and now a moment of silence for those things we have lost due to the advances of technology

Mix tapes! Remember those cheap expressions of love; the only way to share thoughts and ideas about sound? Sure, they weren't the best technology--with poor (compared to modern standards) sound, easily coming unwound or being improperly dubbed (resulting in silence; once, when this occurred with my friend Drew he lamented, "It feels like a snag got caught and pulled, unraveling the beautiful sweater I knitted for you"). It was the sharing that was so great. "Here are all my best songs. Some will whisper feelings from me to you. Some show my personality. Some may excite new interest in you and open a doorway to a new common interest among us." A mix tape was a presentation of self. These days I sure do miss a mix tape.

(And NO, telling someone to youtube, itunes, or google something is not the same. Today, we put the work on our loved one. It's like Drew handing me a ball of yarn and a pattern and saying, "Good luck.")


The answering machine. Do you remember the excitement of coming home and wondering if anyone had called? It was almost validating to get a message on the machine, because it means you were missed while you were out, busy living your life. And it was a bit of a game. It was always uncertain whether or not you'd have any messages, and 5 or 6 or more messages was like striking oil.

(And NO, voicemails and texts are not the same. Too regular. Too base. Almost as if anyone can intrude on any moment at any time. Formerly you could be unavailable. Today we clamp the electronic leash around our necks each time we head out the door.)



I've never been a video game person, but the Atari was my first and only gaming system (unless you count the Gameboy). I gave up very early, because when Nintendo and the Sega Genesis came along in rapid succession, both JUST after I forked out my hard-earned and carefully-saved cash on the Atari, and both being JUST a bit better (and more expensive), the handwriting was on the wall. I knew I would never be able to keep up, and it would only keep going, faster and faster, and costing more and more. Did you know that from the years 1970-2006, 71 different game systems were developed (not counting hand-helds/portables)?

Now far from letting this lament die, what other things can you think of?

My Man Murphy

"Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong." (Murphy's Law)

How to turn a pruning project into a 3 day ordeal:
1) Trim WAAAAY too much
2) Break your chainsaw
3) Break your chipper/shredder

Now, it sounds worse than it really was. The chainsaw came back to life. We rented the chipper, so aside from the time it took to swap it out for a new one at the Home Depot, it wasn't that big a deal. And, though the brush pile actually grew, compared to the picture above, prior to chipping, the final portion of the project went fairly quickly.

My hands are blistered, my arms are cut, my muscles are sore, but it's (mostly) done. I wish I had taken video of me lashed to a limb 30 feet in the air, pulling up a chainsaw by a rope and then chopping away. Craziness.

Prior to this huge home care project, however, I was able to complete a painting last week. I've decided to include pictures of the initial process of recovering the beaver skull (mostly to make the grid even without any repeats). As always, the pictures of the painting are fairly poor, but I'll be getting a final, higher quality photo soon and I'll post it as soon as it arrives. Enjoy checking out the progress from start to finish.

Just a Few Recent Photos

The boys have been interested in taking photographs recently. Brennan wanted a turn because Aydan has his own little digital camera (which he has been using a great deal this past week). This shot of Lulu is one of the best he took.
Here is one of Aydan's best shots. He's taken one like it before, and I was very effusive about its greatness, and he must have remembered this because he retook the shot, and the result was very similar to the original. I still love it: the reflection of the photographer blending in with the subject. Cool stuff.

While jumping on our trampoline (maybe 6 feet in diameter) Aydan threw a baseball (yes...it was my bad for letting them play with it instead of something softer)--as a pitch, mind you; not to be malicious--to/at his brother. I can just imagine him winging this concrete-hard sphere, overhand, full-force, at Brennan from no more than 3 feet away, and the errant pitch, of course, heads for the nearest eye socket. So Brennan had some frozen peas on his eye for a while, and this pretty shiner was the result. (I had the hardest time getting the lighting right to show the black eye.)

A bad photo, but a great picture. Another attempt to show the black eye. I love it.

Brennan turned 5 last week!! Hooray!! (Don't you love how the boys dressed to match each other that day? They're so stinkin' cute. And here Aydan graciously reads the birthday cards for his brother. Sometimes they're just too sweet.)

