March experiment—day one— So far, the difficult thing is not adhering to the rigorous timetable, but accommodating the inevitable interruptions by phone, email, and doorbell.
Today’s sight bite— Swimming underwater to the middle of the the empty pool, pausing to see the entire deep end bathed bright blue in midday skylight beams—c-l-i-c-k—and not wanting to surface.
Tomorrow— Refinements to the schedule, and a finished proposal…
— Month of February workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-4; Run-4; Lift-9; Yoga-5
— David and I spent most of last Saturday at the big National Gun Day event in Louisville. Anyone who has never attended a gun show should go at least once to experience the reality behind the propaganda and stereotypical distortions. The technology, heritage, craftsmanship, and diversity of enthusiasts must be appreciated firsthand. David said it was like visiting the Smithsonian and being able to pick things up without white gloves. I was amazed at one point to look down at a table of rifles and know they were collectively worth more than our Town House. I listened to an old man from New York discuss rare, obsolete cartridge cases. I listened to a guy with braided ponytail, tattoos and Harley shirt discuss arcane Victorian sporting calibers. I listened to a man who recreates authentic Kentucky flintlocks discuss the qualitative difference between his skill level and the work of the contemporary masters of the art form. I listened to a metal engraver contrast his techniques with the kind of wood engraving that I’ve done for printmaking. That’s a sampling of what I’m talking about.
— After the show, David and I drove to Campbellsville to meet up with the ladies. Our destination—Yorkshire Estate. The intent—to observe our first “Open That Bottle Night.” Janet and Jerome were splendid hosts, and the night couldn’t have been more delightful. We began with cheese, olives, and fruit, plus a Chilean Chardonnay, while an Australian Shiraz and a Washington State Cabernet awaited dinnertime in decanters. Using some of my Lake Huron fillets, Janet and Jerome prepared Salmon en Papillote, as Dana seared medallions of venison in balsamic sauce. Along with that, Janet provided some type of individual potato custard delicacies that were simply fantastic. Everything about the candlelight supper was magical, and it only got better when Lee served cookies and chocolate-bourbon cake with an exquisite desert wine brought back from South Africa. If we ever do it again, the evening will be difficult to top, but do it again we shall. Remember—the last Saturday in February is Open That Bottle Night…
— Sunday was another relaxing stay at Simpson Knob. After rediscovering the childhood fun of playing Yahtzee, Dana fixed a delicious broccoli omelette for the four of us and then worked on a food-club order with Lee while David showed me the rifle course he designed for the upcoming match he’s hosting. I shot well enough to think I might be capable of competing, but knew that I’d be spending that day with Clan instead, as a participant in “Operation Watershed.” Something has transpired so gradiently over the past couple years that I can’t say exactly when these exceptional people became two of our closest friends, but it just happened, and it’s gratifying to know that such deep relationships can develop at every stage of life.
— Well, I’m excited about getting a new client today—me. I woke up this morning dedicated to the idea of redesigning everything to do with how we position our design practice. Over the next 30 days I intend to conduct a radical experiment in time management that includes transforming our company for a new chapter of success. The rapid changes in software development and desktop publishing, along with the increasing perception of graphic design as a commodity service, has made it a necessity. Long overdue perhaps, but I’m not in the mood to look in the rearview mirror. I’m prepared to put all I’ve learned to the test, subjecting our own business to the same kind of analytical scrutiny that we apply to any other client. The timing is right. Stay tuned…
Last day of February, last game for Hayley and her basketball team. They lost a tough one tonight in the first round of the district playoffs—to a team they’d beat decisively in their most recent matchup. She’s probably sad, but she can be proud of a winning season, plus an overall performance as a freshman that was outstanding.
It’s not difficult at all to accept that the airplane, the ice cream cone, and the Rotary club have been around for a century, but, for whatever reason, it’s hard for me to imagine that the animated cartoon will be 100 years old in April. Somehow that hits too close to home.
After watching Lamb’s interview, with Glenn Reynolds, I want to read his new book, “An Army of Davids.” It also makes me want to understand more about the blogosphere I’ve blasted myself into. I suppose I now qualify as a blogger, after a solid year of doing this, and yet I still know almost as little about the emerging trend as I did when I started. One thing I suspected from the beginning is certainly true—this practice is all about time management. There’s got to be something important to learn from a cool guy who manages to be a law professor, plus a husband and father, and stay highly informed on just about everything, including nanotechnology, publish articles, write books, present the most consulted blog in America, while still finding the time to do a podcast with Tim Minear and brew his own beer.
Everyone is playing the California Game!
_ _ _
Where is Atlantis? Continent of mud.
Where is the mud? It’s buried in crud.
What is the crud? A dream in decay.
Whose dream was that? They squandered their day.
When was the day? An age of great life.
Why was it great? They abolished all strife.
Who gave it up? The creative few.
What did they make? Themselves, anew.
Where is the self? Enshrined deep within.
Why are they gone? The price of the sin.
