NOTE: BEFORE PUSHING "PLAY" ON THE VIDEO ABOVE, TURN OFF THE MUSIC BY SCROLLING DOWN A BIT AND PUSHING THE PAUSE BUTTON ON THE PLAYER LOCATED ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE BLOG.

"Gypsy City" is a lopsided musical collaboration between myself and Michael Fotheringham, Michael having composed the lyrics while I contributed the melody. I describe the project as lopsided because the magic of the song stems significantly more from the lyrics than it does from the melody.

Far from surprising, I'm not alone in that observation as I have shared the video of the song with numerous friends, family members, former students and associates, almost all of whom have responded with comments ranging from "Wow!" to "The song is amazing." When pressed, however, with "What did you like about the song?" invariably, their responses were akin to "The lyrics are fantastic," to which I smiled and replied, "I know."

Michael and I, whose acquaintanceship goes back some three decades with a hiatus of some three decades minus one year, a school year, to be more precise, during which Michael was a student in one of my ninth-grade English classes at Evergreen Junior High school, as were pretty much all of his siblings. And what a distinctive clan the Fotheringhams were (still are), not only in their abilities and talents but also in their number. You've heard of the '70's sitcom, "Eight is Enough"? Well, at an appropriate point in their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Fotheringham must have made a similar comment to each other as they produced eight amazing children, all of whom, each in their own time, trotted through the public school system, stopping for the duration of their ninth grade year at room 210, where I had the privilege of mentoring them in all the usual aspects of writing and the appreciation of literature.

Interestingly, over the years, there were a number of sibling dynasties which resided within the boundaries of Evergreen Junior High, each sibling of which having made similar stops at room 210, and each dynasty consisting of siblings remarkably similar in some respects and remarkably diverse from each other in other respects, which, of course, is at it should be.

My friendship (retrospectively, I describe all of my former students as "old friends") with Michael resumed about a year ago when one of his talented sisters, Katie, who somehow stumbled upon my art blog, left a comment that went something like, "Is that you, Mr. Mathis?" to which I replied with something like, "Of course it is." Early on in that blogspot reunion, she suggested that I check out the blogs of two of her brothers, Mark and Michael, remarking rather emphatically that she was certain that I would be amazed at what talented writers they had become. So I did and I was.

I can't say that I was all that surprised as I perused their blogs since one of the recollections I have about the Fotheringham Clan has to do with their precocious proficiency at writing--even at the tender age of 15, but I can definitely say that I was delighted at the opportunity to see how refined their talent had become and what insightful and interesting writers they were, despite the fact that their styles and personas were very different from each other, which, of course, is as it should be.

Having been so delightfully impressed with their blogs, both of which consisted mostly of short essays and poems, I began to make routine excursions to their sites, excited each time I discovered new entries to savor.

And what fun we have had, sharing our poetry with each other, challenging each other to try our pens, composing various forms of traditional and not-so-traditional poetry, ranging from free verse and sonnets to rondeaus and haikus. In fact, during one of those challenges, Michael managed to create a new form of poetry, consisting of six haiku stanzas, which collectively tell a story or elaborate a particular topic. I dubbed his creation the "haiku sestina," although Michael, much more interestingly refers to his creations as "Sapporo Sixpacks."

Although I've been writing prose and poetry for most of my life, I have also savored a passion for songwriting--just another kind of poetry, actually, with an emphasis on lyricism and rhythm. Following the posting of one of my songs, Michael commented that he was envious of my ability to write songs, to which I responded with something like "Writing songs is a very short stretch from writing poetry, both of which were meant to be heard aloud--needed to be heard out loud, actually," and so I suggested that he get his song-writing feet wet by collaborating with me. His contribution would be the lyrics and mine would be the tune.

Well, in typical Fotheringham form, it didn't take him long to respond to the challenge by forwarding me the lyrics to "Gypsy City." In short, I was blown away by their power--Michael's first attempt at writing lyrics no less! In fact, I was a bit worried as to whether I could come up with a tune that would do justice to his lyrics. But I gave it a shot, the result of which is memorialized in the video above.

As I have already commented, I don't think the tune rises to the majesty of Michael's lyrics, but I'm anxious to give it another shot--see if I can do better the second time around. So, Michael, get out your magic pen and write some more incredible lyrics. I'll see if I can step it up a little bit and compose a tune that comes closer to doing justice to them. And, by the way, your fans are eagerly awaiting your next composition. I've had numerous inquiries as to whether you have written any other song lyrics. One of my long-time friends and work associates, a Bulgarian named Ilia Iliev (the marketing director at one of my companies) was so enthralled with your writing that he googled your name and surfed the Internet in search of more samples of your writing. And he reported his excitement to me when, completely without my assistance, he discovered your blog site, "The Hermit Empire."

I don't know that Lennon and McCartney or Rogers and Hammerstein have too much to worry about, although you never know. The most important thing is to have some fun expressing our creative selves, and if we are fortunate in that endeavor, we may discover that the power of two is often greater than the sum of two. I'll end this entry with a simple and sincere "Congratulations, Michael. Your song "Gypsy City" is pretty damn good if I do say so myself."

Father and Son

This is a collage of Neal Middleton, from "Royal Bliss" and his son, Reiley, who quite obviously wants to be just like his daddy.

Love Peace / Love Piece

I wrote this song on December 8th, 1980, just hours after hearing of the death of John Lennon. I have since added several verses as I have been inspired by events and circumstance to do, the result of which has been the gradual transformation of a three minute song to the "mother of all songs that I have written," weighing in (timing in) at a whopping nine plus minutes--and still growing since I'm sure that I will be inspired to add more verses as time goes on.

I never was a die-hard Beatle fan, at least not until I heard the album "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band," which blew me away, but I have always had an affinity toward John Lennon, despite the controversy he generated. Truth be known, it was probably that very controversy that drew me to him. He was never afraid to speak his mind, with little regard to the ramifications of doing so. And his message was always very simple: How about just a little more love and peace in the world. He, like me, was a dreamer, an idealist who chose to focus on the brighter side of humanity. Like John, I still imagine a world where conflict is trumped by reason, hatred is diluted by compassion, and greed is overcome by sharing.

Where should we begin? By recognizing that love is the universal denominator. Not the power of love, but the simplicity of love. Unfortunately, it is our nature to to over-complicate love, causing it to be entwined with other emotions like jealousy, pride, arrogance, conceit, even hatred.

If we reduce love to its essence, its purest form and avoid the tendency to adorn it, if we see it for what it actually is, the conduit that unites us all and speaks to our humanity more strongly than nationality, patriotism, religion, affiliations of every kind, even family--it binds us, defines us more strongly than DNA itself. Once we begin to recognize the simplicity of love, we begin to realize that in the beginning and in the end, LOVE IS ALL THERE IS. It is my dream that during this holiday season, we strive to appreciate the essence of love, to embrace it and share it unconditionally as Jesus did.

If the video below offends anyone, I apologize. That was never my intent, but I will never apologize for imagining a world where the landscape is dominated by love and guided by peace.

