Archive for the ‘Friends’ Category

Les Cheneaux report

Saturday, September 26th, 2009

 
Morning on Moscoe Channel | Les Cheneaux

Morning on Moscoe Channel | Barefoot’s Resort | Les Cheneaux

• Marty and I are back from the first vacation the two of us have taken together. We coaxed unhappy Ned all the way to Tipp City on the Saturday before Labor Day and left for Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with Bill the following day. I’ve made many entries about Barefoot’s Resort in this log. I don’t intend to rerun the details, but you know how much I find to love about that setting. Add to that many satisfying experiences with my grandson from this most recent trip.

• My weather report is great— warm and sunny during the day, cool and refreshing at night. The clear sky displayed an awesome starscape, as the breeze laid down almost every night before a brilliant moonrise over the reflecting channel. I wish I could make a similarly positive report about the fishing. Caught enough yellow perch and northern pike to provide a nice taste, but no cooler was packed with frozen fish for the return home. Our only attempt at lake salmon was a strikeout. The era of bountiful Chinook is gone, everyone seems to agree. Nevertheless, Marty had his chance to pilot the Sylvan as I worked the familiar stern down-riggers with Foot, my generous friend.

• Glad to say that I got in my hoped-for endurance swimming. People told me the water was cold when we first arrived, but I soon learned that their perspective was completely different from mine. I didn’t need a wet suit for the first few days. Never having been in the water on a busy holiday, I did make Bill nervous on Monday when I paused twice on my channel crossing to accommodate boat traffic. He was having unpleasant visions of “collecting body parts.” I pledged to be more cautious for the rest of our stay. Sure, I want to keep fit, but I can’t help but think that part of why I like certain activities is that it puts me in touch with a younger, more naive self — especially that little guy who would put a rubber knife in his teeth after watching a Weissmuller flick and take off at full speed across the backyard (without shirt, shoes, or a care in the world).

• I have made this retreat with Bill during most Septembers since 1993. Although Dana and I traveled to the destination with Marty years before, it was different to share the experience on the eve of his turning 18. It was a unique opportunity. Another exceptional part of our getaway was the first visit of my old high-school chum Greg B, who I haven’t seen since 1980. A highly successful pediatrician in Columbus, Ohio, Greg lost the mate of his life last year after her long battle with cancer. We had several profound conversations—true moments of soul contact—that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Nothing has ever put me in greater appreciation of my own partnership of love, nor helped me glimpse the sorrow of losing a spouse—not even my dear sister’s double devastation. It was a rare, man-to-man insight that I simply can’t put into words.

• A time apart with good friends, and with a lad who holds an exclusive place in my heart. A time suspended, close to the earth and the heavens. On the water, in the water, under the water. Gazing into the wood flames, with the sun’s heat still pulsing across my skin, and the countless points of fire shifting overhead. I shall remember. I shall return.

pals_2009.jpg
 

The virtues of nonvirtuality

Saturday, September 5th, 2009

It’s great to keep up with your friends on facebook, but we must not neglect true fellowship in close proximity. Therefore, I travel to Upper Michigan with grandson Marty to be with good pals ~ to swim, fish, draw, and have fun. On to Barefoot’s Resort!

Eating a novel Dadbo style . . .

Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009

I took more than a mild interest after learning Wes was a dedicated reader of Cormac McCarthy, but didn’t act on it until Bruce brought home The Crossing from Half Priced Books. Lordy. Haven’t let this kind of undertow take me down since I read everything I could get my hands on by Paul Watkins. Hollywood’s fixation aside, the man can flat out write.

. . . and now this story can be told.

Tuesday, August 11th, 2009

 

“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

Danny D

 
 
 
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.

Rebels Card AdFootball 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.

Palsies, players, and the peloton

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

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.
 
podium, 2009

— AP Photo | Bas Czerwinski

Log post #888

Tuesday, July 21st, 2009

 
Visit Clay’s Daze

— photo by Clay Jackson. Visit Clay’s Daze today!

• While swimming my weekly mile today, I had to make an effort to quiet the mental static and focus on a steady rhythm of breath and body. I can sometimes lose count of the laps doing that, but there’s so much going on right now that I needed the meditative pause. After the workout I took advantage of the sunny afternoon to shoot some photos around campus for use in an illustration that suddenly became a rush job when I worked on everything else. During the walk home I realized it was time to “come up for air” with this blog and to jot down some overdue notes.

