Three Beasties

Nice

Took kids to Bobcats matinee game, then Aria (Calamari rocks, kids who like Calamari and ask for more? Nice...) Now home. They all swore they were going to stay up 'till midnight - whoosh, they're asleep. Now I'm just watching football and drinking champagne. Fucking awesome year. I'm lucky to be alive. Luckier still to have so many dreams alive for 2011. Cheers!

I is for Interesting Z is for Zany

Isabel is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed bundle of happy energy and delightful wonder. She is doing well in school, is a perfectionist like her big sister, plays soccer with fearless vigor, loves Star Wars like her brother, is listed under the dictionary under the word 'pink,' is mischevious, and has a laugh that makes me feel wonderfully alive.

Iz loves to draw, her imagination is vivid, and her hand is steady. She works at her own pace, and can focus for long periods of time on anything artistic. However if you are asking her to put on socks, you might have to repeat the suggestion seven times before she goes, "Oh yeah," and disappears into her room for half an hour. Afterward she will come downstairs, still sockless. If one dares ask why, you will get a creative explanation of how there are no socks to be found.

She loves to play with her brother, her best friend next door, and tag along whenever her big sister has friends over. She digs mud pies, and has a keen interest in rocks and small animals.  She wants to play baseball as well as soccer next year, and is looking forward to building sandcastles on the beach and going to the mountains to play in the stream. In other words, she is very well-rounded.

She's sharp and sassy when being told to do something by anyone besides me. Her room is a whirlwind disaster of dolls and stuffed animals and clothes and books, somehow eclipsing the sheer chaotic entropy of her brother's room. She is at times sneaky and devious, having learned the loopholes in the system (third child) but she comes clean with easy grace, and nods at me with those big blue eyes and promises to be good.  And I believe her every time.

I think she's the happiest creature on the planet at any given moment - unless I'm making her learn her spelling words. But now it's summer, and she is working on a fiction project with me, and there is nothing but limitless days ahead.

Entr'acte

Consider this a pause between Act I and Act II.

I am creating art at a rather phenomenal pace this year. This leap forward is exciting and invigorating and means I have turned a corner from one stage of my life to the next. My beasties are bigger, my body is healing, and my energy level is hitting all new highs. There are a handful of important reasons for these changes, and those of you who have lifted me up on your shoulders with love, friendship and support deserve a million thanks. It will take me a lifetime to repay each of you, and I look forward to many happy days ahead returning the support.

This also means I'm building things far more quickly than I can document their creation here. I'll start to catch you up in the days ahead. Since blogging seems to take a back seat to other social media these days, I'm revamping my sidebar to include everything I've fabricated since the first of January.

Christmas Eve

I have a million words to write, and thankfully, joyfully, wondrously I have no time to write them. I'm so blessed by good friends, fascinating challenges, and the most amazing kids in the world. I hope everyone has a safe and peaceful night. I am looking forward to tossing out some reindeer food, eating some cookies, and getting to play Santa in a few hours. There are so many things to be thankful for.

Panthers

Hot salted pretzels, sunshine, and a day with my boy at a ball game. It doesn't get any better my friends.

Bluster

It's amazingly warm and blustery tonight - I have my windows open and I can hear my flag pulling at it's lanyard, the brass fittings clanging into the pole. My willow is making the most amazing sounds, the leaves dancing, the branches straining under the wind.

I had the occassion to sit back and let a wave of negative energy and pain crest and pass over me today, like holding my breath and diving beneath a crashing wave, and now I find myself almost giddy with happy appreciation for the littlest things around me.

I walked upstairs and stepped carefully over dozens of train tracks and cars and dolls and fortified positions, pots and pans, stacks of clean clothes, book bags, a painting of a Christmas tree . . . and rearranged the covers around my three children.

They all slept so peacefully, despite the rain lashing at their windows, the scrape of branches against the roof, the storm flexing it's muscles. I touched their foreheads with a kiss and walked back downstairs with a smile; blessed beyond measure.

Now the cat and I are going to re-heat Thanksgiving leftovers and have a feast, cornbread dressing, cranberries and all!! And watch movies. And stay up late.

