Uncle John’s Log & Co.

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

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

Big Sis Birthday!

On the eve of departing for Guatemala, Jerome made his special fried fish as part of her celebration dinner. How can brothers hope to compete with that? (We don’t even try.)

Joan’s MO-JO is the place to GO for the latest “Molina Alert.” I’ll be staying glued to it for the next week! (Lord Michael above, Lord Michael below…)

Janet and Jerome will be leaving soon on a much-anticipated and highly prayed-for trip to Central America.

Get ready for the most “famous” bay-bo in Clan history.

Broadway Report
— The Library closed its doors on West Broadway for the next 13 months or so, and I don’t think it’s entirely sunk in for me yet. It’s almost as though somebody boarded up a room of your house and said you couldn’t use it for a year. Meanwhile, the noise and dust levels are increasing, as construction on the new addition accelerates. One bright spot—I got permission to scrounge ten wheelbarrow loads of limestone powder left over from the work of the big bedrock drills (necessary for the innovative geothermal system they’re installing). I’m not certain how it will come into play when I move forward on our brick and stone driveway, but a scrounge is a scrounge.

Graybeard Alert
— My sharp disappointment at having our Website proposal rejected by the Great American Brass Band Festival was assuaged by an unexpected packaging assignment from Burkmann. On top of that, the Graybeard Prospector had a productive outing yesterday after the Medicine Woman concocted another one of her marketing potions. Glad to inform all that things are percolating again in the studio, and I’m almost prepared to say we’re busy.

Mokrabo Safari
— This past weekend, I helped make good on Dana’s long-held vision for a “safari dinner” at the Blue Bank Farm. The weather was a bit chilly and windy, but what could anyone expect on the first Sunday in November? The evening sky was perfect, and the Milky Way was visible before the diminishing light of day was gone. I can’t imagine it was any more spectacular in Africa that night. With us were Joan, Janet, Jerome, Lee, and David. Good food, good wine, good music, good campfire, good friends. Sure, it turned out to be a lot of work, but a memorable time was had by all. Greg Brown gave us a scare when he disappeared, but showed up the next morning, thank goodness.

Art Update
— Participated in my third wood engraving workshop at Larkspur Press, and, to avoid the tiring shuttle, I pitched a tent between the shop and Sawdridge Creek, which gave me four days of immersion that yielded two finished blocks. It’s hard to describe, but I broke through to a new comfort level with Wesley, his indomitable wife Juanita, and all the regulars who return year after year, including Richard, well-known force in the literary scene. Juanita soloed Saturday night at the Elk Creek Vineyards, and then came back to the area the following week to perform at Richard’s traditional “First Friday” gathering in the cafe next to his Frankfort bookstore, which I was able to attend because I’d spent the afternoon at the Transportation Cabinet with my fellow bicycle commissioners. Wes and Juanita had gone up to Cincinnati for another workshop sponsored there by Jack, the former international banana-shipping executive who’s expert at so many things (including printmaking) that I can’t keep track. The evening of music and poetry was exceptional. Juanita, Kate, and I sat at a table reserved by Laura Lee, one of the most versatile designer-artists in Kentucky, who just finished illustrating a book for children. Richard acknowledged us as part of the Larkspur wood-engraving gang. Gosh, to be around this circle of talents is one of the most stimulating resources in my life, and I owe it to Gray and his rare hospitality.

V & S

— Month of October workout totals: Swim-3; Bike-5; Run-2; Lift-3; Yoga-1; Pilates-5

— The ongoing exercise program is finally back in balance, but I need to boost the total workouts per month to reach an optimum level. Exercising five to six times per week has become the new target for fitness and health. Anyone who combines that with a smart diet and minimal toxic challenges can achieve significant benefits of disease prevention, weight management, injury resistance, and a greater sense of well-being. It’s an absolute must for people with a sedentary occupation like mine.

