Uncle John’s Log & Co.

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

Aye, a long post on the hallowed day with nary so much as a single “Arrrgh!”

Run me through with a bleedin’ narwhal tusk— guilty as charged!

And thus, ye be conspirin’ t’ dangle me from the nearest yardarm, are ye now?

Treachery, betrayal, and doom!
I laugh at yer mis’rable ploys!

Come at me now, if prepared t’ taste me blade, and see who the real PIRATE be!

Tales of the Graybeard Prospector XXII
— The grizzled one prospected for both types of precious ore on the same day. He staked the first claim early in Marion County, searching for evidence of silver in the applied arts. By the end of the day, he was panning for gold at a gallery opening, with at least one promising nugget to his credit with a personal invitation to visit the big city from one of Lexington’s most prominent fine-arts administrators.

“How is it with stains?”
— I stopped by the Motor Mall to match a truck color for Pike Valley Farm. I was walking across the lot with a salesman when I made the mistake of stepping into his blind spot and I was nearly hit by a stream of saliva. He apologized by saying he’d been a catcher in college. The only reply I could think of was, “Well, I suppose that baseball is the last bastion of spitters.”

By hook or by crook, we will.
— Constructive thought is about making connections. Acquisition of information provides little, unless it helps me draw associations, which I have a natural tendency to do, even without sound data. It seems as though bits and pieces of knowledge, plus a variety of external influences, are continually converging in my daily awareness, and I can look at this as random static, coincidence, synchronicity, or divine guidance, but, fundamentally, it’s just the way I think, and I’m used to it. Perhaps that’s why, as a creative person, I find the process of collage so interesting and often develop visual ideas with a montage approach. Perhaps it’s also why I find it difficult sometimes to concentrate. Achieving any type of perceptual breakthrough invariably requires me to severely limit interruptions and drain a pernicious swamp of festering “to-do’s” and internal distractions. I haven’t had a decent creative rhythm lately, but something will shake out soon—I can feel it coming.

All jigged out? For shame!
— It was a full weekend. Marty and I got an early start on Saturday and hauled one load of blacktop to the fill on our way to Richmond. We helped clean out the garage at Fourth Street House and brought back a load of bricks that almost broke Ned’s butt. I nearly broke my own trying to help get that stone bench from the back yard into the bed of Mighty Manfred. Dropped Marty off after we unloaded the bricks at the Town House and headed to Blue Bank. Nothing going on, but I was glad I hung out, because Joan turned me on to Mhing, a conversion of Mah Jong to playing cards. Dadbo became enamored with it when he visited the Thomas cabin, and now I’m hooked, too! Sunday morning brought a nice 34-miler. Dan’s front cable broke, which continued the run of bad luck from Wednesday night, when a young guy went down on the bridge before Sand Knob (near Carpenter’s Creek) and broke his elbow. Most of Sunday afternoon was devoted to our Clan Council meeting, and we took another portrait afterwards (this time I did it right—35mm film in the shade). We moved the stone bench to a temporary spot in the cemetery. Michelle and Godson Nic announced their wedding date in summer 2008, but no “jumpin’ jig” erupted. Jay killed a pair of copperheads with a shovel. Jerusha gave me five “Pirate” Hot Wheels. I committed to completing the rock flue next month, so Marty and I need to reserve a couple days to finish the job together. All-in-all, it was a good Clan weekend. Mombo is gradually doing better, Terie’s new job is going well, J & J are counting down the days until “Bay-bo Hour,” and the Loft-mates have both quit smoking! I’m probably forgetting other news, but it’s time to call it quits.

V & S

March experiment—day seven— I came back from the gym this morning with a strong desire to make up for lost time, and the result was a day of progress beyond anything I could have hoped for. My pace was such that I could even feel the “rusty” spots in my collage technique, but those shouldn’t be too difficult to burnish over the next couple days, and then I’ll start working on my first “Joe Box” this weekend. I use that term because of its double reference to Joseph Cornell, the master of box assemblage, and Joe Wood, who personally acquired my raw materials. It pleases me to know that, for whatever reason, these objects appealed to Joe. And now, with Joan’s approval and due to her kindness, I’ll interpret them as three-dimensional art. Speaking of Joan, her entry about the Lady Rebels says it all. In tonight’s paper, Hayley is quoted as saying she’ll be “out for blood” next year. Admir’l Lice himself couldn’t have said it any better!

