Uncle John’s Log & Co.

March Exercise V —day twenty-seven— Nothing could feel finer than the cool air under a warm sun, deep in conversation with my grandson, applying the seasonal mindset to some scheduled yard work. Yesterday I paused in my town walk to chat with the nurseryman from Harrodsburg who provided the library’s new landscaping. We shared our pleasure at the coming of spring, and I silently contemplated how fortunate he was to spend most of his time out of doors. Today I savored a few hours in his lifestyle and then logged a 16-miler on Hakkoch in the late light. It’s a wonder to be part of everything coming fully alive again, and this realization proves that all my fathers still exist within me.

Today’s sight bite— Tulip shoots, lilac buds, and jonquil brigades —c-l-i-c-k— March is going out like a lamb!

Previously on M-Ex— Endeavor to persevere . . . (3/27/07)

Tomorrow— More than one Sunday can possibly accommodate . . .

March Exercise V —day twenty-four— I was burnt toast after my 22-miler tonight, making me painfully conscious of my sedentary occupation. But it’s March, when my bicycle legs are rudely punished until I can take 30 miles in stride, with a couple of knobs thrown in for good measure.

Today’s sight bite— Was that the familiar green and brown bag? —c-l-i-c-k— In the ditch? There’s another one! —c-l-i-c-k— My package design for livestock feed appearing as a huge item of roadside litter reminds me that I have chosen to spend much of my life creating trivial ephemera.

Previously on M-Ex— Conservation of energy—more secrets are revealed through focused awareness. (3/24/06)

Tomorrow— Dinosaurs!

March Exercise V —day twenty-one— After Dana fixed Marty and me a delicious pancake breakfast, I set out on Hakkoch for my first bike workout of the year. Near the edge of town I stopped at Jay and Glenda’s for a surprise inspection before heading out to Chrisman Lane, one of my favorite riding roads. I was thinking about the recent death of Winston and that Walie was the only Yorkie remaining in the Clan. She’ll turn twelve on April Fool’s Day. I rode about 15.5 miles and was ready to arrive home. I’ve got some serious work to do if I hope to complete a 100-miler in May. Joan and Mombo stopped by as part of their ongoing mattress research. I heard Joan tell Walie she knew what it felt like to be a widow.

Today’s scent bite— The glorious agricultural stench of a spreader’s output —s-n-i-f-f— with pastoral recollections of Studebakers, Browns, and Silknetters all rolled into one.

Previously on M-Ex— This is about as heavily into the experiment as one can get. (3/21/06)

Tomorrow— Pedal to the metal…

March Exercise V —day eleven— Trying to get back in my lane, I made it to the pool for a mile swim, but never felt like myself. I took part as an uneasy judge in the Band Festival poster contest, fearing that the new approach could prove an embarrassment for devotees of the event. Afterwards, Dana and I tested out the new restaurant in town called Mallards, which failed to impress.

Today’s sight bite— By the sidewalk’s edge, a lifeless juvenile in repose —c-l-i-c-k— the intensity of his fresh male plumage impossible to overlook.

Previously on M-Ex— Experiencing the “golden age” of St. Mark’s. (3/11/06)

Tomorrow— Facing a loaded checklist at the end of the work week…

March Exercise V —day three— This time around, the discipline is less about the rigor of the clock and more about concentration and dispatch. My “vision homework” has become a key daily ritual, but hasn’t locked onto a consistent time yet. I have an alarm hopelessly stuck in my cell phone that nobody can figure out how to cancel, so I think that 11:30 am will likely become the scheduled time. Departure for a lap swim was upon me before I realized the morning was spent, and on my walk to Centre I saw an omen of oncoming spring, high up in my favorite tree at McDowell Park. In the afternoon I learned about a new advertising assignment in the “Jacob Series” for our bank client. Later, at the gathering of cycling advocates, I failed again to conceal my frustration concerning local officials. I’ve lost the fire for all the bureaucratic orchestration that I once found so intriguing.

Today’s sight bite— A treetop speckled with crows against a cotton-ball sky —c-l-i-c-k— and their robust “haw-haw” as the creatures salute me with a propitious fly-by.

Previously on M-Ex— Coffee-shop consultation with a friend no longer so close at hand. (3/3/07)

Tomorrow— Library time in my chambre serein…

March Exercise V —day one— After a fantastic weekend packed with friendship, today began with a mood of glum dissatisfaction because the initial cadence of my regimen left something to be desired. By afternoon my attitude had shifted, and I found myself in a mode more characteristic of my best 5k-run experiences: start out with a comfortable pace and successfully pick up speed. In the running world it’s called negative splits. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

Today’s sight bite— Concentric rings of vivid vessels suspended overhead —c-l-i-c-k— with each globe of pure color reflecting the terrazzo compass at my feet.

Previously on M-Ex— With a few finishing touches, “Spellbound By Brass” is complete. (3/1/07)

Tomorrow— Seventh vision therapy session…

— Year of 2009 workout totals: Swim-43; Bike-38; Run-1; Lift-3; Pilates-16; Lupus Drill-3

— Back spasms and muscle injuries shut down my gym time early in the year, and I never could recapture the momentum. Eventually had to curtail the Pilates work, too, but assigned myself an improved swimming and cycling pattern. Running played no part in the annual effort. My new hope is that 2010 will take on a more balanced character, otherwise my long-held exercise habit could turn into a flab-it.

— An even more regular fitness regimen is on my list of New Year’s resolutions. I also need to:

•   Partake of the great writers—
     Conrad, Hugo, Dickens, plus more Hemingway, Kipling, Tolstoy
•   Gain new levels of skill with hand, eye, and mind—
     Brush Stroke, Graver Line, Digital Effect, Options Trade, Chess Move
•   Spend more time in the knobs with Marty
•   Take Dana to the west coast — somehow . . .

— Another year has passed, and it is ever gratifying to create things which satisfy one’s own artistic urge, while promoting commercial activity that helps provide abundance and livelihoods to others. But, as always, it is never pleasant to continually justify the role of the design professional in an environment of declining visual literacy, where everyone can stand their uninformed, subjective ground to affirm the inappropriate, or declare that mediocrity is “good enough.”

— An unexpected viral assault has threatened my long-anticipated year-end participation in Louisville, but a counter-barrage of immune system boosters is under way, and, so far, I successfully made it to the city intact for the wonderful rehearsal dinner last night. The final day of the year is a bedridden affair, with fifteen back-to-back Twilight Zone episodes to suitably infuse the atmosphere with surreality.

To Caitlan and Kyle— Happy New Year!

V & S

Morning on Moscoe Channel | Barefoot’s Resort | Les Cheneaux

• Marty and I are back from the first vacation the two of us have taken together. We coaxed unhappy Ned all the way to Tipp City on the Saturday before Labor Day and left for Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with Bill the following day. I’ve made many entries about Barefoot’s Resort in this log. I don’t intend to rerun the details, but you know how much I find to love about that setting. Add to that many satisfying experiences with my grandson from this most recent trip.

