Journey to the American West

Its kind of a gray Sunday morning here at brook hollow. Some bird songs I didn’t know woke me early. The birds know the days are getting longer, that Spring is just around the corner! I know this to be true as well since I’ve had my monster-pike dream, Bob and I casting to a pair of logs in a shallow bay a few weeks after ice-out, and watching the logs slowly swim away from the disturbance of our lures…the biggest fish I’d ever seen. I also saw another harbinger of Spring, the Cubs getting severely whooped by the Sox…so baseball is back!

I put the plaster in the oven to cook a bit more this morning. Yesterday’s day long exercise in melting out the wax hemispheres worked out pretty well I think. The paraffin does stain the plaster a bit, but I’ll see if I can sand that out this afternoon. I started making the shield elements for a new little assemblage yesterday as well, melting paraffin in the arced faces of the broken vase, then melting jeweler’s wire into the backside to support it. Seems to be working well so far. I tried to fly too close to the sun while doing it though. While paraffin is nicely white and variably translucent, I was hoping for a bit of color variation, so started melting some beeswax too.

Unwrapping the beeswax filled brook hollow with the scent of honey, amazing at first, a bit too much after a while. I went over the top when i tried to melt some it into those same glass-vase forms. The color was incredible, a golden color very close to honey. As I stood with the oven door open (got it a bit too hot and smoked up the place a little) and was breathing in the vaporized beeswax, my body reminded me that the last allergic reaction I had was to bee venom. I remembered the panic, tightness in my chest and trouble breathing from afternoons playing baseball in the “prairie” across the street from where I grew up. I’d run home, gasping and Mom would give me a tablespoon of some cough syrup and take me to Dr. Yahiro. I liked him, instead of a jolt of epinephrine, he gave me my own bottle of coca-cola and a hershey bar! He’d turn out the lights and talk to my Mom and I about controlling my breathing, giving me a cadence to follow, and wait until the caffeine and sugar had defeated my asthma.

So when I had the problem yesterday, I reached for the dove chocolates and a pepsi, seemed to do the trick, but left me feeling kind of worn out. Which is the long way around of saying the plaster is baking and I’m breathing well.

I took on the task of putting up 27 little canvases I’ve been piling paint on the last month or so. http://picasaweb.google.com/mjobrien1953/PrimitivePaintings#

Its kind of tricky since the wall isn’t flat and working alone the challenges of drawing a level line some eight feet long are more imposing than a person might think. I tried to use a high tech vacuum-adhered laser level thingy to project a laser line across the wall, but being the wall was bowed, the line didn’t make it the full distance. So I went back to basics, a four foot masons level, folding wood ruler, pencil hammer and nails.

Each of the tools used in the basic approach made me think of who gave me the tool, how they gave it to me, and how perfectly old memories fit your hands. The level is mahogany with inlaid brass edges. It was the first tool Erin and Maggie gave me. I remember their eyes as they handed it to me. I was really excited to receive it, a level that long made of nice wood and brass was a luxury I wouldn’t have indulged in myself. I don’t get to use it often, but remember leveling ground with it in the backyard on lee street, setting the first joists of Dad’s cabin addition with it, leveling cabinets in my office, the ghost ornament stencils here at brook hollow and today, my composition of three rows making 27 places for the canvases.

As I was marking out the locations for the nails, Melody Gardot sang “why you wanna leave when its so easy just to stay” which stopped me in my tracks. I lost the level line and had to start over. But the lyric says something about the power of momentum. Each painting, done each morning, was an exercise in overcoming inertia. Inertia is resistance…and I believe it to be what holds back so much change.

Inertia comes in many flavors…the “its cold and I don’t want to get out from under the covers” flavor (overcome with wool socks)…the “I’m not an artist, what i do isn’t art” flavor (overcome by painting, not making art)…the “supply store is too far away”…(just deal with it) the “it might be a mistake,” “i might mess it up,” “it won’t be like i expect it to be”…which i think can only be overcome by actually acting.

Action is never without risk. I’ve told my students (and myself) “when in doubt…act…you seldom get anywhere sitting on your bottom…as long as you are falling on your face when you fail, you’re moving in the right direction.” I do believe this, we have to act to overcome inertia, whether the goal is to intensify where we are, or move towards where we think we need to be…and make no mistake, there will be casualties…a stubbed toe moving towards the canvas in the early morning darkness…a wounded ego taking yourself public and finding out that the world really doesn’t notice…safe footing is always risked…and the immediate reward is seldom enough to overcome the discomfort, hurt, and pain you inflict on others by acting…

I read this line once “I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.”

I can’t say I fully understand that, but have been disappointing people around me pretty regularly…its instinct…but knowing i’ve disappointed many…is never far from my surface.

