Archive for the ‘Gratitude’ Category

Various & Sundry, part seven

Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005

— Surprising as it might seem, I never read H.S. Thompson. Maybe it was because I had a back-stabbing co-worker in the 70s who carried on a lot about how great a writer Thompson was. Either that or I just couldn’t get past all the Ralph Steadman, which has been a bit of a mystery, since Steadman’s work was mildly influential for me at a certain point in my development as an illustrator (even though I found something fundamentally revolting about his style).

— Brendan’s new Idiotcam archive is positively super-dooper! Now I have only two major goals left in my life: building a home in the Knobs and making it into the exalted Plastic Mullet Series.

— Something about Mombo’s tribute has really sparked some childhood memories. For some reason I got to thinking about one of the most brattish (perhaps the most brattish) thing I ever did as a child. I was pretty young, so my recollection is rather hazy. I don’t think it was my birthday, so it must have taken place at Christmas. I do remember that I’d been agitating for the only toy I desperately wanted—a firetruck. My parents must have been anticipating the delight that would certainly result from their big surprise. Or maybe it was my Uncle Don who was behind it.

There it was! A bright red steel pedal-car-style fire engine complete with little wood ladders and a silver bell!

I threw a fit. Weeping dramatically, I let it be known that I was totally disappointed. How could somebody have gotten it so utterly wrong? That’s not what I wanted. What I wanted was a little firetruck that I could take out to the sand pile and play with! It was a bitter tragedy. No, it was the end of the world!

I don’t know how much longer it was before the replacement arrived, or what mixed emotions my tantrum must have triggered, but the Tonka fire engine eventually appeared, and it was a beauty. It even had a red hydrant that connected to the garden hose to supply a realistic fire-fighting stream. I have no recall as to what my reaction was. I hope I was appropriately grateful, but I may have just accepted it as merely just and overdue.

Both toys are long gone. Did the pedal car end up at the home of a cousin? Whatever became of the little fire engine? Either toy would be a valuable collector’s item today…

Everything almost works

Saturday, February 19th, 2005

The Bluegrass Pike Gang was back at it again this morning. The sky is
now light when we start running. John H asked me how my spinning class
with Susan L was going and I told him it was getting a bit easier. Donna
A smiled and added that it all depended on how far you turned the knob on the stationary bike. “I just do what she tells me to do,” was my reply. John looked at me and
said, “Sounds like marriage.”

I maintained my pace over eight miles, but I could tell that I’d missed
my recent lap swims, thanks to the stubborn computer problems we’ve been
having. I’ve been convinced I should adopt a new motto: “Technology
sucks.” But then I realized that what actually sucks is our propensity
to become so dependent on technology that we’re thrust to the edge of
panic when it breaks down. And that’s where Bob Dixon’s more dignified
and appropriate motto applies: “Everything almost works.”

Yes, I got desperate enough to call Bob. He did his best to calm me down
and get me back on a problem-solving track. Together we uncovered enough
information to re-establish a functional Macintosh, but the true source
of the temporary limbo state is still unknown and I’m back to the
difficulties that bogged us down in the studio all week. At the end of
our last conversation before bedtime (for a night’s rest that almost
didn’t happen), he shared another computing maxim having to do with troubleshooting, “Everything you learned by solving the current problem
you’ll never use again.” Perhaps so. But I took away at least one
valuable thing from the experience. Being able to rely on family is a
genuine blessing, and my Uncle Bob always has and always will be a fine
and helpful man.

After the silence

Sunday, February 13th, 2005

The rhythm of raindrops striking metal roofing punctuated each heartfelt expression rendered within the old cabin. Over the weeks, our group had moved from stunned disbelief to analytical precision. Every legal doctrine, ethical nuance, or metaphysical possibility was now open to full scrutiny. Lord, what has Mack set in motion with his generosity of spirit? I stopped to look around the room and was grateful beyond measure for such a circle of incredibly bright and deeply caring friends.

Man, that might sound sappy, but I felt it, I wrote it, and I’m sticking with it…