For the first time in a while, I felt like myself on a bike, riding through the stillness after daybreak—one of those quiet mornings when a triggered canine yelp ripples outward into the landscape as other dogs pick up the bark.
When I arrived at his cabin studio, I learned that my friend Mack had died yesterday.
Seth and I put in a rigorous session with Lady Casablanca and learned a few hard lessons in our first team effort to produce a final cut of “Pirate Revenge.” When we were no longer laughing at our funniest scenes, we knew it was time to call it a night.
Just for the heck of it, I googled for the word “Bruce.” Although he didn’t come up on the search, Bruce will get a kick out of the fact that Bruce Campbell topped Willis with the first listing, and that Bruce Lee was next, beating out Springsteen. Bruce Cockburn made page two. Lenny Bruce didn’t show up until page ten, and no Robert the Bruce until page 14. I didn’t see Jenner until 52 or Boxleitner until 61.
When I google for “Bruce” and “Uncle John,” we come up as the fourth item. When I add “Indianapolis,” we’re number one.
Even Uncle Bob, who has forgotten more about computer science than many programmers will ever learn, is amazed at Google’s penetration. When he googled for his home base, “Broadwing Farm,” it came up first, with the Dixon Design page that exhibits our work for the farm’s “Red Crow Hot Sauce” a few listings down.
I wonder how long it will take for this particular page to be catalogued within their system?
(ps — Bon Voyage to Uncle Bob, Aunt Carol, and Joan. Be sealed in angel armor…)
— If we need another grim reminder that the world is at war, this story makes it clear that we’re all potentially in harm’s way—especially when we leave the homeland—as Joan, Aunt Carol, and Uncle Bob are planning to do this weekend. Manolo, get out your Blessing Engine. Meanwhile, the rest of us will pray—hard.
— Speaking of Bobs, I’ve known a few in my life. A Bob is never wishy-washy, but invariably an exceptional guy (occasionally you’ll encounter one who is distinctly uncool), and always makes an impression. This Bob is one of my favorites, and so I’ll do my part to extend his 15 minutes of fame.
— At Aunt Alma’s funeral I talked to cousin Don (accomplished musician and former CEO of Rolodex), and, without any prompting from me, he declared Centre professor Vince DiMartino as the greatest living Jazz trumpet virtuoso. Hmm… At the Brass Band Festival, Vince gave the honor to his friend Allen Vizzutti. Anyway, here’s a montage I made from shots I took during the Festival, so you can see the world’s finest trumpet player in action, whichever one he is!
The latest news is that my nephew has lost another fellow Guardsman. There is no doubt that the mission of the 623rd in Iraq is extremely dangerous. Nothing yet about whether Josh was assigned to the convoy that day.
After a visit with Bruce, we headed northeast to Celina, Ohio, watching fireworks erupt 360 degrees into the night sky on our way out of greater Indianapolis. This morning we gathered with family in St. Henry for the funeral of Aunt Alma. Mombo gave a reading and was determined to get through it—for her sister—and she did. We viewed the extraordinary Munich-style stained glass windows at St. Bernard’s in Burkettsville and then made the short trip to Maria Stein to pray at the Shrine of the Holy Relics. There’s only one or two other chapels like it in this part of the world, and it’s so unusual that I have no idea how to describe it. In fact, it will take me some time to assimilate the experience, and the way it sent tremors through my spiritual, philosophical, and historical sensibilities…
The nephrologist told Bruce that his kidney has a shrinking cortex with diminished blood flow, so the call was made to discontinue the anti-rejection medication. This is heartbreaking news, and it means that Bruce faces an indefinite period of life on dialysis. This will undoubtedly slow his physical therapy, but he’s a determined fighter, as we’ve learned, and has faced down every setback so far. Dana and I are leaving now for Indianapolis to go see him with my brother Jerome, and then the three of us will head to St. Henry, Ohio to pay our respect to Mombo’s sister, our dear Aunt Alma, who passed away before her 99th birthday. I’ve been fortunate to have many outstanding role models in my life. Aunt Alma and her husband Clarence have been two of them. Gentle strength was her shining attribute, and Uncle Clarence is the finest example of sustained poise that I’ve ever witnessed.
(ps — Happy Birthday, Uncle Sam!)
A must-have “peep-hole” for the desktop.
Whatever happens—the thrill of monumental victory or the agony of shattering defeat—this shall be made manifest at a level one rarely gets to observe in the world of sport. (Secretariat in the Belmont, Ali in Zaire, Gardner topples Karelin from Olympus, Donald James Larsen on the 8th of October, Edwin Moses unapproachable, Gretzky unstoppable, Spitz in the water, Nicklaus in the zone, Arnold dominant, Jordan supreme…)
How many things are actually very, very good?