_ _ _
• Accepting family as her top priority, she put her competitive spirit on standby, but never lost her love of fair play, teaching us that wholesome fun is an essential part of life.
• I could’ve become a quitter, but she helped me overcome discouragement born of self-doubt to meet a commitment and to fulfill a goal.
• When almost everything in the world of my youth said,
“Be cynical, or pessimistic, or both,” she was my reliable source of optimism, like a spring that never dries up.
• “Anything worth doing is worth doing well” was not a stale platitude for her, and she nurtured a regard for craftsmanship. If I distorted that gift into perfectionism, it’s not her fault.
• Quick with praise and slow to criticism, observant eyes without guile and easy laughter is her trademark.
• Pious, yet mischevious; dignified, yet unpretentious; she is naturally self-sacrificing, but nobody’s fool.
• When something bothers her, the discomfort is usually directed inward. If she’s called upon to render judgments, they’ll be reluctant, fair, morally sound, and never demeaning.
• Her belief in me has always been iron-clad, devoid of showy affection, but as steadfast as anything in my life.
• If you’re up to no good, and you see her spinning that broom—trust me—just dive overboard…
HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my “Mombo.” I love you, forever…
On my way to the pool today I saw Danny loading the John Deere that he’s hauling to Kansas for his son William. You have to know Danny to understand how a conversation about a diesel tractor can shift to theology within a couple minutes. He mentioned the concept that, at certain times, the fate of the whole world can hinge on a single prayer. Merton might have said that, and I don’t doubt it’s true. To believe otherwise would rationalize away the value of all prayer, wouldn’t it? A discussion of accountability followed and then salvation and then the loneliness of Christ’s path. I said, “But his mother was with him at the beginning, and right up to the end, and her role was crucial,” and Danny replied, “So, there you come full circle—with the potential of a single individual to contribute great good or great evil.” As I continued my walk to campus, I couldn’t help but wonder if the Father had tried to send His Son at earlier times, and an angel’s warning had been misunderstood or ignored, so the infant had been slain, along with the guardians. And then I was in total awe of the significance of parenthood in general… with the awesome responsibility of it all. I was filled with gratitude for having such a wonderful mother and happiness that she was still with us. I prayed that it would be so for a long time.
• Our hometown newspaper abruptly drops the “Dilbert” daily comic strip.
• During live curling coverage, a student at the gym says, “That’s a sport you could still do when you’re 50.”
• As if it isn’t already difficult enough to deter people from corrupting good identity programs, Google actually encourages others to produce versions of their logo that are really bad.
• A shocked cousin Shirley announces that she’s lost her job with Relizon, following its acquisition.
• Officials release more details about Governor Fletcher‘s complications of pancreatitis.
• Student leaders at the University of Washington reject a memorial to “Pappy” Boyington.
• A village in Germany is swamped by liquid pig manure.
• Local Arts Commissioners name Jennifer Brummett their Citizen of the Year.
She’s done it! Mombo has a second entry at her site. Right now it looks as if she makes one each year, but I’m sure that won’t last for long. She’s really started out on an enjoyable note for me—comics and games—and it doesn’t get much better than that (unless she starts reminiscing about toys)!
It took longer than I expected, but my drawing for the Housing Authority was a pleasure to execute. The illustration technique I used was directly inspired by my favorite masters of pen and wash—Jack Unruh, Ken Dallison, Joe Ciardiello, and Alan E. Cober. Dallison is known for his automobiles and Ciardiello for his portraits, but all of them have worked with great breadth of subject matter. I’ve marveled at their skill for decades, but they have a similarity of approach that is close enough to my own capability that I can relate to how they visualize and have learned from their prolific examples. Unruh is exceptional—equally adept at rendering people, places, and the natural world—and I could die happy if I gain a fraction of his ability. Cober, who, of the four, actually did die (happy I hope, although much too young), holds a special place in my personal history. At the height of our indecision concerning what to do about the crumbling situation at Wright State, Dana and I had the opportunity to question him at a workshop. He counseled us to trust and follow our instincts, so the two of us got out together. He was a great adviser to hundreds of talents over the years, and I’m grateful to have been one of them.
James and I were laughing about the excessive hype that has surrounded Bode Miller, the faltering American skier, and got into a good conversation about behind-the-scenes commercialization of various Olympic personality types. When humble, dogged, amateur-style athletes prevail over the high-exposure, corporate-style athletes, marketers don’t think they have as much to work with, so often stick with an Olympic failure if their image investment still solves the demographic equation.
Dale Earnhardt’s attitude that a second-place finisher is just the “first loser” may resonate strongly with most gold-medal contenders, but the world of celebrity endorsement is different, and always will be driven more by overall persona than actual competitive results. That’s why you can expect advertising executives to be much more attracted to a cute snowboarder‘s impulsive screw-up than a veteran skier‘s credo of Olympic longevity—
“Spend a lot time on the hill, spend time training, and then, if you work hard over a long period of time, with a lot of focus, good things will happen to you in the end, and… use your head while you’re having fun.”
