Archive for October, 2005

One of those “uh-oh” moments

Monday, October 31st, 2005

I’ve discovered another blogger’s hazard—conversing with someone and having the awkward realization you’re reciting things they’ve already learned as a reader of your blog. It’s too easy to forget the wide penetration of these daily musings, especially after having kept a private journal for decades.

Typical Clan Weekend

Sunday, October 30th, 2005

Another chaotic crossroads at the Hall — Mombonian agenda rules — Upstairs clean-out madness — Blackboard comic strip — Darb cracks the whip — Marty mans the burn box — Bubb and Joey build the stud wall — Halloween costume partiness — Top dog Greg Brown — Caveman Frank and Wonder Woman — Crayon wall banner — Trek to Camp Hourglass — Connor is a peanut — Marboro Man gets the Kyle treatment — Bat-eyes, devil’s work, and Mardi Gras beads — Bearded lady and a popcorn vendor — Alias techo tunes — Nic falls in the bonfire — Stargazing in the barnyard — Slap Stick and his little blue-haired pest of a sidekick — Hokey Pokey tradition — The unauthorized Cap’n Lice — Wigs, Wigs, Wigs — No Cliff to be seen — The cheese stands alone — Supercar in the sky — Columbian, it’s the richest kind — A watched meatloaf never bubbles — Council deliberations — Bag o’ bunny ribbons — Around the room — Clete’s sandbox tunnels — Spy Detector — Brendan’s apology — Too many doughnuts — Uncle Wiggly and Merry Milkman — Mung beans into the compost — Janet sends her artichoke deliciosity — Eddie’s Air Corps suitcase — Uncle Bobby sure knows how to live — Alyx and the E-bay connection — Big Tim-Mee pirate swap and sale — KK telephone pass-around — Rainbow units for the chicken-house man — Jerome’s Asian flu update — Oh God not more kelp tablets — Stamp-cutting party — Indian Headache — Graveyard schematic — Fake-o guy in the festival portrait — Currier and Ives uncovered — Red fox in the headlights — Did I remember to change all the clocks?

The perfect pace

Saturday, October 29th, 2005

I’m not sure why, but I have this notion that reading a very good novel is a lot like my ideal bike ride. I only feel the effort when I start out, until I hit a smooth rhythm, and then I become oblivious to the process, taking in all the pleasurable sensory details, pausing now and then to rest. There’s always the clear sense of a turning point, usually after a satisfying exertion, and then all I want to do is speed onward, with no desire to stop—not to reach the end, but to experience the pure enjoyment of moving fast.

After 32 weeks

Friday, October 28th, 2005

Bruce came home from the hospital today.

Light at the end of the tunnel—priceless

Thursday, October 27th, 2005

Bruce‘s release to home care remains a day-to-day affair as Dana maintains her Indianapolis vigil. She has her PowerBook G3 with her, and the two of us trying to work together at long distance reminds me of when we were making the transition to Kentucky. I was here in Danville and she was in Dayton. Our studio survives, but it’s been a weird year so far for us—obviously.

Bruce is still slowly improving and we anticipate he’ll be home by the weekend; if not, we’ve endured false starts before. He just fights on. Although many details of his financial status are certain to emerge later (millions of dollars for just the hospital bill; doctor fees unknown), I think it’s fair to say he’s considered an indigent ward of the state at this point, and could be for a long time. The important thing is that he’s among the very few who make it through this malady. In time, the artist in Bruce will surely provide a glimpse into this grim, months-long soul journey and the forbearance it coldly demands.

Superficiality? That’s why TV was invented. Fiction is another matter

Wednesday, October 26th, 2005

My admiration for Charlton Heston is enormous—the actor, the activist, the man—and so I find it almost impossible to watch the last few of his movies I haven’t yet seen, such as The President’s Lady, Antony and Cleopatra, The War Lord, and Khartoum. Thinking about why this might be so brings to mind a conversation I had several months back with a librarian. I was lamenting the premature demise of James Clavell, and that there were no more of his novels left to read for the first time. She suggested I find an author who wrote in a similar manner, but that struck me as an unappealing solution. I wasn’t searching for a substitute. Instead, I yearned for a contemporary writer with an entirely different style to enjoy every bit as much, who would connect with me in a compelling and exceptional way. Have I now found that person? As I get deeper into
The Forger by Paul Watkins, I find myself wanting to read everything he’s written. I suppose that’s a reasonably good sign I have…

Town House Tuesday

Tuesday, October 25th, 2005

With Dana into her fourth day of an Indy holding pattern, it was a particularly odd day for me, as I was forced to troubleshoot JavaScript in the studio (way out of my element) while supervising two tradesmen who were replacing a cracked drain pipe on another floor of the house.

