And wonders of His love . . .
December 25th, 2008“The Spaniard” and his wench . . .
November 30th, 2008
photo by Rita Dixon, 2005
KK called the Clan Hall from England on Thanksgiving to announce that she had answered “YES” to Kyle’s proposal. Two days later, “Our girl got her furry hood!” —to quote her proud “mum.” That should be “gril,” sister.
A fiancé and an Oxford degree to go with her blade. Sounds like she’s on a bit of a roll.
Belle of the B-ball
November 14th, 2008
Jeanne e-cast the good news yesterday— Hayley has scored her sought-after “full ride” to Campbellsville University. The Advocate published an interview today, and I always get a kick out of these stories about Belle, because she’s been so quiet around me, and then seems so verbally expressive in the journalistic context. Her mom reports: “She worked hard and overcame obstacles to realize her dream to play college ball and have her education paid for. She has visited several times, really likes the coaches, spent time with the girls (has scrimmaged with them, too) and most of all, likes the “feel” of the campus. Her next dream/goal is to be a school counselor and coach girls basketball. You should see the look on her face… it’s priceless.”
Various & Sundry, part eighty-one
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.
Various & Sundry, part eighty
October 16th, 2008— Month of September workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-3; Run-2; Lift-0; Yoga-1; Pilates-2; Lupus Drills-0
— With my bicycle miles winding down, I’m adapting again to the Pilates routine, and the pool is beginning to feel like the best place to be for a satisfying workout. Tradesmen were replacing the lane blocks today, and the slender gal on duty was trying to tell me to avoid splashing their work area, but her voice was so soft I could barely hear her, even when she was standing close by. These students are technically lifeguards, but I wonder how often they look up from their assigned reading to see if a fiftysomething guy like me is on the bottom with a cardiac spazz-out. I’ve seen some fairly hefty dudes swimming laps in there, too, but I shouldn’t criticize, since I was a pool guard back in the day. One time I did have to pull a guy to the side who outweighed me, but it’s not like making a “save” in a pool is honest-to-goodness lifeguard work, compared to a lake or surf monitor. That would be like the difference between a first responder at a warehouse blaze and a homeowner putting out a grass fire with his garden hose.
— The deli on Fourth Street has taken a new turn and become the most interesting hangout in town. (I haven’t been within walking distance of a tap with Stella since living in Bruxelles as a callow youth.) Dana and I were down there having a chat with Geri about software upgrades, and I found myself talking like a proponent of “vintage systems.” Perhaps that’s because I’ve been making do with applications that suit my fluency, but are clearly a few notches off the cutting edge. Sometimes new means better, but not necessarily; it’s become a risky practice to make that assumption. Our friend Pat, an experienced user, and Victoria’s brother, a novice, are both living through a nightmare with their Vista operating system upgrades. People are talking about how Bob Staake illustrated a recent New Yorker cover using Photoshop version 3 on a Mac running OS7. Hey, we had our nearly 40-year-old Hobart refurbished this summer, and nobody will convince us that it isn’t far superior to anything built today. Old is the new New!
— My story about meeting Johnny Crawford was recently added to Ginia’s tribute site. She’s a very nice person. I like her quotation from Mark Twain: “A cat that sits on a hot stove, will not sit on a hot stove again. He will not sit on a cold one either.” Also found a connection at her MySpace page that Joan will get a kick out of: The all new DonGrady.com!
— I had fun creating a piece for the Library’s recent call for artwork. The opening reception for the resulting exhibit was tonight, and Nancy M won the best of show with her outstanding felt composition. Julius F was the juror, and he selected items for merit awards and honorable mention. He didn’t recognize my entry, but the collage, Cascade of Knowledge, was among those works library representatives chose for purchase and display in the new facility. This pleases me, because I produced it with the library setting in mind, hoping it would appeal to them.
— Bruce had a great letter to the editor in the paper the other day. Maybe his best so far.
— We never removed the old-fashioned TV antennas from our rooftop. I always liked the period look they gave to the dwelling, and besides, they were virtually inaccessible. Yesterday I climbed up there and installed an amplifier and new line for digital signals, without falling or electrocuting myself. By george it worked, just in time to watch the pie maker and the presidential debate.