• My weather report is great— warm and sunny during the day, cool and refreshing at night. The clear sky displayed an awesome starscape, as the breeze laid down almost every night before a brilliant moonrise over the reflecting channel. I wish I could make a similarly positive report about the fishing. Caught enough yellow perch and northern pike to provide a nice taste, but no cooler was packed with frozen fish for the return home. Our only attempt at lake salmon was a strikeout. The era of bountiful Chinook is gone, everyone seems to agree. Nevertheless, Marty had his chance to pilot the Sylvan as I worked the familiar stern down-riggers with Foot, my generous friend.

• Glad to say that I got in my hoped-for endurance swimming. People told me the water was cold when we first arrived, but I soon learned that their perspective was completely different from mine. I didn’t need a wet suit for the first few days. Never having been in the water on a busy holiday, I did make Bill nervous on Monday when I paused twice on my channel crossing to accommodate boat traffic. He was having unpleasant visions of “collecting body parts.” I pledged to be more cautious for the rest of our stay. Sure, I want to keep fit, but I can’t help but think that part of why I like certain activities is that it puts me in touch with a younger, more naive self — especially that little guy who would put a rubber knife in his teeth after watching a Weissmuller flick and take off at full speed across the backyard (without shirt, shoes, or a care in the world).

• I have made this retreat with Bill during most Septembers since 1993. Although Dana and I traveled to the destination with Marty years before, it was different to share the experience on the eve of his turning 18. It was a unique opportunity. Another exceptional part of our getaway was the first visit of my old high-school chum Greg B, who I haven’t seen since 1980. A highly successful pediatrician in Columbus, Ohio, Greg lost the mate of his life last year after her long battle with cancer. We had several profound conversations—true moments of soul contact—that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Nothing has ever put me in greater appreciation of my own partnership of love, nor helped me glimpse the sorrow of losing a spouse—not even my dear sister’s double devastation. It was a rare, man-to-man insight that I simply can’t put into words.

• A time apart with good friends, and with a lad who holds an exclusive place in my heart. A time suspended, close to the earth and the heavens. On the water, in the water, under the water. Gazing into the wood flames, with the sun’s heat still pulsing across my skin, and the countless points of fire shifting overhead. I shall remember. I shall return.

— photo by Clay Jackson. Visit Clay’s Daze today!

• While swimming my weekly mile today, I had to make an effort to quiet the mental static and focus on a steady rhythm of breath and body. I can sometimes lose count of the laps doing that, but there’s so much going on right now that I needed the meditative pause. After the workout I took advantage of the sunny afternoon to shoot some photos around campus for use in an illustration that suddenly became a rush job when I worked on everything else. During the walk home I realized it was time to “come up for air” with this blog and to jot down some overdue notes.

• News came today that Pat R’s shocking, month-long cascade of medical emergencies had come to a lamentable end. My heart goes out to all the Greystonians and their extended family. Our ability to make the trip to Ohio for the burial is complicated by another round of hospitalization for Bruce. He went to Lexington Friday night with more GI bleeding, but it looks like he finally found a team at St. Joe that wants a solution, and to get him back on track for a kidney transplant. Dana stayed with him through the inevitable admission ordeal while I took part in the weekend activities at Blue Bank, including some major attention being given to Spring Hollow and the area around the pond, plus a milestone Clan Council (first on Skype), as well as a long Sunday session for me that nearly completes the stone work on the Hall flue. One more day of labor should do it, and then I move on to the finish carpentry. How many years ago did I begin this project?

• I was a bit surprised that Mombo’s face was healing so fast, although she is still experiencing a visual disassociation between her eyes. I urged her to demand some type of sight rehab or therapeutic exercises from the ophthalmologist. She’s tempted to close or block off one eye to see clearly, and that’s probably the opposite of what she needs in order to regain her eye coordination. Actually, I’m a poor one to judge or make suggestions, since I’ve continued for years to put off a proper examination for my own eye condition.

• The closest I can come to imagining what it would be like to have some type of severe short-term memory problem is what I experience when trying to remember my dreams. No matter how vivid and realistic the images I have when awakening, under most circumstances they will be quickly gone—and irretrievable—if I don’t write them down or make a sketch. Think what it would be like if one was that way with actual waking events. Making notes to oneself would be the only way to function. (Makes me think of my Uncle Art.) It’s true that I do remember some dreams, but they tend to be the ones that reoccur, or the ones I wrote down and periodically read over. There I go again. Didn’t I promise myself I would not use this space to talk about dreams?

Unconditional Surrender
John Andrew Dixon
Mixed media collage, 2009
Collection of Nancy and Charles Martindale

In a fashion more defined than recent memory serves, life unfolds with a stark blend of pleasing familiarity and jarring novelty. I take refuge in the naturally comfortable—collage, reading, friendship, bicycling, my cherished clan—while confronting strange and daunting challenges that offer few points of easy reference. The latter include new projects that require me to produce radio advertising, materials for patent registration, and a client-managed Website that relies on code I haven’t learned to speak. It’s helpful to remind myself that everything I’ve ever done—and a bit of it rather well—began with the unfamiliar. At times it was stimulating or even exhilarating, and at other times it was intimidating or actually frightening. I realize now that the difference was rooted in nothing but my own attitude toward the unknown.

March exercise—day thirty-one— As I finished my morning walk on this final day of what has become the most experimental month of the year for me, I faced a blazing sunrise and could appreciate the logic of peoples who worshiped our nearest star. My feelings transcended the beauty of a cloudless sky and the refreshing air. Perhaps the ritual exercise inevitably falls short of ambitions, but there is no reason not to look at all that I have in my life and be incredibly grateful. My faith, health, optimism, and creative drive have been restored, and that’s really what it’s all about.

Today’s sight bite— Saddlebreds and Angus (is that an ostrich or an emu?) —c-l-i-c-k— a sleek, reliable two-wheeler is the best way I’ve found to experience the Kentucky countryside.

Tomorrow— Springtime…

March exercise—day twenty-six— One of those days in the studio that was picked to its bones by loose ends and small, unforeseen developments. I learned that my Highway District machinations are bearing fruit (low-hanging, perhaps, with the nicer plums still out of reach). Marlene’s class was canceled, but I got the key to the room and did a solitary workout—my peculiar combination of Pilates, Yoga, and Aikido—following it up with some power-walk laps around the track. Old Hoosier ran off and sent Dana and me into the night with flashlights. We found him crossing the street a couple blocks away.

Today’s sight bite— The heavyset lady in her sweat-suit, sprinting up the stadium steps with an intrinsic athleticism —c-l-i-c-k— clearly submerged in her isolated determination to regain something lost.