• News came today that Pat R’s shocking, month-long cascade of medical emergencies had come to a lamentable end. My heart goes out to all the Greystonians and their extended family. Our ability to make the trip to Ohio for the burial is complicated by another round of hospitalization for Bruce. He went to Lexington Friday night with more GI bleeding, but it looks like he finally found a team at St. Joe that wants a solution, and to get him back on track for a kidney transplant. Dana stayed with him through the inevitable admission ordeal while I took part in the weekend activities at Blue Bank, including some major attention being given to Spring Hollow and the area around the pond, plus a milestone Clan Council (first on Skype), as well as a long Sunday session for me that nearly completes the stone work on the Hall flue. One more day of labor should do it, and then I move on to the finish carpentry. How many years ago did I begin this project?

• I was a bit surprised that Mombo’s face was healing so fast, although she is still experiencing a visual disassociation between her eyes. I urged her to demand some type of sight rehab or therapeutic exercises from the ophthalmologist. She’s tempted to close or block off one eye to see clearly, and that’s probably the opposite of what she needs in order to regain her eye coordination. Actually, I’m a poor one to judge or make suggestions, since I’ve continued for years to put off a proper examination for my own eye condition.

• The closest I can come to imagining what it would be like to have some type of severe short-term memory problem is what I experience when trying to remember my dreams. No matter how vivid and realistic the images I have when awakening, under most circumstances they will be quickly gone—and irretrievable—if I don’t write them down or make a sketch. Think what it would be like if one was that way with actual waking events. Making notes to oneself would be the only way to function. (Makes me think of my Uncle Art.) It’s true that I do remember some dreams, but they tend to be the ones that reoccur, or the ones I wrote down and periodically read over. There I go again. Didn’t I promise myself I would not use this space to talk about dreams?

Haven’t met an uncool Andrew yet . . .

Friday, July 3rd, 2009

Pushing 60 has its drawbacks, but having some awesome young pals is not one of them. Three are named Andrew, a moniker of which I’m somewhat fond. Bursting with talent, Andrew-I is a maker of films. He gave me a non-speaking part in his latest under development, and I hope he’ll ask me to help with the titles, too. Andrew-II is a native South African, recently engaged to a dazzling lady Mexican encountered during his most recent high-level telecommunications assignment south of the border. Andrew-III is also a world traveler, equally brilliant in his own way, and currently about two weeks into an eventful trans-American cycling odyssey. You can check out his cross-country account at this online journal. Oh yes, I should warn you — day 11 is not recommended for the squeamish.

Good luck to all the Andrews out there!

Wildcards and constants

Friday, June 19th, 2009

 
Unconditional Surrender, 2009

Unconditional Surrender
John Andrew Dixon
Mixed media collage, 2009
Collection of Nancy and Charles Martindale

In a fashion more defined than recent memory serves, life unfolds with a stark blend of pleasing familiarity and jarring novelty. I take refuge in the naturally comfortable—collage, reading, friendship, bicycling, my cherished clan—while confronting strange and daunting challenges that offer few points of easy reference. The latter include new projects that require me to produce radio advertising, materials for patent registration, and a client-managed Website that relies on code I haven’t learned to speak. It’s helpful to remind myself that everything I’ve ever done—and a bit of it rather well—began with the unfamiliar. At times it was stimulating or even exhilarating, and at other times it was intimidating or actually frightening. I realize now that the difference was rooted in nothing but my own attitude toward the unknown.

High compliment

Saturday, March 28th, 2009

March exercise—day twenty-eight— At the end of last month, my astonishment at randomly meeting an art student who’d written a paper about my artwork on display at EKU caused me to write on Facebook that the incident blew my mind. Long-time friend Craig S commented that, “Dix has been recovering from a blown mind for 40 years.” Putting all nonsense aside, I’m pleased to have that student, Jonathan R, take the time to email his finished assignment to me. Coming from someone of his demonstrated talent and artistic dedication, I consider it an honor that he selected my work for investigation. There are times when I’m convinced that all one needs to do is follow creative intuition and let the universe take care of the rest.

Today’s sight bite— The plate-steel square at 300 yards —c-l-i-c-k— alarmingly small to the naked eye when positioned above the tip of a rifle’s front sight.

Tomorrow— Final Sunday of the month…

Path crew

Sunday, March 22nd, 2009

March exercise—day twenty-two— Dan W gave a talk at Shared Silence about his “50 Marathons in 50 States” achievement. We don’t meet at Mack’s cabin during this incarnation of the gathering, but Dana and I did go out to the Jackson farm later. After lunch with Marty, we helped clear the trails of ice-storm damage. Mack’s son is using the cabin as temporary living quarters, but there’s hope among some that the group will eventually return to the site for our twice-monthly meditation and discussion. When we got home, it was time to trim the overgrown shrubs along the driveway, which I probably wouldn’t have tackled on my own today, except for Dana’s effective role as “honcho.”