Today’s sight bite— At the highest spot in town, the morning sentinel glides from atop the tallest tree with one pump of his massive wingspan—c-l-i-c-k—and circles the human far below, who stands earthbound amid the downy evidence of a recent meal.

Tomorrow— “Cruise control” at my basement work station dedicated to collage…

“A designer knows he has achieved perfection not when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”

— Antoine de Saint-Exupery

With a strict focus on our most urgent priorities, I must temporarily devote myself to creating a stronger and more stable business posture.

Click the “Archives” and browse a few of my past entries— January 2005 to September 2006.

From time to time I’ll continue to record my thoughts in a private book, just as I have done since 1971, because I concur with Harlan Hubbard in that I have always kept a journal for “myself changed and at a later time,” and, to use his words again, I would hope that I can someday resume this log as “a kind of memorial to the passing days.”

Until then, please do a few things for me…

• Don’t neglect your creative self.

• Read any Paul Watkins book you can find.

• Ride a bicycle, just for fun.

• Visit Anacrusis, Monday through Friday.

• Treat your body as your best investment.

• Put in a good word for Dixon Design.

“The education of the will is the object of our existence.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Once a pirate, always a pirate.”

— Frank the Fisherman

I can’t tell you how cool it was to sit on the porch at Frank’s farm today and laugh with my mate and brother and sister and niece and nephews, realizing we’re all just a bunch of grownups now. Although we’re two distinct generations, we can all relish a fun conversation at the same level. And I think it will surely get cooler.

Brendan wasn’t there, but I’m thinking about him because he posted a fantastic panorama from Clan Pirate Day 2. The rest of the photos aren’t up yet at his Flickr site (as I type this), but go there anyway, if you haven’t enjoyed it lately. His captions are as good as his images, and his shots are damn good (even though he didn’t get the spelling right for “ghee,” because we intentionally made those kinds of things difficult for his generation—where’s that Dixonary Wiki?).

Today was “Clan Pirate Day 2,” and there may never be a third at this scale. My personal opinion is that the abundant availability of alcohol is fundamentally incompatible with our thematic idea. Nevertheless, it was great fun in many respects, and the wide array of wenches, knaves, powder monkeys, and assorted nautical vermin will contribute many interesting additions to the family image bank. “Lady Virginia” was chosen by our jousting champion, who lost by a single point—a clear case of robbery. We celebrated a number of birthdays with Dana’s famous carrot cake, which we managed to decorate late last night in the motel after the original effort to make our own icing fell apart. A tip of the admiral’s leather hat to our very own “Stenchpit” and his “Lillie.” Without their monumental dedication this day and its memories would not exist.

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!

— 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.

Ian’s face-recognition blog entry is hilarious. I had to try it, too. So I uploaded a recent picture of me that Dana likes.

Who the hell is Christian IX of Denmark?

Sulking, I looked through a few more pictures, and—you guessed it—I selected a picture of my notorious alter ego, Headley Lice.

No picture of Admiral Lice would return a result at the MyHeritage.com site. Very curious. The fear of this pirate’s dreaded wrath extends deeper than I ever presumed.

And so I used my old Muscle Club shot.

—Theodore Roosevelt— YES!

Then I took the big plunge. Uploading a photo of Dana in high school, I sought scientific proof that ever since the night I first watched El Cid, I had spent my youth trying to lure Sophia Loren into the pillows.

—Isabelle Adjani— Hmm, not bad…

Who the hell is Sophia Loren?

Marie Antoinette never said “let them eat cake” — this is a mistranslation of “let them eat The Carson Family.”

All of the roles in Shakespeare’s plays — including the female roles — were originally played by Pirates.

The horns of Sugar Boop are made entirely from hair.

The number one cause of blindness in the United States is Stench Pit.

If you happen to be following Brendan’s scoop war about Sony’s blunder, you’ll be interested in knowing that anyone who gives piracy a bad name will face the grim certainty of dealing with YOU KNOW WHO.

            ‡ SQUID LIVES ‡

Yes, I’m afraid it is. The audacious captain of slimewater-swilling hearties will make an appearance at the Tippecanoe High School Class of 1970 35-year reunion and costume party. The prerequisite trip to The Keep’s storehouse and armoury reportedly took place tonight, and he sets sail for Ohio on the morrow with his favorite wench.

