inheritance

How far will you take a joke? At times I think I'll go farther than most, and sometimes baffle those around me with the lengths to which I'll follow a tangent. Ironic laughter (even if it's me laughing alone) seems to motivate me far more than what most people would find worthwhile goals.

Perhaps it's my legacy from my dear departed father. He wrote a lot, and never ever forgot how to laugh.

My kids, like most kids, love to play pirate. When I was their age I did the same.

While I undertook the construction of all kinds of pretend forts and rafts, and later learned to sail on salt water, I never did get to dig up buried treasure. As all parents do, I wish to make possible greater things for my kids than I had myself. So I procured a giant bag of coins.

Some years back the European countries about to go over to the Euro had to collect and convert all their national currency and coin. Just after the conversion, these coins and bills became essentially worthless...unless you really wanted a giant bag of loot.

I got one.

Soon enough it became the stuff of dreams as it was enclosed in a chest and given to Isidore with a complete outfit of pirate accessories.

Random specie from many countries; while beautiful they remain totally worthless. But who's counting?

My kids give me things all the time. As most kids do, they gather things as they find them, and take what they think is the best of what they've found and proudly present them to Robin and me. Treasures all, I wish I could keep up with all the gifts I get from my kids. I've managed to keep a few of the more long-lasting treasures they've given me, but some things necessarily are more transitory.

Ellie gives flowers. Flowers fade and die. Sometimes she gives and gives and gives...and while I can't keep most of what she gives for very long, I'll never be able to let go of her. I hope she keeps piling up things for her daddy.

About the only lasting thing I think my kids will count as a legacy of their father will be an appreciation of that which is beautiful. While you can't count that, and you certainly can't deposit that, I hope they'll keep it forever.

Peace, Love, and Frogs

Our family just completed our usual participation in the Calaveras County Fair. Those of you up on your modern literary history will remember the place as the setting of the tall tale written by Mark Twain, and as the one that set him on the national stage as a writer of note.

Thus our fair is known as the Frogjump.

This years winner was "Bozo" who's set a record, not for jumping far, but for consecutive wins, at 4 years running...er...jumping.

Robin, the kids, and I didn't jump any frogs. Perhaps next year.

As usual I have a booth displaying my photography business, and the kids have entered all kinds of things in the local crafts competitions. All three kids won blue ribbons this year! Lego creations were entered by each, and Elizabeth took a first place in flower arranging.

Eat your heart out Uncle Brendan!

I'm particularly proud of Elizabeth for her prize as the competitors were all adult women and she still took a first prize! She's 5....she's amazing.

I've been told for some time that I should enter a picture in the photography contest. I haven't done so in any venue for some time. Having been a judge in the past it'd be a a bit odd to be a competitor.

There is however the "Mark Twain Liar's Contest" which requires one to enter a piece of written balderdash and then read it on stage.

I was pleased to have been able to attend this years contest, but disappointed to have heard nobody manage a particularly good reading. I don't know about the criteria for the judging of this contest, but if the delivery of the entry is any part, I could take down the field next year.

Certainly I could manage the bullshit.

As for the photography...in the booth this year I decided to include a themed portrait if Isidore. So I got him in the rustic garb and posed him at the neighbor's pond.

Something in the spirit of Mark Twain was in order I thought. It came out well if I do say so myself.

We all had a great time, and Robin and the kids had 4 days of just enjoying themselves. A long needed break for all.

Do yourselves a favor; go fishin' sometime soon.

Patrick

Ellie got the finger

Actually she got ten. Nailed. Lacquered in fact.

It turns out my friend Tony runs a nail salon.

My dear Ellie loves to decorate herself in every imaginable way, so of course would LOVE to have her nails done.

So for her fifth birthday I took her down to Tony's place. They treated her like a princess.

She got flowers on top of pink nails.