Swap

Had lunch with a friend at a sushi place. End of the meal, fortune cookies arrive. I place the two cookies in front of my friend and say, 'You choose.'

Friend selects one, I take the other. We unwrap and crack open the fortunes. Short pause as we read.

'I think I got yours,' I say.

'Yeah, I think I got yours.'

'Here,' I hand across the slip of paper. We exchange.

'Ah yes.'

'Much better.'

'Indeed.'

We are both happy.

Prelude

Warm November day. A cat slides a tawny shoulder across my hip as I sit on my front stoop. Her eyes tilt up and she offer her chin for a scratch. Her whiskers stretch forward, directing my fingers. I absently knead her fur and listen to her melodic purring.

The sun is bright - I try to let my eyes open and absorb the energy, but I find myself squinting and blinking. I can feel the warmth against my face. A flash memory of the beach flits across my mind and I allow my eyes to close for a long instant. I can hear the waves. I can see my children kneeling in the sand, focused so intently on their sand sculptures.

A mug of coffee is cradled on my knees and the aroma of dark-roasted beans brings me back to the present. I breathe deeply, enjoying my morning ritual. Steps, coffee, cat, sunshine.

The last of the Maple leaves have fallen from the trees, but the bright yellow Oak and deeply-crimson Japanese Maple cast a dazzling glow across the yard. I marvel at the verdant green grass, freshly-mowed and looking almost perfect. I am thankful for the rain we have received that made all the hard work aerating, seeding and fertilizing pay off. The lawn is ready for another year of rollicking wear and tear, a million kicks and throws, and tumbling bodies.

Sloth cat nudges me once, twice and then sits primly by my side, knowing that she has lost my immediate attention. We sit side by side and survey our realm. I sip my coffee.

The bricks are cold beneath my boxers. The wind stirs in the Willow branches. A hand brushes lightly against my shoulder, small fingers tapping gently.

 'Do you need more coffee, dad?'

 'No thank you.'

 'Okay.' The hand lingers for a moment. 'Nice day.'

 'Very.' My daughter walks back inside.

 I smile and let the moment linger in my brain for a few precious seconds, hopefully long enough to imprint, to remember, to hold forever in my mind. I know that in a few minutes I will have enough caffeinne in my bloodstream, enough sun against my skin to fully awaken and then my mind will kick into overdrive and start rattling off lists of things to do and my voice will ring through the house and we will be Going and Doing and Moving and Creating and whoosh our day will start. 

But for these last few seconds I am aware of the simplest things, the beauty of my front yard, the soft fur of my cat, the smell of good coffee, the sound of the wind in my trees. And I am deeply, eternally grateful for the presence of my children in the house behind me.

Note

Had an amazing day. Kelly headed to SC for a soccer tournament, and I miss her. But I've enjoyed giving age-specific attention to Alex and Izzie. We made chocolate chip waffles this morning, hit a park for an hour then spent all afternoon at the new kids' museum. Football in the front yard, lamb chops, movie, now warming our backs by the fire. Happy sloths.

Short Note

I spent the afternoon on the lake with my kids, zooming along under a very brilliant sun. We explored a new island and had a picnic. Very rewarding day.

Rush

The kids came through the door at 4:07 with their familiar cry of, 'Daddy!' and began talking over the top of each other with a stream of statements and questions that they must have been memorizing on the bus ride. The precise rush of words and emotions tumbled over each other - Iz in particular looks away as she works her way through the last bit, as if she's concentrating very hard trying to remember all that she wanted to say - and I smile and nod, taking their heavy backpacks off their shoulders and claiming hugs, pushing bangs out of faces, and kneeling to their level to hear exactly what their getting at.

It is a rush of information and emotion that signals the beginning of my real day, the part that matters the most during the week. Yes, we were up before six am, yes we watched the dawn approach as we awaited the first school bus at 6:27, yes there was a second round of breakfast and preparation at 8:00 and a second bus pickup at 8:35, yes there was work accomplished, a house attended to, groceries purchased, leaves raked, laundry washed, and several hours of welding successfully completed, but it all feels like it was done a day or so ago. A new day begins as they come through that door.

