NickydocDocs

Posted on April 10, 2010 at 6:20PM

It was a rough week here in Lexington, so I did what every country boy does and went back home to lick my wounds. My nephew was chasing an errant basketball over the riverbank and sustained a pretty nasty fractured ankle. I used it as cover but it was flimsy at best. Everybody knew something was wrong. To make a long story short,  Time had worked its insidious alchemy on my daily routine, and I'd gotten into a rut. I'd also been thinking about Billy Ables.

Billy is one of the characters that populates my childhood memories, although my recollection of him is through the family mythology that binds all families together in appalachia. I stopped by my niece and nephew's house first to check on Chris. He'd just gotten home from surgery at the hospital and was floating placidly down the Percocet River. My niece, Marci, was fixing his bed up in the downstairs dining room and was hurriedly turning the place into a handicapped-accessible space. I came through the door feeling a little forlorn, and that lasted approximately 30 seconds. Mom came in with Marci, and before I knew it, they swept out the door to do what all southern women do in times of mitigated crisis--they went out for food.

Chris and I started chatting, and he quickly dispatched his son and his son's friend to the neighbor's house to procure some DVDs. They came back with a bootleg copy of a movie currently showing at the local movie house. I knew I was home. The door swung open again, and my sister Tuti walked in. We hugged and kissed and I immediately told her that, for some strange reason, Billy Ables had been on my mind. She smiled broadly, knowing where this was going. "Ahhh. Billy Ables. Well, the first thing you need to know about Billy was that he was a good looking son-of-a-gun. I remember he was always dressed immaculately, and he had just about the whitest teeth you ever saw. I mean, wherever he was at, he used to wear these sharkskin suits. He and Dad were the ones that got Melanie that pet lamb." About that time, Marci and Mom came back through the door and had me two chili dogs from Crisp's Dairy Hut and I peeled the paper back and listened to Tuti's story. Marci (Tuti's daughter) heard us talking and immediately asked, "Are you all talking about Billy Ables?" "Yeah," we said in unison. "Isn't he the one that got Melanie that pet lamb that one time?" You get the idea. Tuti recalled riding down the road with her best friend, Betty Bug, with Dad driving and Billy in the front seat. She said, "I remember Dad turned around and said, 'Now by-god Billy, tell the truth. Is them your real teeth?' " Tuti said that Dad would ask him that about every week or two. It was an ongoing joke and Billy swore time after time that they were, in fact, his actual teeth. Marci added something I'd never heard before. She said that Dadaw (her childhood version of 'Papaw') had told her one time in Florida that Billy was actually connected to the Genovese Crime Family up in New York.

Everybody always assumed that because my dad was one of the most accomplished safecrackers from this part of the country, he must have been involved with the mafia. Safecracking. From a distance, nothing conjures up intrigue and mystery like the words 'jewel thief' or 'safecracker'. For all of us, it was just a matter of fact. The only things you need to know about safecracking is how to cut steel (simply a matter of tips on an acetylene torch with the appropriate oxygen concentration infusion) and water tanks. Not getting caught is also a plus. Dad learned to cut steel while working for Armco (now AK Steel) as a rigger. He once told me that he learned all about steel from this old guy who'd worked in pig iron all his life and could tell you how to adjust the furnaces by just looking at the molten liquid. Dad actually got into 'the family business' at a poker game. Two of his buddies had gone in on some business or other and yanked the safe right out of the wall. They were talking over a game of poker, and were complaining to dad ('Coon Dog' to his buddies) that they'd tried just about everything, but couldn't get the damn thing open. Dad answered without missing a beat, 'I'll open that son-of-a-bitch for ya, but I'll need a cut of whatever we find in it." They all agreed and dad went off to appropriate some cutting supplies. He opened the safe in no time flat and learned the most important rule--you need water. He got the safe open but burned up all the money in the process. From that point on, he secured access to water on all of his scores. He was sort of the golden boy of the crew. They had guys to 'case' a joint, guys who worked out the security routines, guys to bypass security systems, and guys to drive. When everything was set up, they'd contact Dad, show him what they had, and he'd go in and do his thing. He only had a couple of rules--only hit places when nobody was around, no guns, and everybody had to wear coveralls over a freshly pressed and cleaned suit. When the law came down, they'd make a fast getaway, ditch the coveralls, and look like a bunch of businessmen. They all had rendez-vous points, cover stories if stopped, and contingencies upon contingencies. They were incredibly skilled and they never got caught. One guy 'rolled over' on him one time--a guy that Dad had actually done some jobs with.

