Uncle John’s Log & Co.

I rode my mountain bike out to the cabin this morning for Shared Silence again. Dan W and I put in some saddle time afterwards, and it was a good workout. So now I’ve ridden almost 90 miles on knobby tires this spring in preparation for the road-bike season. I know, way behind schedule, but I’ve been convinced it was prudent this year to make sure my conditioning and balance were in better shape before I clipped into the pedals on “Teeka-Hindoh,” my Peugeot racer.

We had our Mother’s Day follow-up After Silence. I forgot to bring a picture of Mombo, probably because I was getting ready to leave on my bicycle. Obviously, when this idea of talking about our mothers came up, it never occurred to me that she might be in the hospital. When it was my turn, it was a bit difficult to get started, and I was nervous, but I didn’t choke up. It seemed like everyone else has extraordinary mothers, too—not perfect—but special. Not surprising, since these are some of the best people I’ve met in my life. Exceptional people usually have exceptional mothers.

I’m not in the business of comparing my siblings to each other, but more than once in recent years I’ve had the realization that the one person who reminds me most of my mom is my sister Jeanne. That, in combination with a recent conversation (about how much Jeanne has taken the lead in being there for Mombo over the past ten days), got me to thinking more about my kid sister—our “Pinkie.”

Growing up, “Little Jinny” was a kid sister, too. Both have keen perceptions and a deep faith. Jeanne almost matched her mom’s family of seven children. Like our mother, Jeanne is shy about her feelings when among others, reluctant to be critical, but quick with laughter, and nobody’s fool. She has devoted her life to her husband and family.

But Jeanne reminds me of our father, too. She carries many aspects of Dadbo’s temperament. Like him—and I’ll be brutally honest—she hasn’t always chosen the best way to manage her stress. She’s not alone in that. With Mombo’s heart condition, the evidence is now abundantly clear. Cardiovascular disease runs on both sides of our immediate heritage. Dadbo gave away so much of his magnanimous heart that, in the end, there weren’t enough beats left for himself. “Generous to a fault” is the expression. My little sis is similarly self-sacrificing, and it makes me love her so—but it worries me.

I’m also like that man I was named after. I worry about things.

Start riding a bike, too, Pinkie. I promise I’ll be there.

Back during the 70s when I worked in acrylics, I once made a painting called “Blur-Head.” It could be a symbol of my life in 2007. I try to compartmentalize, but everything is just shmooshed together, as each day tumbles into the next, filled with unmet requests and rapid-fire deadlines. I can’t complain. It’s a product of my own intent to be busy again.

Ian was in Danville for a spell, and we met him in the gallery at the Community Arts Center. The lad looks slim and trim, and I was glad to see him. He liked my show. He walked home with us and had a chance to say hello to Bruce before heading down to the farm. I may not get to see him again before he departs for a big island in the ocean. Be safe. Aloha.

I won’t say how long it’s been since I was on a bike that wasn’t meant to sit on a floor, but I finally joined friends for a Thursday night ride out past the Rick Dees estate. It was an incredible evening, although I gabbed so much I don’t think I fully appreciated being out there. That’s ok. It’s a start. I feel like I have to build my conditioning from scratch. How did that happen?

During the time I’ve been actively blogging—since January of 2005—it’s never been this much of a struggle to make a regular entry. Something about the little calendar in the other format helped prompt me, but it’s more than that. Blogging is effortless when you know what you think or feel. This spring I haven’t allowed the mind-time or heart-time to catch up with myself. Hopefully that will change as I adapt to this new rhythm of daily activity. Forgive me if my notes here become a bit “blurred.” If that’s the way my life is right now, perhaps I’ll have more to show for it than a journal. There’s a logic and purpose to what’s happening lately. My profile is being elevated on multiple fronts, all at the same time. I need to resist the tendency to seek validation by writing things in a log. On the other hand, life without introspection is an alien existence.

“Fate is a name for facts not yet passed under the fire of thought—for causes which are unpenetrated.” —Emerson

A new and satisfactory pattern will emerge.

— Month of April workout totals: DON’T EVEN ASK . . .

— Well, it’s May—Derby Day at that—and I had my best night’s sleep in weeks. I even dreamed about my old employer in Evanston, with a very pleasant, lucid conversation. I’m glad to be comfortably back in the blogiverse, and it hasn’t had anything to do with News Bruiser’s recent excommunication. It’s had everything to do with a wild convergence of commitments in April that shoved aside all activity but the most essential. I’m pleased to say I was able to fulfill each of my pledges: to lead the annual meeting of our five-county Salvation Army, to participate in the spring conclave of the Kentucky Bicycle and Bikeway Commission, to attend the quadrennial national conference of the Salvation Army in Dallas, and to mount my first solo art exhibition since 2002. Whew… Can you believe I pulled it all off?

