Susan Walters

A man died in our community yesterday. He was bicycling, struck by a young man driving in rush hour with a storm moving in. The lives of these men and their families will never be the same, one gone far too early and the other likely under the shadow of this tragedy for the rest of his life. I don't know either of the men or their families, or if they believe in heaven, but I would like to think that they do and that that is where the victim is right now.

It was an odd coincidence that this event happened soon after I read chapter one of my daughter's debut novel. The chapter is devoted to a graveside service and it made me cry; I have been to far too many of these and recognized in her writing the numbness of the participants, the details of the scene, and the realization that it is all utterly unreal.

Sara graduated from the University of Michigan in May 2009 with a major in English Literature, a minor in Art History, and a completed novel, just short of perfection. She has been polishing and rewriting some parts of the novel this summer, previously guided in her efforts while wrapping up her last term at Michigan, by a multi-published professor . Sara was the recipient of a coveted Cowden Memorial Award at the university's spring 2009 Hopwood Award Ceremony after submitting parts of her novel for consideration. It was pretty clear then that she had something good going on.

Over the last couple of days Sara told me she was putting the last puzzle piece in place - finding a literary agent to represent her and market her novel to publishers. She sent a dozen letters out to the most suitable, reputable agents she could find who worked her brand of fiction. These are not pay-to-read agents, or those pointing authors to vanity presses. They are the real deal, taking on writers they believe will have critical success. They choose carefully the authors they represent. Sara prepared for a long wait on responses, as would be typical. She received two responses within 24 hours; one agent asked for her full manuscript.

When I told Sara that her writing made me cry, she was surprised. She hadn't viewed the chapter as particularly moving. (I can only imagine what the rest of the book will do to me.) I thought about that and realized it wasn't just what she wrote but that she had written it. We have watched her grow up like all parents do, wondering what their children will make of themselves, and now we are here.

Sara is moving to New York City in September with a defined plan and willingness to take a risk. We have two other children younger than Sara who have yet to have their special gifts acknowledged, though their days will come too.

Our youngest child told me, circa age 3, as we were resting before our afternoon nap so many years ago, that she had picked us. I asked her to explain and she told me that before she was born, she looked down from heaven and saw our family, deciding then that that was where she would go. Perhaps these were the ramblings of a preschooler who had never been schooled in any notion like this, but I choose to believe it happened just as she said it did.

Who Art in Heaven. The beginning and the end. One day, I hope to find out.

I just read a news piece where Bill Gates admitted to backing away from the high-tech environment he is hugely responsible for creating. It seems that real life personal connections rather than electronic friendships might actually be something to value. Yes, I am paraphrasing, inferring, and assuming, but Bill, I suspect you are someone just like me. OK, at least on this one point....

Yahoo! News reports "Bill Gates quits Facebook over 'too many friends' ". Not a problem I necessarily have on Facebook given my once monthly or so visits there but I definitely know where he is coming from. Enough is enough. Can't we have a private thought or moment any more? Must we, must YOU continually update everyone with your whereabouts, your activities, your thoughts, plans, successes, and (probably not) your failures? Please. Tweet me not.

The article noted that he had trouble figuring out whether he "knew this person, did I not know this person" and that "It was just way too much trouble so I gave it up."

Gates also admitted to not being that big on texting, not being a 24-hour tech person, and that he reads - sometimes not on the computer. I would like all dying newspapers and publishing companies to sit up and take notice since there could be a backlash coming. Some/many of the literary public want to curl up on a chair or tuck into bed and not wonder if their wireless will go that far or if the battery is going to die and need to be plugged in, leaving the reader entangled in cords. They may not want a history stored somewhere of what they've been looking at or reading for the world to somehow resurrect if they can and care to, for whatever reason is deemed necessary, fun, or stalker-like.

While Gates admits that he envisioned a computer on every desk and in every home, and that the tech revolution has been "hugely beneficial", he seemed to caution against overuse.

"All these tools of tech waste our time if we're not careful."

Amen.

Amen.

Amen.

The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation is proof that Bill Gates lives by his words. People and charities deserve more attention than self-promotion via social networking. It is is real, besides. I can't remember Bill Gates ever promoting himself - he was in the news because others wanted to promote him. Do the right thing and you won't need to pat your own back. There will be plenty of people lining up to pat your back for you.

