Five

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Even the best laid plans...

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Or

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Incarnation - Fermentation - Explanation

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I have decided to give the building elements I have been posting here their very own blog. This will make the catalogue far easier to search as I can build it from the foundation. It will also give me many more options and allow JunctionBox to remain free as a bird. A special thank you to everyone who has shown an interest in this project, please join me at the Big Blog of Building for more. 

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2009 Lewes Block Party

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This past Saturday I had the privilege of attending a block party in Lewes, DE. This annual event is the brainchild of my clients Jim and Barb. I was told they initiated it a decade ago. A party like this is such a wonderful treasure. The conversations I had ranged from physics to Lewes’ history to nicknames and their origins. I love it when a community dialogue has such a festive vehicle.

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Cross Gable

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Chimney Crown with Corbel

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Triangular Dormer

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Open Road

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I have always had a fascination with offices. Ever since I was really small I can remember being in one kind of office or another. The way they work or don’t work is fascinating and it all boils down to systems. Add in the humans and you have Eco-systems.

I remember the office of Highway Motors, a used car lot my grandfather owned on Route 13 in Dover, Delaware. I was all of 4 but at 43 I’m still very familiar with the battleship grey of the desks in the converted trailer home where Bernard, my dad and grandfather sold quality, pre owned cars. My mom worked in that office too, handling paperwork and making typing better than television for watching. 

It is interesting how we grow up watching our relatives work with their hands. My father was a truck driver when he finished selling cars. He slung crates of milk on delivery in Salisbury, Maryland. He always wore gloves and could keep the gray water from the floor of the truck, off his clothes. He had probably had some experience slinging things on his father’s farm as a kid. (Before they sold the farm and took up selling cars.)

Out the back door of the office-trailer was the shop where a mechanic named “Little Man” worked in coveralls. Little man was Popeye-esque in that he was grizzled in appearance at a fairly young age. All I ever heard anyone call him was Little Man. I don’t think I ever saw him mad. I just remember a smiley, greasy face and maybe even a wink. He was really at home in his own skin as they say. About ten years ago I heard little man had died. 

There is a lot to remember and I want to say light bulbs, not flags, lined it. And there were loads of automobiles on blue and white gravel. I guess I would have washed the cars on that lot had the business stayed in the family. Instead, It was sold to a man named Slaughter and I took on the job of cleaning up, next day, at the drive in. Boy is that another story.

I thought about calling our business today “Highway Home Services”. 

Highways have Junctions...

It is a stetch...

Hit the road Jack.

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Diagonal Wooden Sheathing

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Shed Dormer

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The Meaning of Tweets

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Up until recently I was confounded by Twitter. I enjoyed visiting and learning from the links provided by the folks I follow on the site but I really had no idea what to tweet myself. I have a hard time getting behind the concept of simply going on about day to day doings and my favorite tweeters are those who constantly have something to share that is larger than themselves. In this regard I did not want to use Twitter simply as a trumpet to announce new blog posts. Then I realized that I could use Twitter as a tool to announce a particular type of blog post and, so,this is what I’ll do. I will tweet each time I make a post which helps to further my education about buildings. In this way my profile page will read like a journal of what I learn and will be available as a tool to help others learn as well.

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Hipped Dormer

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Segmental Dormer

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Arched Dormer

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Shine

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Sheets

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Brewing

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Nellie Moser

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Chernobyl got his name from Andris Grundstiens, the Latvian owner of an apartment I rented in Chicago. Chernobyl had six toes… I came to call him Noble more often than not or Noblissimo or Nellie Moser.

When I left Chicago he came with me.

He was a huge Jerk when I first met him and retained the ability to transform into a huge Jerk all of his life. On one overnight visit to the vet the vet tech told me “That is the meanest cat we have ever had in here.” Immediately after this he met me with a trill and a loving nuzzle.

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Actor's Attic

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Sergei and Katia will come in November for a visit. They will stay for three months and they will occupy a space that presently stores building materials I have collected over the last twenty years and items of interest from my life prior to marrying. Partial rolls of insulation share this space with record albums and boxes of programs from the theatre company. There are costume bits, games I had as a child, a word processor and other outdated technological timestamps. Diving in the deep end to deal with this stuff feels like an autumn job.

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Cathartes aura

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In Lower Delaware, Turkey Buzzards are plentiful. They congregate in the air, on rooftops, in fields and on the roads. In the air they circle as they soar, ever searching for a food source. On a roof they open wide their wings to warm them in the sun. In fields they often huddle in groups engaged in the same activity for which you will see them on the roads: Alimentation.

Six large birds were doing just this by the roadside, on a curve, near Bayard. Normally they are pretty quick to fly away when a vehicle approaches but these were holding on until the last moment as my van came around the bend. Finally, as the sprinter bore down on them, three took off to the left and three to the right. This put three of them low over the road right before me. I began pumping my breaks as I came up behind the rumps of the birds, at windshield height, trying to ascend. I could see the effect of the lift created by the aerodynamic front end of the van as the invisible force gently nudged them up into the air and out of harm’s way.

