Sunday, April 24, 2005

Synchronicity

Last Sunday, my wife relayed an out-of-the-blue request from my eldest son.
"Can we go to a museum?"

Big P has a level of curiosity that is only surpassed by his amazing capacity to understand. Consequently, we have discussions about concepts and ideas that are typically reserved for more adult conversations. His recent viewing of a documentary on sacred relics of the Catholic Church had him wanting to view some antiquities. Since there were no churches in the area claiming to contain a piece of the True Cross or Holy Grail, we'd have to settle for good old fashioned stuff from Texas.

Oh, and something with dinosaurs would be cool, too. Little P, though not nearly so curious, would certainly like that, and Ft. Worth has them in spades.

The weather was nice, so we packed the whole family into the aging family wagon and set sail for the Ft. Worth Museum of Natural Science and History. We watched the wonderfully-dizzying IMAX show, "Aliens of the Deep," by James Cameron, then took in as many exhibits as we could before the 2:30 showing of "Ticket to Mars" in the planetarium. "Ticket" was neither wonderful nor dizzying, unfortunately - and despite being billed as a 3-D production with red/blue glasses for all in attendance, was completely flat - both in dimension and interest-level.

Having not eaten since breakfast, we were all looking to quit the museum in favor of something to satisfy needs other than educational. My friend, Blubrik, has chided me in the past for my eatery of choice while in Ft. Worth. He'd roll his eyes in pain whenever I'd mention that we always ate at Dos Gringos, just across from the museum-corridor. It's good old-fashioned Tex-Mex - heavy on the cheese, heavy on the cumin, heavy on the chili powder ... just heavy - but convenient, and rarely crowded.

"You mean you were in Ft. Worth, and you DIDN'T eat at ...." Dang, I couldn't remember the name of the restaurant. When Blubrik or The Brain make a restaurant recommendation, the background music always falls silent, and a quick glance around will reveal everyone in earshot straining towards the advice, not unlike the old brokers-agency commercial. Sitting in the basement of the museum while the boys entertained themselves with some hands-on exhibits that required wearing a rubberized smock (to prevent wearing the exhibit too, I presume), I decided to dial-up Blubrik in the hopes of refreshing my memory.

"Helloooooo, Cheese" I was greeted. Caller ID takes all the surprise out of calls these days.

"Heya, Blu. You know how you always make fun of me for missing out on that mexican restaurant in Ft. Worth whenever I'm there? The one you so highly recommend? What's its name?"

(Pause)
"Are you," he paused again, "IN Ft. Worth?" There was an odd tone to his voice.
"Um, yes. We're sitting in the basement of the Ft. Worth Museum of...., " etc. etc. "and getting hungry, so I thought we'd try it out."

(Yet another pause)
"WE'RE in Ft. Worth. Along with Sensei and Mrs. Sensei ... and we're planning on going to that very restaurant. Soon." There was a certain wonderment in his voice, and I could tell by the way he spoke that he was simultaneously relaying the peculiarity of our entire group independently arriving at the same destination to The Brain and Mr. and Mrs. Sensei. [Editor's note: Blubrik's godchild and her mother were also in attendance and were his principal reason for being in Ft. Worth in the first place. However, I don't have nicknames for them and am only omitting them for expediency and the lack of proper stage-names.] "We would LOVE for you to join us."

... and so we did. The restaurant is Carro's, where the margaritas are strong and the tostadas are oddly, but wonderfully chewy and puffed like a sopapilla. It was definitely better fare than we would have had at Dos Gringos, to be sure.

Better than the food, though was the unexpected pleasant surprise of good company, so far from home.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Heavy Hearted

... and I can't even share why, yet.


Sigh.

UPDATE: Since everybody's "SOOOO Happy" according to someone who simultaneously speaks on behalf of the affected party while claiming NOT to speak on behalf of said party (go figure - but par for the course with this particularly unhinged individual), I suppose I'm no longer in a position to feel badly about the lost potential of my former office-mate. I tried to hint. I tried to guide. I even gave plain-English warnings, "don't even look like you're doing this. Better watch out for that." In the end, choices were made, the die was cast and I no longer could serve as a buffer between him and those who make the decisions. Truly, I was a better friend to him than he knows or will likely believe - despite it all. In the final analysis, everyone lives or dies on their own merits. I wish things could have been different, but it's time to close the door on this chapter, and I am doing so.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Artists' Conceit

I am a professional graphic designer - a concept man, if you will. I think in colors and textures, mood and feel, words and composition. I've been doing this longer than most of my clients have been in business, and this experience has developed in me a strong sense of what works and what doesn't. Most of the clients actually appreciate the fact that I occasionally say "no" to ideas that just don't fit or are patently wrong for them. Frequently, I will take the initiative and "tweak" provided artwork for clients, knowing that it will ultimately give them what they want - even if it's not what they specifically requested. My employer has even coined a term and sells it as a service to our clients. She tells them that I'll "Keith-erize" their artwork for them. They pay me to make them look good, and that's what she knows I'll do - sometimes dragging them kicking and screaming all the way, until at last they finally see the end-product and the realization of what they really wanted all along.

I call it artists' conceit ... and I wince every time I do so. It's the sense of believing that I know better than the client what they really want. Personal ego really has no place in serving others, and tends to lock us designers into a single design style, regardless of the application. As a Christian, I recognize my talents as God-given that I might serve His purposes. This helps to keep me grounded, particularly when people praise my work. Creativity is just one of the aspects of being created in the image of God, and to create is to enjoy a form of communion - a new bond through a common interest, like a child sharing a hobby with his father. And just like that child, the first attempts always look rough and unsteady until the Father leans over to gently guide the child's hands and make the work smooth.

As part of my morning prayers, I have a daily entreaty: "Not me, Lord - but You through me." I have been blessed over the years with the ability to serve my clients with a consistantly high level of design work to which they have become accustomed. Fortunately, that service has never been uncomfortable ... until now.

Out of the blue, two clients in two days have come to me asking for me to create and maintain websites for them, based on the printwork I've designed. True, I have created websites, and in the past have even maintained an entire online catalog for a client - but frankly, my level of expertise in web-design leaves me thinking that "expertise" was a poor choice of words. It is rudimentary, at best, and I honestly don't believe that I can deliver websites anywhere on par with the level of design of my printwork. At the same time, the timing of the requests makes me wonder if I'm being led down this path, as part of serving a higher purpose - or learning the more salient lesson: my discomfort is a product of my own ego - my fear that I won't be able to earn the praise to which I've become accustomed ...

"Not me, Lord - but You through me."


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