Today’s sight bite— Two familiar friends with chainsaws —c-l-i-c-k— attacking a snarled barricade of trunks and limbs.

Tomorrow— Back to the Mac…

Ordered steps

Monday, March 9th, 2009

March exercise—day nine— Where did the day go? Still trying to achieve the level of focus that makes this exercise worthwhile. Probably the most interesting conversation of the day was with the Lieutenant. We brainstormed about having my friend Eric come up from Franklin for a concert early this summer. From the time Eric created “Cooler” in 1999, I hoped for another CD from him with the same innovative blend of mellow reverence and uplifting energy. I was delighted to learn about “The Jazz in Me,” and invited Dan to check out the new disc. I think this music is perfect for a fundraising concert or community outreach event. I’ve probably written about Eric here before. Dana arranged for him to play at my 50th birthday party. His jazzy tunes are laid back but buoyant, and his improvisational gifts have clearly reached new heights.

Today’s sight bite— A balding Walie, tugging at the leash —c-l-i-c-k— as if she’d forgotten everything I taught her about the proper way to take a neighborhood stroll.

Tomorrow— Perhaps enough physical progress to attempt a Pilates session…

Measured gains

Thursday, March 5th, 2009

March exercise—day five— Improvements were recognized today on all fronts, but I don’t think I shall personally feel 100% for a bit more time. Bruce was doing a newspaper puzzle (a most welcome sign), but seems more concerned with solving the riddle of his unexpected plunge into such a perilous state. Brendan sent a heartwarming note of support. The County Judge and I secured an appointment in the state capital to visit with Transportation Cabinet people. Attended the reception at the Arts Center, learned more from David F about getting introduced to an art buyer, and met a very good pastel artist from Lexington. After that, Dana went to the New York Philharmonic performance with our Russian friend, Irina, another exceptionally creative individual.

Today’s sight bite— Bruce in his demeaning hospital garb —c-l-i-c-k— sitting on the edge of his bed in conversation with an ever-faithful mother.

Tomorrow— A new attempt at imposing the exercise…

Crash Bucket Chronicles — Epilogue

Friday, February 20th, 2009

“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.

Crash Bucket Chronicles — Day Six

Sunday, February 1st, 2009

“A well man at sea has little sympathy with one who is sea-sick; he is too apt to be conscious of a comparison favorable to his own manhood.”

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

Seven Deadly Zins
    Lee fixed an elaborate, delicious dinner last night, and my plate’s fare was more than I could finish. The Harrisons broke bread with us, too, and then left for a Norton Center performance. They’re still based at a motel, so that tells me Gose Pike remains off the grid. Access to David’s laptop provided an opportunity for us to glance at our growing accumulation of email. I could merely glance at Caitlan’s request that I design the invitation for her year-end wedding. And after that, the big news: Bruce called to let us know our power was back on—at last. We relaxed with Appaloosa for an encore viewing and then gratefully returned to a gradually warming house.
    When the ordeal is over, a strange kind of pride or sense of self-congratulation comes alarmingly easy. While others foundered, panicked, or were just plain clueless, if one was in a position to rely on prior judgments and preparations, there can be a satisfaction that is not entirely admirable, because it too easily creates a comforting detachment from those who are still suffering, from those who are still counting the days. Somewhere in the heart is a motivation to move beyond protecting immediate family to a more general community outreach, but the longed-for end to personal crisis brings too strong a desire for the return to ordinary living.
    And how smooth it can be to slip into that “new era of normalcy” without also seeing the experience as a call to greater preparedness. True, there seems to be an ongoing series of natural disasters distributed here and there, and this could be seen simply as “our turn” and to say, “All’s well that ends well.” But is it more astute to count blessings without losing a sense of guarded optimism, keeping one eye on the potential for more of the same or worse? Or perhaps that’s the unbroken “crashologist” within—my inner “doom-and-gloom-er” who needs to keep his powder dry and the gas tank on F.

Crash Bucket Chronicles — Day Five

Saturday, January 31st, 2009

“It is not the least of the advantages of allowing sailors occasionally a day of liberty, that it gives them a spring, and makes them feel cheerful and independent, and leads them insensibly to look on the bright side of everything for some time after.”

