tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510560018550544902024-03-13T06:32:20.003-04:00Maché Artist: Celebrations and ReflectionsJim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-54920200833205812442011-01-10T23:56:00.000-05:002011-01-10T23:56:21.122-05:00I Have Words!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/TSvdb0RvIxI/AAAAAAAAByg/43tWLqJ4dRo/s1600/Murray3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/TSvdb0RvIxI/AAAAAAAAByg/43tWLqJ4dRo/s320/Murray3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">James A. H. Murray, long-time editor of the OED, working in his Scriptorium.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Two of my favorite books are <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Professor-Madman-Insanity-English-Dictionary/dp/0060839783?ie=UTF8&tag=httpmacheartb-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Professor and the Madman </a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=httpmacheartb-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0060839783" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />and The <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Meaning-Everything-Oxford-English-Dictionary/dp/019517500X?ie=UTF8&tag=httpmacheartb-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Meaning of Everything</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=httpmacheartb-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=019517500X" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />, both by Simon Winchester, and both related to the creation of the largest and most comprehensive dictionary in the English language, the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Oxford-English-Dictionary-vol-print/dp/0199573158?ie=UTF8&tag=httpmacheartb-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Oxford English Dictionary</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=httpmacheartb-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0199573158" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />, or the OED, for short. I’m not going to review the books here, other than to say I was fascinated with the decades-long work of collecting words for that magisterial dictionary.</div><br />
When I was in high school, I started collecting word lists. Whenever I read, I would write down unfamiliar words, words that I simply wanted to be more familiar with, or common words I wanted to appreciate more. I’ve continued this practice to this very day and have no intention of ceasing the practice. Words are beautiful, they have power, they amaze me. The other morning, shortly after I woke up, I reached for the notebook I keep by the bed and with my favorite mechanical pencil began free-writing…about words. And this is how it came out:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">______________________________</div><br />
I have words! Oh yes, I have words. Folders stuffed with sheets of loose-leaf filled with words collected from books and magazines and anywhere I found them. There are strange and exotic words. There are ordinary, commonplace words that would scarcely make a jaded reader bat an eyelid, but still they are good words, honest words – and without them, the more sparkling, dazzling, exorbitant words would not find a context within which to sit. One thing is for sure – they are all beautiful words, glorious and necessary…as necessary as air or water; I can’t do without them.<br />
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I have notebooks full of words, and lists of “vocabulary” words on my computer. And I keep adding more words all the time. Some of the words I add, I don’t know, or I want to know better. Others I know quite well. They are simple, common, everyday words – but I don’t want to fall into the trap of taking them for granted. I used to lie on the ground for an hour or more at a time studying the shapes and structures of blades of grass, watching the ants stroll by, or imagining what a microscopic view of the physical structure of a grain of red clay might look like. I am just as fascinated with words.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/TSveCOiYSLI/AAAAAAAAByk/c0IxxMIYpiE/s1600/dictionary-oed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/TSveCOiYSLI/AAAAAAAAByk/c0IxxMIYpiE/s200/dictionary-oed.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Words give me joy. They fill me and fulfill me – they nourish me. Sometimes they hurt me, scold me, or embarrass me (I even have vulgar words in my list… “those” words, the ones we used to look up with relish in the dictionary in junior high). They have all earned the right to be on my lists, even archaic words that long ago fell from common use, because someone at some time has used them. They have expressed, admonished, encouraged, enlightened, frightened, challenged, disgusted, chastened, delighted – in all cases they have elevated the blandness of mere survival to the heights of meaning. I have words. And before the day is over, I will have a few more.Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-81856315527777398822011-01-03T03:22:00.000-05:002011-01-03T03:22:44.298-05:00Resolution 1 - Write and Get Published<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/TSGCDGb9SQI/AAAAAAAAByU/-6AhaGOQiBc/s1600/Charles%2BDickens.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; height: 200px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 213px;"><img border="0" height="193" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/TSGCDGb9SQI/AAAAAAAAByU/-6AhaGOQiBc/s200/Charles%2BDickens.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>When I was a boy, and people asked me that standard question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, I cycled through some of the typical answers…fireman, cowboy, and for some reason, I seem to remember I told people for a while I wanted to be a motorcycle when I grew up (yes, it's bizarre, but I have no recollection of what my little-boy brain was going through at the time). I don’t recall, however, telling anybody I wanted to be a writer.<br />
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By the time I was in high school, though, it was clear to me – I wanted to be a writer. Whatever chain of events led me to such a desire are lost to history. I’ve found stories that I wrote when I was still a young boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old, that are respectable, even though the topics are pretty common. There was an adventure with Lassie (the collie) and a trip with some green aliens on a flying saucer. By the time I was settled into my miserable high-school career, I was writing poetry (don’t all teenagers?), starting mystery and suspense stories, and constructing essays that explored my views on everything from feelings about girls to religious convictions to the problem of excessive violence in the world.<br />
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In 11th grade, I believe it was, I signed up for a typing class. Those were the days before word processors or computers, so all the paperwork in an office had to be spaced and centered and lined up on manual or – if you were fortunate – electric typewriters. I had no interest in being a secretary; I just wanted to learn the keyboard well enough to type my poems and stories. The school year, in those days, was divided into six-weeks for the purpose of reporting a student's progress (or lack thereof). By the end of the third six-weeks, my grade was down to a not-so-respectable…zero. That’s right. I was typing away every day, but I didn't complete a single class assignment – for the entire six weeks! Finally, my teacher told me if I wasn’t going to do the assigned work, I might as well just go to the library. Fine, I thought. So, for the next two weeks, I sat in the library reading. Then one afternoon, Ms. Smith showed up at the library. Framed in the doorway, arms akimbo (she didn’t come in – I was sitting near the door…in case friends walked by), she said, “I’ll tell you what. You come back to class, and do half the class assignments. The rest of the time you can write whatever you want, and I’ll count that.” I walked back to class with her, and by the end of the term, I actually passed with a 76, and had lots of story starts, poems, and essays.<br />
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After high school, I went into the Marine Corps. I spent the next 3 months at Parris Island, South Carolina, undergoing the grueling program of training to become a United States Marine. Most of the writing I did for those months was in the form of letters home. During the few minutes of free time we’d have in the evenings, I still wrote a little bit. After boot camp, I had electronics and avionics training. Along the way, my interest shifted to comic art. I still wanted to be a writer, but more than that, I wanted to be a comic book artist, or maybe even an animator. I still wrote, occasionally, but most of my creative energy was spent practicing drawing superheroes, silly animals, or Disney characters.<br />
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Through the years, writing has always been a very pleasant obsession. I don’t want to mislead anybody – I don’t write enough. Never have. During college and seminary, I wrote a lot of academic papers, and along the way received frequent compliments on my writing, and a few suggestions that I should be a writer. If I had been more focused and disciplined, I might have had several best-sellers by now. Actually, my writing (much like my music…more on that another time) has mostly been a very private thing. With fits and starts, I have begun projects, filled notebooks and folders, written and re-written, and had things published in school papers, church and denominational newsletters, and local newspapers, but I haven’t been the successful writer I dreamed of becoming all those years ago.<br />
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It’s time. I have been actively working on a novel, and I have several other projects in the works. “What’s your book about?” people ask. “Uh, I guess you could say it’s a contemporary fantasy.” I don’t like to talk about my work. It has been encouraging to find out I’m not alone among writers. Most, if not all, writers of any merit don’t talk about their work in progress very much, unless it’s something under contract to a publisher and they want some advance publicity. I found an imperative in a book I recently bought, another inspirational book for writers, <i>Page after Page</i>, by Heather Sellers, but I will have to paraphrase, because I can’t find the exact sentence again, after looking though the book for 10 minutes – don’t tell people what you’re writing. Yes! I had to show this to several people, I was so excited.<br />
