Indeed, there was no tomorrow. Cold weather blew in again, and it was a treacherous mess by the end of the day. In spite of it, we made it to Berea and back for the opening reception of “Repurposed & Recycled: Works by Kentucky Artisans.” As usual, I was too self-conscious, and, although I met some new people, did not spread myself more evenly around the gallery to take full advantage of the networking opportunity. After the event, Dana, Joan, and I took our chances and went north to Richmond for a late Japanese lunch — a wonderful meal with my palzees. We managed to stay within the confines of our cleansing program. Joan was wise in immediately heading home after we got back to Danville. Finished “Proscenium,” or at least I thought I did, but pulled it from the scanner at the last moment, unsatisfied with the upper corners. I shall find a way to refine it in the morning.
Archive for the ‘Dana’ Category
March Exercise IX ~ day sixteen
Sunday, March 16th, 2014March Exercise IX ~ day ten
Monday, March 10th, 2014I can’t believe that I forgot our “First Date” anniversary today, until Dana mentioned it. (It’s a good thing that I was already being sweet.) Thirty-six years since that memorable night in Dayton, and I still have not gotten my fill of this unique lady.
March Exercise IX ~ day five
Wednesday, March 5th, 2014This is Ash Wednesday. Perhaps it is good each year to remind oneself that none of us escapes ending up as a cigarette butt in the tray of life. No reason not to postpone it as long as possible and to maintain the optimum quality of existence, until we find out what is on the other side. Dana, Joan, and I start the Dr. Junger CLEAN program today (the same 21-day regimen we did together in October). Dana will be out of the studio, driving Terie to see Dr. Jerome in Campbellsville. START by Jon Acuff is the book that I have assigned myself this month (in addition to three others I am reading). It seems that my current pattern is to have a morning book, a bedtime book, and a travel book. In some ways, this is better than getting involved in an all-consuming read that pulls at my shirt sleeve all day. That could all change quickly, if I found another Paul Watkins or James Clavell. Day (charming wife of Lee’s cousin, John, the composer and educator) recommended that I should take on the Aubrey–Maturin series by Patrick O’Brian. When the timing is right, I really should try the first one.
March Exercise IX ~ day two
Sunday, March 2nd, 2014Before settling in with Dana for yet another disappointing Oscars telecast, I finished my first concepts for the Ian/Robin duogram and sent it off by email. A severe winter storm is on the way, but I cannot help but think that it may be over-hyped for our area. Nevertheless, somebody out there is going to get smacked upside the head. My daily posting of collage is under way, but I still have not given enough attention to the overall checklist. Must not think, being this accustomed to the March ritual, that I can just “wing it.”
Gaps Not Bridged
Saturday, April 13th, 2013“Never lose sight of love and kindness for family, Clan, and friends. Family comes first and many times we make or seem to make it last.”
— Grandybo
Why is the sweetness and sorrow so ever-present, tipping this way and that, like the child’s teeter-totter of oldenday?
Dana’s splendid birthday celebration with friends has been bookended for me by the deaths of my Uncle Jack and Jonathan Winters. That both of these men departed within a week of each other feels strange to me, because I always associated one to the other in my mind. They were close in years lived, went to high school in the Dayton area, and both reached the prime of youth wanting to be cartoonists, just as I had done. Saying farewell to Uncle Jack comes, of course, with a deeper sense of loss, but I shall miss the unique, zany humor that made Winters so famous. Both men had a zest for life so characteristic of their great generation. I’m not aware that they knew each other, or had ever met, or that any of the Seitz brothers had met Winters, for that matter. It’s just that I had him linked to my uncle for my own odd reasons. Perhaps I was picking up on something that transcends coincidence, if such a thing even exists, but that is the substance of another journal entry, is it not?
Pop Seitz delayed giving his name, John, until the last of eleven children. (An act of humility?) When each had a first-born son, neither Uncle Jack nor my own dad would wait. (An act of pride?) Although Aunt Betty always called her husband by the name ‘John,’ he was always called ‘Jack’ within his family. In much the same way, the Dixons called the namesake of John by a different name— ‘Ed’ or ‘Eddie,’ the diminutive of his middle name. You may find it peculiar that I focus on these aspects, but it just happens to be the way in which I think.
