Not long after the surprise bonanza of “funny papers” from Uncle Art, I developed the notion that the ideal life would be to have my own studio and draw a daily comic. I began filling up tablets with my original strips. I remember some of the titles and characters, such as “Pop and Pope,” and “Manna, the Nice Hermit,” but these early collections are long gone, and I can’t for the life of me bring to mind the title of the most extensive series, which consisted of humorous, everyday stories about a smart young woman named Miss Little who lived with her quirky grandfather (or was it an uncle?). These serials comprised my “wholesome” creations. At the same time, I applied myself industriously to numerous one-page “wanted posters,” refining my facial cartoon style with a cast of murderers, thieves, arsonists, and blackmailers, as well as pictorial set pieces that I called “scrips,” in which I worked out my shorthand visual body language with depictions of battles, action scenes, and bloody assaults on dinosaurs and other monstrous beasts. These two sets of drawings managed to survive, but it’s the comic strips that I wish I still had as part of my childhood archives, because I viewed these as actual preparations for what I wanted to be when I grew up…
Oldenday II
April 4th, 2005On the road again
April 3rd, 2005Back at our Indy outpost to visit Bruce again. He’s having a few struggles with breathing difficulties and a low red blood cell count. After a transfusion he felt better. He’s being treated for a fever, which may indicate that the failed kidney has to be removed. This isn’t always the case, but we just don’t know yet. The lung problems are a greater concern, as far as I’m concerned…
Oldenday I
April 2nd, 2005Although my mom provided a truly rich atmosphere for mental play and my dad revealed for me his familiar world of nature, I look back at times with wonder and some amusement that I ever arrived at any sort of creative legitimacy, given the odd character of my early visual stimuli. I always had chalk and my own blackboard, and was given free reign to inhabit the world of my own imagination, sharing it with a captive sibling audience. I suppose we were rather sheltered. It was no surprise they thought I was a real artist. I recall almost no access to books with “serious” artwork. A bound collection of Currier and Ives reproductions was about as close as it got. I don’t remember any childhood visits to art museums or even going to a library before attending school. There was really nothing about art to learn on television, except for the exposure to Walt Disney, or a glimpse of illustrations in the books read by Captain Kangaroo, or, eventually, Jon Gnagy’s “Learn to Draw.” At least I understood that Yogi Bear and the Flintstones wasn’t about art. We didn’t get a daily newspaper. And so it was a monumental event in my life when Uncle Art delivered a stack of Saturday Evening Post magazines and a year’s worth of old Sunday comics. I must not have had a bit of interest in anything else until it was fully absorbed. For a time, that was the pinnacle: Walt Kelly, Al Capp, Milton Caniff, and, of course, those magnificent Rockwell covers…
Various & Sundry, part thirteen
April 1st, 2005— Month of March workout totals: Swim-7; Bike-3; Run-3; Lift-7.
— Time to boost my running and cycling mileage. Plenty of mild weather ahead; no more excuses for the recent pitiful stats.
— Today at my Rotary luncheon I sat next to a retired English professor who’d served on a nearby ship during the battle for Iwo Jima. It caused me to think of Josh, with the profound hope that in 60 years, he, too, might be enjoying a pleasant meal with his friends.
— We’ll be heading back to Indiana tomorrow to visit Bruce. His ongoing exhaustion remains a concern to us. We can’t overlook the steady improvement, though, even if the pace has been tortuous.
— Stalin supposedly scoffed, “How many divisions does the Pope have?” More than adequate, as we’ve come to see, with the collapse of Soviet Communism in the 1980s, due in part to the bold stand for human freedom taken by this Polish priest turned world leader.
Seeing Danny
March 31st, 2005March goes out
like a lamb (he pronounces too smugly).
What a glorious day to walk to campus and swim my first laps since making the decision to switch from the Wellness Center pool. I saw a friend on the way, so we chatted, although I should correct myself and point out that a conversation with Danny can hardly be called a “chat.” In 10 to 15 minutes we touched on Bruce’s ordeal, prayer, grace, the soul, despair, suicide, Socrates, Hunter S. Thompson, Hemingway, St John of the Cross, the death of Terri Schiavo, eternity, Thomas à Kempis, and the origins of monastic life. There’s never been time for “small talk” when Danny and I see each other, which isn’t often enough. When I got to Centre the water temperature and chlorine level were just right. The sun was pouring through the skylights. Even the shower-head couldn’t have been in more satisfactory adjustment. When I tested the speed of my freestyle stroke, I matched my personal-best, single-lap sprint time. Perfection.