Perhaps the best part of the whole event was the time Ellie spent with her hands under the drying lamps. She had a good half hour with a couple of Calaveras County grandmas. Being such a talker, and with those blond curls... of course she charmed the heck out of them.

Dad took pictures. Of course. So here you are.

Born to be Wild

Kids love bikes. I still love bikes, though it's been a long while since I was a kid.

There were a couple of weird things I learned about Robin when we met;

She never learned to swim in the ocean.

She never really learned to ride a bike.

Now I understand that up here in the hills there's not a lot of salt water, but I couldn't quite fathom the fear of bikes. She'd rather break an angry horse than ride a bike on a marked trail or paved road.

So when we moved up here, I reminded myself about the kids, the bike thing, and set myself on the mission of ensuring that they did not inherit their mother's fear of two-wheeled conveyance.

To her credit, Robin takes the kids out to ride their bikes almost weekly, and they love it.

Having removed myself from the fear of their fear of wheels...I must confess to my new fear;

They'll learn to ride away.

Homage to my friend Richard

I got caught smoking. It'd been a long LONG time since I was enslaved last to the demon weed, but alas...and again.

Having been caught, and then caught, I had to think...so I thought.

All the times, all the smokes...all the cigarettes, cigars, and pipes of my past.

They are numerous, and the number is vast.

And there's this box. It came from Richard.

Now I must say Richard and I knew each other when I was a kid, so he NEVER gave me anything to smoke. But I got this box, and later found my own things to fill it with.

What Richard did give me was a fearlessness about expression and visual art that has served me (rather well or poorly depending on whom you ask) for a lifetime. I don't know what I would have become had I not known Richard. He showed me how to be gleeful about colors.

I still have a wonderful broken briar-wood pipe that's almost as old as some of Richard's oldest paintings. I got lot of great and quiet time from that pipe before I broke it.

I still have the pieces...perhaps for another time.

Or not.

I might get caught.

Light Bright...Making Things With Light

Brendan, Francine, Josh and I were Saturday morning TV junkies. We lived for cartoons. My personal favorite was Johnny Quest, though we all zoned out to the Road Runner.

The odd thing is that what's stuck the firmest in my memory banks are not the cartoons themselves, but the jingles and commercials. Of course this was all by design. These things were meant to be etched permanently. Good job.

On occasion (OK just about every day) I entertain my friends at Starbucks by breaking into spontaneous and exuberant song; it's not uncommon for these jingles to find me and inspire me in this way. I know I am loved in the workplace for this. It is my gift to the world.

Thank me later, oh dear partners.

Lately though, I've begun to entertain myself by singing when alone. Certainly my repertoire is mostly real songs, but for some reason I punctuate moments in my life with the jingles and commercial tunes. I seem to be particularly fond of this activity at night while driving. Luckily for me I'm all alone out in the countryside, else I'd likely have had some fellow traveler call 911 on me.

The other night I again found myself hypnotized by the night sky. I've posted in the past about this, and shot and shared pictures. I don't seem to be able to stop.

I think a good deal of my persistence in this is the technical challenge of shooting in the dark. Part of it is that it's just beautiful and always changing, and then part of it is because it's just fun. It's also a bit odd. I did have a highway patrolman pull over as I was reviewing my images on the side of the road once last month. He seemed baffled.

Oh yes...and I usually sing while I shoot. I didn't sing for the cop.

So far the cows don't seem to mind. I sing for them all the time.

"...I don't believe it! I don't believe it! The things I can do with my Spirograph!"

Sing along if you know the tune...

Here's a couple I did lately. One here in Calaveras County out back of the house, and the other at Brendan's old house in Seattle the night we were moving his stuff. He's the ghost on the porch.

He came upon me as I was lying on the ground across the street to get the shot. I'm sure he thought I was hammered or insane or both. I don't remember if I was singing at the time. Either way, he's used to me by now. So are my friends at work. Local law enforcement may well have a bulletin out...I don't know. I think the cows are only just beginning to understand.