Joe Danzer, the local FBI agent hauled my dad in and questioned him. They tried to get him to squeal on his buddies but Dad told him they'd just have to send him to jail. I remember him sitting me and my sisters down and telling us very candidly that he may be going to jail for a while. We always knew what he did and we knew what the potential consequences were. We were concerned, but he let us know that we were all going to be okay regardless of what happened. He knew how long he was likely to be gone, and had made arrangements for us to be taken care of until he got out. He didn't have any hard feelings about the guy who 'sang like a canary'. He said he was just doing what he thought he had to do and that was that. The canary made one mistake though. In addition to testifying about some of the jobs that my Dad was supposed to have been a part of, he also testified that my dad had been on a few cases that he couldn't have possibly been part of--Dad had receipts from the Stardust Hotel in Las Vegas. He and my mom were there hanging out with their old buddy Milton Jaffe. The canary was immediately discredited as a witness. Mom still has a pair of earrings Milton gave her made out of the Stardust Casino's $500 poker chips. I took mom out to see SummerFest's production of 'Hair' out at the Arboretum last year. When she saw the show, she told me she'd seen it before at the Stardust. I brought up Milton's name this morning and she said she'd seen a documentary last week on television on 'Old Vegas'. She said it ended up with footage of ol' Milton Jaffe being marched out of the casino in handcuffs. She said, "I really miss Old Vegas. You hear about all this stuff and maybe they were skimming some money off the top but I tell ya, they were good as gold to me and your daddy.

From what we saw, they were all just about the classiest bunch of guys you ever seen. Milton's the one that got us the owner's table when Elvis was playing. We were all ready to go but Melanie called with an earache cryin' for us. Needless to say we were on the next flight out." So yeah. Dad was a safecracker. We still haven't come to any conclusions about his mafia connections. Mom and I talked about it this morning and I told her I was thinking about writing a book on it all. The stories are the soundtrack of my childhood, and the experiences weave seamlessly into the melody. My father was the most generous man I've ever met. Was he a bit of a rogue? Absolutely. But I can swear to the fact that he didn't have a mean bone in his body. He gave away one out of every two dollars in his pocket. Pretty much everyone around prevailed upon his ability to 'procure' things at a moment's notice; from prom dresses for the daughters of down-and-out parents (he had access to a veritable legion of professional shoplifters) to bail money in the middle of the night; from 'Shop With a Cop' programs to buying entire Christmases (including personally decorated trees, coats, shoes, and toys) for strangers he met on the street; from pulling over on the side of the road to hand wads of cash to a man digging through a trash can while his wife held their crying young baby girl in her arms to countless random acts of kindness and generosity, he was a man who could get the things people needed.

I remember the first poker game he ever took me to when I was six, and I remember the last poker game he took me to when I was 16. I remember BearDog and Junior and Weasel and Scottie; Bones and Briar and JumpOn and Digger--the first time they met me they called me 'Pup'. They sat me in the dealer's chair and made sure I had a clear view of the cards. Briar asked me, 'Son, how old are you?' 'Six', I said. 'Good', he said. 'We don't let no five-year-olds at the poker table.' The last poker game he ever took me to? Well, that's a story for a different day. Billy's teeth? Well, Tuti said that was one of her favorite stories of all. Back in Marci's living room, she was recounting the importance of water in the safecracking business. We'd all heard the mantra, but saying it out loud has always been our family's shorthanded way of paying tribute to Dad. She said she remembered the first time she dried money for him. He'd come in with a huge duffel bag full of $50 and $100 dollar bills. 'I layed 'em all out end to end and they covered just about all of the floor space in the house. I dried 'em one by one and then mom would iron 'em.' I shook my head as the pieces of the puzzle started clicking together. 'But you know what dad always said about Billy every time his name came up don't ya?' 'What?' I asked. She said that he and Billy Ables were up in Vegas there towards the end and he walked into the bathroom and there sat Billy's teeth by the sink. Dad would say,"That son-of-a-bitch lied to me all them years right through them false teeth!' She said that always tickled him and he'd laugh every time he told that story. It makes me laugh too when I think about it

As I was packing for my ski trip tomorrow, I realized that I hadn't completely UNpacked from my last trip out to the Rocky Mountains two weeks ago.  While I considered this an epic SCORE, I was immediately struck by a twinge of guilt.  I thought, "Wow.  This seems a little...inDULGEnt, don't ya think there nickydoc?"  I immediately switched into my analytical mode and began collating the data.