— My Pilates class at the college is shaping up to be a satisfactory ritual. The best thing I’ve learned is that I can actually do it well enough to notice some improvement. Like many physical practices, one can take it as far as individual discipline and determination permit. So far, I like it enough to want to get better, and that’s the motivational fuel I need to keep coming back. It’s tough stuff, and I usually hit a muscular fatigue point or cramp before the hour is complete, but my hope is that I’ll move beyond that by and by. I still have a lot to learn about the techniques and philosophy that underlie the right approach to this. I’ve learned from swimming, cycling, and running that I tend to avoid research at first, because the complexity overwhelms my initial enthusiasm. I prefer assimilating things with a natural receptivity, but also realize that I might develop inefficiencies and poor habits that are more difficult to unravel later, if I don’t educate myself on the fundamentals fairly soon in the learning process.

— I have Jerome and Janet to thank for my getting a large portrait commission—one of the Brady Brothers. I met with his widow last week, and we sorted through reference photos. She showed me an example of his artisanship, and it’s clear he was quite skilled with metal tooling and woodworking, even though he’d lost much of his left hand fighting the Germans in North Africa. She told me she’d never heard him complain or say he couldn’t do something. I guess that isn’t unusual for guys of that generation who came back maimed. They considered themselves the lucky ones. I’m glad to get this project as a launch-point for my portrait business, and what better way to kick-start this venture than to accept the honor of painting a Purple-Heart veteran?

— Today is election day, and I’m struggling to stay optimistic in the face of the overwhelming momentum to toss out a decent leader. Dana and I probably invested too much time in crafting our joint letter to the editor. Obviously, we remain loyal to a governor who kept plugging ahead during a difficult term in office. If Ernie is turned out, it will be in spite of his numerous contributions to improving our state government. If he wins, it will be one of the most remarkable political upsets of recent years. We’re hoping for a Harry Truman moment early tomorrow morning.

V & S

Now that’s one
good-lookin’
little bay-bo.

Go get her!

Oh, Johnny… no Johnny…
— Although I never did go out to Pioneer Playhouse for the closing performance (to roll the dice and hope for a Johnny Crawford sighting), we did make the last showing of Raintree County at DHS. Well, it stunk as bad as I was afraid it might, except for Lee Marvin, who admirably carried every scene they put him in. I even found the bull-whip sequence a let-down. I’m not sure Mombo thought it was that good either, knowing she would use GWTW as her standard of comparison. There are numerous reasons why this expensive production flopped fifty years ago, but the list starts with 1) Lousy Screenplay. The only way they could have made this picture more disappointing would have been to ask Monty Clift to take off his shirt. Nevertheless, plenty of people around town knocked themselves out to put on the anniversary festival. It would’ve been more than worth it had Eva Marie decided to make an appearance, but she wrote organizers and said she couldn’t. I did enjoy watching her on a big screen and imagining her time on location in Danville. ”Old-timers” all say she was just as sweet as Taylor was aloof. In any case, I’ve decided that if I ever get a custom phone tone, I want to have a Raintree recording of Eva Marie saying, “Johnny… Oh, Johnny!”

Hurry! Hurry! Step right up!
— Don’t know yet if the new issue of Arts Across Kentucky has been published yet, but I managed to get my revisions to our studio Website uploaded this morning. To somebody else, it may look as though I’m comfortable when tooting my own horn. Self-promotion is something I can’t avoid, but it’s never felt natural to me. I’d always rather be pitching someone or something else. I figured that eventually the output would sell itself, but, sadly, it doesn’t work that way.

Bay-bo smile
to the rescue
— Recently broken hearts were soothed when new pictures of “Baby Molina” arrived. Everyone in my Clan already knows that the birth mother of the second hoped-for child made a decision to withdraw from the adoption process. Many of the indicators were suggesting that might happen, but it doesn’t make it any less painful for Janet and Jerome. No matter how philosophical I try to be, my soul aches for them.

