Fall Photoshoot

In the waning days of fall... before the winter winds blow and the snow falls, we FINALLY got a family photoshoot.

I say FINALLY because I'm always convinced I can shoot one myself and Suzi is convinced that I can't. It's very difficult for me to not DIY it... I mean, I'm a shooter at heart. I love taking pictures. I've got all the gear. All we have to do is set up the camera and I'll fire it off with a remote.

RIGHT?!

So... So not right. For anyone who's struggled to get a selfie framed just right, you know my frustration. The back and forth to the camera for "just one more shot; if you can tilt your head this way..." Those endeavors usually end in tears. And Cooper's not too happy, either.

Take it from experience... It just doesn't work to do your own shoots.

And so finally one of us (specifically Suzi) said, "I've scheduled a photoshoot." To my surprise, it was great. I had to completely disconnect all creative thought and let Erin White make the calls. She met us at a spot she scouted before, she brought props and provided direction. In 30 minutes we had our shoot done and less than a week later, Erin sent the digital copies of our pictures.

Easy Peasy...

So here's my quickie review:
Erin's is a classically-trained, part-time shooter (meaning she's got a day job) with an eye for light-hearted creative flair. She'll quickly connect with her client and work fast to get your product turned around. Pricing is very reasonable. Two thumbs up!

We Make Traffic Stops, too...

In Suzi's position at MACC, she gets to work with a number of very cool people and the industries they teach; from nursing to welding to IT to electronics and robots. She also supports LETC.

Each semester, the Law Enforcement Training Academy takes 20 or so folks from a variety of backgrounds and skill levels, puts them through 700+ hours of training and, once they pass the state of Missouri's Peace Officer Standards & Training exam, spits out work-ready police officers, Granted, there's still a lot of on-the-job training that happens and that amount varies from department to department.

LETC works closely with area police departments to make sure their curriculum matches the needs of the communities in which these officers will be serving. They also want community members to understand the complicated jobs officers shoulder every day. And that's how Suzi and I ended up on the front page of the local paper doing "traffic stops" in the parking lot.

Over the past two weeks, we've spent time in a Moberly PD cruiser, doing ride-alongs with officers on assignment and in the classroom doing simulations. Read the story for more details... but I can tell you now, we don't appreciate our officers enough.

I know, this is a sensitive subject right now in social and mainstream media. American officers are under unbelievable scrutiny for the ill-advised actions of some, the mistakes of others, and the simple misunderstanding of the public about what these officers deal with on a daily basis.

In our scenarios, we approached the vehicles with no idea of what we would encounter. It mirrored my experience in the cruiser, as well. Each traffic stop was a complete unknown, was this individual going to cooperate or try to assault us? The officer I rode along with was much more concerned with the safety of the drivers he stopped than with punitive consequences he could dole out. Excessive speed makes it harder for you to stop in an emergency. Wearing that seatbelt will save your life.  Each request for information was not an inquisition, but a check to see if bad guys were out on the street. Simple cooperation led to an easy conversation and quick resolution, with everyone safely on their way.


After Suzi went through the paces, it was my turn to wear the utility belt, step out of the vehicle and into a simulated traffic stop. All I was supposed to find out was why they had driven off without paying for gas. Their car and plate matched the description I received. So, was it mistake? Did they think their card worked at the pump? I asked for license and registration; confirmed the car's owner was in front of me and tried to ignore the driver recording my every action with his phone. I soon became concerned with a pile of clothes in the backseat that seemed to move. Who else was in the car?  Did they pose a threat to me? Am I about to die out here?

Suddenly, a routine stop became chaotic. The driver had told me he was alone. When I challenged him, asking what was in the backseat, the back door burst open and hooded male leaped from the vehicle, racing off into the darkness. Where should my attention be? On the driver who was still recording me? Or on the runner, who had now disappeared? I requested back up, trying to search the area around me, but keep my eye on the driver and question him.  And then the scenario changed completely:

"Hey, does this thing have 4-wheel drive?"

