« July 2005 | Main | September 2005 »

August 30, 2005

The Taming Of The Wild Horse

A number of years ago I was visiting an elementary school to give a motivational talk. As I waited to be introduced to the crowd, I took a seat among the children in the auditorium.

The boy I happened to sit next to was a healthy-looking young soccer player named Michael Thompson. Although I didn't know it then, I would come across him again in the very near future.

I told Michael that I'd be watching him and he'd better not sleep during my talk. He gave me a token smile and nodded his head.

The next time I saw Michael he was in the hospital. He had just been diagnosed with cancer. Many of the parents at his school, knowing my involvement with children suffering from cancer, asked me to visit Michael to offer him support and to help cheer him up.

Gone was the bubbly kid I had sat next to in the auditorium. He was replaced by a bald boy who was reacting badly to chemotherapy and throwing-up all over the place.

I introduced myself to Michael's mother who smiled and told me she knew exactly who I was. A few weeks earlier Michael's grandmother had died, and at the funeral, Michael had read a poem from one of my books. She recognized me from the picture on the back cover.

Over the next few months, I visited Michael at the hospital and watched his condition ride up and down like a roller coaster.

"You are incredible," I said to Michael one day. "How do you keep on fighting every time cancer knocks you down? I don't know how you do it without giving up."

I had to give Michael credit. The doctors tried many times to rid his body of cancer and many times they failed. Michael could have given up. But he didn't.

"I treat cancer like a wild horse,” said Michael. “Each time it throws me, I get back on the horse. I’m going to tame the horse one day! I ain't giving up, dude."

Michael continued being thrown from the horse and taming it until one morning when I went to visit, carrying some drawings I had done for him. I walked into the hospital room and stopped in my tracks. All the linen had been removed from his bed and one of the nurses was sitting in the bedside chair with her face buried in her hands.

I had honestly thought Michael was going to make it and the empty bed froze my heart. I was devastated. My knees went weak and I felt like passing out. I walked over to the nurse and put my hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" I asked softly, knowing that she too must have felt devastated by the loss of Michael.

"No," she replied. "I am not okay. I have one incredible hangover. I will never drink alcohol again."

"Where's Michael?" I stammered, pointing at the bed.

"Oh, he's gone home," she said. "His blood counts are way up and he's doing great. That kid never gives up! He's a champion."

Although Michael went through two bone marrow transplants and a near fatal fungal infection, I'm glad to say that he is alive and well. I know this because I received the following e-mail today.

It warmed my heart:

"Hi Trevor, wow it's been a long time but we still think about you. As a matter of fact, Mikey and I were just reminiscing about those days just a couple weeks ago. We were going through all the things I saved from his illness and there was a big sign you had made for his hospital room that said 'My name is not James'. I kept it and it's still in perfect condition. You were such a shining light in our lives.

Mikey is now 20 years old...hard to believe we first met you when he was only 10. He's doing well health wise, cancer-free for 5 years, so much to be thankful for. He's been struggling a little though - trying to find his way through life...all that chemo and radiation seemed to do a number on his concentration levels and just everyday living. But he hasn't lost his smile or his spirit.

We still have all your books especially the special, autographed 'How To Do Homework Without Throwing Up'.

Just wanted to say hello and thank you for all you did for us during the toughest time of our lives. Would love to see you again some time. We've missed you!

Big hugs and many blessings."

Barbara Thompson

Posted by trevor at 07:26 AM | Comments (1)

August 29, 2005

Pure Enjoyment

If only we could remember how to enjoy each and every moment like we did when we were kids jumping in the waves for the very first time.

Posted by trevor at 09:27 PM | Comments (1)

The Green Room

They call it the Green Room, although I have yet to be in one that is actually green. Most of the time they are small rooms with uncomfortable chairs, a television tuned to the station you are visiting, old posters of cancelled television shows, bad coffee and donuts.

In essence, the Green Room is a holding pen for famous and infamous people who are about to appear on television. A place for you to sit so that you are out of everyone’s way.

You get to meet very interesting people in the Green Room. Mostly those who will be on television before or after you (and their respective entourages who are often more interesting than most of the people being interviewed, including myself).