V & S

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

Milton felt positively enough about my Easter morning words at the cabin to reschedule them for this past Sunday. There were a lot more people there, thanks to his endorsement, including Bruce, Lee, and David. Keeping in mind that some of my talk refers specifically to the “Shared Silence” community, I publish it here in its entirety (full credit to my best buddy Mike for the heart of this essay).
 
 

ON DEXTERITY AND THE WISDOM OF HANDS
(After Silence: 4-8-07 and 7-8-07)

Like many of you, I have retained great friendships from childhood, young adulthood, and middle life. The concept of this talk originates with my best friend from college years, James Michael Menke, a behavioral scientist who earned a doctorate in chiropractic and currently serves on the faculty of the Program for Integrative Medicine at the University of Arizona, where he is at work on a Ph.D. in experimental methodology. Mike is the resident chiropractic authority at AndrewWeil.com and, in addition to his scientific publishing, contributes articles to “Dynamic Chiropractic,” the largest circulation periodical for his profession. I must give due credit to him for many of the facts, observations, and speculations that I include in my words.

* * *

It’s been four and a half years since I offered words after silence, when I reflected on my 50-mile birthday run, an event now overshadowed in memory by an occurrence that took place two days before—a present from Dana, an extraordinary celebration with friends and a retrospective exhibition of my greeting cards. Hundreds of these “miniatures” carried my dexterity of hand through a period of relentless computerization in my chosen field, something I never could have anticipated in my youth, when I fully expected a lifetime of evolving manual craftsmanship as a commercial artist. Although I’ve cut back drastically on my card-making hours, I see it now as an essential bridge activity that has prepared me for an increasing dedication to the fine arts in later life. In short, I accidentally found a way to preserve the traditional hand skills which so many in my profession have lost, having bartered them away for a new fluency with software, mouse, and keyboard.

* * *

Is it progress when we trade our ability to develop our hands for increasingly cerebral preoccupations? For most of our lives, American culture has equated handwork with unskilled work. “Manual” mostly means “menial”—or tasks no one else wants to do—and manual dexterity is associated with dullness. As those who work with their hands know at some level, hands work faster than eyes and minds can follow and quickly gain greater knowledge of objective reality. Phrases like “hands on” or “in touch” have come to mean being more connected with the way things really are, outside our frameworks of mental abstraction. Similarly, I often experience the way in which a captive idea is stuck on a mental spinning wheel until the hand is permitted to liberate it with a thumbnail sketch. Dana has told me it amuses her to see my hand moving unconsciously when she finds me deep in thought. There seems to be a direct link.

According to surgeon Frank R. Wilson, author of “The Hand: How Its Use Shapes the Brain, Language, and Human Culture,” a pianist is the summit of human achievement because of his or her ability to direct 400 muscle contractions per second, all in a single, purposeful action to produce music. Dr. Wilson proposes that the evolutionary gift of the human hand over 3 million years ago forced our brains to grow to direct and control this remarkable tool. Language and reasoning were just byproducts of a brain designed for “handedness.”

Neither raccoons, monkeys, nor apes have hands like those of the human. The human hand was made to sense and assess, control and force, and then express, caress, and eventually—to heal. The human hand is the product of anatomy and innervations unique in biological life. Menke believes that the Wilson hypothesis also puts a minor dent in the popular notion of mind-body. American mind-body dualism assumes minds affect bodies, and largely ignores how bodies affect our minds. He thinks it is an ingrained bias we don’t even notice, stemming from an ongoing love affair with the brain as our main source of power and identity. We have bodies simply to lug around and protect our brains, right? He goes on to propose the intriguing possibility that the musculoskeletal system expresses our true identity, and that our glands, organs, and brains see to it we have the requisite stuff needed to accomplish our mission. Perhaps our brains are mere servants of the hands. Could it be our hands make us distinctively human, and not our brains?

Is it possible that Argentina’s piano virtuoso Martha Argerich represents the most recent leap in human evolution? Maybe the arrival of a Yo-Yo Ma advances our species more than a Bill Gates or a Susan Sontag—who can say?