Hold your horses! Before you push "play," push the pause button on my music player. Sroll down the right side of the browser to find it. Not interested in getting into a musical duel with George Harrison!

Smile at the Rain (All Hands)

Breaking news: Just finished my very first musical collaboration with a creative lyricist! Lennon & McCartney look out; here comes the Hermit and the Hippie--or El Tigre and the Teach, although my collaborator does not yet know that he has collaborated with me until right about now as he reads this post! My friend, Michael Fotheringham, (a.k.a. Aquarius Tigre and the Hermit King), master of "The Hermit Empire," is a prolific poet and the author of a long list of thought-provoking prose (that's a pedantic euphemism for "he tells it like it is").

I think I'll switch to first-person now that the song's out of the bag. Hermit King, , I used your poem, "All Hands," as the inspiration to create a melody to which I then added your poem as lyrics. The result: A pretty cool song if I do say so myself. There are two ingredients in the recipe of a cool song: a pleasing melody and "killer" lyrics. I provided the former, you the latter. So, you're half way there to writing a song by yourself, El Tigre. You have the lyric part down, amigo!

Incidentally, I shared the (our) song with a number of my musician friends, including Neal Middleton, a former student who has a Capital/Virgin Records recording contract and a string of hit singles on Billboard. Their comments ranged from "amazing" to "fantastic." And they know what they are talking about.

It's been said that the lyrics make or break a song. Yours made this one, so keep those lyrics coming, and if a melody pops into your head as you're writing, share it with me and I'll work out an arrangement on my magic synthesizer.

Credits for "Smile at the Rain": All guitars: "Slow Hand" Mathis; lead vocalist: "Crooner" Mathis; backup vocals: "The Mathis trio"; Percussion: "Ringo" Mathis; Keyboards: "Tickle the Ivories" Mathis; ; chief engineer, producer and arranger : "Hammerstein" Mathis. LOL (that's Face Book talk). I've been busy! Composing and recording are two of many hobbies I enjoy. Some might say that I have too much time on my hands. To them I say that there is never enough time when one is having fun and I had a blast collaborating with the Hermit King on this song.

I'll send you a CD of the original version (might make the country billboard charts, hell yeah, partner!). I prefer the rocking version below to that one, but the original tune has a singular (sing-along) flavor of its own, particularly, if one is the mood to kick some dirt, ride a mechanical bull, drink a Bud from the bottle, say "Yahoo!" (Exchange the mechanical bull for a Harley and you've got my attention. I have a biker song or two I'll have to share with you sometime.)

Whoa! Don't push the play button yet! Scroll down a bit until you see the music player on the right side of the page. Push the pause button. Otherwise, you'll be listening to dueling songs--not a good thing.

Adam's Eyes

I call this piece "Adam's Eyes." I chose this picture of Adam to re-create, because it focuses on Adam's baby-blues, reminiscent of Paul Newman's eyes. I'm sure Adam captivated a lot of girls with those mesmerizing eyes. Adam was the victim of a senseless and bizarre act of violence about a year ago, which is still almost inconceivable to comprehend. He was also a close friend of mine and one of my most valued employees. His eyes weren't just charismatic though. They were windows to an amazing soul, who cherished life, lived to the fullest, idolized his family, demonstrated an incredible work ethic, took great pride in serving others--and I could go on and on. In short, Adam was a a rare and special human being, who continues to be missed by everyone who had the good fortune to know him. Rest in peace, my friend.

White Wings to Fly

Note: If you wish to play the video, scroll down and push "pause" on the music player (lower-right) or you'll be listening to dueling songs--one by me and one by George Harrison. I don't think I would win that duel. I composed this song in celebration of the wedding anniversary I just shared with my amazing wife.

Double Talk

I have a friend, Michael Fotheringham (a.k.a. "The Hermit"), who is a poet extraordinaire. Michael came up with his own poetic form, which I call a "Haiku Sestina" and he calls a "six pack." It consists of six three-line stanzas, each of which contain five syllables in the first line, seven in the second, and five in the third line. He has exhorted me to try my hand at a "six-pack." This is my feeble attempt. If you would like to read some amazing "Haiku Sestinas" and some very beautiful free verse poetry, you may wish to visit the hermit at his empire: "thehermitempire.blogspot.com."


Double talk has be-
Come the accepted way for
Marketing people

To mask what they mean
By polishing words with tricks
Of their trade. Hiding

The fact that a spade’s
Still a spade. They convince us
The emperor has

New clothes as he stands
There naked and all exposed.
They convince us that

Nine-ninety-nine’s much
Cheaper than ten and that in-
Voices are the price

That car dealers pay
As they tell us we're crazy
For walking away


p.s. The mousterpiece below this entry depicts my vision of the "Hermit's Empire."

The Hermit Empire

I call this piece "The Hermit Empire" in honor of a former student, turned master poet. His name is Michael Fotheringham, a proud member of the Fotheringham Clan, all of whom are poets and writers of renown. This mousterpiece could also have been called "The Best of Both Worlds" or "Having Your Cake and Eating it Too" since I know a piece of Michael's heart still resides in Utah where he was born and where his family has a pretty cool-looking mountain retreat, but who wouldn't want to live in San Diego where the weather is about as good as it gets--year-round! I know: The snow would melt off of the cabin's roof in San Diego, but this is a magical cabin, so I have made it the centerpiece of the Hermit's Empire.

Michael is a most prolific poet, who has coined his own poetic medium: The "Haiku Sestina" or as Michael calls it, "The Six-Pack." We were sort of participating in a Haiku contest a while back, sponsored by Michael's brother, Mark (a.k.a. "Yarstruuli"). A haiku is a three line poetic form that originated in Japan more than a thousand years ago, consisting of 17 syllables: 5 in the first line, 7 in the second line and 5 in the third. Well, Michael's entries maintained the syllabic pattern of a seventeen-syllable haiku, but each of his submissions consisted of six haiku stanzas, transforming the single-image simplicity of a haiku (the most traditional of which are single images about nature) into a narrative style of poetry where the six stanzas either tell a story or create a lyrical portrait.

Michael has invited me on a couple of occasions to try his original poetic form, and I suppose I will one of these days, but I doubt that any of my attempts could surpass the artistry of the form's creator, not to mention the equally amazing talent of Michael's brother, Mark. It's pretty clear to me that, in both cases, the power of their pen surpasses that of their old teacher, which I take as a compliment, by the way, because the highest accolade that any teacher could hope to achieve is to have had the privilege of teaching students who one day surpass the teacher in talent and skill. Such is the circle of life, and down the road a piece, Michael may also know the joy of encouraging a young writer somewhere, who one day may surpass Michael's artistry--or at least experience the same passion for words that Michael has cultivated--and so, the beat goes on, just one of the many reasons that life is always good....Well done, Michael!

INDEX and NAVIGATION INSTRUCTIONS...

Welcome to my blog. Stay as long as you like. And please leave a comment or two before you leave. Hint: I could use a few more followers. I only have two, official ones (kind of embarrassing)!