During my Green Room sojourns over the years I have met jugglers, a man who hammered nails into his own head, a snake charmer, Michael Jordan, one of the Wiggles, Peter Fonda, Michelle Pfeiffer, the Fruit of the Loom guys, Bono, an Oscar Meyer Weiner kid, a professional car thief, Barney, Angelina Ballerina, a guy who stuck himself to his wife with superglue, Governor Ann Richards and most recently, the Reverend Jesse Jackson. (It’s amazing what celebrities can get away with. Reverend Jackson (above) was wearing a very nice suite…with socks and sandals. Barney was wearing an over-ripe, over-sized pair of extra-fluffy purple slippers, which he kept on tripping over.

I can’t wait to see who I have the pleasure of meeting during my next Green Room visit.

Posted by trevor at 12:15 PM | Comments (2)

August 28, 2005

The Mother Of Love

My heart breaks for Tylor’s mother, Denise. She is exhausted and totally drained. She has to wake up every two hours to change the IV bag for his medication. She told me Tylor is now sleeping in her room so she can attend to his medication quickly and efficiently.

A few days ago, Denise said something so sad yet so tragically beautiful:

“In the middle of the darkest part of the night after I have changed Tylor’s medication, I lie awake and think about the meaning of life. Our house is so tiny I can hear the others breathing and tossing restlessly in their sleep. Even the house itself seems restless. I think it’s like this because we’re living from minute to minute.

“Before I go back to sleep at night, after every medication change, I make sure I rest my hand on Tylor’s chest so that I can feel his heart beat. I am petrified that something might happen while I’m asleep and I can’t bear the though of that.”

Denise I don’t think there is any pain in the world worse than what you are suffering right now, yet you continue to keep your family together with your humor, strength, faith and compassion. You are an inspiration.

I send you my prayers and love Denise during this uninvited hell that is tearing your soul apart. (I’m sure I can say the same for all of the readers of this blog.) I know after six years of battling Tylor’s cancer all you pray for is to return to the carefree, happy days before the diagnosis. Days of fun and laughter. Days of easy living. Days that so many of us forget to appreciate and enjoy as we focus on our small surmountable problems. Little problems that consume us and rob us of valuable time. Time that some people I know would give anything to have, so that a loved one could live another day.

Blessings, love and comfort to all of you from the bottom of my heart.

Posted by trevor at 03:12 PM | Comments (1)

August 26, 2005

Thinking Big

Posted by trevor at 11:14 AM | Comments (1)

August 24, 2005

Midnight

He would whisper across the room in the middle of the night. He knew when my grandparents were asleep.

He did it every time we visited their farm in Vredefort.

He was always the instigator. I was always the reluctant one.

I’d pretend to be asleep. Not wanting to get into trouble.

He’d whisper again. “Trev. Wake up, man. Let’s sneak out and be midnight spies.”

Who could say no to that?

So we’d climb out of the window and enjoy tracking German soldiers or Russian assassins in the trees behind the farmhouse.

My grandmother was always perplexed at how tired we were and said we needed to drink more milk for energy.

My grandfather always nodded at her (and winked at us).

I miss my brother Steve, the instigator. I miss him with all my heart.

I wish we lived in the same country.

Posted by trevor at 08:16 PM | Comments (2)

August 22, 2005

Life Circle

I have written about this before, but I told the following story to some children yesterday and they asked me to put in on my blog so they can share it with their friends:

There is a place in Botswana, Southern Africa called the Okavango Delta. It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The Delta is called the Jewel of Africa. It’s the largest inland delta in the world, instead of flowing into the sea, the annual flood of fresh water flows inland, spreading over 15 000km of the Kalahari sand in a maze of lagoons and channels.

Incredible belts of forest fringe the swamps with tall trees giving shade to large herds of game.

Beyond the forest the landscape forms an open savanna, and in these drier areas the greatest concentrations of game are accompanied by the predator families: lion, leopard, cheetah, hyena, and wild dog. It is in these forests and savanna grasslands that you’ll see elephant and giraffe browsing with antelope of almost every kind, from buffalo, wildebeest, and kudu, to sable, roan and impala. The place is absolutely breathtaking.

It was during a visit to the Okavango Delta that I felt a true connection to the universe for the first time in my life.

I was sitting in a dugout canoe (a mokoro) with a guide named Vusi. I sat up front while Vusi used a long oar to push the canoe quietly along the sacred delta.

We passed Hippo, giraffe and hundreds of zebra foraging in the bush. The beauty and powerful visual before my eyes made me realize that I am not as important as I sometimes think I am. That in the big picture, my very existence is a mere blink in time.

It was late afternoon and Vusi positioned the dugout so that we could view the sunset from a good vantage point.

“They call this the golden moment,” he said, pointing to the setting sun, which now bathed the entire delta in a rich golden wash.