— We always heard stories about how local county government had been interested in bidding for our downtown building on the 1988 auction day we won the Town House. That was nearly 20 years ago, and, for most of that time, we didn’t think much about it or suspect there was any continued interest. And then, with a flurry of new judicial centers being funded over the past few years, we began to hear rumors—too many to suit me—so I sought confirmation or denial from the Judge Executive. He admitted that the option to take our lot by condemnation to create the footprint for a court-system expansion had been discussed in his presence. Although he would not pledge to oppose the idea on my behalf, he declared that it was not his preferred course of action. I let him know how strongly I felt about my desire to keep our home and business location intact, here on historic West Broadway. Recently I shared the information at our annual neighborhood “Block Party.” With the current fiscal constraints on state government and the backlash against perceived extravagances in some of the judicial centers recently constructed, the mood may be slightly in our favor, but it’s difficult to shove the unpleasant possibility from the back of my mind, and the uncertainty works against the necessary enthusiasm to undertake improvement projects and the confidence to continue investing in our property.
linear thoughts & random musings
September 30th, 2008* Indeed, the reach of Google is awesome (and a bit unsettling at times). As a Web design pro, I totally understand that everything I post at this space might be available to any search engine user, but I was surprised and somewhat tickled to get an email from a charming lady that happened upon my account of seeing Johnny Crawford in concert this past June. She’s developed a Website for people to share stories of meeting Johnny, and had come with her husband from Georgia to see him that weekend (in both the play and dance band performance). I learned that a different couple had traveled a thousand miles to Danville. Clearly, he has some serious fans and rarely makes appearances outside of Southern California that are open to the public. Since my story is obviously out there, I promised to submit a version to her site when I had the spare time. She informed me that Johnny had posted online my letter to the editor originally published in the local paper. It got me thinking about that night again, and how gracious Crawford had been to me—just like Charlton Heston had been, when I met him in Lexington and we talked about Chuck Connors.
* When Heston died, I remember having the thought, “Newman is the same age and he’s going strong,” and so it took me by surprise when I learned this summer that he was gravely ill. All through Chuck’s decline, it never once occurred to me that both of them might possibly die in the same year.
* Newman was a high-profile liberal, in many respects a polar opposite to Heston among legendary actor/activists, but they shared the distinction of having two of the longest and strongest marriages in Hollywood. Each was intensely private in his own way, but they were very different when it came to granting interviews, making public statements, and signing autographs. Like Crawford, Heston was warm and gentlemanly with fans eager for a special moment. Newman basically shunned the practice as repugnant, and who couldn’t empathize with his reasons after hearing the story about his being asked for an autograph while standing at a urinal? He swore to himself that he’d never sign another. I wonder what Johnny Crawford would do in the same absurd circumstance? (Tonight’s log entry is getting weird; have fun with this one, google heads.)
* Liberals often shake a finger and emphasize how much energy we consume. Pollution is a problem, but not consumption per se. The issue seems to be that we haven’t focused on being clever enough to develop new sources of plentiful energy, like algae, which is at least 30% oil and “grows so fast because it has nothing else to do.”
* Food, energy, or fuel from the exploitation of rapidly growing, single-cell organisms in controlled environments seems like a no-brainer. I still think now and then about a stimulating conversation I had with Uncle Bob about growing yeast on inferior-grade coal. I think civilization is desperately thirsting for a huge, mind-blowing breakthrough that would lead to abundant, low-cost energy. Whoever solves it will deserve to become the world’s first trillionaire.
And the winner is . . .
September 24th, 2008Not me. | The Mark of Great Art
My thanks to everyone who voted!
Farewell, Michigan, summer must be over.
September 23rd, 2008Detail: 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.
The hands of a jazz man will have to do
September 2nd, 2008Well, I got in an overdue pool workout today, hoping it would soothe the backache I’ve had since laboring over two big collage artworks last week. I’m in need of Jerome’s practiced hands, and, lacking them, I’m almost ready to consider the therapeutic course my friend Yu Saito prescribed for a painful back—Kentucky bourbon plus a night on a hard floor.
