Inked

September 8, 2014

There is something inside of me that just has to get out.

Something that I cannot describe

but looks me right in the eye daily.

Clearly, I needed to look more closely.

And when I did,

the idea of getting a tattoo

was born.

It didn't happen exactly on my birthday, but it was close. New ink, that is. One might say, it was about turning 65, but I can't say it was something that I had vowed to do, like a senior citizen bucket list. It was more like my 65th birthday just happened along at a convenient time. … when want overcame need … when "I ought to" became "I will" … when "why" morphed into "why not"? Not that the event was earth-shattering. This was not the first time. I write about it because of the culture surrounding it. That is what intrigues me.

It all started years ago. My nephews, Smokey and Mitch were both graduating from school … Smokey from college and Mitchell from high school. I had been racking my brains to come up with a gift for each of them to mark the occasion. My bad idea pile was growing by leaps and bounds and my maybe pile did not exit. The criteria I had settled on for the gifts was that the nephews would never forget it. That pretty much ruled out a new fishing rod or anything that had any potential for being relevant or useful then or ever. I definitely was leaning towards some shared event, some epic adventure. Cat fishing with a guide for the big cats was a possibility except for the fact that Mitch was not a fisherman. Neither one of them was  tuned in to the joys of suffering while camping (I blame their Dad for that oversight). I was in a quandary. My reputation as a strange uncle was on the line.

And then it came to me. Male bonding at its best. The gift you can't forget. I decided to give them tattoos.

Immediately, I called their Dad and without hesitation he was in. I called both Smokey and Mitch. There was no way that they could refuse. I explained what  I wanted to do and that it was a bonding thing for them, their Dad and me. And then I said, "Look, no problem. If you are afraid and don't want to do it, I won't think any less of you. I understand. You will still be a man to me." Just as I suspected … those guys were fearless.

Bob found us a tattoo parlor in Charlotte, NC. It was perfect. Located in a rougher section of town with great steel bars on all the windows. My only regret was that no matter how hard I a tried, I could not get Anne's Dad to join us. He did go with us to watch, but would not get a tattoo. I was never really certain whether he just did not want to get one, or if there was another reason. As we headed for the car to leave, Ruth, Mr. Hughes wife, leaned out the door and said, "Bob Hughes! You had better not come back here with a tattoo". He went home with a tattoo that day … but it was a temporary stick-on one.  Don't misinterpret what I am saying. Not for  minute, do I think that Ruth's comment had anything to do with Mr. Hughes decision.

We all arrived at the tattoo parlor, ready for a great day. Mitch and Smokey had brought copies of special tattoos that they wanted. Smokey's was the Hughes Family Crest. Why put it on a blazer when you can carve it into you back I say.  Mitch designed some Asian symbol for music and a guitar player. Bob and I had to look through the tattoo books. He wanted something with Felix the Cat and found it. You learn something new every day. I never knew that he was in to Felix the Cat. Personally, I never cared for the cartoons myself, but I did see some Felix the Cat porno stuff once that was pretty funny. I found a yin yang sun and moon kind of thing and it was okay. Everyone but me wanted their tattoo on their right shoulder blade area. I didn't know much about tattoos, except that where there is bone, there is pain. I chose my well-padded hip next to my fat butt for mine.

Time to man up. Smokey volunteered to go first and plopped down on the stool. In case you are not aware, tattoo artists (they weren't exactly called artists back then) are not your khaki pants and button-down oxford types. Our artist was disgustingly obese, complete with heavy wheezy breathing. His condition, I am sure was exacerbated by the need to sit on his huge butt day-in and day-out torturing men and writing in ink and blood on women's breasts and beyond. Within easy reach of his stool was his loaded 257-magnum handgun. He explained that he had been robbed the week before. However, I expect the gun was there before anyone ever thought of robbing the place. I think there may be an unwritten rule that the tattoo artist is required to to tell tough guy stories throughout the tattoo experience. It is all wrapped up in the need for men to posture and flex their muscles. Our version of this for the day was to make fun of whichever one of us was currently in the hot seat. We took pictures, laughed and accused each other of crying. Oh, the moaning and grimacing and white-knuckle gripping of the stool was like nectar from the gods. Neverthless, What happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas.  That is, unless one of the group writes a blog. There were too many memorable moments to share them all. My favorites though are:

Bob's eyes nearly bugging out of his head when the needle came at him

the vise like grip that Smokey had on the chair to keep from flinching

Mitch, well I was not sure he was going to make it

Smokey telling Mitch before his turn that he would not think less of him if he backed out

The two girls looking over the partition and saying, "Mr. Bob, is that you?"

