Speaking of loss I have been importing family video footage into the powerbook finally. Just as a safeguard, as if I am actually going to find the time to produce a DVD. i could just hit teh "make magic movie" script, but of course my personality wants to do something so beyond my means that I can't even get the confidence to start it. Once i do I will get it 83% complete an then let it sit in my laptop. I rule.
Chase is the guy who would do it and see it all the way through. He doesn't have kids and his wife is very independent like any self-respecting, well-educated hippie produced from the lower valley, UofO and OSU systems. I am surprised he never followed through with the fishing show we manufactured in our heads while fishing 3-4 times per week when we should have been in class. He is the kind of guy who could make that happen, if he decided that is what he was going to do. We both share the high energy gene that keeps gears cranking well into the morning hours most nights. I haven't a clue what he is going to do now, but I doubt he will just sit still.
Sep 3, 2007
Painted Faces- The makep of the story
More tears are shed from answered prayers than unanswered ones.
Fitting that i just watched Capote.
A man who made his life's fame on the death of someone else. Isn't that terrible of me to put it that way. Without reservation, I am merely stating the facts. I don't believe he was as heartless as that sounds, hoever. Actually he seems to be portrayed as one of the most sensitive individuals in history. His heart was definitely in his work as well.
It's amazing people's reaction to death. I am not at the age where I have to think about it (as far as I am concerned) except when it happens to your friend. You know, one of those flukes that you only hear about through a friend of a friend of someone else who went to church with them and she heard some one else praying about the situation. That is the only way to get all the details. Sheesh.
Two day ago Toby and I were running around in the woods in goofy, leaf-patterned clothing. 15 miles of hiking -half uphill and half down. I saw the hind ends of 4 fleeting blacktails. Across the canyon Toby spied 4 elk 30 yards below me straight down the gulch... unbeknownst to me of course. It was a great day none-the-less. We talked of family and future and caught up on the last 6 months the way friends of 20+ years need to at 3 year intervals. Family is such a priority that we don't seem to hang with friends the way we want, but neither of us fault the other because the priority is mutual... If it weren't, reciprocal respect would be lost as well.
If we would have hung out on Sunday the conversation would have bEen much different. During the course of 15 miles and two hours of car ride we had the opportunity to ask about all the extended relationships as well. Toby asked how Chase was doing and I relayed the latest info- blah, blah, married, blah, good kids, blah, great wife, doesn't fish much anymore, but we manage to get out once in a while. It's the same story for us all and none of us are actually complaining. We traded the wilderness of our previous lives for the comfort of family. After I dropped Toby off I got my voice mail and learned that Chase lost his wife that morning- a brain tumor had taken her in her sleep according to the initial report.
Tragedy.
I am lost of further words.
Fitting that i just watched Capote.
A man who made his life's fame on the death of someone else. Isn't that terrible of me to put it that way. Without reservation, I am merely stating the facts. I don't believe he was as heartless as that sounds, hoever. Actually he seems to be portrayed as one of the most sensitive individuals in history. His heart was definitely in his work as well.
It's amazing people's reaction to death. I am not at the age where I have to think about it (as far as I am concerned) except when it happens to your friend. You know, one of those flukes that you only hear about through a friend of a friend of someone else who went to church with them and she heard some one else praying about the situation. That is the only way to get all the details. Sheesh.
Two day ago Toby and I were running around in the woods in goofy, leaf-patterned clothing. 15 miles of hiking -half uphill and half down. I saw the hind ends of 4 fleeting blacktails. Across the canyon Toby spied 4 elk 30 yards below me straight down the gulch... unbeknownst to me of course. It was a great day none-the-less. We talked of family and future and caught up on the last 6 months the way friends of 20+ years need to at 3 year intervals. Family is such a priority that we don't seem to hang with friends the way we want, but neither of us fault the other because the priority is mutual... If it weren't, reciprocal respect would be lost as well.
