Uncle John’s Log & Co.

March experiment—day thirty— As the announcer used to say on the program called “Iron Chef,” the battle is oh-vah!

Because the competition was with myself, I won—that means I also lost, but only the counterproductive habit patterns that were due to permanently go. The transformation feels vast, but I’m still too close to all I’ve been through to judge the full effects. Everything has culminated with the creation of my prototype for a personalized commemorative illustration. Tonight it will be unveiled before members of The Wood Duck Society, and then tomorrow it will be presented for target-market evaluation at a fundraising dinner—the Kentuckiana Chapter of Safari Club International in Louisville. By Sunday I’ll be in a better position to begin reflecting on these past few weeks.

This is how day twenty-nine has gone…

5:30 am — Is this what it feels like to go mad?

6:47 am — Am I on solid ground here, or am I out of my mind?

9:20 am — This will work. I’m a genius!

2:43 pm — This is absurd. What am I doing to myself?

4:02 pm — God, it would be so cool to do this every day.

7:58 pm — Wow. Maybe I’m really going to pull this off.

March experiment—day twenty-eight— I’m sprinting for Friday’s deadline, with a totality of attention to my example of “Legacy Art,” and bringing into focus all the sensitivities of my month-long self-study…

Now that I’ve learned the lesson not to worry about something that isn’t in front of me, I have to learn something more difficult, and that’s how to avoid spinning my emotional wheels with the real task that is in front of me, to stop fretting about how it will turn out and to promptly start making the first permanent marks on top of the sketch that will be erased. This might be the most critical habit I can develop, but it will require vanquishing another that has been on my back for most of my life, and I’m sick and tired of it…

Begin!

March experiment—day twenty-six— Some days start out bad and get worse. Today started out awful, but improved dramatically by evening. I feel fortunate. There were times when a morning like today’s might gnaw at me for a long time. It may seem obvious, but if you wake up to a spoiled serving, you need to deal with it head on, rather than letting it just sit there and rot.

Today’s sight bite— My smiling friend, with an African tracker and 1906 Oberndorf Mauser—c-l-i-c-k—proudly displaying his trophy impala in the harsh KwaZulu-Natal landscape.

Tomorrow— An early checklist of leftovers, to make way for a full day with the pen and brush…

March experiment—day twenty-five— I spent my 30 minutes of silence at Mack’s increasingly dilapidated cabin praying fervently for my uncle, who’s fighting his way back from critical care, so he can get the heart surgery he desperately needs.

I ran back to Danville afterwards, just as I had run the five miles out to the cabin, but my legs became alarmingly stiff at nine miles or so and I had to walk a bit. I smiled to think that only a few minutes before I’d been advising J M on how to accomplish his 50-miler next month. Obviously, I’m no ultra-marathoner these days. When I mentioned it to Dana at breakfast she reminded me that it’s been four years since I did mine. True enough.

After the silence, our friend J R (Buck) shared eloquent words about how an aging athlete faces the traumatic decline of the physical body. Fortunately I have no experience with this subject, so far. Uncle Joe does—more than he deserves.

For decades, there was no greater advocate for physical fitness in Southwestern Ohio than Joe Sullivan. He’s had a positive influence on hundreds of educators and literally thousands of young people. He introduced things like tumbling mats and trampolines to the region and designed numerous state-of-the-art gymnasiums. And that doesn’t even touch on his contributions to coaching or his achievements as a college professor. You would think that he’d earned some points that would spare him the pain and indignity of a physical breakdown—he of all people, but it looks as though the Lord makes no such deals. Grace, on the other hand, is another issue.

I will continue to pray the Hail Mary for Uncle Joe.

Today’s sight bites— The march of ditch clutter, to the lower left of my stride, a parade of Newport packs and green Mountain Dew bottles—c-l-i-c-k—Little Caesar’s cartons—c-l-i-c-k—blue Bud Light cans—c-l-i-c-k—Long John Silver’s boxes—c-l-i-c-k—red McDonalds French-fry pockets—c-l-i-c-k—Arby’s bags—c-l-i-c-k—dip containers, soda straws, and orange candy wrappers—c-l-i-c-k—with the helpless notion that I should at the very least interpret all this as an artistic statement, an homage to Kurt Schwitters called Scenic Kentucky Highway 52…

Tomorrow— Drawing a good friend in Africa, plus an important call to Virginia (the Mother of Presidents, not Mombo—the Mother of Me—although that’s not a bad idea)…

March experiment—day twenty-four— I rescheduled my ten-miler when I arose to discover a steady shower of wet sleet at first light. Well, at least I didn’t have more than my hopes invested in the proposed venture, unlike other ambitious people. I may be bonkers, but I’m not a madman. Not yet, anyway. However, I do recall running in worse weather during the winter of oh-two. A local man stopped his car and yelled, “You’ve got to be crazy to run in this!” I shouted back, “You’ve got to be crazy to drive in this!”

