Almost two weeks ago Joan alerted me to E-Ring and thought it might be shaping up as a 21st-century COMBAT! replacement. I finally got around to watching the last half of it tonight. It has a dynamite ensemble cast, but the minutes I saw were a far cry from the classic WWII squad series that starred Vic Morrow and Rick Jason back in the 60s. The best surprise was to see that Kelly Rutherford had surfaced again. If Joan had told me about KR being on the show, THAT would’ve gotten my immediate attention!
Archive for the ‘Family’ Category
Dixie Cousins vs Ayman al-Zawahiri
Wednesday, October 19th, 2005Me a warrior? I just play one on TV
Tuesday, October 18th, 2005One of the most interesting conversations I had at my recent high school reunion was with a classmate I knew as Terry. I once directed him in a one-act play co-written by my sister Joan. He later changed his name to Cliff, got a degree in aerospace engineering, and became an Air Force fighter pilot. He flew F-16 combat missions in the first Gulf War, even though he was probably too senior in rank.
I told him I couldn’t begin to imagine the level of information processing that would require. He replied, “You know, I’ve tried most of my adult life to find a way of explaining it to someone who has never done it, and the best thing I can come up with is that it’s like playing two video games at the same time while riding a roller coaster.”
“In addition to somebody trying to kill you,” I added.
“Yeah, that, too.”
Meanwhile, down at the corner pub
Monday, October 17th, 2005Someday it would be fun to draw—no—I SHALL create a comic strip version of Bridget, and I’ll begin now if you agree to buy it. Metal frame or wood? Next Day Air or standard ground?
If it’s Sunday, it must be Indy
Sunday, October 16th, 2005Dana and I were heartened to see a vast improvement in Bruce when we spent most of the day with him, including a trip to one of the hospital courtyards, where he used his wheelchair as a “walker” to get some good exercise in the sunlight. His progress over the past week gives us reason to believe the topic of his going home may be under discussion before long. On the way back, Dana read aloud to me from “Reading Lolita in Tehran,” as did I while she was driving, selecting a chapter from “The Fellowship of Ghosts,” the evocative account of a journey through Norway’s nearly inaccessible mountains by novelist Paul Watkins. As a massive sunset peaked, we passed a caravan of mobile homes with FEMA emblems heading south. The cloud pattern filled half the sky like glowing lava splashed against a field of robin’s egg blue.
Today’s thoughtform—YAY
Wednesday, October 12th, 2005Speaking of the augury of birds (were you not?), Dana and I saw a blue heron fly over our path (from left to right). It was the largest heron I’ve ever seen. It reminded me of our pelican omen of 1979, when we christened our business partnership, which has survived 26 years. Whether or not we’ve begun a new cycle of good fortune, it certainly feels as though the recent studio tribulations are firmly behind us.
The world has gone mad today and good’s bad today
Monday, October 10th, 2005Dana and I drove to Indianapolis after the reunion so we could spend time with Bruce. Some anonymous medical genius had him so sedated he could barely keep his eyes open. They load him up with drugs and then stop in and ask him if he’s feeling depressed. Well, that makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? On our lunch break we walked along the canal, visited the Indiana History Center, and looked at some Bodmer lithographs and 1860 watercolors of Old Richmond. By the time I’d stopped in the Cole Porter room to see the Hirschfelds and play a couple tunes on the Wurlitzer, I felt somewhat better, although I took out my residual frustration on a nurse by insisting Bruce get some plain yogurt instead of the version with artificial sweetener, which gives him a headache (no problem, we have drugs for that, too). I’m certain everyone’s glad when the grouchy step-dad leaves.
Take my hand, take my whole life too
Sunday, October 9th, 2005By last evening we were in Dayton for Dana’s class of 1960 high school reunion, which she always enjoys so much, even though they’re a bit strange for me. Come to think of it, she might say they’re a bit strange for her, too. The music was provided by a classmate who’d worked in Nashville with Barbara Mandrell. He played solo pedal steel with a funky percussion unit that ran off a floppy disk. I was having some trouble listening to his interpretation of Richard Carpenter songs, so I requested a Linda Ronstadt or Roy Orbison ballad. The closest thing he could come up with was Elvis, but Dana was too busy talking and we never did get to have our dance.
Dispersed from Hollywood to Holywood
Saturday, October 8th, 2005While Dana and I enjoyed a splendid dinner with my “big sis” last night in Danville, it occurred to us how abruptly her “House of Joan” has spread across the world. According to Jeeves, the distance between Caitlan (Oxford, England) and Ian (Glendale, California) is 5389.0 miles (8673.0 km). However, if you’re traveling from one to the other and make a stop in Kentucky (anyone would, of course), it measures over 5800 miles, which is fairly close to Joan’s quick estimate of 6000.
