Carlos Páez Vilaró

I love this man's work. Painting, sculpture, ceramics, architecture, music -- he's dabbled in everything.

Casa Pueblo, in his home country of Uraguay. Vilaró wanted to create a sculpture one could live in, so he created this lovely, organic home studio. It's now a tourist attraction and hotel. I hope to visit someday.

So simple, but so observant...

A radiant, South American sun.

This recent series really grabbed me. I love the bold, black outlines. I love the bright yellow areas sitting next to the muted, almost autumnal color fields... I love the subtle stenciled numbers and letters that tie the pieces together.

Still a very handsome and vital man well into his late 80s.

Heavy Rotation: "Save This Town" by Blue Foundation

Sometimes you stumble upon a song that grabs you the first time you hear it. "Save This Town," by Danish group Blue Foundation, grabbed me last week and hasn't let go since. I think I've probably listened to this song over 100 times by now (obsessive much?) and I'm still not tired of it.

I love the languid groove, the slow, carnal hip crunch, and the general lazy Sunday afternoon feeling of the song. The chorus is a catchy hook, and I love the horns and Hammond organ flourishes. It's a great tune.

The video is pretty good, if a bit heavy-handed. The young graffiti guys represent the pure creativity that resides in us all. They decide to express themselves by spraying up a city wall into an intricate work of art, only to have it painted over by "society."

Thankfully, our free-spirited heroine rides by on her bike and magically restores the graffiti mural to its former glory. While I'm not a huge fan of graffiti art, I really like the message.

And I love the song.

America, 1860

When you think the gulf between left and right is insurmountable...

When you think, "How could this country be any more divided?"

Just remember:

Before Abraham Lincoln even took the oath of office in 1861, seven (!) U.S. states seceded from the Union.

That's right, seven Southern states, led by South Carolina (naturally) decided that the prospect of a Lincoln Presidency was so abhorrent that they didn't even give him a chance to govern. They opted out.

What was Lincoln's offense?

Well, he had the audacity to suggest that future U.S. states should be free states, not slave states. This did not sit well in the Deep South.

Lincoln took the oath of office, and the South decided to fire the first shots at Fort Sumter, leading to a senseless, bloody war no one wanted, but one which Southern apologists continue to reframe as a war about "state's rights," not slavery.

Huh?

Delete slavery from the equation, and there is no Civil War. If you don't believe me, read this speech by the Vice President of the Confederate States of America (and a tiny, weak man, barely five feet tall), Alexander Stephens:

"Cornerstone Speech," Savannah, GA, March 21, 1861.

If you don't have time to read the entire speech, here's a summarizing sentence:

"...the negro is not equal to the white man; ...slavery subordination to the superior race is his natural and normal condition."

Alexander Stephens, VP of the CSA. Too small for a properly-tailored suit, Stephens deplored the inferior status of "the Negro."

Are we then to be surprised when a white politician from South Carolina shouts "You lie!" during a State of the Union address delivered by the first Black President of the United States?

Tebow Tackles a Tough Issue

Fundamentalist poster boy Tim Tebow kept things light in his controversial Super Bowl commercial by playfully knocking the crap out of his Mom. Hilarious!

Not surprising from a guy working to erase a woman's right to reproductive freedom.

Why We Love Steve Jobs

Because of His Restraint:
"From computers to smartphones, Apple products are known for being stylish, powerful and pleasing to use. They are edited products that cut through complexity, by consciously leaving things out — not cramming every feature that came into an engineer’s head, an affliction known as “featuritis” that burdens so many technology products."

Because of His Aesthetic:
"In his Palo Alto home years ago, he said that he preferred uncluttered, spare interiors and then explained the elegant craftsmanship of the simple wooden chairs in his living room, made by George Nakashima, the 20th-century furniture designer and father of the American craft movement."

Because of His Taste:
"Great products, according to Mr. Jobs, are triumphs of “taste.” And taste, he explains, is a byproduct of study, observation and being steeped in the culture of the past and present, of “trying to expose yourself to the best things humans have done and then bring those things into what you are doing.”"

Because of His Expectations:
"In choosing key members of his team, he looks for the multiplier factor of excellence. Truly outstanding designers, engineers and managers, he says, are not just 10 percent, 20 percent or 30 percent better than merely very good ones, but 10 times better."

