A picture

I thought you might like to see a picture of Clark. He's more bulked up than I remember, or maybe it's just the camera angle, but it's Clark, always with a hint of a grin.



This war has to end.

Remembering Clark

Clark Schwedler was killed in Iraq. It happened Thursday morning around 4 a.m. He was a Navy SEAL, and was killed while persuing the man responsible for taking down a U.S. helicopter.

He was suppose to come home next week.

Clark was the son of one of my dad's oldest friends. Joe, Clark's dad, was shot down from a helicopter twice in Vietnam. When September 11th hit, Clark wanted to do something. He left Michigan State with one semester to go, trading his fishes and ecology classes for hell week with the seals.

Why did he have to die in Iraq?

In many ways we grew up together, he in the U.P. and me in the mitten, but my memory is filled snap shots of him, vibrant and full of life:

-jumping into a canoe solo (he couldn't have been more than 10) and chasing his dads hat that had blown off and floated downstream.
-bobbing on boat cushions and life jackets as we rode the river's current.
-chopping firewood during thanksgiving in a cabin with no electricity, -40 outside and 40 inside.
-telling me that no one used the word "cool" (or was it "awesome"?) anymore.
-showing me a cave hidden away in the woods and out of the winter blast.
-driving a four-wheeler down praire trails, me clinging on the back.
-fighting with his younger brother.
-pushing the jeep out of the ditch.
-driving down bumpy roads.
-playing high school basketball.
-drinking milk out of the carton behind his mom's back.
-joking around with his older sister.
-volunteering at one of my cross country meets.
-rowing for MSU on a glassy fall river.
-sitting in our sun room and talking about his training.

My last sight of him was outside our house, wearing a true navy peacoat. He was strong, level-headed, hardworking, and easy to grin.

I miss him already.

They have to have something worth living for

There are people who feed the hungry, heal the sick, protect the environment, fight injustice, work for peace.

So what the hell am I doing making art?

This is a conversation that comes up again and again in my life. And, much to my great fortune, whenever I wonder why on earth I'm making puppets or painting pictures when there is so much desperation out there--so much that needs to be done just so people can survive--there are people who remind me that quality of life is just as (if not more) important. If I can give a voice, make someone laugh, get them to think, or even to just enjoy a moment, then shouldn't that be what it's all about?

What's the point of food if it sustains a life without flavor?

Winning an Award

Now here's an awkward situation:

Take a large group of people who spend most of their time behind the scenes, getting dirty, and working with people in desperate or at least exhausting situations. Now throw them into a large ballroom with white table clothes, a buffet line of hot food decorated with orchids, and make them stand up by a podium, in uncomfortable shoes, while someone they don't know reads a list of their accomplishments to a room full of people they also don't know sans the one guest they were allowed to invite.

If only there was someway to make award ceremonies more fun and practical. Maybe they should do it like the Publishers' Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. Yeah, that's the ticket. Find a bunch of people who nominated the person, or who they would be honored to have know that they won an award (teachers, deans, family, friends), pile them into a van, then jump out with flowers and cookies and cameras right while the person is in the trenches--reading to kids, shoveling trash out of flooded houses, building public art. It would be a spontaneous break, a morale booster, and the people who benefit from the winner's good services would also be there to celebrate.

Now there's an award ceremony.