The hooded figure had returned and was standing behind me at my unlocked vehicle's door!

Do I pull my weapon? Where was backup? How much more confusion could my mind contain? Thankfully, at that moment, the trainers called off the scenario and we began to debrief. I had only been onscene for two minutes.

What I'm discovering is that there are a dizzying array of scenarios, statutes, training options, and concerns swirling through the officer's head at any given moment. As one officer related, one moment you could be casually driving through a neighborhood waving a kids and then next be on a loose dog call or headed to a robbery in progress. While this may be some of the job's appeal, each day, each hour, each moment holds a completely new or different circumstance. The officer has to maintain that "Ready" position for 12 hours.

Sometimes, you're just "letting the car do the talking." In other words, law enforcement just being seen in an area can be enough of a deterrent to crime. You're also waiting for the bad guys to become active. Contrary to what may be some folks' perspective, the law is very tight on what an office can do proactively; it's mostly a reactive position; someone speeds, they're stopped; break into house, get arrested.  I'm finding that we as community members are more responsible for the proactive work to keeping our city safe. Neighbors looking out for each other. Families working out internal problems and asking for help early before a domestic issue becomes a 911 call.

I'm surprised at the level of communication the officers want with community members, as well.  The more we know about their job, the better we understand how to interact with them. I've found myself driving more intentionally over the past week because I don't want them wasting their time on something stupid I've done.  At the end of the shift, the officers have punched their card to keep us safe for the same reason we all go to work; everyone wants to just get home and spend time with their families.

And I appreciate that.

Branding Yourself

After visiting a friend's house a few weeks ago, I got a text that their daughter had pointed to a bottle on the counter and said, "Look, Scott left something here."

It was not my bottle... it was her mom's bottle.

Know why she thought it was mine?

Branding, baby...

Branding.

See, I've been carrying a reusable bottle (usually stocked with some variation of sweet tea) for years; starting back when we were living in Prague in 2004-05.  At first, I was all about SIGG bottles, but then I switched to Kleen Kanteen and there's an entry about that.

Now, it's ubiquitous. Just over 4 years later, we've got... (please hold while I run downstairs to count them)... 17 of them. And that doesn't count my fave white one I left at TSA in STL on my way to somewhere. Insulated, non-insulated, caps, lids, growlers to bottles to canisters... Kleen Kanteen is our bottle of choice. We've even had them vinyl-wrapped for when we travel (thanks to Russ at AD&B).
 

So, as long as that little girl's been alive, she's seen me with a Kleen Kanteen. Here's the kicker, we don't have the same color or size of her mom's Kanteen. BUT, it's got the logo. And that's what she saw.

And that's all it took to connect that bottle to me.

As soon as I got her text, I immediately thought, "If Kleen Kanteen's my bottle brand, what else am I branding myself as?"

We all have personalities; a brand identity, be they loud or quiet, that we project. It's how we react to the world around us. So, what's your brand? Is it brash, polite, helpful, selfish, open, closed, the list could on and on. Certainly, the shrinks will tell us that our identity varies from what we think we are to what others perceive us as.

Now I'm gonna preach for a minute to the Christians.  What are you projecting on the walls of the lives around you? Are you reflecting His love and compassion or do you simply see the exterior issues and grievances and shut off that Light? Our personality is hardwired, but how we use those innate traits to display His Brand to those around us is a choice we make daily. (Check out Jesus' command about our own cross in Luke 9:23.) The first time the term Christian was used was in Antioch in Acts 11. Our brand name originated because there was distinct connection made by the people of that city to how the followers of Christ acted.

What's your brand of Christianity saying about your Jesus? And is it strong enough that someone else can recognize it?

V-Day Boxes: Rants & Confessions

It started long before Cooper's first day of school. When I witnessed my first modern Valentine's Day box a few years ago, I was, in a word... appalled.