Nothing brings this out more than Spring it seems. The lengthening days, flowers appearing, warming temperatures are all signs of renewal. But the Springs that weigh on me happened recently, Spring of 2007 and Spring of 2008 were loss upon loss, each loss getting closer and heavier. And of the three losses, I know only one is mine. The others I don’t lay claim to. But they resonate like aftershocks, sending new waves of panic, anxiety, doubt rushing through. When they happened, you change modes, becoming organizer, resourcer, travel agent, scribe, and belated, if not ineffective protector.

After these roles pass, become unnecessary, whatever there is to feel comes home to roost. I know my mistake was not finding a way to integrate loss in my life when it happened and that my efforts at composing twenty seven in three today won’t be anything helpful in twenty days when my family and four other families try to get through the day, hundreds, thousands of miles apart, not being able to make it feel better, just trying to get through it. A few days later, my brother, sisters and I will do that again, and and fourteen days after that, thousands who were in blacksburg will do the same.

I have a friend who lost his Mom this week. I’m hoping he’ll not do as i did, but take time with his families now.

Spring’s happy, easter will be celebrated around the world from stonehenge to golgatha…the message is from the shortest day to the day of the vernal equinox there is a path of momentum, forward to longer days, more time for growth…which all seems to build off the past year’s life. We’ll see.

Remembering all who’ve lost in Spring’s past, I’m with you on those days, I won’t pester you as I know now that each of us has to feel…but…call if you’d like to chat.

Be very good to each other this season.
My best to you.

Its been pretty quiet here at Brook Hollow the last few weeks. The raccoons have carried off the last of the bird seed from the deck and I’ve had some seriously quiet time to make some things and pay more attention to things that are less obvious.

I was thinking back on an early October morning at the bonfire memorial here at Texas A&M. The sun was just breaking over the horizon, and the ground fog neatly filled the memorial grounds. All I could see were the topmost parts of the portals memorializing each student that died that early morning, the fog filled the rest of the bowl, it was a space, but the fog had given it a visible form. That form had been there since the memorial was constructed, and though I had visited it a number of times, I never could see the form of that space.

This shouldn’t be much of a surprise as just a month or two later, a friend here sat with two students in my studio and rapidly diagnosed a missing design element that I hadn’t been able to put my finger on. He figured out that the physical hints, sometimes boundary walls, sometimes a lower portion of the ceiling, sometimes a pool of light, were describing a space that had very little form, and the design suffered from that lack of cohesion in the “invisible” part of the building design. I say this shouldn’t be a surprise because back in the Spring of 1987, when I interviewed for a teaching position, a senior faculty member, upon seeing a drawing I had done of the Pantheon in Rome, asked me if I saw myself as the black lines that defined the circular space of the floorplan, or of the whitespace defined within the lines. Without thinking I replied “the black.”

Some years later I chose to share half of my administrative position with a colleague I didn’t really know very well, but had an instinct that he would bring to the position, what I didn’t have. It turned out he had been asked a similar question by the same faculty member and had replied “the white.”

I’ve spent years, maybe decades learning about the visible things that make buildings, cars, organisms, streets and cities, how they work, why they don’t, and the visible signs of distress they exhibit before not working anymore.

As it turns out, what’s inside the things, be it wall, diesel, or street-front are evidence of an attitude, set of values, even beliefs. Its just harder to learn than the external appearances and components. The “way” of Volkswagen and Kia are different. They value different things, though both make similar four-wheeled contraptions. You only get a sense for the values when you actually look, maybe start to take apart whats under the skin. You find bolts that are inaccessible in one, and a sense the car was designed to be maintained in the other. Plastic bits that break and require replacement, and metal screws to remove and repair…all kinds of little differences that you can’t know with a first look at the appearance.

So the quiet weeks here have provoked some actions I wouldn’t have predicted months earlier. I’m painting, not anything a person would recognize, but enjoying the freedom of not having an appearance to imitate, seeing the form that results from the paint and brush, the weight or tremor in my hand, the stillness or energy inside me. I have no clue what it means, but instincts say to keep painting so I’ll listen to them.

When moving to Texas, I threw in some bits of materials that were the subject of skeptical comments back in Virginia. A great chunk of pine, some blocks of cedar, wire, a piece of 5/4 fir from the trim ornaments I carved over Erin and Maggie’s windows on Lee Street. I didn’t know why I kept them, or why I moved them, just that they were potentially something.

I’ve been combining those bits with some plaster cast in dollar store glass vases. I had chosen the glassware for some aspect of their external appearance, but upon removing the plaster (cook overnight and drip cold water on the glass…pop!) one can see some nuances resulting from the glass blowing or casting process that were invisible when just looking at the outside. Subtle peaks and smooth edge transitions that are inside the glass, are never really visible when we use these vases for their functional purpose. When filled with water and flowers, the vase surrenders any beauty it may have inside to the flash and attention lavished on the flowers.