* * *

Consider the progressive prejudice against manual in favor of mental expertise and how Western society has pushed dexterity to the bottom of the totem pole, since the decline of the great European guilds of the Middle Ages, to the point that we have a situation where the work “Americans won’t do,” is potentially leading us to the brink of social crisis. One could make the case it was wrong to advise mamas, “Don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys.”

Consider how various health care professions that are more probative and that delve into problems with hand intelligence remain low on the occupational ladder or command less respect among elites. Jerome Dixon is a beloved clinician in his adopted home of Campbellsville, but he is also thought by many of his peers to be one of America’s outstanding hands-on osteopathic practitioners. When people, who already know my brother is a physician, learn that he is a D.O., I can detect the crestfallen look in their eyes. “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Skilled Musculoskeletal Diagnosticians.”

Why is there such a cultural emphasis on working with the head instead of the hand? Working with your hands—sometimes called making an honest living, because you can see and count your accomplishments—is on the decline, even though it is the most difficult American work to outsource. It’s impossible to fight a fire, massage a spasm, wax a floor, cuff a criminal, cleanse an injury, build a road, or fix your commode from a call center in Bombay.

Manual consciousness—the wisdom of hands— is too often dismissed in our head-centric culture. Problems can frequently be found and solved by hands without all the judgmental posturing of the mind. Hands can quickly know what our minds may never grip, manipulate, articulate, or ultimately grasp.

As Yale University researcher Paul Bloom has explained, an adaptive mistake in human development may have given us an inborn comfort with the idea of a consciousness as being separate and separable from bodies. Whereas, Dr. Bloom suggests we have built into our DNA an indifference for the physical body as a temporary vessel, and are predisposed by evolution to believe in the supernatural, since minds and bodies seem to have a separate existence, Menke finds a more basic and immediate interpretation of Bloom’s data—that breaking the body away from the mind only leads us to fragmented views of ourselves and others.

In his book on Harlan Hubbard, Wendell Berry de-scribes how the Kentucky artist and individualist committed himself to “an authentic life in his consciousness.” He writes that Harlan’s genius was in how he gave “the body a significant life in the world,” an existence that was “dignifying and pleasing to itself.” Like his most constant mentor, Thoreau, Harlan Hubbard sought first to live well, and to him, this meant a certain mistrust of mental abstractions removed from the objects of thought and one’s affection for those objects. In Harlan’s own words, “The mind tries to live by the artificial structure of the world, but the body will have none of it, holding to primeval forces. People try to be all mind….this has gone so far that now….the earth itself is but an idea.” Berry concludes that fundamental to Hubbard’s character was his refusal to live by mind alone. In his unwillingness to put his body and his bodily life under the rule of abstract ideas or monetary values, he avoided contemporary man’s tendency to use the world and its goods without love or care, a denial of both the life of the body and of the spirit.

* * *

And so, when I reflect on the particular abilities of my own body, it is with humility that I must appreciate each one’s distinctive integration of dedicated practice, mindful habit, and genetic heritage. This is painfully obvious when I presume my hand dexterity might cross over or be successfully interchanged. In other words, don’t let me transplant a seedling, touch a leaky pipe, or pick up a musical instrument. What of the untold wealth of dexterity that may exist within the group of unique individuals who frequent this cabin? What can I ever know of it? What do I know of the personal dexterity of Karen, Mary Ann, Leslie, or Sara Jane? What products of accomplished hands lie beyond my limited awareness?

Nevertheless, I won’t forget my sense of admiration when I first saw Lester run his fingers over a selected piece of lumber. How many times have I marveled as Ernst leaves the saddle to apply his deft touch to a shifter assembly, correcting a malfunction within seconds? What of the other familiar pairs of hands I know only when they hold a cup of hot coffee in the chilly air on a Sunday morning, never having witnessed their most articulate performances? What of Jim’s nuanced grip of the reins, Elizabeth’s green thumb, Dan’s expert trigger squeeze, or Victoria’s compassionate caress? What will I ever know of these? If I haven’t understood the hands, how can I hope to ever know the real person?