From "Steve Jobs and the Economics of Elistism," Steve Lohr, The New York Times, January 29, 2010.

(Note about this post's title: by "We," I don't mean "me." This is Steve Lohr's love letter to Jobs, not mine. But it does shed some light on the synergy between tastemakers, technologists, and scribes.)

Confidence or Arrogance?

For Roger Federer, it's a bit of both. Here are some quotes from his post-Championship press conference, 2010 Australian Open:

• I always knew I had something special.
• I think this has been one of my finest performances, you know, in a long time, or maybe forever.
• You know, I’ve dominated hard court and grass for a long time.
• It’s just not an easy thing to do, Grand Slams, and I proved it again tonight.
• I’m professional the way I’m supposed to be.
• [On his opponent, Andy Murray] You wish, you know, only the best for him.

Usually, comments like those suggest some sort of overcompensation. But in Federer's case, I think he really does indeed inhabit some strange world of unshakable confidence and high self-approval. Which is why it can be hard to relate to him.

An Understatement

"Because of its northerly location in the United States and lack of large enough bodies of water in close proximity to moderate the air, Minneapolis is sometimes subjected to cold Arctic air masses, especially during the months of January and February.

The average annual temperature of 45.4 °F (7.4 °C) gives the Minneapolis–St. Paul metropolitan area the coldest annual mean temperature of any major metropolitan area in the continental United States."

- from Wikipedia

A Few Hours in Chicago

I shot all of these images in color, but when I looked at them at home, they didn't seem to work. In January, Chicago doesn't need color. It's gray; it's cold; it's metal. Color doesn't reveal Chicago in January; it conceals it.

The Chicago Bean (actually, it's entitled "Cloud Gate.")

Quintessentially Chicago.

Danger lurks around every corner.

Outside a coffee shop.

The Chicago Theatre.

Public art from Jean Dubuffet. I didn't realize you could actually walk inside the sculpture.

The Cubs broadcaster is still a legend here.

Ice skating in Millennium Park.

Marina Towers in River North. You really can't ruin this shot. These buildings create a really interesting geometry that becomes very soothing in a city full of Beaux Arts architecture. I've since remembered that this shot is basically the cover to Wilco's album "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot."

Looking south toward Frank Gehry's Pritzker Pavillion, Sunday morning.

The 11:00 pm crowd at Second City.

Signs you won't see in Salt Lake City.

Existentialism & Dark Side of The Moon

On New Year's Day, 2010, the Flaming Lips performed "Dark Side of the Moon" in it's entirety, at the Cox Center in Oklahoma City. Cami had already gone home, so I stood alone on the floor, thinking about the music, the words, and my own life.

"Dark Side of the Moon" is perhaps the most important work of rock music ever recorded. Few albums have aged better. It's a cohesive piece of work, with songs linked thematically around themes of alienation, desperation, love, and peace. The music borrows from many genres, and creates new genres within itself. And all of it is rooted in Existentialist thought, that broad array of musings growing out from the Industrial Revolution, two World Wars, and advent of high speed travel and communication. Existentialists questioned our place in the world, and defended our disconnect from God. But while a select group of academics are familiar with original Existentialist writings, a thousand years from now, an observer might say, ""Dark Side of the Moon' better encapsulated what it meant to be alive in late 20th century West."

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.

from "Brain Damage"

I'd first heard "Dark Side" in my teens; and now, here I was, in my forties, reflecting on all the years that have passed. The music that I first absorbed as a 16 year old hadn't changed, yet somehow was completely new. Lyrics that once seemed simplistic now seemed poignant. At times I felt like I might cry.

"Run, rabbit run.
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down it's time to dig another one."

from "Breathe"

When the show ended, I walked back to my car in the bracing cold. Snow was on the ground, a leftover from our strange Christmas Day blizzard. I walked for several blocks behind another guy, a young guy, also alone, who was singing the lyrics to "Breathe" (the first proper song on the album). The music we'd just heard was so completely absorbing, so touching, that his singing seemed completely natural. I was right there with him, inhabiting those same spaces, only with a few more lines around my eyes.

"Long you live and high you fly
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be."

from "Breathe"

"[People] cannot endure [their] own littleness unless [they] can translate it into meaningfulness on the largest possible level."