Although I can empathize with Aunt Betty’s family as they endure the loss of a father, I cannot begin to comprehend how Mombo must feel to lose her “kid brother” and the only sibling who had remained among the original eleven. Art, Ginny, and Jack had always been a trio, and her early memories never fail to tie the threesome closely together. When I think of Uncle Jack, I think of his enthusiasm. If a subject was worthy of his attention, he was never half-hearted about it. We shared more than a name, but also talents and interests. Nonetheless, he was someone with whom I spent precious little time, as was so true with all my Seitz uncles. No matter how much one of my mom’s brothers seemed to like me, I could never make the proper effort to correspond or really connect. A generation should not be such a difficult gap to bridge, especially when there is respect, admiration, and affection. I’ve been blessed with more fine uncles than anyone could ever expect to have in one life. Studying and appreciating them from afar, I have squandered nearly every opportunity to discover the true man and to know him as a mentor or friend. This is the path of least resistance, I suppose. It’s probably what Grandybo was trying to impart in so many of his Clandestiny writings.
I once had an idea to create a gift— a strip of panels in the style of Milton Caniff called “Jack and the Renegades.” It always seemed too frivolous or too ambitious, depending on my state of mind. Today I realize that undoubtedly my time and effort was spent instead on something ambitious or frivolous that means nothing to me now. And yet, the cartoonist in me still lives, and has probably been kicking inside since I first found out that Uncle Jack was a cartoonist, too.
My heart is with him today, with his descendants, with my mother, and with everyone who loved him.
Mar/X Ten
Sunday, March 10th, 201335 years ago today I was summarily dismissed from Lancelot, but the ultimate “silver lining” from what could have been a horrible turn of events was my successful first date with Dana that evening. We would soon become inseparable. I was almost 26 years old. Somewhere in my original black journal, I must have made a reference to the event, but at the time I could not possibly have foreseen the far-reaching significance of that day. The real potential did exist for me to have spiraled into self-destruction, but I instead found myself on track to the heart-center of my life. God grant us another 35 years together!
Mar/X Nine
Saturday, March 9th, 2013Tomorrow is a milestone event for Dana and me, so we celebrated with an enjoyable Mexican dinner (saw Larry B there and promised to pay a visit, as he mourns the loss of Shirley). The bartender told me to remember to ask for a “Caballero Margarita” the next time I’m there, since I can’t stand the typical sweet recipe. Then we made it on time to our matinee showing of “Silver Linings Playbook,” a perfect love story about another young guy who found the right gal at a pivotal moment in his life. Yes, I like to say that I check-marked Bradley Cooper as a winner back when he was on “Alias,” but who cares? This motion picture will hold up, just like “Working Girl,” “Indian Summer,” and “The Fabulous Baker Boys.” My kind of movie romance doesn’t pop up that often.
A tribute . . .
Saturday, February 16th, 2013(Delivered today at the memorial service for S B Clark, Lexington Avenue Baptist Church, Danville, Kentucky.)
When Dana and I arrived from Ohio nearly 25 years ago, we set about finding a building in downtown Danville. After the memorable experience of our first Kentucky real estate auction, the next thing on our list was to join the Chamber of Commerce. That was the day we met Shirley B. Clark.
She did more than just welcome us. She did more than reassure us that we had chosen an exceptional city. Shirley cultivated in both of us a strong belief that the community needed us as much as we needed Danville. She fanned a flame that would grow and merge with a spirit of community involvement. She had that special capacity, because she knew that the vitality of a community was more than making things happen and getting things done. She understood deeply that the spirit of a community was about people — especially people who believed in achieving something new, whether they got the credit or not, and who thrived on the pleasure of working with others who felt the same way. We saw this in the way she went about her own activities and how she made a catalytic effort on behalf of one organization or project after another — quietly, persistently, with her characteristic unflappable manner, and with her distinctive good cheer.
I’ll always remember her professional introduction to our adopted home town, but I don’t recall a time when I didn’t feel that she was my friend. It was clear from the beginning that she cared about my success as an entrepreneur, as an artist, and as a person who aspired to do well by others and the community. I would not be surprised to learn that she made everyone with whom she collaborated feel the same way.