“I can see why,” I replied.

“It’s not because of the color,” he said, smiling.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Wait,” he replied.

And I did, as the sun, a golden ball, rolled over the horizon.

“Listen,” he said, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

I heard nothing but the loud cacophony of day insects simultaneously trying to have their final say before nightfall. I was really amazed at how loud they were.

Then the sun was gone.

Suddenly, in unison, the sounds of the day insects stopped completely.

Silence washed across the delta in a wave of indescribable quietness. Nothing stirred. Complete stillness. Even the water seemed to stop lapping against the side of the boat. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

Nothing.

At that moment the world seemed to take a deep breath. I heard it. I felt it. I became part of it.
Then, almost as one, the clamor of the night insects suddenly filled the empty void.

The noise was so loud I could hardly hear Vusi speak.

“That was the golden moment,” said Vusi, smiling coyly.

“Did you hear the breath?” he said. “That time between the day and night insects?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“That was God’s breath,” he said, turning the boat and heading across the delta.

Neither of us spoke. We didn't need to.

As we paddled silently toward the rising moon, I realized that our very existence is made up of a million magnificent moments strung together on a delicate thread we call life.

I understood the value of individual moments that day. Not the importance of days or weeks or months or years. Just moments. Valuable seconds that are constantly passing us by.

(I took the above picture on my recent vacation to "Secret Beach". I can't tell you where that is though because then it won't be a secret anymore.)

Posted by trevor at 10:20 AM | Comments (4)

August 20, 2005

Twenty -six

I heard the scream before I even saw the woman. There was blood all over her. She came running out of the mud hut waving her hands like a woman possessed.

There were sixteen of us sitting in the back of the Bedford troop truck. We were exhausted after a day of machine-gun training at the firing range near Potchefstroom in South Africa.

We had passed many little huts with thatched roofs where countless African workers were relegated during the apartheid era.

The driver stopped the vehicle so suddenly that most of us fell off the side benches and slid onto the floor.

I don’t even remember scrambling off the truck, but I found myself along with my friend Colin Abrahams (who sadly passed away a few years later), trying to calm the woman down.

She was too hysterical to speak but kept gesturing toward the hut.

Colin and I looked at each other and without thinking, rushed through the door…

The scene that greeted me is permanently burned into my mind.

On the floor of the hut lay a writhing woman also covered in blood.

As we reached her she let out a long haunting scream that shook my entire being. She reached beneath the bloodstained sheet that was covering her.

Then I saw something I will never forget. A squiggling mass of mucus and blood in her hands.

“She’s just had a damn baby!” yelled Colin.

“Get some water,’ came a calm voice from behind me. “I’ve done this before.” It was our instructor Bombardier Kasper Heunis. Neither Colin nor I could move. We were in total shock.

“Maak gou,” he yelled. “Ons het nie die hele donderse dag nie.” (Hurry up. We haven’t got all damn day.)

The lady who first came rushing out of the hut and was now standing behind us, suddenly dashed out of the door and came back with a pail of water.

“Wag buitekant,” barked Bombardier Heunis. (Wait outside.) He pushed both Colin and me out of the door.

We stood outside, two nineteen year-old soldiers with mouths agape. The rest of our contingency joined us and we all waited.

A few minutes later a smiling Bombardier Heunis appeared at the door. Wrapped in a tattered towel and cradled in his arms he held a brand new baby boy.

According to the journal I kept during my army training, today is that little baby’s twenty-sixth birthday.

Happy birthday to you. I hope you are leading a happy and rewarding life.

Sala kahle! Wami umngane.

Posted by trevor at 05:17 PM | Comments (4)

August 19, 2005

Back To School

As the new school year begins I wish all of my little friends good luck and days and days filled with the wonder and excitement of learning.

Posted by trevor at 06:49 AM | Comments (1)

August 18, 2005

The Dream Continues...

Thank you so very much from Tylor and his family to all of those who have donated so generously to Tylor's Dream of building a house for his family. Your contributions have started a wonderful rolling snowball. To make it easier for people to help Tylor reach his dream we will be setting up a foundation to manage the funds. Stay tuned for details.

Posted by trevor at 08:42 PM | Comments (0)

August 17, 2005

I will never forget...

I took this photograph of a father and his son playing in the surf during my vacation a few days ago. I was so touched and inspired by this man’s overwhelming love for his child. The way he cherished his boy reminds me of my dad.

