Uncle John’s Log & Co.

I’m happy to learn my Uncle Joe is home from the hospital. I also read that 95-year-old, legendary coach John Wooden made it home from a recent stay in the hospital, too. Hospitals aren’t very good places to be, unless you have no other choice. I hope I always have another choice.

I took note of the Wooden announcement because I’ve been thinking about something he said. Not sure if I remember it correctly, but his point was that you haven’t failed until you start finding something or someone to blame. I think his message is that you remain on a success track as long as you continue to strive by looking within yourself to correct your own mistakes and deficiencies.

I haven’t gotten to know Uncle Joe as well as some of my other uncles, but he’s always been a great example to me as an innovator, by the way in which he set his goals high, and by never being afraid to learn something he didn’t know how to do. When I think about how he lifted the roof of his bungalow with truck jacks to enlarge his house by adding another story, it nearly blows my mind. All my life I’ve admired how he relied on himself and finished what he started.

Mombo and I were talking about that kind of stick-to-it-and-get-it-done capacity the other night, and how I was still trying to learn it. She said, “You must get that from me.” I disagreed and told her I couldn’t blame anyone else for my own history with unfinished projects, but that I was determined to put the habit behind me one way or another.

I told David today that I have no thought of giving up the goal of finding a niche market for the style I’m currently calling “Legacy Artworks.” Coming up with a name that isn’t already taken has been difficult, and it’s possible I haven’t even begun to solve the equation of how to market this type of illustration. Like most things, I’ll just need to chip away at the challenge. Goodness knows it’s not the only iron I have in the fire this year…

Leave it to Brendan to turn me on to another droll Webcomic. More power to Wondermark. It makes good on an idea I had a while back about recycling the huge archive of copyright-free, nineteenth-century wood engravings as humorous art. The main reason I never did it? The answer is obvious to me when I read David Malki’s amusing strip.

- sob - I have absolutely NO sense of humor. - blubber - Never did. Never will. - sob -

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

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

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

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

Everyone is playing the California Game!

_ _ _

Where is Atlantis? Continent of mud.

Where is the mud? It’s buried in crud.

What is the crud? A dream in decay.

Whose dream was that? They squandered their day.

When was the day? An age of great life.

Why was it great? They abolished all strife.

Who gave it up? The creative few.

What did they make? Themselves, anew.

Where is the self? Enshrined deep within.

Why are they gone? The price of the sin.

_ _ _

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.

We drove to Indianapolis yesterday to deliver late Christmas
presents and spend some time with Bruce. He seems to be doing quite well
at home. I can’t describe how marvelous it was for Dana and me to eat supper with him, seated at his own dining room table, which he hasn’t been in a position to do for almost ten months. Source of all blessings, be praised!

While on the road today, we had
lunch in the highlands of Louisville, at an eatery recommended by
Brendan and Bob H, too. Although we had to wait awhile for a table, it
was a tasty meal and a unique setting. There’s only one word that can
adequately describe Lynn’s Paradise Cafe— PSYCHEDELIC!

I’ve been thinking on and off all day about how to express myself on the subject of Brendan’s generosity of spirit, plus the joy and fascination he’s brought to my life by sharing his interests, discoveries, and human connections, but I can’t get it to coalesce.

It’s like I’m trying to sketch with my hands wrapped in duct tape.

Perhaps the words will come another day…

— At tonight’s local GOP Christmas reception, several Republican heavy hitters put on a full-court press, trying to convince me to run for public office in 2006. It’s nice to know I’m on the short list, but the timing couldn’t be worse.

— While we’re on the subject of politics, I was happy to learn that Seth was elected Governor for the 2006 session of the Kentucky Youth Assembly (YMCA). Couldn’t have happened to a better man. Congratulations!

— I surprised myself at the pool today, coming within a second of my 50-yard PR. I haven’t even been practicing my sprints lately, so I don’t know what to make of it.

— Just had to hit the chuck wagon for second helpings, watching the “Firefly” pilot again to catch things I missed on the first viewing. I realize now that I was totally hooked by the time Kaylee got shot and willingly chomped down hard on the barb when I saw Zoe with her “mare’s leg.” I guess Joss Whedon has my number, and Brendan was the first to know it!

— Although I’ve never included John Lennon on my list of personal heroes, when I look back on his art, cultural innovations, and powerful position as a generational role model, I have to consider that he probably had a more profound influence on my life than I’d care to admit. 25 years?

