Uncle John’s Log & Co.

I got all excited and woke Dana up early when the sun rose over the Colorado prairie. After a long stop next to the stadium where the Rockies play (Coors Field?), we climbed out of Denver through the tunnel district and the 6-mile Moffet. What followed is impossible for me to describe… some of the most spectacular scenery through which I’ve traveled since my rides long ago across the Alps and along the German Rhein. A photo will need to compensate for my failure with words. There was constantly changing terrain, geology, and vegetation. I especially enjoyed the views from Fraser down to Glenwood Springs.

One of the highlights of each year has become my participation in the traditional British Single-Shot Sporting Rifle Match held at Simpson Range. In the busy lead-up to this annual event, I clearly lost interest in a daily log entry for the March Exercise, so now I’ll just focus on applying for the rest of the month my regimen for self discovery, putting aside the blogging ritual. The combination of friendship, hospitality, competition, precision activity, history, fine food, and the joy of life make for a unique weekend that holds a place in my heart to rival September in the Les Cheneaux and our quarterly Clan gatherings. I am a privileged man to have gained access to touchstones of authenticity such as these. John O’Donohue said that “the duty of privilege is absolute integrity.” There’s my food for today’s thought.

March Exercise V —day twenty-five— I continued to have difficulty with my “phantom thumb” exercise, so I called Mary Ellen to consult. She told me to just set it aside for now and not to fret about it. I suddenly realized how many other things I’d allowed myself to make an object of daily worry, pondering the connection between stress and vision problems. It seemed a good time to walk over to the Community Art Center with Dana and tour the dinosaur exhibit. We saw Nathan M and he offered to provide us the list of economic development conferees. Later, I sipped a cold Leinenkugel and watched the Wildcats secure their spot in the “elite 8.”

Today’s sight bite— Phosphorescent streaks and random geometric perfections —c-l-i-c-k— convincing me that exotic minerals are more fascinating to my current imagination than extinct reptiles.

Previously on M-Ex— It’s a madhouse! (3/25/07)

Tomorrow— Flying solo in the studio . . .

There have been years in the past when I couldn’t have told you the teams competing in the Super Bowl, even if the fate of my eternal soul had depended on it. Fast forward to today, when I awaited the big game with immense anticipation. What changed? First of all, I spent enough time with a great football-watching friend to understand that NFL players are the most amazing athletes in the world. And then, when Bruce was gravely ill and we spent a good portion of a year hanging out around Indianapolis, I began to favor the Colts. The clincher took place last year, when I worked professionally with local star Jacob T, a second-year back-up tight end and special team starter for the team, following his brilliant career at the University of Kentucky. After that I was hooked on Indy, deriving much pleasure from watching their “almost-perfect” season and playoff success. Nevertheless, despite my desire to see Jacob be part of a Super Bowl victory, I’m not sad that the Colts fell short against the Saints tonight, because my heart is with Kristi and the Hornsby family as they enjoy a wonderful celebration in New Orleans.

This is the last image I created in a partially successful effort to provide “cartoons to the editor,” in partnership with my pal, Rick. It’s from 2003, when several improbable events converged: Kentucky elected the first Republican governor in a generation, Saddam was captured in Iraq, Boyle County and Danville football teams concurrently won state championships for the third time, and local voters passed a liquor-by-the-drink ballot measure. The cartoon was rejected for unknown reasons. In retrospect, it does seen to violate one of the basic rules of editorial drawing— focus on a single, easy-to-grasp idea. Oh well, I still like that style, but it was too much work to continue for free.

“To be politically correct, I can say
that I’m scoping out the Norwegians
when I get on a plane, but face it,
if there’s a shaky Muslim cat near me,
I’m going to be keeping my eye on him.”

        —Dennis Miller

News of a thwarted terrorist act has popped the bubble of holiday euphoria, and yet, to maintain a festive mood is remarkably easy for those of us who weren’t called upon to celebrate Christmas by clambering over an airline seat to subdue a suicidal fanatic.