This is going to be very very good.
— Month of June workout totals: Swim-8; Bike-1; Run-0; Lift-0; Yoga-1.
— If the state of my exercise program gets any more pathetic, I’ll be counting the times I cut the lawn with Uncle Art’s old mechanical push mower.
— Lots of people reach a point in their career and then say, “I think I’ll retire.” A few say, “I think I’ll do something really amazing and then retire.” One man says, “I think I’ll eat all the paintings in the Louvre, bed every woman in Paris, kick over the Eiffel Tower, and then retire.”
— And, by the way, if you think there’s too much rancor in the nation’s capital, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
Politics can often be an ugly thing, whether it’s business, entertainment, or on a university campus (which is almost as nasty as Hollywood). With government, it tends to be rather public, of course, because media types tend to think that elected officials are the only politicians. There’s a festering brew of ugliness seeping out of Frankfort now, as the Kentucky capital sheds decades of one-party rule. It’s hitting close to home, because we’ve learned that one of our friends and former clients—he left retirement to help the new governor clean up the mess in state government—is being pulled personally into a growing controversy that isn’t anywhere close to dying down. It’s already damn ugly—especially if you don’t like the appearance of maggots hard at work on something rotten—and it’s going to get worse before it gets better…
Man, have I missed being on a bike!
Dana and I took time tonight to have a nice dinner at Two Roads Cafe in Danville, sharing a Cabernet from my favorite Washington State winery, Chateau Ste Michelle. I remember first learning of it during a riverboat cruise we attended for the wedding rehearsal dinner of a former Centre intern. It wasn’t long after September 11 and I was wearing my flag lapel pin, which attracted a New Yorker who was present. He expressed his thanks to me for the show of support (yes, he took my gesture as personally significant to him—you have to recall the mood of the times), and we enjoyed each other’s friendship as he kindly introduced me to a family of reliably fine wines before we said our farewells later that evening.
When I think back to experiences like that, I wish that it was easier for us humans to discern the core essentials of life at times other than peril, tragedy, or loss…
Website Makeover™ Man has hardly shown himself in days, making a brief appearance at a wedding in his secret identity, but otherwise he’s kept to his upper sanctum.
Website Makeover™ Man is struggling. He doesn’t want to turn to the dark side…
— Richard Benedetto’s recent column rests on that blurry line between news reporting and opinion, but it’s nevertheless a thought-provoking read. It’s title, “Turning old enemies into friends has long benefited the U.S.” makes me think about the other side of the coin: “Turning old enemies’ enemies into new enemies has long been the role of the U.S.” That’s the part of this issue most would agree on. And with the way things are, that’s probably the only part.
— The enormous virus/spam wave that’s going on right now is a huge problem. That’s why I get such a kick out of finding a sparkle of joy in the whole mess: Spam as Folk Art—the only silver lining out there. Last week my email service had 1.6 million mails hit their machines. Some 500,000 were rejected as viruses, and a bit over 800,000 rejected as spam, leaving some 200,000 or so to be delivered as legitimate mail (hopefully), but some crap does get through. I feel for all the “good guys” trying hard to stay on the back of this tiger. Somewhere out there is a young vigilante looking for his cause. A suggestion: 1) round up every spammer and virus writer, 2) make them swallow an overdose of viagra while getting an enema bag of liquified mortgage applications on the other end. (Uh-oh… I told Brendan’s mom that this would be a mom-friendly blog).
— Just in case you notice half a grand of spare cash sitting on your dresser top, and you don’t particularly care for shooting real handguns, add a Han Solo Blaster to your cart (or, for the more civilized, a nifty lightsaber).
— OK, it’s time to be serious. Good news from Bruce
personally; they talked to him about his eventual transfer to a rehabilitation center, which is a clear sign that his medical situation is improving in a positive and predictable way. See that light at the end of the tunnel, my son? I pray you’re there in no time!
— Best wishes to my brother Jay and his bride Glenda, who got hitched in Liberty this morning among a large contingent of our Clan. God bless you both, and may all our dreams meet to expand His glory.