— Bruce is dealing with some post-op pain, but says he’s feeling better every day. They took out the “rubber band drain” in his back, another good indication of progress. I hope he improves enough to be settled back in his home by Christmas.

V & S

We watched the “Firefly” pilot last night. This is from the box that Brendan loaned to us, and I want him to kindly tell me this is not the only group of available episodes.

There’s got to be more than this one little packet.

Please, please tell me there are more…

Someday I’ll have to detail the story of how Dana and Pam, exasperated by the red tape and bureaucratic idiocy of the Medicaid system, decided to pick up the phone and call the Governor of Indiana. Long story short—his office cut through the nonsense and Bruce got the help he needed. My take on it was, “This is how government should work when government doesn’t work.”

Not long after that happened, I read George Will’s column about Mitch Daniels and the possibility that what he’s doing with Indiana state government is the wave of the future in the political world. I suddenly had this consuming desire to reassess my role as a Kentucky Commissioner—to develop a comprehensive vision and philosophical position with respect to my advocacy of bicycle and pedestrian issues. If I don’t have a coherent stance in support of non-motorized infrastructure enhancements, I run the risk of coming off as just another pork-barrel Republican or free-spending Democrat. I have to be able to articulate the advantages of increased exercise as a disease-reducing activity worthy of public investment versus the unchecked explosion of costs to maintain the Medicare/Medicaid entitlement promised to aging baby-boomers.

The way I see it, we have a window of opportunity to be proactive. If we don’t address the current and future demand side of the equation, we’ll never be able to handle the supply side commitments without screwing our combined standard of living and quality of life in America. We’ve concocted a scheme to overwhelm a health-care system that’s already too expensive (read my log entry from Thursday).

I’ve got to make sense of this. Maybe it could become a Clan project!

• Uncle Jerome could summarize the latest empirical evidence on exercise.

• Caitlan could investigate the macro-economic cost/benefit relationships.

• Brendan could explore how to communicate the practical aspects of alternative transportation.

• Ian could reinforce it all with an easy-to-digest philosophical paradigm that would fit on a 10th Planet T-shirt!

Relax, Uncle John… You’re really getting carried away this time.

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.

Thoughts—more than that—expansive, deep-breathing celestial amalgamations inspired by a magnificent story of smoldering suspense, defying containment by mere intellect, taking possession of my imagination, filling it and spilling over like Champagne poured too quickly, and I’m wondering who happens to control the film rights to The Forger, and whether he is a typical Hollywood son of a bitch, and I’m certain that I could design the production, fixated on the idea that Brendan would play David Halifax, and totally convinced that Andrew was born to make this movie…

Yes, I know—these are the outrageously soaring notions one has after finishing a Paul Watkins novel.

Someday it would be fun to draw—no—I SHALL create a comic strip version of Bridget, and I’ll begin now if you agree to buy it. Metal frame or wood? Next Day Air or standard ground?

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).

I don’t believe I understood to what extent an online discussion could break through to a new level of interactive dynamism until I had the opportunity to partake of this sweet nectar.

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.

As is well known by now, Brendan is half-way into a month-long sentence on crutches. During a brief discussion about crutches-free living, I found out he might start swimming on a regular basis. I got so charged up that I walked over to Centre at noon and crawled off a 600-yard Personal Record time.

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.

— 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

Headed north to hit the Seitz Family Reunion, and then west to Indy for a visit with Bruce.

I switched to a digital camera this year to take the portrait. It was tricky, but the group was surprisingly cooperative and full of good cheer. At least I had a real-time verification, which reduced the stress of whether I got a decent shot. Seth gave me a VHS tape of his editing work. I didn’t have time to talk to Brendan; wanted to discuss Urban Dead. James and I got a kick out of Mark’s hundred-foot row of zucchini. What was the poor devil thinking!?

(ps — Did anyone else get chiggers?)

Word comes from Brendan that his traveling mom—my sister Joan—saw Brian Dennehy perform on stage.

NO FAIR!

— If we need another grim reminder that the world is at war, this story makes it clear that we’re all potentially in harm’s way—especially when we leave the homeland—as Joan, Aunt Carol, and Uncle Bob are planning to do this weekend. Manolo, get out your Blessing Engine. Meanwhile, the rest of us will pray—hard.

— Speaking of Bobs, I’ve known a few in my life. A Bob is never wishy-washy, but invariably an exceptional guy (occasionally you’ll encounter one who is distinctly uncool), and always makes an impression. This Bob is one of my favorites, and so I’ll do my part to extend his 15 minutes of fame.