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Writing is hard work! There is no way around this. I confess, I avoid it more than I do it, but I am going to change that nasty habit this year…this month…this day! I am a writer. Even though I have no books on the best-seller lists, or essays in prestigious journals, or a short story published in the <em>New Yorker</em>, I am still a writer. Just like I am a musician. I don’t have any albums out. I don’t play with a band or perform in concert. But I play instruments, and I sing, and quite frankly, I’m not half bad at it. Same with writing. I’m not half bad at it. But this year – I will write. I will publish!Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-87735126622114002802011-01-02T00:56:00.003-05:002011-01-02T03:30:32.596-05:00New Year's Resolutions for 2011Wow!!! My last entry was in November of 2008, I am ashamed to say. I never intended to leave my blog unattended for so long. But...I am back!<br /><br />I usually avoid making New Year’s resolutions, but this year I decided to change that. This year I have made resolutions. There is a chance I may add more, but these are the basics. For the year 2011, I hereby resolve:<br /><br />1) To write and get published.<br /><br />2) To blog regularly.<br /><br />3) To sculpt and get my work into a variety of markets.<br /><br />4) To read more intently.<br /><br />5) To learn prolifically.<br /><br />6) To increase my mastery of Spanish.<br /><br />7) To brush up on my French.<br /><br />8) To learn how to read Sanskrit and Arabic.<br /><br />9) To become more skilled in ancient Hebrew, Greek, and Latin.<br /><br />10) To start drawing cartoons again.<br /><br />11) To meditate.<br /><br />12) To believe again, and ever more wisely.<br /><br />13) To return to an intensive exercise program.<br /><br />14) To try to figure out the meaning of life...again.<br /><br />15) To enjoy being human, and to embrace all that entails, both good and bad, pleasant and painful.<br /><br />16) To be more loving, and hopefully more lovable.<br /><br />17) To continue sharing my warped sense of humor by unleashing the corniest off-the-cuff jokes and puns. (This is a given, every year!)<br /><br />18) To rekindle my love of growing plants.<br /><br />19) To consider attending church again, albeit sporadically and with great apprehension.<br /><br />20) To watch more movies.<br /><br />21) To look for stories everywhere.<br /><br />22) To nurture my passion for and fascination with...everything!<br /><br />23) And last (and possibly most important) <strong>to be happy</strong>!<br /><br />I was going to elaborate on each of these a little bit, but it was turning into a pretty lengthy piece of work. So…I will leave it at this for now, and I will explain more about these in subsequent blog entries.<br /><br />HAPPY NEW YEAR! I wish each of you the happiest and most prosperous year ever.Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-25100268823395240172008-11-25T09:46:00.004-05:002008-11-25T10:02:07.027-05:00Way-Back Machine -- "A Shrine for Things Taken for Granted"In case you don't remember the Way-Back (WABAC) Machine, you can take a look at my blog entry for <a href="http://macheartist.blogspot.com/2007/02/way-back-machine.html">Friday, February 23, 2007.</a><br /><br />From my Journal entry of July 30, 2000:<br /><br />A book listed in "A Common Reader," August 2000 catalog, is <em>They Have a Word for It</em> by Howard Rheingold. It is a gathering of foreign words that have no equivalent in our tongue. One <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SSwS7ZMHUzI/AAAAAAAABVw/Ol59ADBfjfc/s1600-h/Sewing+Needle.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272610075327288114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 249px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 138px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SSwS7ZMHUzI/AAAAAAAABVw/Ol59ADBfjfc/s320/Sewing+Needle.png" border="0" /></a>mentioned is the Japanese <em>hari kuyo</em> which is "a shrine where broken sewing needles are put to rest after a life of service." That's incredible! We just toss things. What if we had shrines composed of faithful objects that had served us well? What if we just developed a profound sense of appreciation for things we take for granted? Say ink pens -- old shoes -- car keys -- etc. We need a shrine dedicated to "all things taken for granted!"Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-7067260983713465452008-11-24T01:11:00.002-05:002008-11-24T01:22:51.980-05:00The Hand<p>This morning in church, my grandson, David, was playing with crayons, and he dropped several on the floor. He bent down to pick up the crayons, and I saw my daughter put her hand under the hymnal rack anticipating David would lift his head oblivious to the danger. Sure enough, David lifted his head, but instead of hitting it on the sharp corner of the hymnal rack, his head met the soft, loving hand of his mother.<br /><br />This was a simple scene, but to me it was so tender and touching, and it seemed to be a moment where something remarkable had been shown to me. Perhaps, I thought, this is how God’s hand works. He anticipates a danger and puts his hand there to protect us. There are two moments which came to mind, one recent and the other which happened a couple of summers ago.<br /><br />It was opening night of Baldwin High School’s production of <em>The Wiz</em>, and my son Patrick had several roles in the play. After the play was over, a couple of judges from state who were in the audience to evaluate the play’s potential at state competition, went back with the cast to talk about the performance. It took a while, and afterwards we were hungry, and since it was so late, we decided to go eat somewhere. Trying to decide where was not easy, since choices at this hour were limited to a few fast food places. I reluctantly agreed on Kentucky Fried Chicken.<br /><br />When we pulled up in the parking lot of KFC, we weren’t sure if the place was still open. There were no customers in the store, but when we walked in, a girl welcomed us and asked for our order. No sooner had we begun placing our orders than there was a loud pop from the back, and a girl began screaming, “Fire!” She added some other colorful language I’ll omit, since I try to keep the blog at least GP rated. Another young lady, apparently the manager, came into view from the back and shouted to us there was an emergency and we’d have to leave, that they were now closed. In all the frantic commotion we decided to stay to make sure everyone was all right. The staff consisted of three girls, a couple of them probably high school age. They couldn’t get the fire extinguisher off the wall and were all panicking. The girl who was waiting on us began filling a large pitcher with water. As she headed in the direction of the fire, I screamed, “No! Don’t throw water on a grease fire!” She turned around and questioned, “No?” I explained quickly what throwing cold water on a vat of flaming grease would do. It would most likely have exploded and thrown hot grease over everyone nearby, and the fire would spread as the flaming grease floated on the water.<br /><br />They were eventually able to get the fire extinguisher off the wall and got the fire put out, but that was a close call. As we left, I was suddenly aware that we had come to KFC for one reason – I had to be there to keep that young girl from throwing water on that fire. She probably would have been severely burned. As I slipped into the car, the realization of this made me weak for a few seconds. There was “The Hand”.<br /><br />Two summers ago, we took a group of high school and middle school kids from our church to Brunswick, Georgia. The mother of one of our college students had opened her home to us so we could go to the beach. We left in the afternoon to get there in time to have supper at a popular sea food restaurant on St. Simons Island, then returned to the house where we spread blankets and sleeping bags on the floor in several rooms. The trip over the causeway to St. Simons had whetted our appetite for the beach the next day.<br /><br />The next day, we loaded up and headed back to St. Simons. After a bit of shopping in some of the interesting stores on the island, we headed to the beach. It was a sunny day and very hot. It was a pleasure to get into the water. Being one of the adults in charge, I kept my eyes open, constantly scanning the water to keep up with our kids. I noticed my youngest son Patrick floating on a football had gotten a good distance from the shore, so I waded out as far as I could stand up and yelled for him to come back closer to the shore. He yelled back that he couldn’t – he was caught on a current. I can’t tell you the shock of watching my child in the ocean well out of reach and heading for deeper water. Immediately I started swimming out till I reached him, but when I I turned around and tried taking us back to shore, I realized two things: 1) we were further out than I thought, and 2) we were both caught in a current taking us even further out. I tried swimming with all my might, but I wasn’t making any progress. The beach and all the people looked so far away, but I started screaming. No one heard. I can’t remember being as scared. I noticed a man with a boogey board and a couple of girls that were a little closer in playing with a Frisbee. I screamed as loudly as I could, and the man finally heard me. As soon as he realized we were in trouble, he headed out to us. He was able to pull us back in, and finally I was able to stand on the bottom. Fortunately, not only was he equipped with a plastic flotation device, but he was also a trained lifeguard who just happened to be within hearing range of my screams. There it was – “The Hand”. I still shudder when I remember that afternoon.</p><p>Of course, some will be quick to point out that there are many times when “The Hand” doesn’t seem to be there. I constantly question why bad things have to happen – earthquakes, floods, the terrible tsunami of December, 2004. Why do children get sick and die? My first son never came home from the hospital, but died in my arms at 9 days old. Why? I just don’t understand. However, this doesn’t keep me from seeing “The Hand” so many times, just like my daughter’s loving hand stretched out to protect her son from harm. And for that, I am thankful.</p>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-27391779871733443312008-10-22T22:03:00.011-04:002008-10-22T22:44:42.096-04:00Mâché CreationsThere is something beautiful about discarded paper -- newspapers, old memos and reports, magazines, catalogs...it doesn't really matter. I see things there that most people probably don't see -- dragons, turtles, giraffes, fish, castles, and characters of all sorts. It is my job to bring them to life so others can <em>see</em> them. I have named my studio (a loose term given to describe any place where I happen to be creating) Mâché Creations.<br /><br />Here is a sampling of what's going on in the studio these days: from the magic of chips of paper, to the creatures arising out of them.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_gclda3GI/AAAAAAAABVg/xweeLYhSCh4/s1600-h/PA200672.