Tomorrow— We begin again…

March exercise—day twenty-four— My thoughts were with Marty today and his college entrance examination. He’s making a conscious choice to seek higher education. For me it was just a given. I’ve been spending a considerable amount of studio time designing graphics for organic pork promotion, although I need to find a way to balance my hours with a wider array of projects. I tend to do this—focus intently on a single creative task, which I enjoy, but if I can become more agile with my versatility, I believe I’ll find more ongoing satisfaction with what I accomplish on a weekly basis. On another subject, I feel like I’m getting back in the groove with the Pilates class. Back troubles took a big chunk out of my exercise program this winter, and I’m ready to put that into the past.

Today’s sight bite— Fingers of rose extend above the downtown view-scape —c-l-i-c-k— as I break the crest of a hill at sunrise and direct my walk toward home.

Tomorrow— Rain clouds and more dental work…

March exercise—day twenty-three— With an effort to minding the waistline, I tried to swim laps during my lunch hour, forgetting that Centre’s spring break closes the pool, but the forgiving propinquity of campus facilities enabled me to log a decent track workout instead. This might be the last day of fair weather for awhile, and, if the maxim proves true, we can expect March to go out like the proverbial lion this season. I’d better complete my topiary assignment in the front yard before the rain arrives.

Today’s sight bite— A Bradford pear tree in full bloom —c-l-i-c-k— glorious to the eye, in spite of its undesirable arboricultural reputation.

Tomorrow— Dental work…

March exercise—day twenty-two— Dan W gave a talk at Shared Silence about his “50 Marathons in 50 States” achievement. We don’t meet at Mack’s cabin during this incarnation of the gathering, but Dana and I did go out to the Jackson farm later. After lunch with Marty, we helped clear the trails of ice-storm damage. Mack’s son is using the cabin as temporary living quarters, but there’s hope among some that the group will eventually return to the site for our twice-monthly meditation and discussion. When we got home, it was time to trim the overgrown shrubs along the driveway, which I probably wouldn’t have tackled on my own today, except for Dana’s effective role as “honcho.”

Today’s sight bite— Two familiar friends with chainsaws —c-l-i-c-k— attacking a snarled barricade of trunks and limbs.

Tomorrow— Back to the Mac…

March exercise—day eighteen— My contacts in the Transportation Cabinet invited me to make myself at home in the Planning Division for much of today, so I had an usual taste of what it might be like to experience the kind of day I’d have if I worked in the state capital. I got back to Danville in time for a 20-mile bike outing, which made for a solid day of “all things bicycle.”

Today’s sight bite— Dark birds at full wingspan —c-l-i-c-k— riding the updrafts against the entire Frankfort skyline.

Tomorrow— Back in the studio…

March exercise—day seventeen— From a walk at daybreak to my street-front work at dusk, today was as close to an ideal cycle as I am likely to achieve during this annual re-examination of conscious behavior. A disciplined, productive day of creative activity (organic pork branding), professional networking (gift shop consignments), and physical fitness (Dana’s first Pilates workout) fulfilled all the expectations of the M-X, including the need to internally defuse an unexpected, emotion-laden challenge that in the past might have thrown me out of balance for at least the remainder of the day.

Today’s sight bite— The dough men and assorted pastry makers dressed in rumpled white —c-l-i-c-k— visible from the Main Street window before dawn, arched intently over flour-dusted surfaces.

Tomorrow— A team-building mission to Frankfort…

March exercise—day sixteen— E. Tolle states, “When you don’t cover up the world with words and labels, a sense of the miraculous returns to your life.” But aren’t words what I do here? He adds, “A depth returns to your life. Things regain their newness, their freshness. And the greatest miracle is the experiencing of your essential self as prior to any words, thoughts, mental labels, and images.” Today I’m wondering what purpose it serves to make these daily entries. I suppose that’s why I refrained from log activity during my March-X one year ago, but I will continue the practice for the duration.

Today’s sight bite— Foaming swirls of analogous blues —c-l-i-c-k— as I break the surface with lungs aflame to visually freeze the digital characters.

Tomorrow— Inertia of the mature exercise…

March exercise—day ten— I was pleased to find that new priorities were finally coming into alignment today. Summer-like weather and a multi-day forecast of showers compelled us to spend some of the afternoon raking and seeding the backyard. My lower back felt stable enough for me to participate in most of Marlene’s Pilates class and to put in some additional time at the gym. After 40 minutes of spinning, I felt like I hadn’t been on a bike in a year. Afterwards, Dana and I shared a dinner by candlelight to celebrate the 31st anniversary of our original date, discussing our recollections of life in the 70s. Her chicken prepared in sherry and sour cream was superb, and I selected a Belgian white brew to complement.

Today’s sight bite— The aged, once-spreading tree on campus that inspired my composition for “Boss’s Bucket” —c-l-i-c-k— now forever rendered by the ice storm a triple amputee.

Tomorrow— An ambitious checklist and my first appointment with the pool in 14 days…

March exercise—day nine— Where did the day go? Still trying to achieve the level of focus that makes this exercise worthwhile. Probably the most interesting conversation of the day was with the Lieutenant. We brainstormed about having my friend Eric come up from Franklin for a concert early this summer. From the time Eric created “Cooler” in 1999, I hoped for another CD from him with the same innovative blend of mellow reverence and uplifting energy. I was delighted to learn about “The Jazz in Me,” and invited Dan to check out the new disc. I think this music is perfect for a fundraising concert or community outreach event. I’ve probably written about Eric here before. Dana arranged for him to play at my 50th birthday party. His jazzy tunes are laid back but buoyant, and his improvisational gifts have clearly reached new heights.

Today’s sight bite— A balding Walie, tugging at the leash —c-l-i-c-k— as if she’d forgotten everything I taught her about the proper way to take a neighborhood stroll.

Tomorrow— Perhaps enough physical progress to attempt a Pilates session…

March exercise—day eight— Dadbo would have relished seizing a weekend like this for a constructive jump on spring, and now, as I type this entry after dark, that pleasant bubble of exotic air is being shoved aside by severe weather. Dana and I enjoyed our morning walk past the marina, out to the abandoned island resort, but we shared a desire to have hiked in a setting which might’ve done better justice to the unseasonably warm day. Nevertheless, the steep hills gave our hearts an overdue workout, in addition to the panoramic views of Herrington Lake.

Today’s sight bite— The squirrel, positioned under our damaged porch eave —c-l-i-c-k— balanced on a rotting slat like a springboard diver.

Tomorrow— Volunteer consultations kick off a week of diverse projects…

“Death is at all times solemn, but never so much so as at sea. A man dies on shore; his body remains with this friends, but when a man falls overboard at sea and is lost, there is a suddenness in the event, and a difficulty in realizing it, which give to it an air of awful mystery.”

—Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
Two Years Before the Mast
 

We navigate in a sea of souls…
    Grim reality has a way of sweeping aside all the self-absorbing trivialities that clog a journal like this, but rather than ask myself — “What’s the point of it all?” — why not scratch ahead with a continued search for meaning? Maybe for me. Maybe for you. Maybe, maybe not. If I stopped believing it worth a try, this would be my final post.
    Not long after the bulk of our community had shaken off the surprise of our shared crisis, most of us were shocked to learn that the life of a respected local leader had been tragically lost. If his name was added to the list of Kentucky’s weather-related deaths, it is unknown to me, but what is clear is that he was found in a vacant house where he’d been working with a generator. The coroner said the circumstances were consistent with carbon monoxide poisoning. It was a mild day. He wasn’t attempting to heat the building. People speculated that the wind blew the door shut while he was operating a sump pump. The precise circumstances remain a puzzle. I didn’t know anyone active in town affairs that didn’t consider him a friend. He covered the leadership bases—from business to social service. He made multiple trips to the Gulf Coast as a volunteer to help with the Katrina response. He was highly intelligent, compassionate, and knew how to do almost anything. The Chamber of Commerce named him “outstanding citizen” over fifteen years ago, but he never slowed down. He took to his grave an unmatched knowledge of the County’s industrial development history and infrastructure. He was the last of a breed of quiet men who had made a truly significant difference. The abrupt vacancy was painfully felt. I spent two hours in line to offer his family a few words that wouldn’t sound trite. I’m not sure that I succeeded.
    I didn’t attend the funeral the next day, but paid a visit with my friend Danny to the Abbey of Gethsemani. It was my first time there. It was raining and in many respects would have been considered a dismal day, but others were also making the same pilgrimage, and I found a sense of peace in the setting that defied personal understanding. God is everywhere, but keenly present in some places, and that suggests to me the appropriate use of the word “sacred.” We also stopped at the Saint Rose church in Springfield to meet Father Murray, and I had my first look at the extraordinary Bavarian-style windows. Father Murray is extraordinary, too. At age 87, he looked to me to be in his mid 70s. He told me, “Well, I’ve always gotten a lot of exercise.” He pointed out 70-year-old trees damaged in the ice storm that he helped plant when he was a novice. The seminary was moved east long ago and the associated buildings demolished, but the church remains, a splendid structure full of artistic treasures, including a 13-figure Last Supper and a 12-figure Pentecost, all wood carved in the Italian fashion. Danny wanted to show me the Convent near Loretto and to check on any damage to the outdoor Way of Sorrows. It was evident that huge limbs from the tall grove of surrounding trees had crashed all about, but the only casualty was The Crucifixion. We marveled that each figure of Our Lady had escaped harm, but that “Christ took the hit.”
    Several days before, Joan had an opportunity to meet Danny when he joined Joan, Dana, and me at the Hub for coffee after one of Hayley’s high-scoring victories. It was another meaningful, in-depth discussion about heavy subjects. Joan thought she might have intruded and skewed the conversation. Nothing could be further from the truth. Danny told be later he was pleased to meet her and said that my sister was a “strong soul.” He is correct, of course, but I’ve already known that for some time. Danny is quite a soul himself. The word I would use is “magnanimous.” Yesterday he brought over his pole saw and tied himself to my chimney so he could deal with the big branches that were still jack-knifed on our rooftop. One of his earliest memories is watching his father top trees as a lumberjack in the high Sierras. He seems to have the right tool for everything and knows how to use them safely. I can’t say how much I appreciate that in two hours of work together, his generous favor of skill has saved me hundreds of dollars in tree-service fees (or maybe more, from what I’ve heard around town about what people have been charged since the storm).
    So, with power now restored for Mombo and Clan Valley and the last of my storm-related headaches resolved, can I say that circumstances have returned to normal? “Not hardly,” as the expression goes. I think I’m battling the same virus that put Bruce back in the hospital yesterday with pneumonia. We’re sleeping on the floor because we made the blunder of giving away our old mattress before FedEx delivered the complete replacement set (and, wouldn’t you know it, they lost part of it). I have no complaints. Things are picking up in the studio, and I have a fun project to work on with KK & K. It’s time to put the Crash Bucket away and begin preparing for the March Exercise.

— Year of 2008 workout totals: Swim-21; Bike-47; Run-21; Lift-19; Yoga-10; Pilates-29; Lupus Drill-18

— If I have doubts about whether physical conditioning should be a top priority for me this year, all I have to do is look at my workout totals from the past twelve months and that should be enough to convince me a new diligence about fitness demands a high place on my list of New Year’s resolutions. I shall also add:

•   An improved habit of creative goal setting for artistic output.
•   More robust business development efforts into new markets.
•   Periodic infusions of nature, including more time in the woods.
•   Steady progress toward the 30th anniversary of our studio.

from Scott-Martin Krosofsky’s The Book of Customs

— Joan sent me a link for some interesting Venetian woodcuts that I’ve never seen before. In spite of my ongoing investigation into wood engraving, I’ve yet to try my hand at an authentic woodcut, which is executed on the plank side of the block, in contrast to the end grain. Pete gave me some hemlock slabs from the Broadwing sawmill that I intend to use for my first effort, but I need to find an effective way to plane them down.

— Got a nice reply to our Christmas e-card from my cousin, Dr. Dave. For a pleasant look at a branch of our extended Clan, visit It’s a Sullivan Thing. A cool site for a cool family.

— Australia! I feel sorry for anybody who doesn’t get to see this movie before it departs the wide-screen cinema. Can they still make a full-length motion picture with the same scope and spirit as the classic epics? I say they can, and they did!

— Uncle Bob’s “Farm Woman: 1936” earned third place this year in NC’s poetry contest for seniors. It was also published in Western North Carolina Woman. According to our poet, “Such times may be more relevant than we would like, I’m afraid.” I shouldn’t publish it here, but you must read it. Let me know and I’ll send it to you…

V & S

— Month of November workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-2; Run-2; Lift-2; Yoga-0; Pilates-2; Lupus Drill-3

— Here it is, the tail end of December, without my making a full entry in well over a month. I suppose I haven’t had much to say, or maybe I’ve been bogged down in the same economic pessimism which seems to grip the country (and who needs to hear more of that?). Well, enough of procrastination. Let’s take an overdue look at some recent personal developments of a more positive nature:

— Bridget at Maker’s Mark® announced that The Mark of Great Art Website now lists the final disposition of our summer collection. Pursuit of Happiness is hanging at Cantaloupe (35 Charlotte Road, London) and The Mark of Stardom ended up at Toys (Calle Infanta Isabel, Madrid). I received good exposure in a feature about the London event, which was also used to raise money that provides visual art projects for people with mild-to-profound learning difficulties. You might agree that the article is not that well written, but who’s complaining? Those Brits don’t understand real English anyway, yuhknowhattahmean?