I could NOT believe the effort these parents put into their kids' boxes.

These were simply to collect paper Valentines! The ones with little candies taped to them!

Life-sized cut-outs. Animatronics. Coordinating prizes. Some required their own life support system.

I was astounded. And adamant that MY son would not be taken in by these sideshow clowns. What was wrong with a simple brown bag, decorated in Art class on the afternoon before the Valentine's Day party with red construction paper hearts and cheap, pink ribbons?  It worked fine for all of us back in the day, right?!

So, in January, we started discussing The Box. Cooper was pretty clear it had to be a pirate ship, but not like his scrappy preschool box. The ship needed a deck. Clearly.

And THAT was all it took.

I want to say I questioned my intentions when I started mentally sketching out the design, laying awake at night, staring into the darkness, the Flying Dutchman floating above me, its hold nearly bursting with a booty of cute cards and cheap trinkets.

But I didn't.

Even when Suzi asked innocently about the need for a crow's nest, I couldn't be deterred. I had become a man obsessed. This would be the fastest ship to sail the ocean of Love, with clean lines and a spacious hold below decks.

In the end, it turned out pretty cool. Although lacking basic creature comforts like poop deck or figurehead above the prow, there was a secret door, accessed by pulling the rudder that opened into the hold; and a woven rope baluster of sorts; and a custom sail proclaiming "Cooper's Jolly Hearts" (his idea, not mine!). Cooper got to try out his hand with the finish nailer to lay the bamboo decking (leftover flooring scraps from a previous project). A little fun creative side note: after laying the keel, I couldn't come up with a quick fix to cover the hull, so I used brown rubber stair tread to simulate wooden planks.

The best part? That was when Suzi left the party that afternoon and had to run the gauntlet of teachers eyeing the beast of a box she was lugging out the door.

"My... that's a... big ship," she heard one say.

Yep... I'm THAT PARENT!

Sasha Hlavac: One Year Later

  Just over a year ago we lost Suzi's mom, Sasha Hlavac.
  Sasha grew up in humble surroundings in a far corner of Prague, Czech Republic, blanketed by geopolitical turmoil that history would come to call the Nazi Era and then the Cold War. Her father owned a small coal shop in the ground floor of their apartment. During the Communist regime it was taken away from him, forcing the family, which grew to include two younger brothers, Karel and Pavel, to live on very meager means. Her mother died when Sasha was in her early 20s.

Her father’s years as a small business owner meant the family faced governmental discrimination. In spite of this, Sasha graduated at the top of her class in nursing school and went to work as a Registered Nurse. A family friend worked connections to place her in a high-level government hospital. On June 24, 1961, she married Jan Hlavac, moving into a single room in his family’s apartment building.

  For the next few years, they worked and, as many Czechs, traveled in the restricted areas behind the Iron Curtain: camping, skiing, and hiking. Then the revolution of 1968 shook the small country. Soviet tanks rolled into their city, crushing the revolt and sealing in their hearts the desire to escape.

 It took nearly a year to solidify their plans. In the end, they packed two suitcases for a “ski-trip” in Switzerland. Instead of hitting the slopes, they requested asylum when their plane landed in Austria and spent three months as refugees, working their way through a bureaucratic tangle toward freedom. They knew Jan’s sister had settled in a small Missouri town and that was to be their stepping stone, a brief layover as they headed west toward the familiarity of the mountains.

  But a few months after their arrival in May 1969, they found jobs, and then they bought a trailer at Riley’s on Highway 24, followed by the birth of Lucy, and then Suzi, and the purchase of their first house.

  And they stayed.

  Sasha’s nursing skills transferred into Moberly’s Community Hospital. She worked intensely for months to grasp enough English to once again pass state boards and re-acquire her Registered Nurse license. Eventually, she was back at her place in the operating room.