Having said that, I believe I can state without fear of contradiction that the most awe-inspiring pair of hands among us is forever gone from our physical circle. They belonged to someone I think of when I read what Harlan Hubbard wrote in 1932:

“There is but one great man. That is he who makes a masterpiece of his life. No accomplishment can offset bad living.’’

When in my friend’s presence, I failed to fully regard either of those immensely capable hands, preferring instead his characteristic twinkle of eye. Who else among our circle could demonstrate to his extent the genius of handedness—to execute a graceful brush stroke, to throw a well-proportioned pot, to compose in limestone with incomparable decisiveness, to improvise jazz melodies by intuitive fingering, or to repair the living tissue of a damaged joint? Even now, the thought of it nearly takes my breath away. These were not hands in mere service to the intellect, but a mind and heart in service to the world—properly and definitively through his magnificent hands.

How grateful am I for the good fortune to have encountered those hands, and the rich depth of human character they shaped in order to empower their creative potential! His world will continue to possess their diverse manifestations—animate and inanimate, evidence of the spirit they energized—long after the hands have left us for a place filled with new activities for the hands of a soul—the unimaginable creative pursuits of Life Everlasting.

I’m no expert on numerology, but I’ve been studying the ancient discipline for nearly 30 years, and I’ve dedicated myself to helping Janet and Jerome make some decisions about naming the “bay-bo grils” who will be soon be under their loving guardianship. As Juno Jordan says, “All names are good names,” so it’s not a matter of making an error. At some level, all names are part of the divine order and help tell a living story of each unique soul. In the case of “Baby Molina,” the best way to look at it is the potential for harmony and enhanced opportunity—harmony of a conferred family name with the name given at birth, harmony with the character of her new parents, and the opportunity to reinforce God-given talents and her heart’s desire with a name that will be true to her real self.

This is not a trivial exercise. The new name can be a means or vehicle for greater usefulness, but will be of no active value without the true self “behind it,” and without a meaningful connection to the special role that is already ordained. In her landmark book, JJ tells of people who take a new name, who are not happy, and who feel an underlying uncertainty because they are aware at the soul level that it doesn’t reflect their true being. This insight is valuable to the objective of naming an adopted child, and could explain in part why some adopted individuals confront undue challenges in life. Maybe it has something to do with carrying a name that’s not in harmony with who they actually are. Another way to look at the endeavor is to avoid setting her up for unnecessary discomfort as she finds her path in life as an adopted child from a distant ethnic heritage growing up in Kentucky. From what I already perceive in her birth chart, she has many fine attributes and inner gifts that will serve her well in this regard. The proper “arranged name” can contribute even more to her opportunities for satisfaction and fulfillment.

Precious one, there is great love in store for you when you encounter your new mother and father, plus an entire Clan that stands behind them in support. And a new sister, too! What a year of profound blessings!

— 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-one— I’ve hit a set of conditions in the studio that dictate subjects for my attention that are different than I originally intended for this time of the month, and I’m trying to adjust. Heightened awareness is the key. I can’t lose the joy. I have to remind myself that in many respects, the external framework may be the least important aspect of the experiment.

Here are the only other things I feel like mentioning today:

1) Mombo called with good news that Janet and Jerome have a strong position with a baby girl born in Guatemala this past Saturday. Everyone smile and pray hard.

2) Dana is showing excellent progress on healing her knee injury, with other beneficial side effects.

3) Uncle Norm closed on the Indy mobile home, and we’re all set for moving Bruce to Danville this weekend.

4) The Salvation Army dinner next month is shaping up to be the best one I’ve helped organize.

5) Friday Night Lights really is the most outstanding series currently on television.

— 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

Last evening, just as I was preparing to depart for a key presentation to the Danville City Commission, Dana was coming up the stairs and hurt the knee she’s been carefully nursing for a month or more. It was weird to leave the house with her sitting on the floor, the painful joint bundled in ice packs.