Smokey's determination to get a picture of me flinching in pain

Smokey's comment to me, "You SOB, you are not even going to change your expression are you?"

By the way, I did not change my facial expression … just like Smokey implied. Remember what I told you earlier about tattoos on muscle and bone and tattoos on fat. End of story. We had a great time … a great bonding experience. It was something the women just could not understand … like torturing your younger brother.

The Charlotte tattoo satisfied my need for ink for many years. I don't recall when it was that the urge resurfaced. What I do recall was that I started sketching possibilities. I am not one to jump into things. This sketching phase lasted at least a year. About the same time, I realized that I was psychologically drawn to spirals. Needless to say, I settled on a spiral design. I and seen an itinerant worker at the school with a tattoo (in this case, just a straight line) on his calf. Ignoring the wisdom  on my first tattoo, I decided that I wanted the spiral tattoo on my calf. A friend at work recommended that I try The Black Bear  where she had gotten her tattoo. I  called and made the appointment.

The Black Bear was one of those "here today, gone tomorrow" kind of places in West Brattleboro.  I want to say the shop was named for the tattoo artist because he sort of looked like a big black bear, complete with heavy black beard and a black Harley t-shirt. The beat up sedan he drove convinced  me that the t-shirt was as close to a motorcycle gang that he would ever get.  I was a little disappointed that he wasn't packing … perhaps he had a gun in the car or a switchblade in his pocket. However, he did talk tough … both words that he said. And, he was a man of his word. Just before he touched the needle to my leg he said, "This is gonna hurt". And it did.

Perhaps my need for ink is easily satisfied. Or perhaps, it is my need to avoid physical pain. Whichever,   tattoo number two was sufficient for years. Then one day, I began to draw again. This time, it was circles and triangles and squiggly lines. However, this time, old age had taken its toll. I was getting lazy. To see the Yin Yang, I had to pull down my pants. The spiral necessitated turning all the way around or checking myself in a mirror. This time, I would just look down at my arm and there it would be.

For about a year I toyed with a combination of shapes … a black circle, a red triangle, and multiple squiggly lines. I combined them in numerous ways, but finally made my decision. I started with the black circle, which for me represented a wholeness and an embracing of people and ideas.  Within the circle is a red triangle. I envisioned a passion for focus and direction within the welcoming spirit of the circle. Behind it all, is a river of time … perpetual and eternal. I drew it out, enlarged it, shrunk it, and cut out samples to try out in different places on my body. I settled on the inside, left forearm just below the elbow.  And then, I waited … and thought about it.  And waited … and thought about it. Until it was time.  Maybe it was "about" time is a more accurate way to say it.

I decided a man that had lived to the ripe old age of 65 ought to get a new tattoo. I started looking for just the right place.  Tattoo parlors are pretty much cookie cutter reproductions of one another. The artists are even more stereotypical. The artist definitely has to have the sleeve tattoo and a demonic calf tattoo … something new, dripping blood and staring out every time you unbutton another button. Just once I would like to see a tattoo artist dressed in a button down shirt or wearing pink or bright orange even. They might say, "I'm sorry, this may hurt a little." Perhaps, they might relay a story of how thugs confronted them and they were so scared that they wet themselves and ran away screaming for help. Sorry, but my imagination is getting away from me.

I tried three local spots. At the first, the artist took one look at the design and quoted me a price that proved to be double the the other prices I would get. The second spot was pricey as well, but the artist seemed to be having trouble redrawing the design I brought … not too reassuring. The third spot was 100% Goldilocks. Good price,  confident on the drawing (and everything else) and he was wearing a gun and carried a knife. Perfect! An added incentive was that two students that I had known at BAMS were apprenticing there. One was an attractive blonde. I assumed she was new given the nakedness of her exposed skin. Her ink, I imagine, was tucked well out of sight for now. Her beauty was apparently her role in the parlor. The second former student was well sleeved and sported additional ink about his neck. He informed me that he had always been getting into trouble at school for doodling and drawing on his assignments and had eventually quit high school to come here and do tattoos. As I recall, doodling was not his primary problem in school, but he was basically a good kid … regardless of the hunting knife tucked neatly into his belt in the back.