As the years passed, we locked arms on many volunteer efforts — at the Chamber, for the Band Festival, as members of the Rotary Club, or with what would become, perhaps, our most meaningful shared cause, the Salvation Army. Whenever we put our imaginations and heads together, I came to appreciate even more how much Shirley loved her community, how she could foster that same devotion in others by her example — by how she got results with a steady, practical approach — and by her positive spirit of always trying to do the most good she could in any situation in which she gave of herself.
Shirley and I often shared similar concerns about community issues. Even when the stakes were high, she had a much better way of seeing the amusing side of it all, and this would help me keep things in perspective. I remember lots of comfortable laughter, even if the details have faded, as they usually do.
I remember times, years later, when we would ride back downtown together after a Friday Rotary lunch, discussing current initiatives at the Salvation Army. Then we would sit and talk in my driveway far too long, and, eventually, we’d stop and laugh, because I think we both realized that we’d become pals, and, if left to our own devices, we might gab the afternoon away. Although both of us were clearly out of the loop on weighty matters by then, we enjoyed being together to unravel all the challenges that faced our local economy.
I came to value Shirley’s sound priorities and keen insight, and to respect her as both a caring heart and a very savvy individual. She understood the dynamics of all the types of personalities that make a community tick. She was a marvelously thoughtful person, always full of encouragement, and she had that important trait required of all good ambassadors — diplomacy. In my opinion, her role in paving the way, with executive finesse, for so many constructive accomplishments, is largely unsung. Danville has lost one of its great champions.
Shirley’s regard for our community was rooted in her love of people. We all shall miss her presence. I shall miss her friendship.
Shirley B. Clark
1935 – 2013
Various & Sundry, part eighty-seven
Monday, December 31st, 2012Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his own works; for that is his portion: for who shall bring him to see what shall be after him?
—Ecclesiastes 3:22
— Year of 2012 workout totals: Swim-13; Bike-48; Powerwalk-3; Run-0; Lift-12; Pilates-0; Yoga-0; Lupus Drills-2
— Meeting my goal of a minimum of 48 bicycle workouts seems to have had a disastrous effect on my swimming this past year—a near reversal of 2011. Does that make any sense? I was able to do my sixty-mile bike + sixty-lap swim on April 30th without a lot of pool preparation, and then the swimming totally fell apart during the summer. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t looking ahead to my annual channel swims in the Les Cheneaux, because I had already decided to skip the trip to Michigan and spend my 30th wedding anniversary with Dana.
— A series of aggravations over the past few months has resulted in daily knee pain as I head into a new year. It’s hard to say how that will affect my fitness routines. I need to find a way around it until healing takes hold. Here are the factors that must have contributed: 1) Hauling nearly a ton of free sand by wheelbarrow from the parking lot construction site across the street to the back yard. 2) Too much time hunting in a stressful, Japanese-type posture with stretched knees. 3) Moving Terie’s stuff from South Carolina. 4) Slipping on a rug and sprawling forward onto my knees. 5) Additional activity that made things worse (instead of rest), such as trimming branches and cleaning the gutters up on the roof, hauling brush to the farm and dumping it, crawling around in the attic to find squirrel holes, plus raking all the autumn leaves. It feels better than it did at first, but a return to normal could take a long time.
— Highlights of the year? Well, now that the disruption has settled and I’m used to a new dog (Ru, the Shih Tzu), it really is nice to have Terie with us, as opposed to the constant worry over her previous circumstances. Mombo’s unexpected improvement over the year is an important development. Best GABBF of all? Perhaps so. Dana and I observed decade-turning birthdays and our milestone anniversary. The 2nd Veep Debate at Centre was huge for our community (plus a great time with James and Susan). My six-oh event was extremely satisfying, as were memorable bicycle outings with Simpson, Hoover, and Hower. I shall always remember 2012 as the Centennial of Collage—the year I formalized my creation of the small collage, started my new blog, The Collage Miniaturist (catalyzed by the “Tribal Monday” sessions with Kathleen), and re-discovered wheat paste as an adhesive. The local trails summit that I helped organized was a key achievement, as well as the “Uncle Bones” graphics for Lucas, even though I disappointed myself with ridiculous delays on projects for GAB and Last Adventure. A wonderful party to follow the Johnson wedding resulted in some of the coolest pictures ever for Dana and me. And, of course, the weekend in November with another Clan wedding and the Ohio trip to install a sign with Dan and Bill was one of the best experiences of any year.