Aydan has recently developed this thing where he won't smile when a picture is taken. It works for him though, as he is gorgeously handsome, and the straight face shows off his ridiculously good looks. I wonder who he looks like? From where could he have gotten that beautiful face?

So for all you relatives and far-flung friends out there who haven't seen the fam in a while, there are some of the most recent and best pictures.

And now, if you'll excuse me, the children have fallen asleep and the studio is calling my name...

Fly Me to the Moon, or How I Spent My Day TODAY

The total hours painting this week has gone up to nearly 30. I finished the mural I was working on today. Total hours to complete project: 19 and 1/2. Overall, it turned out okay. Have a look-see.

Pipe Dream, or How I Spent My Day

Summer is officially here. In the past week, I have spent 21 hours painting. Half of that time was business, painting a mural for a friend of Heather. The other half--the longest stretch of time I have ever spent oil painting--was the summation of my day today. What follows is a brief pictorial account.



Okay, so here's the new set-up: beaver skull and pipe. At least I won't worry about it turning brown and spoiling, like the pear.

And here's the set up. The block in you see was done several days ago. (Detail below)

This block in was done only after spending several frustrating hours mixing paint (and never really getting quite the right color/value/tone), putting in an approximation of the painting itself or what I hoped might be undertones...only to realize the drawing itself was ridiculously wrong. So I scrapped the hours of work I'd done, scraped everything off and started over. This is that re-do.

A new block in--very off in regard to tone (that's what I'm calling it, though I'm not sure I'm using it right. I'm referring to warmth/coolness of colors). If you compare to the photograph of the set up you might notice. Still, values are close, and that's what I needed to make sure the "drawing" or block in was right. Also, there was a problem here with the surface on which the items sat being too light. Had to fix that.

I think at this point I was trying to take a picture every hour. Notice any changes?

There is a significant change here. After putting in value, I noticed that the "W" shape on the lower jaw was way too wide. I solved the problem by bringing the left side of the skull in significantly.

Even I don't know what changed during this hour. Frustrating to see so little progress over so much time.

What was I doing for this hour!??!!

I waited to take another shot until the pipe was complete. Hooray!! (Detail below)


Blocking in folds in the fabric behind.

And my bare feet feel like they're going to fall off so at this point I'm calling it done for the day.


I'll post more updates soon (I hope to finish the whole thing by Saturday). I'm also working on color charts to help with mixing colors. The Venitian Red, shown incomplete here, is now totally done. More to come soon!

So I've been freer recently...what with school out, and all...and yet strangely more busy. An empty space of time is luck a sucking vacuum and all manner of new commitments will inexplicably fall in. For instance, though I had 3 days free last week, I spent them all at school cleaning and organizing my new classroom (yes, I did inherit a room for next year. Also of interest, as it stands now I will be teaching 1 section of AP Art History, 2 sections of Electronic Media, and 3 sections of Draw II. This is significant because unless it changes, I'll not be teaching any Art I...meaning I will teach 3 classes I've never taught before.).

Anyway, I posted previously showing the pear on the far left (below), which is terrible. Recently I "finished" the one on the right (not totally complete, but as it got close Jon scraped it off and we started something new). If you're curious, the top middle pear is a 10 minute demo completed by Jon. The blue pear is a value and warmth relationship exercise I completed with Jon watching, and the pear on the right is a slightly more finished painting, taking several hours.

There is obvious improvement, as you might notice comparing the old pear with the new (detail, below). Still, it is like pulling teeth adjusting to a more colorful palette as well as still learning brush control and manipulating paint.

So here's to hoping I can force myself to paint more in coming days. I set a very ambitious goal of completing a new painting this week, but I've already had several obstacles pop up. I'll post progress photos as I can. Also, maybe some more musings and thoughts will come soon. "So much time, so little to do....wait! Strike that. Reverse it."

The Emptiest Day

Mitch: Alright Ed, your best day, what was it? Twins in a trapeze, what?

Ed: No, I don't wanna play.

Mitch: C'mon, we did it.

Ed: I don't feel like it.

Mitch: Uh, okay.

[Ed pauses, then begins to speak]

Ed: I'm fourteen and my mother and father are fighting again. Y'know, because she caught him again. Caught him!? This time the girl drove by the house to pick him up. And I finally realized, he wasn't just cheating on my mother, he was cheating us. So I told him; I said "You're bad to us. We don't love you. I'll take care of my mother and my sister. We don't need you any more." And he made like he was gonna hit me, but I didn't budge. And he turned around and he left. He never bothered us again. Well, I took care of my mother and my sister from that day on. That's my best day.