All ye lubbers and friends of decency, beware.

Today had its ups and downs. I finished a 5-to-6-mile run to Millennium Park and back with a very sore hip (the downfall of Cap’n Lice haunts my soul, too.) I was impressed with Rita’s excellent photographic coverage of our Piratical Blowout earlier this month when Joan shared the CD with us while she and Mombo visited the studio. I was then dismayed to learn of my mother’s worsening muscular ailment. There’s a lot she can do from a dietary standpoint that will help her feel better, and I believe she’s prepared to make the commitment. Nevertheless, we still had an upbeat time at the new Hub Coffee Shop in downtown Danville. On our way out we saw Tony H on the street and he asked about Brendan. After we got home and settled back into the studio, we had a major computer malfunction, as bad as the setback that hit us last winter.

If you don’t think that Brendan’s “Plastic Mullet Series” has achieved the summit of artistic hilarity, then A) you’ve been tragically blind since birth, B) you’re a snob who needs a search party to rescue your sense of humor, or C) maybe you actually wear a mullet style and are not at all amused by his cute little pastime. And if the Cap’nLiceCam is not weird enough, the Danville Rotary Club put up this page. Sonuva gun… I figured that after ten years in Rotary, I’d start looking more like Peter Graves. Maybe I should send Rotary a picture from the famous Muscle Club, (actually I don’t look that wimpy any more, due to my impressively strenuous, Bruce-Waynian training schedule this year).

The Ohio Renaissance Festival!

The persona of Cap’n Lice might be too potent for extended wear. This role-playing business can be heady stuff. I’m such an amateur.

(What’s that you say?)

Voice of reason: “You don’t have to literally become a reeling pirate with his “decks awash.” That’s why they call it A-c-t-i-n-g…

As usual, Brendan hits the mark.

“Slime water” may be good for pirate blood (or mild lunacy), but bad for just about anything else.

The Hornsbys of Metairie are heading our way via Baton Rouge. They left Sunday morning before Katrina hit the Gulf coast. Timsby’s dad is reportedly stranded at a VA hospital where he works, and there’s no word yet about his circumstances or whether the facility is being evacuated. The family is traveling light.

We’ll connect with them in Ohio near the site of the Renaissance Festival.

Headley Lice (recently promoted by Her Majesty to the rank of Admiral) cannot get himself in the mood for a playful celebration.

 

•   Another portion of America is singled out by Mother Nature for a round of devastation and paralyzing emotional trauma.

•   I observe in a mirror the image of my departed brother-in-law, sneering back at me as a pirate captain, his frame bristling with weapons.

•   The pet cat of a friend is stomped to death by an angry husband, plunging her life into a miserable chain-reaction of self-rescuing actions.

•   My Governor declares his daring intent to cast a wide safety net of pardons to spike the ambitions of the unsavory political boss currently abusing the office of Attorney General.

•   Jeffrey and Lea’s dachshund “Odie” is slaughtered by a coyote in the woods behind their home at The Blue Bank Farm.

•   Paula, the state employee who coordinates the work of the KBBC and assists those of us who sit on the panel, took indefinite sick leave with the news that she has pancreatic cancer spreading to her liver.

•   My friend and favorite neighbor Danny is preparing to move his family to Kansas.

•   Bruce’s condition yo-yos from lucid progress to feverish setback, almost on a daily basis.

•   We learn that Marty will be leaving Kentucky to live with his mother and her boyfriend in South Carolina.

Brendan set up a nice Web-based device for further development of our pirate concepts… better ration myself on that one. Makes me realize I could easily take a two-week vacation and devote it entirely to filling up a similar site with ideas from “The Legend.”

I’ve already mentioned that “Pirate Revenge” is done and ready for tomorrow night’s premiere. The family has previously seen a rough cut that’s pretty crude (home VCR edit with no sound track). On the surface, there’s nothing profound or meaningful to be found, because the “Houseboat Trilogy” has always been about indulging ourselves with a bit of silly entertainment for some good laughs and a few inside jokes. The original film was silent 8mm, shot in sequence during a 1971 lake vacation. It was short, violent, and very funny. The second part came 17 years later, when we celebrated Mombo and Dadbo’s 40th anniversary at Dale Hollow Lake. We’d made the shift to VHS by then, but it was also a spontaneous, in-camera effort, with some miserably poor post-production to spice it up. Now the characters from “Pirate Waters” had names and a context, so “Pirate Isle” was an instant classic within the Clan.