Man with his car in the ditch, waving sadly as he waits for a tow truck.
400 yards of footprints in the fresh snow, to find two brothers at Still-house Spring.
One of Dadbo’s last ‘coon boxes, rotting in a treetop along Sledding Hill Road.
Four tofu burgers frying in a skillet, beside a pot of Mombo’s vegetable soup.
Frank the long-shot candidate, grinning broadly from his campaign card.
The veteran Norwegian biathlete, collapsing to his knees at the finish line.
Chalkboard calculations and a Honchovian decision to define the day’s effort.
An ancient wheelbarrow and a gutted Gravely, rusting in the cluttered barn.
Tiny newborn bunnies, nestled for warmth in a bunting of mother’s fur.
Dana’s cranberry coffee cake, golden brown and fresh from the oven.
• I flipped away the afternoon again at the Rotary Club’s annual Pancake Day, where I foolishly tried to expand my exalted reputation by attempting to make a cake with the shape of a Salvation Army Shield. I blistered the edge of my hand on the hot griddle and experienced the same agony of defeat as poor Lindsey Jacobellis. After that, Dana and I went into the city for the Gallery Hop, so I could participate in the reception at the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning. The “Art of the Alphabet” exhibition was a hit with all ages, and the original print of my letter H was the second one to sell. Steve Houston of Texas bought it for his daughter because all of the images present in the montage held significant meaning for him and his family. Quite remarkable.
A wise man once said, “There is nothing trivial about hat loss.”
My nerves were on edge today, until I retrieved from Centre’s lost-and-found collection the blue hat that once belonged to a man named Joe Wood.
• We started another day together, when it was her turn to bring me a cup of coffee, and before long we were listening to Charles Matkin say, “Change comes over time, with hard work, focus, and repetition.”
• I told her to shun me until I broke the spine of my illustration assignment from the Danville Housing Authority. The only reason these things are ever difficult is because they come so few and far between.
• During my pool workout, as I finished a 200-yard sprint, she was already done with her walk and stopped by to watch me.
• I was over the hump on my ink drawing when she invited me to share her delectable dinner of butternut and Greek lamb chops. We toasted our enduring affection—spare, yet fully formed, like a bonsai.
• We started another year together, when it was time to stuff 2005 into the archives and breathe again. If we can get through something like that, side by side, perhaps we can still tackle our dreams.
• Long ago, they stuck us in a basement office together, so we made the most of it—for a lifetime.
HAPPY VALENTINE’s DAY to my “partner in all things.” I love you, forever…
• She might’ve been my first teacher; I might’ve been her first student.
• We took the stage together, faced the crowd together, and danced in the hot lights together. We didn’t get paid, but it was “show-biz” all the same. We were an “act”, and we quit at the top of our game.
• Speaking of games, our first ones didn’t come in boxes, across a wire, nor on a disc. We invented them, and we’ve been “players” ever since.
• Together, we observed the strange world around us, and the language available was insufficient, so we made up our own vocabulary to augment it. We shared it with those who would listen, and it met with their approval. They made their own contributions and helped pass it on to a new generation.
• She blazed a trail of achievement, so I followed it into the peaks of the high country. “I can do this, too,” I thought, so I blazed a trail of experimentation, but my trail descended into the bogs of the low country. During my journey back, she never lost faith in me, nor placed conditions on her love. She always remains the teacher, through her joys and her heartaches, and now I’m only one of those who follow her trail. It’s never been an easy trail, but it’s always been a good one. Blaze on, my lifelong companion. Blaze on.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my “big sis.” I love you, forever…
Just minding my own business when the 2006 Winter Games had me without warning… like getting caught by a gooey frog’s tongue.
I should’ve seen it coming.
It seems like I’m not the only one trying to get on top of their personal productivity. And—guess what—it’s not about trying.
One of the Brits at PigPog boiled it down to the basics:
• The best way to get things done is to do them.
• The best way to do them is to start doing them.
• A system is of no help at all with making you want to do things.
The last one is key. The methodology is secondary to the motivation, which has to drive the whole thing, otherwise, one has to take a deeper look at the underlying list of life objectives.
• Opening a statement from the Social Security Administration did not get my day off on the right track, and it began to go downhill from there. Fortunately, I was able to recover a bit by putting some good sales moves on the Republican candidate for Boyle County Judge Executive, who will definitely need a high-credibility graphic image as part of any success campaign to unseat the entrenched incumbent. After that, I attended the opening of “4 Seasons — 4 Directions,” Kathleen’s inspiring collage exhibition at Danville’s Community Arts Center. By evening, Dana and I were in Berea with Lee and David, eating delicious Thai food and learning English Country Dance—so the day ended fully back on its proper rails.
I did it! For the first time in many moons, I attacked the massive tower of storage boxes that was metastasizing in the corner of our meeting space. To be honest, it had steadily grown like a Schwitters Merzbau until my continuing to call the area our “conference room” had become an irritating exercise in self-delusion.