It is now 6 hours and ten minutes later. Alex has been taken to soccer and back, a football game has been played in our front yard with many touchdowns scored. Kelly and I cooked a standing rib roast with twice baked potatoes. We steamed artichokes and I was pleased and secretly impressed that they liked them. I put an apple pie in the oven to warm as we ate dinner by the fire and watched Survivor and by the time the show was over, the girls were sprawled out on the sofas and Alex was curled in my lap.

Amy called to bid the children goodnight and I did the dishes, sliced the pie and poured myself a glass of wine. Tomorrow is a holiday - Veteran's Day - and I decided at that moment to just let them stay up late. I served them their pie and we ate on the hearth, me barely getting two bites before they had gobbled up every last crumb on their plates.

Sloth cat inspected the proceedings and decided that Kelly's spot was the warmest, and the pair of them drifted off to sleep. Izzie asked for a story and I pulled out the Roald Dahl Treasury and read several poems aloud.

As I finished the Flying Cow I realized that everyone was asleep and letting them stay up late was more for my benefit than theirs - just having their warm presence in the Great Room is nice. The college football game flickers silently in the background, the fire is dying down to a warm glow, and I have taken a moment to write here.

Tomorrow we will take the boat out and explore the lake and I will wade out into the cold water and look for smooth stones while they build in the thick, wet sand on a newly-discovered island. These are the thoughts that will guide me to sleep tonight after I carry each of them to their beds.

Empire of the Sun

The beach is one of the most joyful places on Earth for me as a father. I've been bringing my kids to the South Carolina beaches since they were born.

June, July and August are sacred months where my beasties are home from school with no schedules, no routines. Just lots of free time with me and a chance to create adventures both large and small.

We get to the beach several times a summer and end up building three of four epic sandcastles. I love working with the sand. The children have fed off that passion and learning how to carve towers has become a rite of passage in our family. 

We build the castles just below the high tide line, so that we get to watch the waves take back our creations as the day ends.

Silence

All the beasties got on the bus for the first day of school and I watched it pull away, waving to the little faces pressed up against the windows. I listened to it turn onto the next street and strained to hear it laboring up the hill. And then there was silence.

I walked back up the empty street, through the empty yard and into the empty house. Everything was still and silent. I closed the door and stood for a long time in the front hall. Not a sound.

All the rooms are clean. The closets organized. The kitchen cabinets cleared out. The laundry room spotless. All the clothes are washed and all the art is hung on the walls. Soccer gear is in the bags awaiting practice tonight. The fridge is clean and fully stocked. The patio has been scoured and the yard is freshly clipped.

There is nothing that needs doing, no obscure task I can set myself to that will distract from the sudden departure of the three babbling voices and happy cacophony that follows the pounding of little feet rushing around the house.

A Simple Idea

Seascape Project: Update 9

The night-time view of the Seascape Relief. This is a taste of things to come . . .

The simplest ideas are sometimes the very hardest to pull off. True inspiration feels like discovery, as if you're not really thinking of an idea but simply uncovering it bit by bit. When someone asks you how you came up with it, you hesitate because you can't point to one event that served as the genesis. You have that blissful internal moment that feels like lightning erupting in your heart where you realize, "Wow, I really did come up with this by myself." 

You can't point to a specific artist or work that you drew inspiration from, or think of a special trip where you saw some amazing architecture or visited some museum, or even think of some piece of music that drew you away from the constricting bonds of reality. 

You think of what an amazing feeling it is to be experiencing something so raw and full of potential as a moment of inspiration and while you search for the right thing to say and feel like a dozen seconds have gone by you realize it's only been a moment. Half a beat later you smile and shrug, unsure of how to explain what you are only just coming to discover within yourself. 