- Ernest Becker

In the hyper-trendy world of popular music, "Dark Side of the Moon" is that rare piece of work that manages to win new fans year after year. Released in 1973, the album sold millions of copies upon release, but for some reason, continued to sell year after year after year. At last count, it has sold somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 million copies, very unusual for such a downtempo and cerebral collection of songs.

"The desire for a strong faith is not the proof of a strong faith, rather the opposite. If one has it one may permit oneself the beautiful luxury of skepticism: one is secure enough, fixed enough for it."

- Friedrich Nietzsche

"Dark Side of the Moon" somehow managed to capture the essence of that very important modern philosophical construct, Existentialism, into hummable, memorable tunes. Dudes driving Camaros (who had never heard of Kierkegaard or Nietzsche) were able to relate to the concepts of being all alone in this big, scary world, thanks to "Dark Side of the Moon."

"You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun."

- from "Time"

Though "Dark Side" may seem at first bleak (just like Existentialism), it ultimately becomes a clarion call to the potential within us all. It asks us to reflect on our lives, our dreams, and what we might realistically expect to accomplish with the few years we have left on Earth. It's confrontational. It's alienating. It's disturbing, yet it's comforting: we realize that we all feel these feelings, we all hurt, we all dream. It helps us pare down to the essentials. It helps us consider what is really important.

When I realize that I am alone, I realize that I need you. When, as lonely, helpless beings, we realize we are interconnected, we finally behave as we should. We need no gods. We eschew the supernatural, and instead praise the day that we are given, and those that share it with us.

"And I am not frightened of dying, any time will do, I
don't mind. Why should I be frightened of dying?
There's no reason for it, you've gotta go sometime."

from "The Great Gig In The Sky"

I'm not exactly sure how the members of Pink Floyd (especially Roger Waters), then young men in their twenties, were able to so fully comprehend Life, in all it's madness, futility, pain, and ecstasy. They could have written another collection of songs about getting laid. Hell, their record company would have probably preferred it. But they didn't, and as the years go by in my own life, I've realized their music somehow addressed the reality of all our lives, in the spaces we now inhabit, be that 20 years old, 30 years old, or 40 years old. I suspect it will resonate when I'm 50, 60 and 70 years old, as well. This is the hallmark of a majestic piece of art.

All that you do
All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
and everything under the sun is in tune
but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

from "Eclipse"

Quel Shock!

Mark McGwire did steroids? Say it ain't so!

A friend with an inside connection asked a pitcher the big question, point blank:

"So, how many guys in the big leagues are juicing?"

The player's response?

"At least 80 percent."

I'm surprised the percentage isn't higher, actually. A young man aspiring to become a Major League baseball player is obligated to use steroids if he hopes to compete with his peers.

Could I possibly earn a living as a graphic designer if I decided not to use a computer? It's not likely. But while I understand McGwire's imperative to beef up, what do we do about his Hall of Fame status? Does he deserve to go?

Momma Kitty in Repose

Top Cinematographer Hates Digital

I remember 5-day photo shoots that felt like a month. Every minute of every work day, you worry about the shot your working on, while trying to figure out what you're going to do for the next shot. The photographer and assistants stand around looking at you, waiting for you to tell them what you want to do next. If something goes wrong, you've got to ultimately solve the problem.

Before you begin a shot, you announce your plan. Invariably, someone on-set tells you why your plan won't work. You listen. You deliberate. If you ignore their advice, you hope against hope that your plan works so you'll be proven right. If your plan fails, you feel humbled. You've just wasted everyone's time and money because of your own stubborness. But there's no time to dwell on it. You've got to quickly rally to regain your confidence, or else you'll lose control of the shoot.

You construct sets using paper and cinder blocks. You order the young studio assistant to stand on a ladder to hold a peacock feather precisely in the upper right hand corner of the frame so we can get the perfect shot. You send someone to Home Depot to buy 10 bags of sand. Hurry!

You crouch low into the set, rotating something slightly counter-clockwise so to better face the camera. You back up off the set, still in a crouch, to peek into the camera to see if the shot looks better. If it does, great. If it doesn't, you crawl back into the shot and adjust things yet again. You hope you don't hit your head on the huge Fuzzylamp, but you will at least once a day, guaranteed.