FORWARD (only read if you're bored, but read the site instructions in red ink below--that part's helpful): I started this blog as a place to store my digital art creations, or as I usually refer to them, my "mousterpieces" since my paintbrush is a computer mouse. Some of my mousterpieces start out as freehand drawings. Most, however, begin as photos, which are then transformed into images that little resemble the photos from which they originated. I use techniques ranging from freehand drawing; to cutting, pasting, tracing, morphing, cropping, filtering, layering, cross filtering, coloring, fading, more cross filtering, erasing, copying, cloning, transparencing, and dozens of other mouse-controlled techniques, many of which I created from misapplication and just plain ignorance of the manner in which Photoshop tools are intended to be used, which may explain why, on more than one occasion, Photoshop gurus have been unable to figure out how I created my images, especially when they attempt to replicate them through the conventional use of Photoshop tools, most of which I remain ignorant of to this day.

But that's what makes my mousterpieces fun to create and interesting to study. And the Photoshop gurus shouldn't feel bad, because I've attempted, unsuccessfully, to replicate my own drawings. Oh well. In addition to placing a heavy emphasis on color (I love playing with color), I also enjoy lacing my mousterpieces with symbols, semi-transparent (hidden) images, and other forms of subtlety, which makes for interesting (imaginative) interpretation of many of my creations. Anyway, I hope you enjoy them. Some were created in a just a few hours of "mouse work." A few involve more than 50 hours of mouse-inspired experimentation.

Interestingly, since the time that I began using this blog site to save my images, the site has evolved into a vehicle for personal commentary, in most cases, the mouseterpieces serving as spring boards for whatever thoughts pop into my mind as I reflect on the finished images, usually, more as an observer of the drawings than their creator.

Note: Be sure to "click" on the images to enlarge them into an exploded view, especially the montages. And if you would like a copy of any of my mousterpieces (printed on canvas no less), just let me know; otherwise, simply right-mouse-click on an image and do a "save as" somewhere on your hard drive . Highly recommended for downloading or a canvas copy: "Genesis" --traditionally, I customize this painting for those who receive a copy of it (embed their picture at various places in the painting). The version of "Genesis" in the blog was customized for Michael Stone, brother to actress Sharon Stone.

Note: To see the individual (microscopic) images from which the "montages" were made or to see more detail in any of my digital mousterpieces, especially those with subtle images in the background, click on the images to enlarge them.

"Faces"

Through the Looking-glass

I intended this piece to be a very powerful tribute to womanhood, a subject which I do not believe can be over-celebrated or over-stated--and a subject about which my friend, Mike Fotheringham (a.k.a., "The Hermit," creator of the blogsite known as "The Hermit Empire"; a.k.a., "Aquarius Tigre") is equally passionate. Note: The visages on each side of the painting symbolize the two most important women in the life of Jesus Christ.

"The Big Bang"

A piece I've been working on for some time now--still not sure if I'm there yet so I've decided to study it for a while, thus, the posting...

Light My Fire

The good old days when life was simple and yes the flaming-haired hippies are Vicki and I.

Best Friends ("Amigos Bueno")

I painted this "mousterpiece" from a photo I found on Els' facebook page. She named the photo "My Best Friends," so in keeping with the photo's title, I have elected to call this piece "Best Friends." I added an autumn background to the painting to give David and Els, who spent a brief time at our condo in Park City, an idea of how beautiful the mountains around the condo are right now. The mountainside is a spray of orange and yellow. Autumn is my favorite time of year, at least until spring when I usually change my mind until fall rolls around again. The painting depicts David, Els, and Lucas Lopez. I haven't seen Lucas since he was a couple of months old. I hope to see him on our next trip to Spain.

Naturaleza

Naturaleza lleva muchas caras. Todo es hermoso. Todo es infinito.

Lillian Pearl: Destination Earth

My youngest granddaughter, Lillian Pearl Sadler!

I call this piece "Lillian Pearl: Destination Earth." It depicts my newborn granddaughter, Lillian Pearl, traveling on a sunbeam towards Earth. Inter-mixed in the clouds you will find a host of angels, along with my daughter, Jessi Pearl, who recently gave birth to Lillian Pearl with Brandon at her side in a birthing room at Salt Lake Regional Hospital on September 26th, 2009.

Teuila's Grandpa

When Teuila Gerber Lavea (a former student) posted a photo of her grandfather on Facebook, I was impressed by his charismatic "movie-star" features (a little Marlin Brando, a little James Dean, a little dash of Paul Newman, maybe). And there was also a very distinct strength of character that resonated from his image, which gave me an interesting idea for a painting, the first step toward fruition of which was to contact Teuila and ask her for a copy of the photo, a suggestion to which she complied enthusiastically as I related to her that I would like to make him the subject of one of my "mousterpieces."

Most of my paintings take at least four or five days to complete; however, to my surprise, this one almost seemed to paint itself, and I completed the project in a record-breaking day and a half. From the beginning, I had an image in mind, which is not unusual, except that my images usually evolve as my projects progress. This painting, however, remained true to my original vision, the two most primary elements of which were (1) to bring Teuila into the painting, posing along side her charismatic grandfather and (2) to fuse two dramatically diverse background scenes into a single background: the Swiss Alps (since Teuila's grandfather was Swiss) and a tropical beach (since Teuila has a Polynesian heritage). And yes, there's a little bit of symbolism there.

From my initial perusal of the photo, I noticed a resemblance between grandfather and granddaughter; however, as the painting neared completion, I was struck by the depth of their familial affinity. What do you think?

Teuila and I go clear back to 1982 when she was a ninth-grade student in one of my Honors English classes at Evergreen Jr. High where, for seventeen years, one of my greatest teaching pleasures was to introduce my students to William Shakespeare, especially my male students, who invariably groaned at the prospect of having to read Shakespeare, my goal with them being to amend their "tune," once the play had been completed to at least something like, "I guess Shakespeare's not so bad after all." Usually, I was successful.

Since by school-district mandate, I was expected to teach the same play ("Romeo and Juliet") during each of the seventeen years in which I remained at Evergreen, in order to keep the project alive and fresh, I made an effort to approach the play differently each year. For some time, I had thought it would be interesting to re-create the play as a movie, but it wasn't until 1982 that I summoned the energy that such a project would require, the timing for which may also have been affected by my belief that I had an exceptionally bright group of Honor students that year, whom I was reasonably confident could bring such a complex project to fruition.

I was correct. My students embraced the idea immediately, so I took a deep breath and said something like, "Let's go for it!" And go for it we did! We didn't just slap together a thirty minute video, reminiscent of a home(made) movie, we created a full-blown, two-and-a-half-hour, mega-movie, cinematic extravaganza--I'm talking technicolor and surround sound, the whole nine Hollywood yards (actually, surround sound wasn't invented until later, but it would have had surround sound!)

Almost every student I taught that year participated in some capacity, from costume-makers, to set-builders, to assistant directors, to camera operators, to lighting technicians, and, of course, to actors (and "extras"), of which there were dozens of students selected to play the roles of Capulets, Montagues, and citizens of Verona (and Mantua).