This idea - this almost childishly simply sketch - has captured my spirit this summer. It has galvanized my energy and become a driving force in our lives here. The children have not only learned the rhythm and routine of design and creation, and the hard work that goes along with seeing a project through step by step, but have also become an integral part of the process. Kelly in particular has been an amazing assistant. While Alexander and Isabel prefer to create on their own, Kelly will stay focused for hours at a time and set her own desires to build aside to assist in tackling the problems we are facing in the seascape project.

And while I really had no plans to turn this summer into an intense artistic workshop - much less tackle a project that would consume our time and energy on this level - this idea, this inspiration, has demanded just that. And after burying so many vital things for so many years, this was one idea that seemed to demand attention. 

Plus it seemed deceptively simple enough that I thought I could just knock it out quickly. I guess it's a good thing that I'm a terrible judge of just how long something will take, or just how hard it will be. I mean, who would choose to be a stay-at-home parent if they really knew ahead of time . . . 

I know I still would, but I also know I'm a stubborn bastard who has discovered that love is an all-powerful driving force. It's just nice to have a complementary inspiration that is propelling me into new and fascinating places as an artist at the same time.

But I digress. This idea seemed so simple. Build a relief incorporating what I know with one or two medias that I'm unfamiliar with. Just a little steel and some lights, perhaps a bit of painting. What could be so hard?

It has been amazingly difficult to execute. I have stubbornly refused to look anywhere for help. Perhaps naively, I have not wished to be influenced by another artist's work - even if it meant solving design issues. No short-cuts, no other influences. The piece might be a catastrophic waste of time and energy, or worse, simply be mundane, but it would be all my doing.

Knowing that I wanted to figure this out for myself, I haven't rushed into the parts that I didn't understand. All the things I had no idea how I could pull off I just let simmer in the back of my subconscious mind as I enjoyed traveling with my beasties. I attacked the parts that I knew how to build - a steel frame was the first thing I constructed - and then step by step I've worked on the rest. 

True inspiration drives you mad if you don't figure out a way to bring it to life. Every idea I've had in this project has led to a puzzle. Figuring out the engineering has become a process of discovery. 

I have fallen into a lovely routine where I sleep in the mornings, then have coffee and let the dream-state slowly evaporate from my system as the kids play games and read books in their pajamas. The cat stretches out on the wood floors in a state of fluffy grace, giving off the impression that she might never move again. 

I work in the studio for 4 to 6 hours, assisted by Kelly and sometimes mixing in other art projects for the younger two. We tackle the design issues step by step. I think out loud, so that Kelly can follow along as I grimace and scowl and carry on. We sweat a lot - it's amazingly hot and humid here. We take breaks to have snacks and play baseball. We ride bikes.

Then we tackle whatever that night has to offer. Soccer or dinner or whatever day of the week it is. We relax and I see everyone off to bed. Then I pour myself a glass of wine and wander back into the studio. I look at everything from a fresh vantage. I take my time and try to discover the piece as if it was new to me: I pick over little pieces of metal, I fuss with tiny flaws, I yank off pieces of steel and set to totally reworking them. I experiment. I take risks. I work until deep into the early hours. And then I collapse in bed.

Tonight, I wandered into the dark studio and turned on a switch and this is what I saw. 

There are still clamps in place and some bricks holding down bits of steel that are bonding together through chemical epoxy, but I believe that tomorrow I will be finished. I will continue leading you along the process of discovery and posting updates in the time-line, but I couldn't help but share this moment as it happened in my life. I have almost achieved success with my simple little idea.

Atlantic

I am flying over the Atlantic Ocean. My daughter is sitting beside me. She turned eleven years old four days ago. She is reading a book about cat warriors. I am drinking a vodka tonic and reading the first novel I have opened since my last trip to Vegas five months ago. I have bought a dozen books in the interim. I have even gone so far as to read ten pages of several, but I have never actually been able to focus enough to lose myself in another world, another author's vision. The distractions of pain, of worry, always cause the wheels inside my head to turn, my concentration dims, my imagination flutters and I shut the book. I usually pause with the spine of the book in my lap and take a deep breath. It saddens me.