In my remarks, I provided a formal introduction to B.I.K.E. | Boyle County and our organization’s purpose and priorities. This was the fourth meeting of the newly composed city government. My friends Bill S and Dave A followed, summarizing our infrastructure recommendations and the diverse benefits of creating a bicycle-friendly community. The Commission voted unanimously to approve the “Safe Routes to School” grant application that we developed in collaboration with the city manager. As we approach the first anniversary of our local group, it was a great milestone for our pro-cycling advocacy.

When I got home I realized that Dana’s injury had taken a turn for the worse, so we decided to listen to Hayley’s tournament game on the radio instead of traveling to Garrard County. The Lady Rebels crushed cross-town rival Danville, with our amazing Belle putting the game out of reach in the second quarter (after a slow start). She ended up scoring 25 points, with a strong free-throw percentage.

Dana is heading down to Campbellsville with Terie to see Jerome this morning, and I’m praying for the best diagnosis. Whatever happens, she’ll be dedicating herself to a natural recovery, and I’ll do everything I can to help out along the way.

You know you’ve found a bit of heaven when you can have berry pie with your early morning coffee, while sitting on a porch that overlooks a natural pond, and then complete a pen and ink sketch of a woodland path in time to be served a broiler-fresh asparagus frittata for brunch.

Janet and Jerome didn’t get to stay over last night and missed the patented Simpson Cabin Lazy Sunday, which, come to think of it, ranks right up there with the patented Yorkshire Estate Lazy Sunday.

Janet and Jerome joined us at the Simpson cabin to open some bottles and indulge our Epicurean leanings. We stared with crack-&-peel shrimp and a zesty gazpacho, added a plate of fruit and cheese, which was followed by a main course of grilled ka-bobs with garden vegetables, marinated lamb and venison (from the 2004 Martini-Henry buck), plus asparagus pinwheels, red-cabbage slaw and Mexican jicama, closing with a frozen strawberry dessert. To accompany our extraordinary menu we tasted a merely satisfactory Californian chardonnay, an interestingly ancient South African cabernet, and a magnificent Sonoma Valley pinot noir, in addition to a bright, smooth sherry from Texas. Before our “guests” arrived, David provided me an opportunity to shoot my Enfield military .303 rifle and British “foxhole” revolver, both surprisingly accurate, once I learned the peculiarities of the sights. While we were up at the range, he tested his .577/450 double rifle and quickly nailed a small iron target at 300 yards—twice. This man is a sharpshooter. Maybe I can get Jerome to come earlier next time. I know he’d also enjoy shooting targets with these antique arms.

• He overcame his childhood learning challenges to become the most highly educated and professionally accomplished member of the family—a Clan Treasure.

• Compassionate, open-minded, tireless, inquisitive—all the qualities one would hope for in a physician.

• More than a superb clinician, he’s truly earned the descriptive term of healer.

• Many call him friend—I’ve never seen a person more naturally comfortable in the role—and a generous one he is.

• He selected his mate as carefully as he picked his vocation. He chose both wisely. And now he investigates the responsibility of fatherhood with the same sincere, prayerful, conscientious approach.

• He could have given up. He could have carried hatred. He forgave instead, and unlocked the door to a lifetime of victories.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my “kid” brother. I love you, forever…

My brother Jerome and his wife Janet stopped by today after attending a local picnic for parents with adopted children from other countries. They’re moving ahead with plans to acquire one or two babies from Central America. I think most of my family knew they were considering this, but I just recently found out. I’m very happy for both of them. Dana and I thought seriously about the same course of action when we first came to Danville, but we lost the drive to follow through with it after Marty was born and we became grandparents. Things tend to work out the way they’re supposed to…

In spite of a lengthy planning meeting at the Clan Hall, our soldier celebrated being at home with his family. During a break in the deliberations, Rita took a group portrait outside, and then the cake was cut. Joan insisted on eating Joshie’s head. The long day ended with Dana taking Bruce to the ER after his visit to the farm. Jerome put in some overtime to help identify symptoms of medication withdrawal that were alleviated. Bruce improved so rapidly that he walked home from the hospital.

