret. I now can see how, in the past, something like this might have set in motion a spiral of self-criticism. And so I put my checklist in reverse, came to terms with a few hours of delay, and took Walie on a long, chilly walk around Bellevue Cemetery.
Today’s sight bite— Muted tones of stone the same colors as the variegated sky —c-l-i-c-k— constituting rows of aged grave markers in a sea of desaturated grass.
Tomorrow— The Monday discipline is applied again in earnest . . .
An Inner Calibration
Saturday, March 5th, 2011
March Exercise —day five— I’ve used this log before to mention the elusive Max Organ. My perennial effort to categorize priorities and fashion an improved outline of unfinished projects takes on a new importance during the month of March. Some of these line items carry over from life’s earlier creative phases, but eventually they must be reconciled with short- and intermediate-term goals or be lost in the evolving mix of allocations. I’ve come to realize that old, festering objectives need to be “lanced” for psychological healing— either to resurrect them to some meaningful level of attention, or to commit them to hearth’s flame. Some deserve a restored impetus of creativity. More often, they’re just clogging the catalytic pipeline for new ideas.
Today’s sight bite— Enclosed by walls of book-packed shelves, —c-l-i-c-k— the familiar warmth of wood, brass and cork provide a framework for internal clarification.
Tomorrow— Make the transition from Dana’s current work station to a more powerful system . . .
Contrast of Substance
Friday, March 4th, 2011
March Exercise —day four— Dana and I spent the evening with two of the couples who had shown us the most compassion during our winter of sorrow. Actually, there are a surprising number of these kind people, and they’ve helped make the unthinkable bearable. I’ve always been a bit uncomfortable with these types of dinner events, and didn’t know what to expect tonight. It turned out to be an unusual combination of in-depth personal discussion and mindless game-table recreation. We left with a few more discretionary dollars than we brought, and, more importantly, with the satisfying knowledge that our friends are sincerely interested in the process that will put our grief behind us.
Today’s sight bite— The stuttering dance of dice on a thick glass table top —c-l-i-c-k— like a drop of water in a skillet of hot oil.
Tomorrow— A matter of decisive internal orchestration . . .
Enchantment of Earth
Thursday, March 3rd, 2011
March Exercise —day three— Morning flew away and my scheduled swim was on top of me before I knew it. College staffers were creating a stone perimeter in front of the pool building for what looked to become a flower bed around the sign. Seeing the men at work out of doors with gardening tools sent a low jolt of some unknown stimulant through my system that triggered preposterous musings about what might have been, had I chucked my day job years ago and become a landscaper. It brought to mind the words of my cousin Dan, when he informed me by email that he’d acquired rural acreage in Ohio: “I think the urges I’m having now were evident in your father when I was a kid, and my father and brother now. I don’t know why I so desperately want to have land that I control, and to provide food to my family and neighbors….but I do.” There is something profoundly misguided about my having had decades of access to one of the most tranquil of Kentucky’s natural havens and, so far, having squandered the opportunity to fulfill that same genetic compulsion. God help me.
Today’s sight bite— Hand-worn rakes sifting through clods of black soil —c-l-i-c-k— as landscapers prepare a new planter at the natatorium.
Tomorrow— An evening with compassionate friends . . .
A Training Day
Wednesday, March 2nd, 2011
March Exercise —day two— An early start and a full, productive day makes for a Marchesque mode, but the perceptual acuity will take a bit longer to secure. The recording session at the radio station went as well as I could have expected, convincing me that an affinity for media remains in the ol’ vessels. The positive results of Nic’s pulling two of Walie’s ruined teeth on Saturday before the Marty-Rah, and the subsequent course of treatment, are more evident by the day. She has a new level of spunk not seen in many a moon. All the little stinker wants to do is play with toys and try to slip out the back door. Causes me to regret the delay in seeking my Godson’s generous care. Also thinking of Marty today. Wish I could have some idea of what he’s gone through in his first three days of training. I can only assume that he’s tired, sore, and just a tad shell-shocked at this point.
Today’s sight bite— My disobedient pup, marching down the driveway without a leash —c-l-i-c-k— proving that spring fever can still hold sway at 13 years of age.
Tomorrow— Completion of the comprehensive checklist . . .
The Clear Light
Tuesday, March 1st, 2011
March Exercise —day one— Unexpected March is upon me. The day is marked by a rare, scintillating clarity that only arrives after a major storm front has passed through the region with its atmospheric cleansing. One mild day a lamb does not make, but this seems to be in contrast to the signal from Punxsutawney. I’d prefer to see the last of winter now. Yesterday, after an overnight stay at Blue Bank, Dana and I drove Mombo into town for her medical appointments during a heavy downpour. With Marty’s departure for USN training, plus two studio computers to configure, the close of February has caught me by surprise this year. Very well. Let us begin it all again.
Today’s sight bite— Vivid architectural facades bathed in pure sunlight —c-l-i-c-k— as I walked to the campus pool for my midday mile.
Tomorrow— Voice-over supervision for the bank’s Jacob T campaign . . .