I was close to thirty before I discovered the missing piece — I had no idea who my maternal Grandfather was. More than that, though, I suddenly realized that I couldn't recall the subject having ever been mentioned among my Mother's family. It had never come up at family gatherings, certainly not since I had been old enough to be aware of it. There were no pictures, no letters, no remembrances. Apart from a name obtained through marriage, it was as though he never even existed.
And really, I had never thought to ask. Just as my parents had divorced when I was very young, and it all seemed perfectly normal to me that my Father wasn't around, it never seemed the least bit odd to me that there had been no mention of my Grandfather. It just was. By that time it wasn't, I was estranged from my Mother's family, and I wasn't about to ask. I've been left to wonder, instead.
My Grandmother passed away a few weeks ago. Her obituary mentions she was predeceased by a "friend of many years," but says nothing of a former husband. (Perhaps this is the custom of the obituary. Her Brother — would that be my great Uncle? — passed away just over a week later, and his obituary mentioned nothing of his former wife, who had died ten years earlier.)
For a time, I thought might have died during WWII, but with two daughters born during and just after the war ended, that seems unlikely. And there were no ritual visits to leave flowers at a grave site, not that I could remember. I've always wondered — was the enforced silence was meant to hide some sort of family secret? Divorce seems obvious, but could there be more to it than that?
27 November 2009
Unlicensed
I'm not sure what to make of this: the owner of the facility where my son used to receive Physical and Occupational Therapy has been arrested. She's accused of fraud, and employing unlicensed therapists (one of whom I know).
Things were much different when we were going there, two or three years ago. We began using the facility on the advice of our beloved Physical Therapist (who had started working there) and I never had any reason for doubt. We went twice a week over the course of two years — we loved the staff, and my son made terrific progress.
We hadn't been back in ages — when my son entered the school system, the few remaining therapeutic services he still needed were provided by the school district. I always meant to stop in and say hello.
Things were much different when we were going there, two or three years ago. We began using the facility on the advice of our beloved Physical Therapist (who had started working there) and I never had any reason for doubt. We went twice a week over the course of two years — we loved the staff, and my son made terrific progress.
We hadn't been back in ages — when my son entered the school system, the few remaining therapeutic services he still needed were provided by the school district. I always meant to stop in and say hello.
Nom de Plume
It's come to this — I'm taking my name off of a book I worked on. I could use a clever and suitable pseudonym, if I could think of one, but I haven't thought of one. I thought about using "Alan Smithee," but that would be too obvious, and I don't want to draw attention. I'm not doing this to be a jerk, I'm doing this because I believe the quality of this book, and my work on this book, has been compromised. I don't want my name associated with it.
I know, I know — it isn't my book — but when I put this much work into a project, I have a vested interest (and, I think, a responsibility) to see it through to be the best it can be.
I've been back and forth (and back and forth) with the Author of this book for months, expressing concerns about the poor quality of many of the photos — I felt they were inadequate for print, and to use them would make the book appear amateurish. (The publisher is well-meaning, but more hands-off in these difficult situations than he ought to be.) I went to great lengths to research and find replacement images, where possible, but those efforts have gone largely unacknowledged. The Author has become a pest (this will be the second time I've had to substantially rework this book) and I've spent much, much more time on this project than I'll ever be properly compensated for. By now, I just want it off my desk.
I spent most of this day working to finish this book, and I should be done with it tomorrow (by which I mean, today.) Tomorrow — or is that today? — cannot come too soon.
I know, I know — it isn't my book — but when I put this much work into a project, I have a vested interest (and, I think, a responsibility) to see it through to be the best it can be.
I've been back and forth (and back and forth) with the Author of this book for months, expressing concerns about the poor quality of many of the photos — I felt they were inadequate for print, and to use them would make the book appear amateurish. (The publisher is well-meaning, but more hands-off in these difficult situations than he ought to be.) I went to great lengths to research and find replacement images, where possible, but those efforts have gone largely unacknowledged. The Author has become a pest (this will be the second time I've had to substantially rework this book) and I've spent much, much more time on this project than I'll ever be properly compensated for. By now, I just want it off my desk.
