There is a lot you could say about my Dad. One of the best artists you will meet today, in skill, imagination and vision, no question. Or that he turned an empty field on an escarpment into a spot that will no doubt remain the one of the most inspiring places on the prairies for hundreds of years to come. Perennial champion of the neglected, but in anything but a charity sense -- just the uncanny ability to spot what the rest of us have been missing all along. The sworn enemy of combs everywhere. Or my favorite, "hard on cars, easy on kids" (I honestly still have a hard time telling if my car needs oil -- you just can't read the dipstick properly when it isn't dark black and gummy).

In spite of all this, he still has time to occasionally reflect on the mundane world we live in. For starters there is the painting of a certain prince that hails from a desolate island in the north Atlantic, oh my. But last week, he noted "Two Johns against a Dick and a Bush -- no wonder the world is so fucked up". I can't get this out of my head, so I thought I'd blog it. Thank you, it's been therapeutic. And check out those paintings and stones.

(...and bring on the Johns already, for the love of Christ!).