Within 48 hours, I watched the series finale of Mad Men and the last episode of Deadwood. I have no idea how long it will be before there is an opportunity to see more TV at the level of these shows. For someone who has television as deeply grafted onto his DNA as me, this is a rather unsettling outlook.
Putting words in the mouth of our Clan Founder is dangerous territory, and that is why we confine ourselves to the trove of thoughts he left for us in the archives of our family publication whenever we ponder what he would have done or what kind of leadership he would have provided to us in the face of a current dilemma. Nevertheless, I will dare to venture a bit into that territory and seek to characterize something he demonstrated profoundly, and, to my knowledge or recollection, never specifically spelled out in Clandestiny. The need for this arises from remarks at our recent Council that suggested we attempt to measure or take into account relative disparities in service to Grammo or Clan. I might be wrong, but it is important for people to know what I think. The Grandy-bo I remember would have shut down such discussions with a brand of finality that only he could introduce into family deliberations. Why do I believe this? Is it because he did that very thing on one or more occasions which now I cannot pinpoint? Perhaps so, but it is more likely that I hold this view based on the principles he put into evident practice through years of consistent behavior. He was a complex person, with many facets of high character, plus faults like any man, but there are three points of his nuclear-family conduct which stand out in memory and that are relevant to my concern:
He did not play favorites.
He did not hold a grudge.
He did not keep score.
We can only speculate about how he came to these convictions, or if they were an innate aspect of his personality, but they shaped our entire upbringing and also, I think, his vision of how the Clan could survive into the future without rancor, faction, and subterfuge. At its core, it is almost a kind of divine balance that eludes so many others in our society and world. It is a rejection of the extremist temptation. It is a hostility to the easy path that jumps to a false sense of justice and turns away from the more difficult work of discernment that integrates seemingly contrasting forces: the emotional and the rational, or the individual and the community. At the macro level, it is why so-called leaders allow ideologies to inhibit solutions that are both heartfelt and intelligent. Nearly all of them have lost sight of how the microcosm of the healthy family provides the key. They fail to see how the capitalist, private enterprise approach can become a corrosive force without integrity and compassion, or the humanistic, communitarian approach can slide toward the collective repression of individual destinies. Of course, one could choose to frame these ideas in spiritual or religious language, but I like to remind myself that although my father was a religious man, and was qualified to teach Roman Catholic doctrine, he had the great attribute of being able to express himself without a resort to denominational concepts, or even traditionally Christian terminology. Maybe that was the reason he could communicate “heavy” ideas to a wide variety of individuals in such an accessible, universal manner. That is why he would gain the respect of young and old, or priests, generals, teachers, executives, and farmers.
There is another principle he emphasized. He may have spelled this one out, somewhere in the volumes of Clandestiny, but it is always timely to recall the tone of his voice when he stated:
Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on you.
To me, he was saying that everyone deserves a second chance, with the implication that a first mistake reflects to some degree on the capacity of the guardian, leader, or mentor. After the support of a second chance, if a repeat of the same mistake occurs, the so-called “tough love” would kick in. Accountability now falls to the author of the error. All one can do is pray and let others experience the consequences of their actions. They are still loved. They are not cast out. They are, however, left to bear the brunt of their poor choices and the rejection of the support system that provided initial help. The more harsh lesson must now be learned. It is a difficult thing for everyone involved, but there are times when intervening to protect loved ones from themselves is the lesser form of compassion. It is easy in such situations to ask the question, “What Would Dadbo Do?” (WWDD), and so much harder to let his example infuse our own judgment. And I do not mean to suggest that Mombo did not reflect and reinforce all of these principles in her own more quiet way. What we would now give to bring these issues before her and consult a lifetime of wisdom that is no longer available! It is an ongoing sorrow that we are required to bear.
We shall, and do our best each day.
“Many whites fear being called racists. And many black leaders have a vested interest in blaming black problems primarily on white racism, so that is the narrative they push regardless of the reality. Racism had become an all-purpose explanation for bad black outcomes, be they social or economic. If you disagree and are white, you’re a bigot. If you disagree and are black, you’re a sell-out.