So inside, there can be a complexity and nuance that might not be apparent from a first look…. I’m learning that, slowly, seeing what’s in the mirror may not be all there is to it.

Take a look at what’s inside of people and things around. I’m learning that what I thought I knew, I didn’t. And what I thought I didn’t know, some part of my inner form or instinct, kind of knew but somehow i kept looking at the flowers and so never saw.

These things make less sense the more one types so I’ll stop now.

Be good to each other, maybe a bit more tolerance will allow an insight the first look doesn’t afford.

Take Care

The days are sloooowly getting longer now. The sun is up to wake me each morning, but still not around when I get home.

Tonight the moon was pretty impressive. A brilliant small crescent was all that was visible of the moon, with only the faintest hint of the rest of its circular profile visible in the early night. It struck me that the moon was smiling, something I’d never noticed before.

It was too low on the western horizon to take a photo, but its an image I’ll long remember. I don’t have too many strong memories of the night sky, one other I remember is sitting with a group of people outside after Pat and Paul’s wedding. It was really dark, we were somewhere near Larry Byrd’s hometown not too close to city lights, and the clear night was filled with stars. What made it especially memorable was being able to see the ecliptic plane. This incredible alignment of the planets of our solar system appeared in the sky, making a connect-the-dots tilted arc. It was as if the heavens aligned for their wedding.

As I try to sleep, my mind seems to come to life at full speed. The list of things that need doing, things I’d like to do, things I must do the next day, things I didn’t get done today, all seem to scroll by in an endless loop. Sometimes I wake up and write them down. This often helps me sleep because by the time I get to the end of the list, its almost time to wake up.

The “to-do’s” don’t weigh on me too often. Tomorrow’s an exception to that rule…talking about negotiated settlements is pretty unsettling. But the “wish I hadn’t” list is one that weighs heavily on me. It’s kind of a long scroll, one that seems to increase logarithmically with age, an indication that I’m on the gradual downslope part of life maybe.

I’ve learned from some of the “wish I hadn’ts” on the list, but not as many, or as quickly as I should. Some go hand in hand with “wish I hads” mostly those are “wish I had seen then what I can see now” mostly those are decades-old but, they’re still around. I’ve had instincts, feelings about people, places, requests, demands and usually I shrug them off, being convinced I was over-reacting, and things will get better in time. They can, but only if a person works them out right when they occur. It’s true you can’t second-guess life. If I had put my foot down, acted on my instincts, some lives would have been very very different, which is to say, longer I think. I remember feeling that a high-school friend was working unusually hard to avoid me during one week. I told myself he was changing groups, from our nerdy lunch club to one of the more with-it groups of kids, and something about them didn’t seem right, but, I thought, who am I to say? I learned he had gone to a party with them, and then inexplicably, climbed a high tension tower and grabbed the wire. There’s been a few things like that, mostly between high school and a few years ago, that I remember on most nights, knowing, but not knowing, what would have made a difference? What would make a difference tomorrow?

A list of simple sayings scrolls through most evenings. They aren’t original, and I usually can’t consistently live them, but are usually my final thoughts before drifting off:
…when in doubt, act…
…as long as you fall on your face, you’re moving in the right direction
…the right thing is seldom the path to pleasure, but is still the right thing
…initiative distinguishes one from the many
…leaders are more interested in the success of their team, than their own
…know what you live for, live for your purpose
…if you don’t know the right answer, give three or more, then choose the best of what you have
…(this one is easy in design work, impossible in life for me) put your problems together to make a new question, a new possibility
…don’t hit “send” for a few hours…or days
…every once in a while, be the grasshopper, not the ant…

Some other things that scroll past, vividly good, and not so good, but on the same scroll: the birth of my daughters (incredibly good), missing the death of my father, touching an oak box on a cold windy hill and having it knock me down, a silent drift down a windless shoreline at dawn, seeing the first snow of the season, seeing the last snow of the season, shaking the hands of students coming off the graduation stage, not being there with my students on an early April day, being there when a poet lifted a university on her shoulders, watching someone laugh from their toes-when you never thought you’d see them laugh again, seeing the pain i’ve caused in others, finding a universe in a tidepool and infinity on a beach…

You get the picture, sleeping is hard, not just for me, but lots of us. I think we have to let ourselves off the hook sometimes…usually by owning up to what we did and what we felt. Others help us by standing by, standing up, sometimes standing in. Ok, I’ve lost the train of thought. It must be time for sleep!

Take Care, help each other off the hook, read the faces around you and do what you can, but let them do the final lifting to get off the hook, you can’t do it for them…

Smile to each other, like tonight’s moon did to us all.

I’m making scrambled eggs for dinner tonight.