Our production team and cast would have made Cecil B. Demille envious. We actually traveled to on-site locations to shoot scenes--rode on real horses too, our primary mode of transportation to location sites consisting of my family's "Mathis-micro-mini-mobile-motor-mansion" (that's what I used to call the little, 24 ft., underpowered somewhat claustrophobic motor-home).

Yes sir. We were stylin', which brings me back to Teuila, who was cast in the starring role as Juliet, and what a stellar performance she executed. In ninth grade, Teuila was a thoughtful, very bright young lady, and having recently been provided with the opportunity to become re-acquainted with her via "Facebook," that cyber re-uniter of people worldwide, I pleasantly observed that she has not only retained those qualities, she has continued to refine them over the years.

I like to think that every once in a while God sends down a few members of his "A Team" to show the rest of us how "nice people" are supposed to behave toward one another. Perpetually positive and ever optimistic, Teuila is almost certainly a member of that elite squad: She goes out of her way to befriend all (has a ton of Facebook friends); she is a devoted spouse to her husband (about whom she had bragged on Facebook, referencing him as "my man"); she is a proud mother to four beautiful daughters (as evidenced from her Facebook photos of them); she is an unflinching defender of humanity (as suggested by the Facebook comments she posts, i.e., "The best things in life aren't things."), and as if that weren't enough, she is a multi-talented artist who can act, sing, dance (I'm talkin' Polynesian dancing!), perform, and write poetry.

Like all artists, she has a relentless need to create and an insatiable desire to make the world a better place for others. So on behalf of your many fans, Teuila, I thank you for remaining true to yourself and your proud heritage--and for being a bright beacon in a world that can use all the light and love it can absorb.

Postscript: If you know Teuila, ask her the significance of the bell (top-left-side of painting--you may have to "click" your mouse on the painting to enlarge it enough to see the bell). It is an interesting story about a poem that Teuila wrote for the school's literary magazine, "Pen 'n' Inklings," an annual project I oversaw for 17 years. Oh, almost forgot: There's a second bell in the painting. Can you find it? It took my granddaughter about six seconds, but she's had a lot of practice finding "Waldo."

Vick and I (and Smokey)

OK, it's not really me in the photo. I swear! But I have to admit that it's pretty much what I looked like--actually pretty much exactly what I looked like when I was 24 (that was a very good year...), so much so that friends and family have stated it's either me or an identical twin about whom no one knows. It must be the latter. The picture actually came from Life Magazine, sometime in the mid 1970's I think. One of my students brought it to school more than 30 years ago and promptly accused me of being a Hell's Angel, which I thought was cool, but, alas, untrue. I hung the photo in my classroom where it remained for two or three years until it disappeared one day. Apparently, someone wanted it more than I did.

I've been looking for another copy ever since--finally found it while looking for photos of Sonny Barger, one of the founders of the Hell's Angels, whom I thought might make an interesting addition to my series of motorcycle mousterpieces (if I were a real painter, I'd call it my "motorcycle period"). Vick and I met the infamous Mr. Barger in '95 in Sturgis. Anyway, on a whim, I googled "Life Magazine, Hell's Angels," and there it was--or there I was. I amazed myself. Yeah baby, I'm getting this Google thing down.

What makes this photo even more fascinating--eerie might be a better word, is that not only does the dude on the panhead look like me, the dude on the far right looks amazingly like an old college friend, whom I haven't seen in years, John Koelsch, or "Smokey" as we used to call him. I was actually pretty proud of myself for finding this photo after thirty years, so I thought I'd press my luck and google my old friend's name "John Smokey Koelsch." Lo and behold (or in '60's slang, "far out"), I found him in Wells, Nevada. Found his email address too, so I sent an email directing him to my blog.

Don't know if he'll respond but if he does: Hey, Smokey! What's up? It's been a long time. Next time I roll through Wells on my Harley (I actually have a Harley), I'll attempt to look you up. Meanwhile, what do you think? Does the dude on the right look as much like you as the dude on the bike looks like me--actually, let me re-phrase the question. Do the two dudes in the photo look like we used to look about 35 years ago?

I will admit that I doctored the photo in one respect. I added Vicki (the only person smiling in the photo, which is pretty much a dead give away I suppose). Oh well, she is my motorcycle mama, so I figured if there was going to be a biker chick on the back of a bike I was riding (or that someone who looks like me was riding), it should be Vicki. Oh yeah, Smokey, click on the photo above. Check out the name tag on your twin's jacket...

I call this mousterpece "Black Beauty." It's my "real ride," an '02 Heritage Springer, accessorized to create a very nostalgic look, reminiscent of Harleys from the late '40's and early '50's.

The Miracle of Life

I call this piece "Three, Six, Nine (and doin' just fine)." Don't forget to click on the paintings to enlarge them...

This one is called "The Miracle of Life," a topic which has been on my mind of late because my youngest daughter, Jessi, is eight months and two weeks pregnant. Yup. It could happen any day. My miracle baby is about to have a miracle baby of her own. And she shall be called Lillian Pearl Sadler or Lilly for short. Yes, a baby is growing inside of Brandon's wife. He's giving it love and Jessi, well, she's giving it life. And so there are three hearts where once there were two as two loving parents stand waiting for you. And your grandma and grandpa can't wait to touch you, Lilly, to see if you're real, although we've already felt your hiccups.

And here she is! On this, the 26th day of August, 2009, I proudly present Lillian Pearl Sadler, my sixth grandchild. To say that the miracle of birth is among the most magical events in the universe is an understatement. And I have found the births of my grandchildren to be even more profound than the births of my children since the births of my children were always tempered by the weight of responsibility (and a sense of inadequacy) which I always felt the moment I first held them in my arms, but holding my grandchidren, just moments after their birth, those are experiences beyond all comprehension--tempered only by love, and even though, during those moments, my eyes are always blurred with tears of happiness, they are moments, more than any others, when I glimpse the purpose of existence and absorb the energy of the universe with a clarity that exceeds perception.

"How Bad Do You Want It?"

Something I've learned being a businessman, a vocation in which I have engaged for 25 years as a means of supporting my teaching habit: Sometimes, you have to decide how badly you want the gold at the end of your rainbow, or in this case, the treasure chest beneath your sea, because reward is seldom realized without risk. It's a good idea, however, to calculate the risk before "going (diving) for it." If the odds were one to one (one shark, one diver), I think I'd still bet against the diver in the foreground, whose impatient preoccupation with the treasure chest may be clouding his perception of the situation (his back is to the sharks), but eight sharks and four divers? I'd say this one is a no-brainer: Sharks four, divers zip! Moral to the mousterpiece: Plan carefully; keep one eye on the prize and the other on the obstacles (sharks) in your way. You'll live longer, be happier, have more time to enjoy the prize and, hopefully, you'll be inclined to utilize much of that time to engage in activities more satisfying than the prize itself: That of sharing the prize with others and assisting those less fortunate. Aside: I usually don't moralize, which is what this comment sounds like. Sorry. I prefer to leave moralizing to others, although, at times, I've been known to dispense take-it-or-leave-it advice, which is a little less presumptuous than moralizing.

