When I was growing up, we had a large painting hanging over our couch.  Memory is an interesting thing because as I sit and try to recall exactly what it looked like, I cannot.  I believe it was oil painting of a sunrise at the beach.

Our brains are not like video cameras recording a second by second account of our lives.  They aren’t large enough for that. Rather brains record snippets of information and then we seek to retrieve a memory, the brain pulls up the snippet and fills in the detail.  As Dan Gilbert describes in his book, Stumbling Upon Happiness, “Our brain quickly reweaves the tapestry by fabricating—not by actually retrieving—the bulk of the information that we experience as a memory.”  It does this unconsciously so we can’t tell what is real and what is not.  That is why eyewitness accounts of an accident scene can vary so dramatically.

So I can’t remember exactly what the painting above my couch looked like.  I do remember spending hours, though, staring at it, dreaming of going to the ocean and playing in the sand.  Admiring the colors and the brushstrokes.

For years now, I’ve been trying to find the perfect painting to hang above our couch.  I would frequent art galleries when I traveled to see if there was something that spoke to me like that childhood ocean painting.

When LaPriel and I were in Maui last December, we were strolling through the art galleries when we discovered an artist whose work we had not before seen.  His name is Alexei Butirskiy.  He is Russian and he paints both street scapes set in major world cities and scenes from the U.S. mountain west.

There was a painting of Amsterdam that particularly spoke to us.  I had never given much thought to Amsterdam until Breanna and I spent a few days there last May on our way back from France.  Looking at that painting reminded me of the exhilaration Breanna and I felt as we rode our bikes over the bridges and by the canals.  It reminded me of the powerful experience we shared visiting the Anne Frank house.  It was the kind of painting I could imagine hanging above our couch.

Still, I refused to purchase a painting in Maui.  I could see myself overpaying and getting home and then realizing I didn’t even like it.  The art dealer we dealt with was very patient.  She didn’t push and spent much time educating us about giclees.  She didn’t seem to mind that we didn’t buy the piece.

When I got home I occasionally sat on my couch and looked at the wall and tried to imagine the painting there. Finally, I realized I wanted my kids to have a piece of art that could both inspire and bring back memories.

I gave LaPriel Still Water for her birthday.  Sitting on our couch has never been so pleasant.

Only six more weeks of winter.

Today I spoke a teenage girl who is repeating the ninth grade because the first time through she was homeless and addicted to drugs and alcohol. I asked her what caused her to turn her life around. She said it was her aunt who took her in and showed her what a real family is like. And it was her teachers in the small Idaho town where she now lives who mentored her and showed they care. In speaking with this young woman, you would never sense the rough life she has had. She was not bitter but full of hope.

These encounters caused me to step back and reflect. Am I living a life I will be proud of when I am in my late eighties. Am I a good enough mentor to those in need.

Dinner of Cobra and Stilled Water

Can Tab Convention

I figured he had access to a workshop with tools for his projects. When I asked Michael about that, he said there isn’t a workshop. All his woodworking is done in his cell using handmade tools. He’s fashioned a saw out of old razor blades and a drill using the core of a AA battery.

I admit I was a bit skeptical, especially when he said he would build roll top desks and gazebos. How would he have enough room in his cell to build something that big and heavy-not to mention sawing 1 x 6s with razor blades? I was even more skeptical when he sent a letter letting me know he had shipped a roll top desk to me.

This week a large square box arrived from Michael with 34 first class stamps affixed to the outside. The abundance of stamps reminded me of sending letters home from Mexico during a period of hyperinflation when the postage rates kept rising faster than they could print new stamps. Most letters were sent home with five to ten postage stamps on the envelope.

Below is the beautiful cedar miniature roll top desk I found packed with newspaper inside the box. It is about 2 feet tall. Not a single nail was used to build it. I need to fix a few pieces that fell off in transit, but overall it is in excellent shape. What an amazing talent. And to think I doubted.

Subject: Stolen Milk Truck

Over the years I have worried
about someone stealing some of our
cows during the night.

I did not expect someone to steal
our milk truck!!! That’s right, one
of our milk trucks was stolen Friday night.

Please call me if you have any sightings
of a spotted truck. My cell number
is 208-xxx-xxxx. I am not sure how
far away the robber has taken the truck
so if you leave out of Idaho I would
appreciate it if you also would be on
the look out for a stolen truck.

