Messing About

"Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing--absolute nothing--half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing," he went on dreamily: "messing--about--in--boats; messing about in boats--or with boats," the Rat went on composedly "In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not. Look here! If you've really nothing else on hand this morning, supposing we drop down the river together, and have a long day of it?"

-Water Rat in "The Wind in the Willows"

Cable TV

Not all the output goes on cable, but mobile live-switched video production is usually even more about stringing out and re-coiling cables than it is about camera work.

I've been steadily working into being the keeper of this mobile production trailer.

All the wires and equipment exists to allow this job to happen: multiple cameras are mixed and cut together on the fly as the shooting takes place.

A producer or client can relax on this little couch I built in the nose of the trailer. This sits just a bit behind the guys operating the equipment shown above.

The equipment is set up and taken down constantly between jobs so convenient storage with fast access is very valuable. The couch is really high efficiency storage for equipment. The covers are hinged.

I have a weekly gig putting First Presbyterian Orlando on the air.

Handicrafts

What I made at camp this summer:

The production company I've been doing a lot of work for is downtown where parking and crime are big problems, so the trailer lives behind the owner's house when it's not out working. John's gate was falling apart so he had me build a new one. Kinda looks like a stockade, doesn't it? It would make a great venue for an afternoon of cowboys and indians.

Cedar Chips

I was up very late last night moving another trailer load of boxes to storage. This time it's mostly stuff from my recently vacated office. Unbelievable how much stuff was in there. Artifacts and souvineers from all over the world. Strange stuff. Spears and arrows from New Guinea, rocks from the stream bed at Elah, Israel, shrapnel from Bosnia, a shackle from the infamous "Security Office #21" in Phenom Penh, spent AK-47 casings from Romania. Aircraft instruments and a pilot logbook from Russia, hats, old cameras, books and more books. Another thousand pounds or two carried 400 miles, up a very tall flght of stairs, and down a long hall to a large closet where it will all sit until such time it finds another home or someone after me takes it all to a dumpster.

Every time I have to move I think of the little hamsters my son had when he was a tyke. They would busy themselves many days carefully moving the cedar chips in their aquarium home from one side to the other. Then a few days later they would move them all back to the opposite side again. Earnest and hard working little fellows they were. Good stewards of the valuable cedar chips. At least until their bodily waste soaked them and they were removed and thrown away.

Well, my cedar chips are now safely moved over to the side of the aquarium. I need to get back on the wire wheel now and get it spinning again. Very important to keep that wheel spinning you know.

8's

On a Sunday almost exactly 16 months ago, April 24, 2005, the odometer on my bike ticked over to 77,777.7 miles. Today, another sunday in the 8th month of the year, it has added exactly 11,111.1 miles and is sitting in the driveway showing 88,888.8 miles. At that rate it looks like she's about 16 months away from 100,000. Quite amazing for a little 500cc motorcycle built in '85. Looks like it just might make it.

Home Again

I'm back home in Orlando. After a visit home to Columbia. I-4, I-95, and I-26 are the route home, I'm just not sure which direction it is. It was so good to see everybody. A really blessed time. Alas, there was one sour note. My trusty laptop which has served me so well actually belonged to the school and the agreed on day came last week when I was to turn it back in. I am now a digital vagabond, a computer hitchhiker. I have no machine of my own. It's strange after having a computer as just short of an appendage to now be an amputee. I don't know how long this will be. I'm praying for enough extra camera days to be able to buy myself another one.

So this computer was just sitting here running and available. Thought I should take advantage - check the email and send up a quick post. And so my computer sponging begins. I guess it has been going on all along since I've been computing like crazy with a machine that wasn't really mine. But this is different. And a great deal of my life is on a hard drive sitting across the table that can't be read by this old mac. It's going to be interesting.

Bottom Repair

I’m helping my friend repair and refinish the bottom of his sailboat. From above it is beautiful of form and from a few paces off looks very new but it’s actually about 40 years old. Almost as old as me. It was previously used in salt water before coming to it’s fresh water home on Big Sand Lake. The bottom was rough with antifouling paint. The boat got rocked around a lot on the ground where it rode out a hurricane a while back and got damaged with a few little holes in the bottom. I have been refining my fiberglass skills patching up the damage. But as we’ve been sanding off the old paint prepping for a new finish, more little holes in the coatings and outer layers of fiberglass have been appearing. We keep sanding trying to get to lower layers that still have integrity and some of the weak parts seem to just keep going deeper. They can be repaired effectively in a methodical way without too much trouble with fiberglass cloth and resin and a modicum of skill. But it seems that for every trouble spot I find and fix, more just keep revealing themselves as the outer layers of paint come off. There is a low grade fear that the problems permeate everywhere and all the way through and it may not be worth dealing with and we may be better off just bagging it and starting over. It’s tempting to ignore the little spots and just put on the new coat of shiny outer paint. It would look great and we’d be under sail and on our way in short order. But now, while the boat is out of the water and dry, lying on its side with its underbelly exposed to the world and all the layers sanded off looking wounded and ugly, it’s the time to deal with the little problems that could get bigger later. We’re looking hard at every square inch, trying to head off anything that might spoil the fun and enjoyment of the craft for the rest of its useful life. In spite of the age of this vessel, it has many more years of fun and recreation left in it. The original builders made a stout hull of high quality, not skimping on materials or workmanship. It’s worth the effort. It could easily outlive us. Our work may be for someone else to enjoy after us. In any case, the process can be a bit fatiguing and I’ve breathed in some nasty dust that can’t be healthy. But the progress is rewarding and feels good to work on. And there is the promise of peaceful and blissful sailing to be enjoyed in the not too distant future.

"Music, Sweet Music...

...drops from my fingers"

Thank God for the gift of music. Even with no one to listen. He is always listening. What a balm to my heart. Thank you, my Lord, for letting me have this mechanism for processing and letting my soul have a way to get out. Even when all is a
"...frustrated mess"
when I play and sing, every pain seems to have some kind of value. Every joy seems to have it's place. And sanity seems to be just a little closer.

Zombies

If broken hearts killed people directly
Most of us would be long dead
Maybe some are
And don’t know it yet

The Last Raspberry

I love the taste like nothing else
Full of sweet memories of my youth
Delicate deep red and so perishable
The subtle scent sends my senses reeling
But there is only one left
My eyes take it in
My fingers touch it gently
And I anticipate what it will be like
The time comes
The fruit explodes in my mouth
Precious juice floods over my tongue
Spreading that heavenly flavor to every bud
I concentrate hard
Savoring the singular sweet wonder
Trying to burn the flavor into my memory
The fleeting moment runs from me
The tartness on my tongue fades
How I want to enjoy more and more and more
But that was the last
The season has past

Life Goes On

Under a broad leaf maple tree
I laid me down to die
Another heartbeat thumped inside of me
I’ve no idea why