Come on Bill, don't you want to be my friend? OK, OK, just testing.

First let me state the "facts" about the Ann Arbor Art Fair:

*it will rain on opening day and perhaps throughout the entire Wednesday through Saturday event - there may even have been hail at times in past years - so far just some light rain on opening day this year - not bad!

*locals will leave town for the duration

*traffic flow will be seriously affected

*many businesses will shut down for "vacation" during this period

*massive crowds from all over the US will descend upon Ann Arbor, both artists and aficionados alike

*most visitors will go home with something "on a stick" - I have a cherished copper hummingbird that is planted in my garden beds - I have seen variatons in many locations in and around Ann Arbor - great deal for under $50 - but one does feel a bit uneducated for having fallen for the 'thing on a stick' and buying it.

To be more specific, this art fair is one of the most influential and fair art fairs in the country. There are actually multiple "art fairs" in the mix, some with just juried work, others with whatever the market will bear, and others with everything in between. This is not an event to be taken in in just one day. Wear comfortable shoes, sunscreen and a hat, and leave babies and pets at home. Bring money.

In previous years our entire family has attended but the men quickly lost interest so it has become a girls only event. One rule we have worked with is that when we reach that artist whose work elicits a gasp of delight, we know we are done. We may not be able to purchase that artist's work, but we are satisfied with our art fair exposure. One year for me, it was coming across an artist booth that featured cast concrete wall art. The low relief human faces brought my gasp of appreciation but my pocketbook did not stretch anywhere near that far to be able to do a purchase. I will never forget the discovery though - one day, maybe one day....

This year our oldest daughter was the first to do the art fair experience. (She and her younger sister visited again on the last day.) She lives downtown and is walkable to the exhibits. After viewing many artists' work, she found her gasp. It was a photographer, with photos so vivid that she could not look away. As so often happens, the artist emerged from his behind-the-scenes solitude and began a conversation.

First, he asked her how old she was since he said he rarely saw appreciation for his work in someone her age. She said 21. (She neglected to mention that she had just graduated from the University of Mighigan with a minor in art history, major in English.) She asked how he got his depth of color in his photography and then he really opened up.

He said he preferred little about modern photography and worked with an ancient camera that had the cloth hood covering the head of the photographer - I am quite sure he relayed that more exactly than I am doing here. He then said he had met Ansel Adams once and had quizzed him on how he achieved such depth of color, or light and shadow, in his work.

Ansel replied by throwing a glass of water on the artist's shirt. Thinking he had offended Ansel by asking what his secret was, he was pleasantly surprised to learn that it was a lesson. Ansel asked him to observe the color difference between the wet and dry parts of his shirt. There was the answer. Always shoot on rainy days. This man listened and it shows. His art has color that seems unnatural in photography. He said he brings someone along to hold the umbrella over his head while he shoots.

My daughter wavered between two works, one framed with a rowboat and reeds - I have seen it and it is exquisite. Another was less expensive as a matted piece but similarly compelling with the autumn foliage of a bright red tree punctuating the other fall trees in the background.

When she decided to buy the framed rowboat piece, the artist said it was one of his favorites and asked her when her birthday was. "November," she replied. He said he would give her the second as a birthday gift. She protested, too much, and her birthday was too far away. He replied, "I am 70 years old. I may not be alive in November."

She is well on her way to accumulating original art, little by little through travels and this sort of generosity. Her heart is touched by these exchanges and the stories will undoubtedly live beyond the lives of the artists. She also has her provenance.

The Ann Arbor Art Fair, and Ann Arbor itself. Prepare yourself for the unexpected.

OK, they don't call me the workin man, but that is the phrase from a classic Rush tune that my 19 year old son has adopted regarding his summer job. He knew he needed to work, filling the gap between freshman and sophomore years at Michigan Tech, and applied just about everywhere when he arrived home in late April. Finally, by answering a newspaper ad (so old school!) from a temp agency, he was offered two jobs in two days. He passed the requisite drug test with flying colors and deliberated between the two positions. In the end, the position in Saline, near his old high school, won out.

Keep in mind that our son is majoring in computer science, flirting with minors in both sound design and electrical engineering technology, and is trying to squeeze in significant humanities studies just for the love of the written word. He works at Michigan Tech's superb Rozsa Performing Arts Center during the school year and loves every minute and aspect of the work, not to mention the performances. So what is he doing this summer? Working the assembly line in a flatbread bakery/factory, night shift, 10PM to 6AM. In our still struggling Ann Arbor/Michigan economy, finding any work was quite the accomplishment.