— It’s time to look forward and raise the bar for a new cycle. It may seem as though negatives outnumber the positives, but it’s just a matter of attention. Nurture—Affirm—Forgive—Inhale! There is no permanent status, because each day is a new page with the same challenges and pitfalls, but also the same opportunities for self-investment, accomplishment, practice, and constructive change. Pick one problem each day and heal it in some way. Nothing is beyond me, in and of itself, but, if I let inaction coalesce to a critical mass, it has the potential to crush. Make each day count. Eliminate the obstacles, brick by brick. Nothing new added without processing something over-ripe. Set realistic goals and re-invent the checklist. Believe that all will be fulfilled as never before.
“Ain’t you afeard?”
Tuesday, July 24th, 2012What was the world coming to and what hearty pleasures folks today missed out of life! One bag of meal her pap said, used to make a whole family rejoice. Now folks came ungrateful from the store, grumbling they had to carry such a heavy market basket. Was that the way this great new country of hers was going to go? The easier they made life, the weaker and sicker the race had to get? Once a majority of the men got weak and soft, what weak, harmful ways would they vote the country into then? Well, her pap’s generation could get down on their knees and thank the Almighty they lived and died when they did. How would they ever have come and settled this wild country if they said to each other, “Ain’t you afeard?” How would her pappy have fetched them the long way out here on foot if he’d kept asking all the time, “Are ye all right? How do ye feel? Do ye reckon ye kin make it?” No, those old time folks she knew were scared of nothing, or if they were, they didn’t say so. They knew they ran bad risks moving into Indian country, but they had to die some time. They might as well live as they pleased and let others bury them when the time came.
—from The Town by Conrad Richter
This past weekend couldn’t dovetail more aptly with my previous musings on the parallel lines of sweetness and sorrow: the joy of hugging and laughing with Seitz Family loved ones mixed with the ache of seeing Kelly off to his final rest. I’ve never had a big brother. Wayne came the closest. If we had lived in proximity, Kelly might have filled that void in many ways, but now he’s gone, too. Susan’s choice of a strong set of funeral readings moved my spirit. The sadness was balanced with the opportunity for Mombo to see former friends from Tipp City: Jane, Flo, and Mary Jo, and I was able to kiss the cheeks of Angela, Lynnette, and Jenny, while meeting the eyes of Karen for the first time in 35 years. The bitter with the delicious—this seems to be the taste of things for me. Thus it probably always has been, but now I recognize and accept it.
Alyx joyfully announced her engagement, while grieving families in Colorado sorted out the tragic aftermath of a rancid nut-job’s evil handiwork. It’s hard not to wonder what our society is coming to when things like this happen, but how do such dangers compare to the daily risks our ancestors faced with no loss of determination? And if the frontier rangers had caught a murderer, rapist, or horse thief, the misfit would have swung from a noose in short order, without a thought wasted on his psychological deficit or woeful childhood. Perhaps we shall eventually see a would-be exponent of such premeditation swiftly and lawfully cut down by a “citizen sheepdog” who just happened to be carrying his weapon in circumstances one would think it unnecessary to do so.
Dana and I watched The Iron Lady last night, and we found too many flaws in the motion picture to recommend it, but I must say it caused me to remember Thatcher’s firm resolve in crisis. There are many kinds of fear. They must all be cast out—whether by righteous indignation or by perfect love. Throughout a life now cut short, I’m certain that Kelly was afraid at times, but I have always thought of him as one of the most fearless men I have known. Whether it was having the courage to marry young and to bear whatever stigma the world would throw upon his path, or to take on the high-pressure world of corporate sales, or live his convictions as an example to his family … or to bravely face a diagnosis that would suck the hope from someone who didn’t know what he believed. It never seemed written for the two of us to go beyond a periodic big smile and strong handshake. Nevertheless, he always set a fine example from a distance. And, for me, I expect that will continue to be the case.
Parallel worlds
Tuesday, June 19th, 2012“One man live. Another man die. One woman laugh and the other one cry.”
—Danny Darst, Lady Luck
Back in the depths of our winter mourning, when I would see people talking and laughing with delight, it seemed out of character with the tone of existence, even though I knew at the same time that it was only natural for every imaginable emotion to be continuously bubbling through the current of humanity. But didn’t I live next to a funeral home? Didn’t I know that death was a constant—running abreast of every joy I experienced on any given day?