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260169671488494690" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_gclda3GI/AAAAAAAABVg/xweeLYhSCh4/s320/PA200672.JPG" border="0" /></a> It all begins here...with paper. Big sheets torn repeatedly, or cut into tiny pieces with scissors, until I have the raw material to begin shaping into what my head visualizes (but not entirely...the paper has a will of its own and comprimises must continually be made).<br /><br /><div align="left"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_eoDAnqNI/AAAAAAAABVQ/oSfLVaaGN4Y/s1600-h/PA200662.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260167669376067794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_eoDAnqNI/AAAAAAAABVQ/oSfLVaaGN4Y/s320/PA200662.JPG" border="0" /></a> This is tedious work, but the results are even beautiful before the process of gluing pieces of paper together begins. Shapes and sizes and colors yield an appealing texture that never ceases to thrill and fascinate me.<br /></div><div><div><div><div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_cjwrcgeI/AAAAAAAABUY/nHEtRnJM1Hw/s1600-h/PA200660.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260165396712686050" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 284px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 202px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_cjwrcgeI/AAAAAAAABUY/nHEtRnJM1Hw/s320/PA200660.JPG" border="0" /></a> I need a variety of sizes. The smallest pieces -- about 1/8 of an inch -- are for forming more precise shapes. I have returned to a process of gluing pieces of paper together, one by one, and working the shape as I go. Everything I do is freehand. I go from the paper chips you see to the eventual shapes using only the air for an armature. The only exceptions are the occasional rolled tube that establishes the form of a leg or arm on a creature. Dragons are my favorite subjects, and I have a variety of characters in the works. </div><div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_dtU6qRkI/AAAAAAAABUg/fljnKXvdk8E/s1600-h/PA200692.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260166660570629698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 282px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_dtU6qRkI/AAAAAAAABUg/fljnKXvdk8E/s320/PA200692.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>In the rising menagerie are fish and turtles, giraffes (not pictured), and a variety of dragons. There are many other creatures abiding in my mind waiting to get out and express themselves into form.</div><div></div><div></div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_dtgyLVHI/AAAAAAAABUo/6Mlb8CANTKs/s1600-h/PA200680.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260166663756272754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_dtgyLVHI/AAAAAAAABUo/6Mlb8CANTKs/s320/PA200680.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_dtrITjSI/AAAAAAAABUw/IPYw5IBI8FA/s1600-h/PA200682.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260166666533440802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_dtrITjSI/AAAAAAAABUw/IPYw5IBI8FA/s320/PA200682.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_duFbjDnI/AAAAAAAABU4/4zV9mejV5NY/s1600-h/PA200689.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260166673593470578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_duFbjDnI/AAAAAAAABU4/4zV9mejV5NY/s320/PA200689.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_duPBJ7tI/AAAAAAAABVA/dxXzn912Upk/s1600-h/PA200653.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260166676167126738" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_duPBJ7tI/AAAAAAAABVA/dxXzn912Upk/s320/PA200653.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_d7dJUqLI/AAAAAAAABVI/z0Ac8IOm2ak/s1600-h/PA200654.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260166903297779890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SP_d7dJUqLI/AAAAAAAABVI/z0Ac8IOm2ak/s320/PA200654.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div></div><div></div><div>I love the graceful curves of dragons' necks. Just wait until you see them with wings and ears. After I have them basically formed in this manner, I will take paper pulp made in the blender and kneaded together with glue, and with it cover the figures and sculpt the fine detail work. Previous work can be seen in an earlier blog post.</div><div></div><div>Stay tuned! I will be sharing more as the work on these projects progresses.</div><div></div><div></div><div>[Photos by Cris Bohannon]</div></div></div></div></div>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-81920212377744803472008-09-22T20:28:00.010-04:002008-09-22T21:48:24.149-04:00September 22nd...the day I became a Marine.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SNhHEu_1XUI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/dcAsFTWyW90/s1600-h/JimUSMC.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023512361131330" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SNhHEu_1XUI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/dcAsFTWyW90/s320/JimUSMC.jpg" border="0" /></a> Today is September 22, a very special date. Yes...the first day of fall, but something much more important to me. It is a birthday for me. Not the day I was first born, but a birthday no less. On September 22, 1976, I graduated from Marine Corps boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina. It was the day when I became a Marine and was first called by that title. It still brings a thrill to think about it.<br /><br /><br /><div></div><div>On June 28, 1976, six nervous recruits left from the AFEES building in Atlanta for the airport where we were flown, courtesy of our dear Uncle Sam, to Charleston, South Carolina. There we were met by a Marine Corps liaison and began meeting other young men from around the country who would share one of the most frightening experiences of our lives -- our arrival via bus. Our "incarceration" had begun. We were limited to a small area of the airport where we were able to have supper, but those who wanted alcohol to settle their nerves found out everyone there was in on the plot. Just like the flight attendants on the flight to Charleston, the airport staff would not serve any recruits alcohol. It was all for the best, because it would be three days before we would be allowed to sleep again.</div><div><br /></div><div>The ride from Charleston to Parris Island was made in the dark of night. We weren't to be allowed the pleasure of scenery, or to comprehend the route to the island that would be home for many of us for the next three months. As we rode past the sentries, we all realized it was about to happen. We were about to meet the people we'd had nightmares about for months. The Marine who came onto the bus to deliver our "welcome" didn't disappoint. We all flew off the bus and headed for the yellow footprints which would give us our first lesson on how to stand with our heels together at a 45 degree angle. Throughout the night, we were shuffled from place to place, filling out paperwork and having instructions barked at us...more instructions than we could possibly remember. Around 4:00 a.m. we were marched into the barbershop for a "trim". Stout South Carolina barbers were waiting to begin the first step of making us all look alike -- our first step of becoming a uniform outfit. The haircuts were brutal -- shears were pressed onto our scalps, and with long sweeps off came hair, warts, moles or any other obstacles that might reside on our heads. I saw several recruits come from the barber chair with lines of blood streaming down their heads.</div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SNhHSStWovI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/Q7yQqFnkSLQ/s1600-h/200px-Yellow_Footprints.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249023745285595890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SNhHSStWovI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/Q7yQqFnkSLQ/s320/200px-Yellow_Footprints.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div></div><div>Over the next several days we went through medical tests and inoculations; had every possession we arrived with bagged , marked, and taken to a warehouse; were issued our clothing and 782 gear (basic field equipment); and spent hours marching clumsily from place to place and standing in lines for hours. About the third day we were loaded into a trailer and taken to our permanent barracks where we met our platoon's senior drill instructor and drill instructors. While this was another nerve-wracking experience, it was also a relief from the stressful days of formation. We ran into our barracks -- my platoon was on the second deck (floor) -- and found the rack that corresponded to our laundry numbers. Since I was Bohannon, my laundry number was 4, which put me only one set of racks away from the DI hut. We spent 30 minutes standing at attention on our knees on the concrete floor. The senior drill instructor explained a few days before graduation why they do this -- they have to weed out quickly anybody whose knees won't take the strain of prolonged pressure.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Marine Corps basic training takes place in three phases. Phase 1 is a period of complete breaking down of the individual. The stress, physical and emotional, is intense and never lets up. We have our initial PFT (physical fitness test) and begin PT (physical training) and lots of drill. We learned how to do a school circle -- which is usually four even columns. Our classroom instruction did not take place in chairs or desks, but sitting at attention on hard floors.</div><div> </div><div>Second phase consists of the rifle range, water qualification, and various other training. The breakdown period of first phase transitions into a phase of grooming Marines, but the pressure still never lets up. Third phase we finally get to get high and tight haircuts instead of the shaved heads that we've worn through the first two phases. We are becoming Marines. We've qualified with the rifle and passe other important tests; we are feeling more like fighting men.</div><div> </div><div>Third phase consists of intense combat training. We get to participate in military maneuvers and learn important combat skills, like how to throw a hand grenade, how to use the bayonette to look for landmines, how to detect booby traps, etc. The training culminates in several intense days which are now called "The Crucible", but when I was in boot camp it was called Individual Combat Training (ICT). There was also the Essential Military Subjects Test (EMST), where we were examined in 12 areas, including NBC (Nuclear Biological Chemical warfare -- which includes a visit to the gas chamber), UCMJ (the Uniform Code of Military Justice), Close Order Drill, Marine Corps History, Military Customs, field stripping the M-16 and putting it back together, identifying various grenades by touch, and first aid.