I was walking around the kitchen, holding the eggs, looking in the fridge for other ingredients. Trying to think healthy and not immediately grab the cheese, of course I dropped one. It didn’t splat, but hit right on the round end, cracking enough to begin leaking. I put it in a bowl and it emptied out. Not all at once, I had to shake it a few times but didn’t break it further. Once empty, I was amazed at its lightness, and its strength.

Looking closer, feeling the surface, you could tell it wasn’t actually smooth. There were bumps on it. The shell was thicker in some places, and thinner in others.

We think about eggshells “being formed” as if it was an automatic process…I guess it is a biological function, uncontrollable by the chicken, but I like to think that some higher power, call it what you will, supreme being, evolutionary imperative, its not important to name specifically. Somehow, there was a knowledge that life, as it is taking form, needs protection.

Protection from what? All things external to the womb? Sure to a large extent, the shell protects from impact, too much light, its not a universal shield though. The egg must still be kept warm, and protected against being squashed.

You hear people say “so and so is coming out of their shell” as a way of saying a person is emerging as themselves, and are ready to face the world without the protection the shell offered. It takes work to get out of ones shell I think.

I remember seeing on “The Wonderful World of Disney” shows about chicks breaking out of shells, alligators breaking out of shells, turtles, even a duckbill platypus! The process was remarkably similar for all the species, what was inside began poking, pecking, chipping away at the shell until it cracked. Then there always seemed to be a period of resting. Then more poking and pecking, and the hole in the shell got bigger, and bigger. Then more resting. Then a final burst of energy, and what was inside flopped out into the nest. Usually they were a mess, still covered with what nourished them, feathers askew, and exhausted by the process. They’d rest some more, then finally roll and tumble and scramble around the nest. Probing its limits, poking their head outside.

I remember seeing the parent alligator scooping up the squeaking, emerging babies in their mouth, and shuttling back and forth between the safety of the nest, and the safety of the water giving the emergent generation an extra chance to survive the first few moments in the world.

Turtles weren’t so lucky. They’d emerge en masse and sprint (for a turtle) to the edge of the water, hoping their mass numbers would let a few survive being plucked up by seabirds.

I can’t remember any species moving in and out of their shells. But I think it would be a handy trait to have. To be able to retreat to the quiet place where you first became aware. Kept warm by your family nest so you could re-emerge from time to time. There’s probably a reason why nature doesn’t do that. Still, I’d like to leave it in the suggestion box.

I pull back to my shell from time to time in life. Mine isn’t the translucent perfection of an egg, with its clear form. Mine seems to change, a competition here, a book there, obscure details in history I really don’t know why I enjoy learning, writing this blog, a bit of wood and a sharp tool, a fountain pen and a good piece of handmade paper. These are safe places for me. Its true, you could say I hide in them. But its not really hiding I don’t think. Its just a safe, quiet place to develop.

That’s what makes a shell more than a boundary. Its really three dimensional. A space for growth.

Its true that to re-emerge, one will have to invest effort. Poking, pecking at the shell until you hear it crack, see a bit of daylight, then you can rest for a little while and build up some energy to make the crack larger, pressing the pieces to the side and taking that first breath of air. I remember that’s what the first step out of the car in the pine woods at the lake was like… a first breath. Then some more rest, building energy, flopping around, learning the limits of the nest, and preparing for the mad dash to the edge of the water. Operating on instinct, knowing there are risks, predators looking to feed themselves. But believing that if you make it, life in the water will be more fulfilling than in the nest, in the shell.

If you come across my shell, step lightly, I’m in here working, building energy for the next emergence.

Step lightly wherever you tread. Respect the shells you come across. If you see an emergent floundering, help get them safe passage to the water.

Be good to each other.

Time for dinner.

I fell down yesterday, big time. Somehow I thought I could actually catch up with a fly ball over my head…on lumpy ground…that was very very soft following a few days of rain.

I saw that the ball was over my head almost right after Marcel hit it. I took the right first step, but was backpedaling before I knew it. At the last moment, glove over and behind my head, I did what you’re not supposed to do, jumped.

The ball smacked the glove, I closed the pocket around it but was already in full stumble, falling on my back, my speed (well.. it WAS technically speed… just not fast) took me over on my neck, shoulder and splashed down on my knee. In true ESPN form I lifted the glove up to show the 7? year old I was playing with that I had caught the ball.

It didn’t take long for my body to tell me this was a silly thing to do and this morning as I lay on the wood floor warmed by the sun, picking at my all-vitamin cereal while a pan of fresh brownies sits on the stove, my body is still asking me “what did you think you were doing catching that ball?”

But that moment when the ball hit the glove was a pure instant. I didn’t think, I just acted. Didn’t evaluate the ground, just jumped. As I ache this morning I was wondering…was I just in denial about my age when I put the glove on?