I spent most of this day working to finish this book, and I should be done with it tomorrow (by which I mean, today.) Tomorrow — or is that today? — cannot come too soon.
26 November 2009
Thanks
This isn't the first Thanksgiving I've spent by myself. Many years ago, while I was still in college (sort of), I decided not to go home for the holiday. I've no idea why, I don't think there was any specific reason — but it felt right to step out-of-step with everything.
(That was the year I found out that my Uncle, who had always been held up as the example of the devoted family man, left his wife suddenly and without warning. I never found out why.)
This year, my wife felt obligated to visit her parents (briefly), and I'm thankful not to have had to come along. I'll spend the day working, instead. Thanksgiving will wait a few days.
(That was the year I found out that my Uncle, who had always been held up as the example of the devoted family man, left his wife suddenly and without warning. I never found out why.)
This year, my wife felt obligated to visit her parents (briefly), and I'm thankful not to have had to come along. I'll spend the day working, instead. Thanksgiving will wait a few days.
19 November 2009
Sketches: Let Me Tell You How I Really Feel...
Yeah, I know — this isn't really a sketch. I didn't do much of one for this book (which is unusual for me) because I went in with an idea of exactly what I wanted to do with it. The Author rejoices in the caustic reception her book reviews often receive, and I wanted to use red to accentuate the hostility and anger she provokes in her readers. 
Unfortunately, the Author wasn't as enthusiastic about the red cover as I was. (So goes the life of a book designer.) But this was still a fun project — particularly putting the cover of the book in the cover on the book, which is also in the cover on that book, if you look closely (and if that made any sense). In the comics trade we used to call this an "infinity cover." (I'd have thought for sure that term would have a Wikipedia entry, but it doesn't.)
Oh, No!
Oprah Winfrey has announced that her long-running program will go off the air the year after next. Where will the foolishly naive and easily-persuaded go to be drawn into cultural phenomena like "The Secret"?
10 November 2009
Sunny Days
I've been watching Sesame Street long enough (and I'm now old enough and set in my ways!) to be irritated when it changes. Not so much the two-minutes-of-sponsor-messages at the beginning and end of each program (that I find deeply disappointing), but the small changes in pace and format and content. I know, I know, it's all done with the best of intentions — but it's just not my Sesame Street, and I miss seeing favorite segments I remember.
(You can't imagine how overjoyed I was when DVD collections became available. I was amused, though, to find a disclaimer to explain that the older episodes no longer reflect commonly accepted practices in preschool programming.)
I'm watching the first show of the 40th season, as I write this — complete with that familiar feeling of discomfort. (I'm also underwhelmed, but that's another matter.) It looks as though favorite segments I'd come to love over just the past several years (watching with my son) have already been replaced. But not "Elmo's World." People tend to complain about "Elmo's World," but apart from that it seems to take over about a third of every show, I grew to enjoy it. In many ways "Elmo's World" now seems like the only link to the Sesame Street I remember.
A few years ago, there was a very self-aware parody called "Cookie World" — with Cookie Monster, of course — that was lots of fun, particularly in that Cookie Monster was the only character aware of the segment, leaving other characters confused, even indignant! It was Sesame Street at it's best, gently making fun of itself instead of a popular TV series.
And the more I think on it, that's what often seems to be missing these days — fun, simply for it's own sake. That's not to say the series isn't entertaining and full of wit (even to a parent in his mid-40s), but the Sesame Street I remember placed it's teaching moments among parody, nonsense, and general silliness. There's not nearly enough of that now. It all seems too earnest — a trend that, I think, has made PBS' kids programming bland and dull over the past several years.
(And please, don't get me started on the new version of The Electric Company. Ugh.)
(You can't imagine how overjoyed I was when DVD collections became available. I was amused, though, to find a disclaimer to explain that the older episodes no longer reflect commonly accepted practices in preschool programming.)
I'm watching the first show of the 40th season, as I write this — complete with that familiar feeling of discomfort. (I'm also underwhelmed, but that's another matter.) It looks as though favorite segments I'd come to love over just the past several years (watching with my son) have already been replaced. But not "Elmo's World." People tend to complain about "Elmo's World," but apart from that it seems to take over about a third of every show, I grew to enjoy it. In many ways "Elmo's World" now seems like the only link to the Sesame Street I remember.