That same contrast of feeling is with me again, to some extent, because my best buddy’s sister was in a terrible car wreck. As I write this, she holds on to life despite massive brain trauma… and this is a family that lost their patriarch only eight months ago. I know what it’s like to be plunged into the icy waters of such a vigil, and yet here I am enjoying the heck out myself this summer, basking in the glow of the marvelous Johnson wedding and the best of the Great American Brass Band Festivals to date. Mombo is doing better than anyone could have expected a few short months ago, working her way toward a full mile on the treadmill, in the face of a prognosis what would have broken the spirit of many, and yet my Clan has come together to forge an even stronger bond, proving to me once again that the unfailing light of family love is the most powerful force I have yet to encounter in this life of 60 years. Here I am, enjoying the simple pleasures of each unfolding day. I make art, watch silly TV shows, play with my pup, trade stocks, grow tomatoes, read books, and ride my bicycle like I’m still a kid… and there he is, my soul mate since 1970, wounded to the core and wondering what God holds in store for the next hour, day, week… wondering how he will be forever shaped in some as yet undiscovered way. Two connected but parallel worlds.
As I heard Dana say to another recently, “There is something sad going on in every family.” The inverse must be true as well. I remember realizing that there must be happy things occurring in my family at the same time I was selecting my son’s gravesite, but one hesitates to share such things with relatives in the grip of anguish. In this age of social networks, I’m always struck by the odd juxtapositions of delight and grief, but, of course, life has never been otherwise. However, with age, it’s just a bit more difficult to mentally insulate one’s personal world, in contrast to the manner of my youth. And so I try to let my periodic melancholy be informed by the presence of exuberance, and to allow my occasional bliss to be peppered by the knowledge of sorrow.
It seems to me that all the emotions of life are fully present in our extended circle of experience, but are fleeting, elusive stuff at the private, individual level. I wonder if the impermanence of happiness is at the root of most addictions, many of which go beyond the typical vices and substances—patterns such as gossip, broadcast news watching, pack-ratting, procrastination, argumentation, anger, and all manner of risky and abusive behaviors (yes, that includes extreme exercise, too). In place of natural serenity, we get hooked on habit-triggered adrenaline and brain chemicals that have little to do with what we should know provides the only enduring satisfaction—service to life and oneness with creation. Sensual pleasure and physical comfort have their proper place, but as a focus of life soon become an empty shell or bottomless well.
It is said that change is the only permanent state. Perhaps, but where does change originate? My only answer is: The One Creative Source—the only truly permanent thing. As we come to accept the inevitable—that life in this dimension is characterized most of all by impermanence—then we eventually learn to understand the flow of suffering and sweetness, to look for meaning in the essentials, to appreciate real friends, to value the unity of family, and to age with dignity.
6 0 + 6 0
Monday, April 30th, 2012My chronometer flipped over to a new decade yesterday, so I observed the occasion with a 60-lap swim plus a 60-mile ride. What else can one do, except to take a symbolic swipe back at Old Man Time? It was a satisfactory way to test my fitness. The best part is that the thunderstorms held off until dark, and Dana welcomed me back with pie.
On her day . . .
Wednesday, April 11th, 2012This is the image I’m connecting with today. A picture of the beauty to whom I proposed. After the British rifle match, I collapsed and missed Easter, battling a virus in near delirium. I managed to recover enough to be rather functional by today, in order to help Dana observe her important milestone. She initially wanted to attend the Keeneland races, but changed her mind when the day never warmed up. “Birthday weather” did not arrive. We almost went to see The Descendants until we realized it was at the top of our Netflix queue. So we joined David and Lee for a nice Italian dinner in Lexington. Now I’ll be in “my 50s” for 18 more days and we’ll pretend as if there are two decades between us.
March-Ex VI: sought art on day eleven
Sunday, March 11th, 2012“I could see no reason why used tram tickets, bits of driftwood, buttons, and old junk from attics and rubbish heaps should not serve well as materials for paintings; they suited the purpose just as well as factory-made paints.”