— Josh comes home to his Clan for a mid-deployment visit.

— Mack stops by the Town House and we talk about my old saxophone.

— Gov. Fletcher appoints me to the Kentucky Bicycle Commission.

— A major international Arts and Crafts exhibition unexpectedly comes to our attention.

— We hike back Horse Lick Hollow for Marty’s first visit to the Clan’s little “Pine Forest.”

— Seth and I complete the long-overdue “Pirate Revenge” video.

— I experience my first artistic fellowship with a group of Layerists.

— The exalted Plastic Mullet Series honors yours truly.

— I have the opportunity to design the poster for Sheldon Tapley’s painting.

— David treats me to another great hunting weekend in the Knobs.

— Jay and Glenda make their vows at a wedding ceremony in Liberty.

— Dana and I thoroughly enjoy listening to Gates of Fire on tape.

— After Aunt Alma’s funeral, Dana, Jerome and I pray at the Shrine of the Holy Relics.

— Caitlan takes us all to Oxford with her captivating England Blog.

— I discover the extraordinary young writer Paul Watkins and hook myself on his work.

— Marty and I conduct our first camp-out on “Widow’s Knob.”

— The Clan gathers for Mombo’s 80th-Birthday tribute at the Boone Tavern and Hotel.

— Dana and I celebrate our 23rd Anniversary in Augusta, Kentucky.

• • •  and the top highlight of 2005  • • •

— Bruce battles through kidney failure, septicemia, and the various complications of severe pancreatitis to defy—by the grace of Almighty God—the medical odds against his survival.

• Nobody can recite the Holy Bible like Charlton Heston, and I do mean nobody. Christmas morning isn’t set until I watch his performance of the Nativity verses, filmed at the ruins of a Roman amphitheater. Sometimes I just want to shut my eyes and listen to the masterful shift of his voice characterization from Angel to Blessed Virgin to Shepherd to Magi to the 12-year-old Jesus in the temple doing “my father’s business.” And I always enjoy how he portrays the angel telling Joseph that Herod “is dead,” almost as if the heavenly being takes grim satisfaction in the opportune demise.

• My TV-Show Fantasy Wish List for Santa: I want a sprawling hacienda like Big John Cannon’s, on a ranch like The Yellow Rose, with a horse just like Jason McCord’s, and a fully stocked pull-down gun panel like the one James West had. When I need to be in the city, I’d like a Robin Masters Ferrari so I can commute to my urban pad, just like the apartment Jim Phelps lived in, with a big John Gnagy studio attached, plus a closet with an Alexander Mundy wardrobe. I suppose that’ll do for this year, Santa, unless you want to toss in a hovercraft, custom-built by Benton Quest. I’ve been really, really nice.

• I don’t know how long ago the “Oyster-Stew Eve” tradition began, but now it wouldn’t be Christmas for me without it. We gathered once again last night at Mombo’s, and it was a full house with all the Hellyers in attendance. Bubb played the temperamental stew chef, but his main course was superb as usual. I could have done without the bizarre homily that gushed on about everyone’s favorite computer racketeer earning his media sainthood. Oh well, there’s got to be a reason church hierarchs would exile a pastor to the boondocks of rural Kentucky. After what I’ve learned about the downfall of the precious parish in Richmond, nothing is going to surprise me about the bewildering judgments of those running an institutional religion that long ago lost its way. Give me a simple family Christmas Eve, with loving hugs, wall-to-wall cousins, Yorkies under foot, Jaybon’s vino, mud room goodbyes, and the lasting brilliance of a Dadbo who combined the sleep-inducing benefits of warm milk for the kiddoes, with a dose of aphrodisiac for Mr. and Mrs. Claus.

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.

During our visit to Yorkshire Estate last night, I had the opportunity to witness Jerome speaking at length on the phone to Bruce (still in the hospital). I’ve never had such a profound awareness of how far my brother has journeyed as a healer.