  Sasha was always a nurse first. It was at her core. She had no tolerance for those who were sloppy or uncaring. Throughout the years, doctors requested her for surgeries. Some would not even operate unless she was there. After Community, she worked long shifts at Woodland Hospital and later at Moberly Regional Medical Center. At 72, she was still working one day a week at the North Central Surgical Center, doing what she knew and loved best, until she finally retired in 2011. Even her volunteer hours, starting in 1999, were spent in health care at HomeCare of Mid-Missouri Hospice. Unfortunately, Sasha also knew the other side of the operating room, surviving a serious diagnosis of breast cancer in 2005, which left her weakened for her remaining years.

  She went along with Jan’s ingenious plans that often involved solar panels, rolls of duct tape or Sasha somehow squeezed into a crawl space, repairing plumbing he couldn’t reach. After her first rainy, sleepless night in a floorless tent with Jan, she adopted his love for the outdoors and every vacation was spent in a campground or state park.

  In spite of all of the antics she put up with from Jan, his loss in 2009 was devastating. Jan filled every part of her life and those spaces were very empty for Sasha in his absence. So she learned how to email and Skype, staying connected to her European family. She successfully took up the daunting task of managing the physical house and the finances.

  Mother’s Day 2014, brought a twist in her story she never expected. The strokes and subsequent infections took her from the refuge her house had always been. With the exception of a few short hours on Christmas Eve, she never returned home. However, just as in previous chapters of her life, at every turn she left a path doctors, nurses, therapists and acquaintances who grew to love her dearly. She passed away at Meadowridge Estates on January 17, 2015. She was 76.

  In coming to America, Sasha had to leave behind all she knew – her family, friends and co-workers; the comforts of the places she frequented; and a familia culture that surrounded her. In all her years here, she took care of others, sent presents and items to her Czech family and friends, and left a trail of kindnesses: a Lindt chocolate, a small gift, something for every holiday or a Czech Christmas ornament.

  The story of Sasha is more about the rest of the family than about her. When her girls were young, she wanted them to be happy and play for hours – which she did not get to do growing up. She sacrificed so much, so her girls could have the things she did not. She polished shoes, hung laundry out to dry, prepared salads for summer lunches, celebrated birthdays with matching hats and tablecloths in the backyard. You could never leave her house without something in hand, even if it was a bag of crackers. And she could never leave your house without leaving something behind.
  Every.
  Time.

  Really.
  We mean every time.

  Sasha deeply loved her grandchildren and a day at Babi’s always included more candy, ice cream, high-fructose corn syrup and TV than parents allowed. Her concerns for her daughters often centered around food, sleep and warm clothing. Some of her last words to them were of their well-being.

  Throughout these last months, Sasha would say that she just wanted to run. And to be home, in her place of comfort.

  Sasha; mom; Babi... we wish you were still hiking through the woods or dropping off a random package of love. We miss you and love you so very much!

  Hugs and kisses, a dobro noc!

Ludmila "Ata" Munroe Memorial

If you knew her, as many of those over 50 certainly do around these parts, you knew there was something distinctly different emanating from that small frame. I met her much later in life, after the Drink and the weather had taken its toll on both her mind and her teeth. Still... such an imposing personality, perched on my father-in-law's back porch, holding forth on any subject with wit and unabashed self-confidence; not caring one iota if she was rewriting history in one sentence and contradicting herself in the next. 

Known simply as "Munroe" to many, I knew her by her Czech familial nickname (it seems all Czechs have two names), born of my connection by marriage. Ata was certainly crazy as a loon, yet, in turns, compassionate and thoughtful of others; bringing by books that reminded her of you, albeit rescued from some garbage pit. 

The most interesting piece of this human puzzle for me is the years from 1963-1970 that she spent at MACC, teaching Literature, English and sponsoring various clubs. She brought miming to Moberly and hosted an annual fundraiser called the Bizarre Bazaar. I've sat in her old classroom, now an office suite, trying to connect the Aunt Ata I knew with the Ludmila who chaperoned trips to avant-garde theater. Sadly, it's difficult.