Yes, this does seem somewhat unexpected--two long ski weekends in as many weeks.

Yes, I can afford it.

Yes, there definitely COULD be the musky taint of a (second) mid-life crisis wafting through the air.

Yes, finances; sleeping; mood; relationships; general 'joy level'--all operating in the green.

It's a ridiculous thing to check through, but, after years of recklessness about these kinds of things, you either develop a series of fail-safes or you fail unsafely.  As such, the committee in my head is satisfied and doesn't seem to be able to come up with a justifiable reason that I shouldn't do one of the things that makes me feel better than just ABOUT anything else in the world--ski.

The first time I went skiing was with my church youth group.  We went to 'Ski Trails' in Mansfield, Ohio.  I was around 12 or so at the time.  I took my lessons, tore my gloves open on the 'rope pull' up the bunny slopes, and immediately loved it.  In college, I would continue to ski once or twice a year, and, having attended medical school in Miami Beach, FL, only had the occasion to ski once.  During residency, my sister Melanie was living in California.  As such, everytime I got the chance, we'd all head up to Squaw Valley in Tahoe.

Now for the record, I mark my actually LEARNING to ski as having taken place in Squaw Valley.  Squaw is 'big mountain skiing'.  In other words, most people don't necessarily cut their teeth on a mountain like that.  It's steep, full of 'no fall' runs, and is devastatingly beautiful.  That mountain beat me once--it was the end of an extended ski trip, and I was absolutely determined to ski a double black diamond run.  In skiing, the difficulty level is generally expressed in different colors; green runs are beginners, blue runs are intermediate, and black diamond runs are advanced, and double black diamond runs are UBER advanced (as in 'avalanche/cliff/rocks' advanced.)  

So on this last day in Squaw, I skied over to a double black run.  About half way down, I literally took my skis off and walked down the mountain.  I know that sounds like the reasonable thing to do.  In fact, I'm pretty certain it WAS the reasonable thing to do.  That was in 1993, and I still haven't forgotten about it.

As the years have gone by, I've decided to try and ski as many places as possible.  This winter, it's the Rocky Mountains.  I'll move on to Taos, New Mexico before the end of the season I hope, and then start planning my trip to Chamonix, France next year.  Every ski trip I take, I fall in love with the mountains more and more.  Perhaps it's the fact that I was born in the mountains and they've always been a comfort to me; perhaps I'm at a place where the challenges are starting to look a lot different to me than the challenges of my youth and young adulthood; perhaps it's getting out in nature by myself that allows me to clear my head of the useless static I typically carry around with me on a regular basis--who knows.  At the end of the day, I'm not so certain the reasons even matter when we, as individuals, try to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles on a daily basis.  All I know is that it provides me with clarity and that's enough for me.

The other night, I was telling Joe about my having gotten lost on a series of trails in Vail while trying to find a place to take a piss.  I found myself on these ungroomed trails in the middle of nowhere when I came through a stand of trees.  I was looking over into a field that was obviously out of bounds, but the beauty of it hit me like a punch.  I took my ski jacket off and sat down for about 20 minutes, staring in slack-jawed wonder.  And it was that sense of wonder that I used to have as a kid--when everything was new.

I like the metaphor of skiing as well.  I certainly don't wanna get all 'Bagger Vance', but there's something almost transcendental about it for me.  Not all 'mystical magical hocus-pocus--more like Walden-esque.  My heartbeat slowed down, my breathing slowed down....I slowed down.  There was nothing but total blissful silence, outwardly AND inwardly.  