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

HITCH—Can I finish my coffee first?  COLE—You surely may.
    Terie’s power was restored last night, so all of us ate dinner at her place in Junction City and watched the Ed Harris picture, Appaloosa. (Superb western!) Terie fixed me up with a replacement mobile phone before we left. Even though KU has declared our residence restored, there was no power when we got home, but things seemed a bit more tolerable, just for having been in a warm, functional space for a few hours. Dana and I shifted our sleeping arrangements to the downstairs room in front of the gas grate. I was restless most of the night, until early morning, although probably better off than I would have been on the frigid second level.
    Worked outside today on the “endless” expanse of fallen limbs—slow progress without a chain saw. I talked to Bill, our business neighbor, and, although he still had no power at his Parksville residence, he discovered he had electricity in his law office across the street. Dana got through to the light company again and informed them of our status. The CPAs next door are still without power, too, and, since we’re both connected to the same utility pole, all we can do is wait for someone to show up to fix it. Ruined limbs are visibly putting pressure on the line. Bill thinks that might have triggered something.
    Dana is anxious to get out of the house, so we’ve decided to use the locker rooms at Centre, find an open restaurant, and then spend the evening at Lee and David’s, not knowing what we’ll come back to. Bruce went to Terie and Marty’s, so we’re shutting off the gas and leaving for the evening—with our fingers crossed.

Crash Bucket Chronicles — Day Three

Thursday, January 29th, 2009

“But all these little vexations and labors would have been nothing—they would have been passed by as the common evils of a sea life, which every sailor, who is a man, will go through without complaint—were it not for the uncertainty, or worse than uncertainty, which hung over the nature and length of our voyage.”

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

We are out of champagne and I’m stuck my dear…
    Water pressure came back around breakfast time. I immediately began filling a bathtub, but forgot about it, and it almost overflowed (my tub is so old it has no safety drain). Still no power, though. More areas of the city have been restored, including Lee and David’s neighborhood, but the whole idea of our benefiting from a downtown priority was in error, because Main Street is back in action with traffic lights and storefront electricity. Obviously, we’re not part of that circuit. More likely, we must pay the price for all the tree damage on Lexington Avenue and the block of Broadway to the west. Fortunately, our new gas water heater is operating again, so at least we now have hot, running water, which makes taking a shower the most inviting development of the day.
    Two KU trucks were out front for a few minutes and linemen were examining the service connection next door, where the anchor is broken and the conduit is touching the roof of the car port. It looked like a promising sign, but a neighbor told me that the utility guys said what they’re currently working on would not affect this end of the block. I get the notion that nobody considers our area “low-hanging fruit.” I understand they want to restore the greatest number of customers as rapidly as possible, so if one happens to be on an oddball circuit, tough luck. As our house continues to lose its residual warmth, we cling to the idea that we’re on somebody’s checklist.
    In the event that it could still be days before we have electricity, I’m starting to urge more conservation of cooking propane, but, at the same time, push for a more open distribution of heat throughout the rest of the house to safeguard pipes. This results in a lower temperature for the main gathering room—not a popular condition to be advocating.

Various & Sundry, part eighty-two

Tuesday, December 30th, 2008

— Month of November workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-2; Run-2; Lift-2; Yoga-0; Pilates-2; Lupus Drill-3

— Here it is, the tail end of December, without my making a full entry in well over a month. I suppose I haven’t had much to say, or maybe I’ve been bogged down in the same economic pessimism which seems to grip the country (and who needs to hear more of that?). Well, enough of procrastination. Let’s take an overdue look at some recent personal developments of a more positive nature:

— Bridget at Maker’s Mark® announced that The Mark of Great Art Website now lists the final disposition of our summer collection. Pursuit of Happiness is hanging at Cantaloupe (35 Charlotte Road, London) and The Mark of Stardom ended up at Toys (Calle Infanta Isabel, Madrid). I received good exposure in a feature about the London event, which was also used to raise money that provides visual art projects for people with mild-to-profound learning difficulties. You might agree that the article is not that well written, but who’s complaining? Those Brits don’t understand real English anyway, yuhknowhattahmean?

— I completed my newest wood engraving and returned to Larkspur for a day of printing on Gray’s antique Vandercook, a marvelous piece of equipment to which I’m blessed to be given access. No. 11 at the Paddock is derived from a digital I took at Keeneland during the recent Fall Meet. I also took the opportunity to finally create a numbered edition of Waiting for Joe, my first block under Wesley’s guidance. Needless to say, this low-res image is a poor representation of the actual engraving—

“No. 11 at the Paddock” by John Andrew Dixon

— Although my hope was to devise “The Original Joe’s Christmas Box” for our CAC’s holiday exhibition, I did manage to deliver Cosmic Cusp, a fusion of previous year-end compositions. I made the deadline in response to Dana’s suggestion, and the resulting piece is a stronger effect than the individual mixed-media components. That’s synergy for you!

