Saint Joseph House of Hospitality

Many of you already know that early on January 19th my father passed away. For those of you who may be finding out through this note I'm sorry this is the way you were informed of this news. I'm simply very glad that I had the chance to spend the whole previous weekend with him.
I find that random memories and stories pop into my head since that day. One such story is when dad and I were playing the seventh hole on our community golf course. A terribly hard hole, blind t-shot, sloping fairway, rock hard green - a hole that just eats up successful rounds of golf.

We were in the fairway waiting to hit our next shots (my second, his third) when a ball rolled between us. We looked around but didn't see anyone since they were over the hill, still back on the tee. So dad proceeded to help the tee shot by picking up the ball and throwing it forward another 30 to 40 yards. When the group behind us got to crest of the hill and realized their one tee shot was way beyond us they started to apologize. Of course Dad's reply was, 'No - no need to apologize - that was a fantastic drive - holy cow you hit the daylights out of it - boy I wish that was my drive!'

After we finished out that hole and made our way up the hill to the next tee dad just said, 'I bet he'll always remember the day he hit a 300+ yard drive.' and he had a big smile on his face.


The following is from my brother. He crafted this wonderful remembrance of our dad - I hope you enjoy it.
1/23/09

My family and I thank you for your thoughts and prayers and for being with us today.

Our father passed away peacefully and was able to do so on his own terms (after seeing the Steelers clinch the AFC title and before seeing another Democrat in the White House). I wonder if Franklin Delano Roosevelt knows what he is in for. There’s going to be some lively Thanksgiving dinners in Heaven.

Many things help to define a man. One of those things is his work. Bob Steele was a Canvas Salesman. Admittedly this may not sound like the most important or exciting job in the world but, to paraphrase a commercial, "canvas was the fabric of his life."

Canvas is a strong, straight forward and hardworking fabric. It’s used to make things like awnings; awnings that protect us from harsh weather and comfort us with shade or the gentle sound of rain on a small side porch just off our kitchen. On that porch were the most comfortable chairs with awning stripe canvas seats. You never had to ask for a demonstration of the proper napping technique in those chairs.

A canvas tent became the symbol of our family vacations: it protected us from the mosquitoes and sun of Cape Hetaeras, gave us shelter after retracing every single step of the battle of Gettysburg, and served as a visual aid when we had to instruct a troupe of Boy Scouts, camping next to us, on how to pitch a tent.

Stadium cushions are covered with canvas. They provide a lot of comfort for countless hours spent on cold hard bleachers while watching soccer, softball, volleyball, basketball and graduation ceremonies. Our parents would never fail to be in the stands - no matter what the weather. Dad had a postman’s dedication to supporting us. We knew he was there because he was usually the loudest one yelling, "Oh for crying in a bucket ref., open your eyes." The only people he ever yelled at any louder were the referees on television.

My family has had an amazing collection of canvas bags. A small navy-blue duffle bag still holds a collection of wooden blocks we played with as kids. Their corners are worn smooth now from generations of small fingers. Canvas tote and duffle bags carried us all back and forth to college and a small light green canvas gym bag, that I now use for tools, still holds the faint yet strangely comforting smell of canvas.

Yards of canvas were used to recover an old dilapidated wooden canoe that our father carted home from one of his many sales trips. Dad’s vision of what it could be was pretty hard to see due to the gaping holes, cracked keel, layers of paint and tattered canvas covering. Innumerable hours/months, and one half of our game room was devoted to realizing Dad’s vision. I remember thinking, "how does he know how to do this?" I think mainly he just believed we COULD do it. When finished, people would point and stare at our little green Austin America car supporting a shining canary yellow canoe with electric blue gunnels strapped to its roof. The canoe was twice the length of the car. We looked like a giant banana tooling down the highway but we loved it. We all are living proof that that canoe floated once again. Many other items collected on his canvas sales trips have been woven into our lives. Stained glass windows he rescued from a courthouse, scheduled for demolition in Kentucky, are now a coffee table in my house. I’ve learned something about having vision and believing in potential.

Even the strongest canvas will eventually fade. Life wears at its edges making it show signs if its hard work. Bob Steele was a Canvas Salesman and like canvas he was strong, hardworking, straight forward and all about protecting, sheltering, carrying, and comforting. Every long cold winter sales trip, every grommet, every yard of canvas was for us. He taught us about enjoying the passage of time and those you share it with. These few memories seem to be as much about our family in general as they do about our father but it is utterly impossible to separate the two. He was a man with absolute love and devotion to his family.

I may not have inherited my dad’s politics but I did inherit his love of a great hat. Our dad wont be hard to pick out in a crowd of angels - he’s the one with a bright red stripped tam on his head; answering the phone with the greeting he used for as long as I can remember but particularly appropriate now,

"Saint Joseph’s House of Hospitality, Father Robert Speaking!"


I hope all of you are fortunate enough to have a canvas salesman in your lives. Brian

Andy Goldsworthy Environmental Art

pictures from Andy's website :http://www.picsearch.com/pictures/celebrities/artists%20and%20painters/artists%201/andy%20goldsworthy.html

I first learned of Andy Goldsworthy and his environmental art by watching Sunday Morning, a wonderful show that explores art, music the off-beat and the adventure of the everyday.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-288023216970768712

Andy takes the items you and I step over, brush aside or generally think of as a nuisance such as fall leaves and rocks and through a vision and patients they collectively make art. He plays with colors and shapes of the everyday and pulls them together if but only for a temporary collection captured in photography.