This is a painting of my art instructor at Le Blanc, the resort at which we stayed this year in Cancun, Mexico. She gave me my first lesson in painting with water colors. She was a pretty good Spanish instructor as well.

Time Warp

I call this piece "Time Warp." It's the corner of Haight and Ashbury in San Francisco. You probably noticed that Vicki and I (lower left) are a bit younger in this painting than we are today. I like that! It's fun to recall what we looked like when we were 21--not 61 (or three months away from 62 in my case)! Wow! We're younger than the boys of Bliss, who look pretty good standing on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. OK. Let's test your rock and roll knowledge. Name all ten rockers in this art piece: five from the past, five from the present. Note: The fact that four out of five of the rockers looking out of windows are dead (died in their prime) is not so much a coincidence as it is a sign of that time, the moral of which is: Drugs and fame can be lethal, so stay away from drugs and keep a level head if you're famous! Bonus question: Name the most famous concert venue in the Haight/Ashbury district of San Francisco during the 60's and 70's (hint: two words, second word is "auditorium." Still don't have it? The first word is also the name of a city in Utah). Well?

If you named all of the rockers from the 60's (Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Bob Dylan, and Janis Joplin) and you named all five of the rockers on the verge of stardom today (Neal, Taylor, Jake, Chris, and Tommy), then, woo hoo, you're pretty good. If you also named the venue (The Filmore Auditorium in San Francisco), then, double woo hoo, you're probably as old as I am or you're a pretty good rock historian--so, if you answered all questions correctly, I dub you "Rock Historian (or Hippie) for a Day."

Note: Navigate to the second page by clicking "older posts" at the bottom of this page to see other blog entries having to do with "Royal Bliss" and each of the band members.

My Tribute to David Olson, my brother-in-law and friend: 1943-2009

This tribute to my brother-in-law is probably one of the most emotional entries I've done. I hope you like it. Dozens of people have viewed this entry and commented to me via email (i.e., Dave's former work associates at PCS, friends who knew Dave, strangers who happened onto my blog).

If you knew Dave, please leave a comment at the conclusion of this blog entry, and if you enjoy the entry, please share it with others who knew and loved Dave by providing them with the url: "retiredteach.blogspot.com." (Note: Don't type "www" in the url box).

Thanks,
Wes

I call this painting "Heavenly Bird." It depicts my brother-in-law, David Olson. Dave had an affinity to hummingbirds. They had little fear of him. One time at our condo in Park City, he had several of them simultaneously perched on his index finger. It was really quite amazing. Symbolism notwithstanding, the thing to remember about sunsets and death is that both are relative and subject to perspective. For instance, as soon as the sun sets from one point of view, it rises from the point of view of someone on the other side of planet earth--and no sooner than someone utters the words, "He has passed," others may proclaim, "Welcome home!"

If humor is medicine for the soul, then, this is a heavy dose of soul medicine, because it is so funny. When I first saw the expressions on all four of the faces in the photo, I was compelled immediately to insert the thought bubbles.

You never know what emotions hide behind a smile, particularly, a smile not elicited by anything funny or because one just felt like smiling, which is always the best reason to smile--I'm talking about smiles elicited at the specific urging of a photographer who exclaims, "Everybody say cheese!" at which time, the smile freezes for as long as it takes the photographer to snap the shutter.

Personally, I prefer photos taken without instructions to smile, because the smiles caught during those moments are likely to be real, and real smiles are the ones you want to preserve on a piece of photographic paper. Anyway, having given in to the tradition of urging everyone to smile for the camera, I took the picture.

Later, I looked at the photo and thought, "That's a staged picture if I ever saw one!" but then, I found myself beginning to laugh. Out of the blue, it hit me. It was as if I were reading the four minds in tandem and the thoughts (the ones hidden behind the smiles) were speaking to me like telepathic signals. As fast as I could type, I inserted the thought bubbles.

I don't know, of course, what thoughts were actually playing in their heads as the shutter snapped, probably something mundane like, "When is he going to snap the damn picture? My facial muscles are beginning to hurt?" Who knows? I doubt that even they could remember what they were thinking at that moment since a new thought flashes through our minds at the rate of a one per three seconds, which means..........................right about........................now, you're thinking of something else.

Anyway, what makes this photo special is not the painted smiles (or the shocked look on Diane's face, possibly elicited by my snapping of the photo before she was ready). No, what makes this photo amazing is that, somehow, I caught all four of them with expressions that were completely synergistic to each other and could not have been staged more realistically or timed more perfectly by an Academy-Award-winning director coaching four "A-list"actors engaged in the Academy-Award-winning performances of their lives, and I caught it in the snap of a shutter button. In director language, it was a "perfect take."

But the very best thing about the story line (the practical joke), the imagery of which has Dave purportedly pinching Diane's butt, is that it fits Dave to a tee. I can picture Dave perpetrating such a practical joke.

Personally, I am sense-of-humor challenged. I can never remember a joke, which is moot anyway since when I try to recall one, I mutilate the joke by delivering the punch line badly, but Dave, now that's a different story. He could rattle off one-liners, two-liners, and ten-liners all day long, never run out, and always have people in stitches.

In fact, Dave used to frustrate me at times, because I'd hear a joke, go out of my way to write it down (the only way I can remember a joke), practice it a few times, and then attempt to deliver the joke to Dave, only to have Dave beat me to the punch line, followed with, "Yup, I've heard that one before." Without doubt, in the telling of jokes and the making of people laugh, Dave was the master. And his trademark laugh, well, everyone who knew him will attest that it was not only immediately recognizable but very infectious as well.

Dave may not have been the best singer in the world (although he did a pretty damn good Ray Charles), but he was an undisputed expert at brightening up a room, making people feel welcome and important, and want to smile, sometimes with nothing more than his presence, sometimes with his wit and sometimes with his sense of humor, which was rarely politically correct, but that didn't matter--and sometimes, of course, with that machine-gun-like-rat-a-tat sound of his laugh, which was at least as distinctive as the laughs of Bugs Bunny, Woody Woodpecker or John Wayne.

And now, I find myself despairing (eyes watering), because who will now tell us the jokes? Who will now make us laugh? Who will now create nicknames for everyone? Who will brighten up our day with a phone call that starts out, "You sure look nice today"? Who will motivate and inspire us to "do something well if we're going to do it at all"? Who will routinely remind me to change the oil in my Harley and check my tires for proper inflation? I don't know, bro'. I don't know...

Here's to ya Bro'...

My brother-in-law, Dave Olson, passed away from lung cancer (if you smoke, quit!!) last week. In the top picture, Dave's kickin' back with a cup of brew on the deck of our Park City condo. Below that picture, Dave is pictured with my wife, Vicki, and above, he's ready to ride with his best friend, lover, soul mate, and wife of 46 years, Diane.

Dave was an amazing person: A friend to all and somebody around whom everyone was comfortable. He brightened up a room with his presence. Without him, I would have acquired no interest in motorcycles, something that has since become one of my passions (can a person have too many passions?), although I must say that riding motorcycles won't be the same without Dave. He was the unofficial leader of our "Over the Hill Motorcycle Gang." He will be missed.

