Costume Department

Excerpt from one of my Dramatic Narratives

I cannot define the method of my ways, nor of the moments that truly define the reasons for my existence. The weight of the past and the burden of emotions that I cannot shake continue even at this age to define my walk. Emotionally I feel spent, torn away from the realty of the present, like a stage performance over-played and undersold, I walk through each day defining the expectations of others only to continually sacrifice the time that I have left for those who could barely discern that I was wearing a costume at all. I cannot shake the moments where I truly felt alive and embraced by those who really tried to know me, tried to understand the mysteries of the man behind the madness that each day brings forth. There were those who held onto me with a true heart of compassion and love, those days are just not with me any longer. Their fingerprints long lifted from the crime scene of my life.

For those who tried to bear the brunt of my sadness and revelled in the joy of my lost soul buried in the short-lived happiness that was my own thoughts, I thank you.
I cannot erase the images of your face away from the constant knowledge that I was as close to keeping you near as I ever was in releasing you to the world. I knew what cards I needed to play, I just could not afford to cash in your soul in exchange for my petty happiness. I have never been good at maintaining the moment, nor watering the gardens of souls that I know in the end I will either drive away to protect or tragically attempt to retain for my own disparity.

Perhaps, I know, secretly, that I am not worth the attention, nor the sacrifice. I adore the darkness, always believing that the truth lives in that place. For when the dawn breaks, the sun will continually shadow the reality of life and perhaps bring enlightenment to areas that condemn that enhancement of character. We have all been taught that light brings truth, but the harshness of its power can indeed overshadow the beauty, simplicity and even altruistic nature of life itself. Seeing things for what they are, being allowed to self-illuminate --- that is how you are able to ever shine.

I am not sure when I last believed in myself and the promise that I could shake the struggles of holding onto something that continues to cloud my steps. Like a strange, but living apparition --- I am confused and dismayed that I am still here haunting myself in this house of emptiness and greed. There must be a calling, my own personal Paul Revere being summoned with my orders, my commandments? I sit here from a different era, an old soul trying to hit replay in a world that has long admonished the history of its own past, much less the simplicity of my message.

For now, I must continue to push onward. I hear the director calling, "Performance begins in 5" --- Exiting stage left, I head to the costume department. Content at least in this moment, that this show is not over, my final performance still undone...

The only constant is what? (My last tribute to Whitney Bank)

December 22nd, 2010 - an innocent date of record by most all accounts. However, this arbitrary day would initiate the genesis of another unforeseen chapter in my personal and professional life. It was on this date, that is was revealed that my employer, Whitney National Bank, would be sold to another company. Shocking is far too tepid of a description of the impact of this announcement.

Spanning its 130 year legacy, Whitney National Bank was the last known survivor of the grand old New Orleans based banking institutions. It was the bank that my great-grandfather conducted his financial business. It was the monolithic empire that both my own grandmother and mother had been duly employed during the early & mid 20th century. It was the imposing marble fortress of a structure that I had visited as a child with my grandmother to perform her weekly deposits after traversing the St. Charles streetcar line from uptown New Orleans.

It was everything to a true New Orleanian, it was living history in every contrived sense of the word.

Alas, time waits for no man. You can't flip your hourglass when it runs out of sand.
You either change with the reality of the day or you become a casualty of its destiny.
Change is difficult and some say the only constant in life. I am not sure if I truly have embraced this altruistic motto with open arms or if I am simple holding the line through coercion and self-preservation.

I can only hope that I can continue to be called upon to make a difference for the new company. I can only hope that I can execute my leadership endeavors with the same innate passion, pride and zeal that I had while working for Whitney Bank. I know change is constant and unavoidable, but it is doesn't mean that it is calming nor does it bring much personal solace.

Change opens up new doors, while forcing you to gaze upon a new, unexplored path. A path that is not comforting, at least at first, because it is dark, unknown and led by a cavalry that is completely foreign.

I believe the only constant is not change itself, but the opportunity to accept that change is unavoidable. Like nature itself, change is perfect; neither good nor bad. It is how we grow to accept or deny the reality of change that ultimately is the only constant we have...

Here's to the future and a nod to the past....
RIP - Whitney National Bank (October 26, 1883 - June 4th, 2011)

Cheers,
Andy

Needing Solace....