I wrote my father the following letter a few years ago:

Dear Dad,

I just wanted to thank you so much for the fantastic childhood you and mom gave me. I often want to be a child again so that I can feel the love, warmth, joy and security you always gave me.

Although money was very hard to come by while we were growing up, I never felt deprived of anything. Your love has given me more wealth than money could ever buy.

I will never forget the time you held me in your arms when I was so badly stung by the Jelly Fish in Durban.

I will never forget your tears when I went into surgery at six years old to have my severely squint left eye repaired.

I will never forget the one single tear that ran down your smiling check when you took me to Linksfield Primary School on my first day.

I will never forget you adjusting my tie before the high school dance. (I will always remember your smile and wink as I turned to say goodbye to you at the front door.)

I will never forget you passing me a care package through the barbed wire fence after our twelve weeks of basic training. (I can still feel your hand ruffling my hair as I sobbed, begging you to take me away from the two years of military training that ripped my childhood out of my soul and left it whimpering alongside the road to Fourth Field Regiment.)

I will never forget waving goodbye to you when I left South Africa. Not knowing if I would ever see you again. In my mind I still see the slow motion image of you with your arm around mom waving goodbye to me as I boarded the plane.

Thank you dad for giving me the best childhood a person could ever hope for.

Trev

My mum says my dad cried as hard as she’d ever seen him cry when he received my letter.

The letter took me months to send because I wanted to add so much to it and didn’t know how to end it. Eventually I sent it as is.

I’m so glad I did.

Two weeks later my father passed away suddenly. Stunned I flew home from America to be with my family. (The flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg was the longest 18 hours I have ever experienced in my life.)

At home, while helping my mum sort through my dad’s belongings I found the letter in his wallet.

He died with my letter in his pocket.

He died knowing how much I appreciated and loved him.

If you want somebody to know how you feel. Don’t wait. Tell them today because tomorrow might be too late.

Posted by trevor at 09:00 PM | Comments (10)

August 05, 2005

Something Wonderful Happened

Wow. I'm sitting here having a cup of tea in total amazement. The response to Tylor’s dream of having a house for his family has been totally overwhelming. Thank you to all those people who said they will help. (From money to materials, people from far and wide have started coming forward. ) I am working out the details of setting up a bank account for the family in Findlay, Ohio where they live and I will post the details as soon as I have them.

Posted by trevor at 10:53 AM | Comments (1)

August 04, 2005

A Letter I Will Never Forget

I received this letter today in response to my previous entry:

Hi Trev, its Tylor
Thank u for trying to help my family build our house. If it was not for me being sick our house would of already have been built, but I got sick and we had to stop building to try to get me better.
I hope that we can get the house built for my family and that I get to live in it for awhile, but if I dont get to see it I will just be happy that my family gets to live in it, and I will be looking down from heaven smiling for my family because thay finally got what I wanted them to have. I am glad that I have a brother like u.
Thank u Trev for helping me with every thing and for helping my family. I love you man and thank u for taking the time to help me write my book, I hope it will help other people love life like I do. Thank u to all the people that take the time to read about me and ask how I'm doing. That means a lot to know people I dont even know care that much.
you all ROCK!
Tylor

I echo Tylor's sentiment. Thanks to all of you who have sent such wonderful messages to Tylor and his family. As Tylor's candle begings to flicker more and more, blown by the careless winds of fate, our candles grow brighter and brighter thanks to his courage, compassion and warmth.

Posted by trevor at 10:43 PM | Comments (6)

Winners and Losers

I am sick! Sick to my stomach. I met a friend of a friend today who proudly told me he and his wife lost FORTY-FIVE THOUSAND dollars in Las Vegas last weekend.

I am disgusted because that money could have built a house for my ailing friend Tylor and his family. They have lost pretty much everything and live in a mobile home, which they have turned into a wonderful and loving sanctuary for the six of them. Yes, six. It's impossibly tiny, but it's filled with more love than all of "Air Supply's" songs put together.

I understand the man who flushed his money down the toilet is a multi-millionaire, but it is sickening how flippantly he brushed off his loss.

Forty-Five thousand dollars would not only build Tylor’s family a home they so desperately need, but it could feed an entire village in South Africa for a year or build an orphanage for AIDS orphans who are living in the drains in Cape Town.

To tell you the truth, meeting this man today might actually be the best thing that has happened to me in a long time! I say this because he really made me angry and (as of two minutes ago) I have decided I am going to raise fifty thousand dollars to build Tylor’s family a house to put their home into. (I know fifty-thousand is not a lot, but they have an inherited piece of land and many constructionists* in the family. And Deans says he can build a dream home for that amount of money.)