Yesterday morning found us at Terie and Marty’s for Christmas brunch gift giving. After arriving home we had some private time (I got a new bicycle helmet from Santa), before relaxing with afternoon victuals, enjoying the company of our dear friends, David and Lee, and a sensational Sonoma County Zinfandel from Dana’s brother Bill. A trip to Lexington followed, where we watched the new Eastwood picture and shared our evening at The Pub. Not surprisingly, “Invictus” pushed my buttons, but the editorial pacing of the World Cup championship match fell a bit short of my expectations. In any case, Freeman’s portrayal of Mandela was outstanding, and it’s my understanding that he has wanted to play the character for many years, having brought the adaptation to Clint while developing the property himself.

Today is Boxing Day, so it’s off to Kelley Ridge for more conviviality. Things just keep getting better during this splendid countdown to a landmark New Year’s Eve wedding in Louisville!

“There is no substantial difference by which we can attribute a higher aesthetic value to one choice or the other. Our preference is a question of a personal, irrepressible urge.”

—Leo Lionni

D a n n y  D
at a recording studio
somewhere in Lexington

 
 
 
After years of friendship built on untold hours of front porch discourse and coffee shop dialectic, Danny and I finally had the opportunity to work together on a creative project before his family’s chapter in Danville came to an end with the sale of their nearby house on West Broadway. However, it would be beneficial to back up and start my account at a more logical beginning:

The story begins at a typical sighting of our familiar Graybeard Prospector—a Chamber-sponsored networking event hosted by a newly organized bank. My pal David was in a conversation with the president of the bank when they looked my way and motioned me to join them. Within a few moments I was one of the first to learn about the imminent signing of a one-year endorsement contract with local football hero Jacob T, who had completed his NFL rookie year with the Colts after an accolade-studded career at UK. I gathered my wits as the short briefing came to a head. “We have to get a year’s worth of photographs and radio spots before he goes into training camp.”

A question flashed internally. “How would a true Ad Man reply?” With his stainless steel gaze fixed to observe my response, an imaginary Donald Draper was standing off to one side, a deftly balanced Lucky in hand. I heard myself say, “If I understand correctly, you need creative direction, and you need it fast.”

Before the impact registered, the project was in my lap and the countdown to Jacob’s departure had begun. The photo part almost felt easy. I had a solid list of pros in my head and the first one took the assignment when contacted. In a matter of days we were shooting Jacob at a personal appearance. On the other hand, it had been over a decade since Dana and I had produced any radio advertising. I felt rusty. Audio technology had moved to desktop digital since then, and there were other important factors, too. I knew the default setting would be to handle this at the hometown radio station, and my gut told me that I had to find a way to pull this into a slicker technical environment. I was confident our print advertising would look first-rate, but to stand apart on the radio would be a different kind of challenge.

The last thing I wanted was to generate “more of the same” junk so typical of local radio. If at all possible, I hoped to accomplish two things: a) create scripts that would promote the bank with words that rang true for Jacob’s personality, and b) grab the listener’s attention with music at the same level of production quality that motivated them to listen to the radio in the first place. Anything less might simply be brushed off as “some bank paying Jacob to read stuff on the air.” It made sense for me to consult someone who knew more than I did about this sort of thing. I needed to talk it over with Danny.

When I delicately raised these issues with him at the Hub one evening over a tall “haf-caf,” his response astonished me. Literally poking me in the shoulder, he mentally grabbed hold of my ideas and offered to write some music with lyrics that would help carry the campaign I envisioned. He gave me so much good advice that retaining barely a third of it enabled me to get a green light from the bank to book a recording studio and capture Danny’s work. He seemed delighted to do this favor for me, given the fact that he’d watched Jacob grow up and had a high regard for his family. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Danny said all he wanted was to have the bank guys buy him a dinner, and I wasn’t sure whether he was joking about that part of it. I knew he was dead serious about the rest.

It took some digging, but I tracked down a sound pro named Kevin J that I’d met through Eric C in the 90s. He was the best in Lexington at the time, and, more importantly, he was worthy of my total trust. Our session together with Danny came off with flying colors and I walked out the door with everything I’d hoped for. It was exactly what I needed for the type of spots I wanted to produce. Kevin and I mixed a disc of various musical tracks at :60, :30, and :15 lengths. Now all I had to do was close the deal by winning the bank’s approval to combine Danny’s distinctive sound with Jacob’s natural voice.

Ideally suited to Jacob’s character and reputation, there was something powerfully authentic about Danny’s original words and music. Dana and I made a supreme effort to pitch those tracks to the CEO, but he fundamentally could not envision the effectiveness of my concept— to contrast a relaxed, down-home style against the typically phony-sounding chatter on the radio.