Phil: What was your worst day?

Ed: [brief pause] Same day.

Do we dare to believe God enough that the comfort we receive from him is comfort we can then turn around and pour out on others (2 Cor. 1:3-7)?

I can't remember my worst day. I mean, I remember what it was, but I don't remember it. I can't recall the feeling in my stomach, the numbness in my brain, the bleakness of life. Imagine a lizard losing a foot, but as it is able to regenerate the missing limb, in time if you ask what it was like to be without it the answer would be very difficult for the poor lizard to generate. Having my life re-filled in the vacuum of the worst day makes recollection tough. Even more, the brutal pain of the day makes it hard to want to return.

But I must remember. The worst day was my best day. It was the prelude to the re-filling. It was the doorway to my redefining. Death. Resurrection.

That was my worst day. What was my best day? Same day.



(And JK...ruhamah.)

(They) Will Delight Your Soul

I experienced Proverbs 29:17 this weekend. While Aydan and Brennan were playing with their little cousin Noah they were complimented on what a great job they were doing by their Aunt Jenny. She thanked them for playing with him, to which Brennan responded, "Why shouldn't we play with him? He's our cousin!" It was one moment of sweetness amidst a day of them saying and doing everything right. It was utterly delightful.

All of this family interaction was going on due to Kyle and Leah's wedding this weekend. Here's a shot of the fam in our duds.

If You Can Dodge a Wrench, You Can Dodge a Ball

On Thursday, the CHS Spark Plugs (a campus Spirit group) hosted the second annual dodgeball tournament. Although my teacher-comprised team, The Staff Infection, made it to the semi-finals, we were eliminated by the ultimate champions, The Bush League Ballas (the baseball team). Still, we had a great time, and the Spark Plugs raised money for future events, as well as a local charity. Here are some pictures for your viewing pleasure.

Organizer/DJ--Matt "Sparky" Nolen

Camera Crew/Cheering Section/Disturbingly Weird--Kaitlyn the Great and Laura Paige

Theatrical Master/"Staff Infection" teammate: Bobby "The Fro" Malone


Ready for action

A blur of white, ready to strike.

Of course, in the end I was professionally recruited.

Artwork/Artist

In case you wanted to see what I've been doing lately. These are all pictures of recently completed oil paintings (well...the pair isn't complete....). Sorry the photos are bad--taken in near dark with no tripod.

Here's one of me, just for kicks.

A Series of Events for the Left Hand

The short story had just concluded playing over the car's radio. A short silence was quickly broken.
"Dad, my stomach hurts."
"What did you have for lunch, Brennan?"
A normal course was described, and so I began to conclude that perhaps my son was just hungry for dinner. That was before the vomiting began.
"Brennan, no!" Aydan yelled.
"Aydan, stop. He's just sick."
"Brennan, NO!"
"Aydan, he's just throwing up, he's not doing anything to you!"
"BRENNAN, NO!!"
"AYDAN! STOP YELLING AT HIM!"
"But I don't want him to die!"
A conversation immediately came back to me, in which I recalled telling my wife that I could not remember the last time either boy was sick. Good health is definitely a blessing, but in this case Aydan's unfamiliarity with illness led him to a touching, if not somewhat humorous, conclusion.

After the boys completed a bath, it was off to the store to buy some Resolve to clean up the mess Brennan had left in the backseat. I dashed in and out of the store, and by the time I returned Brennan had fallen asleep. Aydan and I talked as we rode home, and when we arrived I tossed my keys next to the groceries and Brennan in the backseat, planning to pick them up when I collected everything after exiting the vehicle. Meanwhile, Aydan hopped out of the front passenger seat--again a place of some unfamiliarity to him--and in so doing pressed his hand down on the arm rest, built into the door handle.
Bringing in the groceries...and Brennan...proved to be slightly more difficult than I planned.
The doors were locked.
It was an accident of course, but it was a continuation of a series of comical happenings. The happenings continued. Heather was at work, so there were no spare keys to open the door. The simple solution would have been to wake Brennan and have him open his door from within. We yelled. We pounded. We rocked the car to and fro. Brennan slept on. Finally, I realized we would have to call OnStar and have them remotely unlock the doors. Only my cell phone was also locked in the car. The first neighbor friend we visited wasn't at home, but finally our luck changed and we were able to call and have the doors opened.

