Lessons learned...

To the grandkids of Thomas P. Kemp Sr.,

I started to write a blog post about Optimus (the company you just received a stock certificate and loan agreement for), and realized I really was writing a letter to you all as a group.  So, I’m going to write the letter first and then most likely turn it into a blog post.  That seems like the better order of things.

The story involves nursing homes, entrepreneurs, pit bulls (metaphorically speaking, that is), race cars, murder, and, yes, Don Quixote.  Let me explain.

As you may or may not know, Optimus (formerly “One Touch”) is the company your grandpa tried to help get off the ground when it was first flapping its little start-up wings.  After many years of turmoil and scraping by, the company is now for the first time profitable, something for which we can all be grateful.  The reason I’m thinking and writing about it now is that I want you to understand your investment, but more importantly, want you to understand what it was that your grandpa invested in and what that means for you.

I was going to title the blog post, “It’s not about the money.”  That’s probably a good thing for all of us to keep in mind when thinking about Optimus, since there’s a good chance none of us will see a whole lot of return on the investment.  But there are lessons to be learned, and you may as well learn them in your twenties, rather than figure it out in your fifties (like me)! 

I have no idea how grandpa first found Optimus.  The company was started in 2000 with an invention that seemed radically innovative at the time – a wrist band that could be worn by patients in nursing homes or hospitals with a chip inside that would contain information about the patient’s medical condition and also about what kind of care they had been receiving, when that care was received, and by whom it was given.  As you can imagine, it’s really easy to have a lack of accountability in patient care, and this product was meant to address that problem in a powerful way.

The concept was invented by a man named Michael Goodwin.  (Now, this is where the story gets a bit gruesome, so Andy, you need to tune out of this part until you’re older.)  Michael Goodwin was an odd guy.  Probably brilliant.  But definitely odd.  And in the 80’s he teamed up with a man named Mickey Thompson who was an off-road racing legend.  Mickey had set more speed and endurance records than anyone in American history.  In the early 50’s, he re-designed dragsters with changes so revolutionary that it took almost 20 years before anyone else made a change that important.  In 1960 at Bonneville Flats, he broke the existing land speed record of 400 mph (!!!), the first American to do so. 

Mickey and Michael Goodwin had a racing promotion business together and then they had a falling out.  Not too long after that, in 1988, Mickey and his wife were found murdered.  It wasn’t until 2001 (one year after Optimus was started) that Goodwin was arrested, charged with arranging the hit.  That case was overturned and he was re-charged in 2004.  In 2007 he was convicted of the murders – two consecutive life terms without the possibility of parole.

I give you that background so you can understand how challenging it was for Optimus and your grandpa to have what they thought was a great invention, but it was linked to a man like Michael Goodwin.  Your grandpa worked long and hard to put up what he called a “fire wall” around the company, to protect it from Goodwin and from the bad press associated with him.  To this day, I don’t see any mention of Goodwin in relation to Optimus, which is quite an amazing accomplishment when you think about it.  Your gramps believed in Goodwin’s innocence for a long time.  But at the same time, he wanted to protect the company.

(Okay, Andy, you can come back in now!)  I wish I knew how your gramps got involved with Optimus, but I do know that he stayed involved because it was something he truly cared about.  He had no expertise in the field of nursing care or hospitals.  And, as you know, he was certainly no technological whiz!  But the idea of accountability in nursing care was sure something that struck a chord in him and he essentially volunteered his services to the new company.  He went in to work as if he was employed there, and worked after hours as if he was an owner.  It was a start-up, with all the challenges and problems of start-ups.  And many times it would discourage him to the point of despair.  But believing in the idea and believing in the importance of entrepreneurship is what carried him onward and upward.  That, and his faith in God’s guidance and trust in the effectiveness of prayer.

I don’t know when he started loaning the company money, but I suspect it was early on.  They would have a hard time meeting payroll and gramps would loan them enough to cover it.  And soon thereafter, he probably started getting nervous about the next payroll period, when he most likely would have to loan more.  Some of his loans ended up as investments, and some were kept as loans.  But he was loaning them money right up to within the last month of his life, if I remember correctly. 

There was one flaw in his plan, and he was well aware of it.  It was his 100% total faith in people.  He thought everyone deep down inside was like himself.  Well, technically, everyone is a child of God, like him.  But not everyone appreciated or understood or could handle his ideas, his passion, his advice.  Especially not the head of the company at that time (who shall remain nameless).  Your gramps mentored, encouraged, supported, and cheered him on.  And I’m not sure if the guy ever got it.  I’m not sure if he ever appreciated what your gramps was trying to do to help him.  More often than not, the guy would take umbrage at gramps’ suggestions.  The guy’s ego just would not let him feel the nurturing that gramps was giving him 24/7.  Such a tragedy, I think. 