When I told Kevin that the head of the bank had thrown out Danny’s music as an element of the radio advertising, he didn’t seem surprised. Although understanding and supporting the approach I’d proposed, the experienced audio engineer and producer observed, “John, I have known people who tried to combine art with advertising, but it is rarely possible to convince the buyer. Clients have a tendency to play it too safe, do what every other similar business is doing, and then wonder why it doesn’t work better.”

Having failed to sell my idea of making the music be an equal partner in the message, the success of the production would now depend entirely on Jacob’s vocal sincerity. I pushed for the same Lexington studio we’d used to record Danny, arguing that to merely bring Jacob to the local radio station where he’d interned as a student would work against our effort to enhance his self-image as a professional. Having him rise to the challenge of his first major voice-over gig was the only hope of capturing the genuine personality on which we could hang the campaign, and I also needed Kevin’s technical expertise to produce high-quality, finished spots.

The “homework” I’d done to ensure that Dana’s scripting would naturally sync with Jacob’s values paid off with a smooth, comfortable recording session. He praised her scripts. His gifted ability to focus on task, along with his easy-going confidence, sense of humor, and considerable breath control, left us all rather impressed. After getting the go-ahead to use some appropriate background music I discovered on the Web, Dana, Kevin, and I brought the project in on budget with seven :30 spots, two :15 spots, and the ingredients for yet-to-be-written, Jacob-introduced spots that could rely on adjunct voice talent.

Much to our surprise and disappointment, a recommended introductory newspaper ad with Jacob’s image was drastically reduced without our knowledge. It looked terrible when published and put us into the position of explaining why it was not only illegible but also quite ignorable. This took place after Jacob’s sports agent endorsed our work when he saw the preliminary design. Playing catch-up, I adjusted the photo density to compensate for the poor reproduction, and we encouraged the bank to enlarge the ad for two follow-up insertions. The third time around it was printed well enough to look respectable, even though it was still significantly smaller than what we’d suggested was required to create a sufficient level of impact for an effective campaign kick-off.

Football season is getting under way and we anticipate a bigger splash to draw the market’s attention to our new client bank. So far, people “in the know” have made positive remarks to me, but I await the first clear indication that we’re putting something out there that is doing the job. Over 70 banks have already failed in the USA since January 1st. Clearly, this isn’t the most advantageous time to open a financial institution, but I like to think of our situation this way: Here’s an enterprising group that wasn’t forced to think outside the box because it was never inside the box. Time will tell if the innovations they’ve brought to Danville will meet with consumer satisfaction. Hey, if they hired me, they’re obviously not stuck in the status quo. Let’s hope some good things start to happen!

So there’s my tale about how an exciting chance to compose a stand-out piece of promotion can turn into another missed opportunity. Nevertheless, we have an entire year to pull this campaign up a few notches, and our client has already expressed an interest in using the song Danny wrote for us to anchor some kind of Web video or podcast. To be honest, the main reason I put together this detailed account is so I can remember it myself as part of an unusually interesting summer. With everything going on, including the latest round of major abdominal surgery for Bruce, this e-log is undoubtedly the best memory chip I have going for me.

