About Uncle John

January 15th, 2006

(Because today is the one-year anniversary since the start of this daily log, I thought it was about time I included some sort of personal profile or “creator page.” Until I figure out a way to treat it as a separate file, I’ll just use this entry for the “About Uncle John” link. Thanks for all your help, Brendan.)

— — —

Within a nine month period, Uncle John had a niece and two nephews named Jerusha, Brendan, and Joshua, but that’s not how he got his name. Kristi or Rachel was probably the first person to call him that. He was already a stepfather, by virtue of Terie and Bruce, but was never called Stepfather John, thank goodness. Lots of exceptional young people now call him Uncle John on a regular basis and he likes it that way. Marty calls him GrandyJohn, and he likes that even more. Nobody ever called him Daddy, and that makes him sad at times, but that’s just the way things work out.

The best way to know more about Uncle John is to frequent this log, but if you want to go to school on the guy, you can learn something from what he likes and what he doesn’t like.

— — —

UNCLE JOHN LIKES—

Dana
In fact, he likes her a lot.

Family
Especially his
Mombo.

Exercise
Because his ticker came from his Dadbo.

Art
Not Uncle Art, who he also liked a lot, but the other kind—paintings by Paulo Veronese, Maurice Utrillo, Carl Rungius, Paul Klee, Andrew Wyeth, or Sheldon Tapley. He’ll always take time to appreciate a Dürer print, a Blake watercolor, a Mucha poster, a Stickley chair, a Rockwell cover, a Schwitters collage, a Patterson woodblock, a Wright interior, a Cassandre litho, a Kent engraving, a Link image, a Watterson strip, or a Glaser design.

Pirates
For good or ill, they’ve always been lurking nearby, outside, underneath, and inside.

Television
He thinks Mission: Impossible was the pinnacle of series television. In addition to great vintage shows like The Rifleman, Combat! and The Wild, Wild West; animated classics like The Adventures of Jonny Quest and Rocky and His Friends; and obscure gems like The New Breed, The Rogues, Tenspeed & Brownshoe, and The Yellow Rose, he also thoroughly enjoyed The Prisoner, Kung Fu, thirtysomething, The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., and Firefly.

Words
His favorite living writers are Allan W. Eckert, Paul Watkins, Tom Wolfe, Peggy Noonan, Sebastian Junger, and Brendan Adkins. He also likes Homer, Kipling, and Clavell, but, unfortunately, they’re dead. In all seriousness, at different points in life, he’s found significance in the creative insights of Michel de Montaigne, Carl Jung, Alfred Korzybski, Ayn Rand, Morihei Ueshiba, Koichi Tohei, Gyorgy Kepes, Ann Wigmore, Mark Prophet, Juno Jordan, Twyla Tharp, and Deepak Chopra.

Motion Pictures
At the top of Uncle John’s list are movies like this: Forbidden Planet, The Great Escape, Silverado, The Big Country, Out of Africa, The Player, Groundhog Day, The Pale Rider, Braveheart, The Sting, Will Penny, The Conversation, Gorky Park, The Cowboys, Spirited Away, Indian Summer, Master and Commander, The Princess Bride, Fitzcarraldo, The Last of the Mohicans, Amadeus, Five-Man Army, The Rounders, Open Range, The Verdict, Red Sun, The Hustler, Quigley Down Under, The Great Santini, Z, The Man Who Would Be King, Hell in the Pacific, Sneakers, My Dinner with Andre, A Clockwork Orange, and It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World. (Like hell he’s gonna provide links for all those!)

Uncle John has a very likable business with Dana in Danville, Kentucky. He also likes to make greeting cards, collect vintage plastic toys, catch fish from Lake Huron, listen to music, shoot all types of firearms, and, like everybody, spend time with his friends.

— — —

UNCLE JOHN DOES NOT LIKE—

Coyotes, opossums, cormorants, and snapping turtles.
Idiots who yell at cyclists and runners.
Con artists who aren’t in the movies.
Computers that won’t cooperate.
Sloppy or incompetent work of any kind.
Manipulation (except advertising and politics, of course).
Squandered potential (especially when it’s his own).
Lies (that includes advertising and politics).
The absurdities of safety-net health care.
Leaf blowers, hydrogenated fat, do-it-yourself junkyards.
Litterbugs, deprogrammers, identity thieves.
Ideological elites.
Meth pushers.
Abortionists.