The lesson I’ve taken from that part of his experience is “don’t treat a poodle like a pit bull, and don’t treat a pit bull like a poodle.”  This man refused to listen, refused to take advice, lashed out at gramps in anger (imagine!), and tried to marginalize gramps’ involvement in the company.  In short, the guy was acting like a pit bull, and yet gramps treated him like a poodle - always expecting the man to be reasonable, to be grateful, to be enthusiastic.  And gramps would reach out his hand… and get bit, maybe not every time, but a lot.

That doesn’t mean that we don’t expect the best out of people, or that people can’t improve.  On the contrary.  It just means being realistic.  Examine what the situation looks like, and then acting accordingly.  I don’t think it would be possible for your gramps to be less than supportive to anyone.  But one can be supportive… and realistic.  One can be enthusiastic… and realistic.  One can be encouraging… and realistic.  Just don’t try to hand-feed the pit bull a bone, and don’t expect the poodle to defend you in a dark alley.

So back to today.  Why am I telling you this?  Because each of you has just received a stock certificate from Optimus for 5175 shares, along with a loan agreement for a $7299.58 loan that’s payable to you in a couple of years.  The interest on the loan is 10% and you’ll be receiving that interest monthly, beginning November 15^th of this year.  (Just so you know, the interest is taxable, so you’ll get a 1099 at the beginning of the year, showing how much was paid to you the previous year.)

But what I really want you to know is what this all represents.  Kind of like Don Quixote, “The Man of La Mancha,” your grandpa dreamed big dreams, and though this particular project may seem to some like he was tilting at windmills, it didn’t seem that way to him.  He gave it his time, his energy, his creativity, his money.  He gave it his faith.  And by paying attention and understanding the investment he left to you, you are honoring what he stood for.  You may not make a dime from this.  You win some, you lose some.  But it doesn’t matter.  You can be inspired by his strength of character and by his fortitude during the most impossible of challenges, even when the very people he was trying to help resisted his ideas, while eagerly accepting his money.  But he gave it his heart and soul.  And that’s the best investment of all.  It always pays off big – in experience, in wisdom, in backbone, in courage.  To dream the impossible dream…

You have a choice.  You can take that certificate and loan agreement and stuff them in a filing cabinet and not give them much thought.  Or… you can take a few moments to recognize the crazy risk your grandpa took to try to help build a company he felt was important enough to devote his time, energy, and funds to.  A company which would bring more accountability to the health care industry.  Take a few moments to honor him by understanding at least a part of what he went through.  I guarantee you, it will pay.  Just not necessarily in ways you expect.

Much love to you all,

Anne (to some) or mom (to others)

Driving Mr. Rob - Part 4 - Twin Falls to Seattle

I'm not sure if I could ever convey the amount of time Rob spent on his cell phone up to Twin Falls (except, of course, when the cell coverage was lost in Nevada).  But it was a drop in the bucket compared to this part of the trip - from Twin Falls to Seattle.

You see, this was the Friday before the Tuesday, with a holiday on Monday, that we were supposed to have all the funding in place for Group 47's purchase of patents from Kodak.  There were a number of last minute potential funders, some of whom were ready to decide, but their money wasn't available until after May 31st.  And some who had money available but hadn't quite decided to invest yet.  And some who had money and had made the decision, but we hadn't heard from in a while. Rob was on the phone with lawyers, bankers, VC's, friends, family, friends of friends, etc.

But it wasn't until we got to this spot (as seen on google maps) that the last puzzle piece gently nestled into its place.

The piece was $19,000.  When the last investor said she'd deposit that amount by May 31st, it took our breath away.  It was just before noon. We'd just dipped into Oregon. Both silently thanking God. Just then, I looked up and saw a sign, both literal and figurative.  We were crossing the Powder River.

Powwwwwder River - mile wide and an inch deep - Yeeeeeeiiiiipppeeeee!!!

That's the yell my dad learned from his mother.  And that's the primordial yell that came out of me as we crossed that squiggly bit of water. Sometimes a sign really is a "sign."