So, there you have it. Who needs you, Jeeves, you pompous know-it-all?
Various & Sundry, part twenty-five
Friday, October 7th, 2005— Dana and I began our day having coffee with Kristi, my niece whose family is temporarily displaced by Hurricane Katrina. What a lovely person! I’ve met few people in my life who exhibit such thoughtful striving. I’ve never been more impressed with her, and I was incredibly impressed with her the very first day I met her in 1977. Take care, sweet heart.
— Being with Kristi makes me think of Caitlan, my neice who’s off on her adventure in England. That first week can be quite lonely. I was there. I don’t mean England, although I was there, too. I mean alone in Europe, facing a long separation from family and friends. I was the same age. It was difficult at first. It was also one of the most important personal challenges I’ve ever surmounted, perhaps the most important one of all. Caitlan is a terrific young lady—one of the most gifted people I know. She’ll get through this. She’ll be ok. If you’re the type of person who gets homesick, it never completely goes away, but when she discovers the intellectual center of her universe in Oxford, she’ll do just fine.
— David the Mac Guru urged me to just “sit tight” and await the arrival of a new startup drive for our G4, so that’s what I’m doing, but trying to keep clients happy in this crippled state is gnawing at my nerves. Get a grip—I’m not experiencing anything that countless millions haven’t already dealt with over the centuries—since that first clever human who chose to link mental equilibrium and financial well-being to an infernal machine.
— I was just thinking about my recent stay in the U.P. and the extraordinary “moments” I manage to bring back (in spite of my frayed memory bank). Like observing that remarkable “cinematographer’s moon,” as translucent clouds swept a midnight sky above the dancing treetops, or crossing the brisk Moscoe Channel in full open-water gear—wet suit, cap, goggles, fins, and my treasured diving gloves (generous Jerome will never know how much good use I’ve gotten out of them). I recall those minutes of tense exhilaration when, after all the effort, a big king takes the hook, and all mental energy is directed to the goal of successfully boating the fish, working with the net handler, knowing you may not get a second chance… my annual rediscovery of the pleasures associated with simple industry—preparing a meal, washing dishes, maintaining the boat, butchering and freezing the day’s catch, or salvaging a rusty salmon smoker… the sense of comfort and belonging that has now replaced the former disbelief, when I arrive and first absorb the low-key majesty of the Les Cheneaux… and that elusive point of peak relaxation which occasionally comes with fishing, recognizing that consciousness has been emptied of all thought when mind floods back into the vacuum…
Forbearance = Deliverance
Wednesday, October 5th, 2005Perhaps this private torture chamber of uncertainty in which I currently dwell—what I hope soon to call my studio again—is meant to be a mere taste of of what Bruce has inhabited for so many months.
God doesn’t work in just mysterious ways. He surely invented the bizarre as well.
Have mercy…
Various & Sundry, part twenty-four
Saturday, October 1st, 2005— Month of September workout totals: Swim-7; Bike-4; Run-3; Lift-0; Yoga-0
— I was reliving the moment of confusion, pain, and regret when I learned of Mike’s illness, so I decided to learn more about rheumatoid arthritis. The books in Dana’s own natural healing library here at home were a big help, and she spent time doing some digging herself. RA is an autoimmune condition, and there are strong indications to suggest that it’s related to food allergies. The ability of foods to trigger an immune response is often associated with a weakening of mucous membranes in the intestine that allow undigested food to pass into the blood stream and collect around tissues. In the case of RA it would be the joints. His immune system is mistaking cells around the joints as the enemy and will eventually destroy them if the complex isn’t unraveled. I put together a packet of information so that he can get another perspective. I believe, in most cases, orthodox medical care and natural healing methods can work side by side. It should only help him feel better if he combines dietary and lifestyle refinements with his current therapy.
— Bruce has had a powerful week of positive developments after a long summer of erratic recovery. For the first time since March he was able to take food by mouth. Imagine that… well, I know you can’t… neither can I. He also made it down the hall to the Dialysis Center with a walker, on his own—another first. This man has grit (or as my Uncle Don would say, “the Means”).
Agent 86 vs the Prince of Glue
Tuesday, September 27th, 2005Joan and I joked on Saturday about coming to the HUB as a couple of beatniks on open-mike night. That made us think about the demise of Bob Denver, who we remember as Maynard (to most of America he was Gilligan). Don Adams passed away yesterday. The back-to-back deaths of these 60s-comedy icons got me to thinking about how far we’ve travelled since sitting in front of the tube as adolescents. “Get Smart” was a cool, funny show, Agent 99 had sex appeal to spare, and I never felt self-conscious about watching it. It won Emmys, like our favorite drama, “Mission: Impossible.” On the other hand, wasting your time watching a show like Gilligan’s Island” was inexcusable. Mombo would scold us for being glued to the TV set. Shows like Denver’s became known as “glue” in our household, and you couldn’t deny the obvious if stuck in one. There weren’t a lot of choices if you felt like watching television in the 60s, and even after all these years, it’s hard to believe I allowed myself to “glue down” and watch so much junk like that. Now they’re called classics, and people in Hollywood trip over each other remaking them as major motion pictures.