— Sara Jane stopped by today to take her first look at my latest portrait commission, and it’s no exaggeration to report that she’s delighted with the result. Three Girlfriends is a departure for me. I haven’t worked with acrylics in ages, but I chose the medium for what I thought would be an appropriate interpretation of her original photograph. The picture of ladies posing dramatically on a beach suggested a series of translucent glazes to capture the luminosity of the morning surf, and lent itself to the back-lighting of the figures. I’m pleased that it worked out as well as it did, but I had the notion that if I patiently built up layers of thin color and milky washes on a smooth panel, I could avoid a brush-stroke technique (not my strong suit) and rely on years of experience handling liquid effects. I put in some necessary details with colored pencil, but the sealed acrylic surface made it more like “rubbing” tones and highlights, as opposed to typical drawing. In the final analysis, it proved to be a very interesting exploration.

— EKU’s Chitauqua Lecture Series Juried Art Exhibition (wow, that’s long) has once again favored one of my collage artworks. The upcoming “Freedom” show will include Fifteenth Cosmosaic, and I’m looking forward to the opening reception on January 23rd. As most people familiar with my work already understand, this series of spontaneous “mystical” compositions originated with graduation presents for my nieces and nephews. I’ve never been certain about how it might appeal to a public audience, but perhaps this is a good indicator.

— Three years ago I wrote about Paula, who lost a bout with cancer too early in life. During that time, the KBBC worked to find a way to put to good use the proceeds from the sale of the “Share the Road” specialty license plate. On December 11th, we finally had our public announcement of The Paula Nye Memorial Education Grants for bicyclist and pedestrian safety.Paula Nye Grants The endorsement of our effort by the Transportation Cabinet and current administration was not a foregone inevitability, but when they realized: A) Thousands of plate buyers had made a voluntary contribution to help make Kentucky roadways friendlier to non-motorized travel; B) The Commission’s intent to independently administer the allocation of funds would cost the state nothing; and C) The grant program was a fitting tribute to an employee who had worked to diligently promote highway accommodations for bicyclists and pedestrians … How could they not support our concept? To their credit, the Lieutenant Governor and the Mayor of Lexington were at the Horse Park for our kick-off event. Strangely enough, David D, the public information professional who had shown enthusiasm for our project from the beginning and had orchestrated the media splash, died suddenly at work a couple weeks before the scheduled announcement, and that made the event even more tinged with emotion than anyone could have expected.

— I came back to the Blue Bank Farm this month with a muzzleloader and tried my best to close the season with some venison. Didn’t spy a single white-tail, but had to hear about Greystone’s Astrea dragging in a ruined ten-pointer that somebody failed to successfully track after the shot. Such was my luck as a hunter this time around. I haven’t enjoyed being in the woods this much for goodness knows how long, plus I had the rare opportunity to hike the knobs with brother Fron, as we marked boundary lines and plotted a mutual strategy for selective logging throughout our holdings. I have no good excuse for not connecting my soul with the land on a more regular basis. I allow myself to forget how much I will always love those acres. Folly!

— There is much room for gratitude and optimism in the coming cycle. Nevertheless, there are many significant challenges for all of us to face in 2009. I know a guy as old as me who has been retired from GM for eight years. He’s a nice man, but did he genuinely work hard enough during 20 years of employment to deserve a big income and benefits from the age of 48 until he dies? That could easily be twice the number of years he put in as a worker, or, if he takes care of himself, even more. Now, it’s one thing to dodge Taliban rockets in God-cursed terrain. In my book those brave Americans have earned a more-than-decent pension. But assembling ugly, inefficient cars that most thoughtful people would rather not drive? That’s “a horse of a different color.” Our nation would’ve surely crashed decades ago if all corporations had been managed as poorly as the Detroit auto companies. And they want to continue juicing the taxpayers to avoid restructuring under bankruptcy? Now, that’s what I call audacity.

V & S

Various & Sundry, part eighty-one

Thursday, November 13th, 2008

 

Pearallel Universe, 2007

Pearallel Universe
John Andrew Dixon
Mixed media collage
25 x 21 inches, 2007
Collection of Saint Joseph Health System

— Month of October workout totals: Swim-3; Bike-3; Run-1; Lift-1; Yoga-0; Pilates-3; Lupus Drills-1

To the heart of the matter
— I believe the latest recommendation for adequate exercise is 30 minutes a day, 4-5 days a week. Although my workouts are longer than that, the totals are falling short by a long shot. Can I get the daily habit back to preserve my health?