So, we celebrate the life and legacy of Ludmila H. "Ata" Munroe, on the one-year anniversary of her passing; Sunday, Oct. 26th, 5 to 7 p.m. at the 4th Street Theatre in downtown Moberly. Leave your brown-bagged bottle at home in memory of her as refreshments will be served. Be sure to bring your memories; we've all got plenty to share.

Turnin' Wrenches with Dad

Cooper came back from a recent birthday party with one thing in mind... He needed something. He'd driven the birthday boy's 12-volt 4-wheeler all night long and was hooked.

I did my obligatory, hours-long reviews of Fisher Price, Peg Perego, etc and we popped the question... Did he want to use some of his birthday money and buy his own?

I'd trade nearly every second of footage I've shot over the past 4 years for that one response. Roll every 16 year-old in the county into that blond-haired, 42" frame. Now tell 'em you've brought home the hottest muscle-car-du-jour with their name on the plate.

There were rainbows shooting out his ears and skittles sprouting at his feet. His world just lit up like Christmas.

Fast-forward 22 hours or so. Cooper & I sit down for dinner, the convo turns to his big purchase and becomes quite revealing...

"Dad, I don't want a 4-wheeler any more. I want a car."

Why?

"Because I changed my mind. That's all."

OK...?

And that was it. He changed his mind. A car it was to be.

We set a price limit. He could pick anything under it. We went that night to the Stuff-Mart and came home with a massive box of parts. He was adamant. He had to help put it together with me. The next afternoon we went to work. Just a dad and his son, turnin' wrenches and swattin' 'skeeters in the garage.

He did alright for the most part; handing me screws, scattering parts around the floor, and manning the drill. Just a side-note: in the instructions it specifically stresses not to involve children in the assembly process. The manufacture should add:

"Doing so will extend your construction time by a minimum of 45 minutes."

But it's a quality 45 minutes when he breaks out that new Blue Steel look.

I'm headed out right now to put on the stickers... we didn't waste time on that the first night. The test run was far more important than aesthetics. The first thing he tackled was The Big Hill in the lot next door.

Went straight for it; no hesitation. And he conquered it.

First Solo trip

Cooper has always been a momma's boy. Wait, let me emphasize this a little more...

ALWAYS. BEEN. A. MOMMA'S. BOY.

I couldn't do anything for him until a few months ago. Brush teeth? Bath? Food? Ya' kidding?! You can't cut up pancakes 'cause you don't do it like mom!

But it's two cuts... into wedges. Each mini pancake. C'mon... ur jus' messin' with me, dude.

Now, since Suz started back to work (that's a 'hole 'nother story there...) I've been spending mornings with Cooper. I do breakfast, clothes, teeth... the whole nine yards. It's totally changed our relationship. So, when I suggested we go camping together, just me and him and no mom? He was game.

Kinda.

We all had to talk about it, but in the end, we headed off to the Lake of the Ozarks for a night and a day in the deep.

And we did great! 

There were some tears and some blood, but hey, in comparison to some other trips I've done, it was problem-free. We met some great folks on the next spot over who had kids in Cooper's range and they hit it off perfectly. Lots of bike-riding. Lots of playground time. Lots of throwing rocks in the water while the sun sets and the adults all say, "Don't get too close! You'll get muddy!" kind of time.

We did lunch and dinner and breakfast and lunch again and naps. We did some kayaking and played in the water and still had time to pull in some Ha Ha Tonka hiking and ruins. He even got to see his first live-in-the-wild snake.

It was good enough to do again. Which, if the weather's right, we just might get to...

The 1st Helo Ride

Every parent worth their diaper bag loves sharing new experiences with their kids. When Moberly's Chamber of Commerce hosted a fly-in at the airport, I was determined to get Cooper there and into something flyable.