— — —

Some other things you may want to know about Uncle John:

He normally doesn’t write about himself in the third person. He wishes he could still be a gardener, teacher, and practitioner of Aikido (and perhaps someday he will). He’d like to run a half-marathon in under two hours. He hopes to visit Alaska, Chile, Norway, Slovakia, South Africa, and Japan. He looks forward to documenting all the details of his lifelong “Legend” project before he heads to that big playset in the sky. He wants to build a studio in The Knobs and live to see each of his nieces and nephews become grandparents, unless he or she is destined to bequeath only influence, rather than genes—like him—and in that case will always be welcome to stop by the Valley Retreat for a visit, taste some Amarula, and listen to the Blue Bank Farm whippoorwills…

— — —

Obscure celebrities of Nordic history

January 14th, 2006

Ian’s face-recognition blog entry is hilarious. I had to try it, too. So I uploaded a recent picture of me that Dana likes.

Who the hell is Christian IX of Denmark?

Sulking, I looked through a few more pictures, and—you guessed it—I selected a picture of my notorious alter ego, Headley Lice.

No picture of Admiral Lice would return a result at the MyHeritage.com site. Very curious. The fear of this pirate’s dreaded wrath extends deeper than I ever presumed.

And so I used my old Muscle Club shot.

—Theodore Roosevelt— YES!

Then I took the big plunge. Uploading a photo of Dana in high school, I sought scientific proof that ever since the night I first watched El Cid, I had spent my youth trying to lure Sophia Loren into the pillows.

—Isabelle Adjani— Hmm, not bad

Who the hell is Sophia Loren?

Various & Sundry, part thirty

January 13th, 2006

— You asked for them…
BIG JimThe BIG Guy HimselfThe BIG ValleyThe Other BIG Guy Himself

— The BIG news of the week in Danville was the corporate restructuring of Ephraim McDowell Health, with the president of the medical center being ousted in the process. When I chatted with him today I suggested he run for County Judge Executive, just to see his reaction. He didn’t dismiss the idea at all and said, “John, I’ve thought about a lot of things this week, but that wasn’t one of them.” It was almost as if I could hear that familiar Lalo Schifrin tune, and felt like I was finally stepping into the shoes of YOU KNOW WHO.

What’s up, Docs?

— We just got home from the BIG Danville-vs-Boyle-County basketball double header. As Cliff predicted, the boy’s game was intense, given the deep local rivalry. I haven’t felt that kind of energy near a basketball court since my high school days, when a Northmont or Vandalia-Butler showndown brought the student body to fever pitch. Both Boyle County teams won, and I agreed with Marty that the girls’ game was more satisfying to watch. If I counted correctly, Hayley’s point total made it to double digits again. She’s a real playmaker and had a number of significant assists. She also continues to be prone to mistakes that accompany her inexperience with sustaining game focus. It’s scary to think how good she’ll be when she stops making them.

— After the ball games, while taking Marty home, we learned that Bruce was being admitted back into Methodist Hospital. It has to do with replacing some of his dang “pipelines and spigots.” I guess BIG problems could result if this kind of thing were ignored or downplayed during his steady recovery.

V & S

What can I say? It’s the vibes, man

January 12th, 2006

Earlier today I wanted to take advantage of the mild weather and paint the porch eaves. While grabbing some newspaper to put underneath my paint can, I noticed a story from December, 2004 about the Danville-vs-Boyle-County girls basketball game. Hayley scored five points. I’d just been thinking about going to her game tomorrow night. And then Jeanne pulled in the driveway, so we started looking at the details of the story, sizing up the opposition.

Cosmic.

Don’t let Brendan have all the fun

January 11th, 2006

Marie Antoinette never said “let them eat cake” — this is a mistranslation of “let them eat The Carson Family.”

All of the roles in Shakespeare’s plays — including the female roles — were originally played by Pirates.

The horns of Sugar Boop are made entirely from hair.

The number one cause of blindness in the United States is Stench Pit.

Thought Form for 2006

January 10th, 2006

I’m not sure how long I’ve been formulating them, but it’s become a custom for me to cultivate a certain receptivity at the beginning of a calendar year, attuning to what I end up calling my “thought form” for the coming cycle. A year ago it was, “Get your act together and live life while you’re alive!” Anyone who knows what my family was coping with might have a clear sense of my mental state at the time. After many months of intervening disruption, I look forward to a new level of wholeness and cohesion in my affairs.