My dad was there when Group 47 was a mere gleam in Rob's eye, so it was no surprise that he was there at this moment, when it was going from crawl to walk. This moment when we saw the impossible, the assembly of twenty friends and family plus a venture capital firm from Iowa joining hands to secure the purchase of patents from Kodak. This moment leaving us in wonder and in awe, this moment daring us to look away, this moment forever inscribing itself on our souls.   Leave it to my dad to be there in spirit, not to miss celebrating this moment with us. The Powder River was totally, completely, thoroughly unexpected, and yet totally, completely, thoroughly fitting.  Of course dad would be there at this moment of utter exaltation.  Of course.

Rob and I have a running joke that whenever he hands the keys over to me to drive, the driving conditions deteriorate rapidly.  So I was driving... and the road became all twisty... and the clouds darkened... and what was that white stuff coming down from the sky?  Was it... snow?  Why, yes it was!

...at which point I said, "Your turn!"  

It either snowed or rained or both for the rest of the drive that day.  Not exactly what one would wish for while preparing for an outdoor festival, but after what we'd seen that day, we had nothing but hope regarding what lay ahead.

And then, as if the cosmos hadn't yet provided enough for us to be astounded by, as we drove into Seattle we saw not one but at least twenty signs with the number "47" on them. Signs. And wonders. And more signs.

A little shy of 2000 miles.  From home to Beverly Hills through the desert to Scottsdale, past Hoover Dam and Area 51, through more desert and huge skies, to Twin Falls, across the Powder River, over snowy mountains, and finally arriving in Seattle.  Hundreds and hundreds of phone calls, text messages, and emails along the way. All DOTS funding lined up for the May 31st deadline. And now somehow the city of Seattle chose on that day and that time to put the number of our company, 47, on its road signs.  The number is the subject of a mathematical joke proof done at Pomona College in the sixties by Professor Donald Bentley, reportedly establishing that all numbers are equal to 47. For me, it represents connections. That all things could equal one thing. All things part of one whole. That was our trip so far - many different parts, one glorious whole. At that moment, all things equaled 47.

Driving Mr. Rob - Part 3 - Scottsdale to Twin Falls

Good thing we like desert.  Turns out there's a lot more of it in between Scottsdale and Twin Falls.

One of us was looking forward to driving over the new Hoover Dam bridge. One of us wasn't. We'd seen it partly built when we drove through on our way to the Kemp family reunion in Vail a couple of years before. This time, we saw dam signs (insert "dam" joke here, Tommy!) and then we didn't. What bridge?

Here's what it looked like after we made a second run at it:

And here's what it looked like while we're driving over it:

And here's what Mr. Rob looked like as we drove over it:

Contrary to Mr. Rob's noticeable terror as shown above, the dam engineers somehow managed to take away any sense that you're driving across an awesome piece of engineering!  We went right over it without knowing.  A total rip-off.

There's a point at which Hwy 93 out of Las Vegas briefly meets Hwy 375 before you get on to what's called the "2nd loneliest road in America" - Hwy 318.  When we looked at our GPS, it read: "Extraterrestrial Highway."  Yep.  You can google it if you want.  Hwy 375 was named the E.T. Highway back in 1996 after there were lots of UFO sightings from there.  Also, it's right up there near Area 51.

So we were weirdly delighted when at that point, our cellphone power dropped to nothing, and our trusty GPS lost all sense of where we were.

And then we went through a town called... well, "Nothing."

A disappearing bridge, an extraterrestrial highway, sudden cell drop off, lost GPS, and a town called "Nothing." What was the universe trying to tell us?

The rest of the drive to Twin Falls was dramatic in other ways.  As in the skies.

I had to double check to see when these were taken.  But the last one (with the blue sky) was taken a half hour AFTER the first two.  

We reached Twin Falls around 9:45 pm and went straight over to Idaho Joe's Restaurant. The sign on the front said it was open until 11 pm. The fact that they were actually shampooing the carpet should have been a giveaway that something wasn't right.  I had a bowl of chili and Rob had a chicken pot pie and decaf.  By the time we'd finished, we were the only ones in the place.  When Rob asked for a refill on the coffee, our waitress said she'd thrown the coffee out, but would be happy to make a fresh pot if he'd like.  As the carpet shampooers drew closer, it began to dawn on us that maybe they were closing.  Had we read the sign wrong?  Or.... had we entered... a... different... time zone?

Yep, different time zone it was.  Here's the deal.  It's Arizona that threw us off.  Arizona is officially in the Mountain time zone but doesn't follow daylight savings time, so it ends up like Pacific time in the summer.  Then Nevada is in the Pacific zone.  But Idaho is Mountain.  So we'd gone from Pacific, to Mountain acting like Pacific, back to Pacific, and then to Mountain. We thought it was 10:30, but in Idaho, it was 11:30.  