A few years ago, there was a very self-aware parody called "Cookie World" — with Cookie Monster, of course — that was lots of fun, particularly in that Cookie Monster was the only character aware of the segment, leaving other characters confused, even indignant! It was Sesame Street at it's best, gently making fun of itself instead of a popular TV series.
And the more I think on it, that's what often seems to be missing these days — fun, simply for it's own sake. That's not to say the series isn't entertaining and full of wit (even to a parent in his mid-40s), but the Sesame Street I remember placed it's teaching moments among parody, nonsense, and general silliness. There's not nearly enough of that now. It all seems too earnest — a trend that, I think, has made PBS' kids programming bland and dull over the past several years.
(And please, don't get me started on the new version of The Electric Company. Ugh.)
08 November 2009
Balloons
I really like this idea. It's the modern equivalent of a message in a bottle, with the added advantage of being able to follow your messages as they travel, and retrieve others, as well.At first, I was put off by the price — all of $2.99! — but the more I think about it, the more I believe that it's become far too easy for innovative, well-thought-out applications to get lost in the 99-cent race to the bottom of the iPhone App Store, and those innovative, well-thought-out applications deserve better.
So I'm looking forward to trying this.
Place
I had a dream this morning, and was startled to discover that a place was just as I remembered it (though I hadn't been there in many, many years). And now I'm left to wonder if it really was as I remembered it, or if that memory was entirely a part of my dream.
Negatives
I agreed to scan a set of photos for a book I've been working on. Included with many of the prints were 4 x 5 black-and-white negatives in faded brown envelopes, with handwritten notes from almost fifty years ago. (The photos were publicity stills for a short-lived TV series that went on the air in 1959. It's small wonder they've survived.) The paper was yellowed and aged, and it had the most wonderful scent. (I've always loved the way paper smells as it ages.) The negatives were in beautiful condition, never betraying a trace of their age. It's hard to imagine digital photography will ever have that sense of permanence.
One of the first jobs I had after leaving college was with a photography lab. This was a small business whose better days had passed — not because of digital photography, that was still in the far future, but because of changing times. General Electric (whose headquarters were literally just down the street) once provided a steady source of business, but fortunes had turned for both the company and the city of Schenectady. There was all sorts of interesting equipment and chemicals, boxes of film and paper, but most were left unused. The business had been purchased with the hope of finding a way to turn it around, somehow, but most of the work that came in were small jobs, making prints from older negatives that more modern, automated labs couldn't accommodate.
The lab could also print murals, on large rolls of photographic paper. Once the exposure had been made, the paper would be rolled up, and unravelled by hand into a series of chemical baths for processing. You had to be very careful doing this, as the paper would easily crease if not rolled evenly.
I once printed one during off-hours — I forget what it was, exactly — that hung on the back of the door of the small studio apartment I shared with my girlfriend at the time.
One of the first jobs I had after leaving college was with a photography lab. This was a small business whose better days had passed — not because of digital photography, that was still in the far future, but because of changing times. General Electric (whose headquarters were literally just down the street) once provided a steady source of business, but fortunes had turned for both the company and the city of Schenectady. There was all sorts of interesting equipment and chemicals, boxes of film and paper, but most were left unused. The business had been purchased with the hope of finding a way to turn it around, somehow, but most of the work that came in were small jobs, making prints from older negatives that more modern, automated labs couldn't accommodate.
The lab could also print murals, on large rolls of photographic paper. Once the exposure had been made, the paper would be rolled up, and unravelled by hand into a series of chemical baths for processing. You had to be very careful doing this, as the paper would easily crease if not rolled evenly.
I once printed one during off-hours — I forget what it was, exactly — that hung on the back of the door of the small studio apartment I shared with my girlfriend at the time.
03 November 2009
Abstract
I now believe my seven-year-old will grow up to be one of those artists that design the large, inexplicable sculptures you see on the grounds of many corporate campuses.