It looked like the next installment was going to be another of my many unfinished projects. I’d decided to shoot it more like a typical movie—get a lot of takes “in the can,” and then put it all together later. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but I didn’t have any capability beyond splicing clips from the raw Hi-8 footage to a home VHS deck. We recorded that master tape during a long weekend outing to Lake Cumberland in 1993. Brendan and I shot some filler months later, but basically nothing happened for nearly twelve years to bring the series to a conclusion.

But now, in the words of Petey the Pirate Urchin, “Everything’s changed,” because Seth rolled up his sleeves to reconstruct the entire production from scratch as a labor of love, adding his own natural sense of pacing and story coherence. The result goes way beyond my original vision for what was never meant to be more than another goofy contribution to the family archives, and I say that because the clean production quality of the Casablanca editing system at WREB lends an odd credibility to the composed footage. For me, this achieves two things. It provides a more satisfying entertainment experience rooted in our unique camraderie and shared humor, but, beyond that, it captures in one collaborative creation a intensely pleasurable look at the many raw talents and “playtime personalities” of the participants—the acting skills of Brendan in early formation, the not inconsiderable ability of his mother to craft a powerful characterization with minimal screen time, the hilarious histrionics of Jeanne, Susan, James, Jeffrey, Jerome, and others, the touching scenes of my parents together (demonstrating the typical respect they had for our endeavors by playing their roles straight), but perhaps more than anything, Seth’s embryonic media capability, which no one should fail to admire at his stage of the game.

Speaking only for myself, I think this oddball creation should be preserved and treasured forever.

Walie wanted to play with toys all day. APS replaced our crashed hard drive with an even bigger one. I had a 150-yard PR time in the pool during my midday workout. The American economy continues to grow. I solved the cascading style sheets problem in the preliminary Website for Kentucky Trust Company. Dana had an informative talk with a local man who recovered from a case of pancreatitis worse than what Bruce has. Seth helped me put the finishing touches on “Pirate Revenge,” the final segment of my goofy “Houseboat Trilogy” (originated as a teen not much older than he). Discovery landed safely and the astronauts held a press conference. Josh had another night’s sleep at the Blue Bank Farm.

Working on the family movie has been fun, and I’ll be somewhat sad to see it finished. I don’t think I can imagine a young person taking a project more seriously than Seth is taking the completion of “Pirate Revenge.” I can tell that it’s a bit painful for him to watch me insert gags and “camp it up” (in the old Dixon manner of my generation), and when we talked about continuing to tweak it, I shared the George Lucas quote, “No film is ever finished, only abandoned.” Seth thought that was depressing. Marty, who came along to work with us one night, wanted to know if I saw the essence of the piece as drama or comedy. I said, “If anyone can tell, then Seth and I have failed.”

— Month of July workout totals: Swim-7; Bike-5; Run-7; Lift-0; Yoga-0.

— The yew shrubs (taxus) in front of our porch had gotten totally out of control the past couple years. I figured I needed to either yank them out or do something radical with their appearance. On Saturday I sat and stared at one of them for half an hour, and then I attacked it with my old lopping shears. We’d seen pictures of how landscapers sculpt these bushes in the oriental style, then began to notice examples (Chicago, Cincinnati) in proximity to “Arts and Crafts” residential architecture. It was worth a try. I was pleased with the result, especially after I used shoe polish to camouflage the pruning scars. I have no idea how old these plants are, but they’ve reached nearly six feet in height and have to be dealt with.