How to achieve your childhood dreams

The following is a link from Prof Pausch home page. He simply loves the optimistic and magical response that F.P. Church provided to a little girl named Virginia in 1897. "Just because you don't see fairies dancing on the lawn doesn't mean that they aren't there. "

http://download.srv.cs.cmu.edu/~pausch/Randy/Randy/santa.htm

Do yourself a favor and purchase the book, The Last Lecture. http://www.thelastlecture.com/

The original lecture video: How to achieve your childhood dreams or enable the dreams of others. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ji5_MqicxSo

Jump the shark

For all those TV shows that stayed around a few too many seasons, there is now a web site. The interesting name of this site, jumptheshark.com comes from the futile attempt by producers of Happy Days to spur ratings in the last season. The idea was to have Fonzie water-ski and jump over a shark. That was the defining moment that pointed to the end of that show.

Hope you enjoy looking for your favorite shows and see if you agree with other voters in exactly when shows outstayed their welcome.

http://www.jumptheshark.com/

More Light

For the second year in a row I'm going to be giving Mr. Frost the winter solstice off. So while his horse gives his harness bells a shake, I offer the following for the darkest evening of the year.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2TPMoP01Sc

"Goethe's final words: "More light."
Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry,
"More light."

"Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlelight. Neon,
incandescent lights that banish the darkness from our caves to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. "

"Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field.
Little tiny flashlights for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. "

"Light is more than watts and footcandles.
Light is metaphor.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Lead kindly light amid the encircling gloom, lead thou me on,
the night is dark and I am far from home, lead thou me on.
Arise, shine, for thy light has come.
Light is knowledge, light is life, light is light."

Chris Stevens - Northern Exposure

Who the Bleep is Jackson Pollock

Teri Horton, a 73-year-old former long-haul truck driver from California was in a thrift store and bought a an unsigned painting for $5. It was intended as a gift for a friend. Actually, it was intended as a gag gift, since she knew her friend hated modern art and this canvas with dripped paint all over it would be just what her friend would hate.

Before giving away this goodwill store find, a friend who was an art teacher stopped by, saw the painting and said, "That sure looks like a Jackson Pollock" to which Teri sharply replied, "Who the $*#& is Jackson Pollock?" Teri had a little different opinion of Mr. Pollock when she found out that her $5 investment may be worth tens of millions of dollars. The art establishment was sure she was wrong and this painting was merely a good knockoff of a Pollock. Surely someone couldn't buy one of his paintings at a thrift store and surely it wasn't a hard living former trucker that had one of these gems.

In this CSI world we live in, Teri was wise enough to hire forensic scientist who has directly linked the artist to the painting. The whole tale is now a movie. Enjoy and here is hoping that you come across hidden treasures.

http://www.empiremovies.com/movies.php?id=11940&whothe$

Programming language inventor or serial killer?

Minus the fiery tradition of Detroit, Devil's night was always the one time of year when kids were allowed and some time encouraged by adults to be a little bad. Soaped windows here, toilet paper garnish there, nothing permanent mind you. I always remember just up the street from my house where three streets come together, there is a large triangular island with huge oak trees standing guard. Every year, sometime between Johnny Carson and Halloween morning those trees were hit with the largest snow storm of toilet paper you've ever seen. Instant white, that lasted until a couple of good rains flushed the prank away.

I remember the story my eighth grade teach told about his Devil's night prank gone bad. His kids were around 5 and 7 when his neighborhood had a party on Devil's night for the kids. He lived at the end of the street and the lot next to his house was actually the beginning of the woods. He stayed home as his wife took the two kids to the party. At the end of the party the parents took the collection of miniature vampires, witches and princesses to TP (toilet paper for those of you who don't know the lingo) the houses and toss pop corn kernels at windows. All was going well with the miniature gang of hoodlums until they reached his house. He had anticipated the kids pranks and slipped out the back with a big white sheet. He snuck through the woods, where he laid in wait for the gang to reach the front of his house.

FLASH BACK TO THAT AFTERNOON: My teacher had spent the better part of the day trimming the bushes that lined the perimeter of his front yard. He had wondered if he had been to aggressive when cutting them back to 6 inches tall. "Oh well, they will always grow back", he thought, "having the bushes that low won't cause a problem."

FLASH FORWARD TO THAT NIGHT: Now the kids are laughing, toss kernels of corn against his window, getting help by a couple of parents to put TP on tree. When a deep loud groan came from the woods. Right then a large white ghost rose from the woods, moving towards the front yard. After a split second of silent terror, the high pitched squeal of 20 small kids filled the night air as they scattered like fire ants recently excited. The problem came when one by one the kids disappeared as the reached the boundaries of the yard. It turns out that each vampire, princess and superman were tripped up by the six inch high bushes they didn't see as they made their mad dash from the ghost. With 20 bruised and battered kids to answer to, my teach was out of the running for neighbor of the year.

"Sometimes you have to be a little bad just to know your alive." Chris
Stevens Northern Exposure

Now for combining the world of information technology and gruesomeness, I offer the following URL. Test your skills at identifying computer programmers from serial killers. Good luck. - thanks Bob for this disturbing link

<http://www.malevole.com/mv/misc/killerquiz/>

Happy Halloween