Aaaaah-yee-aaaaaaaaaaaah-yeeaaahyeeaaah

Monday, October 24th, 2005

I finally went into the Central Kentucky Wildlife Refuge. It’s a fact—I’d never been beyond the parking lot. Why? Because I always told myself that if I had the time, I’d rather go to the Blue Bank Farm to be in our own knobs. While that notion is essentially valid, it allowed me to stupidly neglect an extraordinary natural setting right here in Boyle County. I ran the picturesque trails with some friends. Some might say this was a ridiculously hazardous thing to do under the circumstances, since it was raining and there were roots, loose stones, and lots of fallen leaves on the trail. The downhills were particularly treacherous; there were places where it would have been almost impossible to stop, and even slowing down before a level spot made the footing more uncertain. You know what I mean if you’ve ever run down a really steep grade. I know runners who won’t run on anything but a paved surface, fearing injury. They won’t even run on grass, which is my favorite thing on which to run—always has been. I remember how uninhibited I used to feel after watching a Johnny Weissmuller movie, and I’d run barefoot at top speed across the back yard with a rubber knife and give the Tarzan yell, which I thought at the time to be an exceptionally decent rendition of the Hollywood sound effect (for an eleven-year-old Ohio boy it probably wasn’t bad). I felt swift—I never paused to consider how it might look as though I were standing still if one of the Vagedes brothers had been running next to me. They were all sprinters from birth and grew up to challenge the rushing and stolen-base records of their day. I was never similarly fleet of foot. I didn’t run track in high school. I said it was boring to run in circles, but the true reason is that I wasn’t fast. I thought I would do better at a longer distance. In the late 60s track and field competition offered nothing over a mile run, so I went out for cross country. The distance was two miles. Today a two-mile run is a track event. I was still slow, but I got to run on grass. Dadbo was supportive and said I had a natural stride. It was nice to have my father tell me that he enjoyed watching me run, but we didn’t talk much about cross country. If he came to observe any of our meets, he kept out of sight. He must have thought it might make me nervous if I saw him. I’m guessing it would’ve helped. If I’ve ever possessed “the Means,” it wasn’t back then. Most likely, Dadbo knew that. In any case, I was usually injured because I waited too late in the summer to begin my training. On top of that, I had inferior shoes and poor coaching. I’m still relatively slow, but I can take a medal in my age group now and then if I’m in shape (and only one or two good athletes happen to show up in my category). But I’ve learned to run without injury at last—and I can pull out all the stops on a slippery October trail run among my fitness chums, with the keen insights of Paul Watkins reverberating in my psyche.

There’s gotta be a few small changes made

Sunday, October 23rd, 2005

Months of low-grade tension and uncertainty have taken a toll. My standard methods for stress reduction and mental refreshment seem inadequate, and I find myself saying things to others without knowing why. It’s difficult to concentrate—more difficult to be creative. Even so, there’s no choice but to buckle down and get through it. Trouble is, I’m not sure what “it” is…

I’m back here in 4 6 2 O 1 .

Enough

Friday, October 21st, 2005

Get on with it, hang him, and build an honorable nation.

A journey is over; a companion is lost

Thursday, October 20th, 2005

I usually know exactly when I’ve reached a point in a book when the writer has me in captivity, and I’ve learned to be more patient before rejecting an author who imbeds that turning point deeper in a work. This phenomenon is out the window when a writer hooks you on the first sentence, as Paul Watkins did to me with his outstanding memoir of traveling in Norway. I can be nostalgic and even a bit melancholy at times, but I don’t think of myself as an overly emotional person. Nevertheless, when I got to the end of his book I wept. Paul Watkins is an extraordinary writer—and a very dangerous man. He makes me want to go climb a mountain.

Update on Bruce, Book Four

Thursday, October 20th, 2005

I think it might be a good idea to share—in its original format—my sweet wife’s most recent note about Bruce.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dear friends and family,

It’s been nearly two months since I’ve given an update, but now Bruce is showing marked improvement. Today completes seven months in the hospital. At seven weeks, that seemed a long time, but I had no idea what we were facing.