— The experience in Dallas was, without a doubt, the most powerful package of consciousness-raising stimuli that I’ve had the privilege to absorb in many, many moons. An amazing line-up: Jerry Jones, Laura Bush, Rick Warren, Jim Collins, and Israel Gaither. Plus the many workshop sessions that astonished me with their solid informational excellence, including an opportunity to hear Stan Richards, a legend in the advertising world who would’ve been a prize key-noter at any professional gathering. He’s the creative mind behind the Army’s recent “Doing the Most Good” branding effort. On top of it all, we had the wonderful gift of time spent with good friends from Danville (nine of us were there), plus an exhilarating two days at the Anatole Hilton, which is like being inside a museum, because it has a world-class collection of Asian art distributed throughout the spacious complex (Reagan held the Republican National Convention there in 1984). And I haven’t even mentioned our evening at Texas Stadium: a picnic supper on the turf, lots of entertainment, and a chance to nose around an NFL locker room. Far too cool for a guy who can probably name less than a dozen pro football players. Eat your heart out, Marty… Oh, I forgot. You hate the Cowboys.

— Also wedged into last month was a particularly refreshing “Council Day” at the Valley. Both Terie and Bruce were there, and I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Makes me a bit prouder to be the namesake of the House of John. See you all at the next Clan gathering. Same time, same channel…

— After months of preparation, my exhibition at Danville’s Community Arts Center was hung and opened without any serious mishap. True, I had to abandon several items on my wish list, including a desire to display my first “Joe Box,” but, as usual, things worked out the way they’re supposed to, and the room was arranged with enough creations to satisfy my fondest anticipations. It was a delight to welcome lots of Clan and dear friends (plus many local poobahs were in attendance). Thanks to Bruce for his home-stretch assistance, and, of course, to my ”partner in all things,” who supported my preparatory effort for much of the year, and laid out a delicious spread of goodies outside the gallery on Thursday evening. Wow. This is not the end, but only the beginning of many more successful shows. Just take a look in my eyes. I can see the vision.

V & S

— I’ve been trying to think of an appropriate way to tell Ian that I’m proud of his new workout discipline and to offer my encouragement, but I haven’t thought of anything cool or clever to say to him yet. Well, in the meantime, maybe this will do.

— One of the byproducts of March is an almost hypersensitivity to the ingredient stimuli that influence my state of being for each particular day—whether or not I’ve exercised, what I’m currently reading, whether I’m on the uphill or downhill side of a deadline, how much restful sleep I had, what kind of a movie I might have watched the night before, whether I began the day with a Rosary, what style of artwork I’m in the middle of, whether or not my Macintosh is acting up, etc. Being more aware of how these things affect my mood and powers of concentration is good, right? I used to just let each day find its own pitch without much thought to this kind of assessment, but now I know I can counter-balance various influences with music, poetry, prayer, stretching, dietary adjustments, or just a quick floor romp with a Yorkie. Nevertheless, there are still certain kinds of creative tension that have a tendency to throw me off my game, but I’m “getting there.”

— My talk seemed to go well enough yesterday morning that Milton wants to schedule it again as a “rerun.” I don’t think that’s ever happened before, but it might have something to do with only two other people showing up.

— Easter was a long day, but it felt like it flew by much too fast. When I waited to pick up Bruce from the hospital, I sat in the car for a spell, listening to my tape of Heston reading from the New Testament. Bruce was ready to go, but they failed to order the wheelchair transport to the exit. Such a silly regulation. I can stand to be around hospitals, but I don’t like them. As it turned out, Bruce didn’t feel well enough for the ride down to the farm, so he stayed home. We stopped in Junction on the way, to get Terie and Marty, and the four of us spent the holiday afternoon with Clan. I drank too much coffee and ate too much food. Had a very nice discussion with Peat about her job as newspaper editor next year. She’s laying the groundwork this spring, which is smart, and will spend some time in Europe this summer—quite a few Clan Kiddoes are following in my footsteps with travel abroad during student years. I found out that Seth has committed to Bellarmine. Looks like Sam Morgan will go there, too, and he’ll run track. We saw pictures of “Baby Molina,” and I got the data to do numerology charts for her and Torrance. Later in the day, I watched Marty conduct battles on the PC with ROME: Total War, and we played on the PS2 together, too. Our best boxing bout was Sugar Ray R against Sugar Ray L. Marty has moved to primarily sports video games because they require more controller skill, plus he’s getting more interested in the world of sport overall, which is having a bit of a spill-over effect for me. I actually cared who won the green jacket.

V & S

— Month of March workout totals: Swim-3; Bike-3; Run-4; Lift-6; Yoga-8

— My body isn’t the same one I had ten years ago when I could run a 6:41 mile, but attention to physical fitness is the key to all my other areas of fitness. Lots of people talk to me about their desire to exercise more or to find the time to start again, and I tell them it’s “just a habit like anything else.” Motivation has its place, but for most regular exercisers like me, it’s just something we’ve learned to do by habit. If you don’t exercise, you’ve just learned to do that by habit instead, like the habit of not reading much or not flossing teeth. Replace an unwanted habit with a constructive one—easier said than done. As trite as it may sound, it usually comes down to the familiar Yoda quotation, “Do or do not. There is no try.”

— Naturally, I’m thinking about the March Experiment today. I recognized some time ago that it’s not really about breakthroughs in professional achievement. but rather about the consciousness of continuous personal awareness. That may sound like a particularly selfish pursuit—and it is. On the other hand, I’ve come to believe that control of self-awareness is at the foundation of sensitivity to others. Compassion is rooted in mastery over one’s emotional priorities. Perhaps some individuals are just born with a natural magnanimity. Since I wasn’t, I must take pains to find the necessary inner balance. Therefore—the exercise in March. Yes, I’m now considering making the practice an annual refresher.