“The shooting death of a young black man by a white police officer in Ferguson, Missouri, last year touched off a national discussion about everything except the aberrant behavior of so many young black men that results in such frequent encounters with police. We talked about racial prejudice, poverty, unemploymennt, profiling, the tensions between law enforcement and poor black communities, and so forth. Rarely did we hear any discussion of black crime rates.
“Homicide is the leading cause of death for young black men in the U.S., and around 90 percent of the perpetrators are also black. Yet for months we’ve had protesters nationwide pretending that our morgues are full of young black men because cops are shooting them. Around 98 percent of black shooting deaths do not involve police. In fact, a cop is six times more likely to be shot by someone black than the opposite. The protestors are pushing a false anti-cop narrative, and everyone from the president on down has played along.”— Jason L Riley 1/30/15
Last month Marty crashed his life and had to begin picking up the pieces with our help. No car. No money. So far, he still has a job. I told him that, as far as I was concerned, he just needed to be a good student and stay sober. No more big-spender ladies-man lifestyle. He has to keep his priorities straight and recognize his personal dangers, or he will never make progress toward a positive future. If he walks that line and navigates the legal problems successfully, things can get back on track. Otherwise it could get a bit nasty for him and everyone around him who cares about him. I had to go to Ohio for the funeral of Anne Lorms. She lost her fight with cancer. No matter what one is going through, it can always be worse.
“The Tao is the origin of all things. It is the undifferentiated energy that underlies both creation and transformation. Formless, invisiblle, and intangible, the Tao can only be understood through intuition. Nature and humankind both originate from the Tao. Yin and yang are basic forces of the Tao that create and transform all things. These complementary opposites interact and balance each other to maintain stability and harmony in the universe.”
— Eva Wong ~ What is Taoism?
Intelligence-gathering drones to mimic the look and behavior of bumblebees, hummingbirds, and bluefin tuna? Kiddoes, this will not be your Grandy-bo’s Cold War.
Tomorrow is Veterans Day and, sadly, I am thinking less about the men and women who have served and more about the current commander in chief. America elected someone she thought was a catalytic figure, and still longed for true leadership four years later, but the man has squandered nearly every opportunity provided by the flow of events. He and his apologists will always attempt to persuade otherwise, with excuses that historians must soon discard when the comparison to effective presidents is made. Ultimately, leaders are never judged by the nature of any obstacles they faced, but by the magnitude of difficult personal achievements in spite of them.
“I am not on the ballot this fall. . . . But make no mistake — these policies are on the ballot, every single one of them.”
— President Obama in Chicago 10/02/14
As we did last year for the first time, we shall open our studio and gallery to the public on the first weekend of November. For more information, please visit this page.
“Sex crime springs from fantasy, hallucination, delusion, and obsession. A random young woman becomes the scapegoat for a regressive rage against female sexual power: “You made me do this.” Academic clichés about the “commodification” of women under capitalism make little sense here: It is women’s superior biological status as magical life-creator that is profaned and annihilated by the barbarism of sex crime.”
— Camille Paglia 9/29/14
“There have always been isolated losers. But that isolation often inspired its own remedy. People want to belong to a community. That desire fuels assimilation and civilization. The horrifying challenge of today is that thanks to the digital age and an ideology and a culture that often sees assimilation as incompatible with “multiculturalism,” the losers no longer have to stop being losers to cure their sense of isolation. They can join a huge virtual rape gang on the Web and have their evil desires confirmed and celebrated. And some of them, weary of puncturing their masturbatory reveries by pecking out LOL on a keyboard, have the option of hopping on a plane.”
— Jonah Goldberg 9/5/14
There are different types of ideal days.
For me, surely today was one of them.