When you finally think you've got the shot ready, you ask the photographer to shoot a Polaroid. He shoots a test shot, then rips out the Polaroid print. You wait for 90 seconds for the shot to develop. You make small talk. You stare at your shoes. He waves the Polaroid like a fan, as if to will the chemical process to develop the film faster.

Finally, he peels apart the Polaroid and you look at the shot. If you're lucky, you're ready to shoot a real color transparency on real film. If you're not lucky, you repeat all the steps until you get it right.

You might repeat this process 90 times a day. If you don't get a certain number of shots done each day, you look bad, and you waste money. A lot of money.

Photo shoots could become all-consuming. At night, I'd think about the shots we'd done earlier that day. During the actual photo shoot, I'd think about the shots we need to do tomorrow. Or I'd worry that I'd made the photographer mad because I'd changed my mind and asked for completely different lighting. Or I'd get mad at the photographer for questioning my shot.

You lift things. You bend, you move. You steal a few moments away alone in the prop room, away from the photographer's "what are you thinking for this next shot?" expression. We'd listen to whatever music I wanted to play. We talked about interesting things. We got to be best friends, because we spent so much time together under so much pressure.

Now, of course, the pressure has diminished, thanks to digital photography. No more waiting 90 seconds for polaroids. If the background looks too dark, no problem, we'll fix it in Photoshop. Is there a piece of masking tape showing? Don't worry, we'll erase it on the computer. While I love digital photography, I do confess to sometimes feeling wistful for the old days.

That's why I appreciated the remarks of Taiwanese cameraman Mark Lee Ping-bing. He recently complained that digital photography diminishes the artistry of traditional film photography:

"Film is unknown, uncertain. It's a chemical reaction. To be frank, it's a little bit like painting. So if your technical skills and experience aren't up to part, you'll think that HD (high-definition digital video) is very easy to use," Lee said in the book.

"But HD is different. There is a monitor. It shows what you have shot. You'll know if it's a little dark in one part and you need to add a bit of light. Everything is on the monitor. Everything is OK if you have the monitor. All the expectation and the texture is gone," he said.

Lee also denounced the practice of covering up visual flaws on computers.

"Maybe there is a kid who knows about how to play computer games, or is sensitive to color – they can get the job done. But if everything can be changed by computer, then this is not a form of art," he said.

He's wrong, of course. Digital photography is indeed a form of art. But I've got to admire his crustiness.

Thanksgiving 2009

Last year I missed Thanksgiving because I was sick.

This year found me in robust health, the very picture of vitality and pluck. We gathered in Harrah, America for dinner in a spacious 2 car garage. It made for lovely ambience.

Cami's grandmother Dorothy was in full glory, with freshly set hair and a morning Mimosa. She's looking good at 97!

But baby Maeve stole the show with her never ending smiles and general sense of merriment.

The Grand Canyon In Winter

Henry Shukman has written about hiking into the Grand Canyon in the NY Times. The article, found here, makes me want to Go There Now.

Most of us never get to experience such an adventure, and it's a shame, because it's more than wonderful hike; it's literally a trip in the earth's bowels. Shukman reminds us of this with strong prose:

"To experience the canyon, you have to leave the rim. The frustration aroused by the bigness, the grandness, on a rim-only visit becomes a liberation once you drop down. The modern world falls away. It’s not just a trip out of the human realm, but into the deep geology of the earth. Layer upon layer of the planet’s crust is revealed, stratum by stratum: the Toroweap limestone, the Coconino sandstone, the Redwall limestone, the Tonto Group; the Vishnu schist deep down, close to two billion years old, nearly half the total age of the planet — the stuff that is under our very feet as we go about our lives is laid bare here. And in the silence and stillness, in the solitude of the canyon in winter, it’s all the more impressive."

Winter is a good time to visit; the temperatures are obviously much milder than the average highs in July and August (when most people make the trip).

It's around 25 miles to hike from the South Rim to the North Rim. Lots of crazy people do it one day. That sounds like an accomplishment, but I'd rather take my time, to savor all that stratum.

Kentucky Lawyer Decorates Entire Basement With Sharpie

Charlie Kratzer works as a corporate attorney, but he's also a very creative artist.