Preoccupied territory
Sunday, September 25th, 2005Biked out to Mack’s Cabin to hear Milton’s remarks about the “intelligent-design-vs-evolution” argument. My hip didn’t feel too tender. Dana and I spent most of the day at Simpson Farm relaxing with our friends, but the Macintosh Panic was hanging over my head throughout the visit. Why is it that my storytelling ability degrades dramatically whenever I realize I’m “telling a story?”
Here we go again
Saturday, September 24th, 2005Today had its ups and downs. I finished a 5-to-6-mile run to Millennium Park and back with a very sore hip (the downfall of Cap’n Lice haunts my soul, too.) I was impressed with Rita’s excellent photographic coverage of our Piratical Blowout earlier this month when Joan shared the CD with us while she and Mombo visited the studio. I was then dismayed to learn of my mother’s worsening muscular ailment. There’s a lot she can do from a dietary standpoint that will help her feel better, and I believe she’s prepared to make the commitment. Nevertheless, we still had an upbeat time at the new Hub Coffee Shop in downtown Danville. On our way out we saw Tony H on the street and he asked about Brendan. After we got home and settled back into the studio, we had a major computer malfunction, as bad as the setback that hit us last winter.
KK + G4 = gr8 Po10chL
Friday, September 23rd, 2005When Caitlan came to the studio today I got my first look at her new
Powerbook G4. They make a handsome couple.
Funny pictures of everybody’s favorite uncle
Thursday, September 22nd, 2005If you don’t think that Brendan’s “Plastic Mullet Series” has achieved the summit of artistic hilarity, then A) you’ve been tragically blind since birth, B) you’re a snob who needs a search party to rescue your sense of humor, or C) maybe you actually wear a mullet style and are not at all amused by his cute little pastime. And if the Cap’nLiceCam is not weird enough, the Danville Rotary Club put up this page. Sonuva gun… I figured that after ten years in Rotary, I’d start looking more like Peter Graves. Maybe I should send Rotary a picture from the famous Muscle Club, (actually I don’t look that wimpy any more, due to my impressively strenuous, Bruce-Waynian training schedule this year).
Home again
Wednesday, September 21st, 2005After tasting my smoked salmon again, I decided that it
didn’t come out so badly (it should get better with some
practice). I unpacked, reorganized, and sorted through my
email. Read over and thought about the report James
prepared on Mombo’s Trust. Got a nice reply from Kyle (no,
by Heaven, he’s not a God-cursed Spaniard!) and learned
that BCA accomplished his assigned missions. Checked out
the “Invasion” pilot on ABC. Wasted my time; it stunk…
Day Eight at Barefoot’s Resort
Monday, September 19th, 2005My morning was devoted to cleaning up the used smoker that belonged to Bill’s dad. I played the soundtrack CD from “Master and Commander,” realizing that it was the first time I had truly listened to it. Some of these discs become mere background music in the studio. It made me want to watch the motion picture again, and I kicked myself for letting Marty’s DVD sit around the house for a month this summer without indulging. I made the offhand remark to Bill that it’s the best historical action drama since “Braveheart,” and that might actually be true, but I said it without really thinking much about it. Nevertheless, it would be interesting to know more about the Weir-Gibson connection.
I love smoked fish, but doing it myself is an entirely new thing for me. The timing is perfect today, as we organize and clean in preparation for tomorrow’s departure. We had to soak the salmon in a mixture of brine and seasonings all night. I’ll monitor the smoking process as the rainy weather makes is way through the Straits of Mackinac. There won’t be any more fishing for us in the Les Cheneaux
on this trip…
Day Seven at Barefoot’s Resort
Sunday, September 18th, 2005Mike, JD, and Bob headed south this morning. Even though Bill and I stayed up late talking, we were up early to say our goodbyes. I’m glad I took the group shot last night, having learned that morning portraits are difficult to pull together on a departure day (plus we end up looking sleepy). Following Bill’s lead, I joined him on a workmanlike trek for perch in one of the small boats, starting at Little Joe Island. The outing was characterized by a lack of enthusiasm. We came back to Moscoe and spent time at the weed beds with little success. Bill caught a sunfish and keeper perch or two, but I got nothing except a bit more tan on my back… hasn’t been a good week for pan fish, but we sure tried.