Through his example, Dave taught me many things over the years, but I have yet to master two of his greatest virtues: First, patience. You've heard the saying, "If you do something, do it right." I think Dave coined it. He didn't rush his way through anything, sought no shortcuts, always took his time. To him, "a job well done" was not an option. It was a requirement.

The second of his many virtues which I've yet to master is the "art of organization." Controlled chaos is as close as I'll ever get to organization. I try though. Sometimes, when the chaos gets less controlled, I say to myself, "What would Dave do?"

And "patience"? Unfortunately, I don't see myself ever mastering that virtue. They say angels help us (mortals) out, but you'll have to be a damned good angel, Dave, to assist me in becoming a patient person--in fact, I better hurry up with this blog entry because I have things to do, people to see, places to go, music to write, guitars to play, paintings (and essays) to create, a dog to pet...and I can't drive fifty-five!

My father passed away a couple of weeks before Dave died. It hasn't been a good year in terms of loved ones lost, but I won't dwell on that here except to say that, during the dedication of my father's grave, my uncle Van (a very cool, mentally sharp, and healthy age 85), who has a great sense of humor, commented to me that he enjoyed funerals because everyone says such nice things about the departed. The unfortunate part, however, according to my uncle, was that he would miss the opportunity to hear anyone say nice things about him since he would miss being alive to attend his own funeral by three or four days.

I laughed and said something like, "That may be one of the great down-sides to funerals." Truth be known, however, in my vast experience (Aside: We all have vast experience at a vast number of things--just thought I'd add that), having assumed the role over the past forty years of my family's unofficially-designated "funeral speaker" (and quite often the unofficially-designated "funeral singer" as well), I have always entertained the notion that God would grant permission to those departed to hang around long enough to look down, peak around the corner, peer through the window, or whatever, on the occasion of his or her funeral or in Dave's case, the occasion of his Celebration of Life. Dave's was my first Celebration of Life, by the way. It was very cool. I think I prefer them to formal funerals.

If my theory rings true, then, the opportunity for those passed away to audit their own funerals amounts to a nice "send off" prior to their having to catch their one-way "flight" to Heaven. The only thing missing, however, is the opportunity for the "guest of honor" to participate (i.e., say a final goodbye, thank those who attended, in Dave's case, crack a joke or two, or say "I love you" one last time to a spouse left behind).

I attempted through the song I composed for Dave's Celebration to correct this inequity by incorporating an unconventional hook: The song is shaped as a conversation between Dave and me. I do all of the speaking during the first half; Dave takes over during the second half. During the composition of the song, which I titled (most fittingly for Dave), "Motorcycles in Heaven," I tried to envision what a post-mortal conversation with Dave might actually be like. The result not only worked for me in that whenever I sing the song, I feel as if I am speaking to (and listening to) Dave but apparently it worked for others who attended his Celebration of Life as well since several attendees commented that they felt as if Dave were speaking to them, just the effect I sought.

Since I personalized the song in every respect to fit Dave and the kinds of things that may have been on his mind as he peered down upon the Celebration prepared in his honor, unless you knew Dave, you won't understand everything (for instance, the significance of "Bugga Bugga" or the phrase "You sure look nice today"), but the song should give you a pretty good idea of who Dave was, even if you were not fortunate enough to have known him.

For reference, I have copied the lyrics to the song below. (Another aside: In some instances, it's the melody that dominates a song; in other songs, it's the lyrics that dominate). This song definitely derives its emotion from the lyrics, which are meaningful and real (at least, I think so).

Following the lyrics, you will find a slide-show video I made of "Motorcycles in Heaven." You may enjoy viewing it. (Yet another aside: Music, first and foremost, is my medium of choice--and the most expressive means at my disposal to pay personal tribute to someone for whom I had great respect, admiration, and love). So Dave, this is for you, bro'. It comes straight from the heart:

Motorcycles in Heaven

(WES:)

Did you catch the Starship to Heaven?
One-way ticket, first class
A cold Black Russian in a big, tall glass

Or did you miss your flight?
Waitin' for the red-eye tonight
Or maybe you're flying standby
'Cause you're just not ready to say goodbye

If you're hangin' 'round, my brother
Would you give us a hand?
Would you help us to understand?
Would you teach us to be kind?
Maybe you could give us a sign
"Bugga Bugga" would be fine

When hope has gone astray
And dreams fade away
Here's what angels say

They say life and love don't end
And broken hearts they mend
And true love won't pretend
And we all should be friends

So if we listen with our hearts
We just might hear you bro'
And I'm pretty sure I know
Just what you might say:

(DAVE:)

Hey sports' fans! What's shakin'?
You sure look nice today

I heard an old biker say

They got motorcycles up in Heaven

And you might like to know
That angels don't have wings
And we don't wear frilly things
And they don't make us sing

But they got motorcycles up in Heaven
I'm gonna ride one every day
Feel the wind on my face
Heaven is a big ol' place

I'll tell you two more things about Heaven
There is no word for sad
And angels don't get mad
But I wish I could have stayed
To keep the plans we made
And I miss my family

And God, I miss Diane
But I know she understands
She was the best thing in my life
My friend, my love, my heart, my wife
Hey bro', before you go
Did you know

That I fought the best fight I could
And I never once gave up
So everything is good
And please don't be sad
Cuz' I squeezed out every single solitary

Ounce of life I had

And that's what angels help us do
No more, no less,
I have no regrets
Except to stay the hell away from cigarettes

If you keep me, baby*, in your heart
When daylight has grown dim
And night has settled in
You won't be alone
We won't be apart

And so, before I go

I'd like to share a toast

(with my friends, my family, and my wife, Diane)
So raise your glasses high
Let 'em kiss the sky

May you give your life your very best

And let (us) angels do the rest

Oh, May you give your life your very best

And let us angels do the rest

Here's mud in your eye, bro

Bye Bye...

Your bro', Wes

*Diane

Note: An alternative to viewing the video is to go to "youtube" and in the "search" box, type in "Motorcycles in Heaven." The video should then come up and can be viewed in a large video format.

Epilogue: Thanks for taking the time to read this blog entry about my brother-in-law, Dave Olson. If you are so inclined and have some spare time, please feel free to read other entries I've posted as well. Note: When you have reached the bottom of a page, you may navigate to a previously posted page by clicking on "older posts." Final request: If you have time, I would also appreciate any comments you may feel like making relative to this other articles I have written in this blog.

Seascapes and Beach Girls......

"Beach Girl" (Jessi Pearl) Jessi was a swimsuit model for Hawaiian Tropic and a number of other organizations and enterprises, including MTV. She didn't lose many competitions, and the painting makes it pretty easy to see why... "Royal Bliss" rocks but Jessi rules!

"The Perfect Storm" --maybe I should have called it "The Perfect 'Pink' Storm." Watch our for pink storms. They trick you into thinking they're nothing--big mistake as you can see by the skull in the middle of all that pink... Yes, regardless of what you may be inclined to think, never mess with pink!