— At Aunt Alma’s funeral I talked to cousin Don (accomplished musician and former CEO of Rolodex), and, without any prompting from me, he declared Centre professor Vince DiMartino as the greatest living Jazz trumpet virtuoso. Hmm… At the Brass Band Festival, Vince gave the honor to his friend Allen Vizzutti. Anyway, here’s a montage I made from shots I took during the Festival, so you can see the world’s finest trumpet player in action, whichever one he is!

V & S

— Richard Benedetto’s recent column rests on that blurry line between news reporting and opinion, but it’s nevertheless a thought-provoking read. It’s title, “Turning old enemies into friends has long benefited the U.S.” makes me think about the other side of the coin: “Turning old enemies’ enemies into new enemies has long been the role of the U.S.” That’s the part of this issue most would agree on. And with the way things are, that’s probably the only part.

— The enormous virus/spam wave that’s going on right now is a huge problem. That’s why I get such a kick out of finding a sparkle of joy in the whole mess: Spam as Folk Art—the only silver lining out there. Last week my email service had 1.6 million mails hit their machines. Some 500,000 were rejected as viruses, and a bit over 800,000 rejected as spam, leaving some 200,000 or so to be delivered as legitimate mail (hopefully), but some crap does get through. I feel for all the “good guys” trying hard to stay on the back of this tiger. Somewhere out there is a young vigilante looking for his cause. A suggestion: 1) round up every spammer and virus writer, 2) make them swallow an overdose of viagra while getting an enema bag of liquified mortgage applications on the other end. (Uh-oh… I told Brendan’s mom that this would be a mom-friendly blog).

— Just in case you notice half a grand of spare cash sitting on your dresser top, and you don’t particularly care for shooting real handguns, add a Han Solo Blaster to your cart (or, for the more civilized, a nifty lightsaber).

— OK, it’s time to be serious. Good news from Bruce
personally; they talked to him about his eventual transfer to a rehabilitation center, which is a clear sign that his medical situation is improving in a positive and predictable way. See that light at the end of the tunnel, my son? I pray you’re there in no time!

— Best wishes to my brother Jay and his bride Glenda, who got hitched in Liberty this morning among a large contingent of our Clan. God bless you both, and may all our dreams meet to expand His glory.

V & S

Just as I try to wrap my mind around the idea that Josh has been soldiering in Iraq for half a year, and that Alyx and Ian and Brendan are suitably credentialized and making their own way in the world, and that Clayton is going off to U.D., I’m forced to try another wild concept on for size: Seth is 17 years old!

On our way back from Indy, Dana and I needed a modest escape, so we had a glass of vino and saw Cinderella Man at the Baxter. Howard may not be one of our cinematic innovators, but he’ll usually exhibit some virtuosity with the tools available to him; he’s quite a storyteller (I liked The Missing enormously). It’s also clear he’s a fine collaborator—lots of other outstanding work done under his generalship in this picture: Oscar-level performances, convincing period ambiance, superb editing. There are some distracting flaws, however—like the fake-o winter-set details (he needed the guy who handled the snow on Gangs of New York). I didn’t think I’d respond well to another boxing flick after Million Dollar Baby (I personally wanted to see the new Batman movie, but…), so my positive reaction was a surprise. Now that my first choice has been endorsed, it’s only a matter of time before MartyMan and I leap into the GrandyJohnMobile and deal decisively with this unresolved matter.

As if getting one step closer to being in the Plastic Mullet Series wasn’t treat enough, I got an early look at the Speed’s Berthe Morisot exhibition, and since I tend to possess that “painterly eye” for 24 hours or so after visiting the finest museums, it was fortuitous to have packed my Karat pencils and sketchbook so I could study a sunny treetop during our brief stay at Simpson Knob.

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.