September, 1997
March 29th, 2005I was just thinking back to a Labor Day weekend, seven and a half years ago. I’d just completed an annual event called the “Pound & Pedal” (which has a bit of a reputation in Central Kentucky), and was faced with a trivial choice: should I stick around to enjoy the post-race festivities or go home with my wife Dana?
Permit me to back up a little. In the P&P, two partners compete with other teams by alternating running and cycling— four five-mile legs for a race total of 20 miles. It’s fun if you get in shape for it. The guy who starts out on the bike drops it at the five-mile mark for his teammate, who picks it up and cranks it to the half-way point before his running cohort arrives. It works out best to have the stronger athlete start out on foot (similar to one of those mathematical story problems on an IQ test). With the exertion behind us for the day, my chum Roger had the blender fired up for the cactus juice, and the hot tub was being uncovered.
It was just about that time when we got the phone call. Bruce was going immediately into surgery. A matching kidney had become available. He’d made the nontrivial choice of accepting the sudden donation.
We dropped what we were doing and headed toward Lexington, with the full realization that another decision even more intense had been made at the same time. We found out later that the parents of a 13-year-old child (who’d reached the end of a life that was undeniably too short) had just given the difficult go-ahead to the ever-waiting organ harvesters…
Rocky climb ahead vs bottomless crevasse behind
March 29th, 2005Bruce was able to get on his feet with some help from the nurses today. He also spoke a few words to his mother on the phone. As he improves, many issues are presenting themselves, such as when will the system determine that he should be released, where will he go, and how will he receive the care that he’s not yet ready to provide himself? These are not simple matters, as they might be for someone who has full insurance coverage. Regular dialysis must now be factored in, including the ongoing logistics. A new set of stressful challenges are at hand, but they’re mild when compared to those of last week.
Baby steps
March 28th, 2005It would be nice if Bruce were making huge strides in his recovery, but we must take comfort in small increments instead. At least things are moving in the right direction. Only a week ago they weren’t. It seems like a month. Yesterday afternoon he was released from Progressive Care and was moved to a regular room in the Renal Unit. He’s still a very sick man, and drifts in and out of mild delirium. It could take many days before his system is clear of all the residual psychotropics, since his kidney can’t throw it off in a normal manner. He received dialysis again today and that should help.
Easter with Bruce
March 27th, 2005Our Indy visit continues. Bruce has made much progress since Friday evening when we arrived, although most of his improvement is in the vital signs and test numbers. He sleeps a great deal, so there’s a minimum of lucid interaction.
I, too, imply whole words with a sentence
March 26th, 2005I don’t often do it, but when I hopscotch through a chain of blogs, linking forward through one of the next favorites, it’s like jumping out the door of an “el” car, bolting across the platform, and then jumping back on another. It’s WILD! You can read anybody’s diary in the whole world, man!!
Various & Sundry, part twelve
March 25th, 2005— I woke up this morning with a distinct phrase in my mind: magnesium fusion triggers. Look, I don’t drive the thing. I’m just ridin’ shotgun…
— Marty called last night and we talked about a subject that’s totally captured his excitement, the new Sony PS Portable. Hey, you’re allowed to get excited about something like this when you’re thirteen. For me, at that age, it was probably Art Linkletter’s “The Game of Life,” or something like that. However, I can’t help but think of this quote from Ben Stein: “I tremble for the day that the next generation has to provide for themselves with what they have learned from their video games.” Relax, Ben. They’ve probably learned more than I ever learned from watching too many hours of “The Avengers,” “The Prisoner,” “Hawaii Five-0” and “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.”
— From what I can discern through the Associated Press, Josh and his 623rd Field Artillery unit was with the convoy that came under attack on Sunday morning, but it stayed with the trucks during the battle and sustained no casualties (from a Bruce Schreiner byline story).
— The new brochure we created for the Brass Band Festival is a major hit, according to our friend who’s retiring as director of the Visitor’s Bureau. I told her I hoped our work makes a good impression with her successor. She said she thought it would and will put in a good word for us. Sounds promising, but the new person brings strong connections to her former employer, a previous client of ours turned competitor. All I can do is stay positive and make my case at the appropriate time. I’d insert a link to the Festival, but the site is just too ugly. Wait a second! This is a job for Website Makeover™ Man!