Today is about dealing efficiently with a multiple of tasks recently sidelined by a critical deadline, which naturally tends to subordinate other priorities. It’s about breaking a habit—temporarily letting go of my discipline or indulging an escape after a major presentation, instead of shifting the same level of focus to a new area of active creativity. Maintaining a momentum of accomplishment is a more desirable reward, if a reward is necessary. I’m tired of having to regain my inertia over and over again. I’d rather keep a more even pace of achievement. I’ve learned this from exercise, but the idea has taken on a new power for me, the more I pay attention to the advice of artists who know how to routinely get things done.

Last night before bed I spent time with Kazu’s description of how he creates his “Copper” strip. This morning I’m “mining” an interview with Arundhati Roy. Some of her thoughts fascinate me because I’m trying to find a way through the challenge of shifting my fine art from a gift-oriented activity to a more self-centric ambition, in order to professionalize it within a desired array of income modules. For reasons unclear, I’ve been getting more out of listening closely to writers and filmmakers (and a dancer!) than I get out of listening to designers or visual artists.

“You know, I always believed that even among the best writers, there are selfish writers and there are generous ones. Selfish writers leave you with the memory of their book. Generous writers leave you with the memory of the world they evoked. To evoke a world, to communicate it to someone, is like writing a letter to someone that you love. It’s a very thin line. For me, books are gifts. When I read a book, I accept it as a gift from an author. When I wrote this book, I presented it as a gift. The reader will do with it what they want.”

Roy’s keen insight applies to all the fine arts—in my case, the applied arts. If I’m to be honest with myself, it’s my identity as an illustrator that I seek to define, rather than as a true fine artist, at least in the near term. Earning commissions for the type of imagery I intend to create involves meaningful service to a customer, and so I must juggle my own artistic agenda while capturing a high level of personal significance for my client—balancing the selfish with the generous—providing pleasure in the sense of legacy, a useful satisfaction. Emerson often draws his distinction between the fine and the “useful” arts, but makes clear that both can lead to wealth.

Why is it that I’ve been more comfortable with dedicated effort toward seizing health and less so with wealth? Is it just cultural conditioning or is it part of my DNA? I wanted health, so I built it into my body. It took time, but I did it. I have goals that require a solid microeconomic platform. Forget wealth. I would hope that I could just free myself from the low-grade financial stress that erodes well-being. But Emerson doesn’t dance euphemistically around the issue. He uses the word.

“Wealth is in application of mind to nature; and the art of getting rich consists not in industry, much less in saving, but in a better order, in timeliness, in being at the right spot.”

Indeed. Let’s get back to the drill.

Today’s sight bite— Afternoon sunlight cuts across a wall the color of thick mucous, as my paint-saturated roller subtracts the distasteful hue—c-l-i-c-k—with white, glorious white, overtaking the wall, swath by swath.

Tomorrow— Running toward the dawn, to share the silence with friends…

March experiment—day twenty-three— It’s taken me three weeks to zero in on hidden patterns of thought and feeling engraved deeply in the way I prepare for a presentation. These are inner habits rooted in college-era indoctrination. Now I’m beginning to understand that one must not only compartmentalize goal-oriented activity, but also the emotional content associated with specific areas of focus. There is room for concern, expectation, intensity, and enthusiasm with respect to the challenge at hand, but not for worthless anxiety about what is not getting accomplished in other areas of life, no matter how important or necessary it may be.
The energy conserved can be used for creativity and poise, the best prerequisites for moving forward on schedule to the next priority.

Today’s sight bite— The geometric designs of his bright red sleeveless sweater—c-l-i-c-k—as our client forms his first impressions of the visual concepts before him on the conference table.