— I completed my newest wood engraving and returned to Larkspur for a day of printing on Gray’s antique Vandercook, a marvelous piece of equipment to which I’m blessed to be given access. No. 11 at the Paddock is derived from a digital I took at Keeneland during the recent Fall Meet. I also took the opportunity to finally create a numbered edition of Waiting for Joe, my first block under Wesley’s guidance. Needless to say, this low-res image is a poor representation of the actual engraving—

— Although my hope was to devise “The Original Joe’s Christmas Box” for our CAC’s holiday exhibition, I did manage to deliver Cosmic Cusp, a fusion of previous year-end compositions. I made the deadline in response to Dana’s suggestion, and the resulting piece is a stronger effect than the individual mixed-media components. That’s synergy for you!

— Sara Jane stopped by today to take her first look at my latest portrait commission, and it’s no exaggeration to report that she’s delighted with the result. Three Girlfriends is a departure for me. I haven’t worked with acrylics in ages, but I chose the medium for what I thought would be an appropriate interpretation of her original photograph. The picture of ladies posing dramatically on a beach suggested a series of translucent glazes to capture the luminosity of the morning surf, and lent itself to the back-lighting of the figures. I’m pleased that it worked out as well as it did, but I had the notion that if I patiently built up layers of thin color and milky washes on a smooth panel, I could avoid a brush-stroke technique (not my strong suit) and rely on years of experience handling liquid effects. I put in some necessary details with colored pencil, but the sealed acrylic surface made it more like “rubbing” tones and highlights, as opposed to typical drawing. In the final analysis, it proved to be a very interesting exploration.

— EKU’s Chitauqua Lecture Series Juried Art Exhibition (wow, that’s long) has once again favored one of my collage artworks. The upcoming “Freedom” show will include Fifteenth Cosmosaic, and I’m looking forward to the opening reception on January 23rd. As most people familiar with my work already understand, this series of spontaneous “mystical” compositions originated with graduation presents for my nieces and nephews. I’ve never been certain about how it might appeal to a public audience, but perhaps this is a good indicator.

— Three years ago I wrote about Paula, who lost a bout with cancer too early in life. During that time, the KBBC worked to find a way to put to good use the proceeds from the sale of the “Share the Road” specialty license plate. On December 11th, we finally had our public announcement of The Paula Nye Memorial Education Grants for bicyclist and pedestrian safety. The endorsement of our effort by the Transportation Cabinet and current administration was not a foregone inevitability, but when they realized: A) Thousands of plate buyers had made a voluntary contribution to help make Kentucky roadways friendlier to non-motorized travel; B) The Commission’s intent to independently administer the allocation of funds would cost the state nothing; and C) The grant program was a fitting tribute to an employee who had worked to diligently promote highway accommodations for bicyclists and pedestrians … How could they not support our concept? To their credit, the Lieutenant Governor and the Mayor of Lexington were at the Horse Park for our kick-off event. Strangely enough, David D, the public information professional who had shown enthusiasm for our project from the beginning and had orchestrated the media splash, died suddenly at work a couple weeks before the scheduled announcement, and that made the event even more tinged with emotion than anyone could have expected.

— I came back to the Blue Bank Farm this month with a muzzleloader and tried my best to close the season with some venison. Didn’t spy a single white-tail, but had to hear about Greystone’s Astrea dragging in a ruined ten-pointer that somebody failed to successfully track after the shot. Such was my luck as a hunter this time around. I haven’t enjoyed being in the woods this much for goodness knows how long, plus I had the rare opportunity to hike the knobs with brother Fron, as we marked boundary lines and plotted a mutual strategy for selective logging throughout our holdings. I have no good excuse for not connecting my soul with the land on a more regular basis. I allow myself to forget how much I will always love those acres. Folly!

— There is much room for gratitude and optimism in the coming cycle. Nevertheless, there are many significant challenges for all of us to face in 2009. I know a guy as old as me who has been retired from GM for eight years. He’s a nice man, but did he genuinely work hard enough during 20 years of employment to deserve a big income and benefits from the age of 48 until he dies? That could easily be twice the number of years he put in as a worker, or, if he takes care of himself, even more. Now, it’s one thing to dodge Taliban rockets in God-cursed terrain. In my book those brave Americans have earned a more-than-decent pension. But assembling ugly, inefficient cars that most thoughtful people would rather not drive? That’s “a horse of a different color.” Our nation would’ve surely crashed decades ago if all corporations had been managed as poorly as the Detroit auto companies. And they want to continue juicing the taxpayers to avoid restructuring under bankruptcy? Now, that’s what I call audacity.

V & S

Pearallel Universe
John Andrew Dixon
Mixed media collage
25 x 21 inches, 2007
Collection of Saint Joseph Health System

— Month of October workout totals: Swim-3; Bike-3; Run-1; Lift-1; Yoga-0; Pilates-3; Lupus Drills-1

To the heart of the matter
— I believe the latest recommendation for adequate exercise is 30 minutes a day, 4-5 days a week. Although my workouts are longer than that, the totals are falling short by a long shot. Can I get the daily habit back to preserve my health?

More library deprivation
— It’s been nearly a year since the library hauled itself off to the edge of town, and, although I knew it would be a bit of a hardship, I didn’t expect this level of low-grade suffering. Man, had I ever come to rely on that nearby environment for a periodic dose of mind-restoring tranquility—the kind that is unique to a truly fine reading room. I’m thoroughly impressed with the design for the new wing, but Karl told me recently that construction was three-to-four months behind schedule, so now I have no choice except to hang on until spring. I must have that extraordinary place available out my front door again or I shall go mad!

Sweet Owen County
— On Halloween I made my return to Larkspur for another printmaking retreat. It was a special time with creative people whose friendship I value more each year. An exhibition at the vineyards was mounted to honor Wesley’s work, and I was invited to include four of my wood engravings, since he’s had such a profound influence on my development in that medium. I sold one of my remaining proofs of Waiting for Joe, in addition to an unframed print of Penn’s Store, the latter to a collector interested in acquiring examples of my final edition numbers. Now all I have to do is print more limited editions of blocks that I’ve only proofed so far. I managed to complete a small block of a tiger, but was unable to finish during the workshop my larger, more complex engraving of a paddock scene I shot the previous week at Keeneland. It’s my first attempt at engraving a human figure, plus I had to include a horse and a stone wall, too, of course. What was I thinking? When I get it done, I’ll spend a day in Gray’s shop and print another block or two as well. Dana and Lee came up to the winery on Friday night and got to meet Wes and hear Juanita perform. Make no mistake about it—one can develop significant friendships at every stage of life.

Feeling a trifle exposed
— County employees demolished the little retail cottage next door to “put up a parking lot,” and it’s as if somebody yanked my gym shorts down. Whatever meager backyard ambiance we possessed is now lost. Instead, we have more noise, urban light pollution, and litter. I remember the year we held an open house and backyard gathering for Brendan’s graduation from Centre. If I’m not mistaken, that was the summer Carol and Bob came to the Brass Band Festival and spent time with us in the backyard. There are circumstances when a setting is at its peak and one rarely knows it at the time.

