To remember

Today, we were at a Memorial Day block party. A block party complete with red-white-and-blue beribboned bicycles, pie eating contests, a water balloon toss, a dunk tank (why, oh why does my son always volunteer to be the dunkee, when such a dunkee is needed?), friends and family and kids, kids, kids everywhere. Including my kids, the grandchildren of my father, a World War II veteran.

It made me think that there were many, many children and grandchildren missing from this and other block parties around the country. Namely, those children and grandchildren never born, because the young men and women who would have been their fathers and mothers had died in service to our country.

We celebrate Memorial Day for you.

Knowing.

This is a envelop. A No. 9 Commercial flap envelop, to be exact. A perfectly normal envelop. I send and receive envelops like this hundreds of time a year.

This particular envelop is sort of a border. A line between then and now. Between knowing and not knowing. While waiting for this particular envelop, I've been more and less in the mindset of "what-if". In the "what-if" mindset, I cried more, surfed blogs less, laughed more, drove less, played with the kids more, talked on the phone less, walked more, cooked less, swam more, complained less, noticed more, nagged less, snuggled more, shopped online less, tasted more, slept less, said "hello" more.

Not such a bad way to spend a week. Or a month. Or a life.

If you are 40, or if you are younger with a family history of breast cancer, let me remind you to get your own envelop like this.

Ein Briefumschalg. Ein sog. Nr. 9 Commercial Flap-Umschlag. Ich sowohl verschicke als auch erhalte Umschläge dieser Art hunderte mal im Jahrt. Ein ganz normaler Umschlag.

Dieser Umschlag ist allerdings eine Art Grenze. Eine Grenze zwischen Vergangenheit und Gegenwart. Zwischen Nichtwissen und Wissen. Während ich auf diesen besonderen Umschlag gewartet habe, habe ich mehr oder weniger nach "Was wäre wenn..." gehandelt. Geweint habe ich mehr, Blogs gesurft weniger, mehr gelacht, weniger telefoniert, mehr gelaufen, weniger gekocht, mehr geschwommen, mich weniger beschwert, mehr wahrgenommen, weniger gemeckert, mehr gekuschelt, weniger geshoppt, mehr geschmeckt, weniger geschlafen, mehr "Hello" gesagt.

Keine schlechte Art, eine Woche zu verbringen. Bzw. ein Monat. Bzw. ein Leben.

Wenn du bereits 40 bist oder Brustkrebs in der Familie hast, möchte ich dich hiermit erinneren, deinen eigenen Briefumschlag dieser Art zu holen.

"People all over the world"

"Join hands.
Start a love train. Love train. ..."



Okay, for Generations Y, Z, are we up to AA yet? Echoboom, et. al. ...

Gone, but not erased.

Robert Rauschenberg 1925 -2008



Thank you for your color, wit, chutzpah and for telling us that museums and criticisms do not matter in art.

Robert Rauschenberg reminds me of a friend I knew about nine years ago, but with whom I lost contact. I think she was the first (only) person to introduce Rauschenberg to me.

I cannot find any more recent work of hers on the Internet. Here, an extensive exhibit of her work with Post-Its. Yep: Post-Its. Intricately folded and ordered onto large boards. I think she is destined to make a real mark. I can say I knew her when. All the best to you, Melynda.

I got ...

I get this kind of mail quite often. It is often the reason my scissors and glue and envelops go missing. It's okay, though. These are my priceless treasures. I also received some real treasure this mothers day: A quarter, a dime, a tiny plastic monster, a big plastic gem and a bit of chain.

My children give me so much. I don't know how I will ever repay them.

We made a movie night of it last night, so I suggested we make popcorn. We don't have a microwave oven, so we pop the stuff on the stove. The kids think it's kind of a big deal. Anyway, I mention popcorn in the rather busy grocery store and with that my little girl starts skipping down the aisle ahead of me yelling, "Cop porn! Cop porn! Cop porn!"

Like I said, I don't know how I'll ever repay her for that one.

Here's to the moms!

Let all of your days be happy mother's days.

Aqua, woman. ("Aqua Woman"?)

So, why is it that I shouldn't drive and photograph exactly, Karen?

Maybe, just maybe, I need to think about the color aqua. And maybe Nic needs to see that I photographed the motel that's in Nic's favorite music video -- coincidentally -- on the same day! (Cross my heart, I had no idea that the Motel Grand is a "location" of any sort. I'm all about the aqua, woman, just the aqua).

Photograph and drive: I need to do that stuff. That's why they invented cameras. And aqua. 

You need to gift the world (read: my porch in particular) with chalk drawings. That's why they invented porches. And chalk. 

Bull: Red, whips and otherwise

Well, took a few days off from writing on fledge. I had not a single profound idea to share. Except something about Wonder Woman, which I will likely use later, if I remember.

It was a pretty Jack-intense itinerary. We made a weekend of seeing the Red Bull Air Races up close and personal. We tried, anyway. Bought tickets and showed up two hours ahead of time and everything. To no avail. As it turned out, the venue had tens of thousands of patrons, but an area to actually see the race to fit but a few hundred. I like to think of it as $30 tickets for the "Red Bull Hair / Faces" (Get it? It rhymes: Air Races/Hair Faces. No? It can't all be blog gold). Well, hair and faces was about all you could see. I saw interesting tattoos, and I saw that the whole buckle-your-shorts-at-about-the-hip-bone-and-have-your-boxer-shorts-puff-out-over-the-top-fashion doesn't seem to have lost steam, and I saw empty Coors bottles strewn about, and nacho cheese enslimed paper plates, and cell phones held aloft photographing in the direction of the buzzing engines, but I didn't see anything resembling an air race. The top image was my view. I did get some nice photos on Qualifying Day, however, I won't post those because they really are not representative of what one would see at the Red Bull Air Races. The top photo is. Talk about bull. Red and otherwise. So, if you were considering going to the Air Races, don't. Take that, Red Bull: The three people that read this blog--you've lost their business!

Some other images that caught my attention recently. There's a couple of big billboards proclaiming "Indy May 22". I gather that to mean that May 22nd is for independents--designers, voters, musicians, writers, filmmakers, Joneses and otherwise. "Indy May 22": Go for it. Bull whip optional.

A Cadillac full of 5¢ deposit recyclables. Traditional American luxury car, making ends meet by collecting recyclables, saving the planet. Something like that. I'm easily amused.