Tomorrow— Ten miles on foot at dawn, Band Festival ideas, new branding for swim attire, and a date with the vacuum cleaner…

March experiment—day twenty-two— When I got back from the gym, I finally finished resolving Tuesday’s surprise request, and shoved it over the wire with a sense of relief. Then I was able to settle back into designing the equine symbology, benefiting from Dana’s help and a bit of synchronicity when the realization struck that it’s never too late to revisit research mode if things get into a rut. Twyla writes about this in her book. By afternoon I had a new momentum of progress. She knows everything!

Today’s sight bite— Freezing a noisy blur with eye and hand—c-l-i-c-k—as gloved fists strike the black speed bag.

Tomorrow— A client’s reaction, after a kick to the finish line…

March experiment—day twenty-one— Having my morning schedule play out with precision was a source of encouragement, but that was followed by another chaotic stint in the studio. That’s what happens when a client calls and asks you to work with ten-year-old files as if they were created last week. Nevertheless, there were solid insights to gain from the contrast of an impending deadline and the all-too-typical, wild-card elements that seem to inevitably insert themselves into the day. Well, I don’t remember which famous general said that even the best battle plan doesn’t survive first contact with the enemy, but the last couple days have driven home the point for me. Not that my clients are the enemy—far from it—but you’ll probably catch my train of thought. The focus of my 30-day experiment is enabling me to examine dynamics that have always been too obvious to scrutinize. Interesting.

Today’s sight bite— Taking a mental break with page after page of exquisite narrative graphics—c-l-i-c-k, c-l-i-c-k, c-l-i-c-k—temporarily immersed in the flowing talent of Rudolphe Guenoden, Kazu Kibuishi, Giuseppe Ferrario, Chris Appelhans, Justin Ridge, and Herval.

Tomorrow— Mares and foals… foals and mares…

March experiment—day twenty— Interruptions and the unexpected can be accommodated by the daily structure. The strength of the matrix is flexibility and routine in proportion. Move relentlessly forward with diligence and focus, balanced by the softness of each breath.

Today’s sight bite— Cold worm on the wet sidewalk—c-l-i-c-k—a gummy worm, to be precise.

Tomorrow— Everything that has come before can illuminate a new cycle. Look to the ritual…

A March backlash mirrored my studio whirlwind inside, as I hit the “wall” at mile 19 — I mean day 19.

This is when you just keep putting one foot in front of the other…

…we rest.

March experiment—day seventeen— It was a physically active day, which, after my morning run, I spent mostly outdoors. Our yard is a mess because 2005 didn’t lend itself to fooling around with the hedges and flower beds. Across the street, workers were removing the stained glass windows from the Baptist church in preparation for its demolition. JT told me that he won’t know whether we can get the surplus stone for my driveway concept until the Library board takes possession. The month of May seems awfully close in time, and I hope I can be ready to keep my end of the proposition. I couldn’t believe how fast those guys up on the cherry picker were working—real professionals. That must be an expensive contract.

I spent an hour or so away from my chores by going out to Chrisman Lane with Dan. We picked up litter as part of our “Friends of Mack Jackson” Adopt-A-Highway project. The two of us “drew a short straw” with our task of clearing a steep embankment of trash. It’s always tough to confront how disgustingly negligent people can be, but Mack would be happy with the effort of our informal group. If we keep after it on a regular basis, it shouldn’t be this bad again, I would hope.

I was worn out by the time Dana and I arrived at the English Country Dance with Lee and David, but it was a delightful event—even more enjoyable than the first time. It’s not something I’d want to do that often, but I’m starting to appreciate the simple, wholesome joy of it, and you can’t knock a Berea potluck spread. Yum.

Today’s sight bite— A misty Angus snout bursts with the luminous backlight of sunrise—c-l-i-c-k—as dark gray, plank-fence patterns and long, tree-shadow brushstrokes move rhythmically underfoot.

Tomorrow— Spend some overdue time with the Marty-Man, and slow down a bit before Monday hits like a whirlwind…

March experiment—day sixteen— Woke up thinking I needed to dissolve last night’s angst about how I chaired the steering group meeting. Rather than stew about it, I trusted the “in-nerd” and resolved it by 7 am with a note to the guys who were there. Simple—thank them and pledge to do better. You wouldn’t think that I’d be figuring these things out at age 53, but there it is.