“Symmetry and proportion in all things: the triumph of order.”

I don’t know where that came from, but it resonates…

Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man

January 9th, 2006

As Dana and I worked our way back toward Danville, we found ourselves near the Kentucky Theater, with the chance to catch a showing of “The Squid and the Whale” during its last week in Lexington. We hadn’t been in the adjacent State Theatre since the screening of Andrew’s movie last summer. Seeing this kind of film reminds me how much I appreciate the full spectrum of cinema, from the huge spectacles like “War of the Worlds,” to small literary pictures like “Squid.” I’m not enough of a groupie to outline any details, but I recognize the quality of the creative output coming from this particular circle of film makers, including Noah Baumbach, Wes Anderson, Jennifer Jason Leigh (Vic Morrow‘s daughter), the Wilson brothers, and others. The nature of the circle’s connection to talents such as Bill Murray, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Kevin Kline are unknown to me, but serves as a clear reminder that the movie biz is a relatively “small world” at the nontechnical level. “Squid” has obvious parallels to “The Royal Tenenbaums,” but it also triggered some reflections on “The Anniversary Party.” Beyond the dynamics of the artistic circle (usually behind the camera, but occasionally in front as well), these kinds of low-budget, quasi-autobiographical pieces tend to fascinate me when well executed, not so much because of the typical, self-reflective focus on dysfunctional relationships, but the way in which the art affects me at an emotional level and stimulates personal objectives. For me, that’s what movie-going has always been about—the lingering internal ripples of the following day (and beyond, if I’m lucky, or did a decent bit of homework before making my choice of feature). For instance, in spite of all the attention to the unattractive snobbishness of intellectual elitism, I come away from “Squid” with the distinct desire to reverse my practice of keeping at arm’s length the major works of great novelists—Dickens, Melville, Proust, etc. It brings to mind the words of Michel Seuphor, which I copied in my journal a while back: “You can never see too many things in a work of art. Itself, the work is a means for discovering what is already within us. The true work of art is more than its creator; it is always behind him; soon it enters another orbit not his, because the artist changes, he dies, while the work lives in others.” Twyla Tharp takes it a step further, examining the potential power of sub-art, with her story about Jerome Robbins: He was “a true man of the theater, who made a point of going to see everything because he could find something useful in even the worst productions. He’d sit there, viewing the catastrophe onstage, and imagine how he would have done it differently. A bad evening at the theater for everyone else was a creative workout for him.” No bad art, only bad observers? I wouldn’t take it to that extreme…

Completing another weekend circuit

January 8th, 2006

We drove to Indianapolis yesterday to deliver late Christmas
presents and spend some time with Bruce. He seems to be doing quite well at home. I can’t describe how marvelous it was for Dana and me to eat supper with him, seated at his own dining room table, which he hasn’t been in a position to do for almost ten months. Source of all blessings, be praised!

While on the road today, we had lunch in the highlands of Louisville, at an eatery recommended by Brendan and Bob H, too. Although we had to wait awhile for a table, it was a tasty meal and a unique setting. There’s only one word that can adequately describe Lynn’s Paradise Cafe— PSYCHEDELIC!

Lifetime friends and fallen timbers

January 7th, 2006

I hope everyone knows what it’s like to enjoy the continuity of a
friendship which effortlessly picks up where it left off, no matter how much time has passed—that’s the kind of comfortable bond that I have with Mike Menke—and I probably don’t need to say much more than that about spending a day with him and his parents at the cozy home Mike grew up in near Greenville. I don’t know if he came to love my folks as much as I came to love his, but I wouldn’t doubt it. In any case, I’ve been privileged to participate vicariously in many of the Menke family developments over the years, especially since I lived with his brother Tom for a year before I got my design degree and left Cincinnati. We drifted apart during my time in Chicago, but had an opportunity to solidify our “buddyship” when I got a job at Wright State without knowing that Mike was there getting a graduate degree in behavioral science. Mike’s life has had some strong connections to our Clan. At an age when we both should have known better, we were still climbing trees together at the Blue Bank Farm. He took a severe fall that directly influenced his pursuing a new career in chiropractic care (a legitimately outstanding one). In recent years he sold a successful private practice in Silicon Valley and moved to the Southwest, where he formed an association with Andrew Weil, became an expert on smoking cessation, and began working on another doctorate. Last night Dana and I were part of a family dinner in town and stayed awake ’til late to catch up on news. I spent most of today helping Mike and Tom cut firewood with their father, Stewart, who, despite some recent health challenges, can still drop a desirable tree precisely where he tells us it will fall. The brisk day was perfect for the task, and there still aren’t many things as satisfying as looking at a big stack of stove wood that wasn’t there a few hours before.