Pruning Office Systems

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Revisions and whittling down are earmarks of my process right now; taking things I made little too hard on the eyes or that were too much of a pain to keep up with and rethinking them. Each time I do this the system gets a little bit better.

I like when I hear myself saying out loud: "That makes more sense."

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The song remains the same

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During the winter following september 11th, 2001 I was living in Vilnius, Lithuania with my new wife where I had one of my most prolific songwriting periods ever. The following is a song inspired by numbers and the meanings we attach to them.

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Add one two each five four two

 

Nine one one's emerging

synergy held ransom

divisions of neighbors

split violet ends.

Running deep

in the family

of sharing abroad.

As the shock shimmer

showered existence on God.

 

Now the devilish details

retreat to the hills.

Economy offers

the ultimate frill.

A wait for the bus

turns your uncle to dust.

And it's harder to swallow

this planet size pill.

 

Seven zero zero's hero

retired from praying

on Godless Americas

queer loving ways

fell from grace

into Gardas

awaiting embrace.

Kingdom come, kingdom go

while morality plays.

 

Now Vieda is offering

one hundred lats

so string up the dandy

and bring me his spats.

To look but not touch

may be asking to much

'cause the fleas in the house

were brought in by the rats.

 

Five five five disguises.

The prefix is fiction.

Add one to each five

you'll be calling up Satan.

Some numbers mean more

take the stone and the score.

We can count on each other

for what I'm not sure.

 

Now the microbus

sacrifice season begins.

Last dive for the ladies

they're shelling the bridge.

Break the din, down the door,

far less guilty than sore

we'll install a fresh lock

on our reason and live.
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Double Gable

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A rare Double Gable on a Lithuanian vacation retreat.

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Tree Being

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Just up the road from Vincent Overlook is a bridge,

I cross often,

where out' the corner of my eye

I always spy

this guy.

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Quotable Quotes 101

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Or, things I remember people saying and still think about often.

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“I see Barry has his armor on today!”– 1986 - Cigdem Onat, a teacher at the NCSA remarking on my propensity for wearing felt hats and big Jackets to class.

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“Do you have woods?” – 1994 - Yuri Belov, another teacher from NCSA who visited our outdoor theatre in rural Delaware and suggested that we should only work where there were woods. The quote is what he suggested we ask someone who was interested in having us perform at their venue.

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“Mount Rushmore, now there’s a big idea!” - 1982 - Mark Smith, a friend after hearing someone proclaim that there idea was a really big one.

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“I love the little Chugger.” – 1996 – Brent Lindsay, a friend in regard to the way the kettle on top of the wood stove would chug as it released steam into the air.

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“No, it was a king’s wife!” - ? – The owner of a local thrift store. She had been reading a book of Maryland lore and asked me if I knew who the state was named after. I thought for a moment and said “wasn’t it Queen Mary?” She responded the above.

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I am not Legend

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I have come of age, in a way, with my profession. I used to see it as at odds (No pun intended) with the part of myself that attended drama school and worked for years in an independent theatre company. Nowadays, I do not see myself as so dramatically torn. I have come to believe that a huge problem that many artists have is that they continually limit themselves as to who they are and what they are capable of becoming. It is as though they create legends about themselves, legends in which they come to believe and when asked to consider another way they lean heavily on theses legends saying “I am an actor” or “I am a writer” or the very worst delusion in my opinion “I am an artist”… Mind you, there is nothing wrong with proclaiming that you are an artist but when that term is used more to define what a person is not capable of doing rather than what a person is capable of then the title becomes, at the very least, a ball and chain. 

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Summer Turns Part 3

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Continued from part 2

It is here that my family's story intersects with the much larger flashbulb moment of 9/11 and it is here that I will take the liberty to break from the narrative form for a moment and delve into realms of perception. 

As with the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated or the explosion of Space Shuttle Challenger everyone has a story of where they were when they heard such news. That is why these moments are called flashbulb moments; they burn into our minds leaving a distinct memory in the same way that a very bright light will leave behind an image before our eyes. Still, although these moments are uniquely shared by the masses they remain a metaphorical Grand Central Station where all of the individual trains are arriving at once. These trains are people and the lifetime that preceded their arrival at the station dramatically effects the impression they will have of the station once they arrive there.

I believe it was the American Lung Association which ran a commercial that warned: “when you can’t breathe, nothing else matters.” Barely able to breathe is how some trains arrived at the station that day and I am sure this equated to barely able to care. I would never tell a person who could barely breathe they were remiss for their lack of compassion or concern but I did have incredible struggles with myself over the fact that I was in love and very, very happy. I refused to let this event dampen that fire in the slightest and consequently, over the next several weeks I found myself hiding my joy from others around me. I also found myself questioning whether or not I was within my rights to be so focused on my own life and happiness at a time when my country was mourning, enraged, confused and in shock. 