The thing that interests me the MOST is--why the argument?  Maybe it is about 'me and the mountain'.  More likely, it's all about 'US and the mountain'.  All of the baggage I think we ALL pretty much carry around, it's ALL a mountain of baggage.  For me, the trick is figuring out a way to ski down the mountain at my own pace; conquering my fear of falling down; trying to tackle that fear from a different angle; enjoying the scenery (and participating whenever the need or inclination dictate).  I don't think that's much different from what I try to do in life.

Having celebrated my birthday in the midst of a kitchen remodel, I decided to treat myself to opening night of 'Lonely Planet', the premiere production of Lexington's newest theatre troupe, ProjectSEE.  While I knew all of the players from their work in Kentucky Conservatory Theatre (nee' The Kentucky Classical Theatre Conservatory/SummerFest), I was completely unprepared for the emotional sucker-punch the show threw at me.  When I walked into the black box theater at the Downtown Arts Center, I knew I was in for a treat.  It was the perfect venue for Steven Dietz's subtle exploration of our modern day plague, HIV/AIDS.  Having just seen SummerFest's 'RENT' out at the arboretum, this particular show was a nice counterpoint to the rock-and-roll take on the perseverance of the human spirit.  Suffice to say that ProjectSEE certainly doesn't underestimate the power of the human spirit in their tackling of the difficult subject matter.  One line that hit me in the gut went something like this: 'First we romanticize people who are sick and then we totally ignore them.'  That line has haunted me every waking hour since I heard it.

The story itself is a deceptively simple one set, of all places, in a map shop.  The allegory serves as a subtle yet spot-on context for the self-imposed isolation resulting from the point of tension found at the intersection between a fear of living and the fear of dying.  The words 'HIV' and "AIDS' are never uttered once in the dialogue.  What we see are two friends' attempts at facing their own fears while trying to allay the fears of the other.  It is an emotional riveting ride told in perfect cadence by the actors, Nick Vannoy and Tim Hull.  It is full of true-blue humor and I found myself laughing out loud on several occasions.  It also has moments of break-neck turns in tone common to everyday human discourse.  THAT'S what I found the most appealing.  The production suspended my disbelief so thoroughly that I found myself feeling like the proverbial fly on the wall.  I've been moved by masterfully delivered language like that on two previous occasions in theatre:  'August: Osage County', and 'Equus'.  Having seen the first two on Broadway, it was particularly refreshing to have that experience here in Lexington.

Kandace Chaney refers to '...the aching beauty of friendship...' in her review, and I whole-heartedly concur.

This is a masterful first time out-of-the-gate production for ProjectSEE, and I am absolutely grateful to have seen it.  Another thing that impressed me was the theatre troupe's community outreach.  This is the sort of art that pulls people in and makes Lexington stronger.  With AVOL and several artists collaborating on the project, it informs the audience from a multitude of perspectives; this sort of cross-pollination is just EXACTLY what benefits us all, not only as citizens of Lexington, but also as citizens of the world.  Kim Thomas had a chance to talk to the producers and director of the show in her review here, and it's definitely worth a read.

In short, this show reminded me, with agility and subtle alacrity, why I love the arts; why I dedicate so much of my time and resources to supporting them; and why I believe they are as essential to a joyful and meaningful life as tenderness itself.  I have to admit--I never realized what an essential space the black box theatre is.  These sorts of shows are showcased brilliantly in the intimate space.  I laughed truly and authentically last night.  I was alsot MOVED truly and authentically.  For those of you looking for an entirely unique and fulfilling theatre experience, do yourself a favor and get out and see it.  You'll be glad you did.

As the vaporous trails of my recent vacation reel in their cloudy tendrils, I've spent the better part of my week readjusting.  My first week back on call provided to be humane and enjoyable.  It was an easy adjustment to make as my jetlag was still doing wonders for my usually hellish sleep architecture.  I managed to hit ACE Weekly's fabulous 'Best of Lex' party over in the Distillery District in ADDITION to having had the distinct pleasure of sitting at Vice-Mayor Jim Gray's "Jim Gray for Mayor"-themed table out at the Legend's Baseball Field--it served as the gracious (and somewhat ironic) host to this year's JustFund soiree.  It was a perfect evening and, if by some cataclysmic event the earth should have opened up under right field out at the Lexington Legend's Baseball Field that night, it would have swallowed up just about everybody in my life that I hold dear.  Jim Gray was a major sponsor (as he continues to be) of yet another meaningful cause that affects us not only as citizens of Lexington but also as citizens of the states, countries, and nations that surround us.