— Mombo sends word that Joan, Caitlan, Janet, and Jerome have arrived safely in England, and Brendan met them at the airport. I hope he fixes them up with a blogging station, so we can get the latest news from London. Wow. When I think that it’s been almost 33 years since I was there, my eyes roll back in my head. I can’t imagine what it would be like to visit again. Many things would look the same (the museums and tourist sites), but other places are surely gone forever (those hip shops on King’s Road in Chelsea, etc.). Have fun, guys, and fashion your own memories!

— It’s April, my favorite time of year. Thinking of my family on holiday and having dinner tonight with my household has filled me with gratitude for wonderful things, especially with so many in my hometown mourning the senseless loss of Chiara Levin, a victim of wanton irresponsibility while visiting Boston last week. I am thankful for all the good fortune in my Clan, for my health, for the opportunity to live a creative, meaningful life in a decent community, for an extraordinary partner in all things, and for the Almighty who sustains me. I am truly blessed…

V & S

March experiment—day twenty-nine— In almost every race I’ve run, it’s been possible to find an extra bit of something at the finish. So for the next couple days I need to dig down like that and find “the means.” Since I relied heavily on the bean brew over the Indy weekend, and I can’t deal with cutting back now, the ’feine is along for the ride. I’ll try to keep him in the back seat. (How many metaphors am I sticking in the blender here? Sheesh!) Better wind this up, but not before reporting that I received a request from the editor of Arts Across Kentucky magazine, because she wants to consider using my painting, Spellbound by Brass, on the cover. That’s great news, but I’m wearing so many creative hats right now—collage artist, watercolorist, designer, printmaker, illustrator—that I need to be sure to keep it all straight when talking to people.

Today’s sight bite— A dingy gray sky the color of soap-dish scum resting on top of Norton Center—c-l-i-c-k— with its ordinarily rich terra cotta and butternut hues washed away by the dismal morning conditions.

Tomorrow— Let’s see how much vigor there still is in the experiment…

March experiment—day fifteen— I was able to take care of my physical fatigue with a good night’s sleep below an open window. I needed to find another way—perhaps not as foolproof—to deal with my mental weariness, and so we watched a DVD that Terie had recommended, Stranger than Fiction. It’s an exceptionally good motion picture and hits rather close to home for me. I’m feeling a bit disappointed about learning that another company is abandoning one of the well-recognized logos we designed in the 90s. On the other hand, I’m happy about Hayley’s honor. The director of our Community Arts Center abruptly resigned, so I’m concerned about how that will effect my scheduled one-man show in May. My dear friend Shirley C sent me an email today with news that her husband’s 48-year-old son died unexpectedly. It’s important for me to transcend these emotional cross-currents and maintain focus on the goals I’ve laid out for this month.

Today’s sight bite— Abstract patterns on the natatorium ceiling pass by—c-l-i-c-k—gliding, drifting, fading above my backstroke—as devoid of meaning as the non-thoughts in my mind.

Tomorrow— Bump the cadence, just like I’ve done when running negative splits in a 5,000-meter race…

March experiment—day ten— I had to battle with my “inner wimp” this morning to run five miles at daybreak. With as mild as it is outside, that should not have been necessary, and as soon as I was out the mud-room door I was grateful for the upper hand. It was just the first in a string of today’s reminders to myself about why I’m conducting this odd exercise in the first place. I revisited my piece for New Mexico and took on an ambitious compositional addition, inviting the risk that I might spoil the whole thing. That’s the sort of thing I do in March, but I want to become bold enough to do it all the time without even thinking about it. Inner wimp be damned—you don’t know what untapped capability I have! The decision put me behind schedule again, but I refuse to fret. No profit in it. The Strocks stopped by for lunch, and I loaned one of my dumbbells to Marty. Today is the twenty-ninth anniversary of our first date, so I’m taking Dana to hear Dawn Osborn perform tonight at the new Woody’s in Danville.

Today’s sight bite— Dried paint and pencil marks on a flat surface—c-l-i-c-k—the illusion of a pear results from coordination of mind, eye, hand—and will.

Tomorrow— Spring forward an hour, share the silence, and embrace the checklist…

March experiment—day eight— I have a steady momentum now. On paper it looks like I’m ahead of schedule, but the schedule may not reflect the proper pace. We’ll see before long. If I do need to bump up my stride a notch, I shouldn’t do it too early in the race.

Today’s sight bite— The full volume of clear, undisturbed water, aglow with midday’s penetrating beams—c-l-i-c-k—viewed from beneath the pool surface, my fins propelling me forward, feeling like an anonymous demigod of the deep in search of a mischievous mermaid or two.