First 2006 road trip

January 6th, 2006

We’re leaving together for our first journey north in quite a while, and, after the pattern of last year, I feel a bit rusty getting ready. Before our arrival at Bruce’s place, we’ll spend some time at the Menke Homestead in Dark County, Ohio. I met James Michael Menke in 1970 as a
fall-quarter freshman at the University of Cincinnati. After running
into John Michael Hoover (a grade-school chum from the community our
family had left six years previously), I soon became aware of “the
Mikes,” two quickly popular roommates living a couple dorm floors beneath me. Somebody must have considered it logical to pair a James and John without knowing that they both went by their common middle name of Mike. 35 years later, one Mike has long vanished, but the other is
still my “best buddy.”

Strike three call

January 5th, 2006

I’ve been thinking on and off all day about how to express myself on the subject of Brendan’s generosity of spirit, plus the joy and fascination he’s brought to my life by sharing his interests, discoveries, and human connections, but I can’t get it to coalesce.

It’s like I’m trying to sketch with my hands wrapped in duct tape.

Perhaps the words will come another day…

Well done, James

January 4th, 2006

Does my brother James realize the immeasurable contribution he’s made to the long-term viability of our Clan Council as a collaborative body of decision makers? In my appraisal, he sees his recent efforts—to bring both Mombo’s Trust and the Council Charter to fruition—as the fulfillment of a personal commitment to his mother. That it is, indeed, but so much more…

Captain Zero vs Marvin and Boop-0

January 3rd, 2006

One of these days we’ve just got to dig out all of Mombo’s photos of the “Blackboard Comics.” How many years has it been? Quite possibly it could take forensic expertise to read the dialogue.

Just in case you aren’t familiar with this long-running series, it just happens to be one of the most awesome collaborative formats ever conceived. Anyone in the vicinity above the age of six is invited to add a frame to an evolving pictorial narrative until the evolving chalk drawing has filled it’s designated space, followed by prompt documentation before anyone in the vicinity under the age of six follows his or her urge to be similarly creative.

There’s nothing like drawing with real chalk on real slate. It’s in my blood. On New Year’s Day we decided to mess with perfection and develop our strip in reverse. It was a space-western vignette, of course, due to the prevailing supremacy of a certain defunct TV show.

It’s all leading somewhere

January 2nd, 2006

It’s interesting how one simple act—in this case, my appointment to the Bicycle Commission—can trigger a chain reaction of unexpected developments. Less than a year ago I wouldn’t have expected to become so interested in subjects like the simultaneous crises of aging baby boomers and obese children, transportation enhancement issues, and regional planning, and now I’ve just discovered the sober but potentially controversial analysis of Robert Bruegmann. Does any of this have to do with bicycles?

It most certainly does…

Various & Sundry, part twenty-nine

January 1st, 2006

— Year of 2005 workout totals: Swim-73; Bike-28; Run-41; Lift-22; Yoga-9

— Month of December workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-0; Run-4; Lift-3; Yoga-8

— I’m satisfied with how I was able to maintain a good momentum of swimming during an unsettled 2005 that didn’t exactly lend itself to regular exercise; plus I’m pleased with how I managed to regain regular yoga practice at the end of the year (it helps to be watching Lisa Bennett-Matkin). Nevertheless, an odd tenderness in the right knee will cause a delay in my return to running form, but I’m expecting it to be a huge year for cycling instead. Brian M gave me his “hardly used” Shimano pedals—look out!

— Once again, my family had its annual Hot Wheels car race. When I try to explain this event to the uninitiated, the listener nods politely and probably can’t get past the idea of little boys playing with toys. My description fails to capture the rich generational traditions, the competitive repartee, and the comedic tone, not to mention the feast of delicacies, snacks, and tempting junk-food delights. And we have our announcers—two of them—so jaded and sarcastic that “real-life” fans would have long ago beaten them to a pulp in the parking lot after their summary dismissal by speedway executives.