If we would have hung out on Sunday the conversation would have bEen much different. During the course of 15 miles and two hours of car ride we had the opportunity to ask about all the extended relationships as well. Toby asked how Chase was doing and I relayed the latest info- blah, blah, married, blah, good kids, blah, great wife, doesn't fish much anymore, but we manage to get out once in a while. It's the same story for us all and none of us are actually complaining. We traded the wilderness of our previous lives for the comfort of family. After I dropped Toby off I got my voice mail and learned that Chase lost his wife that morning- a brain tumor had taken her in her sleep according to the initial report.
Tragedy.
I am lost of further words.
Aug 31, 2007
Mag Light Laser Hack
Turn your mini-mag light into a lazer that burns holes in stuff and pops balloons
Laser Flashlight Hack! - Funny videos are here
Laser Flashlight Hack! - Funny videos are here
Aug 30, 2007
The Barefoot Boy
John Greenleaf Whittier
1807-1892
THE BAREFOOT BOY
Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberrys on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,--
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art,--the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,--
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
Oh for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild-flower's time and place,
Fight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung,
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,--
Blessings on the barefoot boy!
Oh for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw and knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!
Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O'er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire,
I was a monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!
Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prisons cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!
1807-1892
THE BAREFOOT BOY
Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberrys on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,--
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art,--the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,--
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
Oh for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild-flower's time and place,
Fight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung,
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,--
Blessings on the barefoot boy!
Oh for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw and knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!
Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O'er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire,
I was a monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!
Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prisons cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!
Aug 24, 2007
Nadja Solerno-Sonnenberg
Ok I have finally seen the true beauty of classical music thanks to some serious ass-kicking done by Nadja. Nice work.
Eco-Tech on The Science Channel
Man, I am addicted to this show. As far as I am concerned there should be an Eco-tech Channel. I would pay extra for it if it also removes the commercials. In fact they should just make a reality show out of following the EarthShip crews around 16 hours per day.
FineLiving does a good job having commercial breaks since they give you a snippet tip in the middle of the break.
Anyway, I got a bit more stuff together for running around in the woods this Saturday. I put Langlitz on my holster and found that a bit rubbed into the wood grips of the Ruger. Lisa and I hiked up there last weekend. Although she was glad to see where it is that I go and get a feel for what the heck I spend my time doing up there, I think she saw her life's fill of cougar and bear poop. We took the westerly route and moved along
Photo Credit: Jeffrey Rich Nature Photography
parallel to (Nameless) Creek. It's mostly old growth timber so it's not going to be where the Elk are. But I found what I was looking for, hence the Ruger during archery season, and the corresponding tags to fill. Like always though, I will head straight into the harvest area of the clearcuts where the fierce scent of Roosevelt is everywhere.So much more to pack but it really can't happen fully until I am packing my truck. And now I am stuck watching a documentary on this Nadja violinist-chick whose ability to play the solo parts in classical music is tortuously powerful. Just hearing her play I can tell why they are doing a documentary on her. It's mesmerizing actually.
But of course my mind wanders wondering toward the small white towel that is under her chin in one shot. Not a handkerchief, but something specially made to rest sometimes between the chin and the violin's chin-rest. So why does it have to be white? It takes away from the scene of the concerto. Make it an unassuming black so that it doesnt look like half of a cloth diaper.
Aug 23, 2007
Brent at Madame Tussaud's?
Okay so I know my bro-in-law opened for the Stones for the last three weeks but I think this photo was taken at the wax museum.
Just kidding, Keith. You still rock really hard. Or is it Keef?
Here's a little shot in Austria:
Aug 15, 2007
Stephen Kretchmer's Brillliant jewelry design
Fitting that I should happen upon this lovely set of golden motorcycle tires on my anniversary yesterday while thumbing through the Robb Report
Aug 13, 2007
If Only
If a writer were a free man and not a slave, if he could write what he chose, not what he must, if he could base his work on his own feeling and not upon convention, there would be no plot, no comedy no tragedy, no love interest or catastrophe in the accepted style.
(Thank you Robert Walser)
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