After three units of blood, doctors at UK are talking to Bruce about removing his spleen, which may be clotted and causing his periodic bleeding problem. Needless to say, he isn’t too pleased with the situation, the spleen being an organ one would not of one’s own volition ordinarily give up. Otherwise, he seems to be in much better spirits than I would be if I were in his position. Before our visit, Dana and I took some time for a delicious meal at Natasha’s downtown. We had a table next to pianist Ko Tagawa, and his “smooth sounds” colored a relaxing dinner that may be as close to a 26th anniversary observation as we are likely to have.
Various & Sundry, part seventy-nine
September 1st, 2008— Month of August workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-5; Run-0; Lift-0; Yoga-3; Pilates-0; Lupus Drills-0
— Working around the clock like a mad artist doesn’t seem to lend itself well to a regular fitness program, but I remain committed to finding the proper balance to boost creative output and stay in shape at the same time. If it’s warm enough to enter the waters of Lake Huron this month, I’ll find out if I can handle the challenge within my current level of conditioning. Even though mentally I still consider myself a triathlete, being a competent knob cyclist is a bit different than covering open water at a quarter-mile a pop. We shall see…
— Lynn Johnston has just brought her nearly 30-year body of work to an extraordinary culmination. I would think almost any type of cartoonist will hold her in high regard for this accomplishment, not to mention all those who came to enjoy the human tapestry she wove so skillfully and humorously over time. If you’ve ever appreciated her narrative talents, compassionate perceptions, or mastery of the pen, check out her letter to followers of FBorFW. She sets the new standard for how to pull this off with remarkable class.
— The latest news is that Josh and his unit were deployed to Louisiana, having left this morning, and that the Hornsby family evacuated to Alabama to ride out the storm. Reportedly, Gustav sideswiped the coastal region instead of maintaining a dreaded frontal assault, but the great worry now is the magnitude of rainfall and the burden it will put on post-Katrina infrastructure.
— Susan begins a series of 35 breast cancer treatments tomorrow and is meeting the rigor with faith, courage, and acquired knowledge. She’s covered much ground since her surgery seven weeks ago, and is facing her future with a positive outlook. I shared some of my thoughts with her about the opportunity for uncompromised transformation, but feel like I failed miserably to communicate the essence of my personal perspective. I’ve never been successful at imparting through words my philosophy of total wellness. I like to think I’ve been slightly better at providing an example of healthy living, but I wonder about that sometimes, too. More importantly, my love and daily prayers are with our sister and her loyal companion in “the good life.”
It’s 8/31
August 31st, 2008First 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.
Various & Sundry, part seventy-eight
August 1st, 2008— Month of July workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-8; Run-2; Lift-1; Yoga-0; Pilates-0; Lupus Drills-0
— In spite of my best cross-training intentions, the season has shaped up to be a one-note story: bicycling. Hmm… a summer without swimming? —preposterous! This means I have only one month to prepare for the challenging waters of the Les Cheneaux.
— For the first time since my appointment as a member of the Kentucky Bicycle and Bikeway Commission, our advisory group was granted a consultation with the Secretary of the Transportation Cabinet. Although we prepared for the meeting with some trepidation about how we would be “handled,” the session went about as well as could be hoped for, given the agency’s history of resistance to bicyclist accommodations. People with long experience in Frankfort view it as a “government within a government,” and our own relations with the Cabinet has been strained, due to our independent spirit, frank recommendations, and candor with the constituencies we are mandated to represent. On top of that, the key position of Bicycle/Pedestrian Coordinator has been vacant since January, and we’ve made no secret of our opposition to any plan to downgrade the job description. I was encouraged by the Secretary’s open-minded attitude and the clear indication that this Administration is beginning to view bicycling as a meaningful component of their strategic priorities for economic competitiveness, health improvement, and tourism promotion. I must admit that, after last year’s election, I’ve struggled to remain hopeful about Kentucky pulling itself out of the bottom ten percent of bicycle friendly states, but on Tuesday I became more optimistic about these new folks running state government. I don’t agree with them on many issues, but they just might be coming around on something close to my heart.
— Ely Dixon is back from Africa, of course, but I’ve decided to leave her blog among my links. Cousin Dan is sharing this Web video summarizing her time in Tanzania. He warns, “The video quality is spotty at times.”
— The only time I witnessed Jon Brasfield in performance, I think I was more focused on waiting for a Brendan bongo solo that never transpired. Later, I came to appreciate Jon’s abilities as a musician, especially after listening to Ghost Town for the first time. Over the past week, my regard for him and his mate Amanda has gone totally off the scale. If you haven’t been following The Saga of Baby Jude, you’ve been missing what has to be one of the most phenomenal feats of blogger poise ever.