Using $10 worth of Sharpie permanent markers, Kratzer has drawn elaborate murals on the walls of his basement. He's drawn logs onto the flat surface of his fireplace. He's drawn an elaborate staircase leading into an imaginary room. He's drawn stacks of books to fill an imaginary library.

It's amazing, check out the 360° video here.

Thoughts on Venice

As my parents traipse through Venice, I'm thinking back to the my own impressions of that city.

Venice is an old woman, once soft and ripe, but now cracked and withered. The salt air is corroding her.

Venice is an old man, creaky and decrepit. Once magnificent, he is now crumbling, struggling to avoid collapse.

Venice is no longer Tazio, Thomas Mann's tempting adolescent. Those days are long gone.

Yet Venice remains, and the throngs still visit, and still marvel. Though falling into the sea, Venice remains, proud and old, feeble, yet resolute. In a culture that venerates all that is young, Venice shouts,

"I am old, but I am beautiful! I am the only one of my kind, and when I am gone, there will be nothing to replace me!"

Venice is on life support, just as we, too will eventually need life support. Our younger loved ones will prop us up and try to extend our life for a few more months, a few more years, even though we're well past our expiration date. We will follow their wishes, just to make them happy, even though we know we've lived a good life and are ready to move along.

But before we reach that stage, perhaps it is Venice that will teach us how to grow old.

Sensual Mathematics

Bach's prelude to his first cello suite is currently being used in the American Express "Smile" campaign, which, by virtue of airing repeatedly during the World Series, is currently my obsession.

I love the architecture of Bach's arpeggios. Technically, they really aren't complicated. But there's an insistent, driving determination that lulls you into this strange meditative trance, only to surprise you with some startling detour.

Math is something I really don't understand, and the mere mention of it gives me a creative sphincter contraction. But somehow, in Bach's hands, music becomes a mathematics of sensuality, of conquering the labyrinth so quickly that you find time to discover your lover playing hide-and-seek from you in the hedges.

I should listen to this when I'm doing my taxes, it'll make it seem sexy.

Don't Smash That Bug

Look how beautiful these bugs are up close. It's hard to believe we slap these things when they bother us. Is it because we've never seen them so close?

More of the work of Tulsa photographer Thomas Shahan here

"Experience Things!" - The Experience vs. The Story of The Experience

It's interesting to witness the seismic shift instant messaging has created. When a Big, Important Event is taking place, say a concert or sporting event (or even a first date), we're now expected to send reports from the field using our iPhone or Blackberry. Rather than simply experiencing life, we're asked to record life, placing it in tidy digital context for others.

This isn't surprising: much of what we think we "like" are things we sense we're expected to like. Our tribe tells us what's important, and by reporting back to the tribe, we reaffirm our sense of belonging. Twittering and posting about how awesome the Super Bowl is only confirms what everyone senses deep inside: the Super Bowl sucks. But wait -- the Super Bowl is important! If we're at the Super Bowl, therefore we're important.

Mad Men's Matthew Weiner touches on this:

"When I look at digital, the dark side of it for me is the physicality that's being presented alongside the Internet. I think about that movie The Matrix, and about these bodies that are human batteries that support computers. I met this guy who was creating software where you could watch Mad Men and you could chat with your friend while you're watching it, and things would pop up, and facts would pop up, and I said, "You're a human battery. Turn the fucking thing off! You're not allowed to watch the show anymore. You're missing the idea of sitting in a dark place and having an experience. Are you just like sitting with your phone and you're kissing your girlfriend and saying, 'I'm kissing my girlfriend! This is so great, we're having sex!'" EXPERIENCE THINGS!"


Before long, the idea of recording an individual's entire life, cradle to grave, will be reality. We'll no longer speculate if a George Washington really chopped down that cherry tree - we'll just refer back to his Twitters for proof. The internet will be full of these archived "Lives Lived" for us to study. How will yours measure up?

Another Crazy Grizzard...

From the Daily Telegraph (UK):

"Marc Grizzard, of Amazing Grace Baptist Church in Canton, North Carolina, says that the first King James translation of the Bible is the only true declaration of God’s word, and that all others are “satanic”. Pastor Grizzard and 14 other members of the church plan to burn copies of the other “perversions” of Scripture on Halloween, 31 October."