My artist finally arrived and I was the perfect customer for the next hour. I listened intently to all the stories. I agreed profoundly that everyone the artist said he beat up clearly deserved it. I was oh so understanding when he informed me that he had never shot anyone who was an American. Not one sly comment did I make about his Marine mentality. For my cooperation, I got a sewing machine with ink on the needle run up and down my arm for an hour. It was everything I had hoped it would be.



Tattoos are definitely not for everyone. In fact, about 95% of my friends fall into that category. Most of them ask me "why in the world would I sit down and intentionally have someone stick needles in me … intentionally hurt me"? I suppose that is a legitimate question. My answer is this. What is the use of having a beautiful canvas if you never paint on it?

Nevertheless … 

I got new ink. 

That should do me … 

at least for a while!

                             

FDR's Springwood and Top Cottage - 65th Birthday Adventure

August 30, 2014

Hyde Park … lots of choices. Tour and lunch at the Culinary Institute of America perhaps. Franklin D. Roosevelt homestead … just like mommie ordered. Or, FDR's or Eleanor's retreats … nice and private for that special rendezvous.  So many choices - so little time. We decided on the FDR homestead and his retreat Top Cottage. Eleanor would have to wait for another trip.

We started at the the visitors' center and checked out the floor mosaic of the estate while we waited for the docent to arrive for the tour. Other than gasping for breath every time he walked a ways or climbed any steps, he was well informed and provided interesting details of life at the homestead. One thing was certain … he was definitely no stand up comic.

Before I go any further, I just have to say it …"Don't think for a minute that the Roosevelt's were not rich … rich … rich."  If you doubt me, take a look at the stables.

What I find fascinating is that from a man, reared in the bosom of luxury … the proverbial silver spoon … we get the WPA, CCC, social security, bank controls, etc. Was it a matter of the  man rising to the situation to do whatever necessary to pull the country out of the depression and to face WWII head-on. Or, did the tragedy of his personal health provide him insight into what it is like to be down and out and empathy for the "little" man. 

Whatever the reason, FDR gave us the New Deal.  Not the horse, New Deal, in his stable, but the programs …the revamping of the politics of the country, the mutation of which permeates our government to this day. 

Roosevelt's mother was particularly fond of roses and had impressive rose gardens on the grounds.  Even though most of the roses were past the blooming stage, there were plenty of other flowers to brighten up the garden areas. 

Plenty of color for the tourists … or is this paparazzi from the tabloids stalking me?

Both FDR and Eleanor are buried in the garden area. 

                 

Just outside the Presidential Library, the first Presidential library I believe, were gifts from both the Japanese (cherry trees) and from Germans (sculpture formed from pieces of the Berlin wall). Both gifts spoke symbolically of  freedom and peace. Our docent commented that this seemed ironic that these came from Japan and Germany. I kinda felt that was off base. It seems to me that it is never ironic when anyone speaks for freedom and peace … no matter the history. 

Our tickets also entitled us to see Top Cottage, FDR's retreat. Thanks to the docent at Top Cottage the white elephant in the room was finally introduced . Yes, FDR came to Top Cottage for special meetings and just to get away from it all (mommie included). And as everyone seemed to already know but nobody admitted, to meet "the other woman". 

We were told that the royal family visited the Roosevelt's at Springwood. A special meal was prepared for the King and Queen and quests at Top Cottage. That meal included hot dogs.  Even though, it is not my habit to eat hot dogs, Anne and I, in tribute to the royal family, left the grounds during lunch and headed to the nearest hot dog van and and had us a royal feast, with chili.

It was a great visit. I gave Eleanor a little kiss (I just can't resist that overbite) and hit  the road for our next adventure. 