He, of course, was tired and wanted lunch and a nap.

We'd just wrapped up my duties for the United Way Born Learning trail ribbon cutting. I knew we were cutting it close, but can't we all just work together here!?!

(BTW... It was Cooper's first official Chamber ribbon cutting event... a minor, economic development detail completely lost on him.)

We drive like banshees to the airport, with a side trip to Breaktime for drinks to stave off starvation and for Dad to get hard currency... Only to arrive and find ALL THE FLIGHTS WERE BOOKED.

Weeping, gnashing of teeth, full-out fit throwing ensured.

Cooper seemed disappointed, too. 

But he quickly got interested in the nearby, wide open, empty hanger. I looked for a dark hole in which to bury my son's unmet aviation dreams.

I mean, MY UNMET DREAMS.

Yeah. That's what I meant.

I leave the registration table and notice the lakeozarkhelicopters.com booth. I wrangle a deal with the money guy and we're finally in line. My dreams are intact. Cooper's content to suck down a Bug Juice and squint through the noon glare at everyone else doing their thing.

It was a $40, ten-minute flight to get the following shot and hear him use a headset for the first time. I'd pay it again. Twice. Thanks to the Chamber and their volunteers for making memories in the Magic City!

The Wall of Sound

Ironic that the impetus for a blog entry after 4 months of silence would be a sound system... and not just any system... The Dead's 1973-74 tour system.

In honor of it's 40th birthday... The Wall of Sound:

Here's a great description of the entire 75 ton package, all 26,400 watts of it.

I'm particularly enthralled with the process they took of building mics that resisted feedback in front of the thing.

Quite impressive what an engineer will do for good sound!

Merry Christmas!

Innocence Lost? Not Yet...

Among the most priceless artifacts of this world, the one I treasure most is my son's innocence.

I'm fiercely protective of it.

It's more pure than any spring-fed stream. It hasn't been dragged through chaos, spray-painted by terror, or held hostage by the anger of others. His spirit is full of love, compassion and an over-riding desire to have his friends come over and share his toys.

We've been cleaning out houses and attics and basements over the past few months. I got back my 80's era Fort Apache play set. Its plastic figurines depict some of the history we Americans aren't proud to rehearse. Indian braves attack US Cavalry troops. Some hold scalps. One coon-skin capped defender holds his musket in a sweeping arc to knock down climbing invaders.

It's a violent, hands-on game that arrived long before the Grand Theft Auto coders were even born.

"Let's play Cowboys and Indians!"

It didn't usually end well for the Indians. It wasn't like the cowboys revoked their library cards or drained the camp swimming pool.

Cooper quickly spotted the box in the growing pile of inherited flotsam in our basement. It had horses and buildings... all new toys to him.

We pulled out the whole mess in the living room; the carpet becoming a vast, creamy, grassy plain. Somewhere along the way, I'd picked up some Green Army Guys. We added those to mix and, for an ironic twist, I gave the Native American braves the superior firepower of WWII infantry. I'm sure the blue cavalry boys were shocked to see a flame-thrower toting man-o-the-1940s future at the door of the stockade.

Cooper didn't have a clue what massacre was laid out before him. They were having picnics and sharing cookie recipes for all he knew. And that's the way we left it. I acted out no aggression and he was content to move the plastic monuments of bygone wars around like checkers.

Don't call me naive. I know this innocence will be lost one day. He will learn fear from some older kids chasing him down the alley. He will feel the rawness of revenge and the emptiness of its success. The world will open its box of evil and pour out the contents before his pure, bright eyes.

But with God's help I will stand guard in front of him as long as possible; censoring, shielding, unyielding to the onslaught of what I've come to realize is resident in the core of all of humanity. To keep that light glowing unburdened in his eyes. I would hope to introduce Reality to him gently, to lead him slowly, methodically. But I know it's not in my control... Life will bring it much too quickly.