</div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SNhHzVYcZmI/AAAAAAAAA_g/LOvJl5RbKoU/s1600-h/014-2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249024312938882658" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SNhHzVYcZmI/AAAAAAAAA_g/LOvJl5RbKoU/s320/014-2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>One of my favorite parts of boot camp was the Confidence Course. There are various structures designed to intimidate and test courage and strength. Probably the most well-know obstacle is the Slide for Life. The recruit slides across a rope stretched over a pool of water. There are three positions: the recruit begins with his stomach on the rope, one foot over and one leg hanging down; at the changeover point, the recruit hangs by hands and legs with head facing the destination; finally, the recruit changes to the same position but with the feet heading toward the destination. Anyone falling has to snap to attention and yell "Marine Corps!" till he hits the water. Fortunately, I didn't fall -- even though two mischievous DIs began shaking my rope for their amusement.</div><div><br /></div><div>There is no way to put into words adequately the stress, the uncertainty, the homesickness, and all the other emotions and sensations of the training that leads to becoming a Marine. All I know is on the final day it was all worth it as I marched across the parade field and heard that depot band playing the marching songs, then standing at attention as we were first called Marines, then hearing the "Marine Corps Hymn" for the first time as a Marine. Fortunately, one of the benefits of becoming a Marine is -- Once a Marine...Always a Marine. Don't call me an ex-Marine. I am a Marine. And today is my birthday. And I'm still proud, and the "Marine Corps Hymn" still gives me goosebumps and leaves tears of pride in my eyes. SEMPER FI!!! and OOH RAH!!!</div><div align="center">____________________</div><div></div><div>Photos:</div><ul><li>James O. Bohannon, 1st Recruit Training Battalion, Alpha Company, Parris Islcand, South Carolina, graduated 22 September 1976.</li><li>The yellow footprints that greet every new recruit to Parris Island.</li><li>The Slide for Life (I notice now there is a "net" -- we were over water the entire time).</li></ul>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-57360974618840994562008-09-05T23:29:00.003-04:002008-09-05T23:38:24.353-04:00Storm Lee Bohannon...the newest member of the familyOn Thursday, September 4, 2008, at 12:32 p.m., we welcomed into our world Storm Lee Bohannon. Everything went well with the labor and delivery, except for a brief scare as Storm's heart rate began dropping just before delivery. He is a healthy, beautiful little boy. He was 6 lbs. 4.3 oz. and 19 inches long.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SMH6_2h6hJI/AAAAAAAAA_I/Y5AChk_Ysgg/s1600-h/Storm+Lee+Bohannon+9-4-08.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242747416112432274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SMH6_2h6hJI/AAAAAAAAA_I/Y5AChk_Ysgg/s320/Storm+Lee+Bohannon+9-4-08.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>This afternoon I got to spend some time holding him. He seemed to be just fine with me talking to him -- he slept right through it. His big brother, Rain, isn't too sure about having to share the limelight, but his cousin David (my other grandson) definitely loves him and can't wait for Mommy to have his little sister or brother in February. I guess it goes without saying, but I must say it anyway -- I love this little boy with all my heart. During this hurricane season, finally a Storm we can be glad to welcome!</div>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-82050239092356433992008-09-05T22:03:00.012-04:002008-09-05T23:08:19.739-04:00A Survey from MySpace...<div align="left">If you have a MySpace account, then you are familiar with the Bulletin Board, where you can post something so all your friends can see it and respond if they want. Honestly, I rarely ever check the thing, because the bulletin board gets so cluttered with stuff, and I don't have time to fool with it. But...occasionally I will check out somebody's "survey" and even reply, and it's a lot of fun. Here's a reply to one that my buddy JohnBoy posted. They are the same questions he had answered, but the replies are all mine:</div><br /><br /><div align="center">____________________________</div><br /><div align="left"><br /><strong>Do you miss the way things used to be?</strong></div><br /><div align="left">There are many ways things used to be, and I miss many of them. I miss being a child and standing on the couch looking out the window...I miss being an active duty Marine...I miss college and all the friends I had then...I miss seminary at Emory University...but I'm continually looking forward to new things, even while relishing the way things used to be.</div><br /><br /><div align="left"><strong>Who is the oldest person on your top friends?</strong></div><br /><div align="left">Cris (my wife).</div><br /><div align="left"><strong>Who is the youngest?</strong></div><br /><div align="left">Angel Grace (my sweet Angelita).</div><br /><div align="left"><strong>Last person you gave/received flowers to/from?</strong></div><br /><div align="left">Cris (my wife)...but I've also given flowers to my daughter, Elizabeth; my friend, Terri; my mother in law; and my sister in law. I haven't received any, but I'd like to!</div><br /><div align="left"><strong>Would you ever live with anyone on your top friends?</strong></div><br /><br /><div align="left">I already do...Cris, my wife. Also with my son, Patrick, and my daughter, Elizabeth.</div><br /><div align="left"><strong>Is there anyone you wish would just fall off a cliff?</strong></div><div align="left">Osama Bin Laden and every terrorist, every dangerous ideological extremist, and every street thug out to pop a cap in somebody for fun...and I'd help push to get them started.</div><div align="left"><br /><strong>Last fast food you ate?</strong></div><br /><div align="left">I don't do fast food anymore except under duress, but I'd have to say a fish sandwich at Burger King a few months ago.</div><div align="left"><br /><strong>What's the most fun you've had lately?</strong></div><br /><div align="left">Being with the "young people" (don'tcha hate that term!) at the Hopewell lock-in a few weeks ago playing games and acting silly the whole night long...playing with my grandson, David...and getting to hold my new grandson, Storm, this evening.</div><br /><div align="left"><strong>Do you have text messaging on your phone?</strong></div><br /><div align="left">Don't have a cell phone anymore, but I used to have it -- and, by golly, I know how to use it too!</div><br /><div align="left"><br /><strong><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SMHuji9U8_I/AAAAAAAAA_A/xjiDaE-VIFA/s1600-h/lava+lamp.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242733735682831346" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 75px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 188px" height="227" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SMHuji9U8_I/AAAAAAAAA_A/xjiDaE-VIFA/s320/lava+lamp.jpg" width="87" border="0" /></a>Do you have a lava lamp?</strong></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">No...but they are kinda cool, in that 60s nostalgic sort of way.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><br /><br /></div><p></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /> </p><p><br /><strong>When you drive, do you use your rear view mirrors?</strong></p><div align="left">Yes...and the windshield and windows too!<br /><br /><strong>Do you miss anyone?</strong></div><br /><div align="left">Lots of people -- especially my mama! </div><br /><div align="left"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242732118496670434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SMHtFaeGcuI/AAAAAAAAA-w/kF9k0TwpG3w/s320/Jim+%26+Mama+-+1993.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">[Mama & me in 1993]<br /><br /></p><strong>What kind of mood are you in?</strong><br /><br />A pretty good one...but I'm sort of frustrated at all I need to get done.<br /><br /><strong>Are you tan?</strong><br /><br />Some places yes...most places no.<br /><br /><strong>Have you held hands with anyone in the past three days?</strong><br /><br />Of course I have...my wife, and my grandson<br /><br /><strong>What do you think your best friend is doing right now?</strong><br /><br />I haven't the foggiest idea.<br /><br /><strong>What is your favorite thing to eat?</strong><br /><br />Yogurt and raw spinich salads (not necessarily together), from a sheer nutritional standpoint, but one of my all-time favorite meals is fried salmon patties, mashed potatoes, and English peas.<br /><strong>Have you kissed anyone in the past three days?</strong><br /><br />I sure have...I kissed a girl, and I liked it! :)<br /><br /><strong>Do you like your hair?</strong><br /><br />It's okay. Sometimes I look like Einstein, but it's okay -- I like Einstein. All of us geniuses have to have weird hair!<br /><br /><strong>Is there someone on your mind that shouldn't be?</strong><br /><br /><br />Yes...probably...oh, I don't know...it's my mind, why shouldn't somebody be there if I want them to be!<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SMHuRspJJeI/AAAAAAAAA-4/xqp183n--Yw/s1600-h/smoking.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242733429044880866" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="271" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SMHuRspJJeI/AAAAAAAAA-4/xqp183n--Yw/s320/smoking.jpg" width="219" border="0" /></a> <strong>What do you think of people who smoke?</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />They're human beings just like the rest of us -- they just don't smell as good.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>Do you prefer warm or cold weather?</strong><br /><br />Nice crisp autumn weather, or the first hint of spring in the air after a cold winter.<br /><br /><strong>What was the last thing you laughed really hard about?</strong><br /><br />Something funny my grandson, David, did -- I can't remember what it was...he's so amazing, he's always doing things to make me laugh.<br /><br /><strong>Could you go a day without eating?</strong><br /><br />Sure...but I wouldn't like it. And you wouldn't want to be around me!<br /><br /><strong>Have you ever kissed someone and never saw them again?</strong><br /><br />Yep...and that's all I'm gonna say about that!<br /><br /><strong>Are you still best friends with the same person as the beginning of the year?</strong><br /><br />Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be? I'm a fantastic friend.<br /><br /><strong>Do you think a lot of people think bad things about you?