Tomorrow— Rotary Pancake Fry and the completion of my entry for the national SLMM exhibition…

March experiment—day three— I awoke before the alarm, and I figured that was a good omen, but then I saw the full moon setting in the west, and it was awesomely huge, maybe the biggest moon I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what the heck that means, but I’m glad I was up early enough to view it, and then I ran four miles with my chum Mort, talking about the local bike initiative, politics, leadership, business development and the market jitters. It was great to start my day with a friend, and to close it down with one, too. I had another classic coffee-shop consultation with Danny this evening, bringing back a few pearls for my ongoing artistic investigations, and understanding better that the most effective way to infuse meaning into one’s creative output is to seek truth in the contemplative side of the equation.

Today’s sight bite— The enormous lunar disk—c-l-i-c-k—magnified above the blue-over-black horizon like a telephoto backdrop.

Tomorrow— Life’s teacher is where we spend our time…

— Month of February workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-2; Run-1; Lift-2; Yoga-0

— It was one of those days. A client rejects a journal cover illustration because she doesn’t understand my idea. Word arrives that I’ve been accepted as a full member of the Layerist Society, with eligibility for a national exhibition at the University of New Mexico. Do I drop my plan to redo the Band Festival painting at a larger size and accept my so-called “study” as the version to publish?

— Brendan’s Anacrusis stories have been quite good lately, on the eve of his departure for England, and I got a kick out of an obscure allusion to Benedict’s 9 that may or may not have been intentional, (but it doesn’t matter to me; I still enjoy thinking about what “The Mutants” could have become if Heroes hadn’t killed it, execution-style).

— A Mombonian Correction! She tells me that my entry of February 12 was in error, because she would not have dared go into that St. Henry pipe after a storm. “Don’t you know how scared of water I am?” she scolded me. Yeah, but I thought that was the reason why… Well, it’s how I’ve remembered the story all these years. My goof. I challenged her to set the record straight in her own blog, but she hasn’t done it yet. According to her, if she had actually tried the crazy act I described, she never would’ve made it to the end of the long tunnel alive, and I wouldn’t even exist today to botch her childhood exploits. Or maybe I would be the proud son of a legendary stunt-woman and, having followed in her footsteps, live on the beach in Malibu!

— After his examination, Jerome informed Dana that her knee was not injured as seriously as first suspected. Great news. Coincidentally, her rejuvenation diet is perfectly timed for the second of my March experiments.

V & S

— Month of January workout totals: Swim-7; Bike-1; Run-3; Lift-1; Yoga-0

— It looks like Mother Nature took a chain-saw to Florida’s midsection overnight. I need to find out if any of the damaged areas are where we have family. I hope not. Here in Central Kentucky we have our first blanket of snow for 2007. No Rotary Club meeting today. The schedule is tied to Danville Schools, which are closed. I’m going to have to keep an eye on the weather for a few days. The national football holiday is coming up this weekend and that’s when we do our afternoon Super Bowl Sunday mountain-bike “ride around the block” in Forkland. Twenty miles, four knobs, and plenty of time to ponder our own sanity (or lack thereof). It looks to be slippery and a bit on the frigid side. The moment of truth comes after the first climb (Elk Cave Knob), and a rider must decide whether to opt for the 11-mile short route or go for the full deal. I’ve been known to go either direction, depending on how numb my sense of self-preservation has become at this point in the ride.

— For many years, my Clan had a tradition of gathering as a “planning committee” in January. It didn’t make sense in one way, because it was basically the same people who would ordinarily attend a regular Clan Council, but the mood was a bit more “visionary,” and that made it a special annual event. It started out as my idea and I’d always chair the meeting. Back in the 80s we’d sometimes hold it at the homes of various householders, rather than at the farm. This past Sunday we put that era behind us and moved forward into a new one that begins with Mombo’s Trust. Our desire for a more “corporate” structure with a solid legal foundation has been a long-standing family goal. It goes back to the formation of the Clan as we know it. It goes back to a time before the planning meeting. All things must change. Congratulations to the Clan, but let’s hope we can occasionally slip back into that old practice of sharing our dreams.

— There’s street smart, and then there’s street smart. It depends on which streets we’re talking about (right?), and when it comes to Josh, we’re talking about Baghdad. I inquired on Sunday about whether he’s heard anything about possible orders to return, but he just shook his head. He was recently out in Kansas, where he reportedly spent his days waging video war games from a comfortable hotel room. He’s also been asked to spend time with other soldiers on the eve of their overseas deployment, and if I know Josh, he won’t be sugarcoating what kind of attitude he thinks it takes to get the job done and make it home. I wonder at times to what degree our forces find it necessary to blur lines that the rest of us think are always morally hard-edged. I had a talk with Marty about Iraq not too long ago and I posed the question, “Does success in warfare require doing evil?” His reply: “GrandyJohn, that’s the whole point. We can’t. We’re Americans.” Damn good answer.

V & S

During my early six-miler yesterday morning, I couldn’t help but brag on my niece to the other runners. Boyle’s Friday-night win over Lincoln was a huge upset, and, even though the opposing team played poorly in many respects, it was an extraordinary thing how, at a point in the basketball game when her team could have resigned themselves to a loss, Hayley took a leadership role on the floor and sparked an improbable, heart-pounding rally. Joan and Mombo were there, too, and it was fun to share the experience. With the newspaper write-up on Thursday, it was a big week for our Number 3.