—Kurt Schwitters
The matrix is abandoned. Is it March or not? Dana and I traveled to Louisville to see a group collage exhibition at Hard Scuffle Gallery. One of the most satisfying opening receptions I have ever attended. Caitlan and Kyle walked over to join us, and we presented our congratulations gift to him—the unusual ceramic cast by Igor. Bob and Meg attended and wanted to have dinner with us. My intention was to make it back to the farm for Mission: Madness, but the schedule went to pieces. I really hated to stand up my Pal-zee. It was a joy to re-connect with these friends. We are all at the age when it becomes a challenge to maintain the continuity of our self-employment and stability, but each of us does our part to navigate the waters with purpose and a semblance of dignity. Schwitters was the great example of always moving on to the next thing in the face of adversity, yet preserving a dedication to his unifying artistic vision. Would he disdain my current fixation on his “style?” Most likely. But an artist must absorb all one can from influences, modify one’s own creative code in the process, and venture on toward greater individuality. Bert Cooper said, “Get on with it!”
To Pay Paul
March-Ex VI: fueled my imagination on day ten
Saturday, March 10th, 2012“A Princess of Mars may not have exerted the same colossal pull that Tarzan had on the global imagination, but its influence on generations of readers cannot be underestimated. The novel became a seminal text in the early science fiction canon, inspiring a slew of imitators.”
—Junot Diaz
As hard as I’ve pushed the past week and as much as I’ve accomplished, I still feel as though the March regimen has gone out of focus. Deadline drives have their own kind of relentless logic not in keeping with the drill. So, instead of taking the scruff of one’s own neck and redirecting it to the month’s structure, I went soft on myself and reset the sights for Monday. I hit a much-anticipated John Carter matinee. Most critics are hating this movie, and it may only make a profit offshore, but I was not at all disappointed. Taylor’s ability to command the screen and carry the story, plus a realized Frazetta vision, more than held my interest. Later in the afternoon, I took a long walk with my mate, and then we made pizza together to celebrate the thirty-fourth anniversary of our first date. John Carter said, “Good God…I’m on Mars.”
Disney Sauce
March-Ex VI: faced anxiety on day nine
Friday, March 9th, 2012“I think I grew in different ways—just that it didn’t break me, I didn’t really just quit. There were moments when I was definitely close.”
—Taylor Kitsch
Dana told me, “Just remember, these are your friends, and they want you to do well.” With that helpful suggestion, I finalized my PowerPoint presentation and headed out to address the club that I’d quit nearly three years ago. It’s funny how nagging insecurities and self-doubt can get in the way of achieving a straightforward goal. I decided to do this. I knew I was fully knowledgeable and capable of pulling it off. And yet, somehow, the lead-up was all about overcoming the fear of failure. The ability to perform is in my bones, I guess, but speaking in public has never come easy for me. I thought to myself, whatever you’re dealing with, there is nobody more on pins and needles today than young Taylor Kitsch. So I picked up the microphone, smiled, said, “Thank you, Danville Rotary!” and shared my passion for bicycling. John Carter ordered, “Get on!”
A Cult of One
March-Ex VI: studied probabilities on day six
Tuesday, March 6th, 2012“Success is the sum of small efforts,
repeated day in and day out.”
—Robert Collier
Dana and I completed our second day of training in the routine techniques of high-probability trade design and management. The more I learn, the greater my burning desire to do this every day. Our instructor was a bit on the shrill side, but her command of the subject was astonishing. I’ve been in the presence of very few people who could match her intensity, sincerity, and focused energy. The Investools/AMTD/ThinkOrSwim configuration is a powerful platform for gaining knowledge and deploying skill. It has my full confidence. Donald Draper yelled, “I want to build something of my own! How do you not understand that?”
Liberation Day
March-Ex VI: thought about the future on day five
Monday, March 5th, 2012Life is no straight and easy corridor along which we travel free and unhampered, but a maze of passages, through which we must seek our way, lost and confused, now and again checked in a blind alley. But always, if we have faith, a door will open for us, not perhaps one that we ourselves would ever have thought of, but one that will ultimately prove good for us.
—A.J. Cronin
It was a shock to confirm that March had indeed come in like a Lion, with Lexington getting even more snow than Danville. Crossing the Kentucky River on the Bluegrass Parkway offered a striking scene in the early morning light. Dana and I spent our day in the city, learning new skills in preparation for long life. When somebody moves our “cheese,” we have to shift outside the zone of comfort and make choices about what to change. Donald Draper asked, “Where do you want me to start?”