</strong><br /><br />I'd like to think not, but I'm sure some people do, but they probably have no reason to. There's a lady at church who for years refuses to speak to me, treats me very rudely whenever I see her there or elsewhere, and generally acts like I'm invisible to her. It hurts, and I've racked my brain trying to remember if there was anything I ever did to her to make her hate me so...but there's nothing I can think of. And if there was...there's no way it was intentional. This has gone on for years, and it always hurts just as badly -- and there have even been times I considered leaving our church because of it. It's a very private pain.<br /><br /><strong>What are you excited about?</strong><br /><br />Several things: being a grandfather several times over, sculpting and writing projects, getting re-aquainted with some old friends on FaceBook, and making lots of new friends.<br /><br /><strong>What was the first thing you said when you woke up today?</strong><br /><br />I am exhausted! I barely slept at all last night!<br /><br /><strong>Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex?</strong><br /><br />Most of my best friends are and have been of the opposite sex. For some reason I have always been more comfortable relating to females.<br /><br /><strong>Was your morning good and why?</strong><br /><br />No...I slept like crap and was exhausted -- the house smelled like something dead was under it (and I didn't have a chance to go under there and check till tonight -- and sure enough, there was...a very dead cat!). Tomorrow's got to be better!Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-26014248545701508842008-08-28T23:37:00.003-04:002008-08-28T23:52:09.370-04:00Stay Tuned!!!Greetings, dear readers. Maybe you've noticed I haven't updated in a while...(hopefully someone has noticed). Well, I'm back, and over the next few days I plan to be adding more posts on a variety of topics. I have a full notebook...it's just a matter of developing some of the topics a little more fully.<br /><br />Some things I plan to talk about:<br /><br />1) My Uncle Brooks (Garland Brooks Turner), a World War I veteran who lived to tell about his own funeral.<br /><br />2) Reflections on the presidential campaign and my feelings about some of the issues (including "climate change", terrorism and the hunt for Bin Laden, health care, the war in Iraq, etc.). Should be fun!<br /><br />3) Flannery O'Connor -- world renowned author and local Milledgeville resident, who died much too young of complications from lupus. I want to talk about the author personally and analyze some of her work I think will interest you.<br /><br />4) An update on my journey of working out, eating right, losing weight and getting back into shape nearly 10 months in. If I can do it, you probably can too.<br /><br />5) My renewed determination to establish myself (or, I guess I should say, re-establish myself) as an artist.<br /><br />6) My fascination with the world of online audio sources, from podcasts to Pandora, from audiobooks for purchase at Audible.com to free audiobooks at Librivox and Podiobooks.<br /><br />These and many other interesting topics will be showing up here at the blog very soon. So...stay tuned!Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-3870647539346817042008-06-14T23:20:00.013-04:002008-12-08T21:56:35.971-05:00A Visit to the Georgia Aquarium<div align="left">When I was in my early teens, I had a book on aquarium fish full of pictures and information that gave me hours of pleasure. I dreamed of one day owning an amazing aquarium. For starters, I planned to have a basement, and one entire wall was going to be an aquarium sectioned off into various environments. Plants and fish and rocks and assorted scenery decorated my mind (still does, as a matter of fact).</div><p align="left">Actually we've owned two or three aquariums over the years, nothing approaching even in miniature the fantastic dreams I nursed in my youth. After a while the aquariums became the visual equivalent of white noise at best -- or worse, a tedious chore. Too many things in real life competed for money, time and energy, and it seemed like the only fish we had any success with were plain-colored <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">danios</span>.</p><div align="left">On Friday my dreams took flight again. We visited the <a href="http://www.georgiaaquarium.org/">Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta</a>, the world's largest aquarium. It turned out to be an expensive day after tickets, gas for two vehicles, and food, but it was worth it. We all had a ball! </div><div align="left"><br />I want to share some of the pictures of our day at the Georgia Aquarium, and if you're ever in the area -- I highly recommend a visit there.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNet3418I/AAAAAAAAA4A/XFeinXvpISE/s1600-h/03+Fish+in+blue+water.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211946227624105922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNet3418I/AAAAAAAAA4A/XFeinXvpISE/s320/03+Fish+in+blue+water.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>There are spectacular views throughout the aquarium.</p><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNew-53CI/AAAAAAAAA4I/NBQ9CdQnnc4/s1600-h/05+Hammerhead.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211946228458839074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNew-53CI/AAAAAAAAA4I/NBQ9CdQnnc4/s320/05+Hammerhead.JPG" border="0" /></a>A hammerhead swims among assorted fish and rays. </div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNfNPbQgI/AAAAAAAAA4Q/CbdyxYZQsoA/s1600-h/07+Petting+a+stingray.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211946236044329474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNfNPbQgI/AAAAAAAAA4Q/CbdyxYZQsoA/s320/07+Petting+a+stingray.JPG" border="0" /></a>Can you believe it! A petting zoo at the aquarium! It was fun, even after one of the bonnet sharks swam over my hand and tried to take a nibble (we didn't realize it was almost feeding time).<br /></p><p align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNfI_nb6I/AAAAAAAAA4Y/7xof3FsAO1o/s1600-h/08+Anemones.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211946234904276898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNfI_nb6I/AAAAAAAAA4Y/7xof3FsAO1o/s320/08+Anemones.JPG" border="0" /></a>The anemones were beautiful -- and you can touch them too! </p><div align="center"><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNfXfBQ9I/AAAAAAAAA4g/gUw3dMmJyKs/s1600-h/10+Beluga+whale.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211946238794089426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSNfXfBQ9I/AAAAAAAAA4g/gUw3dMmJyKs/s320/10+Beluga+whale.JPG" border="0" /></a> This beluga whale was a big, graceful showoff. It was my daughter's favorite.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211948095755868290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSPLdNNWII/AAAAAAAAA4w/qi_fKaHg0Hc/s320/12+South+African+penguin+watching+us.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"><br />This South African penguin enjoyed watching us as we watched back from a glass enclosure inside its habitat.<br /></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211948096826085794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSPLhMXkaI/AAAAAAAAA44/BtowH-_dEXM/s320/14+Shiny+yellow+fish.JPG" border="0" />I can't remember the species of fish, but this pretty <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">specimen</span> is indicative of the beauty housed in this aquarium. </p><p align="center"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211947929793752754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SFSPBy8wbrI/AAAAAAAAA4o/mOJDYFIsI6I/s320/Jim+and+Deepo.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">I couldn't leave without giving a hug to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Deepo</span>, the Georgia Aquarium mascot. Boy, I love fish!</p>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-16962893804074557992008-06-05T22:08:00.003-04:002008-12-08T21:56:36.269-05:00A Flower for Mama: A Lesson That Finally BloomedThe house in which I grew up was small and Spartan. My mama seems in my mind to be perpetually standing at the sink washing dishes and looking out the window at a little patch of the world she loved and from which she never strayed far or for long. There was no running hot water in the kitchen, and Mama always kept a kettle on the stove to heat water for washing dishes. The immediate view out the kitchen window was the crepe myrtle just across the driveway, surrounded by one of the poorest scraps of soil on the property, so when one of the tulips Mama had planted there actually came up and bloomed, it gave her a simple yet profound private joy of which her three year old son (that would be me) was utterly unaware.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SEirDcZy-0I/AAAAAAAAA3w/z9OM1N2glzQ/s1600-h/tulip+bloom.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208601044706327362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 190px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 258px" height="259" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SEirDcZy-0I/AAAAAAAAA3w/z9OM1N2glzQ/s320/tulip+bloom.JPG" width="196" border="0" /></a>Playing in the yard early one afternoon, I noticed the flower. Knowing how Mama seemed to enjoy flowers, I thought she would love to have this one in the house, so…I picked it. Mama must have been at her post staring out the window, because she met me at the door as I rushed in to present the gift. I couldn’t wait to see how happy Mama would be, so I was completely unprepared when she began scolding me for picking her flower. When I started sobbing hysterically, Mama was immediately repentant and took me in her arms trying to console me and apologizing for scolding me, because she realized I was only trying to make her happy. But the episode left a shadow on my early childhood that led to an event which my daddy enjoyed telling with a chuckle for years.<br /><br />I was riding in the car with Daddy down a country road. In those days seatbelts and child restraints were unknown, and I always traveled standing in the center of the front bench seat with my arms spread across the back of the seat for balance. We came to a field that seemed literally to explode in color with wildflowers. Daddy pulled the car over and started to get out. He said, “Let’s get your mama a bunch of flowers.” With a serious look, I shook my head and said, “No, Daddy. Mama don’t like flowers.”<br /><br />He couldn’t coax me out of the car, so he climbed back in and we went home. He told Mama about the flowers and what I’d said, and she explained about the tulip. It was something Mama always regretted. I remember once when we were sitting around the table at Mama’s house sharing this story with my children, Mama laughed, but she came over and kissed me lightly on the back of the neck, hugged me and said, “He just wanted to give his mama a flower, and I should’ve just taken it.” <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SEiraqT78qI/AAAAAAAAA34/y5xSNr0sQEQ/s1600-h/canna.