I don’t know how I’m going to do it yet, but I thought if I put the thought out into the universe, the answer will come to me. After Tylor’s home is built, I will aim for orphans in my home country, South Africa.

I guess I have now figured out my mission for the next few years.

* I think I just made up a word for a group of construction dudes.

Posted by trevor at 06:10 PM | Comments (11)

Follow Up

A number of people wrote to me regarding my previous entry. They were frustrated because they would like follow my suggestion about recording events but thought they could not draw well enough.

Everyone can draw! Not everyone can create something like the Mona Lisa. But that is not our objective. Having fun with lines is what its all about. As I said before, even drawing little doodles or stick figures can be very satisfying. (Above is an excerpt from trip journal I did after a visit to the North West. All I used was a Pilot felt-tipped pen and markers.)

I always tell people to draw for themselves and not for other people. The minute you think you are going to be judged you can freeze up and that makes drawing harder to do.

Posted by trevor at 07:12 AM | Comments (2)

August 03, 2005

Capturing Time

Each and every day we experience thousands of moments. They pass quickly like windows on a fast moving train. You can glance into the window as the train passes by and retain a mental snap-shot of what you saw in the car. The image normally fades within minutes and dissolves into a fine powder that drifts to the ground and is swept off the platform by the sweeper of the brooms.

Because we cannot photograph moments once they have passed, I have found that by doing a simple sketch (sometimes even hours later) I can recall the moment instantly and access the memory every time I glance at the sketch in the future.

There are so many wonderful experiences that simply disappear forever unless we create triggering devices to remember them by. I am sketching like a fiend right now because there are some powerful and important moments in my life that I never want to forget.

Many years ago I had an experience in Europe that I had forgotten until I came across the pictures above in one of my journals.

As I look at the pictures I am instantly taken back to that night. It was snowing lightly. My friend and I were walking along a small street in Paris. I noticed a young man at a flower shop. He was searching for the perfect bunch of winter flowers. He was scratching his head and trying very hard to decide which bunch to pick.

We moved along and made our way to a café nearby. Outside the café a man played the accordion with such passion I though he was going to cry. It wanted to stay and watch him play but it was too cold. We went inside the warm and inviting café for dinner.

A short while later the young man from the flower shop came into the restaurant with a bunch of flowers. He motioned to the waitress that he was expecting someone.

We ate a great meal and enjoyed a bottle of red wine.

The young boy kept looking at his watch and glancing up at the door.

We finished our dinner and drank espresso.

The young man was twisting the edge of his paper menu. Rolling it back and forth, back and forth between his fingers. He continued glancing up at the door.

We had been there for almost an hour.

Suddenly I saw his face break into a smile.

He shoved his chair back almost knocking it over and he rushed outside. Through the window I could see him moving toward a beautiful, dark-haired girl wearing a beret.

They held each other for the longest time.

Their passionate embrace created embers inside me that kept me warm all night.

The full memory filled with sights, sounds and smells came flooding back instantly as I looked at the drawings. I don’t think I would ever have remembered that experience again if I had not had the drawing as a visual cue. Memories can be captured in words too, but for some reason a sketch with a few notes seems to bring back a more complete experience.

I am learning from Tylor the value of every precious moment. Even if it’s a rough doodle with a short explanation, I urge you to put the moments you’d like to cherish down on paper so you can treasure them again and again.

Posted by trevor at 04:57 PM | Comments (0)

A Laugh

Here is some much needed humor for those who have bolted the blog (ala Misss Muffet) due to excess sadness.

1. COFFEE (n.), the person upon whom one coughs.

2. FLABBERGASTED (adj.), appalled over how much weight
you have gained.

3. ABDICATE (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a
flat stomach.

4. ESPLANADE (v.), to attempt an explanation while
drunk.

5. WILLY-NILLY (adj.), impotent.

6. NEGLIGENT (adj.), describes a condition in which
you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown.

7. LYMPH (v.), to walk with a lisp.

8. GARGOYLE (n.), olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. FLATULENCE (n.) emergency vehicle that picks you up
after you are run over by a steamroller.

10. BALDERDASH (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.

11. RECTITUDE (n.), the formal, dignified bearing
adopted by proctologists.

12. POKEMON (n), a Rastafarian proctologist.

13. OYSTER (n.), a person who sprinkles his
conversation with Yiddishisms.

14. FRISBEETARIANISM (n.), The belief that, when you
die, your Soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

(This list was sent to me by a friend who was not certain of the source. Please let me know if you have any idea where it originated and I will promptly add it to this entry.)