Innisfree Gardens - 65th Birthday Adventure

August 29, 2014

In the late 1920s, Walter Beck and his wife, avid gardener and heiress Marion Burt Beck, began work on Innisfree, their country residence in Millbrook, New York. Beck discovered the work of 8th-century Chinese poet, painter and garden maker Wang Wei. The essence of Wang Wei's approach was to develop inwardly focused gardens and garden vignettes within a larger, naturalistic landscape. Beck applied this principle to his gardens and christened his modified approach as "cup gardens. This was a deviation from the typical approach in the Western world. Western gardens are usually designed to embrace a view of the whole. In contrast, the traditional Chinese garden is usually designed so that a view of the whole is impossible. One is  required to stroll over serpentine, seemingly aimless arteries. The observer walks into a series of episodes, like Alice through the looking glass. It is said that the genius of Innisfree is in the maintenance of the gardens. Meticulous attention to the fit of plants or structure (as they settle in over time) with the landscape is made. If they no longer fit, they are immediately removed. 

Some of the setting that struck me are included below.

Throughout the gardens, seating is provided for the visitors. I love simplicity of this design. Consistently, the chairs are arranged in a line in quantities of there to seven, but always on odd number.  The contrast to the wooden chairs and the landscape is striking. 

There was very little sculpture within the gardens.  This piece was a very out of the way area around the lake. The formality of pieces like this just did not fit.

             

There were a couple of spots where where water features were added like the misting spray
in this area. I found these interesting, but felt it was a little contrived and did not really fit the setting well.



Love this tree grouping and shaping beside the lake.

                    

The contrast of the yellow vegetation with the green leaves and stone is great.

                  

This was my favorite scene.




Walls and vegetation. Love it.




                      



                                      



The larger stones seemed to placed to be partially viewed through the trees more than viewed just for the stone itself.

                                             

The terraces were laid in interesting patterns and designs, but not in a way to overshadow the landscape focus.



There were some interesting flowers throughout the gardens to add a little color, but not too much.

Love how these grasses are grouped by the lake.

And how these trees are aligned to the roll of the landscape.

One must not neglect the lake for the sake of the landscape.

There is much to offer there as well.

In fact, we almost stepped on two representatives of what the lake had to offer. 

And another favorite grouping of mine.

This place is beautiful.

It makes you want to stop and ponder.

Buddhist Monastery - 65th Birthday Adventure

August 30, 2014

For my 65th birthday, I planned and adventure along the Hudson River. Anne and I had explored this area a couple of times before and found ourselves finding more and more things to do there. When we go there, I try to plan a trip with lots of things to do and a lot of diversity of activities. This trip was no exception. Our last activity over the two day adventure was to visit the Chaung Yen Monastery in Kent, NY. It is the location Buddhist Association of the United States and is a place for worship, and instruction in the Buddhist beliefs. Growing up in the South, I received a steady diet of Baptist tenets. Believe me, I am no expert on the Baptists or the Buddhists. When I compare the two, my first impression is that Buddhism seems to be focused on "the way" and the Baptists focused n the "wayward".  Both sides will just have to carry on this out me. Nevertheless, it is an interesting place to visit.

When you arrive, you approach the Great Hall via the Bodhi Path, or "Path to the Awakening".  Symbolically, it  is like walking the path, or the straight and narrow, to enlightenment. Along each side of the path are statues of the Arahants or disciples of Buddha.

If you are one of those people that are as ignorant of Buddhism as I am, then I need to tell you that this is not an Arahant. When I first read about the path, I thought the literature was referring to this as an "Araphant", which I thought was some Buddhist take on an elephant. Amazing how P can change a situation. 

On each side of the path, are hue structures. One the left is a great drum. I was not asked to play it.

On the right, is an enormous bell. I was not asked to ring it.

At the front window outside the Great Buddha Hall is a large vessel for burning incense. I burn incense in the barn when I am working out there. but that does not mean that I am a Buddhist.

                     

In the Great Buddha Hall, is the largest indoor Buddha in the United States. 

                      

Circling the Buddha statue are thousands of smaller Buddha figures. 

I have to admit … I am a sucker for statues … no matter what they symbolize. I just like the looks of them. But, then i didn't come here to become a Buddhist. There were Buddhas and statues everywhere.

                   

On the hillside are two  Thousand Lotus Memorial Terrances. One contains 1050 and the other 2076 steel  niches to hold two urns of cremated remains. There are tow ceremonies a year to place remains in the niches. The day we were there several people were visiting to clean and polish the niches of their deceased and to bring offerings.

As we left the site, we stopped at the Seven Jewels Lake.  Looking over the rail into the water, we saw hundreds of huge carp gathering at the surface, expecting to be feed.

Great place to check out if you are in the area.