I caught a ride to Ohio with Joan and Mombo on Friday afternoon, and we managed to arrive at the church in Tipp City while almost everyone was still there. The three of us had dinner with K&KK in downtown Tipp. When Dana found out that Bruce would not be released immediately from Jewish Hospital, she left Louisville and made the trip separately to join me at Amy and Bill’s later that night. The morning funeral was appropriate for “a theatrical family,” complete with bagpipes and a horse-drawn hearse. We walked the half mile or so to the Catholic cemetery and rediscovered the profound sense of community that is lost when mourners retreat to their individual automobiles. The family reception at the parish hall featured a salad-lover’s bonanza. I enjoyed talking to Rita, David, Clev, and Angela before we returned to say good-bye to “The Barefeet.” After I snapped the bride+groom+2dogs in their new great room, we made our way down to Taylorsville Dam and the 2009 Seitz Reunion. Always good to see each member of my mother’s family, whoever shows up. Some of us gathered at Marion’s Pizza afterwards. Joan and I got a kick out of the peculiar, black and white, celebrity photos from the 60s and 70s, many of which are now beginning to fade. She observed, “What John Kenley did with his Players was what the Colonel had hoped to do in Danville.” True, but Henson’s summer troupe survived his passing and lives on after 60 years. Back at the motel, Joan treated us to our own adjoining room and I had the rare opportunity to watch the final two stages of the Tour de France before we left the next day. Although Armstrong accepted his role as “domestique” to teammate and eventual winner Alberto Contador after the Alpine 15th stage, admitting that “I gave it everything I had, and I wasn’t the best,” it was exciting to watch him ensure his place on the podium while settling “unfinished business” on Mont Ventoux. I tried to get Mombo and Joan involved, but they were just too sleepy to follow the drama. Dana had more interest in the Sunday finish, with the stunning aerial views of Paris and the Champs-Elysees. Lance will be back to challenge his rivals next year, leading a new team sponsored by Radio Shack. Whether an “old fart” can unseat the young Spaniard at the age of 38 will surely be the focus of the 2010 Tour. After checkout, we headed directly to Louisville to get Bruce. I’d felt odd on Saturday that I hadn’t worn my Seitz T-shirt, but it was a good thing I’d put it in my bag, because it was the only clean shirt I could offer Bruce for his release and our trip home. We all got to the Town House safe and sound, and Bruce was feeling normal enough by Monday to be voicing grievances about minor issues in and around the kitchen. I can tell how much he’d like to have his independence back. I said, “When you begin to feel like a husband in your mother’s home, it’s time to carry out the exit strategy.” His laughter sounded good.
 

— AP Photo | Bas Czerwinski

Hayley was one of only three nominees for The Advocate-Messenger Female Athlete of the Year award, but she had the luck of finishing her high school career during the impressive tenure of young Kaitlin Snapp.

Did you miss her first act?
Dig this—from AMnews.com:

Hellyer was a five-year letter winner in basketball and finished her career with 1,903 points. She was a team captain her sophomore, junior and senior seasons and was a three-time All-Area performer. Hellyer also earned all-district and all-region honors during her career. She has signed to play basketball at Campbellsville University. In softball, she was a four-year starter at shortstop and made the All-Area team twice. She was the Rebels’ leading hitter last season. Hellyer, a 4.0 student, was also an academic all-state pick. She is also a member of the Pep Club, Beta Club, Change of Heart, and Fellowship of Christian Athletes.

Ladies and gentlemen, stay in your seats for Act II.

†
Jack Kemp
R
I
P

March exercise—day nineteen— Needed to catch up on rest, so a late start plus spillover activities from yesterday’s trip ate into my plan for the day. Dana and I hit another Chamber event to test the “law of attraction” on multiple levels. Hayley was voted to the All-Area First Team in ladies basketball for her third year. She topped the area as leading scorer and had the most rebounds, assists, and blocked shots for her team, ranking first in free-throw percentage. What an outstanding way to finish her high-school career!

Today’s sight bite— Super-swank graphics for Mad Men —c-l-i-c-k— reminding me of Saul Bass titles from the same era so ably depicted by the series.

Tomorrow— End of the week already?

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

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

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

Jeanne e-cast the good news yesterday— Hayley has scored her sought-after “full ride” to Campbellsville University. The Advocate published an interview today, and I always get a kick out of these stories about Belle, because she’s been so quiet around me, and then seems so verbally expressive in the journalistic context. Her mom reports: “She worked hard and overcame obstacles to realize her dream to play college ball and have her education paid for. She has visited several times, really likes the coaches, spent time with the girls (has scrimmaged with them, too) and most of all, likes the “feel” of the campus. Her next dream/goal is to be a school counselor and coach girls basketball. You should see the look on her face… it’s priceless.”

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

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

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

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

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

V & S

Dana hosted Clan womenfolk at the Town House on Sunday, and what better birthday present for Mombo than to meet a new granddaughter, Juliana Molina? Everybody noticed how she and Torrance Rylee made an immediate connection. Ah, what shall these two little ladies experience together over the next 82 years? It electrifies the imagination. When Belle was leaving, I said, “Beat those Ads,” and, by Jove, she almost did tonight, scoring 23 points in outstanding District play against her former coach. Nobody can say she hasn’t played her heart out this season.