— Bruce is doing better, now that he’s back in the hospital. It’s hard for me to see how they could discharge him last week without ensuring the continuity of treatment essential for his improvement. Much of the routine care he needed fell into disarray or was changed. If it hadn’t been for family…

— While Dana was having her Indianapolis adventure, I was trying my hand at topiary arts, making more stabs at getting back into triathlon condition, and spending some time at David’s range with my two carbines. The 1894s clobbered my shoulder until I learned to hold it correctly. David helped me take off the scope that Dadbo put on it, and that restored it to the desired simplicity. I’ve decided to learn to use this nice rifle with the naked eye. I don’t think I’d ever be comfortable with scope hunting, so I don’t intend to start that. If I can’t get a kill shot with open sights I intend to let the moment pass. The .30-caliber M1 was fun to sight in and proved to be far more accurate than I was expecting, probably due to the influence of some negative Rick Jason remarks published in a book about the “Combat!” series. Or maybe I just happened to get a particularly good example of the WWII-era design. I checked my notes and can’t believe I purchased that gun in 1993. That I just let it gather dust must have something to do with Dadbo dying less than a month later. (Interestingly, my father and Rick Jason were almost exactly the same age. I only just learned that he died in 2000 of a self-inflicted gunshot wound, but I don’t know any details.)

— Josh should be back in the States on leave by this weekend. There’s a tribute planned for the following Friday evening at Eagle Nest. That should be a memorable gathering and celebration. To top it off, it’s the World Premiere of “Pirate Revenge,” the family short we shot at Lake Cumberland a dozen years ago, but it was never completed as the last installment of the Clan Pirate Trilogy. Marty and Coleman were babies, Brendan was a squirt, and Dadbo made his final contribution to family creativity as “Frank, the old fisherman.” My, how time does fly…

V & S

Seth and I put in a rigorous session with Lady Casablanca and learned a few hard lessons in our first team effort to produce a final cut of “Pirate Revenge.” When we were no longer laughing at our funniest scenes, we knew it was time to call it a night.

My family was never far from my mind during the seven months I lived in Europe during 1974. (In fact, I so turned off a pretty Flemish girlfriend by admitting I missed my family that she dumped me within hours for a Belgian doofus named Bruno.) One way I could feel connected to my brothers was to think about “The Legend,” and it was easy to be inspired, surrounded as I was by all the fascinating history of feudal conflicts, life on the manor, warring political factions, imperialistic ventures, and Napoleonic exploits. I was constantly encountering the art, architecture, accouterments, and weapons of the general time period we’d chosen to frame our imaginary world of swashbucklers and tyrants. When my brother James sent me a letter mentioning Hedda Keeh, one of our beloved characters (a native of the Western Plaines and Peace Chief of his nation), I plunged into the creation of a comprehensive map and sent it home along with our most ambitious document to date—a long letter from Joncules Dix to his half-brother Jimcus (otherwise known as Chaims-Dan, or Man-With-Flying-Feet, from his years among the outcast monks of Chap). Before long, the nonlinear structure of our narrative was firmly rooted in the idea of producing documents and artifacts that revealed only a portion of the totality, which would then lead to further discussion, attempts at integration, and ongoing creativity (often using dioramas built with the very type of plastic figures that influenced our imagination from the beginning). It became a perfect organizing principle—not original to us, I suspect—and reinforced the historicity of our approach, removing it forever from a strictly oral realm. An explosion of development followed, with numerous drawings, carvings, models, and written fragments. Spinning yarns within “The Legend” has never been the same since.

Olden…

All of a sudden the visited links color has switched from violet to black. Hmm… maybe it has something to do with Brendan fixing the style sheet so that my entries don’t look like a single, continuous line. Speaking of Brendan, it was good to see him yesterday. He turned us on to “Pirate’s Cove,” perhaps the coolest board game I’ve ever played (gotta try “Ticket to Ride” next). It was also fun to be with Alyx on her big day. I really think she liked the “Arts & Crafts Companion” we got her, plus my photorama (number two). A huge “thanx” to the Keepsters, who always throw an enjoyable bash. Marty and I headed up to one of our knobs and kicked around until sunset, then we took some pictures of the evening mist sliding through the Valley. I’ll feel stupid if I end up getting poison ivy.