Because I was out there moving before daybreak in that stinging rain, I guess it means I’ve managed to re-infect myself with the running bug. So far so good, when it comes to one 2007 resolution. On mornings like this I have to work at mentally distracting myself, so I was thinking about someone who recently talked about their dreams of flying. At the time I wasn’t sure I could recall one of my own. Last night I had a real doozy of a flying dream. There was nothing about the actually flying that seemed unusual. Since it was foggy in my dream, I was concentrating mainly on avoiding smokestacks, tower antennae, and power lines. There’s only one reason I can think of as to why I might have dreamed that—learning about the announcement of a proposed high-tension transmission line that will cross Garrard County. The map published in the newspaper this week appears to locate it uncomfortably close to Kelley Ridge. David confirmed my suspicion when I showed it to him. I’d assume Joan had heard about it, but found out she hadn’t when Marty and I stopped to have dinner. It was nice, very delicious, and a joy to spend time with her at her cozy home (the house that Joe built, but Joan burnished). The lad and I took the opportunity to visit on our way back from EKU. I had to deliver an artwork accepted to the “Compassion” show at the Giles Gallery.

— Year of 2006 workout totals: Swim-40; Bike-54; Run-27; Lift-56; Yoga-55

— An internal debate about whether to revive these journal entries came to a close on Christmas Eve when my nephew Ian asked me to start making them again. Over time, I might delve into my 14-week experience as a recovering blogger, but, for now, I just intend to make a modest resurfacing, and try to get some kind of rhythm back.

— It’s been ages since I got sick, or it seems that way at least, because I forgot what it felt like. I’ve missed the entire year-end celebration, but that’s the risk I took when I plunged into a sea of youth over the weekend, many of whom made no secret of having recently crawled from “the pit.”

— I was pleased with another variation on my thematic Grandy-bo series (the eleventh), which ended up in Crabtree hands at our Clan’s Chinese (Chine-Yine) gift exchange, but I took even greater satisfaction from a highly successful pencil and wash portrait of Marty for Terie’s Christmas present, along with the triumphant completion of Alyx’s large, mixed-media G-bo, which had me stumped for the better part of three years.

— The Butcher of Baghdad stretched twine before the end of the year, and, come on let’s face it, there was no way it wasn’t going to be controversial. As the Old Virginians liked to put it, “Sic Semper Tyrannis.” Happy New Year.

V & S

A few days ago I sat out on the dock and wept without tears. It didn’t last very long. I wasn’t able to remember when or why until just now— I was reading the words of Paul Watkins. I should have known. Today I convinced myself to put on my wet-suit and get back in the water a second time. I needed some exercise and I figured it might be my last chance to do a channel swim. The water was quite cold but tolerable. I covered more than a half mile. Bill had driven into town. I honestly felt like I had that entire part of Michigan to myself, except for the geese, swans, and cormorants. The air temperature getting out of the water was more shocking to the system than the experience of getting in. The wind has continued all day and discouraged any fishing outings. Yesterday we caught several yellow perch, including Bill’s 11-and-a half-incher, probably the largest one any of our gang has ever hooked up here. Later, we reverted to salmon trolling again and that proved just as fruitless as Sunday’s session with casting rods. With a cold front predicted, we had to keep a constant eye on a changing sky. The two of us fished until dark and then came back to a deserted resort. I had to hold the spotlight so Bill could see the pier.

I went to the Leadership Boyle County reunion Thursday evening and I was the only member of the 1990-91 class that showed up; that seemed way too strange. Almost anybody that sees me anymore starts talking about bicycling. This has to be good, but I also remind myself that I don’t make a living that way. I’ve got to balance this out somehow.

So how did I spend my day? I finished writing up bicycle project suggestions for the new Leadership class (as requested), and then I joined a group that rode the 47-mile round trip to Forkland for the “Great Outhouse Blowout.” I won’t even try to describe that event, but it was actually much nicer than I was led to believe, and the live music was outstanding. We were trying to be clever and avoid the rain, but we were just lucky instead. Although we crossed patches of wet pavement, it never rained on us.

Hugh (my friend the mayoral candidate) was at the festival and he pulled me aside to say he wants to talk about the meeting I had with the Danville City Manager on Wednesday about B.I.K.E. Hugh showed up and sat in on the meeting, but I’m not sure what he has on his mind, so I’d better chat with him soon. The subject of the meeting at city hall was the downtown Streetscape Project. We were seeking the formal inclusion of B.I.K.E. in the planning process, but it seems we’re too late to hold an official “stakeholders” meeting with the consultant. We did learn that there will be two public meetings in October, so we’ll plan to show up in force to advocate for a design approach that is bicycle friendly. Much of our group’s effort is now taking place outside of meeting time, and we’ve decided to converge monthly instead of every two weeks, as we’ve been doing all summer. B.I.K.E. now has three committees coalescing to take on the top priorities that came out of our deliberations last month. Maybe this means I can delegate more and start to diminish the time I spend with this activity, but I doubt it. I just need to stay organized and be efficient when I’m thinking about it.

What is it about the first wave of fall-ish air that rolls through an open bedroom window and makes you sleep like a log?