As the week continued, I started to catch up on all the social-media/blogger traffic.  I follow 10 or 15 blogs on a regular basis and check in on Twitter at least twice a day.  (Well, maybe a little more than twice a day, and that's on TOP of Oprah having scared me into complete abstinence while driving).  I've also been shopping for kitchen appliances.  And by the way--THAT part of the week has been my only REAL source of stress.  I still can't believe how hard it is to get a stove with the (apparently) old-fashioned coils on them.  Every stove we looked at had those flat surfaces on them.  While they seem perfectly fine, there's something...comfortable.... about the coils.  

At any rate, I came upon this article on Twitter, referencing an article on Fark.com's Drew Curtis.  I got a real kick out of it and realized, rather oddly, that I could totally relate to both ACE Weekly's editorial in ADDITION to the original article that it references.  In addition to having medical business I ALSO own part of a start-up company out in Pleasanton, California.  One of my sisters used to live in Silicon Valley.  As it turns out, most of their friends and neighbors had all jumped in on the tech revolution and had bought and sold some pretty big names out there.  Meg Whitman had a house 2 doors down, the owner of Brocade lived across the street....it was odd.  But as I got to know some of these folks, (they were all pretty much around my age), I realized that people are pretty much the same everywhere. They have kids, they get drunk at Halloween parties and make total asshats of themselves--they're all interesting.  Anyway, I'd met some friends out there during my frequent visits to my sister.  (I was a medical resident during the time and used to moolight for WEEKS trying to save some cash to fly out there.  She had a Ferrari and I was tooling around in a Ford Escort without air conditioning).

Over dinner, this guy (Tom Fristoe) was working on another startup.  He named in 'Tentoe' because he was a surfer.  Apparently, 'Ten Toe' is a surfing maneuver that's pretty difficult to master.  As an amateur surfer, he took enormous pleasure in having mastered the trick.  I'd met Tom and his wife on several previous occasions and found him to be someone I thought was really cool to hang out with.  One night he was talking about this idea he'd had--he wanted to start this great service-oriented online business.  When he told me what he wanted to call it and WHY,...well, It just sounded cool.  One thing lead to another and today, I find myself the 15th investor of what has since become SellPoint, Inc.

I guess my point is this--I completely agree with his ethos.  The folks that I met out THERE smack dab in the middle of Silicon Valley remind me of a lot of the folks I hang out with HERE in Lexington.  The ideas are the same, the experiences are the same, and the community RESOURCES are the same.  Events like the 'Best of Lex' party and the JustFund soiree were variations of just about every party or event I'd ever attended with my Silicon Valley business partners.  And Drew's right--it IS alot like your friend telling you that he/she wants to get out and meet somebody and then proceeds to watch TiVo'd recordings of 'The Golden Girls' all night.  What gives me hope?  Things like the 'Now What Lexington' Summit--that gives me hope; people like Vice-mayor Jim Gray running for mayor; people like Ben Self; people like Ronda Reeves; people like Drew Curtis.   And John Morgan and Linda Carrol.  And Tom Yates, and Michael Miller.  People like Diane Lawless, Kelly Flood and Robbie Morgan.  Bob Morgan, Philip March Jones, and Louis Bickett, Allison Kaiser, and Stephanie Pevec.  People like Joe Ferrel and Sheila Ferrel.  People like Joe Artz and Trish Clark.  David O'Neil and Jennifer Miller.  Chris Dennison and Drew Curtis.  Jennifer Herzog, Kim Dixon,  Donna Smith.  People upon people and person after person.  Startups, one and all.

So yeah.  Home.  After 2 !/2 weeks in the greek islands, even the hell of deGaulle airport couldn't deconstruct the spiritual peace that had infused into me on an almost celluar level.  The pictures are on Joe's facebook page, and I won't bore the readers of these pages with a travelogue.  Suffice to say that it was full of languor, torpor, and more than a few new friends that, I suspect, we'll see again before the year is through.  There wasn't much time for immediate reflection as our flight was late from Athens, we missed our connection, and our bags are only god knows where.  The last time I was in deGaulle airport, a large portion of it had literally collapsed in on itself.  When we left  Athens, I attempted to warn Joe that, regardless of whatever preparations we were to make, flying through Paris was always a bit of a stretch.