On our way to and from the Rotary lunch, David and I nailed down our strategy for promoting my pen and wash commissions. The timetable will be a bit of a crunch, but it dovetails with the home stretch of my prevailing time-management experiment.

Had some major breakthroughs on the equine graphics this week, so I locked myself into a presentation next Friday. The practice of self-imposed deadlines is a delicate art. Too far out is another form of procrastination, but too soon can invite disaster. Exactly right is a proven stimulant to creative productivity and concept integration. I don’t always get it right, but I’m a believer. If you don’t have an external due date, you have to create your own. Sadly, I have a wealth of experience trying to avoid what should be a self-evident truth.

After my conversation with Dr. Williams, a wave of fatigue came crashing in from behind me and I had to nap before Dana’s tasty fish-with-wild-rice supper.

Today’s sight bite— A Martini rifle, a walking horse, a hunter and his warthog, ten smiling handgun competitors—c-l-i-c-k, c-l-i-c-k, c-l-i-c-k—a flurry of digital images that etch the memory.

Tomorrow— Nine-mile run at daybreak, yard work, house cleaning, fine art, and English country dancing…

March experiment—day fifteen— Took a break after 20 laps and caught some rays on the deck next to the natatorium. I wasn’t expecting the sun to nullify the breeze, so I found it to be surprisingly comfortable for the few minutes I spent outside. The pool felt warm when I first got back in the water and soon finished up with 33 total laps—a perfect workout.

When I got back to the studio, I was able to find my way through a difficult juncture with the Burkmann equine symbology, even though I felt thoroughly stumped before my midday swim. Dr. Williams has set the bar rather high on this assignment, and I’m trying to avoid taking a “safe” approach. I wish it was self-confidence that drives me to employ a challenging design method, but I suppose it’s just fear of mediocrity.

Tonight’s brainstorming session with five other avid cyclists was moving along nicely until I let the meeting become diffused and run too long. I still have so much to learn about efficient meeting leadership, and I wonder if I’ll ever gain that valuable skill.

Today’s sight bite— Treating my eyes to a crocus bed of purple, white, and yellow splashes—c-l-i-c-k—before looking up to see bare-arm walkers and a ‘57 Chevy Bel Air cruise by. (Don’t tell anyone in Punxsutawney, but spring arrived in Danville, Kentucky on March 16th.)

Tomorrow— Complete the Salvation Army stationery and invitation letter for April’s annual event…

March experiment—day fourteen— Up before the alarm, with my mind too full of typography to postpone the opening ritual. Did I really think I could write and design a point-of-purchase promotion for “Share the Road” and circulate it among the Commissioners before 9 am? Not really. Didn’t think. Just set to work, to short-circuit the doubt.

To just begin, and trust the habit of creation.

“Finished is better than perfect.” Spoken inside without fear, these words from Gene Johnson—who may have swiped them—can be a certain kind of victory for me today.

Tonight’s Kirov concert was a lesson in contrasts. Tchaikovsky’s D major Violin Concerto with Mikhail Simonyan, followed by the Shostakovich 10th. Who wouldn’t find delight in the former? But, if you appreciate a brand of music decidedly in the “spooky” vein, you might prefer the latter.

Today’s sight bite— A carpet of emerald clippings under a sculpted yew—c-l-i-c-k—and the rusted tines of a familiar rake.

Tomorrow— Halfway through the experiment, it’s time to ratchet up my focus in the studio, and to lead a strategic discussion with local cyclists later in the day…

March experiment—day thirteen— Today’s dramatic change in weather makes me realize I got just what I wished for. Hmmm—perhaps, while I’m on a roll…

A few interesting things happened today. I was happy to get back from the gym in time to catch Junger’s interview on C-SPAN, and it made for some good breakfast viewing. Although I’ve broken my habit of watching early morning television, this was a worthwhile aberration. I share with him a special concern for the Afghan people that goes back to the 80s, when friends and I met with Mujahideen representatives during their stay in Dayton. I can’t like a journalist as much as I like Junger unless I trust that person’s instincts, and for some reason I completely trust this guy to get exactly the right take on whatever he observes. So now I’ll have to go find a copy of “Vanity Fair.” This afternoon I had a crucial discussion with Wilma at the Community Arts Center about raising my profile as an artist, and her advice may prove invaluable. The most stimulating thing is how much it coincides with some of the suggestions and encouragement I’ve gotten from David. A daunting transition, to be sure, but one that I must initiate in the near term. Stay tuned.