By adolescence, our collection of evolving characters and plot-lines had detached itself from playtime notions or other childhood limitations. We made an effort to shed not only elements of fantasy, but anything out of conformity to the “historical accuracy” of our invented world—the land of “The Pirates.” We used the term in its broadest sense. The band of half-brothers central to our story were not the classic “Howard Pyle types,” but true corsairs from the standpoint of their disregard for societal constraints or prevailing authority. Their adventurous conduct was governed by a common code of mutual survival and respect for each other’s keen abilities. That our story had no fixed beginning or end was well accepted by us all, and we felt free to add new personalities, ethnicities, and anecdotes, as long as they seemed to fit within a narrative continuum that was constantly pushing forward and backward in time. Revisions in service to coherence would pass muster and shape the new legacy. It’s hard to describe the shared excitement and the satisfaction of knowing that we could never be bored if we were together, because the joy of adding to our open-ended chronicles was just a collective daydream away. A mere suggestion could trigger a new layer of creative integration. I’m not sure when it happened, but we started to document a few things here and there, and before long it was apparent that there was no end to the depth and richness of the mosaic. I can’t say it was clear to us at the time that it would prove to be a lifelong pursuit, but we did appreciate its staying power and understood that it was certain to continuously improve. It’s no surprise to any imaginative individual that youth is often fertile ground for an enduring artistic vision. I just recently listened to Ron Howard explain that the premise of how he’d create his motion picture about the Great Depression derived from ideas he had in high school. By the time the oldest of us were settled into college life, we had quite a head of steam with our own story project, but we didn’t anticipate the explosion of development that was about to take place in “The Legend.”

Olden…

— Marty finally convinced me to watch “Collateral.” Mann outdoes himself in this one. I won’t be the one to explain why it isn’t a flawless picture. If you haven’t seen it, I dare not give anything away. If you have, need I say more?

— Seth and I confirmed our desire to recut “Pirate Revenge,” and now I just have to schedule a block of time. He has access to the editing suite this summer, so it will be essential to have a new version before our Ohio gathering around Labor Day. If we hit the mark anywhere near my original visualization, minds will be most certainly blown.

— James encouraged me to spend time with Marty in the knobs, learning the terrain together and sleeping under the oaks. I own that land. What prevents me from claiming stewardship?

— Bruce undergoes a major surgical procedure tomorrow. I believe it will be the final turning point in his successful recovery. This is something that the providers would preferred to have have done much sooner, had he been strong enough to handle the general anesthesia, so I view it as an important step forward, rather than a setback. He’s ready for it, and it will lay to rest this stubborn condition in his internal core. May the mercy of Divine Law govern every aspect of the operation, guide every thought, and each skilled hand, to fulfill the promise of his unfolding destiny and the ultimate potential of his Christ wholeness.

V & S

“Let there be polyethylene!”

Seth showed his trailer to the Clan today, and then we made plans to collaborate on the long overdue, final cut of “Pirate Revenge.” It should be fun. I also found the lost narration notes that Brendan and I made years ago. It looks like the pieces are coming together at last, and then the emphasis will shift to producing the concluding episode of the generational quatrain, which Alyx and Seth are already planning to script.

— Month of January workout totals: Swim-7; Bike-4; Run-3; Lift-6.

— Well, it’s the day to do that “first of the month” stuff: Total and evaluate the fitness workouts; adjust engine coolant and steering fluid levels; scan the hard drives; polish the cutlasses; check the hams.

— Bob and Meg sent me an article about John Evans (clipped from The New York Times) and his 37-year daily collage project. Synchronicity: Bob said that Meg had shown it to him on the same day he received my note about how I’d made the decision to gain control over my hand-made greeting card habit. At my 50th birthday party Bob suggested I scan my cards and publish a book. I’ve taken his advice on the scanning part. The article mentions that nobody was interested in doing a book on Evans because he wasn’t famous. After a publisher finally decided to produce one, he now admits it won’t make any money. Strange parallels. Like Evans, I’ve also had the recent urge to get rid of stuff, especially after helping to sort out some of the accumulation at the house that Joe Wood built. I might as well do it while I have the desire. It’s not my typical mode. But like Evans said, “What if my daughters and my wife had to deal with all this?”

— Josh has been staying in Kuwait and was scheduled to arrive in Iraq this week, so I wrote a note to him last night, thinking that he’d get it the first time he had a chance to check email after he got settled. My hope is that the atmosphere will have improved, now that the election has taken place, and that more Iraqi citizens will cooperate with the interim government and the coalition to provide information about extremists. Nevertheless, he’ll need to stay “on guard” for the duration of his deployment. I do look forward to hearing from him soon.

Well, I think I’ve made my point to myself here. Hmmm? Perhaps I need a blog like the proverbial hole in the head. But, come to think of it, Cap’n Lice did have that missing piece of cranium where a musket ball glanced off the side of his…