We were having a slow dinner on the top of our hotel with a fabulous view of the acropolis lit up at night--he was having champagne and taking in the sight, seemingly unflappable.  We set out for the airport early the next morning (yesterday ?!), and found ourselves on the tarmac for approximately an hour and a half, ostensibly waiting for 'water for the coffee' to be loaded onto the plane.  We were getting a little nervous, as our connector in Paris was tight.  We finally made it to deGaulle, only to be loaded into a bus and left to sit for another 45 minutes.  The bus driver, as it turns out, simply left us all loaded up on a bus on the tarmac, leaving us to scatter into the maze of the airport once we finally hit the terminal.

Let me just say that the Charles de Gaulle airport is gargantuan.  In fact, it always reminds me of some post-apocalyptic movie set when I find myself there.  It's old, dirty, and mind-bendingly large; add about 100,000 implacably rude laissez-faire frenchman with absolutely no desire to help even those who attempt the language who are watching the clock and counting down the minutes until they can take to the streets for some reason or another--and you pretty much have the CDG airport.  When I found out we were being re-routed through Toronto, I jumped up and down with joy.  There was some concern over our actually getting on a flight in Toronto on the part of the Customer Service reps we'd finally chased down--I told Joe, 'As long as we're stranded someplace OTHER than Paris, I don't care if we have to hire a team of mules--let's get the fuck outta here...'  He quickly agreed.  In fact, he later informed me he would 'never. ever. in a million years. EVER. fly through Paris again. ever.'  

As I sit at home on the first night after not having slept in my own bed for about three weeks, the hell of 30 hours of traveling has already started to fade.  We're cozy and snug on a chilly Kentucky morning.  As Joe makes coffee and I get ready to go pick up Jack from the vet, we've got a few days to decompress.  We've gone through the mail, straightened up, and are collectively waiting for our stomachs to readjust.  Other than a tan that will fade (and a suitcase full of scarves that I've apparently developed a penchant for), we're left with beautiful memories and a short-list of people that we'll likely visit before the next summer sun shines on our faces.  In fact, we're already planning a trip to either Stockholm or London for christmas, and then a trip to Amalfi in early summer.

What we're really hoping for is a visit here by a couple of wonderful new friends here in Kentucky.  As it turns out, Joe and I have learned to be ambassadors for Lexington.  In trying to entice folks to come to Kentucky as a tourist destination, it was interesting to listen to ourselves.  In short, I've realized that I love Lexington, and I love home.  I heard myself speak longingly and lovingly of central Kentucky, marking off all of the wonderful things our city has to offer.  I talked about our new public art initiatives, our beautiful countryside, and our genuine hospitality.  While sitting on our terrace overlooking the cauldera, we found ourselves excited about what we had to come home to.

In short, this trip was book-ended by enthusiasm for THIS place, full of wonder, gentility, and promise.  Home.

So yeah.  I'm officially one hundred years old.  Ancient. Walked the earth when God was a boy and all that.  I have stepped over some invisible (but solidly present) line; on one side of the line is my youth--on the other is where I now officially stand.  I stand in a land of cloudy vision, achy joints, and amiable forgetfulness.  If I had any illusions of me being the only human being to ever stop (or even slow) the process of aging, they haven't so much evaporated as just ceased to exist.  My best friend's nephew is visiting from Buenos Aires.  The last time I saw him was actually in Buenos Aires back in 1997.

Although I'd travelled europe in the late 80's and early 90's, it wasn't until the late 90's that I discovered South America.  It first pricked my interest when I'd seen "The Mission"--the Robert Diniro/Jeremy Irons flick about the Jesuit Missions above the Igazu Falls during the slave wars between Spain and Portugal.  The soundtrack by Enio Morricone is still one of my favorite pieces of music and the scenery looked absolutely gorgeous.  When I finally got a chance to see the falls myself, I realized that the film hadn't really done them justice.  At any rate, when I met my best friend during my medical residency at UK, I jumped on his offer to come visit him and his family in Buenos Aires (BA).  It was during my first trip to BA that I met 'Niko', the above-mentioned nephew.  