Today’s sight bite— Flags snapping on the Salvation Army pole against a field of midday blue—c-l-i-c-k—the kind of pure, deep shade that invigorates my soul.

Tomorrow— Conference call with KBBC Commissioners, trip to the courthouse to pick up my “Share the Road” license plate, and an evening of Russian music…

March experiment—day twelve— This dismal weather is starting to get to me. I’d rather be forced to wear a heavy coat and gloves, if it would get me a blue sky. Continued to use my time matrix to chip away at projects, not all of them money-makers. Took the equine-packaging job from sketches to electronics this afternoon and that’s an important step. After five o’clock, I tried to finish cleaning up the front yard, but it started to rain. Didn’t that happen yesterday? Tonight I sat down again with “FLIGHT, Volume Two.” This collection doesn’t seem as awesome to me as Volume One, but I’m enjoying it immensely. That’s just the way it is with sequels, I guess. I can’t help but observe how much some of these artists have been affected by the drawings of Bill Watterson. Reminds me of when I look at political cartoons and realize that an entire generation of editorial artists have been influenced by Mike Peters and Jeff MacNelly.

Today’s sight bite— Sky like a canopy of yellow-grey bruises—c-l-i-c-k—with a tree swaying the way a nervous man shifts his weight from one leg to another.

Tomorrow— Wake up to the stationery bike and another gym workout (try to catch
Sebastian Junger on “Washington Journal”), and then get in some billable time before the Salvation Army executive committee meets…

March experiment—day eleven— The log entries have become more mundane, given the emphasis on my time management experiment, and it must mean I’m thinking less about this journal. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. First things first. I suppose I could abandon the cyclic notes and post when the mood suits me, like other bloggers, but the daily ritual is important to me. Ritual is sovereign.

Today’s sight bite— A gun-barrel-grey vault above, smudged by Dawn’s pink thumb—c-l-i-c-k—as my blurred front tire dodges reflective puddles on the pavement below.

Tomorrow— Weekday regimen put to the test once more, to be gradually internalized as habit…

March experiment—day ten— Tackled the lopsided landscaping in front of the Town House porch (between thundershowers) for most of the day until it was time for our trip to Richmond. We had a pleasurable “first-date observation” at the Punjab, and then attended the St. Mark’s annual theatrical performance—my sister Joan’s last to organize there, before she moves on to new adventures.

Today’s sight bites— Pre-teen waiters with slabs of cake—c-l-i-c-k—greasepainted faces caught in a spotlight crossfire—c-l-i-c-k—button-breasted singing maidens—c-l-i-c-k—a wide-mouth “Master Colin”—c-l-i-c-k—and the joyful expression of a mentor surrounded by her proud students.

Tomorrow— Early morning ride to Mack’s cabin, as well as a few stubborn issues in the studio to solve…

March experiment—day nine— An unremarkable yet productive Friday, with the new schedule beginning to feel like routine.

Today’s sight bite— The rolling pastures of Garrard County along Highway 52—c-l-i-c-k—ready to burst into verdant hues with a few more days of full sun.

Tomorrow— Solid day of activity, a delayed celebration, and my sister’s secret garden…

March experiment—day eight— Don’t have much graphic product to show for myself today, but my time sensitivity, efficiency, and focus were on track. Much of the day involved helping sort out the high-res PDF problems associated with software upgrades. I made decent progress on modifying the project schedule for IFP, plus I had enough energy to swim a 450-yard sprint in 8:05 (a personal record), run the vacuum cleaner, and make a get-well card for my Uncle Joe, too. Had my first look at Paul’s unfinished painting for the Brass Band Festival Poster. The letter I sent yesterday appeared on the Advocate’s opinion page, which helps my effort to organize the local bike-ped task force. Before the library closed I treated myself with “FLIGHT, Volume Two.”

Today’s sight bite— A colorful, plate-size Greek salad that Dana made me for lunch—c-l-i-c-k—a joy for the eye and a treat for the tummy.