We finally got the hint.  We left Idaho Joe's for the nearest Best Western or Red Lion or Holiday Inn.  I forget.  A confused end to a confusing day.

Driving Mr. Rob - Part 2 - Palm Desert to Scottsdale

There's a whole lotta desert between Palm Desert and Scottsdale.  But I can't get enough of it, so bring on the sand, scrubby creosote bushes, saguaro and joshua trees.  Something about those awesome survival skills gets me every time.  Networking roots, poisonous roots, folding leaves, dropping leaves, spines that collect droplets of mist... A system of discipline and focus, efficiently and creatively using limited resources.  You have to be impressed by that.

We went to Scottsdale to meet the new investors.  Our humble lodgings boasted an oversized jacuzzi tub within inches of the bed, in full view of the door to the outside world.  Fortunately, the complex had a lovely pool, so it was there I retreated while Rob and Dan went to meetings.  Not a little guilt builds up sitting by the pool sipping a cold diet Coke and reading a People magazine, whilst husband and his partner are trying to negotiate a deal to save the company from losing the Kodak patents forever.  When the guilt threatened to build to total distraction, I turned to Commentary magazine, Jewish guilt apparently being easier on me than the People magazine guilt.

When it came time for dinner, I joined the four guys for a trip into Scottsdale. We started off at a recommended haunt, the Rusty Spur Saloon, but the live and loud cowboy music was going to be a problem so we left before we sat down. We ended up in an Italian restaurant.  As long as there's air conditioning, I was happy.

The part of the conversation that has stuck with me most is when one of the Iowa guys told about how his neighborhood rallied to help an elderly woman after she drove her lawn mower into a basement stairwell.  When I commented on how lovely that was, that everyone came together like that, the other guy said, "That's what we like to call.... Iowa."  Meaning that he defines his state that way - by its neighborliness.  Not defined by monuments or theme parks.  But by kindness.

Now, I've never been to Iowa, but I have no doubt of this gentleman's sincerity.  After all, when he asked his wife to marry him, she said yes, but with the stipulation that they live in Iowa.  Forever.  I'm trying to imagine what I could say about California that could be as equivocal as what he said about his state.  I can't really go with anything to do with hospitality.  I guess I'd have to go with diversity.  Everyone's from somewhere else.  And somehow all these different people from different places, rich/poor, legal/illegal, all call California home. I'm not sure diversity ranks higher than kindness, but it makes me feel something that feels like pride. I guess the best of all worlds would be the state with diversity and kindness.

The grand finale of the evening was the unveiling of the tape. We gathered in the lobby. Rob brought in his special carrying case and opened it carefully, revealing the gleaming DOTS tape. Long ago I had underestimated the effect on people when they see the rolls of DOTS tape. But no longer. After all the talk and deck presentations and graphs and charts, there's nothing like the feeling of handling something real. Especially when it's so bright and shiny. They all oohed and awed in suitably reverential tones. Rob tucked the tape back in its case, and we called it a night.

Wednesday was so comprehensive and successful that the guys didn't need to meet on Thursday.  So Thursday morning we bid a fond farewell to Part Two of our big adventure.  On to Twin Falls!

Driving Mr. Rob - Part 1 - Woodland Hills to Palm Desert

This trip had the makings of either an epic adventure or epic disaster.  Fortunately, it was the former.

The annual trek to the Northwest Folklife Festival in Seattle was looking like it might not happen this year, but at the last minute, a few crucial details unfolded, and after an afternoon at AAA mapping out the journey, it started to look more like a go.

The problem was that Rob was scheduled to speak at an Academy event on Tuesday night and we had to be in Scottsdale on Wednesday.  And then Seattle on Friday.  And we were driving.

And so we packed for both the heat of Arizona and the grey of Seattle, stuffed our suitcases, blankets, lawn chairs, and DOTS tape into the van, dropped off the pup, and headed to the Academy for a rehearsal.  I love the photo above because it shows Rob practicing, alongside a slide he put on the screen of Hummel Lake on Lopez Island.  Somehow, seeing him standing between a giant Oscar and a giant Hummel Lake filled me with the joy of whatever forces brought the Hummel family to that lake and the knowledge that one of the clan is on stage as a member of the Oscar family.  A journey no one could plan or ever fully account for.  But there it was.

The evening was about the difference between shooting movies on film vs. shooting them digitally. Rob's part was explaining the science behind both.  I've heard him do the film portion many times (including Claire's awesome diagram explaining 3-strip Technicolor which garners praise each time it's appeared on screen).  But I'd never heard the digital side.  He'd created some great slides showing all the information that gets lost in the process, and also how it gets misplaced, landing on the wrong photosites, causing rainbows where there aren't supposed to be rainbows.