After what may have been the best night’s sleep that I have had in two or three months, I woke up with a cool breeze above my pillow and came downstairs to discover a nutritious breakfast smoothie and a pot of hot coffee to go with it. Thank you, Dana, for getting my day off to such a positive start. TSLA, YHOO, TJX, and FEYE took over from there, when the market opened, and I spent a productive morning managing my active trades for four separate accounts, including the Trust investment. I may have gotten a suitable entry price for a long position in VMW, but only time will tell with that. When the office intercom beeped, I was the beneficiary of a delicious roast turkey sandwich with a bowl of fresh gazpacho. It has been a fine season for tomatoes, and I am still working on getting my fill. Dana said that aging Walie was having one of her most lively days in a long time. After lunch, I noticed a new Ommatidia story by Brendan (which always makes my day), checked email, and worked a bit on my Spotify playlists, now that Marty has me successfully making the transition from Pandora. Some time ago I figured that eventually one would be able to watch any movie or TV show on demand, but I had not expected so soon to see the same be true of music. Yes, I have to listen to commercials now and then, but they are not as obnoxious as those on the Pandora site, since most of the Spotify ads are about the musical offerings themselves. Then it was into the painting studio for another session on the GAB portrait (with a few Danny Darst tunes for good company). I can say that I finally overcame the wall of fear (compliments of an old pal named perfectionism) that became attached to this commission, but now the pressing need is to find a route to the summit by the end of the month. I have pledged to myself to complete the artwork for Greg’s and Lynne’s return from their trip to France. At 4 o’clock, I crossed the street to play chess with the library group: one win, one loss (strangely enough, it usually works out that I beat the people I am capable of defeating and lose to those I am not capable of defeating). Although I rediscovered chess through vision therapy a while back, I am getting more serious about it this year, now that I can regularly match wits with local players right next door. Before I left, I checked out Is He Dead? (I admit that I wanted the Mark Twain comedy primarily to study the engravings by Barry Moser). When I got home I crossed paths with Dana, leaving to meet her spiritual group at the library, and then I jumped back into my yew-trimming topiary project in the front yard. With each passing growing season, it is easier and faster for me to keep them in shape, but more difficult to make significant changes or refinements. Nature will provide an occasional opportunity for a new direction or interesting detour, but it is mostly about keeping the whole effect under control. When the “skeeters” decided it was time to bite my ankles, it was off to Centre for some weight lifting before dinner. Being settled into the gym groove has always been a confidence-booster for me, and that goes back nearly 45 years. Peter Lupus emphasized that 100 twists a day kept his waistline small, although I have not been able to achieve the daily habit yet. In the workout room, I combine strenuous twists with the “ab chair” to manage my own belly, plus a circuit of machines and dumbbell exercises, in addition to the trusty bench press (where is that best buddy to spot me?). As I entered our back door after a brisk walk home, a blend of magnificent odors told me that Dana had been baking up a storm — sourdough bread, chocolate cake, and apple pie! We are preparing to celebrate Marty’s promotion to full-time employment at Hitachi in Harrodsburg. I am not the only member of the household on a roll. Well done, Grandson (and he got an A in his first course at the Technical College). Marty happened to be catching up on sleep (I cannot imagine handling a night-shift + school schedule the way he does), so Dana and I split a Red Hook and enjoyed a bowl of Swiss-chard-lentil soup with raw-tomato-basil-cheese salad. All that was left for me to do was to record my ideal day at this blogsite, and now I am ready to hit the sack. Tomorrow we shall begin again!
“All roads out of hell lead home.”
― S L Alder
Transformations are taking place within the House of John, and I could not be more thankful.
Didn’t I just turn 50? (No, lad, it was over twelve years ago.)
When we celebrated Terie’s milestone birthday today in downtown Stanford, she seemed more happy than I can remember. When I took her picture at the restored train depot, I realized how lovely she looks this summer. Happy Happy to ya, Toots!
from Pop’s Haus of Cards!
“We need a little confusion.”
— Neil Gaiman
The Great American Brass Band Festival’s milestone 25th event is now in the archives. The finale was one of the most satisfying concerts in the history of the Kentucky festival. My appreciation goes to those who made it all happen one more time! I am pleased to have played a small part.
When I was first approached about lending my creative experience to the effort, I pitched the idea of a traditional collage to mark the 25th, using scraps from memorabilia of the last quarter century. A decision was made to go a different direction, but I could not put the idea aside. The result is “Brass 25,” a tribute to my community’s exceptional contribution to the American musical and cultural scene.