More library deprivation
— It’s been nearly a year since the library hauled itself off to the edge of town, and, although I knew it would be a bit of a hardship, I didn’t expect this level of low-grade suffering. Man, had I ever come to rely on that nearby environment for a periodic dose of mind-restoring tranquility—the kind that is unique to a truly fine reading room. I’m thoroughly impressed with the design for the new wing, but Karl told me recently that construction was three-to-four months behind schedule, so now I have no choice except to hang on until spring. I must have that extraordinary place available out my front door again or I shall go mad!

Sweet Owen County
— On Halloween I made my return to Larkspur for another printmaking retreat. It was a special time with creative people whose friendship I value more each year. An exhibition at the vineyards was mounted to honor Wesley’s work, and I was invited to include four of my wood engravings, since he’s had such a profound influence on my development in that medium. I sold one of my remaining proofs of Waiting for Joe, in addition to an unframed print of Penn’s Store, the latter to a collector interested in acquiring examples of my final edition numbers. Now all I have to do is print more limited editions of blocks that I’ve only proofed so far. I managed to complete a small block of a tiger, but was unable to finish during the workshop my larger, more complex engraving of a paddock scene I shot the previous week at Keeneland. It’s my first attempt at engraving a human figure, plus I had to include a horse and a stone wall, too, of course. What was I thinking? When I get it done, I’ll spend a day in Gray’s shop and print another block or two as well. Dana and Lee came up to the winery on Friday night and got to meet Wes and hear Juanita perform. Make no mistake about it—one can develop significant friendships at every stage of life.

Feeling a trifle exposed
— County employees demolished the little retail cottage next door to “put up a parking lot,” and it’s as if somebody yanked my gym shorts down. Whatever meager backyard ambiance we possessed is now lost. Instead, we have more noise, urban light pollution, and litter. I remember the year we held an open house and backyard gathering for Brendan’s graduation from Centre. If I’m not mistaken, that was the summer Carol and Bob came to the Brass Band Festival and spent time with us in the backyard. There are circumstances when a setting is at its peak and one rarely knows it at the time.

Custom built for a guy like me
— In a perfect world, Gene Wolfe might have contacted me to ask, “What type of a story idea would you like for me to develop that would please your singular peculiarities?” He didn’t have to. He wrote Pirate Freedom for his own reasons, and I became the grateful beneficiary without ever having to request “an absorbing tale of spiritual contemplation, time travel, and the golden age of piracy along the Spanish Main.” Unbelievable!

Dr. Quest’s pear-a-power ray
— I finally sold the mixed media piece I called Pearallel Universe. It was completed around the time of the original “March Experiment,” was part of my KOSMOS show, and made it out to New Mexico and back for the SLMM anniversary (but not without sustaining some damage to the frame, which the Albuquerque Museum people were kind enough to repair). It was purchased last week by Saint Joseph Health System to hang at its new ambulatory care center in Jessamine County. A hearty tip o’ the hat to LexArts!

My annual knob stalk
— My pals David and Greg are the sort of knowledgeable gun aficionados that know a bargain when they see one, so I was stunned when they gave me the gift of a 50-caliber muzzleloading rifle they just couldn’t pass up. When I recovered from the shock of their generosity, they taught me how to safely operate it—just in time for me to test it out during our recent Clan gathering, which happened to be the lawful period for using primitive weapons to hunt white-tails. I came as close to the moment of truth as I would that weekend when I cocked the hammer early Sunday morning, as three does crossed Robin Lick and made their way across a hay field, on the garden side of the Irrylynn gully. But something spooked the lead deer about 75 yards from my spot beside a round bale—my scent, the motion of my aim, or perhaps the pattern in my profile. She snorted an alert, danced a bit, and took off in the opposite direction, never presenting me an acceptable shot. As I say, that was the nearest I came to using my muzzleloader while I was in the Valley. Three weeks later I found myself back at Simpson Knob with my Marlin 1894S carbine, full of optimism for a freezer harvest, but I never observed a single deer in the woods, and neither of my two friends had the opportunity for a shot. This gives me a couple more options for success—this weekend at Blue Bank with the 44-Rem. magnum, and another December time slot with the Hawken-style that I’ve decided to name “Girty.” As much as I want to bring home some venison this year, there is nothing like having an excuse to be in the wild knob-lands at daybreak, whatever the outcome.

You’ll never walk alone
— Originally, our Hurray Day events were planned to coincide with the fifteenth anniversary of Dadbo’s passing, but we still wanted to have a family commemoration, even though the quarterly gathering was moved to the previous weekend. I was preoccupied with my tedious progress on the stone flue in the Hall, but I knew Joan was thinking about what to do, which is so typical of her desire to properly plan this kind of thing. We were listening to some old music and the tribute wasn’t on my mind when I suggested she experience Judy Garland’s stirring rendition of the inspirational song from Carousel. I’d never heard that version before, and Joan was out of the room when the CD track played. Had it been up to me, I don’t think I would’ve made the connection, but she realized it would be the perfect accompaniment to our outdoor service. I enjoyed spending some “palsy time” with my “big sis” for those two days, and it reminded me of how distinctive a life-long bond we share.