— Dana and I are heading back up to Indy today to check on Bruce. Normally I have my Rotary Club meeting, but we’re dismissed for Good Friday, so we’ll deal with any urgent matters in the studio and then hit the road before it gets too late.
— I decided to google for “magnesium fusion triggers” and found myself reading an overview at GlobalSecurity.org about special weapons facilities on the Indian subcontinent. OK, so what am I supposed to be more scared of, the metastasis of the World Wide Web, unchecked nuclear proliferation in South Asia, or my own dadburn subconscious?
Various & Sundry, part eleven
March 24th, 2005— Now that the corner has been turned, and Bruce’s life has been preserved, he faces a difficult future, short- and long-term. A tough row to hoe, as they say. Today it appears as though the doc has given up on salvaging his transplanted kidney—too little function, too much chronic deterioration. This means more dialysis, a process which Bruce grew to loath, and will surely dread to accept back into his life on any regular basis. It may be several more hours before his awareness clears enough for him to evaluate his choices (or lack thereof). He’s being moved from intensive care to progressive care, and taken off anti-rejection drugs, narcotics, steroids, and sedatives, plus he’ll be down to a single tube—oxygen. One of the reasons they doped him is because he became combative and ripped out the nasal/gastric tube at least twice (as I might have, too, had I been in his situation). Or maybe I have that backwards (side effects of medication causing aggressive behavior and colorful use of language). In any case, the outlook is encouraging, but I’ll keep up my prayers. It’s likely that there will be more bumps in the road…
— If I came up with an idea for a new method of capital punishment—slow death by starvation—would it be declared cruel and unusual? If authorities came into your home and discovered all the pets were dead, would they say, “…within his rights—slow death by starvation.”? Sorry, just thinking rhetorically here. (Did I do the punctuation correctly on that?) “…I can’t imagine why, the world has time enough to cry.”
— As an avid watcher of Brian Lamb’s “Booknotes,” I was disappointed when he wrapped the 800-show series on C-SPAN. Listening to writers talk about writing makes me want to write. Listening to politicians talk about politics doesn’t make me want to run for office. Listening to artists talk about art definitely makes me want to make art. Now the only other good interview show with the classic all-black set is Charlie Rose. I think Rose is at his best when he’s talking to artists. Not that he doesn’t demonstrate the same level of skill when interviewing journalists and politicians, but I guess he tends to insert more opinions that sometimes irritate me. His recent conversation with Daniel Day-Lewis and his astonishingly brilliant and beautiful wife, Rebecca Miller (daughter of the late Arthur Miller), was just about as good as television ever gets. How in the world does he get these creative people to relax and describe the inexpressible aspects of their talent and craft? His style is totally different than Lamb’s, but they both make it look so easy. Not the performance (if that’s what you can call it), but the technique of coaxing the guest to say things that are genuinely interesting. I made the mistake of watching a perfunctory interview with Clint Eastwood, leading up to the Oscars, and the interviewer managed to avoid steering him to a single topic that was remotely enlightening… quite a feat, actually.
Political passion trumps good manners once again
March 23rd, 2005Bruce has experienced the medical turnaround that he needed. Somebody’s been praying out there, and you know who you are! His wife, mother, and sister have been at his side, with so many others close to him in spirit. Today’s news is so much better than it’s been since Monday. Although I’m sure it was nothing compared to Dana’s ordeal, yesterday was a rather exhausting day for me emotionally, and not made any better by someone who called to ask about Bruce, and then, when the subject turned to my nephew Josh’s situation, launched into a scathing denunciation of the President of the United States and his Iraq policy. Even if I’d had the inclination or energy to disagree (which I certainly did not), what could I possibly have said to affect an opinion impervious to what others have already stated so ably in support of winning the war… others more influential than me, such as John McCain or Joe Lieberman; or more intellectually gifted than me, such as Jonah Goldberg or Christopher Hitchens; or more deeply thoughtful than me, such as Tom Friedman or Ben Stein? And for cryin’ out loud, it just wasn’t a decent time to kick-start that old debate.