Tomorrow— 28 years since my sweetheart and I went out on our first date…

March experiment—day seven— Wrote a letter to the editor on bike-ped issues before 7 am, and then spent 30 minutes on the spinning bike before lifting weights. I felt like I was in the groove when I hit the studio on schedule after breakfast. Finished my part of the Forever Spring Farm revisions by afternoon, but my energy level began to slide downhill from there. Bizarre correspondence from a Kentucky Farm Bureau adjuster didn’t help matters. Developing the kind of 17-hour stamina I’m shooting for is going to take some time, but I didn’t expect that I could build it in a week.

Today’s sight bite— The bleak array of mobile homes behind the 10th Planet—c-l-i-c-k—thoroughly washed of color under the grim overcast sky.

Tomorrow— Paperwork for the “graybeard prospector” until a midday attempt at a 450-yard PR…

March experiment—day six— Transitioning back into the experiment was like getting on an escalator without stumbling, but I made satisfying progress on retooling a Website to target the thoroughbred industry.
Website Makeover™ Man lives!

Dana wanted to go to the Polish Chamber Orchestra concert with James Galway, so I decided to skip the Clark’s Run meeting, and it was the right thing to do. Last night I watched Ying xiong, which Brendan had recommended to me quite some time ago. Leave it to me to see cross currents and common threads among Yimou Zhang, Perlman, Jet Li, Mozart, and the little Irish flute virtuoso. Mastery is mastery—whatever the source or context.

Today’s sight bite— Sir Jimmy on the Newlin Hall stage with his golden flute—c-l-i-c-k—but that doesn’t get it without the audio track.

Tomorrow— Back at full pace. Sleep deprivation be damned…

March experiment—day five— The momentum of the time study was interrupted by yesterday’s lack of focus. It wasn’t difficult to see why the pace of the schedule had broken down by this morning. I’ve learned something simple but important about the effect of a weekend, and that relaxation must be purposeful, but without a loss of inertia. In other words, proper rest must be seen as an integral part of the drill itself, like the 15-minute mile I deliberately inserted into a 12- or 14-mile training run. Rest is for replenishing energy, and to rebuild one’s reserves—not, in this case, to dissipate creative force or sacrifice mental clarity.

Unfortunately, yesterday ended with as much laziness as it began. I tend to watch the Oscars for the “moments,” rare as they are, but was surprised to discover how much I enjoyed Stewart’s quips. He just might be as good as I’ve been told, but we don’t get Comedy Central. I got a kick out of his Heston joke. That montage of suggestive western clips is a treasure (none of us will probably ever get to see it again), and that hunk shot from “The Big Country” was quite possibly a major sway for Wyler on the Judah Ben-Hur casting decision. And, of course, Chuck also made it into the “epics” montage with his classic clenched-teeth charioteer shot, a role he admits he probably wouldn’t have gotten if he hadn’t accepted the supporting part in the ‘58 picture with Peck. I demand as many years as possible before the time of sadness when Chuck makes the “In Memoriam” reel. Douglas and Newman are about the only other true “legends” left. (You thought I was going to say Mickey Rooney, didn’t you?) Well, maybe Sophia Loren and Lauren Bacall, too…and did you watch how Bacall salvaged that TelePrompTer mishap with quintessential poise? Now that’s a classy pro!

Today’s sight bite— The almost-but-not-quite-amusing, embarrassingly unskilled knot—c-l-i-c-k—that I tied to secure in the trunk the oversize box containing our faulty monitor.

Tomorrow— A full resumption of the experiment, and a meeting with the CREEC volunteers…

Slept just fine on the cabin’s big leather sofa, but I awoke with a complete mental storyboard of action choreography for the climax of a gangster movie that doesn’t even exist.

All the more reason to re-calibrate my imagination when I get back to the prescribed studio discipline tomorrow…

March experiment—day three— Hard work interrupted by hard work of a different sort, and then spending an evening with the rifle competitors, securing an assignment to produce the match program.

Today’s sight bites— Jay’s grin as he tossed hibernating crawdads at me—c-l-i-c-k—Michelle and her massive bullfrog—c-l-i-c-k—“pack-mule Seth,” lugging 300 feet of pipe up the hollow—c-l-i-c-k—Joan dressed in Joe’s big “Willy suit” with rolled up cuffs—c-l-i-c-k—David and his Martini-Henry carbine—c-l-i-c-k—with too many images from the day cycling behind my eyelids as I drift off to sleep.