That first day he came home exhausted, disgusted, but full of stories about the bread factory environment. He swore he was going to quit, and swore that again the next day. Day three he learned there is more to work than the task at hand and he embraced the opportunity to do this job. His tales remind me of the many, many descriptive passages in Tolstoy's Anna Karenina where wealthy landowner Levin pontificates about toiling with the field hands on his land, trying to find the meaning of life.

Our family is treated daily to the adventures in breadmaking that he is a part of, descriptions of fellow workers and situations so artfully conveyed that a picture is painted. His stories are always told with the good humor he has possessed since birth, even when he described being stop-watched as he left the assembly room floor to begin his 3AM lunch, returning precisely 20 minutes or sooner as required. When he spoke about the hairnet, beard net, and safety goggles, we roared with laughter. It was that day he began to shave daily, eliminating one of the three heat-trapping fittings forever.

So what exactly does he do? His shift is spent standing on a cushioned mat, flipping a bag of flatbread as it comes down the line, rotating it into a precise position, then off it goes to a sealing machine. I asked how quickly the bread bags arrive; he replied, "Five every three seconds." For 7.5 hours. WOW.

Recently he came home and told us that only he and one other temp worker had been kept on. He was told he was the only newbie on the line who hadn't needed the conveyor belt slowed down until they got the hang of the job. Productivity was up. His common sense emerged too whenever there was a breakdown in the line, box folding error, crumpled or torn flatbread (it is called flat for a reason...), overheated ovens, overloading of product into a bag, etc. Calm, calm, calm. Adjust. Carry on.

There is a new appreciation for every job out there and for the intensity of the 40 hour work week. There is enthusiasm about reaching high academic success when returning to Michigan Tech in the fall. There is a changed attitude apparent. It is more than making bread for the summer; this is the bread of life.

Kevin, we call you the workin man.

Being opinionless has never been my problem. Being discreet about my opinion, well, I only occasionally have managed that. I once got into trouble for a blog post, actually just a response to a blog post, that ended up costing me quite a few dollars and within certain circles damaged my reputation as well. It was not identifiable to client in any way except decision processes, but when condemned I confessed. I am nothing if not truthful. It wasn't my finest moment.

Tonight I almost did it again. I read an article on CNN and thought a particular Congressperson had the perspective all wrong on a point. I have never written to a government official before but decided it was time to start. I composed my letter on the contact website, perfected it, then, right before sending I erased it - just like so many blogs I have written here since the incident previously mentioned.

Am I afraid? In a word, yes. I am afraid of the negative consequences of speaking my mind - on big public topics that beg for opinion, and on little topics that I feel like commenting on. Real estate is not that great in Michigan to allow me to offend anyone. Gaining fans with my opinion? Like that old adage, they'll be ten complaints for something done wrong to every one praise for something done right. How do I know beforehand if my opinion is "wrong" or "right"?

In the interest of my business right now, I don't dare risk it. I must say though, I am getting mighty bored and there will come a time when this top will blow. The blogs I would write, the drafts on hold, I guess they will have to hold until the market turns and I have the luxury of losing clients. We are getting there, I am getting there, the market having driven so many Ann Arbor area realtors out of the marketplace. I am busy, even if the deals are low dollars.

I am looking forward to being myself again, tempered though, as life tends to do to us. Underneath, understand that I will be seething, opinionated, impassioned, no matter how measured the words. I have a lot to say and I can't wait to be talking again.

In the meantime, I could post stats and my listings, and do a lot of commenting. I could recycle other people's topics in my own words (no plagiarism, that I promise), or supply links to expert opinions and hope to benefit from that. I could re-blog too.

You know what? I don't want to do any of that. I want to say what is on my mind, lose the potential clients who may not agree, and earn the clients who do agree. I like original thoughts; I am quirky like that. For the moment though, mum is me. I am hoping 2009 will allow the changes I need to see. Things are looking good so far but it is too early to tell.

I hate being vanilla. Butter pecan is my passion and I truly despise mint chocolate anything. I can't get into too much trouble with these ice cream admisssions, can I? One never knows....