At rehearsal, Rob pulled aside Chris Sanders and Dean DeBlois (creators of "Lilo and Stitch" as well as of "How to Train Your Dragon") and asked them to sign a printout of Claire's painting of "How to Train Your Stitch," where she had painted Stitch as the dragon.  It appeared to Rob that Chris and Dean were just being polite when they said yes.  But when Rob unrolled the printout, Chris exclaimed that he remembered seeing this on Deviant Art and that he'd recommended it!  Then the two pointed at different parts.... ohhh look at how she did the shading here...  Happy dad.

It was a pretty star-studded panel, at least to cinematography geeks:  John Bailey, John Kroyer, Guillermo Navarro, Dean Semler, Chris Sanders, Dean DeBlois, and Adrian Seery.

I love Guillermo Navarro, who, in turn, loves film.  He says that on the set, when the director yells "Action!" there's a palpable feeling of energy and focus, knowing that there's a limited amount of film stock going through that camera.  No such feeling with digital.  Just shoot it again.  And again.  And again.  Also, with no respect for the amount of material one is piling on top of the poor editor who has to sort through it all to find the good stuff.  So Guillermo's advice was that when shooting digitally, use the same discipline and focus that you would use if you were shooting on film.  I guess I just love anyone who, in this day and age, sings the praises of discipline and focus.

Besides our cinematographer friends, we were happy to be joined by our nephew Patrick and his girlfriend, Hannah, along with Lynn Thurman, Jesse Mather, and Devon Brady, son of friend Penny Peyser.

In the lovely connections department:  Martha Winterhalter, publisher of the ASC Magazine, told me she'd been to the laguna Kemp house in the early 70's.  Turns out that she'd worked for an architect (I think) and had been helping an interior designer named Bruce.  She went on location with him and that location turned out to be 1141 Marine Drive.  Bruce Clark was mom's decorator at the Ruthlee house and then at laguna, and I'm sure there are remnants of his 70's era design at the laguna house still.  Kind of amazing to find out that someone my husband knows through his association with the ASC had been inside my old home almost forty years ago, around the time we were first moving in ourselves.

And finally, on display was our old friend the Dalsa camera.  Dalsa had donated a couple of cameras to the Academy.  I have to admit, my heart skipped a beat when I saw it.  Goofy clunker in shape, but the best of the best in digital imaging.  Another great idea snuffed out by corporate short-sightedness.  

The show ran way too long and we said our goodbyes, hopped into our trusty van, and headed for Palm Desert.  The Academy show was about the transition from film to digital. The rest of the trip was going to be about the transition from digital to DOTS. We had a long road ahead of us. 

The enduring, the good, and the true

No one lives forever.  On the 4th of January, 1985, my parents entered into an agreement as to what they wanted to do with their stuff after they'd passed away.  Tomorrow we will have arrived at the final stages of following through on their request.

My parents stipulated that we kids could keep 1141 Marine Dr. for ten years after they were both gone, and they provided funds toward that goal.  They also stipulated that if, after five years, the majority of us kids voted to sell the house, we could do that.

So, we're doing that.

I think they'd be pleased.

Rob lost both his parents by the time he turned thirty-one.  I lost mine by the age of fifty-two.  Neither of us feel cheated.  Of course, we wished for more time with them.  But what we got in those few years was so full and formidable that we're on our knees in gratitude every day.  Every day we mine those relationships for more nuggets of wisdom and truth.  Nuggets of grace and love.  Of joy.  Those relationships are as real and vital to us now as they ever were, and maybe even more meaningful.  If that's possible.

You see, what endures is what was good and true about those relationships.  And maybe because the people themselves aren't around any more, that I end up exploring my relationships with them even further.  I pour over old photos, writings, emails.  I sift memories of experiences, trips, shared laughs, conversations, quiet.  I sort through sayings, advice, prayers.  I piece together shards of recollections, stories, impressions.  Never sure if I'm getting it exactly right.

There are some archeological digs that never end.  There's just too much to discover.  This is one of those.  I've been given a lifetime of treasure and I haven't even begun to uncover and make sense of it all.  It's everything that persists from a life that we end up being most startled by.  The enduring, the good, and the true in a life are still enduring, good, and true after that life is gone.  That's how you know what your inheritance really is.  It's that which can never be taken from you.  It's that upon which you build your own life.