Tomorrow— Quiet time at Simpson Knob, and a break from my regimen…

March experiment—day two— Wow, this is not easy. I didn’t expect to feel sleep deprived by the second day. Had a good conversation with Joey Sullivan this afternoon, but his dad is having a hard time of it. I didn’t want to think too much about my Uncle Joe, so I forced myself to complete the Ayoroa proposal. Things are starting to move forward already, and that’s what we need, because I’m giving up failure for Lent. I might be giving up sanity as well, but I guess it’s too early to tell.

Today’s sight bite— Cold gray stadium steps at dawn, with legs and arms pumping all the way to the top, where I could gaze briefly again at the butternut dirt of the infield—c-l-i-c-k—before turning to descend for another explosive climb.

Tomorrow— “Operation Watershed” with Clan, and a meeting with the competitive riflemen in Lebanon…

March experiment—day one— So far, the difficult thing is not adhering to the rigorous timetable, but accommodating the inevitable interruptions by phone, email, and doorbell.

Today’s sight bite— Swimming underwater to the middle of the the empty pool, pausing to see the entire deep end bathed bright blue in midday skylight beams—c-l-i-c-k—and not wanting to surface.

Tomorrow— Refinements to the schedule, and a finished proposal…

— Month of February workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-4; Run-4; Lift-9; Yoga-5

— David and I spent most of last Saturday at the big National Gun Day event in Louisville. Anyone who has never attended a gun show should go at least once to experience the reality behind the propaganda and stereotypical distortions. The technology, heritage, craftsmanship, and diversity of enthusiasts must be appreciated firsthand. David said it was like visiting the Smithsonian and being able to pick things up without white gloves. I was amazed at one point to look down at a table of rifles and know they were collectively worth more than our Town House. I listened to an old man from New York discuss rare, obsolete cartridge cases. I listened to a guy with braided ponytail, tattoos and Harley shirt discuss arcane Victorian sporting calibers. I listened to a man who recreates authentic Kentucky flintlocks discuss the qualitative difference between his skill level and the work of the contemporary masters of the art form. I listened to a metal engraver contrast his techniques with the kind of wood engraving that I’ve done for printmaking. That’s a sampling of what I’m talking about.

— After the show, David and I drove to Campbellsville to meet up with the ladies. Our destination—Yorkshire Estate. The intent—to observe our first “Open That Bottle Night.” Janet and Jerome were splendid hosts, and the night couldn’t have been more delightful. We began with cheese, olives, and fruit, plus a Chilean Chardonnay, while an Australian Shiraz and a Washington State Cabernet awaited dinnertime in decanters. Using some of my Lake Huron fillets, Janet and Jerome prepared Salmon en Papillote, as Dana seared medallions of venison in balsamic sauce. Along with that, Janet provided some type of individual potato custard delicacies that were simply fantastic. Everything about the candlelight supper was magical, and it only got better when Lee served cookies and chocolate-bourbon cake with an exquisite desert wine brought back from South Africa. If we ever do it again, the evening will be difficult to top, but do it again we shall. Remember—the last Saturday in February is Open That Bottle Night…

— Sunday was another relaxing stay at Simpson Knob. After rediscovering the childhood fun of playing Yahtzee, Dana fixed a delicious broccoli omelette for the four of us and then worked on a food-club order with Lee while David showed me the rifle course he designed for the upcoming match he’s hosting. I shot well enough to think I might be capable of competing, but knew that I’d be spending that day with Clan instead, as a participant in “Operation Watershed.” Something has transpired so gradiently over the past couple years that I can’t say exactly when these exceptional people became two of our closest friends, but it just happened, and it’s gratifying to know that such deep relationships can develop at every stage of life.

— Well, I’m excited about getting a new client today—me. I woke up this morning dedicated to the idea of redesigning everything to do with how we position our design practice. Over the next 30 days I intend to conduct a radical experiment in time management that includes transforming our company for a new chapter of success. The rapid changes in software development and desktop publishing, along with the increasing perception of graphic design as a commodity service, has made it a necessity. Long overdue perhaps, but I’m not in the mood to look in the rearview mirror. I’m prepared to put all I’ve learned to the test, subjecting our own business to the same kind of analytical scrutiny that we apply to any other client. The timing is right. Stay tuned…

V & S