— I humiliated myself last night by making the classic blunder of bringing a movie that I’d never watched to a get-together with friends. William H. Macy let me down with his dreadful “The Cooler,” and who in the world wants to see his saggy buttocks anyway? I suppose we salvaged the evening to some degree by attending the wildest midnight scene in Danville—the annual three-inches-of-confetti-on-the-floor bash at the Hamlins. It’s rowdy, loud, and lots of fun, if you don’t mind digging the little colored stuff out of all those personal nooks and crannies that WHM so gratuitously displayed to the whole world.

— I finished another Grandy-bo piece this morning (my tenth) that Caitlan ended up getting during the Clan’s Chinese (Chine-Yine) gift exchange. I’m finally achieving the loose, spontaneous style that I’ve been after for quite a while. Rita’s photo show was particularly moving for me, as though my torch had been passed to a new generation of documentarians. She’ll get better at editing down her images to a more focused presentation, but it was the kind of montage that I used to have such a passion for, and I’m happy that someone else wants to pick up where I left off. Now, if I can only convince her to take over the Seitz Reunion portrait…

— Our family gathering today was filled with much love, perhaps more that usual, if that’s possible. The gesture of generosity that was extended to Dana and me took us by surprise, and brought emotional closure to a holiday season that had seemed somewhat diminished by an inability to carry out our usual traditions at the Town House. What a thoughtful, caring thing to do! It made us realize that a tough, draining year was behind us at last, and how much everyone has missed Bruce.

V & S

My predictions for 2006

December 31st, 2005

• The issue of a nuclear Iran fully ignites as a major global crisis and precipitates some type of military action before the end of the year.
    — reference

• Despite the conventional wisdom that Academy members won’t choose two portrayals of dead musicians back to back, long-shot Joaquin Phoenix takes home an Oscar for his Johnny Cash performance when Hoffman, Strathairn, and Ledger split the “progressive” votes.
    — reference

• Voters, upset with a blatantly hypocritical broadening of investigations into the governor’s partisan supporters, cast ballots to further reduce the number of Democrats in the Kentucky House.
    — reference

• Aggragetors and reading lists for RSS feeds will hit a tipping point of mass appeal in the same way that Web logs did in 2005, making blogs an even more popular “spectator sport.”
    — reference

• Senator Clinton enters the autumn with such an insurmountable lead in funding over Kerry, Edwards, and her other opponents that the media acknowledges her inevitable nomination and shifts its attention to who might successfully challenge her on the Republican side, leaving the door open for Bayh to exploit her “frontrunner” status and surge in polls by the end of the year.
    — reference

• Critics shower Tom Cruise with praise for finally “getting it right” with his decision to put the fate of his M:I franchise in the hands of “Alias” creator J.J. Abrams, and the partners follow their summer box-office smash with an announcement that Abrams will scrap “Alias” to develop a new “Mission: Impossible” television series starring Ving Rhames as the team leader, with “the voice” of the mission controller to be Cruise himself.
    — reference

My 2005 Highlight Reel

December 30th, 2005

— Josh comes home to his Clan for a mid-deployment visit.

Mack stops by the Town House and we talk about my old saxophone.

Gov. Fletcher appoints me to the Kentucky Bicycle Commission.

— A major international Arts and Crafts exhibition unexpectedly comes to our attention.

— We hike back Horse Lick Hollow for Marty’s first visit to the Clan’s little “Pine Forest.”

— Seth and I complete the long-overdue “Pirate Revenge” video.

— I experience my first artistic fellowship with a group of Layerists.

— The exalted Plastic Mullet Series honors yours truly.

— I have the opportunity to design the poster for Sheldon Tapley’s painting.

— David treats me to another great hunting weekend in the Knobs.

— Jay and Glenda make their vows at a wedding ceremony in Liberty.

— Dana and I thoroughly enjoy listening to Gates of Fire on tape.

— After Aunt Alma’s funeral, Dana, Jerome and I pray at the Shrine of the Holy Relics.

— Caitlan takes us all to Oxford with her captivating England Blog.

— I discover the extraordinary young writer Paul Watkins and hook myself on his work.

— Marty and I conduct our first camp-out on “Widow’s Knob.”

— The Clan gathers for Mombo’s 80th-Birthday tribute at the Boone Tavern and Hotel.

— Dana and I celebrate our 23rd Anniversary in Augusta, Kentucky.