A ridiculous comedy of errors, but a funny way to spend an evening.

iPun

iWatched a million iChurch, Churchgoer vs. Christian, Christian vs. Christ-Follower videos on Youtube, and iSay that Christian culture continues to be a lame copy-cat riding whatever iPun they can grab onto.

iMade a video today for my church. It was another one of said iParodies. Mac vs. PC is funny. iSpoofs are...not so much. What makes me even more repentant/recalcitrant about my participation in todays shooting? iFeel that iCan't fully support a building campaign (which is what the video was intending to do). iHad a lapse in judgment.

iSuck.

April, Come She Will

I got home from youth group tonight, and it's too late to paint (and subsequently clean up), so I'm posting yet again. And Dad, Eric and Misty, please know that it is your commenting/encouragement/still caring enough to read that has made me want to write again so soon.

I really don't know why "April, Come She Will" is not on Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits album. Along with "The Only Living Boy in New York" it is one of my favorites they did. And I sing that song a lot these days, because I think April in Texas is just about the most perfect time of year.

Nothing can revive my soul like a good rainstorm. April has brought some beauties this year. Not so many as last year, so that bag worms and flooding are issues, but enough to make the world verdant and resplendent; enough to force me inside and get cozy, or wander around in the rain and relish it.

Blossoming life smells amazing. When I drive (yes...physical ailments continue to keep me from biking) past Bear Creek, windows open and wind swirling, I am overwhelmed by the most amazing scent. I can't describe or label it--I don't know the name of the plant that makes the odor, nor do I have some comparison that I could use to conjure up the same smell in your head. It just smells awesome. I feel woefully inarticulate saying that, but it's the truth.

Days of sunshine feel glorious, because they are accompanied by cool breezes and shady, swaying trees. They are what sunshine is meant to feel like. These days hold nothing of the murderous, sweat-springing, life-sapping summers.

And so the mourning in my tune today is not for a fleeting summer that will soon turn cold. If only! No, I weep for the passing of April, and her handmaiden May who will soon join her is the death of the past, only to yield to that oppressive shrew of the south: Summer, who will dwell with us far, far too long.

Vicious, Dog-Eating Monster

I almost forgot about this little incident, but I'm glad I remembered it today. It made me smile.

I was walking Lulu the other morning. We always take the same loop through Bear Creek Park. Since we're up early, and it's usually still dark, I let her off her leash and she has free reign of the park. Occasionally there have been other dogs, joggers, or even squirrels, and I usually hear the tell-tale jingle of her collar long before I'm ever able to make out her jet black silhouette racing toward her new "friend." At times, her speed and size have frightened people as she emerges from the darkness, but there has never been any problem. She is just friendly and curious.

Well yesterday as we rounded the back turn and began heading for home, Lulu was a bit behind me when a shriek broke the morning calm. "AAAAIEEEEE!!! Scooter! No! (presumably a dog was leaving the yard to greet Lulu) NO!! NO!!! SCOOTER!! THAT DOG WILL EAT YOU!!!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!! Get in the house!" At one point Lulu looked as if she was going to bolt toward the dog, which I'm sure would have made the frantic woman's fragile heart explode, but I told her no, and she came along calmly.

It was fairly uneventful. The retelling makes it seem mundane. But the panic and hysteria in this woman's voice cannot be adequately expressed here. I have no doubt she feared her diminuitive dog was in mortal peril. Really, "that dog will eat you"? Really? Canine cannibalism is fairly rare, I think. Anyway, it made me laugh.