Until then, the Green Army Guys have Lightning McQueen stickers to share with the Indians. And the Cavalry is just here to race their horses around the dining room, through the kitchen, and into the sunset of Innocence.

There's a Place for You...

Earlier this year, I was commissioned to build a promo for an overseas ministry. At its core, the clip is a call for workers in the Middle East... more broadly, it's promoting the Associates In Missions (AIM) program; one that Suzi and I have participated in over the years. AIM gives folks of all ages a chance to do ministry work outside of their natural habitat for one to twelve months at a time. This can mean everything from teaching and pulpit ministry to caring for onsite workers' children (no kidding... that's a ministry, too!).

Sometimes folks go on to work full-time overseas. Sometimes, like us, they hang out for a season of their lives and then go back home. You do have to be self-funded, so the finance aspect can be a little daunting for some, but we can certainly testify of God's provision every time we left home.

I hope the piece does what it's built to do... to reach someone who hasn't quite found their spot. Whether foreign or domestic, there's a place waiting for you...

Here are two versions... a long-form and a quickie piece... Enjoy!

ME AIM Short Form from The Carpenter's Studio on Vimeo.


ME AIM Long Form from The Carpenter's Studio on Vimeo.

Cooper Goes to Preschool

In what became a major turning point in my parental education, we've chosen a preschool, enrolled our son and have successfully gotten him there, on time, for several weeks. This is big.

I used to hear parents discussing moving into a community or across the city and having that wow-moment as they discussed pros/cons of different schools.  No one wanted X Teacher in X grade or there was some problem with testing at the feeder high school... it went on and my eyes glazed over. I didn't have kids and that process was totally foreign to me. Like changing a diaper.

Then Suz said it was time for Cooper to go to preschool and I said, "Great, where?" And the shopping began... how many times per week/hours per day, absence policies, curriculum, ad nauseum. She narrowed it down, did site visits, we went to an open house and then... it was first day.

The staff at Timber Lake Christian Preschool are just fabulous; from the first day when they met Cooper in the hall and called him by name. He's coming home with all kinds of skills and having great experiences.

So, here's a couple of shots from his first day going to school... he's so proud of his Spiderman backpack and the songs he learns... and the "Q" he can write and... the list goes on. We're pretty proud too...

United Way

Last year I was invited to join the board of the Randolph county United Way. I'm quite proud of what the UW does for our community and love the insight I receive into our agencies and partners.  In a world full of bad news, these folks are doing truly great work and I'm glad to be part of their support. Our board is full of wonderful people who are a blast to work with; who really believe in the difference we're making.

This year's fundraising goal is $290,000 and our theme is Find Your Inner Hero. I got the opportunity to collaborate on the scripting & shooting of the campaign's promo video with our executive director, Gina Fowler, and Shawn Ames, a local creative consultant. We set up at the College to do some headshots and then Gina & Shawn did some really nice location work with Gina's grandson. I think Shawn really captured the vision we developed in the final edit. Cooper's got a cameo and I think he did just fantastic... cape, mask and all!

Our kick-off party featured our board in red capes, all swooping around the conference facility; superhero theme music greeted arriving guests... it was all super fun. Here's the obligatory newspaper shot to prove it!

So, if you're local to Randolph county, find your inner hero and help us reach our goal to make a difference. If you're somewhere else, find your local UW chapter at www.unitedway.org and get involved.  Watch our video below...

Randolph County United Way 2013 from Corban Artist Studio on Vimeo.

Trading an Old Friend

In 2003, I was driving a 2-door Accord and trying to haul popcorn machines and giant inflatable cell phones in the back seat to area US Cellular stores.

Leather seats.

It wasn't working.

I was driving through Kirksville one day and noticed a yellow 2001 Ford Escape. The popcorn machine fit perfectly in the back and that began a 10 year affair with a truck that has been a wonderful friend to our family. It's literally traveled across the States, hauled any number of supplies, pulled plenty of folks from ditches and snow banks, and been incredibly reliable.