When Brendan spoke of “building a narrative out of noncontiguous events,” it was as if he was talking about the tapestry of stories that my brothers and I have been weaving all our lives. Stories… they’ve been part of my creative identity from the beginning. Wanting to tell them was as natural as drawing. First it was with chalk and blackboard (my artistic genesis), and then it expanded to comic strips, “scrips,” and my early childhood writings (the Summer family’s life on a farm and the adventures of Gordon Antent, leader of shipwrecked souls). But whatever artesian well of infatuation might emerge and run its course, there was always a distinct narrative world that continued to evolve at the pace of my maturing regard for the human condition, and there was never any doubt about the fact that this was a story project that was meant to endure. As is typical with any creative momentum that has an origin in early life, it’s difficult to define how naive concepts gain an inertia that survive childhood play. And it was always a collaborative enterprise from the start, involving a sibling give-and-take of ideas that would find enough consensus to mold the stories and character profiles in a semi-permanent fashion, until the next burst of development. It all grew out of an activity that, for us, was a powerfully stimulative pastime—playing with little plastic men. Current hobbyists and collectors would refer to them as “playset figures.” The next generation would know them as “action figures.” But most families like ours wouldn’t expend limited resources for the elaborate playsets on the market, with their carefully planned and crafted groups of figures, buildings, props, and accessories (few would dispute that the Marx Toy Company was the high-water mark in the genre). We fit into the merchandising strata at a level called “dimestore toys,” cheap, simple bags of men (rarely women) with few if any accouterments. We envied the friends and cousins who had Marx
playsets (WWII Battleground, Blue and Gray, Fort Apache, Alamo, Ben-hur, and TV spin-offs like Davy Crockett, Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, and The Rifleman), but we could make do. We had imagination to spare and we had each other, but most of all, it really wasn’t about the toys. It was about the dramatic stories, and the heroic personalities, and the exotic homelands, and the interactivity of brotherly minds, and the continuity of our boyhood traditions, and ultimately… the fascinating nonlinearity of it all.

Olden…

Something Brendan said yesterday really got me fixated on a line of thought. For some reason I don’t consider myself a writer (perhaps a diarist or “journal-ist” at best), and yet telling stories has been a part of my imaginative side for as long as I can remember— whether illustrative, oral, or written. The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer may have been the first nonlinear story, but I didn’t read Homer (just the condensed juvenile versions) until long after my brothers and I had begun to create a rich oral/written tradition that’s almost 50 years old now. It’s nonlinear nature is one of its strongest suits. It’s been called various things over the years, but now we generally refer to it as “The Legend.” If I keep thinking about this I’ll have the ingredients for another Oldenday segment.

— Month of May workout totals: Swim-6; Bike-0; Run-2; Lift-0.

— I won’t even try to elaborate on the sad state of my fitness program. At least I continue to swim, although I need to boost that monthly total to a minimum of eight workouts. On the bright side, I had a decent session yesterday and was only a second off my all-time fastest 4-lap sprint. Now, when am I going to get back on my bike?

— In the past 24 hours or so, my niece Caitlan (sister of
Brendan) successfully winged her way to Europe. Her mom’s advice: “Have the time of your life!” I’ll second that motion.

— I spoke to Josh Sunday when he called during the Clan gathering. I really didn’t know what to say to him. I’m terrible on the phone in those situations. Always have been, I guess. We talked a little about his current assignment, until he goes back out on the road, and whether his area was in danger of any mortar attacks. I told him how much I support what he’s doing, but it didn’t sound as strong as I feel about it. You know, if I had to make my log entries with a telephone I’d never do it. I’d just scrap
this whole thing.

— Bruce has dodged another bullet, enabling him to fight onward toward the day he gets to go home. Frankly, I don’t know what a home life is going to be like for him when it’s restored, but I’m certain he looks forward to it with an abiding desire that provides a strong source of fortitude. I’m aware that I haven’t mentioned his wife much in this log. Perhaps I’m not confident enough in my own kindness to put thoughts in writing. At this point I’ll just describe a funny New Yorker cartoon that seems apropos: A man is lying in a hospital bed, appearing totally down and out. Tubes, cords, and medical technology are everywhere. A doctor with a somewhat forlorn expression is standing beside a woman dressed in pearls and a fur wrap. Her expression is one of exasperation. She says, “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

V & S

As every reader knows, there’s a turning point in each good novel when the author has you hooked. We’ve just reached it with
The Sparrow. I say “we” because Dana and I are taking turns reading it to each other aloud. Bob and Carol gave us this idea a while back. Cold Mountain was perfect for it, and A Man in Full was a hoot. Not every work lends itself to the practice, so we’ve had a few false starts. Inevitably we “cast” the main characters like a motion picture, so we can concur on physical appearance and general persona. Ethan Hawke as Inman and Ashley Judd as Ruby were engraved in the imagination before Hollywood made its own choices, and now I’m certain that only Salma Hayek could portray Sofia Mendes. Brendan recommended The Sparrow to his mom (my sister Joan), and she enjoyed it so much we borrowed it next. Bruce will want to read it when we finish. I already know that I’ll immediately want to start again from the beginning, but we’ll probably go find a copy of Mary Doria Russell’s sequel instead—Children of God.