Blessing and a Curse, Jesus Looks Like Jason, and Things I Never Wanted to Become

I have been asked to teach AP Art History next year. It will be a fun class, full of interesting, good students (many of whom I know from this year), but it will be a TON of work. I get to attend a week long training free of charge in June, but these dates conflict with the summer missions trip the youth group is taking. The class for next year is shaping up to be larger than the minimum 15 students required, so it is good the class will make; but more students mean more essays to grade. This large class size is due in great part to my personal recruiting of students, and due in part to one girl enlisting several of her friends to be in the same class with her. This is the blessing and the curse of popularity and social arrangements.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I met with my friend Jason this Thursday morning, as is now becoming our weekly pattern. We talk about Jesus, about being godly men, fathers, husbands, our goals and plans and how to achieve them. He's a writer, I'm a painter. He teaches high school English at Keller, I teach high school art at Central. We are very similar in many ways, and I really appreciate his friendship. I also appreciate his challenges to live a pure, God-honoring life. And so when I find myself struggling during the week with issues we have discussed previously, it is not the Aryan, long-flowing beard and hair pseduo-Jesus I see encouraging me to overcome. It is Jason. One evening, I literally imagined his head shaking and finger wagging, and I thought, "Jason wouldn't like this."
This may seem blasphemous, but I see it as the fulfillment of God's divine purpose. To say that God is great does not even put me in the right area; he is beyond great. Any word, any conception, any name or significance I attach to God is too small, too pale, too weak. To fight this, God contextualized himself as Jesus, walked among us, carried our load, promised to be with us...and then left. That is not a slam, it's just the truth. He is with us, but in the sense that he has given us "Another Helper" (paraclete, the Holy Spirit). So while it was all well and good for Peter and John and Thaddeus, it didn't have the same effect for me. I still haven't seen God. But, back to God's divine purpose, I can see the Jesus in another person (as Bonhoeffer speaks about). The picture I have of Jesus is shrouded in the Jasons, the Nates, the Jeffs, the Asps, and all the other believers in my life. It's beautiful really. The unseen displayed through the seen. I just never thought Jesus would look like Jason.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I think most people say they never want to grow up to be their parents. I don't think I ever could have wished for more. And so it thrills me a great deal to find that in many ways I am growing up to be just like my dad. Still, there are things I never wanted to become.
1) A sellout
2) A fat old man
2) A teacher who does art on the side
3) An American Christian
Now a sellout in my mind is one who abandons self to chase meaninglessness. I never wanted to become rich, to have this amazing career, to be powerful. Reading Proverbs lately has reminded me that wealth pales in comparison to wisdom. And so with some thankfulness I can still say I've chosen to stay true to my passions of simplicity, beauty, creativity, and being influential (very different from powerful). Likewise, I still play basketball, volleyball, bike to work, and have footraces with students, so I am not lazy and obese as I approach 30 (although my right Achilles tendon has been hurting so I've been somewhat inactive this week).
But 3 and 4 are knocking on my door. With Art History becoming a reality, I have serious concerns that I will be overwhelmed with grading, planning and work in general so that I'm left with little studio time. You can't be a painter if you don't paint. And when I joined the teaching profession it was (in part) with the intention of having a good schedule conducive to art production (summers off is perhaps the greatest blessing in the world). See, that's what jobs are supposed to do: support your life, allow your life. They should not BE your life. But now work is encroaching more and more on what I want to do. And I feel I am a short step away from joining the ranks of those art teachers who abandon doing art to just talk about it. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, but to me it's just sad. Like the guy who mailed PostSecret the card stating, "Income from teaching creative writing: $38, 201. Income from creative writing: $0." I just don't want to be that guy.
And even worse, I find myself struggling to abandon myself to God. I've spent YEARS wandering through desserts, trudging in wastelands, and--let's be honest--throwing myself into pits of muck, so that now I forget the thrill that used to come with being with God. I've tasted brief moments of it in recent days. But by and large I've become complacent, selfish, and comfortable. I have purged from the mind the broken, the hurting, the lost; the slave girl lying on the brothel floor, praying for deliverance; the missionary dying for the gospel, and his family boldly and fearlessly continuing the work when he's gone; the dying house where those who suffer are comforted; the ghetto where the complexities of oppression leave generations bound to poverty, ignorance, and self-destruction; the addict on the streets, needing a meal, a hug, and a new life. And when these things are thrust back into my face, they overwhelm me, reducing me to tears. "How could I have let myself become like this?! How could I care only about myself when there is a world in need?!"

"The girl in the alley kneels from exhaustion,
she's guarded by some skinny guy who limps from some infection,
behind a veil of bleached, thin hair her eyes tell a story
like a photo of Berlin, December 1944,
She's looking for a handout she's been high for several weeks now
She's too far gone for whoring and the money just ran out.