I'd kept up with him over the years, but you know how it goes.  I mean, I understood academically that he had started driving...and THAT seemed pretty unbelievable.  When he graduated from high school, and then college....well, I'd talk to him on the phone occasionally, and send him words of greeting over the phone in my broken spanish.  He'd say thank you 'Neek' in his broken english.  It was pretty much the way I communicate with all of my nieces and nephews.  I've got a niece of my older sister's side who's about Niko's age, but I see her much more frequently.  At any rate, Niko is in for his first trip to america.  I actually had seen his grandmother (my friend's mother) more recently, having taken her to Walt Disney World seven year's back.

I was really excited to see him earlier tonight.  His uncle had just taken him to Vegas.  Niko's 25 years old now, and it was high time, his uncle reckoned, that he see Vegas.  He loved it, as it turns out.  I can't quite see Niko in Vegas, at least for any extended period of time.  When I saw him tonight, he was still the shy and amiable kid, except he was like the man version.  He has retained the gangly and languorous grace of the soccer player he'd always been, but it was just incredible how he'd, plainly and simply, grown up.  I was absolutely and tee-totally shocked.  And then I busted out one of my Aunt Erma's moves, rest her soul.

Now I loved my Aunt Erma.  Still do in fact.  She was one of those timeless characters that will always grace my memories.  Some of the fondest memories I have are going over to 'The Property'.  Although I'm not exactly sure I ever understood how it all came to pass,  my dad and his three sisters had sort of this weird (but definable) little building company that, oddly, would go on to spur the development of what is still one of northeastern Kentucky's most rarefied and fancy little neighborhoods--Bellefonte, Kentucky.  The houses on 'The Property' were all built one by one, each with exacting standards and with an architecture that lived in perfect harmony with the slightly rolling but intensely lush landscape.  It was on the heels of my father and his sister's completion of their own personal homes, each lined up one beside another at the end of a winding drive my Aunt Katherine named 'Stoneybrook Drive', that Ashland Oil established it's international headquarters in Ashland, Kentucky.

All of a sudden, national executives were looking for a little piece of bucolic heaven to settle into.  It was about this time that Ashland Oil became HUGE on an international scale, establishing 'Super America', 'Valvoline', and making billions in oil and petroleum products around the world.  So what started off as a place that my sister Melanie and I used to have dirt clod fights with all of our first cousines (and I mean apocaLYPTIC dirt clod fights), soon turned into this absolute HAVEN, filled with families of international executives.  They built a golf course and a country club (it's still there to this very day), and, as I was walking through my yard today, I noticed that when I'd done my landscaping, I'd unconsciously fashioned it to look like any old yard you'd see in Bellefone, Kentucky.

So my Aunt Erma.  She lived in Bellefonte (the Shire)  When she passed, she left her home to her eldest daughter, Joan.  During 'The Property Years', every time she saw me (which was pretty often), she'd always bust a move and hold her arm out.  She'd say, "Nicky, the last time I saw you were were about THIS tall.'  She'd always hold her arm out at just my present height, and then she'd give me a hug and offer me something to eat.  I LOVED it.  She also got me an 'Invisible Man Anatomy Kit' once for Christmas.  I honestly think it was that see-through anatomy kit that made me want to be a doctor, and if that's not the word of God then God never spoke.  This evening, when I saw Niko, I busted out my Aunt Erma's move.  And I remembered her completely and entirely, in one of those odd spaces in time that are entire and they are complete and they take approximately six seconds.  It was pretty amazing.

Of course it lead me to think about time and the usual denial of it's passage until it slaps you in the face.  Hard.  And it did.  It was surprising.  I think the thing that surprised me most about the whole thing was that it made me smile.  I realize that's incredibly inarticulate, and this blog post is a sort of a cliche'--but it really did.  The whole thing--the experience, the reflection, and the narration, ALL of it--it made me smile.  Yeah.  I busted out my Aunt Erma's move.  And I'm totally cool with it.