I never have insomnia, but I can’t say I get a restful night’s sleep very often, so a zonk-out like last night is a most welcome occurrence. Downside— I didn’t exactly launch into the day, and besides, I’m having an ongoing feud with running on Saturday mornings this summer, after years of ritual. I love to swim, and I get on my bike every chance I get, but, for some reason, I haven’t been able to run much lately, unless I’m totally into the mood, which hasn’t been that often.

Dana and I are in the middle of preparations to go to Ohio for the Renaissance Festival (or at least I was until I started blogging). Clan Pirate Day is tomorrow, and, like last year, the inspiration to fully embrace the prospect is slow in coming. The slime-quaffing, freebooting Queen’s Admiral isn’t the most appealing character to adopt for any length of time, but, when the curtain goes up, I reckon I can growl and buckle my swashes with the best of ’em!

— Month of August workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-7; Run-1; Lift-2; Yoga-7

— I saw Sheldon at the gym again this morning, well into Brian’s strenuous workout. I’m convinced that Sheldon really wants to get in shape. If Brian was putting me through that routine, I’d be having a tough time of it, too. Sheldon is one of the best fine artists in this part of the United States, but that distinction doesn’t exempt him from his sedentary profession. Good for you, my friend. Health, wellness, and life extension are something we can all be pro-active about, and that’s the service Brian provides. He’s one of the most fit young men in this part of the United States. On Wednesday night he came flying by me and called out, “Hop on!” I was already pedaling hard, but took the challenge to catch his draft at nearly 30 miles per hour. I could only “suck wheel” for a couple hundred yards before I fell apart. Man… Now that’s cycling.

— The Breidenbach 50th Anniversary collage had been sitting on my art board all week, so I set myself to the task of completing it this afternoon. While she was making constructive comments, Dana accidently smeared some fresh ink. She felt terrible. All I could say was “Just leave the area.” I wasn’t sure what to do at first, but within several minutes I managed to clean and repair the damage—with no indication of anything having gone wrong. I flashed back thirty-two years, when I’d doctor the dates on European rail passes. Yes, I could’ve been a master forger… I might’ve even become a David Halifax!

— Hugh (my friend the mayoral candidate) stopped by while we relaxed on the front porch this evening to enjoy the most refreshing air we’ve had in quite some time. We got to talking about the Town House, and tapped his wealth of knowledge about the history of local real estate. Our home on West Broadway was built in the 20s by W.A. Walker for a railroad man named Arnold, who also had a twin dwelling constructed for his daughter on St. Mildred’s Court, close to campus. She married a Bush Nichols, whose brother, one of Danville’s only Republican mayors, lived in the house across the street from ours. The Arnold daughter died at a young age. The second wife and widow of Bush Nichols still resides in the Twin House today.

— We haven’t indulged much network TV in ages, but last night Dana and I found ourselves glued for 90 minutes. We watched three consecutive episodes of “The Office.” Actually, the term “glued” is not correct usage. This might be the funniest show since “Seinfeld.” If that’s the case, it’ll be impossible to ignore.

V & S

Marty was here to interview me for a writing assignment, and it’s impressive to see how seriously he’s taking the school project. I filled one side of a cassette tape during our Q & A. That should give him plenty to work with for his rough draft. After a hearty supper of turkey burgers and sweet corn, we hauled more loads of brick from across the street. Since Marty started lifting weights, he’s gotten noticeably stronger. He matches my height now and, judging from his big shoe size, he still has some growing to do.

Today is Bill’s birthday, and I just saw him yesterday morning. No present or card this year… nothing for Jay either. That’s just how things are these days, and it’s quite a contrast from that 200+ handmade-cards-a-year era not so long ago. Much of today felt like decompression from yesterday. I wanted to swim laps, but Centre’s pool is closed for maintenance, so I ran a bit and lifted. As if that wasn’t enough exertion, after Dana and I attended the Chamber’s Business After Hours reception, I used Dadbo’s old concrete-hauling wheelbarrow to start retrieving stone and brick rubble from the site across the street. Please tell me I look like Mack building his rock fences and not Clem the Gem with another load of scrounge.

We broke another record with tonight’s ride—around 40 participants, although I didn’t get an exact head count. They broke into three fairly even pace groups, just like they did last week. Dotti was passing out flyers for the open meeting for cyclists and collecting email addresses on her clipboard. Rick S had commitments that caused him to hand leadership of the C-Group to me, and it got a bit wild at first when a few teens wanted to squirt too far ahead of the pack, but I think I managed to get their respect by outriding them.

“Don’t try to understand ’em. Just rope, throw and brand ’em.”

Tonight we had over 30 cyclists show up for our ride from downtown Danville, a new record. Most of us would agree that it has a lot to do with the outstanding bicycle coverage provided this year by the Advocate Messenger.

B.I.K.E. has had a goal of boosting participation in regular group rides. A turnout like we had this evening causes us to intensify our focus on safety. Another priority for us is to increase awareness of the “Share the Road” attitude. I’m hoping that our advocacy organization can work my connections at the newspaper to develop a story idea that better explains the issue of motorists and cyclists coexisting on local streets and highways.