Thanks for your help,

Alan

I’d like to say I spent the weekend looking for a truck painted to look like a holstein cow, but Breanna and I were in Ohio for a visit to Grandma and Grandpa. Breanna got to learn the art of running through an airport Sunday morning after her Dad’s alarm didn’t go off and we had only 50 minutes to catch our flight.

I was pleased to see a follow up email from our milkman yesterday morning titled Milk Truck Found.

Turns out the mechanic had taken the truck to his home to fix without telling anyone.

Mansfield Park

Last Friday, LaPriel and I watched Finding Jane, the new Jane Austin film. I don’t view too many movies so I’m a poor judge of technique. Suffice to say, we were amply entertained ⎯ which given the quality of most movies nowadays is saying something.

Afterwards, LaPriel reminded me of a trick I played on her years ago when our eldest son was a few months old. It was a demanding time. I was in graduate school and LaPriel was home with an all-consuming infant. One afternoon I arrived at the house with an 1892 edition of Jane Austin’s Mansfield Park I had bought at a library book sale. I showed LaPriel the book and encouraged her to read it. At that time in her life, the thought of reading a novel seemed overwhelming to her. Still, after paging through book, she decided it wasn’t too long so she would give it a try. Several weeks later she was absorbed by the plot and the characters. As she neared the end of the book, she noticed the novel wasn’t approaching a conclusion. That’s when she examined the title page more carefully and discovered she’d been reading volume one of two. She was most annoyed. Looking back, it was insensitive of me, but at that point of my life, despite being knee deep in an MBA program, I was consumed by literature. I’d spend hours reading and rereading classic novels, visiting used book stores, attempting to learn ancient greek and wondering why I was studying something so banal as business. Somehow I couldn’t relate to why LaPriel wouldn’t want to read so a bit of deceit seemed justified to get her back on the literature wagon again.

A Rare Rainbow

I stop at the eye drop aisle in Wal-mart. A white-haired woman in her seventies is studying an eye drop box. I pick up my favorite brand. She still examines the side of the box.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m looking for the expiration date,” she says.

“Eye drops have expiration dates?”

“Yes, they don’t work as well if they expire.” She points at the box. “2004. That’s not good.”

“I think that’s the copyright date for the packaging.”

She doesn’t believe me, and picks up another box. I look at my eye drops and find the expiration date on the bottom of the box. November 2008.

She looks at hers. “2003. This one’s expired too.”

“The expiration date is on the bottom.” I point to it. March 2009, although it is written March 09.

“March 9th,” she says. “That’s good.”

I let her be. I’m sure she will use them up before next March.

My list of simple pleasures includes:

1. Sitting on our front porch on summer evenings and feeling the air cool.
2. The sweetness of a freshly picked tomato.
3. Afternoon naps.
4. Gladiolas, roses and poppies.
5. A well written sentence.

I am blessed with a simple life. LaPriel and I went to Sam’s Club yesterday and walked among the towering shelves of merchandise. So many things called out to be purchased, but I found nothing interested me⎯except for a box of blueberries, which I bought and happily consumed.

LaPriel and I often dream of the day when I quit work and we can travel as much as we want. As I contemplate that, I look at my belongings and mentally begin giving them away, winnowing them down to the essentials. Here are the seven things, excluding clothes, I think I could keep and live a perfectly contented life.

1. Apple Powerbook
2. Panerai watch
3. iPhone
4. Trek road bike
5. Nikon D50 digital camera
6. Moleskine notebook
7. Pen

What are your seven?

I managed to finish the new Harry Potter book last Friday without the media or anyone else spoiling the ending for me. I’ll leave it at that so I don’t spoil the ending for you.

I’ve been pondering and writing a short story for several weeks now. My writing pace is glacial. In fact, to date I only have one sentence that satisfies me. On the other hand, I have no deadline and I write to please myself so I might as well keep working at it until I’m happy.

Security markets have been more volatile of late. After four years of an upward march and minimal dislocation, finally there is some uncertainty that will hopefully create future opportunity.

I have wanderlust again. It has only been three months since I was in France, and I’m ready to pack up and go faraway. An island would be ideal. I’d take LaPriel and the kids of course. The problem is the time. When the kids were young we use to pull them out of school to go on trips. Now that they are older, they get behind in their studies if we pull them out. That leaves us only the weeks and months when everyone else travels, which is unfortunate because I don’t like crowds nor the higher costs of the high season.