My nephew is really on a roll with his story site right now. Seeing Anacrusis pop up on the screen each weekday is sort of like watching a slugger come up to the plate with a hitting streak on the line. Everybody gets nervous, but the player is out there just doing his job, trying to get some decent wood on the ball.

Hey, I’m only kidding around. Brendan was already in my Hall of Fame long ago, when he turned away from Benedict’s 9 to devote himself to better ideas.

Is it just me, or has this been a rugged year so far? Joan is emphatically right when she keeps an emphasis on life’s blessings, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty of struggles along the way. I just spent the better part of a week scraping back together a functional workstation, and, as you’ve no doubt heard me whine before, my lifestyle dependency on computers is a major source of distress from time to time. For me, few things trigger such a sense of the forlorn. Perhaps it will continue until I learn to transcend it—or finally accept at an even deeper level that there’s a supreme power in control of my existence.

I remind myself that any flirtation with modes of complaint is without validity, for is there really a soul in the world who isn’t weathering his own vicissitudes? (Tom Cruise doesn’t count, dammit.) I think of my friends the Bells, or the school community in Marion County, or Janet and Jerome, and I can’t help but consider that much of life involves suffering. I suppose it’s about how we deal with it.

Take my niece Hayley, for example. Surely she had a much different expectation of how her 11th-grade basketball season would transpire, compared to the difficulties that came around the corner instead. A recent media story laid it all out before the public. Good grief. Nevertheless, among her top competitors, she still leads the area with an 80% free-throw percentage. Hardly anybody on the court has been pressured this winter as much as Belle, but she maintains her composure at the line.

Like I said before, it’s about how we deal with it. Keep plugging, “gril.”

The treacherous plot against Ian has found its way to my studio. Symantec’s Norton Disk Doctor has violated the Hippocratic Oath by completely screwing the hard-drive directory on my Mac G4.

I’ll spend most of the weekend rebuilding my computer from back-up files, and I might as well look on the bright side, seeing it as an opportunity to upgrade the operating system and organize things anew. To keep my positive outlook, as my nephew seems to have done, I’ll hold pleasant thoughts… hmmm… oh yeah, like visiting the Cowboys locker room when we were in Dallas last year.

I’m ashamed to admit that instead of going to Hayley’s game last night, I “glued down” with primary coverage from New Hampshire. I wonder how I would’ve held up, had I gone, because just reading today’s newspaper article was almost more than my nerves could endure. Yes, I do get worked up about our Lady Rebel, and so I won’t be able to keep my distance from the upcoming contest with Danville.

— Each time this year I’ve run the 5+ miles back downtown from the cabin, the time has felt shorter, even though I’m running pretty slowly these days. The silence transpired more quickly for me this morning, too. Milton handed out his periodic survey to the group, and I discovered a 1961 Horizon in Mack’s studio that had an interview with Andrew Wyeth, famous at the time, and now the greatest living American painter. I’ll have to digest the whole article during another visit, but I was able to scan a few stimulating quotations, and then Sara Jane offered me a new commission, with the freedom to interpret a photographic image with my choice of style—the perfect assignment. Everything conspired to boost my motivation to aggressively advance the Brady and Eckerle projects, plus my fine-arts enterprise in general. I couldn’t think about anything else as I ran home. So, why am I sitting here with this log entry?

— Cliff and I had a conversation about blogging the other day and it got me thinking about my string of 616 or 617 consecutive posts, and how important making daily entries used to seem. Brendan still refers to this site as a daily journal, but that hasn’t been true for well over a year. Once again, time is malleable, and, as Arnold has said, there’s adequate time each day for everything meaningful enough to do. Blogging isn’t about the time, but about having something worth saying to yourself, maybe worth recording, possibly worth sharing. I eventually figured out that doesn’t happen every day. When it does, not much time is required to get it down.