Maybe when faced with the opportunity for something good its hard to make an informed choice. (thinking about brownies for breakfast instead of wheat flakes) Somewhere deep inside though, we’re often fighting with the inner voices that say “c’mon, have some fun” and “hey! act your age”

So if you can’t always get what you want, how do you know that what you’re getting is what you need? I’m sure its all about balance, and if mine was better maybe I wouldn’t have rolled and splatted in the field after the catch. Instinctively, we take risks. Sometimes we make the catch, sometimes we splat…and pay for it later.

But thinking back to the moment the ball hit the glove, there was a feeling of satisfaction I don’t think I could have had watching others leap and fall.

This is all pretty convoluted. I’m thinking of the satisfaction my Dad had in making fires in his fireplace, even if it meant going up on the roof to point the brick chimney. The fire in the fireplace took him back somewhere, gave him satisfaction that he could still split wood, still knew how to build up the tinder to have a “one match” fire, satisfaction in the sound, the smell, the heat, all things that are pure moments, real things done at a risk, but so much more rewarding than watching a fire on tv.

So we can proceed through life safely, not taking risks, denying ourselves brownies for breakfast, or we can deny our limitations and jump for the ball. Might as well jump, even though I know there will be some aches and pains as a result.

unless…

On the way home I remember making what i thought was a similarly amazing catch during American Legion baseball tryouts. The other players on the field congratulated me on the way into the dugout, I felt pretty good at that moment. Then a coach sat down next to me and said “son, you have slow feet,” pretty much saying that if I was faster, I wouldn’t have to make spectacular falling catches.

So, if I was better prepared, had worked to be ready to jump, maybe I wouldn’t have splatted so hard.

All this of course is a way to talk about love and the risks we take with it. If we do the work (on ourselves…no fair “fixing” the other person) maybe we’ll have faster feet, be able to chase down the ball over our head AND avoid rolling and splatting in the mud.

I can see another question though, sometimes a second baseman needs to look carefully at the fly ball and tell the outfielder “its yours.” There’s another blog there but it’ll be even more confusing than this one.

I’ll finish my healthy cereal now, and just peek at the brownies.

Take Care, do the work to be prepared for the fly, avoid the splat.
Be good to each other.

Dec. 21 marks the winter solstice. On this day the sun is at its lowest angle in the sky at noon for those of us in the northern hemisphere.

I think about the druids at Stonehenge, seeing this alignment between heelstone and the solstice marker, announcing with confidence that the days will get longer and longer now, the depths of winter will slowly end.

I think about this a day after taking a warm nap on the back porch. After a whirlwind of last minute shopping, miraculously walking into the last store and finding just the right gift (I hope) and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate…(I held back on that) it was good to get home and lay quietly in the last hours of sunlight, a cool breeze, the sweetness of air from Canada, and the warm sun….winter days spent like this are some of the best days in Texas.

Meanwhile, my daughters are digging out the car in nyc, preparing for what I hope will be a safe, uneventful day-long drive to Virginia. The road reports are a bit better, but I won’t relax until I hear that they have safely arrived.

This will be my second Christmas without them, and no I’m not used to it yet, but I’ll see them soon and we’ll recreate Christmas as best we can. I remember them on Christmas mornings, so eager to receive when they were little, so eager to give gifts as they grew older. I remember I realized this a few years ago, and felt proud at the thought of the good people they grew to be.

“It’s better to give than receive” … a simplification of the biblical version, but deeply meaningful. It’s a turning point in the life of a child I think, one of those key moments of realization that caring for others can warm ones heart. There’s a moment just before you give a gift. You hope it’s right. You hope it’s welcomed. You hope you haven’t overstepped, haven’t under-thought. You hope you listened to them close enough, you’ve thought about what would bring them comfort, joy. You look for that pop in their eyes when they realize what the gift is, the “how did you know?” wonder, the spontaneous hug….

I remember the fear of the negative response, finding the gift in the donation bag next to the front door a few days later, or in the trash can…

Gifting is tricky.

You can see that receiving a gift also takes some thoughtfulness… . You can’t force the real reaction, it has to just happen. Its not hard though, if a person can relax, meet the eyes of the person offering, hold the gift in front of you, open it with energy, meet their eyes again, look down, and be amazed. Smile, knowing you were in the giver’s thoughts, when they made their list, as they saved up, went place to place seeking it, or the parts to make it, as they stood in line, as they put it together, wrapped it, and wrote the tag, placed it beneath the tree on Christmas Eve, dug for it Christmas morning and handed it to you, eyes bright with anticipation. You feel their care for you as you meet their eyes and receive their gift, the long string of thought and effort symbolized in the ribbon wrapped around the paper.

I remember being a poor gift recipient one birthday especially. Mom had put a heavy box in my lap, then was sitting on the couch watching, anticipating my reaction. I tore at the paper, inside was an amazing die-cast tractor, rubber tires, steering wheel that moved the front wheels, very detailed engine….without thinking i looked up at her and asked where the trailer was…what a doof i was. I remember she cried. I don’t think I learned anything that day, but the memory stuck with me and years later, finding gifts in the donate pile or the trash, I understood. To reject a gift is to risk rejecting the long string of caring, played out over time.