Posted by trevor at 06:41 AM | Comments (4)

August 02, 2005

Update

I never intended my blog to be a report on kids with cancer and I don’t plan on turning it into one either, (unless I get a sponsorship from Kleenex) but I could not help including today’s entry.

I have received over sixty e-mails in the last couple of days from people asking after young Tylor (the One-Legged Maniac). Tylor is in hospital at the moment fighting a horrible infection in his port. But with a sky-high fever, his compassion still shines through; evident in the following blog comment I received from him today. (His e-mail was in response to a phone call I received recently from a young girl who is also terminally ill. (If you are sponsored by Kleenex, you can read about Tatum in an earlier blog entitled ‘Butterflies and Angels.):

“Hi Trevor! It’s Tylor. Tell Tatum to have fun, to be herself and to do all the things she loves to do, even if she is sick. We are people, don't treat us like glass, we won’t break, we just want to be kids and enjoy the time we have. When I am feeling down I just think of this one shirt Trevor has with pink flowers and that always makes me laugh, so maybe you can get him to send you a picture of it so you can laugh too. Well I am in the hospital waiting room I have to get back before my nurse puts out an APB for me. See you everybody. BYE TREV. Talk at u later. Luv Tylor.”

Thank you Tylor for caring about other people. I know you are really sick today, yet you still found it in you to send a message to Tatum. I’m sure your note will mean a lot to her. You rock, kid. You really do.

(Pictured above with Tylor is his aunt Laina. Like the other members of Tylor’s awesome family, she is one incredible human being. Her love for her nephew is immeasurable. Laina is absolutely exquisite and could move to New York or Los Angeles in a heartbeat to model or act, yet she chooses to stay in Findlay, Ohio, close to Tylor and her family. Dean and Denise and the entire clan have dedicated themselves to enriching the daily-diminishing-life this brave young boy is so valiantly fighting for. I thank all of you again for reminding me of what “unconditional” love and support really means.

Posted by trevor at 10:28 PM | Comments (2)

The Art of Reflection

People have asked my how I manage to deal with the emotional stress that comes with being a 'doctor of mischief' to terminally ill children.

Other than finding a quiet place to ruminate and give thanks, I sketch every day.

For me, sketching is one of the most calming and soothing ways of slowing down and reflecting. I started drawing in my early thirties and must admit my first attempts were not great. I wasn’t very happy with what I had drawn, but I found the process incredibly satisfying. I still feel the same way today. Whether I like the sketch or not, there is a wonderful sense of well-being that seems to seep into my body as I draw, even if I’m doodling simple stick figures.

My good friend Danny Gregory, author of the book ‘Every Day Matters’, said this in a recent blog entry:

“Every day matters. Every single day. The day you meet the president. The day you have a baby. The day you find a special on sirloin at the supermarket. The day you get your shoes back from the cobbler. I find that drawing helps me to commemorate those events, large and small, dull and transformative. For me, that's the point of art. To deepen my understanding of my life.
If someone else suggests that I draw a particular thing that opens my eye to fruit or glasses or the pattern of sunshine on my counterpane, then that's great. But ultimately, we all live different lives and are handed assignments by each dawning day. Each day we're handed a new set of challenges, new rivers to ford, new choices and wonders and pains and lessons. If we think the day is full and familiar, we need just dig deeper into it, look for fresh insight, and peel back the layers of the onion. I find that drawing helps me do that.”

(Please visit Danny’s site Everyday Matters at dannygregorgy.com)

Posted by trevor at 03:09 PM | Comments (2)

August 01, 2005

The Change

Today I was in deep thought and found myself driving a little too slowly for a few people on the highway. (I was actually driving at the speed limit, mind you.) One chap in a big truck, flashed his lights, cursed, waved his fist, swung his vehicle violently into the next lane and passed me mouthing horrible little words as went.

He raised his hand to flip me off and instead of cursing him back (like I think he expected me to do,) I smiled and waved. My gesture threw him off completely. For a second he seemed rather confused. My wave must have disarmed him somehow because in mid flip he turned his bird into a little wave and smiled sheepishly.

My grandpa Ted always said, “Kill them with kindness.” It worked!

Today is going to be a good day.

Posted by trevor at 10:12 AM | Comments (4)