I call this mousterpiece "Seaside Rodeo." Ride those dolphins, cowgirls (I mean dolphin girls). Actually, dolphins have the same evolutionary ancestors as cows (I think it was cows--may have been hippos) before they decided they liked the ocean better than dry land, returning to the sea from whence they (and all life) originated. I guess it's pretty obvious, looking at the seascapes in this collection, that I like dolphins--a lot..., except for the Miami Dolphins. When it comes to football, I prefer the Denver Broncos, the University of Utah and anybody who is playing BYU. Nothing personal against B-Y-Boo (that's what my brother-in-law, Dave, used to call them--not me), but I am a Utah Man--yes, a Utah man am I...

This is one of my more recent digital paintings. I call it "A Mermaid's Tale." Is that a cool sky or what? It took me a good three hours to re-create what the sun does each night without any effort at all!

As you can see, the mother dolphin is proffering the distraught Mermaid some counsel. You've heard of Charles Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities?" Well, this is more like "A Tale of a Mermaid and a Dolphin" or "A Tale of a Mermaid and a Sailor" or "A Tale of a Mermaid and a Dolphin and a Sailor" or "A Tale of a Mermaid and... (something yet unimagined--something that's begging to get out of your head, something as yet unsaid).

Want to have some fun? Exercise your imagination, which is always fun and often quite liberating. So here's the deal: Fill in the two blanks in this dialogue: "The distraught mermaid said, '.......' The wise Mother dolphin replied, '......'"

Hint: One might expect the dialogue to involve one or more of the elements in the painting (i.e., the ship and/or its crew, the frolicking dolphins, etc.)--No pressure though! You write whatever you want to write. Here, let me warm you up a bit. Pretend that you are a fly on the mermaid's wall (in this case, a minnow in the mermaid's ocean) and you just happened to overhear the conversation between Mother Dolphin and the teary little Mermaid. What did the Mermaid say to the Dolphin? And what was the sage advice of Mother Dolphin? Write your response as a comment to this blog entry.

More ideas: Why is the mermaid upset? What does it have to do with the ship? Is the Mermaid in a relationship with the Dolphin that is "playing" by himself (i.e., dolphins almost always play in "pairs")? If so, is there a "lovers spat" going on? If so, does it have anything to do with the ship? Why are all of the dolphins in pairs except for one?

Here's an interesting fact: According to my I-phone application called "Unusual Facts," to which I've become addicted (i.e., you're supposed to read one unusual fact per day. I read more like twenty a day), the only two mammals that engage in intimacy for recreational purposes, not just procreation are human beings and dolphins. Interesting, huh? I believe it. Think about it. If you've been to "Sea World," you've probably seen dolphins making out with each other: "Eskimo kissing" (rubbing noses), necking. In fact, Eskimo kissing their trainers is part of every show. I'm just saying think about it. That's all. Nothing gross. By the way, if you check out the painting with a magnifying glass or you can enlarge it on your computer, you will notice that the ship is named the "S.S. Dolphin." Coincidence? I think not.

It's also true that dolphins typically mate for life. So, if we have two animals who are practitioners of monogamy (most humans and all dolphins), it seems to me that jealousy could easily be lurking just round the corner, usually in the shadows--or perhaps, the depths of the sea. I've often said that one can't really know love without knowing the other end of the spectrum: hate (i.e., no "yin" without "yang") Contrast creates perspective. That sort of thing. You're probably familiar with the school-yard, "jump-rope" sing-along that goes "First comes love. Then comes marriage. Nine months later comes the baby carriage" (or something like that). Perhaps, a more accurate rendition might be, "First comes love. Then comes marriage. Next comes jealousy to make us disparage!" I doubt that the new version will fly in the schoolyard; however, since "disparage" is a bit beyond the vocabulary of most hopscotchers and jump-ropers.

I never got into hopscotch myself. Marbles was my game. That and yo-yo's were my claims to school-yard fame. Aside: I love language and words and iambic pentameter, timing my rhyming with thoughts that come after, like what makes us sad and what renders laughter, and what we must do to live (happily) ever-after, and what, at the end of the day, really matters.


OK. So I can rhyme. Big deal! Now, back to my story-writing contest. As my son Jared always says, "You can do it!" I'm not asking for a novel, just a little dialogue. Let yourself be creative. You may surprise yourself. And it will be fun to read the responses from everyone. It's amazing what a person's creative interpretation of a visual image can reveal about the person--including whether or not the person is self-conscious about a little thing like stimulating his or her creativity--quite sadly, a mindset entertained by far too many adults who lost their ability to be magical somewhere along their journey to adulthood. One of the things I love most about children is not only their inability to pronounce the term self-consciousness but their refusal to let destructive emotions invented by adults interfere with their exploration of life and their environment, a frontier where, in the beginning, everything was a mystery. How cool would that be?--Unless one is an adult, in which case, the unknown sometimes breeds paranoia, another one of those pesky, non-productive, adult emotions. Did I hit a nerve yet? Good! OK. Don't peek at someone else's response until you've written your own.

Oh, and no! The mermaid in my painting is not the little mermaid in the animated film by Disney! For one thing, that mermaid wore a bikini top! Come on! Who ever heard of a real live mermaid wearing a bikini top! Where would a mermaid get a bikini top? From "Nordstrom's Beneath the Sea"? That's just not right!

Then again, it may not be wrong, because if we focus on what's right and not what's wrong, maybe we'll learn to get along. Second verse, same as the first: If we focus on what's right, not what's wrong, maybe we'll learn to get along. What a wonderful world it would be if we all just got along...Don't you think?

A Video Tribute to the Victims of Hurricane Katrina

I put together the video you will find below this commentary following the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina, the most destructive hurricane to ever strike the Gulf Coast. It includes news footage at the beginning, assembled by another individual who created a pretty amazing tribute video to the victims of Hurricane Katrina. I can't find the original of that video, so I am unable to properly give credit to its talented creator. The rest of the video consists of still pictures shown against the audio backdrop of a ballad that I wrote entitled "She Was Somebody's Baby." At the end of the ballad is an amazing video with Celine Dion, singing a most moving rendition of "Ave Maria."

As I watched the coverage of Hurricane Katrina, I was taken back by the matter-0f-fact manner in which the media covered stories about the victims--and we, the general public--including me, responded to those stories. For instance, scenes like the following played out in my household and I'm pretty sure the scene was replicated in millions of other households:

My family and I are sitting around the table, eating dinner when a newscaster's voice catches our attention. "The body of an eight-year-old, Black female was found, floating down Church Street, face down this morning," to which I respond, "That's so sad. Please pass the salt."

It's not that I intended to be insensitive, but I didn't know the little girl and New Orleans (and Katrina's devastation) were 1500 miles away from my kitchen table in Draper, Utah. Our defense mechanisms prevent us from shouldering the burdens of the world, a weight no mortal could bear. So on an emotional scale of 1 to 10, we relegate the emotion we feel toward others' tragedies to a 2 or 3, saving the 9's and 10's for the Katrinas that impact us personally. Sometimes, however, I think we need to crank up our emotional reactions to the tragedies of others.