— Terie and Marty bought the M:I:3 DVD and left it at our house, so, late last night, I watched the J.J. Abrams picture for the second time, and I liked it a bit more this time around. I think Tom Cruise is the Burt Lancaster of his generation. Regardless of what I might think of his personal life, his work product demands respect. (Hey, not all celebrities can be a James Stewart or Charlton Heston; Lance Armstrong falls into the same category.) If Cruise had not become an actor, he would surely have been an Olympic or professional athlete in some discipline. He has the mentality and natural capacity for high-performance physical achievement. Although one of the least flamboyant stunts, his Chinese-village tile-roof footwork is probably the riskiest choreography in the movie. As I’ve declared before, I think he squandered the full potential of the classic franchise and put its longevity at risk, but this sequel is the best of the lot, the most team-oriented, and it fits nicely into our ancient family idea of an M:I Saga Series. In my opinion, Abrams is a creative, meticulous director with a feel for the spy genre compatible to Mission: Impossible—Cruise certainly can’t be faulted with his selection—but Abrams will need to have further honed his story-telling skills to do justice to his upcoming Star Trek feature, another Desilu-originated concept from the “silver age” of television.

— Local historian, R.C. Brown, is dead at 90. He once saluted me on a Danville street as, “Mr. Dixon, the Spin Doctor!” We often held different political perspectives, but shared a fascination with local heritage. I recruited him in 1991 to expound before a camera, as part of a fundraising documentary (the same program in which we cast Alyx as a child actress). He was in his 70s then, and I was young enough to think I might have a future directing videos (as close as I got to being Ken Burns when I grew up). Brown was the doctor, not me. He was from Ohio, too, but went on to get a Ph.D. from the University of Wisconsin. He taught history at Buffalo State College for 28 years. When he retired to our area, he rapidly became an authority and wrote The History of Danville and Boyle County. I’ll always believe that Professor Brown respected me as a talent, even though I consider his remark shaded by a mild one-upmanship. Perhaps he did understand better than most the true nature of my commercial craft, but I hope he wasn’t thinking of Victor Papanek’s quotation:

“In persuading people to buy things they don’t need, with money they don’t have, in order to impress others that don’t care, advertising is probably the phoniest field in existence today.”

I prefer this one:

“The only important thing about design is how it relates to people.”

— Thomas Bewick, my newest hero, couldn’t escape the ongoing necessity of making money with “coarse work” (as his daughter called it), despite his artistic reputation and unmatched skill as a wood engraver. I wanted to return the library book and avoid fines, but couldn’t help myself, and finished the biography by Jenny Uglow this week. As I said previously, learning more about his life has reinforced for me the notion that, although everything changes on outward levels, nothing really changes in the human dynamics of making a living as an independent, creative craftsman. I was notably saddened when I learned that he never fulfilled his dream of having the cottage workshop close to nature described in his memoir:

“The artist ought if possible to have his dwelling in the country where he could follow his business undisturbed, surrounded by pleasing rural scenery & the fresh air and as ‘all work & no play, makes Jack a dull Boy,’ he ought not to sit at it, too long at a time, but to unbend his mind with some variety of employment — for which purpose, it is desireable, that Artists, with their little Cots, should also have each a Garden attached in which they might find both exercise & amusement — and only occasionally visit the City or the smokey Town & that chiefly for the purpose of meetings with their Brother Artists.”

Dana reminded me that we all tend to get what we desire if we want it badly enough.

V & S

— My cycling chum Bill S commissioned a hand-made card for his mother’s one-hundredth birthday. He’s a great guy who shares a lot in common with me. His daughter is a terrific designer that works for Lenox. Her new Urban Picnic design is being handled by Macy’s. When she was getting her education she asked me to give her an internship, but the workload couldn’t support it. I regret the missed opportunity to have experienced her talent firsthand.

— One of my primary community-service mentors, Carl M, who originally proposed me for Rotary membership, recently asked if I played golf, as we left our weekly luncheon at the Danville Country Club. I told him that when I had the available time, I much preferred to be on a bicycle. It was clear from our conversation that he didn’t think much of the sport, but remarked that I thought it was a “great game,” and, from time to time, I did enjoy watching the best players on TV. Well, I reinforced that viewpoint for myself over the holiday when I glued down with the head-to-head play of Mickelson and Woods. Anyone who can witness that level of psychological combat without total fascination should steer clear of golf in any shape or form.

— I’m not sure when I became hooked on short stories. Maybe had something to do with Brendan getting me addicted to very concise ones. I shall never read all the great American novels, but I do hope to eventually read all the best short stories ever written by Americans. If you have some favorites, let me know. I can’t get over the variety: Wharton — James — Hemingway — Thurber — Faulkner. And I’m discovering others new to me: Walter Van Tilburg Clark — Katherine Anne Porter. I’ve been aware of The Ox-Bow Incident and Noon Wine (Peckinpah’s lost rendition with Jason Robards is remembered by some who saw it as the finest television ever broadcast), but didn’t recognize those names. Yes, I know… I’m a late arrival at the grand old house of our national literature.