My friend Frank and I talked about a paper he’s writing on the subject of caring. It’s helped me to think about caring on this shortest of days, caring for, being cared for, caregiving, caretaking.

“Its better to give than receive” I think it means that by receiving the care and love implicit in a gift that is offered, you give a gift to the giver.

I never saw that until just now.

Be warm on this longest of nights. Think of all those people who are thinking of you, anticipating that moment when you receive their offering.

Thinking of you all at this turning point in the seasons.
Be good to each other.

I had the crazy idea that i would make most of the gifts I was going to offer at Christmas this year. I didn’t get an early start, about mid November I think and today the first piece shipped, the other four should ship tomorrow, I’ve been able to deliver some in person and have a few more to deliver.

I made simple things since I’m no artisan. I made necklaces for the ladies in the office and some things for my brothers and sisters and special people in my life. While working on the necklaces I had a flasback to 1994 when my wife was t’boned in a car wreck in Blacksburg, a small enough town that one of the neighbors who saw it called the house. I was mowing the yard, a six hour process back then when Erin brought out the phone to me. The message was simple “come to this intersection, she’s hurt, leave the girls with me” I remember bundling up Erin and Maggie in their car seats, putting on the emergency flashers and zipping down the hill and over to the scene. There were so many cars blocking the street I drove up on the sidewalk which either Erin or Maggie made a comment about. At the scene i walked them to the neighbor who would look after them while i looked after Linda. When we walked by, the girls looked, saw her bent over the steering wheel and asked “why is mommy sleeping?” I don’t remember answering, just the look on Erin’s face staring at her mom in a crumpled car. I told them I’d take care of mom, they should be good for the neighbor, who walked them to her home. I walked to the car as the rescue squad was getting ready to extract Linda. The door post had been driven deeply into the side of the drivers seat, and thus into Linda, breaking ribs, they removed what was left of the door and i climbed in while they were planning their next demolition action. The plan was to lift her out through the windshield and were preparing to break it in on her when i pointed out it was held in with a zipper gasket that they could pull, and remove the windshield with no risk of flying glass. It worked and they extracted her. At the hospital the broken rib punctured her lung, I saw it happen, all the color drained from her as her lung collapsed. The doctor inserted a tube and reinflated her lung and she was stable for the night.

I picked up the girls from the neighbors, thanked them, updated them and took the girls home explaining that mommy would be in the hospital for a while but that we could go visit.

The next day the porch was the scene of a non stop parade of flowers, hot dishes, desserts and soups. The church and school had heard and were supporting us in full force. All the strangers coming and going seemed to make Erin and Maggie uncomfortable, they stopped talking. I thought I needed to spend a lot of time with them to be sure they were ok. They had been making bead jewelry with small plastic beads and twine and when I asked what we could give to all the people bringing flowers and food, they suggested bead necklaces.

We spent the next day at seeds of light. It turned out to be a real treat for them, buying whatever glass, stone or metal beads they wanted. Once home, they’d organize their beads in trays and sit together on the floor, in the sun, trading beads with each other until they were satisfied they both had what they wanted, then they both said “deal done” and that was that.

I lay on the floor with them squinting to see the small beads and to string them on in a pattern or a mono-color necklace while the three of us discussed the accident, moms recovery, how we would have to convert the living room into a bedroom for mom’s hospital bed and they seemed fine with all that, very chatty, it all felt normal. We began discussing the designs of the necklaces. Maggie tried to match something the person had worn, Erin was starting that way, but freestyling when needed.

We beaded for about a week, taking breaks to go to the hospital or to deliver necklaces, Linda came home to the hospital bed in the living room and things worked their way back to normal.

I think about all this when I started making necklaces for the women I work with. I remembered how I had used beading to spend time with my daughters and be sure they were not afraid of the accident. Looking back, as scary as it was, as hard as it was to have Linda recovering in the living room, I loved those days laying on the floor with Erin and Maggie. Making small talk, having them teach me the knots, color patterns, trading, but mostly being with them while we worked.

This year as I was beading, I was able to think about who I was making for, what they might like, how to express their persona and role through the designs. Each necklace took about a night to make, the boxes took another few nights, but I enjoyed thinking about them. Their laughs, their interests, their ways of enlivening the office. I don’t know if I really was able to capture a bit of their persona in what I made, but the act of making…selecting…designing…fabricating connected me to them and I think its how gifting should work for me. I need to be thinking hard about a person, and make instead of buy.

When i gave these presents, they were warmly received. I had been showing samples around earlier to get their input into clasps, colors, designs, they were surprised that I had been showing them their gifts at various stages of development…but graciously accepted them anyway.