Agenda Items
Various & Sundry, part eighty-six
Friday, December 30th, 2011I do not write regularly in my journal… I see no reason why I should. I see no reason why any one should have the slightest sense of duty in such a matter.
—Occupant of The Hall Bedroom (Mary E. Wilkins Freeman)
— Year of 2011 workout totals: Swim-49; Bike-29; Powerwalk-25; Run-0; Lift-1; Pilates-0; Yoga-6; Lupus Drills-9
— A good showing for the year with my swimming (48+ should be the minimum for any activity), but a poor biking total leaves me with an overall sense of disappointment. I know the reasons, and will attempt to correct them in the coming year — an earlier start, twice weekly rides, and a better finish to the season. If I have any hope of mounting a milestone event for the big six-oh, it starts next week. I can’t let the cold weather deter a regular schedule. My shoulder is finally healed, and that opens up the strong possibility of a satisfactory lifting year. I have all the incentives to make this a banner cycle. Get on with it.
— The top exhibitions of the year? It begins and ends, of course, with “Color and Collage,” the Kurt Schwitters show at the Berkeley Art Museum. The display of California Impressionist paintings at the DAI and the major show we saw in Nashville, “The Birth of Impressionism: Masterpieces from the Musée D’Orsay” were both highly memorable. Add to that the “Rough Roads” retrospective of Bob and Ted’s Kentucky photos from the 70s, plus all the art Dana and I experienced in the Bay Area this fall, makes me realize I can’t complain about the opportunities of the previous year. Perhaps it’s true that we needed to balance the general rotten quality of 2011 by seeking out more great art. If so, that’s just fine, and we should keep it up.
Agave Maria
Sunday, December 25th, 2011Dana prepared an outstanding Christmas brunch for Terie and Marty’s morning visit, enhanced by my “Agave Maria” recipe which utilized the home-made tomato juice that she canned while I was in Michigan. We opened presents afterward, including a new air-combat video game for Marty that we shall properly inaugurate tomorrow during our PS3 Fest here at the Town House. Last night was another amazing Stew Eve gathering, with the Clan Hall packed with “grown-ups.” Only the members of our Louisiana outpost were missing. Brendan was home, and all the Louisville cousins were present. Mingus was pouring an excellent Bourbon Barrel Stout. Jerry R gave me a rifle sleeve for my muzzle loader (which claimed no venison this year), and Jeanne surprised me with a small picture of our mom when our dad first took her fishing. I had no memory of the image. All these details take on a new emotional significance in the wake of Mombo’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease. Everything will change now, and yet everything remains the same as the family pulls together to manage her care, to collectively safeguard her well-being and dignity. God bless us everyone!
to California by train ~ part five
Wednesday, November 23rd, 2011No major outings today, since the B’bach family is settling into Thanksgiving mode, but we did have a good lunch with Lauren and Kellie at the Dos Coyotes border restaurant here in Davis. I continued to correspond with JMM, who is in LA for the holiday (both of us in the same state, but so far away). He responded to my curiosity about the California light with these wonderful words, “Oh yes, my friend, the light is different out here. When the early 19th Century painters took their stuff back east, people exclaimed that light simply does not do what it they showed it to do in the West. Imagine Half Dome or El Capitan revealed from a mile or two, but without air to blur and soften. Can’t be done, they said. From there, we seem to love our American West very much for its revealing Air (Spiritus) and the inspiring of it (Inspiritus). The freedom from the well-worn assumptions of the American East (which is hardly ever capitalized) is necessary for the likes of us that need a new perspective now and then. Your ideas are more likely to be met graciously out West.” Mike is doing fine, but he misses his late father, of course. Oh, I know how it feels. It’s nice to see Dana so relaxed and full of smiles during the lead-up to this holiday. I suppose that part of this adventure is meant as a distraction for us, as we observe our first Thanksgiving without Bruce. It is good for her to be with her family. For me, too, and it’s also a mini-sabbatical, as I spend valuable time with books about key Bay-area painters. Looking at reproductions of Thiebaud’s pie paintings while the house is filled with the fragrance of actual pies baking was almost beyond my endurance. When the young generations left tonight, Bill and I made dinner together. The four of us had a great evening of food, wine, and conversation. It was fun to hear all the old stories of the Breidenbach heritage and lore.