— I have to admit that, after 13 years of conditioning, all I want to do after Labor Day is draw, fish, swim, relax, and enjoy myself. Seeing the picture of the Adkins Family makes me realize how much my nervous system craves some sort of vacation. I decided not to make the trip to Upper Michigan this year. Being with Dana on our silver anniversary is more important. If we can pull ourselves away from the studio, we’re due for our own getaway. What can one say about a quarter century of marriage? I can write a bit, but not well enough to tackle such an assignment. It’s been more than that, too. A working partnership on all levels. An uncommon occurrence in human relationships. Beyond my capacity to summarize.

V & S

— Month of July workout totals: Swim-0; Bike-6; Run-1; Lift-4; Yoga-2

— When stupid costs only time and money, while highlighting the blessings of friendship—clearly there are much worse blunders one can make. This is the moral of Brendan’s story. (I’ll be damned if that young man can’t write a superb blog entry!)

— Big Sis is in happyland with all kiddoes stateside, and many good things are happenin’ all around the Clan. I dug out a 1997 Hi-8 tape for Seth’s secret project and made the hand-off in Liberty this morning after a biz meeting at City Hall. Look out. The Medicine Woman gave Old Graybeard a haircut and he’s building an opera house where the mule skinner’s shack used to sit…

— My profile in Arts Across Kentucky is about to hit the street, so I’m frantically trying to finish a major revision to the Dixon Design Website. Whenever I’ve looked the site over, all I’ve wanted to do is scrap it and start over, but I’ve convinced myself that the smart thing to do in the interim is to build on what I’ve already got, until the urge to take a busman’s holiday overwhelms me. (No hotlinks today—rest that click-finger until my newest pages are live.)

— Well, two-wheeler fans, my favorite cyclists (both former world mountain-bike champions) came within seconds of winning the big one, but young Alberto held them off. None of them will get the credit due, given the fact that this Tour will be remembered only for those who dishonored the sport. Ok, enough for this year. You already know what I think about it… Shameless dog-fighters, a crooked ref, and lying, juiced-up sluggers… What pro sport can measure up these days? I even saw the Golden Bear on TV responding to questions about performance-enhancers in golf. Sheesh!

V & S

— I just had my first meeting with Maurice the Poet about my wood engraving, and it’s such a privilege to be collaborating with someone of his intense perceptions and literary abilities. Not surprisingly, I’m battling those silly old currents of inadequacy. In a moment of weakness, I told Gray I hadn’t expected to be invited in at this level for my first Larkspur commission. He let out his characteristic laugh and said, “John, there’s only one level around here!”

— Brendan must be very busy getting ready to come back to the States, but he took time to send me a cool link about Haruo Suekichi, the Japanese timepiece artist. If, like me, you’re fascinated by the creative process, the interview is full of insights. You can form your own judgments about his watches. Brendan knew I would agree with him that they’re awesome. These are watches a mad villain from The Wild Wild West would wear with sinister pride while defiantly counting off the final seconds of Jim and Artie’s lives.

— After my presentation last night before the Boyle County Planning and Zoning Commission, I believe there’s significantly better than a 50-50 chance that the authority will adopt stronger language in its Comprehensive Plan Update to acknowledge the future needs of bicyclists and pedestrians. If nothing else, the level of public awareness had been raised another big notch, and our group, B.I.K.E. | Boyle County, received a “thumbs up” from the Advocate-Messenger editorial page today.

— Anyone who knows me, knows my affection for cycling, and appreciates how much time I swipe from other activities to advocate for a more bike-accommodating Kentucky… Well, you have to read this article about a recent tragic loss in Louisville. That’s all I can write about it.

— Discovery’s Contador is now wearing the yellow jersey, leading a dispirited corps of the world’s top cyclists. It may take years for the Tour to recover from the scandalous developments of the past week. The Spaniard says he’s clean, but that’s what they all say, whether they are or not. Tomorrow’s time trial will determine the winner, but Evans and Leipheimer both are now in a position to challenge. Unfortunately, whoever wins will stand at the pinnacle of a tarnished sport. It’s nearly impossible to remain an exuberant fan of pro cycling. On the other hand, ask yourself this: What other professional sport would be willing to undergo such zero-tolerance scrutiny, and, if it were, could emerge any less ruined in the eyes of the spectator public?