On behalf of Bruce
March 22nd, 2005my son, and brother in Christ…
“Let not your heart be disturbed. Do not fear any sickness or anguish. Am I not here, who is your Mother? Are you not under my protection? Am I not your health? Are you not happily within my fold? What else do you wish? Do not grieve nor be disturbed by anything…” —Our Lady of Guadalupe to Juan Diego
“Thou seest, O my Lord, Thy suppliant waiting at the door of Thy bounty, and him who hath set his hopes on Thee clinging to the cord of Thy generosity. Deny him not, I beseech Thee, the things he seeketh from the ocean of Thy grace and the Daystar of Thy loving-kindness…” —Bahá’u’lláh
“O, Mother, in thy Heart, I come to bury my anguish and to seek strength and courage. O, Mother, may my heart be hidden in thine and have no other love but the good pleasure of my Divine Master…” —Saint Bernadette
“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgiveth all thine iniquities, who healeth all thy diseases, who redeemeth thy life from destruction, who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies…” —Psalms 103:1-4
“I AM the Flame of Resurrection blazing God’s pure Light through me. Now I AM raising every atom, from every shadow I AM free. I AM the Light of God’s full Presence, I AM living ever free. Now the flame of Life eternal rises up to Victory.” —El Morya
Two Clansmen in harm’s way
March 21st, 2005Fully absorbed most of the day in the Salvation Army Advisory Board retreat— new member orientation, committee meetings, and strategic planning. When I got home I found out that Bruce has an inflamed pancreas and continues to be critically ill. Dana and daughter Terie (Marty’s mom) will head back to Indy in the morning. Somehow I’ll force myself to concentrate on client commitments and hold the fort in the studio while keeping our son in my thoughts and prayers.
Meanwhile, news arrives that nephew Josh has lost a brother in arms on an escort mission…
My razza-ma-taz miasma
March 20th, 2005The past 36 hours have been exhilarating, frustrating, profound, hectic, gratifying, aggravating, sublime, surreal… A trip to Indianapolis to be there for my stepson Bruce, hospitalized with the potential loss of his transplanted kidney, and at the same time provide support for his wife Pam, and at the same time take my grandson Marty to the “INDY 2005” Toy Soldier Show (one of our annual highlights of quality time together, sharing our passion for vintage plastic figures), and at the same time deal with all the monumentally exasperating aspects of a healthcare system run amok, stripped of all idealistic illusions as a result of far too many behind-the-scenes absurdities and ugly exposures of egoism… and at the center of it all, my calm, sweet mate… strong, loving, and wise.
May contain demographic content
March 19th, 2005Ok, allow me to put yesterday’s entry into perspective. Studies indicate that “leading edge” baby boomers (48 to 58 years old) perceive themselves as younger than their parents were at the same age, and resent being defined as “old,” which they describe as “over 80.”
What about those of us over 50 who perceive ourselves as younger than baby boomers?
Now (tough) vs later (really tough)
March 18th, 2005I saw part of an interview with
Dennis Quaid. The other person, referring to scenes from a recent movie, remarked that he was in great physical shape for his age. Now, let’s put aside the fact that a Hollywood star can devote months of preparation before going in front of a camera, including personal trainers, nutritional advisors, plus hours a day in the gym leading up to a shooting schedule. Nevertheless, Quaid said something in response which was pretty powerful: “I got fit in my twenties and I never really let myself get out of shape.”
Important note to young people of either gender: It’s much easier to maintain youthful fitness than to rebuild it later in life after its been lost. Even if you haven’t been an athlete, it’s much easier to get in shape in your twenties and work to preserve it, versus putting it off until later, when you inevitably begin to dislike how your body is aging.
This may sound like a lecture, but uncles are allowed to instruct now and then, especially when it’s based on direct experience. Trust me, everybody over the age of 40 wants to be in good shape. It’s just a matter of whether you have a 20-year momentum to work with, or whether you have to start basically from scratch.
And God said
March 17th, 2005“Let there be polyethylene!”
How Wednesdays ought to be
March 16th, 2005It’s been a good day so far. Long-awaited check in the mail. Successful client presentation. And welcome confirmation that someone reads this log… and appreciates the quiet tragedy of hat loss.
The world of Randas Batista
March 15th, 2005You don’t have to explore the Web very long to discover a site that’s distinctive, substantive, and full of talent—
Jeffrey Luke’s Brazil Diary is one of them…
It was just a hat
March 14th, 2005Today it looks like I must admit to myself that I probably lost my favorite hat, a white Polo cap with an American flag on the front. Nothing unusual, but I wore it with pride, especially after 9-11-01. That was the hat I took with me to run the Chicago Marathon, and when the going got rough a spectator shouted, “All right, Flag Man!”
It was on my head when I completed my day-long “50-on-50th” milestone event.
It was just a hat. Right?