No one lives forever.  I don't have any doubt that our wonderful daughters will find much to mine when Rob and I have moved on.  We'll try to leave some strategically-placed cairns so they can find their way to the good stuff.  But I have a feeling they know where it is already.

Remains of the day...

my desk february 16, 2011

When there's so much flotsam and jetsam layered on a desk and threaded throughout a calendar, it's pretty easy to not notice what's gone missing in a life.

In a small house, spaces fill up fast and a good amount of energy is spent in sorting, arranging, managing stuff.  You continually fear that you'll end up as a news item, buried alive by the careless nudge of a tower of old newspapers.  So you sort, arrange, manage, repeat.

I'm re-reading a book that my cousin Cynthia recommends to her clients - "It's All Too Much" by Peter Walsh.  Cynthia runs her own estate sale business and was telling me how many times she walks into homes that are filled with clutter.  She sees how her clients' lives have become defined and constricted by what they accumulate.  I read the book a couple of years ago and found it interesting and certainly saw myself in there not a few times.  But this reading was different.  One idea leaped out and has refused to leave me alone - "don't start with the clutter."

That may not be the way he wrote it.  But it's the way it looked when it landed in my brain.  It took my carefully calcified opinion as to what needed to be done and turned it on its head.  If I couldn't start with the clutter, where could I start?  I want to start with the clutter.  The clutter is what's... cluttering.  It's in the way.  It needs to go.

But like all revelations, you don't really stand a chance when trying to fight them.  So I listened to what came next.  Of course.  If you don't lead with the clutter, you have no choice but to lead with your vision.  You begin to ask yourself:  "How does my home serve my notion of the life I wish I had?"  "Do the things I own help me achieve that life or distract from that vision?"  "Does this item enhance and advance the vision I have for the life I want?"

Pretty simple.  Pretty life-changing.

I didn't have to read too much further than that.  I got it.  It was an "AHA" moment.  The heavens opened and the angels rushed to my side.  Some ideas are so clear that you wonder how you've lived as long as you have and never encountered them before.  What else have I missed?

In starting with clutter, I had begun with the one thing that paralyzed and petrified me.  No wonder nothing had changed.  So, I reasoned, starting with that which brings me joy, hope, peace, and fulfillment might actually produce something that could possibly, faintly, look like progress.  At the very least it would be more fun.

I started thinking about the spaces in my home that function as they should.  The spaces that bring me joy when I look at them.  The spaces that hold the things I can find easily.  Then I imagined everything like that.

I didn't just re-imagine my home.  I re-imagined my life.  I looked at the things I loved and loved to do and tried to imagine them occupying a bigger part of my thought and my day.  It actually was kind of shocking to see how easily the important things had gotten gradually squeezed out and the ordinary and mundane had taken over.

What had happened to reading, writing, praying, connecting?

I didn't notice they were gone.  In their place were the chores, the bills, the errands, the emails, the facebook, the piles, the pods.

A sculptor doesn't stare at the mighty chunk of marble in his studio and visualize what he has to carve out.  He sees the form of what he's creating.  He sees what is disguised by the excess.

And that's what I suddenly saw.  I looked into the giant marble chunk of my life and I saw what was in there struggling to get my attention.

Once you see it, there's no going back.  You can't look at the mighty chunk the same way again.  You're less awed with the amount/quality/shape of what needs to be carved away and more awed by what you love. Less impressed with the effort required to chip away the pieces, and more impressed with what you'll discover when you do so.

And so I put on my safety goggles and pick up my chisel and mallet.  I pitch off the bigger chunks of stone and as I get closer to the figure inside, refine my tools and my motions.  Until the marble matches the vision.

I'd been mesmerized by the excess.  Now, I look around my home to see what serves the life I want to live.  What parts of the hidden form have already appeared, apparently without my notice or help.  I take photos of different spaces in and around my house - reminders of the beauty and order that have been my companions all along.  And it is that beauty and order that will serve to remind me of the hidden form I'm chipping away to reveal.

And now, back to my desk.  The vision I have for my desk is this: a place where I can find what I need to find, think what I need to think, and create what I need to create.  Not too much to ask of a desk, I think.  I clear a space.  I begin to blog.

guest bed with baskets for catalogues underneath

probably not the best storage solution for our Rockband guitars but it makes me happy to have them where I can see them...

our living room desk with items on it that make me smile

coffee/tea nook

guest bathroom

my collection of advertising thermometers in the master bath

weird array of things Rob and I love 

entryway landing strip

my wonderful set of Interpreter's Bible along with Rob's shoes

travel books to inspire more travel

master bath cart

a calming view of our bed (before Sparky rearranges it all)

love the wiggly glass in these cabinets...

view of the neighbor's air conditioner softened by pretty things in the bay window

teas....

dog food barrel with sign by Claire

one lemon and one orange

the giant pot in the center

texture...

order...