Custom built for a guy like me
— In a perfect world, Gene Wolfe might have contacted me to ask, “What type of a story idea would you like for me to develop that would please your singular peculiarities?” He didn’t have to. He wrote Pirate Freedom for his own reasons, and I became the grateful beneficiary without ever having to request “an absorbing tale of spiritual contemplation, time travel, and the golden age of piracy along the Spanish Main.” Unbelievable!

Dr. Quest’s pear-a-power ray
— I finally sold the mixed media piece I called Pearallel Universe. It was completed around the time of the original “March Experiment,” was part of my KOSMOS show, and made it out to New Mexico and back for the SLMM anniversary (but not without sustaining some damage to the frame, which the Albuquerque Museum people were kind enough to repair). It was purchased last week by Saint Joseph Health System to hang at its new ambulatory care center in Jessamine County. A hearty tip o’ the hat to LexArts!

My annual knob stalk
— My pals David and Greg are the sort of knowledgeable gun aficionados that know a bargain when they see one, so I was stunned when they gave me the gift of a 50-caliber muzzleloading rifle they just couldn’t pass up. When I recovered from the shock of their generosity, they taught me how to safely operate it—just in time for me to test it out during our recent Clan gathering, which happened to be the lawful period for using primitive weapons to hunt white-tails. I came as close to the moment of truth as I would that weekend when I cocked the hammer early Sunday morning, as three does crossed Robin Lick and made their way across a hay field, on the garden side of the Irrylynn gully. But something spooked the lead deer about 75 yards from my spot beside a round bale—my scent, the motion of my aim, or perhaps the pattern in my profile. She snorted an alert, danced a bit, and took off in the opposite direction, never presenting me an acceptable shot. As I say, that was the nearest I came to using my muzzleloader while I was in the Valley. Three weeks later I found myself back at Simpson Knob with my Marlin 1894S carbine, full of optimism for a freezer harvest, but I never observed a single deer in the woods, and neither of my two friends had the opportunity for a shot. This gives me a couple more options for success—this weekend at Blue Bank with the 44-Rem. magnum, and another December time slot with the Hawken-style that I’ve decided to name “Girty.” As much as I want to bring home some venison this year, there is nothing like having an excuse to be in the wild knob-lands at daybreak, whatever the outcome.

You’ll never walk alone
— Originally, our Hurray Day events were planned to coincide with the fifteenth anniversary of Dadbo’s passing, but we still wanted to have a family commemoration, even though the quarterly gathering was moved to the previous weekend. I was preoccupied with my tedious progress on the stone flue in the Hall, but I knew Joan was thinking about what to do, which is so typical of her desire to properly plan this kind of thing. We were listening to some old music and the tribute wasn’t on my mind when I suggested she experience Judy Garland’s stirring rendition of the inspirational song from Carousel. I’d never heard that version before, and Joan was out of the room when the CD track played. Had it been up to me, I don’t think I would’ve made the connection, but she realized it would be the perfect accompaniment to our outdoor service. I enjoyed spending some “palsy time” with my “big sis” for those two days, and it reminded me of how distinctive a life-long bond we share.

V & S

— Month of September workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-3; Run-2; Lift-0; Yoga-1; Pilates-2; Lupus Drills-0

— With my bicycle miles winding down, I’m adapting again to the Pilates routine, and the pool is beginning to feel like the best place to be for a satisfying workout. Tradesmen were replacing the lane blocks today, and the slender gal on duty was trying to tell me to avoid splashing their work area, but her voice was so soft I could barely hear her, even when she was standing close by. These students are technically lifeguards, but I wonder how often they look up from their assigned reading to see if a fiftysomething guy like me is on the bottom with a cardiac spazz-out. I’ve seen some fairly hefty dudes swimming laps in there, too, but I shouldn’t criticize, since I was a pool guard back in the day. One time I did have to pull a guy to the side who outweighed me, but it’s not like making a “save” in a pool is honest-to-goodness lifeguard work, compared to a lake or surf monitor. That would be like the difference between a first responder at a warehouse blaze and a homeowner putting out a grass fire with his garden hose.

— The deli on Fourth Street has taken a new turn and become the most interesting hangout in town. (I haven’t been within walking distance of a tap with Stella since living in Bruxelles as a callow youth.) Dana and I were down there having a chat with Geri about software upgrades, and I found myself talking like a proponent of “vintage systems.” Perhaps that’s because I’ve been making do with applications that suit my fluency, but are clearly a few notches off the cutting edge. Sometimes new means better, but not necessarily; it’s become a risky practice to make that assumption. Our friend Pat, an experienced user, and Victoria’s brother, a novice, are both living through a nightmare with their Vista operating system upgrades. People are talking about how Bob Staake illustrated a recent New Yorker cover using Photoshop version 3 on a Mac running OS7. Hey, we had our nearly 40-year-old Hobart refurbished this summer, and nobody will convince us that it isn’t far superior to anything built today. Old is the new New!

— My story about meeting Johnny Crawford was recently added to Ginia’s tribute site. She’s a very nice person. I like her quotation from Mark Twain: “A cat that sits on a hot stove, will not sit on a hot stove again. He will not sit on a cold one either.” Also found a connection at her MySpace page that Joan will get a kick out of: The all new DonGrady.com!

— I had fun creating a piece for the Library’s recent call for artwork. The opening reception for the resulting exhibit was tonight, and Nancy M won the best of show with her outstanding felt composition. Julius F was the juror, and he selected items for merit awards and honorable mention. He didn’t recognize my entry, but the collage, Cascade of Knowledge, was among those works library representatives chose for purchase and display in the new facility. This pleases me, because I produced it with the library setting in mind, hoping it would appeal to them.

— Bruce had a great letter to the editor in the paper the other day. Maybe his best so far.

— We never removed the old-fashioned TV antennas from our rooftop. I always liked the period look they gave to the dwelling, and besides, they were virtually inaccessible. Yesterday I climbed up there and installed an amplifier and new line for digital signals, without falling or electrocuting myself. By george it worked, just in time to watch the pie maker and the presidential debate.

— We always heard stories about how local county government had been interested in bidding for our downtown building on the 1988 auction day we won the Town House. That was nearly 20 years ago, and, for most of that time, we didn’t think much about it or suspect there was any continued interest. And then, with a flurry of new judicial centers being funded over the past few years, we began to hear rumors—too many to suit me—so I sought confirmation or denial from the Judge Executive. He admitted that the option to take our lot by condemnation to create the footprint for a court-system expansion had been discussed in his presence. Although he would not pledge to oppose the idea on my behalf, he declared that it was not his preferred course of action. I let him know how strongly I felt about my desire to keep our home and business location intact, here on historic West Broadway. Recently I shared the information at our annual neighborhood “Block Party.” With the current fiscal constraints on state government and the backlash against perceived extravagances in some of the judicial centers recently constructed, the mood may be slightly in our favor, but it’s difficult to shove the unpleasant possibility from the back of my mind, and the uncertainty works against the necessary enthusiasm to undertake improvement projects and the confidence to continue investing in our property.