Mr. Brady On the James River, early 1950s
July 25th, 2008
Drew Dixon and others have asked for a look at my recent work, so here it is. Now, I just need to get these images posted on our studio site! Graybeard Prospector says, “Dang tootin’!”
Brady On the James
John Andrew Dixon
watercolor and pencil
28 x 17.5 inches
~ kin & kiddoes ~
July 15th, 2008Everything about this past weekend reinforced my gratitude for being part of an extraordinary clan—and, Man, do we know how to party! It feels a bit dangerous to venture into the kind of entry I’m about to make, because I want to enumerate all my incredible nieces, nephews, and other loved ones, but how can I do that in a partial way? Suffice it to say, “I dig you all,” and I’ll never get enough of a kick out of this extended family. Unfortunately, Bruce had to stay in Danville, but it made me happy to have Terie and Marty attend Nic’s wedding. You could say it was “the night Marty turned cool,” except he already had. It was fun to see how great a circle of friends have coalesced around the Bellarmine crew, including Alyx, Josh, Holly, and Boo. Something makes me think Peat is at the heart of it, and I admire her style. Like her mom, she’s the natural social companion. How nice it was to see Kay, Theresa, and Angela make the trip to Louisville for the celebration. Seth, too, is a constant source of enjoyment, and he astonished me with how considerate he was of his bewhiskered uncle moving in the midst of a bubble of twentysomethings. I urged him to stop at the studio tonight so he could take home one of my wood-block prints (Drivin’ That Train). But, perhaps more than anything, I was so pleased to see the Adkins siblings together. Joan must be indescribably proud of that trio. Caitlan snagged a job within days of jetting from England with her blade and an Oxford degree; Ian is preparing to make his ballistic arc to North Carolina in pursuit of his dream to study marine biology; and Brendan is really coming into his own as an independent talent. Wow, it seems like only yesterday they were all a tangle of squids…
Mic + Nic — 2008
July 11th, 2008Michelle and Nicholas made their vows —before God, Family, Friends— in a wonderful ceremony that was “total class,” and then they partied with all of us who were fortunate enough to witness their shining love. I couldn’t be more optimistic for the future that awaits them. To my Godson and his beautiful bride—my heartfelt prayer for a shared life of joyous partnership…
Photo by Dana; card by John.
Find your place in the sun
July 8th, 2008Hey, 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!”
Various & Sundry, part seventy-seven
July 4th, 2008— Month of June workout totals: Swim-1; Bike-7; Run-2; Lift-1; Yoga-0; Pilates-0; Lupus Drills-1
Just when I stopped believing in the impossible mission…
— Jim Phelps lives!
And so, finally, I became an artist when I grew up…
— The Brady portrait commission is done. There were many times during the course of the work when I questioned what I’d gotten myself into. I’ve always told myself I wouldn’t try to paint a likeness without a quality reference image. An accomplished portrait artist once advised me to avoid subjects who were deceased. On top of breaking those rules, I faced creating a full-color image from a black and white photo. “All’s well that ends well,” as they say, so eventually the creative torment and restless nights will be forgotten—until I get myself into the next pickle. Hey, I should look at it another way: If I can solve this puzzler and survive to reflect on it, the next project should prove to be easier. Sounds good in theory, but the important thing is that the recipient is thrilled with the result, and she called me again this morning to say so. Well, isn’t that what creating art is all about?
Major adventures in a time-machine collage…
— Dana gave this title to my wild dream after I described it to her this morning. Forgive me for describing it to you, too. After a crazy silent-movie chase through the restaurant zone with brother Fron, I found myself on a train with my Aunt Sis when she was young. It appeared to be some sort of troop train. As a soldier who looked like Gary Cooper told stories, I saw a uniformed, twenty-year-old Eddie (Dadbo) come into the passenger car dragging his canvas suitcase, with well-oiled, carefully combed hair and a grim expression. When I tried to “rewind” the sequence, I couldn’t control the timing, so the scene before me changed to a relaxed, fifty-something Dadbo packing for a business trip, but he wasn’t able to see me. I started to wake up, and, naturally, I couldn’t reverse the progression before the entire thing was lost.