And her heart still beats inside, and the blood runs in her veins,
a remnant of life remains, and her heart still beats inside.

The thought it comes to my mind to somehow intervene,
but it could bring me trouble and what could I do anyway?
It's hard to be effective when it happens so often
To see a life unraveling through drawn Venetian blinds
I'm sickened by compassion, I frightened by my limitations
anesthetic apathy come take the pain away.

And my heart still beats inside, and the blood runs through my veins,
a remnant of life remains, and my heart still beats inside.

Oh God we need you here! We're sinking fast and we don't care
The evidence is all around me, on both sides of my door
Our hearts beat..."

Jesus, don't let me become this thing.

HEADLINE! HEADLINE! READ ALL ABOUT IT!!

Check out who made front page news in Keller today.

"Once," Twice, and Many Times More

My beautiful and brilliant wife picked up an incredible movie at Blockbuster the other night. If you have not seen "Once" be prepared for some awesome music. Not a musical, though the songs overpower the story, "Once" features the music of Glen Hansard, front-man for the Irish band The Frames. We have already purchased the soundtrack from iTunes and have listened to it several times since last night. The passionate explosion at the end of "Say it To Me Now," the blissful glissando of "Gold," the sweet Casio (effect) keyboard on "Fallen from the Sky," the aching, heartrending melody of "If You Want Me" and the greatness of "Falling Slowly" are just a few of the highlights from the album. Highlights! Every song is fantastic. I almost feel bad not mentioning "When You're Mind's Made Up" and "The Hill." Seriously...it's that good. And I just found out (while trying to find how to play several songs on guitar) that "Falling Slowly" is nominated for an Academy Award this year. Check out the film. Immediately buy the soundtrack. Bathe in the ecstasy that is musical genius.

Jealousy

I had an interesting thought today while checking blogs. I know that God's love is called a jealous love. I was extremely jealous today, but didn't feel it was entirely sinful. Perhaps I could explain.

I read Eric's blog today and was jealous of his friends. It's weird, but they all seem so trendy and hip and cool. They live a free-flowing, urban, bilingual lifestyle. There's a photographer, who must have some influence on Eric's growing photographic ability. Typically, we say jealousy is bad--that we shouldn't want what other people want. But I had this sense that I wasn't really envious of what he has, but that I have deep longings--longings for community, and creativity, and fellowship, and beauty. When I checked the photographer's blog, I saw Ireland, Italy, France, Switzerland, and I was jealous of his travels to such beautiful, far-away (though not for him) places. But I didn't really want what he has, or want to be him; I just wanted to be a part of it all, to have the same experiences.

Maybe I'm romanticizing my own sinfulness. I don't feel discontent with what I have, who I am, who I know, where I am, etc. But there are times when I want to be a part of other things...of everything.

In Case You Care

I read Eric's blog, and loved to hear what he's reading. So I thought I'd share what I've been reading lately, just in case you are interested.

Alfonse Mucha, "Materworks"--a design master
John Singer Sargent, "The Early Years"--amazing painter
"PostSecret"--Funny, heartrending, thought-provoking. Find out more at www.postsecret.com (**VIEW WITH CAUTION! just checked the hyperlink and the first one is, of course, inappropriate. They're not all great, but all together they're interesting).
"1001 Paintings You Must See Before You Die"

And as I wrote in my journal several nights ago, this post confirms that even though I am nearly 30 years old, all my favorite books are picture books.

Decapitation Looks Easier in the Movies

I need to preface all the following content with the Dave-Berry-esque, "I swear I am not making this up." That being said...

We went to the movies today. Driving in we noticed a carcass on the side of the road, but this one was unusual, as it was a dead beaver. Aydan and I were quite excited to look at the beaver (I told him they had huge, orange teeth), but we contained ourselves until after the film. As we left the theater, the sun was getting low in the sky, and the boys and I raced across the road to view this fairly rare sight. Oh...and did I mention we convinced my wife that we should take the skull?

Now, skull extraction/preservation is not new to us. We thought a beaver skull would look great alongside our raccoon. So we raced home, grabbed a shovel, plastic bags, a utility knife, an ax, a flashlight, donned some ski-masks, dark clothes and disguises, and we set off on our covert operation. Imagine our surprise...our horror, even...when we arrived to find no beaver awaiting us.