V & S

Well, I got in an overdue pool workout today, hoping it would soothe the backache I’ve had since laboring over two big collage artworks last week. I’m in need of Jerome’s practiced hands, and, lacking them, I’m almost ready to consider the therapeutic course my friend Yu Saito prescribed for a painful back—Kentucky bourbon plus a night on a hard floor.

After three units of blood, doctors at UK are talking to Bruce about removing his spleen, which may be clotted and causing his periodic bleeding problem. Needless to say, he isn’t too pleased with the situation, the spleen being an organ one would not of one’s own volition ordinarily give up. Otherwise, he seems to be in much better spirits than I would be if I were in his position. Before our visit, Dana and I took some time for a delicious meal at Natasha’s downtown. We had a table next to pianist Ko Tagawa, and his “smooth sounds” colored a relaxing dinner that may be as close to a 26th anniversary observation as we are likely to have.

— Month of August workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-5; Run-0; Lift-0; Yoga-3; Pilates-0; Lupus Drills-0

— Working around the clock like a mad artist doesn’t seem to lend itself well to a regular fitness program, but I remain committed to finding the proper balance to boost creative output and stay in shape at the same time. If it’s warm enough to enter the waters of Lake Huron this month, I’ll find out if I can handle the challenge within my current level of conditioning. Even though mentally I still consider myself a triathlete, being a competent knob cyclist is a bit different than covering open water at a quarter-mile a pop. We shall see…

— Lynn Johnston has just brought her nearly 30-year body of work to an extraordinary culmination. I would think almost any type of cartoonist will hold her in high regard for this accomplishment, not to mention all those who came to enjoy the human tapestry she wove so skillfully and humorously over time. If you’ve ever appreciated her narrative talents, compassionate perceptions, or mastery of the pen, check out her letter to followers of FBorFW. She sets the new standard for how to pull this off with remarkable class.

— The latest news is that Josh and his unit were deployed to Louisiana, having left this morning, and that the Hornsby family evacuated to Alabama to ride out the storm. Reportedly, Gustav sideswiped the coastal region instead of maintaining a dreaded frontal assault, but the great worry now is the magnitude of rainfall and the burden it will put on post-Katrina infrastructure.

— Susan begins a series of 35 breast cancer treatments tomorrow and is meeting the rigor with faith, courage, and acquired knowledge. She’s covered much ground since her surgery seven weeks ago, and is facing her future with a positive outlook. I shared some of my thoughts with her about the opportunity for uncompromised transformation, but feel like I failed miserably to communicate the essence of my personal perspective. I’ve never been successful at imparting through words my philosophy of total wellness. I like to think I’ve been slightly better at providing an example of healthy living, but I wonder about that sometimes, too. More importantly, my love and daily prayers are with our sister and her loyal companion in “the good life.”

V & S

— Month of July workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-8; Run-2; Lift-1; Yoga-0; Pilates-0; Lupus Drills-0

— In spite of my best cross-training intentions, the season has shaped up to be a one-note story: bicycling. Hmm… a summer without swimming? —preposterous! This means I have only one month to prepare for the challenging waters of the Les Cheneaux.

— For the first time since my appointment as a member of the Kentucky Bicycle and Bikeway Commission, our advisory group was granted a consultation with the Secretary of the Transportation Cabinet. Although we prepared for the meeting with some trepidation about how we would be “handled,” the session went about as well as could be hoped for, given the agency’s history of resistance to bicyclist accommodations. People with long experience in Frankfort view it as a “government within a government,” and our own relations with the Cabinet has been strained, due to our independent spirit, frank recommendations, and candor with the constituencies we are mandated to represent. On top of that, the key position of Bicycle/Pedestrian Coordinator has been vacant since January, and we’ve made no secret of our opposition to any plan to downgrade the job description. I was encouraged by the Secretary’s open-minded attitude and the clear indication that this Administration is beginning to view bicycling as a meaningful component of their strategic priorities for economic competitiveness, health improvement, and tourism promotion. I must admit that, after last year’s election, I’ve struggled to remain hopeful about Kentucky pulling itself out of the bottom ten percent of bicycle friendly states, but on Tuesday I became more optimistic about these new folks running state government. I don’t agree with them on many issues, but they just might be coming around on something close to my heart.

— Ely Dixon is back from Africa, of course, but I’ve decided to leave her blog among my links. Cousin Dan is sharing this Web video summarizing her time in Tanzania. He warns, “The video quality is spotty at times.”

— The only time I witnessed Jon Brasfield in performance, I think I was more focused on waiting for a Brendan bongo solo that never transpired. Later, I came to appreciate Jon’s abilities as a musician, especially after listening to Ghost Town for the first time. Over the past week, my regard for him and his mate Amanda has gone totally off the scale. If you haven’t been following The Saga of Baby Jude, you’ve been missing what has to be one of the most phenomenal feats of blogger poise ever.

V & S

— Month of June workout totals: Swim-1; Bike-7; Run-2; Lift-1; Yoga-0; Pilates-0; Lupus Drills-1

Just when I stopped believing in the impossible mission…
— Jim Phelps lives!

And so, finally, I became an artist when I grew up…
— The Brady portrait commission is done. There were many times during the course of the work when I questioned what I’d gotten myself into. I’ve always told myself I wouldn’t try to paint a likeness without a quality reference image. An accomplished portrait artist once advised me to avoid subjects who were deceased. On top of breaking those rules, I faced creating a full-color image from a black and white photo. “All’s well that ends well,” as they say, so eventually the creative torment and restless nights will be forgotten—until I get myself into the next pickle. Hey, I should look at it another way: If I can solve this puzzler and survive to reflect on it, the next project should prove to be easier. Sounds good in theory, but the important thing is that the recipient is thrilled with the result, and she called me again this morning to say so. Well, isn’t that what creating art is all about?

Major adventures in a time-machine collage…
— Dana gave this title to my wild dream after I described it to her this morning. Forgive me for describing it to you, too. After a crazy silent-movie chase through the restaurant zone with brother Fron, I found myself on a train with my Aunt Sis when she was young. It appeared to be some sort of troop train. As a soldier who looked like Gary Cooper told stories, I saw a uniformed, twenty-year-old Eddie (Dadbo) come into the passenger car dragging his canvas suitcase, with well-oiled, carefully combed hair and a grim expression. When I tried to “rewind” the sequence, I couldn’t control the timing, so the scene before me changed to a relaxed, fifty-something Dadbo packing for a business trip, but he wasn’t able to see me. I started to wake up, and, naturally, I couldn’t reverse the progression before the entire thing was lost.

