Talking Points

Laramoops have a boitday

Greg's 1,267 years old. Laura's about 11 going on 16. The menu, all from the farmer's market: pasture-raised local beef made into sliders, served on toasted cinnamon bread; with sugar corn on the cob. Preludes: (1) hard-boiled quail eggs served with lavender jelly; (2) watermelon radishes. Dessert: Simone's best standard Clafoutie, a light crust thick with fresh peaches, blueberries, and raspberries.

The party

  

Mowing the parking lot

The big summer party approaches. And I mow the field with my rechargeable electric surfin' the mattocks. Space for 18 vehicles. Mostly Hondas. No Hummers. Then I get my car washed.

We miss you, Tom Wachtel

[10:49 am] Tom was my doctor and Simone's. He taught me how to hunt edible wild mushrooms. He calmly and sensibly guided me through several rough waters. I looked forward to going to his office. We eagerly yapped about travel and hiking and the health care industry, while his other appointments backed up. He was repeatedly named one of Rhode Island's "top docs" by his peers and had co-authored a highly regarded guide to geriatric care (3rd edition, 2008). He died Monday, leaving his wife and three children. There are some people you're just instantly friends with. Something works. Tom was that for me, even though I only saw him a couple of times a year. With deepest regrets, may you rest in peace, Tom. [6:12 pm] I am sad. Sighing sad and listening to sad, then triumphant, music. I want to send off Tom well. And I don't want to send him off at all. Though our time together was measured in hours not days, he was important in my life. He saved me, really saved me, at least once. I miss knowing he's around.

Ben graduates

We congratulated him by giving him a book in his field about the Eames couple, saying (me in my party guise as Facetious Man; sad past comment) that, despite the instructor acclaim, the awards, the A's, we'd never really thought he'd make it.

We knew him first and belovedly as Batman Ben, in his 5-to-7-year-old period; he loved his cape and mask.

Now he's grad-ye-aphid (as he maybe said; Laura had served me one of her "surprise" drinks) from the Rhode Island School of Design. Today. The speeches, the music, the nude graduates (it is RISD). Following the celebratory crab-fest at his parents' home, he heads for a 6-month internship at one of the most interesting book publishers I know, Chronicle in San Francisco. They reinvented (rescued) the coffee table book.

Simone and I met the future at Ben's party. And they are uniformly wonderful. One's headed to Nasa, to design environments for a space flight to Mars. One's headed into the Army after college. Jay, Ben's best friend from high school, has applied to the state police. He talked about the history of defunct laws.

Maria, Laura Lollipop's younger sister, is a great conversationalist. Fast for the unwary, a splashy laugh. Last time I saw her daughter, Julia, she was true goth. Today, she's just out of Savannah art school and working in a children's museum. Lime-green nails. Picture-window white sunglasses. And the most interesting voice at our table, bearing gracefully its full conversational weight. Talk-show potential? You'd think so without argument.

Out on the lake, motorboats cut white shoelaces through the black-blue bay. A party-boat surged past, exceeding the limits of pontoons, heroically dragging a happy child on a waterboard. On the screened porch behind us an iPod played a song list approved by three generations. The sun was out. The air was warm, shadows deep and swaying.

What you say in your head

"Why, through all the craziness?" Because you, John, were kind to me when I was fired two decades long gone, and I had to reinvent my life. An act of kindness like that makes a lifetime of obligation IMHO.

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Book synopsis, The Fountainhead: "I can do whatever I want because I'm a genius."

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- I've gotten to the point where I can browbeat the weak.
- You should [my interlocutor, halfway up his high horse, says] lead the weak.
- Browbeating works better, I birdsong back at 'im. Having too much respect too early on is a mistake, some deep inner Darwin replies.

Visual Arts Center of Richmond

The Visual Arts Center of Richmond has been around for a couple of generations. It converted a former dairy plant into classrooms, artists' studios for rent, and a gallery; with a lot of help from donors.

Petersburg transformation

Alain and Aimee bought their pre-Civil War store and warehouse online for around $30,000 from the city of Petersburg, VA. Pretty much by himself, over four years Alain transformed it into a home for them and studio for Aimee. Job #1: removing tons of pigeon guano from the attic. In 2008, they moved in. L-r: the street entrance isn't much to look at (Alain's drug of choice: the Diet Coke he guzzles every woken minute); but inside, ranks of museum-quality French armoires (Alain restores them) hint at what's upstairs. On the second floor old factory dollies serve as mobile coffee tables, the kitchen has cement counters (Alain's still working on the cherry cabinet doors; the vanity is an example), and the uncovered brick walls in the living room show patterns from when they were plastered. The third floor houses the guest bedroom and Aimee's studio. In the basement Alain stores his surplus metal parts and battleship tiles, and dries rare woods he'll use for shelves.

Petersburg, VA

Where Alain and Aimee made their new home four years ago, moving from Muncie, IN, to renovate a pre-Civil War warehouse and store with more than 11,000 square feet of living and working space. Spike's is the restaurant right next door, Alain's 2nd office.

Aimee art

Aimee has her new studio and four years of pent-up creativity is surging from her like a cut artery.