My heritage is southern Confederate. That's reality. They came from the racist South and they behaved like every other racist Southerner. My heritage is fundamentalist Christian. That's not a surprise, either. We're taught from infancy what we're supposed to believe, and warned of damnation if we stray.

But book burners? That's pathetic and scary — it's a symbolic act of violence against ideas. What happened to THIS Grizzard?

"Where they have burned books, they will end in burning human beings." — Heinrich Heine.

Fascinating Fact: California

If California were an independent nation, it would be a member of the G8 (a political forum addressing the interests of the eight riches countries on Earth).

From the Family Values Desk: Dad-To-Be Gropes Maternity Nurse

From the UK Daily Mail:

"A father missed the birth of his first son after being arrested for groping a nurse on the way to the delivery room.

Police said Adam Manning sexually assaulted the nurse as she wheeled his wife into the delivery room.

The 30 year old had told the nurse she was "cute" then reached round to grab her breasts.

Police in Ogden, Utah, were called to the hospital and arrested Manning on charges of forcible sexual assault.

When later asked about his actions he said he had no idea why he carried out the assault. Police confirmed that he missed the birth of his son."

Here's the irony of the story: Utah Adoption laws prevent a person from designating their same-sex partner as a second parent if they are cohabitating. According to Utah state law (78-30-1), "a child may not be adopted by a person who is cohabiting in a relationship that is not a legally valid and binding marriage under the laws of this state". Furthermore, state legislature suggests that the optimal Adoption placement for a child should be a married heterosexual couple.

Therefore, in the eyes of Utah law, delivery room groper Adam Manning is far more fit to be a parent than any gay or lesbian (or unmarried hetero, for that matter) couple in Utah. Period.

American Painting

When it's all said and done, this painting by pinup artist Gil Evgren might say more about America than any thing Pollock, Ruscha, or Warhol could ever say.

Family Pictures: Down on the Farm

My mom's parents, Lucile and Willis Logan, owned a 25-acre farm in Taylor County, West Virginia.

The two of them raised four children, then continued to live a simple, old-fashioned lifestyle. They kept cows for milk. They kept chickens for eggs. They grew their own vegetables. They often got their protein from varmints, like squirrel or ground-hog. I helped milk cows. I collected eggs. I saw Grandma behead chickens. I hiked in the woods. I picked berries. I used an outhouse. For a couple of weeks each year, I got to experience a rural, agrarian way of life that was a huge contrast to our families' life in industrial Baltimore. Everything moved so slowly. It was like visiting another country. Grandma played local gospel and country music radio in the house. When she sat down to watch her soap opera, she strung beans, or darned socks, or did something constructive with her hands. I never once saw her sitting idle.

Grandad chopped firewood every day that I can remember. Grandma baked bread almost every day. The old Philco refrigerator in the kitchen seemed extraneous. You know they didn't really need it.

Still, their house was full of books and news magazines. Grandad read voraciously, and kept nearly every magazine he ever read. All over the house there were stacks of old, mildewed magazines. I spent many hours studying old copies of "The Saturday Evening Post" from 1956, or "Coronet," from 1943. I read articles about politics, entertainment and sports. I loved looking at old advertisements. Back then, most ads featured long blocks of wonderfully written copy. I read every word. And the visuals: photography still wasn't popular back then. Most ad agencies hired talented illustrators to create sumptuous worlds of material wealth and comfort. I was hooked. I grew up and worked as a magazine designer, and then an advertising designer.
After my grandparents both died, there was no way to maintain their house. It was literally falling apart, and with no permanent residents, it was prone to break-ins. The family made the difficult decision to level the house. All of those memories are gone, but a few pictures remain:
Today, I can still smell the meadow. I can hear the sound of the cows braying. I can feel the bounce of our station wagon as we drove up the rough dirt road that led to their home.

We park the station wagon. Grandma is there to greet us. She's wearing a work dress and her hair is pulled back in a bun, as always. She's so happy to see us, and we're so happy to see her. She's so full of life. She loves my sister and I so unconditionally. She smiles at us so sweetly. I'm so happy to be here.

Our family still owns the Logan farm. We'll always own the Logan farm