(In a brief follow-up to the story below, Jim Clark, President and CEO of LexArts, has issued a press release revealing that all of Lexington's non-profit arts group shall be eligible to participate in the epic upcoming Americans for the Arts national Economic Impact Study--one of only 200 cities across the nation who will basically issue a 'report card' on the arts economy across America. Interested parties who are also willing to put their money where there mouth is in getting behind this city-wide (and national) event include Christine Huskisson on behalf of a Bluegrass Community Collaboration grant, Lisa Broome-Price (the Associate Director) over at the Gaines Center Center for the Humanities at the University of Kentucky), and, of course, yours truly.)

“The most exquisite folly is made of wisdom too fine spun”

Benjamin Franklin

Great things are happening right here in River City! Jim Clark announced that LexArts would become a Study Partner with Americans for the Arts' national arts economic impact study.  The study is undertaken every three years by Americans for the Arts, the nation's largest arts advocacy group.  Having actually used the AFTA economic impact calculator on a previous blog post of mine as it relates SummerFest, I was thrilled to hear that LexArts  had undertaken a contractual commitment to facilitate the study for the city of Lexington.  in fact, in an initial email from Ben Davidson, an AFTA Senior Research Director, Jim Clark had initially shown interest in becoming a national Study Partner, but hadn't signed the contract.  As luck would have it, the contract was signed the very next day.

Christine Husskisson had also been inquiring about the Economic Impact Study on behalf of a grant she had received.  There was some initial confusion about who was paying for what.  As I understand it, LexArts has signed the contract on behalf of the city.  Now, Lexington gets to have a bright shining light thrown at it from the most powerful arts advocacy group in the land.  The economic data gathered from Lexington will go into what essentially boils down to as a national arts report card.  This data will be used to make arguments for everything from national, state, and local funding to what models work and which ones aren't sustainable in todays economic apocalypse.  The findings will be used to demonstrate, to cities large and small across the country, what is the very best we have to offer.

The local arts groups will reap incredible benefit from participating in the study as well.  This is a chance for organizations to gather priceless data about their audience sizes, demographics, spending patterns, and patronage.  These numbers are the sorts of things that clinch very big funding grants from groups like the Kentucky Arts Council, the National Endowment for the Arts, and state legislatures.  In effect, the actual process of BEING studied is an incredible resource.

As it turns out, the arts organizations I'm the most excited about: the 'Change For Art' Program and SummerFest, aren't eligible.  According to a recent email Jim Clark sent Christine and me, only arts organizations who raise money for LexArts will be eligible for the study.  I find that a little ironic.  I started advocating for an Economic Impact study to try and quantify the value of grassroots programs like 'Change' and SummerFest.  As it turns out, the city is going to get the survey, but SummerFest and 'Change For Art' don't get to be counted.  We miss out on all of the data that is absolutely essential for community-based arts programs to survive.  I'm thinking, 'Let me get this straight...unless I agree to raise money for LexArt's annual campaign, the organizations that I support and believe in somehow don't count?"

That's kinda crazy.  Look--I'm on record all over town as having gotten both of the current mayoral candidates on the record in the Lexington Arts-Related mayoral forum that they would support at least maintaining current funding for LexArts.  In fact, Jim Clark graciously sent me an email thanking me for that fact.  If I'm going to stand up in a public forum and advocate for LexArts, I want to be absolutely certain that they're being as inclusive and as truly representative of the arts community here in Lexington as is humanly possible.  At the end of the day, that's what these organizations represent--just us folk.  So when I read an email that tells me that I, as a board member of SummerFest and Change for Art, have to raise money for LexArts during their annual campaign in order for my organization to participate in something as epic as this impact study, that puts me between a rock and a hard place.

I was actually working on the SummerFest Program yesterday.  On my boards, I work.  In fact, I'm out there at the Arboretum every year putting up chairs.  So when I see this great opportunity fly right by us out in a field we're getting ready for over 20,000 Lexingtonians to come out and enjoy some really great theater, it makes me think something's amiss.  Quite frankly, I'm trying to raise money to help SummerFest pay the lighting guys.  In other words, groups like SummerFest can't AFFORD to raise money for somebody else.  Or participate in the LexArts annual campaign.  We're just trying to keep the lights on.