I told Dana on the phone that maybe our fishing luck had run out, but the results of an evening run to Dolomite Bay were quite to the contrary—two nice Chinooks for Bill (10-1/2 and 13), and a nine-pounder for me. A lot went wrong because we weren’t used to a two-man trolling crew (snags and tangles during the salmon runs), but we managed to get each of our fish into the boat. It didn’t compare to the “Friday Night Orgasm” of 2004, when three of us hauled in 60 pounds of King in one twilight session, but it was an outing full of excitement and surprises. It gives us a good reason to resurrect Walt’s old smoker. The weather forecast for tomorrow looks like a rain-out.
Day One at Barefoot’s Resort
Monday, September 12th, 2005Dana and I left Augusta early, barely catching the first ferry across the Ohio.
Wick had already told us that he’d never seen a day that the ferrymen hadn’t
operated due to fog, and today it was so thick we couldn’t see the other side until
the last moment (kinda spooky). We missed the rush hour in Cincinnati and arrived
at my good friend’s Tipp City house in time for Dana to make her rendezvous
with her chums from Wright State days. It was tough to say “bye” to my sweetie
after such a precious day together, but we parted and I continued north with Bill
Barefoot. I expected it to get cooler when we traversed Michigan, as it usually
does, but it stayed warm instead, all the way to the Upper Peninsula. We arrived
at Barefoot’s Resort and settled into Cabin One. The last patrons were leaving
for the season, so we had the lakefront to ourselves. After grilling a tasty
supper, we stayed up too late in fairly heavy conversation, and then took a boat
out into the channel for a midnight drift, soaking in the reality of being back in the
Les Cheneaux.
Honoring that day in ’82 when it was just our 9/11
Sunday, September 11th, 2005It’s been a while since the sleepy voice inside my pillowed head murmured, “Yes… a perfect day.”
Our 23rd Anniversary celebration was in full swing by midnight. Dana and I had arrived at our B&B abode only a few minutes before, drastically delayed by a leisurely dinner at a winery across the Ohio near Maysville plus our unfamiliarity with the route to Augusta. It would have been easier to find our destination by river, since it was right at the waterfront, but this is not 1805, so we traveled by car and twice missed our turn before we located the historic Thornton Marshall House. I knew that the adverse circumstances would be a strong indicator with respect to the personalities of the proprietors, and indeed they were. Despite that fact that we arrived hours late, after they’d left more than one voice message to our dead-zone phone, our hosts met us with good cheer, warm hospitality, and a bottle of Chardonnay chilling in the spacious second-floor bedroom above their art gallery and antique shop.
The next twenty-four hours defy description—by this mediocre scribe, dear reader—so forgive a mere laundry list of the activities that filled our “perfect day” with aesthetic delight, Epicurean pleasure, and a deep soul satisfaction born of true companionship:
• Waking up to the throaty horns of barge boats working in the fog, as a magical ambient light flooded our riverside chamber.
• Our sunny walking tour of old Augusta, which survived a fiery attack by Morgan’s raiders, and a tasty buffet lunch at the Country Inn.
• Kayaking with my sweetheart up the surprisingly clean Ohio and exploring a quiet Kentucky tributary.
• Enjoying our spectacular window view of the wharf, as we listened to Eric’s “Cooler” and relaxed with generous Jerome’s old vine Zin.
• Strolling down to the Beehive Tavern for a delicious gourmet supper and getting invited (three times!) to come back for their 20th Anniversary party later that night.
• Meeting Heather on the sidewalk (a fellow graduate of DAAP) and accepting an offer of a personal tour of her design work on the Rosemary Clooney House (those brown eyes!).
• A stop near the riverbank to look downstrean at a painterly sunset over water (those frontiersmen sure knew how to pick a spot).
• Experiencing the surprise celebration for Chef Luciano “Sean” Moral and the fulfillment of a 20-year vision for his tavern and the restoration of Augusta’s riverfront, with the most extravagant “potluck” spread I’ve ever seen (alas, too sated to exploit it).
• The spontaneous song fest, including “My Old Kentucky Home” on the harmonica, and Sean’s operatic serenade for his family and friends (We were stunned to discover his “O Solo Mio” was absolutely magnificent!).
• Watching fireworks over the river (20 rockets—one for each year) as the stars came out and the carriage horse ended her long day with enough spirit to gallop down the street.
• Oh yes… leaning over a candle to look at something before bedtime and singeing the hair on my head (1805 was dangerous, man).
That’s my nB
Friday, September 9th, 2005I don’t believe I understood to what extent an online discussion could break through to a new level of interactive dynamism until I had the opportunity to partake of this sweet nectar.