I will take a brief digression here to tell a story about Halloween. We were on our way to meet friends to trick-or-treat, but before we left the neighborhood, we noticed 2 nice-looking bookshelves sitting by the roadside (and yes, you do see a pattern forming; I'm quite prone to taking interesting/useful things off the side of the road). I told HM that we should get them, but we both decided to just pick them up when we came back because we were running late (I like to tease that she didn't let me go back, get the truck, and then meet her after picking them up, but that's not entirely true). In my heart, I knew they would be gone later, because they were nice bookshelves. Heather has still not lived down the fact that my premonition came true, and as a result of her cruelty, my studio still has books lying on the floor, waiting for a shelf to call home.

Upon reaching the spot where the beaver should have been, I became furious. "If only she'd let me put the entire beaver in the back of the Trailblazer, this wouldn't have happened!!" I thought (which is a ludicrous notion, I know). Even more ridiculous was my paranoia that made me fume at myself for drawing attention when we first inspected the beaver which must have, logically, inspired someone else to carry off the dead beast before we could. But then I came to my senses. Having been dark for only 30 minutes or so, it dawned on me that not someONE but someTHING may have dragged the beaver into the adjoining field/woods. So we walked into the field, "just to see" I told the boys. As we did, I noticed a shadowy form retreat and stand at the edge of a line of trees. I was able to make out the form of a coyote fleeing the field. In front of us, where the coyote had just been, was the body of the beaver, which was previously intact but was now more...how to put it?....disemboweled.

After chasing off the coyote to claim our prize, it came time to separate the beaver's head from it's body. Because, come on: it's crazy to carry off a dead beaver, right? I mean, that thing was 3 or 4 feet long, probably weighing 75 pounds. Plus, only a crazy person picks up roadkill (and yes, for those of you who know V.H. and see some similarity in my actions and hers, which I had previously mocked, the irony was not lost on me). So being the sane person that I am, I had to cut off the deceased's head. After 2 or 3 whacks with my ax, which turned out to be fairly dull and fell with muffled, heavy thuds, I was forced to cut through fur, skin, fat, muscle and connective tissue with a utility knife. Fun. The coup de gras was the ax smashing through the bone of the spinal column with a moist crack. Surprisingly, I was not all that grossed out by the proceedings. It was a bit unsettling to see the beaver's slightly opened eyes staring at me while I worked, and slightly unnerving to finally see the head wobble loose and roll onto the turf, but I managed okay.

In the end, the boys and I returned home with a plastic Walmart bag full of enormous rodent cranium. Which, by the way, is currently rotting in the back of my pickup. Um, yeah...better go take care of that.

Rumblings

Recent Film Diet:
Sicko (Michael Moore)
Amazing Grace

Current Mental Soundtrack:
Alone Without You (Nightwatchmen)
Oppression (Ben Harper)

Most Recent Google Search:
"How to start a revolution" (Thanks to wikiHow for the helpful info)

If health care and college tuition, etc. are such a problem in America, how do we fix them? If we are a democratic society, how do "we the people" make the choices, instead of feeling manipulated by non-representative representatives and their special interest groups?
So how do we get democratic reform?
How do we get people to care for people?
How do we increase community?
How do we reform national values?
How do we make less more? (Does that make sense?)

How do we start the revolution?
And if the battle can't be fought....?
If not, Eric, clear a space in your apartment, 'cause we're coming to Amsterdam!

Regrettably, the Historian was On Vacation

I've often wished for a tiny person, preferably backpack sized, which I could tote around with me to have him (or her) on hand should I need a moment memorialized by a photograph. This would be particularly helpful on wilderness outings with my wife, where there is no one around for miles to capture a shot of us in the glory and grandeur of nature.

November has been quite the productive month, as I have finished my Athena drawing, and while in between projects, have completed several tangential undertakings. Regrettably, the pocket-sized historian was on vacation, and so the job was left to me to document the goings-on. At times I get caught up it the process, so there are lapses between stages of completion, but I post here, for your viewing pleasure, the "Rocky You've Met Your Match: The Preservation of the Raccoon Skull" and "The Creation of An Artist's Palette: A Rite of Passage to True Apprenticeship."



















(I can't get Picasa to stop repeating the beginning of the progression. Sorry.)