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208601443576836770" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SEiraqT78qI/AAAAAAAAA34/y5xSNr0sQEQ/s320/canna.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In my teens, I fell in love with growing things – flowers and plants of every kind. I started a compost pile and took cuttings, seeds, and bulbs from all my elderly aunts whose houses lined the street across the field from our house. Eventually I worked some good topsoil and compost into that sorry patch of earth across from Mama’s kitchen window and planted cannas which had been struggling to grow in another part of the yard. They performed magnificently, reaching seven feet in height and blooming profusely. I told mama I had finally made up for picking her tulip. She just laughed and hugged me and said she loved looking out that window more than ever. I was wrong, Daddy – Mama really did like flowers.Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-83633406301445831622008-05-26T21:28:00.005-04:002008-12-08T21:56:36.407-05:00Happy Memorial Day!In <em>The Declaration of Independence</em>, we find these words: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."<br /><br />We Americans are a privileged people. Although we are continuously reminded these days of the proliferation of anti-American sentiment by various people around the world (and even some in this country), we are heirs to a heritage of freedom, hope, and optimism that much of the world can only dream of. With tremendous privilege comes tremendous responsibility. Today we remember and honor those who have borne that responsibility with their lives.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SDtls0e0hOI/AAAAAAAAA24/uxiYxHSkUNk/s1600-h/Flag+raising.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204865615033304290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="234" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/SDtls0e0hOI/AAAAAAAAA24/uxiYxHSkUNk/s320/Flag+raising.jpg" width="305" border="0" /></a>Consequently, we are reminded of the service of every man and woman who takes the oath of military service. In November of 1975, with my heart pounding and goosebumps rushing to cover my body, I raised my right hand and repeated these words as I enlisted in the United States Marine Corps:<br /><br /><em>I, James Oscar Bohannon, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.</em><br /><br />Today I salute all my brothers and sisters in arms who’ve shared that oath (or one very similar) and who bear those arms not for malicious purposes, but who bear them to stand guard over my freedom and yours, and to keep safe the country that, despite its many flaws and shortcomings, stands as the greatest beacon of hope to the world. To those who’ve paid the ultimate price for freedom and honor, and for those who’ve been willing to face the possibility of paying that price, may God bless you always – and, indeed, may God bless America!<br /><br />SEMPER FI!!!Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-44392719458190286922008-05-04T23:17:00.004-04:002008-05-04T23:42:02.072-04:00Rip Van Winkle, the Prodigal Son, and the Author of this Blog...Hmm...now just what <em>do</em> Rip Van Winkle, the Prodigal Son, and the author of this blog have in common? Tick, tock, tick, tock, buzzzzzz...time's up. They all disappeared and didn't show up where they belonged for quite a while. Wow! Can you believe it's been over three months since I last posted anything at my blog! That just will not do, and I can't let that happen again.<br /><br />So much has happened since the last time I spoke to you. My brother went into the hospital again with congestive heart failure and almost died again (but he's back home, on regular dialysis, and better be watching his diet). A good friend of mine got very sick, and my wife and I took her to the emergency room with a fever of 104 degrees, and we were waited on by a medical team that obviously either trained with the Three Stooges or got their credentials from Clown College. But...she survived and recovered after lots of tender, loving care. I celebrated my 51st birthday (on March 28th), but I haven't felt younger in years (probably in great part because I'm still working out regularly...yay!). Cris and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary, but we didn't get to go to the bed and breakfast in the mountains like we'd planned, because the transmission went out in the car and sucked nearly $2000.00 out of savings, and this just after paying nearly $400.00 for repairs on the van. This left roughly enough in our bank account for us to stay in bed here and have a bowl of cereal for breakfast (not the bed & breakfast we'd envisioned for a milestone...but we're gonna make up for it as soon as school's out!).<br /><br />I have lots of notes about subjects I want to write about, like how my writing has not been going well at all. Heck, it hasn't even been going badly. It just hasn't been going...but that's changing. I'm also working on sculpting using a new technique -- more on that later (when something is finished and I can show you). There is a presidential campaign going on -- in case you haven't noticed -- and I have some thoughts. Boy, do I have some thoughts. Oh...my one year old grandson lost his Medicaid, and we've been unable to get it back, and we can't apply for the children's health insurance, because he qualifies for Medicaid (go figure!). Soooo...my toddler grandson is uninsured. Meanwhile, my oldest son lost his job (painting houses) weeks ago and has run out of unemployment (and has a second child on the way). That means I have two grown children and their families with no health insurance and inadequate incomes. Don't you just love the American Dream!<br /><br />Ahhh...yes, there is so much to talk about, but for now, I just wanted you to know I'm still around. So, kill the fatted calf, bring the best garments and the family ring, and stir up the merriment -- the Prodigal has returned!Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-76129237618969679412008-01-30T22:47:00.001-05:002008-12-08T21:56:37.148-05:00Happy Birthday David Jeremiah Garcia!!!My first grandson is one year old today! It's hard to believe. The joy he has brought into our lives is indescribable, and I can't imagine a world without him. We'll have a party on February 9th (yeah...I know, but we tend to draw birthdays out for weeks around here).<br /><p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R6FLACmV9II/AAAAAAAAA14/sOu0LwqapcY/s1600-h/David+01+-+outdoors.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161489112013075586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R6FLACmV9II/AAAAAAAAA14/sOu0LwqapcY/s320/David+01+-+outdoors.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R6FLASmV9JI/AAAAAAAAA2A/MkChmU5vpAg/s1600-h/David+03+-+outdoors.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161489116308042898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R6FLASmV9JI/AAAAAAAAA2A/MkChmU5vpAg/s320/David+03+-+outdoors.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R6FLASmV9KI/AAAAAAAAA2I/K_2WvARt7J4/s1600-h/David+03+-+on+car.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161489116308042914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R6FLASmV9KI/AAAAAAAAA2I/K_2WvARt7J4/s320/David+03+-+on+car.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R6FLAimV9LI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/pVFjTEMncXc/s1600-h/David+04+-+with+ball.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161489120603010226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R6FLAimV9LI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/pVFjTEMncXc/s320/David+04+-+with+ball.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">FELIZ PRIMERO CUMPLEAÑOS!!! Mi Davidito, ¡te amo mucho!</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;">~ Tu Papa</span></p>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-68161052988040419712008-01-11T21:57:00.000-05:002008-01-11T22:25:11.271-05:00The New Year...So FarWe're heading for the two week mark of the new year, the point where I understand many people start falling by the wayside on those ambitious resolutions. That's just one reason why I never make any. I have resolved not to resolve -- and that's the only one I keep. However, I do have some serious plans and resolute intentions for this year, and I am sticking with them. I actually began before the new year, but I plan to keep the momentum going throughout this year -- and beyond.<br /><br /><strong>Getting in Shape</strong><br /><br />It's about time to check the classifieds -- I want a treadmill. This may be the time when all those good intentions are wearing thin, and those people who splurged on fancy exercise equipment have decided to cut their loses. Don't know where I'm going to put it, but after taking a run on a chilly afternoon it's taken days to shake the cough (actually, I still haven't shaken it). I'd love to be able to run in my office with some good, inspiring music blasting from my Bose speakers. Fortunately, we do have a new exercise bike -- the kind with the pedals out front -- that I got for my wife, who recently had knee surgery. We are putting it to good use.<br /><br />I'd bought a new weight bench a few months back, and immediately hurt my back and was in such pain I couldn't even assemble it. Then my oldest son came over and put it together -- but we had no weights. We finally went to Academy Sports & Outdoors and got a set of steel free weights, and I was like a child at Christmas (even though we got them a few weeks before Christmas). It still took a couple of weeks to get going, but thanks to my youngest son -- who has been using them -- I worked out one afternoon, and I've been doing it ever since.<br /><br />I've lost about 15 pounds, dropped two pants sizes, and my musculature is re-appearing with surprising definition. And I'm feeling good (except for the tendinitis in my left arm). I'm not eating nearly as much, and I don't miss it. A couple of weekends ago, we had to go shopping. I needed new clothes! From size 40 to size 38, and I'm on the way to 36! Pardon me if I sound a little boastful, but I feel I deserve it. This has taken weeks of hard work and determination -- and I am a little proud.<br /><br /><strong>Writing</strong><br /><br />I've been writing for years, but I've never had the focus to stick with a project longer than a modest poem -- not counting journal entries and the occasional blog. Now, however, I am actively working on my first novel. I've enlisted a bakers dozen of some of the most intelligent and wonderful people I know to be readers for my book, and I plan to be ready to shop for an agent by April. Now I feel like I can really call myself a writer.<br /><br />In case any of you were wondering why my blog hasn't been updated in nearly a month -- now you know. But...I hope to do better with posting. I started this blog as an outlet to share my writing and ideas, and I don't plan to abandon it.