Wait, hold that shot. Just hold it. Freeze time, I am not ready to start.

As I pick myself up from the starting position on the dusty cinder track, I pretend to stretch out the time needed to regain my desire to continue as I outwardly exercise my poised frame. I just cannot get my mind and spirit engaged into the present. I cannot let this race begin, I cannot dare to hear that starter's gun explode beside my head. Not just yet.

Time lapses, but unsure of what my immediate future holds, I remain paralyzed in the moment. However, will this moment end or will the stress of my current life continue to unravel my confidence, desire & ability to continue?

As I retreat from the track, I stop. Placing my nervous hand upon my forehead, I check to even judge the reality of this event, the existence of my own body here in this moment. I feel tired, moody & generally unhappy. I ask myself "How could this be?", I have no reason to feel this way. I have no rationale for this moment of weakness nor the understanding of its meaning.

I am like a tree that is green with life on its leaves because the mechanisms of life itself never fail. Nature is perfectly, imperfect. However, I am cold within my own trunk, it is a feeling that I need to understand, quickly...

Walking to my truck, I dare not glance back. I cannot race today. I cannot support the weight of the past. I am just not ready for this. I remove the tops to my Jeep and gracefully pause in a meditative pose, seemingly asking my spirit to figure out what it needs. With the tops removed, I enter and look upward. I know I need the solace that only being with nature can bring.

The engine starts as I glance over to the clock. It reads 11:35AM...today.

Building with my Brothers

 

I had an amazing experience this past weekend working with both of my brothers for the first time in a very long time, probably since I was very young. As anyone would expect, we work like guys with every one of us a slight bit unique in our own mind, but in perfect harmony focused on getting the proverbial job done. I wouldn't trade the time I spent with either of them this past weekend. In retrospect, it was a tremendously rewarding and humbling experience. I didn't realize how much I missed the comraderie that I felt with my siblings as an adult. I tend to make few lasting relationships due partially to my available time and wholly to my abhorrence to fake people.

As crazy as this sounds, this weekend was one of my best life experiences, and it reminds me of the singular and paramount importance of family. Growing up in a troubled and abusive household, that moral was not something that was easily remembered.

Nothing better than a little bit of sweat, cussing & beers with your brothers.
Cheers to both of you. I love you both dearly.


"You can be my wingman, anytime..."

-Aviator Andy

Garden Layout - Drip Irrigation

GE Whiz Fan - Completed! (PART II)

FAN PROJECT CONTINUED!

I had some time today after returning from the Saints/Bucs fiasco, so I decided to finish my 1921 GE Whiz Oscillation fan. This is more of a preservation project rather than a complete restoration in my opinion.

I was able to preserve most of the original GE factory dark green paint.
I disassembled everything, cleaning all parts & components. I polished out the rotor, cage & blades to a mirror finish. I then replaced all electrical & re-oiled the wicks.
After a few coats of polish on the paint, it is looking very clean & fresh.

It works just great. Not bad for being about 90 years old!

I am still learning and consider myself to be an amateur in training, but I do enjoy the adventure and the ability to renew the past.



CLICK ON PICS FOR LARGER IMAGES!

The "Whizard" Enters --- 2011

Happy New Year!

I spent some time today cleaning my antique work bench and re-organizing all of my tools. I decided to pull my first victim for 2011 off of the floor and onto the magical stage of amateur restoration! This is a 1921 GE WHIZ 10" Table Fan.

I have decided to follow this restoration through a multitude of steps rather than simply "before and after" --- In case, any of you thought good ole' Rumpelstiltskin was being hired to run the ole' polishing machine after midnight or anything. :)

STATE 1: ORIGINAL & UNTOUCHED
Here is the solemn state (Notice the morgue-like coldness of the non-working fan)



STATE 2: (BEFORE IN COLOR)


STATE 3: (IN PROGRESS - CAGE & BADGE POLISHED - BRASS BLADES RESTORED & POLISHED)



I will keep updating to show my progress. It is still amateur work for now, but I really do enjoy bringing beauty back to life. It is an amazing passion to see something old transformed back into its former glory by your own hands.



Cheers!