Back to normal (whatever that is)…
— Bruce is home again after his latest ordeal. By and by, he seems to be in less pain and is able to climb stairs without difficulty. Joan and Caitlan stopped to wish him well on their way back from Hawaii. Dana and I were heading out the door, to hear the Johnny Crawford Vintage Dance Band at Pioneer Playhouse. Because we were all hosed down and ready for a night out, they took some digitals of us on the front porch steps, and I hope we get the pictures soon, so I can make a better entry here about a satisfying, memorable performance.
(Happy Birthday, Uncle Sam!)
The Continuing Saga of Bruce Joel
June 26th, 2008Here is Dana’s latest report—
Good news…
Some may know that John took Bruce to Emergency at UK last Thursday with what had become serious internal bleeding (he was given 4 pints that night). Bleeding ulcers were suspected, but an endoscope showed that he had developed variceals in his stomach. (Blood was backing up from an obstructed artery to the spleen…they think).
They also noted a hernia (he was already aware of that); then the CT scan showed a mass on his transplanted, nonfunctioning kidney. (There was no mass when he had abdominal surgery last October.) Instructions for a diagnostic MRI were not clear about the location of the transplanted kidney (in the abdomen), so the results were of the normal location for kidneys. A second MRI to get a more detailed view of the suspicious mass was scheduled for this morning, and a biopsy was planned for this afternoon.
The second MRI showed the “mass” to be the ureter from the kidney tangled up with the hernia. Then, instead of a biopsy, he was scheduled for surgery. Of course, the surgery was more complicated than for a typical hernia, as they didn’t want to compromise the ureter, which he’ll need for a new transplant, and they have to work around major scar tissue (the surgeon in October said it looks like a bomb went off inside).
The repair was made and he is back in his room tonight, although not all that comfortable, since pain medications (including morphine, fentanyl, and hydrocodone) are ineffective for him now because he was given so much a few years back.
It’s too bad he’s in pain, but we’re all very relieved that instead of a new malady and round of treatment, the problem was identified and repaired on the same day.
Now we pray that such a life-threatening level of hemorrhage doesn’t recur, but at least he’ll know what it is a lot more quickly. Again, we have much for which to be grateful.
Love to all…
Dana
Remembering Uncle Si
June 24th, 2008
Yesterday, upon learning about the demise of George Carlin, I wanted to make an entry here and tell everyone that I thought he and Bill Cosby were the funniest men alive back in the 60s. I didn’t do it, because I realized too many of my entries this year were about dead guys—and then I got the phone call from Mombo that Uncle Si was gone… When I was growing up, it wasn’t unusual for me to witness my mother’s older brothers lose their tempers or foul the air with colorful language—except for Uncle Si—and, if he did cuss a bit, it always came with his joyous laugh. I don’t remember ever seeing him blow his cool. I had the sense that he just didn’t sweat the small stuff, and it wasn’t until later that I learned he had endured some major troubles in his life like everybody else, especially in business. I could relate to him as someone who had chosen the path of self-employment, with all of its advantages and disadvantages. I wrote here about my Uncle Si on his 90th birthday, and I’ll let that stand as my tribute to his character. Our extended family won’t be quite the same without his large presence.
Tonight’s essential triviality
June 12th, 2008• Composer Earle Hagen just died of natural causes, a few days short of his 90th birthday. Hagen did orchestrations for Rodgers and Hammerstein and major Hollywood movies before he hit it big with television music. I guess my favorite is the theme he created for I-Spy. Better known for The Andy Griffith Show and That Girl, he will nonetheless be remembered in the annals of Clan Hayride Lore for writing that obscure crowd-pleaser, Rango.
• Now that I’m thinking about television theme songs, I finally realized why I like the intro for Firefly so much: Joss Whedon simply lifted the best musical attributes of Tennessee Stud. All artists steal from each other, right? A long-standing tradition.
• Hmmm . . . now I’m beginning to wonder if Brendan swiped the 8-note melody of A Grandy-bo Christmas Surprise for his new podcast series.
From San Antone to the Rio Grande,
On mountain peak or desert sand,
Every outlaw feared the hand of danger,
This Texas Ranger—
Rango, Rango, Ra-ang-go-o-oh!