My family was never far from my mind during the seven months I lived in Europe during 1974. (In fact, I so turned off a pretty Flemish girlfriend by admitting I missed my family that she dumped me within hours for a Belgian doofus named Bruno.) One way I could feel connected to my brothers was to think about “The Legend,” and it was easy to be inspired, surrounded as I was by all the fascinating history of feudal conflicts, life on the manor, warring political factions, imperialistic ventures, and Napoleonic exploits. I was constantly encountering the art, architecture, accouterments, and weapons of the general time period we’d chosen to frame our imaginary world of swashbucklers and tyrants. When my brother James sent me a letter mentioning Hedda Keeh, one of our beloved characters (a native of the Western Plaines and Peace Chief of his nation), I plunged into the creation of a comprehensive map and sent it home along with our most ambitious document to date—a long letter from Joncules Dix to his half-brother Jimcus (otherwise known as Chaims-Dan, or Man-With-Flying-Feet, from his years among the outcast monks of Chap). Before long, the nonlinear structure of our narrative was firmly rooted in the idea of producing documents and artifacts that revealed only a portion of the totality, which would then lead to further discussion, attempts at integration, and ongoing creativity (often using dioramas built with the very type of plastic figures that influenced our imagination from the beginning). It became a perfect organizing principle—not original to us, I suspect—and reinforced the historicity of our approach, removing it forever from a strictly oral realm. An explosion of development followed, with numerous drawings, carvings, models, and written fragments. Spinning yarns within “The Legend” has never been the same since.
Since I’m trying to bolster a few spots in my yard with some quality organic fertilizer, I asked James about his stockpile of “bunny gold” under the rabbit pens. It made me think of when we were kids, and Mr. Wagner was shocked that we hadn’t jumped on the opportunity to earn pocket change by filling empty feed bags with manure at 50 cents a pop. As James aptly sums it up: “We just weren’t money driven, and not much has changed since then.”
I guess I was somewhat familiar with the actor Derek Jacobi, but it took listening to the audio version of “Gates of Fire” (Steven Pressfield’s riveting story of life among the Spartans), for me to recognize the supreme awesomeness of his abilities. Since I liked “The Islands of Unwisdom” so much, the time is right to finally partake of the 1976 mini-series I, Claudius, which brings Graves and Sir Derek together.
• “Derek Jacobi is brilliant—his soldiers are terrifyingly gruff, and his breathless account of the fighting is so vivid that one can almost smell blood. With a lesser reader, the novel’s structure might have been confusing, but Jacobi’s ability to subtly alter the timbre of his voice and the style of his delivery to differentiate narrators makes it perfectly clear.”
—AudioFile
As he bears down on 14 weeks in the Clarian system, Bruce is starting to get some physical therapy again, but it’s been a rough climb back out of the abyss since his setback over the Memorial Day weekend. Yesterday he was able to get on his feet for the first time in three or four weeks (I lost count), and that should help his mood, because he faces having to redo all the muscular progress he made during the month of May. Apparently the nephrologist told him it’s unlikely that his transplanted organ will wake up this time, but the specialists were wrong in April, so why not stay hopeful and keep praying? That kidney has been through a lot, it’s true, and Jerome was astonished when it kicked in the last time, declaring it a “medical miracle.” I wonder— what’s “Doc” thinking now? The situation isn’t any easier with people around Bruce dumping their personal problems on him instead of protecting the fragile alchemy of his vision for healing. He doesn’t need the added burden of worrying about extraneous ineptitude and financial disarray (and that should go without saying, but I said it).
Just as I try to wrap my mind around the idea that Josh has been soldiering in Iraq for half a year, and that Alyx and Ian and Brendan are suitably credentialized and making their own way in the world, and that Clayton is going off to U.D., I’m forced to try another wild concept on for size: Seth is 17 years old!
After the Y2K doomsday scenario dissolved and then the family was unable to put together a comprehensive emergency action plan in the wake of September 11, I guess I’d had enough of preparing for potential calamity. But a recent warning from Frank Gaffney about the EMP threat almost makes me think I should become a card-carrying Crashologist again. G-bo used to talk about EMP as a clear and present danger, but never suggested what could be done about it at the personal level beyond the fundamentals. Maybe I need to look into this more deeply, although it probably comes back to the basics of surviving any catastrophe—clean water, nutrition, shelter, power, communications, medical care, and self defense.
I understand, dear reader, that you might see a name like Gaffney and think, “He’s one of those right-wing think tankers who’s actively helping Rumsfeld and Cheney reshape the entire U.S. power structure.” Just keep in mind that when I check out the Websites that work to expose all these scary conservatives, I usually say, “Wow, these guys are great!”
It was a refreshing, worthwhile, and really fun weekend in the woods with Marty (thanks, James, it was a good idea). Out of the one fearful episode came a name for the place—Widow’s Knob—after we encountered the black widow spider at our campsite. No black bear were sighted, however, although they must certainly be in the area by now. I underestimated how much effort it would require to lug our provisions up to the heights, so we’ll rethink how much gear is actually necessary for the next expedition. A tent might be a good idea, since spiders clearly rule the darkness there, especially the long-leggers, who consider a mere facial landscape no deterrent to their nightly mission.