I made a gift for my sisters and brother too, something to symbolize the six of us children all together. Each different, distinct, but unified by family. I’m not sure how these will be received, but enjoyed remembering Terri’s record collection …(some guy Zally?) and Barbs work with the recycling center in high school…what was that fellows name?….and Lori’s 12 string guitar playing, I miss that still, and Ginny’s energy which got her a protective football helmet to wear until her nose healed. I remember my brother and I playing catch or running bases, and remember I haven’t been much of a brother to him. I hope this major award thats on its way to Lori’s for him will make up for some of what i did and didn’t do for him/to him.

I’m making more gifts for Erin and Maggie and other people close to me. I’ve made cards finally and hope to have those in the mail soon.

Whether card, gift, or box i think the best part is the memories that the person brings back when you make something for them.

I’ll be away from family this Christmas, am looking forward to making a Christmas here in Texas, but I’ll be thinking of you all. Missing my daughters, brother and sisters, friends in Fargo and Blacksburg, but I’ve visited their memories through this process, and it makes me feel less alone as we approach the longest night of the year.

I hope you are with friends, family and those you love this holiday season. If you can’t be with them, think of them, remember them, maybe even facebook them. The holidays are a season of community I think, and though mine is spread across a few time zones and a continent, I feel close to them all, shed blood for them all (never look up when cutting out cards!) and tried to make a part of me that won’t be too hideous to wear or have on display….I’m not sure about that part, I’ll have to wait for the reviews.

Happy Holidays to you all! Travel Safely, Be good to each other.

The long thanksgiving weekend gave time to complete a few projects, make some holiday gifts, cook, and eat….but overall broke even on my weight!

I had some quiet time to think about what I have to be thankful for.
For Love
For Trust
For Healing
For Sunny Days
For Rainy Evenings
and the unity Snow brings to the Landscape
For Honorable People who do the Right Thing
For my two Daughter’s Caring
For Long Horizons
and Shade
For the Seashore
and Lively Creek
For Tide-pools
and Flowers
For Friends who see what is invisible to me
For Longtime Friends here and gone

I can’t thank the following people enough for staying with me for yet another year: Erin and Maggie, for not giving up on me and teaching me about being a grownup. Kathy, Marcel, Ward, Glen, Melinda, Ginger, Mallory and Hala, you all have helped make my day to day life something I look forward to each morning. Steve & Frank keep me stimulated with ideas and keep me learning. Terri, John, Barb, Lori and Ginny, for keeping me in the family with emails, facebook posts, and calls. For Holly, Mark, Allen, Debra, Fred & Fran, I missed seeing you at the holiday, but really appreciate the pictures and paper articles for the fridge! It makes this house more of a home! Thanks. For Dad and Mom, Rob, Tyler, Dennis, Dusty, Greg, I think of you often and am thankful I have memories of you to bring to mind.

I have to thank my students as well. In the midst of a difficult time for me, their energy, creativity, passion to learn, and hard work kept me away from focusing too much on myself. If not for teaching, this would have been a difficult year to pull through. Thank you all.

And thank all of you who risk your well-being in service of our safety, security, and freedom. I look in your eyes when I pass you on the street and sidewalk and your commitment to service inspires me.

And to all of you who waved me over when I needed a lane change, held a door when my arms were full, and treated strangers with politeness and respect, thank you. Its people like you who hold our society together.

Anyway, that’s all I know, time to work up some holiday cards!
Happy Thanksgiving to you all!
Be kind to each other.

Tonight I attended a memorial service for Malcom Quantrill. I really didn’t know him, but from the things my colleagues have relayed to me since I arrived here in Texas, he was a very thoughtful, very generous, professor.

I had known he was no ordinary professor of course, I learned he was one of the very very few Distinguished Professors walking the grounds of Texas A&M and the only Distinguished Professor ever named in the College of Architecture.

One of the people who spoke about him tonight also did not know him, but “knew” him through the light in the eyes of his bride and through the character, strength, and quality of his children.

That struck me. I had known him because he spoke up for young faculty, had extended his umbrella of achievement to support the success of young scholars and architects. That is why I attended. I did not know this man, but I believed him to have been a good man.

It turns out I had a number of his books in my library. I’d read them, some a long time ago, but had not connected the power of the words and ideas with the distinguished fellow I’d been introduced to briefly during my interview a few years ago. His work stands with other great theoreticians and critics of our time, a superstar really, but tonight he was remembered as a husband, a father and a mentor.

I’ve been thinking about my life a bit lately (…yes…again…) wondering, sometimes out loud, if I had accomplished what I was intended to, asking myself partly if I was “done” and what I might do next. I’ve lost some of the firm ground I used to depend on this past year or so, made some discoveries about people in my past that undermined my trust in my judgment. This is mostly a problem during quiet moments when I have the sense I should be doing something more or something important. It never once creeps into my mind once I enter the classroom. Not because I contribute that much in the classroom but it is filled with sooo many possibilities! It is the place where we all think publicly, sometimes at the end of a pen, or with pixels, or with words but we all think publicly in the classroom. A marvel really.