<br /><br /><strong>Best Wishes to My Blog Readers</strong><br /><br />To all of you who've been faithful readers, and to those who stop by from time to time -- and to those of you who may have just now discovered my little home on the Internet -- I wish a very blessed, peaceful, and successful 2008.Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-11504770426441251872007-12-15T23:40:00.000-05:002008-12-08T21:56:37.372-05:00Is Anything Made in America Anymore?<div>This is a wonderful time -- looking forward to a first Christmas with my two grandsons and great-nephew. There is nothing I can imagine that could be better for Christmas than the gift of these precious little boys.</div><div></div><br /><div>Yet...this is one of the most frustrating holiday seasons ever. With three little boys to shop for, thoughts go to Fisher-Price, Mattel, and all those other toymakers who made our holidays past so memorable. But -- all these names mean to me this Christmas is..."Made in China", lead paint, and toxic! I am furious at these corporations for betraying me, my grandchildren, and my country!</div><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R2Sw_OtiLoI/AAAAAAAAA0s/v4stGGMhy9I/s1600-h/wooden+blocks.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5144431274691276418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R2Sw_OtiLoI/AAAAAAAAA0s/v4stGGMhy9I/s320/wooden+blocks.jpg" border="0" /></a>I've looked online for "Made in America" -- and I've found some things. So what's the problem? First, there is selection. There's not a whole lot that looks like a modern child might be thrilled to see under the tree. Maybe fifty years ago -- but not today. The second, and maybe the most significant -- price! Good gracious -- $50.00 for a set of 28 wooden blocks? Bless them for using "non-toxic ink", but do they really need to gouge me this badly!</div><div></div><br /><div>All I want for Christmas is a non-toxic, reasonably priced toy, or two! What happened to Sam Walton's philosophy of American made? Surely the traditions of stocking stores and conducting transactions that made a simple Arkansas businessman the world's richest man, while selling quality, safe, American-made goods was good enough. Are his offspring so greedy that they would sell the nation's soul for a little more profit? And, mind you, this is not just a mere matter of what Walmart sells -- as Walmart goes, so goes the rest of the retail industry. The bottom line is dependent on competition, and competition has already been devastated by Walmart. Now that they've traded our national soul for a bowl of pottage, it's unlikely that any other merchants will do very much to try to bring us redemption.</div>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-13464769076838402952007-12-09T23:51:00.001-05:002007-12-09T23:58:26.262-05:00Michael James Bohannon -- Happy Birthday, and Rest in PeaceToday (December 9th) is my firstborn son's birthday. Michael James Bohannon was born at the University of Arizona Medical Center in Tucson. He was two months premature and weighed a little over 3 lbs. 5 oz. Nine days later, after a battle with <a href="http://www.kidshealth.org/parent/medical/digestive/nec.html">necrotizing entercolitis </a>and two surgeries, Michael passed away quietly in my arms in a "quiet room" at the hospital. As impossible as it may sound, just before he died, my tiny son opened his eyes, looked up at me, and smiled. He then made one last gasp, and I knew he was gone. The nurse came in and listened with the stethescope and confirmed it.<br /><br />On this, his 29th birthday, I still miss Michael, and I love him very, very much.<br /><br />Happy Birthday, Michael! I love you! ~ DaddyJim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-17311358766145504622007-12-08T22:27:00.000-05:002008-12-08T21:56:37.490-05:00First Steps...My grandson, David Jeremiah Garcia, began walking yesterday. Oh, he's been standing on his own for a few weeks, and he's taken a very tentative step or two, but yesterday he took a step while reaching for me, and doing that sneaky grownup thing, I moved back just out of reach. David kept stepping, and I kept moving back, encouraging him forward the whole time. Then I reached out, picked him up, gave him a big hug and kiss, and said, "You walked!" He smiled and wiggled a bit. He knew he'd just done something amazing. Needless to say, it made me feel good that the first walking David did was to get to me -- his Papa. We then called Mama and Grandma in from the yard and showed off for them.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R1tk-vHfbjI/AAAAAAAAA0k/_q7PY-XhCKM/s1600-h/David+Jeremiah+Garcia+-+Dec.+2007.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141814428536106546" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R1tk-vHfbjI/AAAAAAAAA0k/_q7PY-XhCKM/s320/David+Jeremiah+Garcia+-+Dec.+2007.JPG" border="0" /></a>This whole experience has been a reminder that we are constantly learning to walk, in one way or another. There are all sorts of steps we must learn to take. First we learn to balance ourselves and stand upright. Then we hold onto something and practice getting one clumsy foot in front of the other. Then someone we trust lets us hold onto their hand while we practice for the real thing. At last comes the day when we let go and take those anxious, uncertain steps and walk.<br /><br /><br />That is how it has been with so many aspects of my life. When I went to Marine Corps bootcamp, the first thing I had to look for after getting off the bus was the famous yellow footprints. We had to learn how to stand all over again -- heels together, feet forming a 45 degree angle. Then we had to learn how to walk, together -- left...left...left, right, left! "Don't bounce, this ain't a dance sweethearts!" "Get in step, get in step!" "The other right foot!" For 13 weeks I learned how to walk, until I was able to march off Parris Island as a United States Marine.<br /><br /><br />The latest walk for me, of course, is my writing. I've been learning how to balance, and how to take a few tentative anxious steps. Now, all of a sudden (or so it seems) I am walking -- stumbling and clumsy, yes...but writing! David just learned how to walk, and he will spend the next couple of years perfecting his steps. Soon he'll be walking without even thinking about his steps; he'll only be concerned with where he wants to go. He's given me a refreshing shot of courage, because I know that while I'm having to pay too much attention to my steps right now, before long I'll write and only be concerned with where I want to go.<br /><br /><br />David Jeremiah Garcia, I love you, and Papa's so proud of you! Now I want to succeed so you can be proud of me.<br /><br /><br />[Photo: David Garcia holding his Papa's hand at the Milledgeville, GA, Christmas parade, December 2, 2007]Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-69002916331617429512007-11-29T23:45:00.001-05:002007-11-30T00:25:47.686-05:00A Novel Idea!I have finally begun work on a novel. I won't be saying much about it here, because...well, because I don't won't to talk about it a lot; I just want to write it. I have set myself some pretty serious goals.<br /><br />By December 15th, have a detailed outline of the entire book completed.<br /><br />By December 30th, have the first three chapters finished.<br /><br />On or shortly after January 1, send the first three chapters to my volunteer readers -- so far there are 8 of them, one in Oregon, one in Montana, two in Florida, and four in Georgia.<br /><br />I've started researching agents who may be interested in the kind of book I am writing. It is a fantasy story rooted in mythology, faerie lore (most of which I'm making up), and quantum physics. There is a battle of good and evil -- which is a universal theme, but I hope to put my own very special twist on this theme. <strong>Stay tuned.</strong><br /><br /><div align="center">_________________________</div><br />A couple of good quotes I found today that are appropriate to the plot of my story:<br /><br /><br />"The myth is the foundation of life, the timeless <em>scema</em>, the pious formula into which life flows when it reproduces its traits out of the unconscious."<br /><strong>~ Thomas Mann, "Freud and the Future"</strong><br /><br /><br />"Man, apparantly, cannot maintain himself in the universe without believe in some arrangement of the general inheritance of myth."<br /><strong>~ Joseph Campbell, <em>The Masks of God: Primitive Mythology</em></strong>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-30070993004377312552007-11-27T06:33:00.000-05:002008-12-08T21:56:37.781-05:00Morning...<div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R0wG1z6Q9jI/AAAAAAAAA0U/rX-crcuLABE/s1600-h/Sunrise+over+the+house+-+Oct.+2006.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137488796460316210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R0wG1z6Q9jI/AAAAAAAAA0U/rX-crcuLABE/s320/Sunrise+over+the+house+-+Oct.+2006.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">The stark raving sky<br />pushes the moon aside<br />lunacy!</div><br />The cold golden sun<br />inches its way up earth<br />hand over hand<br />growing warm from effort<br />till it burns.<br /><br />______________________<br /><em>(Photo: Sunrise, Oct. 10, 2006</em><br /><em> by Jim Bohannon)</em><br /></div>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-31114070299371281742007-11-26T23:45:00.000-05:002007-11-26T23:49:39.180-05:00Up, Down, and Holes in the Ground<em>Some stream-of-consciousness reflections from my journal today:</em><br /><br />I looked up at the stars and watched the heavenly dance about me, a slow dance measured in the steady rhythm of the universe. What is up there, out there, down there -- I say "down there" because in a sense, I am up here looking down on other worlds. When I was a boy, I used to get dizzy looking up. Flying and looking down at the ground from tall buildings never bothered me, but looking up at an airplane or a tall skyscraper disoriented me, made me feel woozy and a little nauseated -- do they make groundsick bags? It is because I realize the concept of up and down is an illusion generated by the random direction of gravity, and gravity, being the weakest of the four physical forces, shouldn’t be allowed to dictate as much as it does. Of course, I know gravity has power over me, and for that I am mostly grateful. It would be most uncomfortable to keep floating out of my seat as I try to type or read. Yet, it would be most dangerous if I decided to fly off the top of a tall building hoping to fly over the countryside to explore its beauty. I would die. That’s what gravity would do to me. Gravity is weak, and it has no conciense. (If I am wrong, I apologize to gravity.)<br /><br />When I was a boy, I used to love climbing into holes in the ground. Nowadays I am claustrophobic, and there is no way I would go into some of the holes or crawl through some of the tiny pipes that I did in those days. I cringe to think about it now, and yet in a way I long to be able to do that again, to do it without fear. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become fearful of being trapped -- of being trapped in the debris of a collapsed building or the crumpled wreckage of an automobile. Perhaps it’s the looming fear of being forever trapped in the grave. And yet, I feel - I believe - there is something more. The grave cannot hold me. "O, death, where is thy sting? Grave, where is thy victory?" Is there existence beyond death, or is it an all-encompassing, eternally peaceful rest trapped in the debris of a dying world - universe? What is existence anyway? Philosophers debate and speculate and argue and become self-assured, but in fact, nobody knows, not even the most brilliant of the philosophers. All of us are doomed to speculate, to believe, and we divide ourselves most hideously and most violently over issues of what will happen after death. The Muslim extremist kills himself and innocent people because of the promise of an afterlife full of sexual bliss. The Christian fundamentalist spends her life in torment with the world because she believes everyone around her is going to hell "without Jesus". There have been times in my life where I was cocksure I knew. Now I’m humbly uncertain, yet eternally hopeful. But I’m still avoiding small spaces.Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-27853970351197615312007-11-25T23:17:00.000-05:002008-12-08T21:56:38.115-05:00Reflections on Nabokov's Lolita<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R0pLIj6Q9hI/AAAAAAAAA0E/YsGisDQ03O8/s1600-h/nabokov_pic.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137000935420130834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="217" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R0pLIj6Q9hI/AAAAAAAAA0E/YsGisDQ03O8/s320/nabokov_pic.jpg" width="226" border="0" /></a>I'd been wanting to read it for a long time. <em>Lolita</em>, that is. The novel by Vladimir Nabokov. I finally did, and here's how it came about (from my 2005 Journal):<br /><br /><div align="center">____________________</div><br /><div><em>Friday, October 21, 2005 (12:37 a.m.)</em></div><br /><div align="left">Late this evening I walked down the moonlit driveway and crossed the highway (with flashlight lit) to fetch two boxes from Amazon.com. Two of the books I ordered were waiting there for me. Thousands of books in my possession, and it’s always such a delight to get new books – especially these. These are Nabokov! I’ve never owned a work of Nabokov. A softcover copy of <em>Lectures on Literature</em> (edited by Fredson Bowers, with an introduction by John Updike) and The Library of America volume, <em>Nabokov: Novels 1955-1962</em> (including <em>Lolita</em>, <em>Pale Fire</em>, and the screenplay for <em>Lolita</em> that Nabokov wrote for Stanley Kubric). I’ve already been reading in them – particularly the editor’s forward to <em>Lectures on Literature</em>, and a few random passages from <em>Lolita</em>. No doubt I will learn a lot about reading, about literature, and about how to craft my own writing to make it alive and vital.</div><div align="right"><br />[end of journal selection]</div><div align="center">____________________</div><br /><br /><div align="left">Lolita, following in the footsteps of other great works, such as James Joyce's <em>Ulysses</em>, has been regularly and frequently banned. When it was first published, Nabakov had to resort to a French publisher, because no American publisher was willing to take a chance on such subject matter -- a fictitious prison memoir of a relationship between a middle-aged man and a 12 year old girl. On its premier publication, one reviewer in London called it "the filthiest book I have ever read" and "sheer unrestrained pornography," which probably assured the book immediate success. The great writer (and British spy) Graham Greene, on the other hand, called it one of the best novels of 1954.</div><br /><br /><div align="left">The book is one of the finest I have ever read. We see into the head of Humbert Humbert, and far from being an apologetic for pedophilia, we see Humbert for the monster that he really is. Nevertheless, we also see him as a human being, which is the real magic of the book for me. The prose is exquisite, which is amazing in itself considering Nabokov initially established his career in literature in his native Russian and only began writing in English later in his life. Perhaps that is why he was such a master of the language. When he wasn't writing, Nabokov was most frequently pursuing his other great love -- chasing butterflies. He was an avid lepidopterist. What an apt metaphor, because one can imagine him chasing and capturing the most beautiful words and collecting them in his prose.</div><br /><div align="left"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R0pLiT6Q9iI/AAAAAAAAA0M/QaOx30GMmw0/s1600-h/Nabokov+book.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137001377801762338" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R0pLiT6Q9iI/AAAAAAAAA0M/QaOx30GMmw0/s320/Nabokov+book.JPG" border="0" /></a>I saw this title on a list of suggested books for the local book group I recently joined, and I hope we will select this for one of our monthly discussions. If you've not given Nabokov in general, and <em>Lolita</em> in particular, a chance -- perhaps because of the "scandalous" topic, or because you are intimidated by "great literature" (remember, great literature is great because it is first of all good literature) -- I hope you'll take a look at it. The poetry, the sheer loveliness of language, is evident in the rhythm of the opening lines, some of the most beautiful in all of literature:<br />____________________</div><br /><br /><div align="left"><em>Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. </em></div><div align="left"><em><br />She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.</em></div>Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-69255525422671897322007-11-23T22:21:00.000-05:002008-12-08T21:56:38.343-05:00Oh, Christmas Tree...When I was a boy, I spent a lot of time roaming through the woods. Usually I'd carry a hatchet and either my .22 rifle or 410 shotgun, and I'd be gone for much of the day. Those were very different times. I can't imagine spending the better part of a day with my children wandering Lord knows where. I want them close to my sights, if not directly in them, so I can be ready to rescue them from whatever crazy danger contemporary society might have in store for them. Ahhh...those were very different times indeed.<br /><br />One of my annual chores was to hunt down a Christmas tree -- always a cedar; I didn't even realize there was any other kind till I was well into my teens. I'd usually have a spot already staked out and hoped I'd remember how to get back to it when it was tree cutting time. I'd try to find the prettiest, shapeliest cedar in the woods, and finding that perfect tree was always a thrill. I can't imaging getting that much deep-down joy from a video game! Dragging the tree out was always a challenge, especially having to tote a hatchet and rifle too.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R0edqj6Q9eI/AAAAAAAAAzk/hBVrRi1tl0k/s1600-h/Christmas+tree+from+Walmart.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 277px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5FLEXB6Dmj8/R0edqj6Q9eI/AAAAAAAAAzk/hBVrRi1tl0k/s320/Christmas+tree+from+Walmart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136247254559028706" border="0" /></a>Yesterday we went tree hunting. We wandered deep into the wilds of Walmart, right into the middle of the garden section, and there it was. A 7-foot Douglas Fir -- it assembles in three sections and comes pre-lit! I never saw one of these in the woods. Dragging it out was still a chore, because for some reason we'd completely forgotten to get a shopping cart. No fear -- He Man is here. I hoisted the box over my head by the straps, and we began the retreat to the checkout counter. Trudging through Walmart holding a boxed fake tree over my head, I felt somewhere between extremely virile and very foolish. Confused shoppers gave me plenty of room.<br /><br />The tree's in the attic now. We have to clear out a spot to put it. At least that part's the same as when I was a boy. Gabriel was upset that we got a pre-lit tree. "But I wanted to put the lights on!" he said. "What are we going to do with the lights now?" I told him to decorate the outside of the house or the yard -- anything. But if he puts them up, he takes them down. I've done my chore.Jim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-351056001855054490.post-36453285030575687332007-11-23T00:19:00.000-05:002007-11-23T00:48:26.084-05:00Thankful!Thankful... meaning literally "full of thanks". My favorite talk show host (actually the only one I listen to) is Dennis Prager, and he is very big on happiness. He has written a book on the subject (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Happiness-Serious-Problem-Nature-Repair/dp/0060987359/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1195795324&sr=1-1">Happiness Is a Serious Problem</a>) and gives lectures around the country. According to Dennis, thankfulness is essential to happiness. I have to agree with him. Have you ever seen an ungrateful person who was happy?<br /><br />Once a year we have a day formally set aside to be thankful. Believe it or not, Thanksgiving is for more than just eating a lot (although that's a pretty neat side benefit). It's even for more than getting together with loved ones (or in the case of some families, getting together with people whom you try to tolerate once a year). It's a day on which to be full of thanks.<br /><br />This Thanksgiving day found me celebrating with lots of people whom I love -- and eating and napping and taking some time to read and playing my guitar and chatting online with a dear friend. I am "full of thanks". A list of things for which I'm thankful would be too long to post, but would include:<br /><br /><ul><li>my family (of course)</li><li>my books (lots and lots of books!)</li><li>my guitar</li><li>getting to be with my two grandsons and my great-nephew (all in one day!)</li><li>my computer (because it opens up the world to me and connects me with friends)</li><li>music (and, in particular, my subscription to Rhapsody music service)</li><li>airplanes (even though I can't afford to fly anymore, I can still say I'm a pilot - I got to fly!)</li><li>a meaningful job (even though it ain't the highest paying one)</li><li>a love of writing and words!</li><li>that my brother survived his near-deadly medical ordeal, and I got to visit with him last weekend!</li><li>Books-A-Million</li><li>coffee!</li></ul>I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving wherever you are, and one more thing for which I am thankful -- all of you who honor and humble me by reading my blog.<br /><br />Blessings, peace, & love to each of you!<br /><br />~ JimJim Bohannon (aka Maché Artist)http://www.blogger.com/profile/09714533421635111086noreply@blogger.com0