Back to normal (whatever that is)…
— Bruce is home again after his latest ordeal. By and by, he seems to be in less pain and is able to climb stairs without difficulty. Joan and Caitlan stopped to wish him well on their way back from Hawaii. Dana and I were heading out the door, to hear the Johnny Crawford Vintage Dance Band at Pioneer Playhouse. Because we were all hosed down and ready for a night out, they took some digitals of us on the front porch steps, and I hope we get the pictures soon, so I can make a better entry here about a satisfying, memorable performance.

(Happy Birthday, Uncle Sam!)

V & S

— Month of May workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-5; Run-1; Lift-2; Yoga-0; Pilates-1; Lupus Drills-2

— When a boy makes his uncertain journey toward manhood, he will never forget the famous beauties that adorned his itinerary:
Charmian Carr — Connie Stevens — Donna Mills — Peggy Fleming
Diana Hyland — France Nuyen — Madlyn Rhue — Barbara Bain
Janet Leigh — Barbara Hershey — Julie Christie — Natalie Wood

— After nearly a month away from the weights, I found myself back in the gym yesterday, hoping to get my fitness regimen into balance. Hearing a Roberta Flack tune always gets me thinking of college days. Back in 1971, one of my earliest journal entries was about taking a date to see Play Misty For Me. The experience forever solidified my appreciation of Clint Eastwood as a cool dude, and I now regard that motion picture as the beginning of how he used his Dirty Harry appeal to negotiate with Warner Brothers a series of opportunities that would enable him to became one of the most extraordinary filmmakers of our time. If, like me, you have any libertarian leanings at all, you really have to admire a guy like Clint. He’s never been afraid to express his disdain for political correctness or those who shamelessly traffic in it.

— Not that there’s any reason for you to remember, but last summer I daydreamed in this space about my hope that a boyhood idol would eventually return to Central Kentucky (not as a mere beau, but as a performer). Needless to say, I’m thrilled to learn that my wish is granted. Johnny Crawford is best known for playing Mark McCain on “The Rifleman” from 1958 to 1963. Unlike today, it was a time when the quality of the typical child actor in Hollywood would raise the mental question, “Whose powerful uncle pulled strings with the producer?” Crawford was one of a handful of young television performers—Patty Duke, Ron Howard, Tim Considine, Kurt Russell—that were cast for their obvious talent. Throughout his run on the popular series, he not only held his own impressively with star Chuck Connors, but opposite a constellation of entertainment heavyweights, including Dennis Hopper, John Carradine, Martin Landau, Kevin McCarthy, Sammy Davis Jr., Buddy Hackett, Warren Oates, and Michael Landon. Trite as it sounds—those were the days. The tube was small, but the icons were huge.

— The passing of Jim McKay makes me think of so many entertaining Saturday afternoons in the 60s, as we experienced the infancy of sports-casting through his distinctive coverage. A decade later, any of us who were watching in 1976 will always remember his marathon reporting from Munich, when his place in the history of television was secured. McKay and the late Roone Arlidge surely redefined the medium during those years, and, ever since, I’ve been as equally fascinated by the technology and professionalism of sports broadcasting as I’ve been with what happens before the cameras in a venue of competition. So far, 2008 has been a great year for upsets—beginning with an exciting Super Bowl, and on through another horse racing saga that culminated dramatically today. Zito has firmly established himself as the preeminent crusher of Triple Crown dreams—a class act, in contrast to the trainer of Big Brown, who, with his arrogant posturing, disqualified himself for much sympathy. Instead of partying with Trump in Manhattan, he’ll be, as Marty put it, “just another sweaty guy in a horse stall” tonight. On the other hand, one has to feel sorrow for the Kent D family and be concerned for the talented stallion himself. Yes, there’s only one compound phrase for it: The thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat. Let the summer games begin!

V & S

— Month of April workout totals: Swim-2; Bike-6; Run-3; Lift-4; Yoga-0; Pilates-7; Lupus Drills-4

— Most of us own something that we can use to save money and have fun at the same time. When we do, we feel more in touch with the sights, sounds, and smells of our natural environment. It helps us relieve stress, manage weight, and add years to our life. It easily bridges the age gap within our families. It enables us to more directly perceive our urban context. Sound too good to be true? Not at all. You know what I’m talking about. It’s your bicycle. May is here—National Bike Month. Don’t forget to wear your helmet.

— Speaking of bikes, the League of American Bicyclists has named Portland, Oregon a Bicycle Friendly Community at the Platinum level. Portland is the first large city in the United States to gain the designation and joins Davis, California as the only other platinum community in the nation. Combine that news with the side effects of a cross-country solo car trip, and perhaps Brendan will reconsider his conversion to motorist.

— When the idea first came up about attending the “Get Motivated!” business seminar on my birthday, consent was based on the opportunity to personally experience a Colin Powell address. Indeed, the Secretary/General was amazing, but the entire day was far more worthwhile than I was expecting. I found myself equally enthralled with both substance and technique from a heavyweight line-up of highly successful leaders. Here are tidbits selected from my sheaf of scribbles:

 
     “Listen to your dreams, not your doubts.” —Robert Schuller
     “Understand your foundation of passion.” —Krish Dhanam
     “Don’t just learn something new, exploit it.” —Phil Town
     “Focus on an outcome as if it’s already happened.” —Peter Lowe
     “Every yes is hidden behind at least one no.” —Tom Hopkins
     “Transformations begin at home.” —Colin Powell

— Back to thinking about dual-wheelers . . . After two years of presiding over meetings, I’ve stepped down as chair of B.I.K.E. and passed the baton to my friend Steve. It won’t surprise you to learn that I’ll continue to work for greater “bicycle friendliness” here and throughout Kentucky. My hope is that all who have supported my initiative will offer the same level of encouragement to Steve.

V & S

When Dana and I walked to campus for our midday workout, I claimed it as official “birthday weather.” It was sunny and warm, with just a touch of coolness in the breeze—perfect. I even asked the pool lady to unlock the patio door at the natatorium, just so I could go outside in my speedos for a bit and inaugurate the season. One must be dutiful in attending to these annual rituals. Bruce rode his bike in the afternoon, and we did some garage reorganizing together before the rain clouds blew in. He gave me an early gift of Gene Wolfe editions, since Dana and I intend to spend the day in Lexington tomorrow. Terie stopped by to hug her Pop. Later, the mayor called, and we had a long conversation about his efforts to establish a bicyclist/pedestrian committee for the city. Curious how some in the community choose to balk at such a straightforward idea. Three new art projects have just come my way, and I’m finally positioned to make the push to complete the Brady portrait, so there is much room for gratitude on the eve of my “exceeding the speed limit,” as a certain senior companion likes to characterize it.