Thus, I shaped my tribute to the victims of Hurricane Katrina in the imagery of a ballad, eulogizing a single victim: A beautiful, Black child from the French Quarter in New Orleans, for whom the Preacher said during her funeral, "It was her time to go," but then again, there might be things the Preacher doesn't know. And what neither you nor I nor the Preacher may know became the subject matter of the ballad, starting with the most important fact: "She was somebody's little baby, somebody's little girl--she was SOMEBODY in somebody's world." And once she laid her fear aside, as the ballad suggests, her final thoughts may well have drifted to the Cajun lullaby, "When the levee breaks, take me in your arms. When the levee breaks, shelter me from harm."

I think it's important to connect emotionally to victims of misfortune, because, in so doing, we demonstrate our humanity and gain strength from empathy--strength that we will need to call on during the twists of fate that transform us into victims, as fate surely will do, more than once, during the course of our lives.

The photos, by the way, most of which came from the Internet, bring out the personal tragedy of Katrina at least as poignantly if not more so than the lyrics and and melody of my ballad--they are truly amazing photos! You need to see them. Really. And leave a comment if you wouldn't mind.

Note: Click on the icon "older posts" to navigate to the next page of blog entries. Some of my better blogs are on that page...

Vicki and I

This photo was taken last year on our annual aniversary trip to Cancun, Mexico. It was our fortieth wedding anniversary. We were mere children when we were wed, which makes our relationship even more special because we literally grew up together. There was no need for us to seek out mates with whom we shared commonalities. We created our mutual interests together and they have contnued to grow in depth and dimension to this very day as has our love. See it in the photo? Try the eyes.

Mi Familia

This is a picture of part of my family during a "villa inspection" trip to Playa BLanca, in the state of Baja, Mexico, the location of our villa-to-be, at least hopefully. Left to right: mi nina, Jessi, my esposa, vicki, mi madre-in-law, Gloria, my nino Jared, y mi nino-in-law, Brandon. (I know; I need to look up that word in-law in Spanish).

Vick and I are looking forward to spending several months a year at our Mexicano Norte beach retreat. Sadly, construction of the villa remains a year behind schedule--it is definitely being built on manana time, but that's OK. That's why we love Mexico and its people.

Vick and I have always lead a pedal-to-metal, never-slow-to-fifty-five lifestyle, where naps were out of the question and sleep was an inconvenient necessity. But we made a rule: When we hit sixty, we get to go Mexican--all the way, not just on weekends, I'm talkin' seven days a week. I'm not just talking Taco Bell; I'm talking the whole enchilada, total adoption of the laid-back, "no problemo," have-another-margarita-if-we-want lifestyle for which we have envied our hermanos y hermanas to the south. They know how to appreciate life, something about which we, Americans, seem to get confused.

"There is a season (turn, turn, etc.), and a time to every purpose unto Heaven," and it's our time to kick back, make the most important task of the day that of watching the sun set, content to surrender ourselves to the glory of nature, ready to place our humanity in a less magnanimous perspective, looking forward to luxuriating in open-ended acts of reflection. Yeah baby!

When we turned sixty, for the first time in our lives, we became content to drive fifty-five (even on my Harley)--well, maybe sixty is more accurate. Consequently, when our Mexicano amigos finish building the villa (on manana time), we will begin enjoying it (on manana time). So don't be surprised if you get an email or phone call from us one of these days that simply says, "Hasta manana mis amigos." And for several months a year, intermingled with commutes to Utah for grandchildren and mountain fixes, it will be tortillas and coffee for breakfast, tortillas and moonlight strolls on the beach in the late evening, tortillas and all-you-can-eat lobsters-for-twenty-bucks at a little fishing village down the road called Puerto Nuevo, and margaritas and tortillas on the balcony of our villa at sunset. I might even engage in book-a-day marathons when I get the urge, in between playing one of my Spanish guitars and painting mousterpieces, of course. Won't that be something?

And if we're lucky, we'll have lots of visits from children, grandchildren, family, and friends with whom we'll happily share the sunsets, the dolphins, and, of course, the warm tortillas.

And I have to tell you, the sunsets in Northern Baja are beyond spectacular. Few of nature's extravaganzas surpass the splendor of a mind-mending ocean sunset. Yes indeed, we plan to make attending that show a nightly ritual--one in which we will engage with the sanctity of a religious experience, sitting on our cushioned beach chairs as the sun takes center stage.

And we'll also keep a keen eye out for dolphins, who appear to share our infatuation with the sun's nightly rite as they frolic five hundred yards off shore, engaged in a friendly game of "Who Can Get the Most Air?" with their closest friends, launching themselves like flying fish, suspending momentarily before gravity brings them home again, leaving no trace of their aerial performance--unless I happen to have been fast enough to capture it on my digital camera. And then, thirty yards north or south of the exhibition, they repeat their sacramental rite again and again, in celebration of new beginnings, new life, new days to seize--or maybe the other way around. Side bar: For me, "Carpe Diem" used to be synonymous in meaning to my favorite Dylan quote, "If you're not busy being born, you're busy dying." In my first lives, those in which I made a distinction between being young and old, instead of being "forever young," I interpreted those famous phrases to mean that, if I slowed down (to fifty-five), failed to grasp every moment with the urgency of a child on an Easter egg hunt, then, I was engaging in wasteful, even terminal behavior.

Today, I don't merely perceive those quotes differently--I perceive them to be antonymous to my original perception, and I have a feeling that others of my generation, now in their sixties, all products of the "sixties" (which includes Bob Dylan, incidentally) can relate to my freshly attained perception. Praise God and the sun, who, in their infinite wisdom, have permitted us to see the light, soak it in, become converted with the enthusiasm of "Born-Again Christians" to a philosophy that suggests we stop seizing the day and begin letting the day seize us, that we stop trying to bake more tortillas than we could ever eat and allow ourselves to smell them for a change as they emerge from an open-hearth oven. I now believe that if we start smelling warm tortillas with the regularity of a sunset that we will remain engaged in miracle of being born, and, therefore, have no time for dying. Sorry, I love dolphins, Dylan, and freshly-baked tortillas.

Back to my sunset vision. Close your eyes. We'll sip our drinks, kick back, and watch the sun melt into the horizon, as the light wanes, morphing slowly through every color in a rainbow: reds along the edge of the watery horizon melting into yellows and oranges above, which blur their way into purples while purples fade to soft blues and soft blues dissipate, fog-like into grays out toward the edge of the sunset where light finally fades to black, causing even the ocean to appear to have vanished, except for the rhythmic reminder of waves rolling onto the beach, like clockwork, night after night, a fresh cast of colors with each performance of its one-act play, the stage of which is the horizon, providing evidence of God and goodness, my wife, Vicki, of course, at my side, sharing these moments, not hoarding them or even trying to maximize them. It doesn't get better than that. We're ready. Maybe our Mexican villa builders could hurry just a little though.

I guess I could have just painted a picture since this is my art blog, but, in this case, I think a thousand words might have been better.