— Month of July workout totals: Swim-6; Bike-7; Run-2; Lift-3; Yoga-2

— As I continue to thoroughly enjoy my peak cycling season, I notice an increasing level of muscle tightness and pelvic inflexibility due to a decline in periodic yoga practice. Balance and discipline. Why is it so difficult to calibrate?

— On Saturday, when Dana baked Terie a birthday pie (Blue Bank blackberries plus organic red raspberries), I decorated the crust with her favorite thing that makes her happy.

— I seemed to need every available minute yesterday to meet my evening deadline, but I managed to complete three mixed media collage artworks, including a “Fifteenth Cosmosaic,” the largest composition in the series so far and the first to be executed specifically for public exhibition and sale. Dana and I hand delivered them to Kathleen, the coordinator for the Lexington CONNECTIONS show, and she accepted all three on the spot. Even though it was getting late, she was kind enough to spend some time providing framing advice. I’ve been concerned I haven’t yet developed the ability to frame my work in a manner commensurate with the quality of the art. I intend to rectify that with these pieces, which are due in the city next month.

V & S

Began the day with an early 31-miler with nine of my best cycling chums—out to a remote area of Mercer County between Harrodsburg and Perryville, and then back to Danville in a hard pace line on U.S.150. Mark M mentioned a trip to the Appalachian Trail north of Hot Springs. It got me thinking how we could blend that with some out-of-state prospecting and a long-overdue visit to Broadwing Farm. Then I devoted most of my Sunday to further progress on three mixed media collage pieces that I need to have finished by Tuesday. I knew it might be nice to visit Joan during her final shift at the book seller, but I just don’t have an extra penny to spend. I’d like to start “Huck Finn” soon, but I can just borrow it across the street at the Boyle County Library.

Arrived home after a day-long 700+ mile drive south yesterday, passing through areas in Indiana that we now learn were threatened by sniper fire. A man was killed on I-65 a couple hours after we drove that same stretch. And here we thought we’d picked the more favorable route, as opposed to the multiple construction zones and heavy truck traffic of I-75.

Anyway, it was good to back and find everything in order, although for a spell I thought someone had ripped off my favorite little galvanized bucket that I keep by the back door, until I discovered that Terie had used it to kindly water our flowers. She’d hidden it on the front porch.

Other than unpack, reply to a few emails, do a bit of yard work, and go for a cross-country run over at the Kentucky School for the Deaf campus, I didn’t accomplish much else today. Caught up on the Tour coverage at ESPN.com, VeloNews, and then watched the recap on CBS at 5 pm. Tomorrow I’ll have to do an entry on the race and start transferring my recent hardback-journal jottings to this log.

Marty and I had no luck with our fishing opener, but today we caught one yellow perch and a few sunfish (also called pumpkinseeds). They’re hard to clean. With so many activities back-to-back, I haven’t recorded nearly as much as I want to while it’s happening. The lad devised a diamond-shaped mile swim for me in Moscoe channel, so I accomplished that before we “struck out at the plate” during an expedition for northern pike tonight—at least the sunset was spectacular…

We had our gas oven go on the blink, so Dana used another one in a vacant cabin to roast a turkey breast and bake a blueberry pie. I helped roll out the top crust with a wine bottle. Marty hooked up his PS2, so now he can do his favorite thing that makes him happy, plus it will allow us to watch a DVD or two this week. Did my first channel swim before dinner last night—without fins because I forgot to carry them down to the lake. Even so, it has me thinking about a greater challenge—either speed or distance. Seeing people with perch in their baskets gets my desires going, so I need to run into town and get my license. Let the fishing commence!

Conditions could hardly have been better on the second day of July for our bike ride early this morning. A 35-miler took us down through Moreland and out Black Pike, past where my brother Jay and his family used to live. Hustonville was quiet as a ghost town when we pedaled through, a perfect spot for our turnaround point. My pal Elisabeth was amused about winning the women’s division at the 5k in Stanford yesterday. She’s trying to figure out what to do with the huge trophy she was not expecting to bring home. A NYC artist who spends her summers in Lincoln County, she does quite a bit of running and cycling during her stays in Kentucky. She turns 50 later this year, and a good indication of her high fitness level is that I take ample satisfaction in ever being able to stay up with her on the road. When I asked her if she knew any sculptors, she laughed and said, “Lots!”

— Month of June workout totals: Swim-2; Bike-12; Run-1; Lift-5; Yoga-2

— All the other training took a back seat to my cycling this month, as I push to regain the conditioning I lost during 2005. The Tour started in France today without Armstrong, who, at age 35, is preparing to run the New York City Marathon. At age 36, Agassi played his final match at Wimbledon today. With all the talk of aging, legendary athletes, it’s interesting to note that both men are still in the acknowledged target zone for an endurance event like the triathlon. I don’t expect Agassi to do more than settle into his role as a retired tennis superstar after his U.S. Open appearance in New York, but I think Lance might be a very different story. If he demonstrates the ability to run an impressive 26.2-miler in his own New York performance a month later, just watch—and you read it here—for him to set his sights on the
Iron Man competition. How much time could he spot his opponents in the water before devastating the field on a bicycle and then finish strong with a marathon run? It’s interesting to contemplate. He won’t do it for sport. He’ll do it as a cancer fighter, and what better way to keep his cause before a world audience?