Gallant Survivors

[Not the real Heidi but the closest image Google could provide...]

Many moons ago, our miniature dachsund, Heidi, went missing at the laguna house.  She was, as Aunt Carolyn would say, very "grown up" and after searching for her diligently, we eventually came to the conclusion that since she couldn't walk or see very well, and certainly couldn't navigate stairs, she must have passed away quietly in the garden somewhere where we couldn't find her.

To our great surprise, a few days later, someone put an ad in the local paper that said they'd found a elderly miniature dachsund on the beach at Crecent Bay.  They had taken her to the vet, and she was doing fine.  And then they closed with this line, "Will anyone help this gallant survivor?"  We quickly reclaimed our pup and for the rest of her days, she was called the "Gallant Survivor."

The same term came to me today when thinking about brother Tom and sister-in-law Jenny.  The word "gallant" means "brave" or "heroic," and "survivor" means "a person who copes well with difficulties in their life."  Need I say more?

Jenny and Tom - Utah 2008

Of course, I am going to say more because this is my blog and I have more to say.

Today, I told Tom that I was proud of him.  He responded saying, "I'm not sure I had anything to do with it."  I beg to differ.  I know few people who've had the persistent challenges that Tom and Jenny have faced.  And while I'm sure that they've had their share of fear, heartache, and pain over it all, what we've come to see is two people who are stronger, tougher, more resilient, more committed, more accepting, more trusting in God, more full of love, and infinitely more appreciative of life.  They've had many choices to make along this pathway they've been treading the past few years.  They could have remained stuck in a place of fear, frustration, worry, anger, sadness.  And we could all probably come up with a million reasons why each and every one of those qualities would have been totally justified under the circumstances.

But they chose a different route.  The Gallant Survivor Route.  Some other synonyms for "gallant" are: fearless, valiant, intrepid, heroic, lionhearted, bold, daring, audacious, undaunted, unflinching, unshrinking, unafraid, indomitable, stouthearted, plucky, gutsy, spunky.  I'm certain that there were many times they both Tom and Jenny felt way less than "undaunted" or "spunky."  And that's okay.  But in the end, they traveled this particular journey undaunted.  And spunky.

This is a journey that's best not traveled alone.  Someone's got to carry some of the extra load and pick up the things that inevitably get dropped.  As well as point the way when needed and cheer the other on toward the destination.  My gratitude to Jenny is unbounded, for standing along side my brother for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.   

I love what Jenny's dad, Angus Scott, said to Tom prior to the trip to the hospital.  He said (and I hope I get it right, Angus...), "Tom, I've known many Marines in my day, and never met a braver man than you." 

So, hats off to both of you, Tom and Jenny.  This all may seem like too much for two people to bear in one lifetime, but I know for sure that this time spent in the wilderness is merely in preparation for both of you to do important things in the future.  There's a lot of work out there that requires gallant survivors to get the job done.  And we on the sidelines of your lives are privileged to have front row seats to watch what you two will be doing next.  Our seatbelts are securely fastened.

We love you.

Small world after all...

I love connections.  Not the kind that get you anywhere.  The kind where one part of your life is mysteriously and surprisingly linked to some other part.  Three of my favorite connections were in play this past week.  I guess the connections are connecting...


Connection # 1 - Jana and Richard Hunter

Rob, Jana, Emily, Richard, and Claire

I met Jana through a Society of Children's Book Writers (SCBW) conference long ago.  So long ago, they hadn't yet added the I for Illustrators to their acronym.  As I was leaving the conference, I saw a note taped up to a door, wanting to know if anyone in the San Fernando Valley wanted to form a critique group.  I signed up, as did 4 (or ?) others and thus was born our wonderful group.  The group is now defunct and I'd be hard pressed to tell you the names of everyone in it.  But Jana was the one lifelong relationship I gained from that experience.

Jana (Novotny) was originally from England.  She'd married an American, Richard Hunter.  Richard was an architect who had worked with Richard Neutra.  They had a son, Christopher, who was also known as "Big Chris" to distinguish him from "Little Chris" in the babysitting co-op we were both members of.  Big Chris wasn't very big at that time.  He was only 8 or so (if I remember correctly)., but he was definitely bigger and older than my two girls.

Jana and Richard eventually moved to England, to a old stone country home in South Luffenham.  The photo above was taken in one of the adjoining fields where we used to take walks.  Claire is wearing the wellies that Jana gave her after she stepped in a puddle.  They were Big Chris' wellies and I'm not sure any present could have made her happier.