V & S

Various & Sundry, part eighty

Thursday, October 16th, 2008

— Month of September workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-3; Run-2; Lift-0; Yoga-1; Pilates-2; Lupus Drills-0

— With my bicycle miles winding down, I’m adapting again to the Pilates routine, and the pool is beginning to feel like the best place to be for a satisfying workout. Tradesmen were replacing the lane blocks today, and the slender gal on duty was trying to tell me to avoid splashing their work area, but her voice was so soft I could barely hear her, even when she was standing close by. These students are technically lifeguards, but I wonder how often they look up from their assigned reading to see if a fiftysomething guy like me is on the bottom with a cardiac spazz-out. I’ve seen some fairly hefty dudes swimming laps in there, too, but I shouldn’t criticize, since I was a pool guard back in the day. One time I did have to pull a guy to the side who outweighed me, but it’s not like making a “save” in a pool is honest-to-goodness lifeguard work, compared to a lake or surf monitor. That would be like the difference between a first responder at a warehouse blaze and a homeowner putting out a grass fire with his garden hose.

— The deli on Fourth Street has taken a new turn and become the most interesting hangout in town. (I haven’t been within walking distance of a tap with Stella since living in Bruxelles as a callow youth.) Dana and I were down there having a chat with Geri about software upgrades, and I found myself talking like a proponent of “vintage systems.” Perhaps that’s because I’ve been making do with applications that suit my fluency, but are clearly a few notches off the cutting edge. Sometimes new means better, but not necessarily; it’s become a risky practice to make that assumption. Our friend Pat, an experienced user, and Victoria’s brother, a novice, are both living through a nightmare with their Vista operating system upgrades. People are talking about how Bob Staake illustrated a recent New Yorker cover using Photoshop version 3 on a Mac running OS7. Hey, we had our nearly 40-year-old Hobart refurbished this summer, and nobody will convince us that it isn’t far superior to anything built today. Old is the new New!

— My story about meeting Johnny Crawford was recently added to Ginia’s tribute site. She’s a very nice person. I like her quotation from Mark Twain: “A cat that sits on a hot stove, will not sit on a hot stove again. He will not sit on a cold one either.” Also found a connection at her MySpace page that Joan will get a kick out of: The all new DonGrady.com!

— I had fun creating a piece for the Library’s recent call for artwork. The opening reception for the resulting exhibit was tonight, and Nancy M won the best of show with her outstanding felt composition. Julius F was the juror, and he selected items for merit awards and honorable mention. He didn’t recognize my entry, but the collage, Cascade of Knowledge, was among those works library representatives chose for purchase and display in the new facility. This pleases me, because I produced it with the library setting in mind, hoping it would appeal to them.

— Bruce had a great letter to the editor in the paper the other day. Maybe his best so far.

— We never removed the old-fashioned TV antennas from our rooftop. I always liked the period look they gave to the dwelling, and besides, they were virtually inaccessible. Yesterday I climbed up there and installed an amplifier and new line for digital signals, without falling or electrocuting myself. By george it worked, just in time to watch the pie maker and the presidential debate.

— We always heard stories about how local county government had been interested in bidding for our downtown building on the 1988 auction day we won the Town House. That was nearly 20 years ago, and, for most of that time, we didn’t think much about it or suspect there was any continued interest. And then, with a flurry of new judicial centers being funded over the past few years, we began to hear rumors—too many to suit me—so I sought confirmation or denial from the Judge Executive. He admitted that the option to take our lot by condemnation to create the footprint for a court-system expansion had been discussed in his presence. Although he would not pledge to oppose the idea on my behalf, he declared that it was not his preferred course of action. I let him know how strongly I felt about my desire to keep our home and business location intact, here on historic West Broadway. Recently I shared the information at our annual neighborhood “Block Party.” With the current fiscal constraints on state government and the backlash against perceived extravagances in some of the judicial centers recently constructed, the mood may be slightly in our favor, but it’s difficult to shove the unpleasant possibility from the back of my mind, and the uncertainty works against the necessary enthusiasm to undertake improvement projects and the confidence to continue investing in our property.

V & S

Farewell, Michigan, summer must be over.

Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008

Detail: Pursuit of Happiness, John Andrew Dixon, 2008

pohcrop.jpg

When traveling north to the U.P. after Labor Day, I cling to the notion that it’s still summer, with thoughts of sunny fishing expeditions and refreshing channel swims, but everyone else is beyond vacation, and all the kids are back in school. The illusion falls apart by the time we head south. Another summer ends, as do they all, and, as I look back on it, I realize that it held many good things, in addition to the silver linings that come with the not-so-good things.

Although, as I write this, the results for The Mark of Great Art contest haven’t been released yet, the outpouring of support and online votes make me feel like a winner already, no matter what the outcome. My collage artworks will go to London and Madrid, and there is no telling what will come of that. Any way I look at it, a breakthrough for my mixed-media style has been achieved, and I can add that to my first gallery sale of a wood engraving print, with the potential for new collector interest. Dana and I scored a new design client during this past summer, too. There’s much to be hopeful about—while the doom-and-gloom static of a self-correcting society buzzes in the background like a big, late-summer housefly during its numbered hours.

brucemombo.jpg

Prayers continue for Susan during her extended treatment period. Bruce is doing better. Mombo bounced back from a bout with medical side-effects. Uncle Si and Aunt Marian passed away at 91 and 92. America will never see their kind again. Lots of other things (happy and sad, exciting and troubling) percolate in my Clan and the concentric circles beyond it. What else is new? What else is family?

My summer was fully charged with the incomparable imagination of Gene Wolfe, thanks to Bruce. Having him here since he moved home from Indiana has presented more than a few challenges in a small dwelling that is also home to a business. That shouldn’t be a surprise, but the physical discomfort and inconvenience he’s put up with during those months surely would have been maddening to anyone without his astonishing resilience. Hang on, stout soul. Circumstances will break your way before long.

I almost talked myself out of joining my friends on their annual trip to the resort near Cedarville, and was still vacillating on the way to Ohio with Dana, as preposterous as that seems now. Bill gave Amy an engagement ring that night at her 50th birthday party. Dana and I had a nice meal in Tipp City the next day. She insisted I shake my funk and enjoy the following week of fishing. When I first arrived in the Les Cheneaux, my spirit felt oddly stale, and I knew I’d better make the most of the break, because it was clear I needed it. It’s always good to spend time with real friends, setting everyday cares aside. By the time departure was at hand, I was more attuned with our natural surroundings and my creative pump had been re-primed. We didn’t catch many fish, but the intangible benefits of charging inner batteries aren’t as obvious as an empty cooler. Autumn is here, and I’m ready for it.

fishin2008.jpg

The hands of a jazz man will have to do

Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008

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

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

It’s 8/31

Sunday, August 31st, 2008

First task: Joan, I am so sorry that Greg Brown is gone from your life. He was a good one, and always will be remembered in the lore of unique canine personalities we have known.

Wow. Thirty days since my last entry. It’s been one of the more intense months of my life, with all matters giving way to concentrated artistic effort. The result—two creative milestones disguised as brand promotions for Maker’s Mark—is perhaps the most mature expression of the mixed-media style that I’ve had under gradient development for more than a decade. Beginning with my first “cosmosaics” of the late 90s, I sought a personal approach to collage that would fuse the characteristics of my greeting-card miniatures with fine-art aesthetics at a new level of archival craftsmanship. A stronger forward momentum took place when I studied the work of Kurt Schwitters, in preparation for the 2006 CONNECTIONS exhibition, and to produce my KOSMOS show the following year. Concurrently, I’ve given greater attention to the durability of my pieces as “artifacts,” and, beginning with Pearallel Universe, to the introduction of more hand-rendered elements into my compositions. More details to follow as we get closer to the opening reception at the historic distillery.

Yesterday, after Dana and I delivered my new collage artworks to Loretto, we headed north to submit four of my wood engraving prints to the gallery at Elk Creek Vineyards as part of an exhibition that will feature Wesley Bates. We also stopped at Larkspur Press to meet with Gray and get an update on the project for Maurice’s poetry. As usual, the master printer is composing this publication with a stunning regard for letterpress quality. What started out as a broadside sheet has expanded to a limited edition of bound collector booklets. He showed us the latest proofs, and I borrowed back my maple block to do some additional clean-up in the white areas. Although I doubt if I comprehend how important an event this will be considered in the world of fine book arts, I do appreciate that my creative work never before has been presented in a context of such literary distinction.

After the marathon push to fulfill these August obligations, I figured I would spend today catching up on rest and doing a bit of reading and writing. We ended up taking Bruce to UK’s ER with another worrisome episode of GI bleeding. He’ll stay there indefinitely for more diagnostics and possibly some transfusions, too. Unlike earlier this summer, I hope that this time around they can identify the root cause and deal with it properly.