— As I continue to look for my next major novel, my bedtime reading jumps back and forth between Isaac Asimov and Ernest Hemingway. If you don’t think that’s a bit strange, you should try it some time. They do have one thing in common, however. When I’m reading either one, I’m struck by how profound an influence they appear to have had on succeeding generations of writers. Every creative person is influenced by those who come before, but few of us can push beyond the derivative and craft something new for others to emulate.

— I completed a proof of my “Bridget” comic this afternoon. I had a hard time convincing myself that it was finished, so I stopped and compared notes with Brendan. I was able to achieve the rough, sketchy look I desired, but some areas of the artwork still need refinement. Once I got past the storyboarding phase, which was genuinely challenging for me, I found deep satisfaction executing the drawing itself. No doubt I could get rather good at this if I tried it more that once or twice a year. I don’t expect to be getting urgent calls from Kazu Kibuishi any time soon, but I was very happy to learn that Brendan thought my effort looked “fantastic.”

V & S

Five of us from Danville joined the morning bicycle ride (Frankfort to Versailles to Midway and back) as part of the “Share the Road” activities in the state capital today. It started to rain as we hauled our bikes north and it was still raining at 8 am when we left the St. Clair Mall en masse. The weather proved to be a clear deterrent to participation. There were only about 25 of us who set out, and the wet pavement caused two guys to crash within the first five miles. Steve and I opted to turn around at Versailles and got in over 40 miles before arriving at the Capitol for the “Share the Road” Rally. Martin and the two Dans did the full loop through Midway, but missed the speakers as a result. Sadly, I have to say they didn’t miss much. It started to sprinkle when we climbed back into the city via McCracken Pike and the buzz was that the rally had been cancelled. Organizers made the decision to proceed when the rain let up, but the governor had already been called away to a greater priority. Although I had the personal opportunity to network with a “Who’s Who” of cycling advocates from around Kentucky, the rally fell short of my expectations, and there was no one who came before the microphone that could articulate the full significance of the shift in policy. I didn’t see a single TV camera. I wouldn’t call it a bomb, but to say the potential for a decent media event had fizzled would not be an eggageration. Nevertheless, it was an interesting ride through a quintessentially Bluegrass region, with the Woodford Reserve estate and some of the most famous thoroughbred farms in the world. The crumbling Castlerock and Old Taylor Distilleries along Glenn’s Creek were visually fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like them. Somebody could make a helluva creepy motion picture on those grounds. Loan Andrew half a million to make a movie on location there and he could take the indie scene by storm…

I can’t remember the last time I had a tri-sport day, and I think I really needed it. I fit in 22 laps during a noon swim and had a decent rhythm. The pedals I got from Brian M are finally on my bike, so I did a ride test out to the staging area of the annual TWINKIE run. This event is about pace rather than speed, and the winner is the individual or two-person team closest to a predicted time. No watches allowed. I was 20 seconds under my declared 10,000-meter time (good enough for third place in the men’s division). With an emphasis on cycling, my swimming and running have suffered a bit this month, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. My stamina held up, but now I’m ready to hit the pillow.

— Sunday was a day to shrug off the crazed Prospector (you should’ve seen him mining for diamonds last night) and just absorb the world-class sounds of the Band Festival before the musicians took their final bows.

— I often hear people say that the event “isn’t my kind of music.” I wonder how much of a Festival weekend they’ve actually experienced firsthand. Yesterday afternoon was a good example of how diverse the tunes can be—jazz, rock, motion picture soundtracks, patriotic marches, worship music, pop, classical—nobody would be out of luck except for a few die-hard country, hip-hop, or church organ fans. Over the weekend I heard bagpipes, a xylophone, a melodica, all types of percussion, plus a synthetically enhanced electric tuba, but primarily loads and loads of brass virtuosity. I honestly believe there’s no place on earth one can go to hear many of the world’s most skilled brass artists play for free, except for Danville, Kentucky during a couple days every June. Now, I suppose if you simply don’t care for people blowing horns, this event is not your cup of tea. To each his own, but one ought not to make assumptions. That’s like saying “I’ve never been to The Smithsonian or the National Gallery, but museums aren’t my thing.”

— I really shouldn’t go on. Everyone has their unique preferences when it comes to entertainment. I just happen to like James Clavell novels, Triple Crown horse races, vintage Chuck Heston movies, the Tour de France, watching old TV shows from the 60s, swimming in cold lakes, looking for pirates at plastic toy conventions, and sitting in front an outdoor stage at Centre College once a year. It’s just me. I never know what particular pieces of music will stir my emotions at the Brass Band Festival. This year it was Jens Lindemann playing Leroy Anderson’s “A Trumpeter’s Lullaby” in public for the first time in his career, or Randy Edelman’s haunting “Reunion And Finale” from the film “Gettysburg” and remembering the searing performance of Jeff Daniels, or hearing a Rhythm & Brass interpretation of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of Moon” creatively fused with songs from “The Wizard of Oz.” We must all seek out these types of individual pleasures for a balanced spirit, or bring less of ourselves to the serious endeavors that life demands of us at other times.