Today my book lies open on page thirty-eight. This is a good sign. A rebirth. I am pausing to pour the second half of my mini bottle over the slick ice cubes. A splash of tonic and a quick swirl of the red stir stick. I am savoring the moment of reading, of allowing myself to relax - and the grace to heal in the process - the same way I savor the taste and effect of the drink.

I have no plans on this trip to do anything other than swim through the reefs and further the education and experience of my children. However, I suspect that this trip will hold much more.

The last time we visited Elbow Cay, KK was 8, Zander 5, and Iz 3. Now they are 11, 8 and 6 respectively. I will be interesting to watch the differences in their level of bravery on the open water and under it. I expect their level of exploration and inquisitiveness will have grown.

KK was fearless last trip. That will not change. Zander will hopefully dive into the ocean with vigor and enthusiasm - he first put his head under the water with mask and snorkel on his last day of the '07 trip.Izzie is fearless and I expect she will take to snorkeling immediately.

I am so proud of my children and so relaxed and happy to be sharing this adventure with them. I is a joy to have this unfettered time with them - no schedules, no school, no deadlines or worries - and their presence is comforting and life-affirming. I exist to pass on my particular skills and insights to them, to help them learn to read people and situations, how to manage fear and desire, how to use the resources they have in ways that help them grow far beyond the basic raw materials they have been given. I want to teach them how to learn, instill a love of change and growth inside them, and encourage them to dream big - and make it happen.

I could not ask for better travel companions. 

They are now getting excited about the green water and reefs visible beneath the airplane. I am going to sip my drink and return o the sweet indulgence of a good novel.

Snake Be Gone

I thought I had things pretty well set up yesterday for the arrival of my beasties at 4:00. It was the first day in weeks that we didn't have a baseball practice, or a soccer practice, or a softball practice, or an Academy training session, or technical training, or a softball game, or a baseball game, or a soccer game, or an open house and I wanted to take full advantage of an afternoon at the Sloth Castle. The weather is glorious, the flowers are blooming, the birds are cavorting all over the bird bath and feeders and being in the front yard is about the nicest place in the world. 

I went for my run, doing the long loop out around the village and back and then began my CrossFit training. In between rounds I began setting up the Art Deck for some Challenge Projects. To keep the beasties on their toes and pushing forward in different disciplines, I give them each a challenge project for the week. This week Kelly is working on her Mindstorms robotics and designing a new robot. Alex is reading "The Most Dangerous Book for Boys" and working on mastering paper airplane design and construction. And Isabel is using the Kapla blocks to build more complex and daring buildings - specifically I wanted her to design and build a structure taller than herself.

I had already gotten to the store and picked up rib eyes, salad fixings, smashed potatoes - the works - so we wouldn't have to leave the house again. So as I finished my fourth round of Sumo Deadlift KB Pulls etc. I found myself drenched in sweat, the house all set for the kids, and nothing to do but fill out the chalkboard with the day's plan and soak in a tub for ten minutes before the bus dropped them off.

I drew a robot on the board to match Kelly's cool red robot and listed our plans which they love to read and check off as we do them. I briefly surveyed my handiwork: there were extra tables and chairs set up in three work stations, the books were set, fried chicken and grapes were set out for their snack, lemonade for them to sip on, and then I slipped into the tub.

Toward the end of the afternoon, projects going strong, I asked Kelly to go marinate the steaks and told her I'd go clean the grill. I turned on the gas and clicked the lighter to find . . . no gas. Okay, so we *are* going to have to leave the house. No problem, quick trip to Lowe's to swap out gas cylinders. We load up and head out.

It is nearly impossible to walk into Lowe's without seeing a half dozen things I really need. We pick up a new float and rubber gasket for Moaning Myrtle (the toilet in my bathroom) some ant spray, and then pause to look at a product called "Snake Be Gone."

We laughed at Snake Be Gone. This was a classic mistake. "Who would ever need a bag of Snake Be Gone?" we wondered aloud. Yes, I know . . . we are just heaping on the mistakes here. We finish snagging another three or four items, the kids go climb on the riding lawn mowers while I wait for the checkout girl to unlock the cylinder locker, and then we head home.