Our Dean spoke tonight at the memorial, and spoke very well, observing that Malcom was uniquely gifted to be able to provoke and nurture conversations with wit and challenge in an effortless way. I’ve experienced this in the past, sitting in the living room of Professor Olivio Ferrari surrounded by students, faculty, and books, Professor Ferrari had a way of directing questions that would both stimulate and guide the discussion to achieve what I now believe to be a designed end for both students and faculty. It amazes me to think people like Malcom and Olivio could unravel an outcome across multiple people with multiple questions to effectively construct a lecture on the fly…and not really talk much themselves!

Lost my point there but…

Tonight one of the readings was a poem from Herbert titled “Love Bade Me Welcome.” It also struck me but for different reasons.

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack’d anything.

“A guest,” I answer’d, “worthy to be here”;
Love said, “You shall be he.”
“I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.”
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
“Who made the eyes but I?”

“Truth, Lord, but I have marr’d them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.”
“And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?”
“My dear, then I will serve.”
“You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat.”
So I did sit and eat.

– George Herbert

I’m trying to learn what to do next, what if anything I want, or might deserve… Love is something that’s hard to ask for, and sometimes harder to accept it seems.

Professor Quantrill’s obituary may be found here:

An excellent paper on Professor Ferrari’s influence on architectural education may be found here:

Let me end this ramble by thanking the super professors like Malcom and Olivio…you’ve left the rest of us reaching for a bar that may never come into reach, but seems worth a lifetime of trying.

Take Care, be kind to each other, honor the honorable when they pass.

I was listening to a song last Friday as I tried to understand what J.W. might have been going through when he took his life. I heard this line “people come into our lives for a reason”…and found a poem, unattributed that expands on that line.

People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime.
When you know which one it is, you will know what to do for that person.




Thank you for being a part of my life. Whether you were a reason, a season or a lifetime. 


I was trying to think why J.W. had come into my life, as a way to try and understand why he chose to leave the lives of everyone he knew. From where I live now, I could only see a small portion of the grief that followed his decision, but it was a powerful number of people, and I couldn’t let go of the question why?

Why had he entered my life as an acquaintance? What did I learn by knowing him?

His death brought the same question up about Robert Cotten, someone I knew only briefly before cancer took him. I think I learned about grace from knowing him and the people around him in his last months. While the medical interventions he endured seemed to buy him days, they took big parts of human dignity as a toll, but with the support of those around him, and with his own internal strength, he remained, kind, funny, engaged through the last days I saw him.

J.W. seemed to not have a spectre of cancer knocking at his door. I worry maybe other spectre’s had welled up inside him and compelled him to do what he did. I worry that I didn’t see it in him, but then I’m learning that the people really serious about taking their lives conceal it well.

J.W. always seemed quiet, comfortable in any setting, smart and had a kind of humor that let you know he was very observant, very intelligent. He was committed to fitness, to his new bride, to supporting her work and career, and the quiet countryside of rural Virginia…how…why… could he choose to leave? I’ll never answer the question I know. But I worry, could the same spectre’s of hopelessness that convinced him to end his life show up in anyone? How compelling they must be to convince a person like him that life was over?

I won’t dwell on this anymore, I feel very badly for his widowed bride, for his friends, family, and the communities he played a role in. All are grieving still.

So it seems we never really know what’s happening inside of those people we have in our lives, and those people who come into our lives for a moment at the checkout in the grocery store, or on the corner as we wait for a bus.

They must be sent to us to help us learn, and we must be sent to them to help them in some way…keep it in mind as you go about your daily life today, tomorrow, and the next day…that smile, that hello, the politeness and kindness you give to people who come and go from your life, and the people who are in your life for a season, or a lifetime, its your gift to the greater good each time you give it.

I remember my Mom telling me when she was diagnosed with COPD after having survived cancer. I had brought my family to visit her and Dad for the holidays in Chicago. My youngest daughter seemed afraid of Mom’s wheelchair and I asked her to give her Grandma a hug before we left, telling her that Grandma needed a tiny bit of her energy to make her feel better. My daughter ran to her Grandma and gave her a long hug and a tiny kiss that only a three-year-old can and you could see Grandma light up. So it must be true, we share our energy through the little things, and ideally, when we are at our lowest, there’s someone who comes into our life to share a little of their life’s energy and get us over the low spots.

The first day of Fall arrives in a few days. A signal that the longer nights of Winter are just around the corner. During these darker days, share what energy you can with those who play a role in your lifetime, your season or your day…you never know who really really needs it. Because like J.W., they won’t tell you – you won’t know they need it until they are gone.