But after 180,000 miles, the maintenance list of need-to-do got long, and it was wearing thin in too many places.  It was time to trade.

I was determined to buy a vehicle locally and went to work with Moberly Motors to find exactly what we needed.  There aren't a lot of all-wheel-drive Escapes with less than 50K with dark interiors floating around, but they found a 2011 in Chicago.  

So, here are a few shots of the Yellow Escape in action and our last time in the driveway, before bringing the new guy home... Greg at Ford took an obligatory new car shot for us (Notice how he got both trucks in the frame).

We love the Grey Escape just the same. I added roof rails, painted the old rack and put it back in place; I (proudly) installed a new trailer hitch and wiring harness. It's not missed a beat and pulled our trailer with ease last weekend.  We're pretty grateful for the years of the old and the promise of the new... here's to more road trips!

Hoorah!

A Slide is Born

I'd like to say I documented every nut and bolt of this endeavor, but there's a few short of 500 of 'em... so I didn't.

To start, we go back a few years. Cooper was a li'l tike and we headed out to the Rothwell park for some family fun on the playground. He hiked himself to the top of the tallest slide at Candyland and, as I was sitting down to slide with him, tumbled down it alone. He landed, unharmed, at the bottom, head first, wailing like nuts.

He's never gone down it again. Or any twisty slide for that matter. Straight slides? Maybe. Wavy slides? Nope. Slides longer than Mom's arm? Nope. Slides just aren't this man's cup of tea.

Our narrative takes us to the Backyard Project in Question... the Pirate Ship. Since Jake and the Neverland Pirates have a slide on their ship, shouldn't we? And since we don't have enough room for a straight slide... we need a (cue dramatic music): 

TURBO SLIDE!

A full, 360 degree rotation from a 5' deck height!

Yep, it comes in a box that dwarfs large appliances.

And then you have to put it together. 

And don't be put off by those whose reviews claim to have installed it in only four hours! They're clearly amateurs. 

I spent Saturday afternoon bolting together all the individual pieces.  Then Suz came out and we wrestle each section until they mated into one hot, twisted mess of green polypropylene.  I built a frame on the side of the boat and called it a night. It was more than four hours, but who's counting?  

We're clearly amateurs.

Sunday afternoon, we hoisted the thing aloft and quickly realized that when the instructions said, "You will need two people to help balance the slide" it clearly meant THREE. As in two to balance and one to screw the thing in place. See, once together the slide felt like a wino hippo with hip dysplasia on a week-long bender, slowly tumbling right as you tried to pull it left... moaning about the yard and always landing just short of where you intended.

Thankfully, our dear neighbor, Phil, could be bothered to come help wrangle the incalcitrant structure into place. Once I got some screws in its hide, its will was broken and it stood proudly at attention along the ship's starboard side. 

Throughout this whole ordeal, Cooper's been running amok calling out for duties to be assigned in his name... Daaad, he wanted to help, too!  Once the last bolt was ratcheted tight and every screw was reviewed by a responsible adult, we opened the newest addition for a test run.

And he refused.

Yep, I had to lower him down the curve to Suz waiting at the bottom. Over and over. We threw cars, tape measures and swords down its gaping maw, trying to establish a sense of safety, of normalcy (!), of tacit understanding that this was FUN! To no avail.

I now have a recovering alcoholic hippopotamus strapped to the side of a Pirate Ship in my backyard. My son's response at the end of the day?  

"When are we going to get a sail for my boat? Huh, Dad? We need a sail!"

A Proper Gangplank

I'd never built stairs before, so I created these tiny steps to get to the gangplank.

Tiny.

Cooper had to stop, turn sideways and then slowly climb down.  It was pitiful.  I went out to Lowes, picked up some runners and whacked out a new set.  I also added in some security in the form of rope handrails.  

It helps.