• • •  and the top highlight of 2005  • • •

Bruce battles through kidney failure, septicemia, and the various complications of severe pancreatitis to defy—by the grace of Almighty God—the medical odds against his survival.

Only love is real

December 29th, 2005

Days of mixed emotions as the year draws to a close…

I’m really excited about the wise, practical advice I’m getting from Twyla Tharp’s “The Creative Habit,” the best book on creativity I’ve ever discovered. Anyone who is remotely artistic or has even a modest hope of harnessing their creative abilities should read this book. I wish I’d read it 30 years ago—a silly thought, since she wrote it in 2003. That she’s been able to synthesize from her life experience such a down-to-earth approach is another form of genius beyond her greatness as a dancer/choreographer. Her counsel is so effective that I’m already getting noticeable results, and I’m only half way through the book.

In a previous entry I mentioned Paula, the state employee who was coordinating the KBBC when I joined the Commission at the end of the summer. I learned today that the cancer has advanced to the final stage and her family was gathering nearby to keep the vigil. My one long talk with Paula took place on what might have been the most exhilarating day of the year for me. She was very nice and very professional, believing she was making a routine follow-up call to introduce herself and offer her help within the Transportation Cabinet. I was totally lost, and it became clear soon enough that I wasn’t yet aware of the Governor’s appointment. We ended up having an amusing conversation after we put the awkward moment of embarrassment behind us. I looked forward to getting to know her and hardly imagined never speaking to her again. I don’t need to go into the memories from a year ago that this news brings to the surface. I just hate to be reminded that another family is facing a new year with the same tide of overwhelming sadness.

With the observance of her 15th birthday, my niece Hayley is on the brink of success as an athlete. She’s put in some hard work as a youngster, but is now poised to commence her career as an outstanding high school ballplayer. I watched her carry her team to a two-point tournament game victory yesterday as a freshman, and I can vividly see the potential, although I’m not knowledgeable enough to analyze her situation in detail. I’ll leave that to others. I just know how happy I am for her and how much I wish her well. A relaxed self-confidence is beginning to blossom, plus the capacity to turn on “the means,” when necessary. A good combination that will improve with more playing time, which she’s certain to get after a performance like her 14-point, 9-rebound effort last night. You got it, Belle— go tear ’em up tonight!

Bruce has improved enough for probable release by the weekend. He’s still experiencing enough dramatic flux in his body temperature, blood pressure, and pulse rate to keep everyone on edge about his prognosis for 2006. It took our friend Nathan two years to recover some level of normalcy in his bout with pancreatitis, presumably a worse case than Bruce’s, and that included multiple surgeries. This gives me reason to have the long-term outlook for a positive outcome, to resist the tendency to fret about the periodic fluctuations, and to recognize that the Father has a purpose for this man that none of us can begin to imagine. It will just take time. Lots of it.

So… I’m juggling joy, sadness, hope, and fear right now, but behind that veneer of emotional energy is a core of Divine Love. I’m grateful that I grew up swimming in a lake of pure love. Not indulgence or sympathy or favoritism or the milk of human kindness. Love. The real thing. And I realize now that it’s the Presence of God in my life, and I’ve since learned how many others have struggled to adulthood without it. That is surely my greatest gift. Not my talents, or my excellent health, or my “good joss,” but the certainty of always knowing I am deeply loved, and it enables me to touch the Heart of Christ—if I remember to pay attention. If I relax, avoid the panic, and float in that vast life-giving ocean—an inner and outer home that’s always been there and always will be.

Fall back and regroup

December 28th, 2005

After a feverish night, Bruce went to his scheduled doctor’s appointment. With a temperature around 105 degrees, the decision was made to admit him back into the hospital again. He’d been home since Christmas Eve, but apparently was unable to maintain the upper hand against a stubborn, virulent strain of microbes that continues to populate his abdominal cavity. Nevertheless, he’s in good spirits.

Love one another

December 27th, 2005

I generally don’t pay much attention to the calendar that honors the saints, but I always take special note of the “feast day” that falls on this date. This holy person, familiar to all Christians, is referred to as “John the Apostle” or “John the Evangelist,” but I know him as “John the Beloved.” The only one of the Twelve to endure his Master’s passion until the end, the well-being of the Blessed Mother was entrusted to his guardianship, and, perhaps less obvious, Jesus also committed his mother to caring for John as her son (John 19:27). How singular his role! The Father would preserve his life to an advanced age after all the other Apostles were long slain.