In recent months, it’s been difficult to report because he’s teetered back and forth while battling infection. He would have good days followed by days of fever and nausea. It was hard think he was getting better when I’d see him get pints of hemoglobin, but he fought on.

About the time the infectious disease specialist was ready to throw up his hands in defeat, the surgeons declared that they didn’t want to set him back with another surgery, that they would stay the course. That was almost a month ago.

Since then, they decided to test out the pancreas by giving him juice. The next day, he was told to pick out what he wanted off the menu. This seemed outlandish to me, since he’d had nothing but ice chips for more than 6 months. His stomach and taste buds must have been in shock. He doesn’t actually digest what he consumes due to bypass tubing, but I would have thought a return to food would be more gradual. He is going easy on it since his basic nutrition is still provided by tube feeding. He still has frequent nausea, but the pancreas and blood sugar are not over-reacting to this new challenge.

He’s been off antibiotics for several days, and no fever so far. The pain is getting better, so he’s being weaned off the “patch,” and he’s asking for Dilaudid less often. His voice is now strong, and he is using a walker twice a day. His ability to concentrate is suddenly much improved.

I expect that he will go home soon, although having to travel for dialysis will be a whole new challenge. With the hospital bill alone over $8 million by last month, everyone’s eager for him to go home. Very few people, whatever their station in life, could handle the co-pay on such an amount.

Recently we were told that the survival rate for someone with pancreatitis this severe is about 1%—an eye-opening statistic if accurate. I tell you this so that you’ll know how vital your kindnesses to us have been. We will be eternally grateful for your understanding and support and for your thoughts and prayers on Bruce’s behalf.

With a grateful heart,

Dana

Dixie Cousins vs Ayman al-Zawahiri

Wednesday, October 19th, 2005

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!

Me a warrior? I just play one on TV

Tuesday, October 18th, 2005

One 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, 2005

Someday 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, 2005

Dana 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.

Legacy of a friend

Saturday, October 15th, 2005

Just got back from my tenth participation in the Jackson Run, our most beloved local footrace. I ran with Dr. Elmer Jackson, co-founder with his brother Mack, my friend who died earlier this year. The race has been held in May for at least 25 years, but was postponed in 2005 due to Mack’s illness. The weather was so gloriously suitable today that Elmer declared the event would be moved permanently to October. It was a great turnout of Jackson family and friends, even though Centre is having Homecoming activities all weekend. My pal Jim M was awarded the first “Mack Cup,” which he’ll get to keep for a year until a new recipient is named. Elmer had a tough time maintaining his composure as he read an essay Mack wrote for a Sunday-morning gathering at his studio cabin. It was moving for me because I was absent that day. I donned Mack’s trademark “red do-rag and shades” and felt his presence during my entire run. I continue to think about the finish line that—sooner or later—we shall all cross.

By Jove! Surely that can’t be Headley Lice

Friday, October 14th, 2005

Yes, I’m afraid it is. The audacious captain of slimewater-swilling hearties will make an appearance at the Tippecanoe High School Class of 1970 35-year reunion and costume party. The prerequisite trip to The Keep’s storehouse and armoury reportedly took place tonight, and he sets sail for Ohio on the morrow with his favorite wench.

All ye lubbers and friends of decency, beware.

The old dude is still on a roll

Thursday, October 13th, 2005

Tonight we watched the first half of Altman’s Nashville at Dr. Vahlkamp’s “Films of the 70s” series taking place at the Boyle County Library. There’s so much absurdity there I couldn’t appreciate when I saw it the first and only time, almost 30 years ago—like how in 1975 I dressed just like Elliott Gould playing himself. And then later I heard Spacey say to Rose that it looks like Altman will direct Miller’s final play for the Old Vic in London.

Today’s thoughtform—YAY

Wednesday, October 12th, 2005

Speaking 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.

Please restart your life

Tuesday, October 11th, 2005

After crossing my fingers so hard I injured a hand, the state of my Macintosh troubleshooting took its most catastrophic turn, forcing us to buy a new computer we weren’t prepared to purchase.

Well, sometimes you just have to shift into survival mode and let the future take care of itself…

The world has gone mad today and good’s bad today

Monday, October 10th, 2005

Dana 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.