Eventually, I realized that there were various realms of perception at play and that my persistent happiness did not imply a lack of caring but simply a willingness to trust my strong instincts that I had invested honestly and innocently in a course of action I believed in and that this simply must be done when the moment arises despite the severity of external circumstance. In fact, I now believe that attempting to alter my perceptions to accommodate the fear and suffering which seemed to be everywhere around me would simply have added more of the same and that would not have done anyone good.

The experience taught me how to truly own a belief in my ability to exist on different levels at once and how to seek and receive council from any of my many minds. 

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Summer Turns Part 2

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Continued from Part 1

On Monday September 10th, 2001 Panchia said yes, she would marry me and said it in such a way that all of my fear of the question and its repercussions had just melted away. We set a date for the wedding on the following Wednesday. This would give us time to make some calls and find out about how two people go about making this particular dream come true. The Justice of the Peace in Rehoboth gave us the rundown; first, obtain a marriage license and make an appointment with the JOP and then, show up on that date and time with two witnesses. I believe I told my mother about our marriage plans over the phone. Everything was moving really fast but still I wanted her to meet her future daughter in law prior to the wedding. I was already feeling bad because P and I had decided our marriage would not be a family affair. Her family was 4000 miles away in Lithuania and although mine were in Delaware it somehow seemed proper to keep everything as low key as possible. Honestly, there was a big part of me that wondered if the whole thing would not just fall apart if I pressed for my side of the family to be there. I did not want things to fall apart. I did not want to make Panchia uncomfortable. I just wanted everything to work and for this day to be done. We made plans with my mother. We would stop and see her on our way to obtain the marriage license the next day.

That night Panchia went into OC to work at the popular Crab house which employed us both and where we met. I had the night off and was taken out for sushi by my long time friend, Mister Marc Jones. We called it a bachelor party. I drank hot sake and was not the least bit nervous. Something much larger than insecurity had taken over. I have often said that one of my favorite feelings in the world is when I feel as though I am onto something. I had felt it with art and carpentry and now I felt it with this person.

Tuesday dawned blue and beautiful and I was on top of the world. NPR Morning Edition was on the radio. Bob Edward’s calm familiar cadence melted into the background as I dressed. I would guess we left the schoolhouse around 8:15 AM. We did not listen to the radio or anything at all on the 40 minute ride to my mothers. We talked and held hands. Outside my mother’s door I paused for a deep breath before knocking. Was I ready for this first meeting between future mother and daughter in law? Three short raps at the door and my mother appeared. I knew immediately that something was wrong. Her hair was soaking wet.

Continued in part 3

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Remember...

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It is the last shot, stroke or blow that will screw something up.

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Always stop at the next to the last shot, stroke or blow!

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Summer Turns Part 1

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A tell tale crisp was in the air here two days ago and soon the Delaware version of summer of 2009 will go into the record books. Interestingly, this is the second time I felt summer turn this year as I was in Lithuania at the very same moment. In fact, many of the folks who attended my sister in laws wedding remarked that summer came to an end right after they said their vows. 

Autumn is an interesting time to begin a marriage. I know because my wife and I were married on September 12th of 2001. The turn of summer into autumn had already occurred. As I remember the rollover came somewhere around the time Panchia and I returned from a romantic getaway to Niagara Falls. Well, it was romantic by our standards meaning that there were some very serious and very silly moments in a strange place with at least one public experience that bordered on surreal. For us, on this our first time out, it was dining in a Chinese restaurant where we were virtually ignored and yet made to feel strangely welcome among the patrons who were all native speakers of Chinese and were gathering with great warmth and fellowship. 

The bonds of our matrimony had been formed on this trip which was intended to get Panchia, who was here on a student visa and working like crazy, out of Ocean City, Maryland for a few days. I had wanted her to experience the falls as I had done when I was just barely 5 years old. I had wanted her to see something she had never seen before. When my family visited this magnificent attraction some 30 years before I stood with both of my small hands full of pipe railing, holding tight and I remember thinking “I could kill myself right now.” It really is the first time I remember even being cognizant of death. So it did not surprise me at all when Panchia expressed a similar desire to bound over the rail and into the turbulent water a few hundred yards before the falls. I told her when she was old and dying I would bring her back here and toss her in. I leapt into the falls of her eyes and admitted I was thinking about being with her long beyond our present excursion. Maybe it was the lure of the roar of the falls. Maybe they do not rent out wooden barrels there for a reason.

Driving home was excruciating. It was as though she would open the car door back in Maryland, step out and disappear without so much as a goodbye. Instead we came back to the schoolhouse in Delaware and stayed. I believe it was probably the next day when I popped the question: “Do you want to get married” I said. “Why not?” She replied.

Continued in Part 2

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