Isabel was the first one to report, "Dada, there's a snake under the piano."

Now, my first instinct was to crinkle my face and look at her carefully. This is the girl who puts one of the cat's play mice in my loafer *every single night of her life.* This is the pink princess who serves me soup with my rolly-eyed fake monster eyeball in it and cackles with glee. I'm trying to remember if we have a rubber snake and whether she is teasing me.

"Is it moving?"

"Yah."

I go look. Sure enough, under my beautiful 5.1 Baby Grand Kawai is a slender snake writhing slowly across the hardwood floor. Not a black snake. A snake with lots of patterns on his back. 

I'm not a fan of snakes. This is a huge understatement. Snakes are right up there with jellyfish in my list of favorite animals in the world. Not to mention this is my second snake of this young Spring. The lake house had a snake in my bedroom. That was bad enough. 

Kelly fetched me a shovel, Alex brought me a broom and I swept Mr. Snake up into a bucket, took him back to the pond on the golf course and let him go making a mental note to never, ever laugh at strange products I see at the hardware store. 

The gods are always listening.

The Goats are Not For Sale

I am headed south on an adventure. I am feeling relaxed, peaceful, and confident. I feel bits of the crusty residue of my painful past cracking and flaking away. The person I see in the mirror is an interesting man. Things are starting to taste better again. I am noticing moments of fleeting whimsy with a smile instead of a sardonic growl. I'm picking up background vibrations again: the layers of sound in color embedded in everything I see and hear. I can feel the last two weeks of someone's life when they sit near me - I can see a month if they hold my gaze for a few seconds. If they brush against my arm I'm flooded with a year's worth of their emotions - it's almost overwhelming.

The upside of reconnecting with my deeper nature - apart from how nice it is to peel back several year's worth of grey sludge from my soul - is that a five hour meandering car ride through the nearly abandoned Mill Towns of South Carolina becomes an adventure instead of a tedious exercise in simply "getting where I'm going."

I have stopped three times already and I'm not 75 miles out of town yet. But this is an adventure and I have no one to please but myself. There was Pat's Flea Market which had some really nice concrete statuary. There was Gordon's Machine Swap which had a Bobcat tractor for sale - I've always wanted one of my own since I rented one to create Kelly's Rock Garden a few years ago. I asked Gordon some basic info about the machine and he admitted he didn't know much about it. So I asked him to start it up and that lead to a 15 minute search for the keys in a garage that I'm pretty sure dates back to the 1950's. 

Apart from seven different varieties of spiders, we found boxes and boxes of keys, but not a one for the Bobcat. I pulled a Coca Cola out of my cooler in my trunk and we shared one as we talked about the baseball season getting under way today, then I shook his hand and parted ways. I guess I'll have to find another tractor for sale.

I filled up with gas and bought a fifth of Stoli Orange so I'd have something to drink when I check into my hotel tonight and want to head immediately out to the beach to feel the sand in my toes and the wind in my face - the Atlantic Ocean spread out before me - and realized that there seems to be an ABC package store attached to every single filling station in South Carolina. As I pulled back onto the road I saw a pair of large brown and white goats chewing on a dogwood tree. The tree was right next to the highway and the small house was literally 30 feet off the road. A man sat on a white chair in the front yard.

I slowed and parked on the street, leaning out my window. 

"Those are some nice looking goats you have there."

"Mmm-hmm." From his easy tone and the fact that he didn't bother to even look at me, I figured he heard this quite a bit.

I took a closer look at the goats. One stood on his hooves to reach some tender blossoms higher up in the gnarled tree. This goat had the largest balls I have ever seen. They would make an elephant proud. I don't really know why people notice such things, but man you have to give credit where credit is due. 

As if sensing my admiration, the man added, "The goats are not for sale."

I nodded carefully - I felt it was the polite thing to do: show some regret at hearing this piece of sad information. "A pity," I said and smiled softly.

"Mmm-hmmm."

I eased my car back onto the highway and let my sunglasses slide back over my eyes as a cloud of pollen drifted past like a yellow swarm of tiny bees. It's going to be a really good day.