Why do I regard John so highly? Yes, my name is John and have held this attachment since childhood, plus I’ve always taken pleasure in the Easter moment when John wins the footrace to the tomb against Peter. I also like how he comes to our attention as a seeker, transferring his interest (with Andrew!) from the Baptist (another John) to Jesus—hey, gimme a break, I’m named after two guys who weren’t against going where the path took them. But I know myself well enough to see that it’s the sacred personality of John that holds deep spiritual appeal for me. His fundamental message of love is more powerful than intellectual arguments, and he influences my conviction that love in action may be the only true religion. He was also the strongest—before the Holy Spirt came into the picture.

There are times when I think that there are two kinds of Christians, those that say to themselves, “I’d have been scared, too, and stayed away,” and those who say to themselves, “I’d have stayed with Jesus and let the chips fall.” For those of us who believe we might have had the courage to stand there and watch, the “disciple whom Jesus loved” is our saint. But I’m a man, and must now remind myself that Mary Magdalene also kept the vigil with Mother Mary. And then there are times when I think that this notion is flawed, for, as Robert Benchley wrote, “There are two kinds of people in the world: those who divide the world into two kinds of people, and those who don’t.”

But you can still pray for me if you’d like to

December 26th, 2005

If my offhand remarks about the Catholic Church were imprudent or disrespectful, I apologize. It was not my desire to cause distress to anybody, especially at Christmas. No one who knows me should fret for one second about my spiritual well-being. My faith is deep and integral to every important thing in my life, but my prayerful relationship with the Creator has little to do with traditional religion, and I came to that realization nearly twenty-five years ago. Nothing essential in my daily activity is disconnected from the heart of Christ. I have no disunity with those who equate the presence of God in their lives with a loyalty to the church of their choice or upbringing, but it’s not my personal path. I struggle with my own imperfections and unmet potential, and have no meaningful place in my life for adding to those personal challenges the travails of a flawed church structure. I would no sooner seek to improve my soul’s condition by limiting my sacred practice to the beliefs of a single religious institution than I would try to become a better swimmer by wearing my street clothes and shoes into the pool every week.

Christmas musings

December 25th, 2005

• Nobody can recite the Holy Bible like Charlton Heston, and I do mean nobody. Christmas morning isn’t set until I watch his performance of the Nativity verses, filmed at the ruins of a Roman amphitheater. Sometimes I just want to shut my eyes and listen to the masterful shift of his voice characterization from Angel to Blessed Virgin to Shepherd to Magi to the 12-year-old Jesus in the temple doing “my father’s business.” And I always enjoy how he portrays the angel telling Joseph that Herod “is dead,” almost as if the heavenly being takes grim satisfaction in the opportune demise.

• My TV-Show Fantasy Wish List for Santa: I want a sprawling hacienda like Big John Cannon’s, on a ranch like The Yellow Rose, with a horse just like Jason McCord’s, and a fully stocked pull-down gun panel like the one James West had. When I need to be in the city, I’d like a Robin Masters Ferrari so I can commute to my urban pad, just like the apartment Jim Phelps lived in, with a big John Gnagy studio attached, plus a closet with an Alexander Mundy wardrobe. I suppose that’ll do for this year, Santa, unless you want to toss in a hovercraft, custom-built by Benton Quest. I’ve been really, really nice.

• I don’t know how long ago the “Oyster-Stew Eve” tradition began, but now it wouldn’t be Christmas for me without it. We gathered once again last night at Mombo’s, and it was a full house with all the Hellyers in attendance. Bubb played the temperamental stew chef, but his main course was superb as usual. I could have done without the bizarre homily that gushed on about everyone’s favorite computer racketeer earning his media sainthood. Oh well, there’s got to be a reason church hierarchs would exile a pastor to the boondocks of rural Kentucky. After what I’ve learned about the downfall of the precious parish in Richmond, nothing is going to surprise me about the bewildering judgments of those running an institutional religion that long ago lost its way. Give me a simple family Christmas Eve, with loving hugs, wall-to-wall cousins, Yorkies under foot, Jaybon’s vino, mud room goodbyes, and the lasting brilliance of a Dadbo who combined the sleep-inducing benefits of warm milk for the kiddoes, with a dose of aphrodisiac for Mr. and Mrs. Claus.