Is “commemorative collage” art? Perhaps not. Some might make the case that no example of the medium has approached “high art.” In my opinion, such a viewpoint fails to consider the 100-year impact that the medium has had on our visual landscape and the evolution of our aesthetic perceptions. It neglects the seminal role of Schwitters, Höch, Cornell, Kolář, and others. For me, the core relationship between mundane material and the art of collage transmits a unifying principle. When the remnants of ordinary life are physically re-purposed to resolve a unique compositional harmony, the culminating artifact can achieve a transcendent tone and offer a shared experience with each participating observer. If that is not art, stripped of elitist notions, then what is?
Brass 25
commemorative collage by J A Dixon
17.5 x 23.5 inches
available for purchase
Breaking Bad is, without a doubt, one of the great creative achievements in the history of television, but, for us, there came a point when we had to put ourselves out of our sweet misery and just get it over with.
For some reason, I have always thought of Mickey Rooney as a contemporary of my mother, perhaps due to his association with Judy Garland. When he died on April 6th, my sadness was out of proportion to how much I admired him as an entertainer, because I thought that he had been the last living cast member from It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. I was wrong. Carl Reiner (Tower Controller), Marvin Kaplan (Irwin), and Barrie Chase (Sylvester’s Girlfriend) are still with us. Although Rooney reportedly changed his view later in life, he was known to have disliked the movie. Like Gleason, he was under-appreciated as a dramatic actor, and recognition for his talent could never fully rise above the criticism directed at this private life. I felt more genuine sorrow when other favored participants passed away in recent years — Peter Falk (Third Cab Driver), Sid Caesar (Melville Crump), and, of course, Jonathan Winters (Lennie Pike), the character that cracks me up the most.
Why is this motion picture my favorite comedy from childhood? Well, I can watch it anytime, anywhere, never tire of its pure humor, and know that particular scenes will always make me laugh, no matter how many times I have seen them. I viewed excerpts again today, because it is my birthday, and I realized that it has been 50 years since “Memoms,” my grandmother Dixon, took me to the Dabel Theater to enjoy the curved, widescreen version during its initial release to Cinerama venues. (actually it was shot in single-film 70mm Ultra Panavision). It was a transporting experience for a twelve-year-old boy (the ideal target viewer for the Stanley Kramer slapstick classic). Because I must have been sitting on or near the optical “sweet spot,” it was my first full-immersion sensory experience in life. Those Rooney-Hackett airplane sequences were a helluva ride, but I guess “you had to be there.”
Some people have their comfort foods. I have my comfort film. If I ever have to take the Norman Cousins prescription, “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World” surely will be my laughter therapy of choice.
With Mombo at the Blue Bank Hall, and the day has moved with swift disregard for the modest checklist I brought along. No concern for that. Focus on your first priority (Acuff’s Third Secret?). I have had a vague sense of impatience today, and I keep attributing it to detoxification, but it is more likely to be a lack of full awareness on what I am doing. If you keep thinking about being at the museum, you might miss the painting in front of you.
It is Tuesday, and yesterday’s early-morning miniature, “Proscenium,” completed for TCM, was posted with Friday’s date. I am trying to catch up with my daily sequence by finishing multiples from an array of partially completed collage artworks. It has scrambled my brain unnecessarily, and causes me to question the entire process, which now seems a bit fraudulent. The goal of 31 miniatures in 31 days is still intact, but it plays with my head to scramble like this. Being out of the studio for most of the weekend did not help matters. Relax. Am I forgetting Acuff’s second rule of getting it all done?
After a night’s rest, I found an image of two beach shells to refine my unfinished collage miniature, and (presto!) it was done. More often than not, it is necessary for me to continue layering before declaring victory. Today is St. Patrick’s Day, the flimsiest excuse to get drunk that ever was invented. The alcohol ban inherent in the CLEAN regimen takes that potential out of commission for me. We are over halfway done with the program. I missed Juliana’s birthday. The push for larger artworks has decimated my card-making practice, even for family. The end of an era is at hand (or probably already over, and I am just getting around to admitting it).