V & S

Belgium’s Tom Boonen won the 12th leg today, and afterwards he hit the nail on the head. “The Tour’s a horrible race,” he said. “You have to be masochistic to ride in a race like this.”

With tomorrow’s individual time trial and the coming mountain stages, we are likely to see the eventual winner emerge from top contenders to take the yellow jersey and attempt to keep it through the last time trial on July 28th. If he does, he will certainly ride into Paris for the victory.

My prediction? Anything can happen at this point in the premier cycling event, but I’ll pin my hopes on Australia’s Cadel Evans or Levi Leipheimer, now riding for the Discovery Channel team.

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

Three weeks ago, Peter Lupus planned to break his own world records for weight lifting. The event was planned for his 75th birthday, and so far I haven’t been able to dig up any news. This concerns me more than you might realize, because Peter is one of the coolest Americans alive, and, as many of you know, I’ve carried well into middle life the “hero worship” I began for him at age 14.

Best known for his successful run on the original “Mission: Impossible” series, Lupus holds the world record for oldest person to bench-press over 300 pounds, which I think he first established at age 65 and then broke at 70. He has a record for lifting a total of 76,280 pounds in 27 minutes, which he also set at age 70. He planned on breaking both records again on June 17th.

One of the great spokesmen for natural fitness in the past half century, he’s still married to his wife Sharon, who he met in the 1950s before he became a television star. Actually, I really don’t care if he was able to attempt the weight-lifting feat. I just want to know “Willy” is doing fine and is able to continue his long performance as an impressive role model for natural aging and a dynamic later life.

“I want everyone to get fit and stay healthy. The second half of your life starts at 50. Will you be prepared to have the best time of your life like I’m having?”
— Peter Lupus

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

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

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

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

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

V & S

I put aside all my stresses for a day and a half and enjoyed the company of some very fine people who came to David’s cabin for his second spring rifle competition. After participating in the Saturday morning shoot with an Australian .310 Cadet rifle (tied for fifth place), I kept score in the afternoon for relay number two of the British Single Shot Sporting Rifle Match. With the miserable weather that blew through, we couldn’t have had better luck than when the rain stopped long enough to preserve the event as originally planned. David said he couldn’t have pulled it off without me. In spite of prior misgivings, I was glad to have been there, to have helped out my friend, and to have solidified relationships with some of the region’s top experts on Victorian firearms.

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

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

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

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

V & S

March experiment—day seventeen— Today has been a strange day, in a sense, full of subtle contrasts, not as I expected it to transpire, but the nets of artistic progress are full to the bursting point. I haven’t spent so many hours in a deeply intuitive mode for a very long time. The relentless momentum of decision making set the stage for many days of labor, and I was able to preserve that orientation, even though I took TV breaks to watch four different closing contests between men’s NCAA basketball teams, including one that almost went into triple overtime. All the way through this, I felt the tension born of knowing what I wasn’t doing, and, piled on that, the awareness of how odd a vein of aesthetic ore I’m mining, for God knows what reason. The more I get into this, the more I wonder what it’s all about, what part of myself I’m paying tribute to, what meaning or lack thereof I bring to others. On Saint Patrick’s Day, there isn’t a beer in the house, just the words of William Butler Yeats scratching at my soul—

The Choice

The intellect of man is forced to choose
Perfection of the life, or of the work,
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.

When all that story’s finished, what’s the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day’s vanity, the night’s remorse.

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…

March experiment—day one— My regimen of self-study from a year ago ended with an artistic victory. Strangely enough, my revisitation of the experiment begins with the same kind of breaktrough. This morning I put the finishing touches on my painting for the Brass Band Festival, and the new executive director says she couldn’t be more pleased. Even though I “tricked” myself into plunging ahead with the artwork by calling it a study, there is no doubt that I relied on insights gained during that previous month-long period of rigor. What am I prepared to learn this time?

Today’s sight bite— Hayley with the game ball over her head, as every player on the court pauses—c-l-i-c-k—while she considers how to manufacture a point margin that will take home a district title.

Tomorrow— Ready or not, the full schedule begins…

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.