We think Jana is the best storyteller ever, and fortunately when you're around her, she not only loves to tell the stories that we adore, but she also seems to be living new stories all the time as well.  That well will never run dry.

So, here's the Jana and Richard connection.  One day Rob and I were sitting at their kitchen table in South Luffenham.  Rob had just finished being photographed for a Kodak ad which ran in trade publications.  One of us mentioned the photographer, Douglas Kirkland, and that Douglas' studio was in his home.  Turns out that home is the one Richard had designed for his first wife and himself, along with their daughter, Diana.  And that Jana had lived there for a time, after Richard's divorce from said first wife.  This wasn't any old home that Richard had designed.  This was his home.  What are the chances?

I was reminded of that connection when I was going through an old box of photos and found the one above.  It was a happy time with happy people and I'm sure that to the end of my days it will never cease to bring me joy.

Connection #2 - Mitch and the Shermans

Many moons ago I went to Mendocino Folk Dance Camp and met Mitch.  He was a member of Aman, the best folk dance troupe in the country.  I don't know if I'd yet joined Slaveja, the women's choir for Avaz, the second best folk dance troupe in the country (or so I thought).  But Mitch was definitely above my pay grade.  I was completely intimidated by his presence and by his dancing, which was phenomenally both powerful and full of grace.  Somehow we became friends.

We used to meet periodically for lunch and he would talk his liberal talk and I would talk my conservative talk.  And we still stayed friends.

Mitch moved to Northern California and thus our lunches stopped.

When she was around 10, Emily had a friend, Jennifer Sherman.  The two of them used to play with their Star Wars figurines endlessly.  And Jennifer's mom and dad became our friends.  One day they were talking about a guy they knew at Taft High School.  His name was Mitch.  Mitch?  The same Mitch?  What are the chances?

Turns out it was the same Mitch.  This was just yet another interesting connection until Julia Sherman, Jennifer's sister contacted him and mentioned my name, to see if he had any internships available.  He had no idea how to reconcile having his high school friends connected in some way with his folk dancing friend.  Soon thereafter, the Shermans had lunch with him in the Bay Area and he offered Julia an internship.

Last month, the Intersection, a legendary folk dance club in L.A., had a reunion.  Mitch came down south for it and Rob and I joined Mitch, Judy, and John for lunch.  Rob and I got to look through old Taft HS yearbooks and see the earlier versions of the friends we know and love.  We all stand in awe of that link to one another.

Since Mitch publishes books on MUSEUMS, and the lovely Emily Hummel is looking for work in MUSEUMS, Mitch offered to see if there was any one he could put her in touch with in the DC area.  Well, he ended up sending out fifteen individual emails with Em's resume attached.  Em's already had three information interviews with people on the list, and was over-the-moon excited about each one.  She also said to me, "Mom, they all really love Mitch!"

The photo above is of me and Mitch at the reunion, after some vigorous dancing on his part. 

 This connection was between two totally different parts of me - my folk dance self and my mom self.   And I really love to see my connections making more connections...


Connection #3 - Chris and Christie

Christie, with sons Bryan and Sam

This connection is special because it's a link between Rob and me.  Christopher is a long-time friend.  Did he and Rob meet on Tron?  I can't remember.  But we've known him since forever and he's like one of the family by now.  Two years ago he started dating Christie.  Chris has known Christie since forever, and they seem like as wonderful and happy a match as I've ever seen.

So, about a year ago, both of them came to a presentation Rob was giving at the Motion Picture Academy.  Jenny came too, as did Chris and Christie.  Christie told Jenny and I that she had a connection with the Kemp family.  Years ago she moved from Colorado back to DC, with the thought of going into the ministry.  She joined 4th Presbyterian Church and met Jack and Joanne and kids.  She taught Bible Study there and also babysat my cousins.

Recently she unearthed an old sock that was signed by a "gang" of young girls.  One of the names on the sock was Judith Kemp.  This was from the SOC's - "Sisters of Christ."  Judith says she remembers every name on the sock and is still in touch with a couple of them.  She speaks of Christie with nothing but gratitude for her influence on young Judith's life.

I guess this connection is a good one to end on.  There are more to speak of, but I'll leave that to another day.  Meanwhile, I guess we're all sisters and brothers, and I shouldn't be so awe-struck when I see more connective synapses revealed in my life and the lives of those around me.  But it's those connections that will probably always shock and awe me, and those connections by which I will always be humbled.