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3 An arts publication of the English Department of Tri-County Community College, Murphy, North Carolina. Volume 1, Spring 2007 Logos (Greek λόγος) (n.) In pre-socratic philosophy, the principle governing the cosmos, the source of this principle, or human reasoning about the cosmos. Logos lettering created by Cheyenne Gaffey. Oval cover design created by Cody Riffle.

4 λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος λόγος λογος

5 Table of Contents Forest Morning by George McCabe 2 Waterfall by Trevis Hicks 3 Mizunderstood by Jerry L. Trull 4 Fuwa by Paul Walters 5 Poem of the Stars by Cody Stiles 6 Rhododendron by Trevis Hicks 7 A Two of Hearts by Jennifer Dudley 7 Dreams by Shawn Trull 8 I Wish by Trista Sneed 8 The Dying Twins by April K. Outen 9 The Christmas Tree by Polly Moore Haiku by George McCabe 14 Lightning by Trevis Hicks 14 Selections from Ancient Oak s Haiku House by Kathryn Lea Temple 15 Song of Innocence and Song of Experience by Stephen Wood Firing on the Run by Jerry Trull In Defense of the Humanities, the Degree You Choose to Pursue is Your Own by Kathryn Lea Temple Sunset by Trevis Hicks 23 Contributors The Digital Logos Inside back cover

6 Forest Morning 2006 George McCabe When darkness listens to the call, Of daylight that glistens through the hall, Of valleys full of dew covered leaf, I ponder for a moment brief, Then leave the forest the way it was. The flowers yawn to a new day Of sunburst dawn in bright array, And tiny creatures creep around, As woodland life,in number, abound. Iʹll just be quiet for awhile. Iʹm waiting for the voice of one Who made the choice of only one. She softly steps behind my sight, Without a print her feet so light, And whispers that itʹs time to go. 2

7 Waterfall By Trevis Hicks 3

8 Mizunderstood By Jerry L. Trull, 2005 C It s the power of the fog filling up my brain A# Got me into a place that s driving me insane C Seems there can only be a whispered taste A# Of a color on a wheel that has lost its race C Drawn to the inside that s on the other side here A# Bouncing up to fight just to throw down with fear. All the things I ve done just because I could. Then there s the promises that I said I would. My mind says no and my heart says I should Just the recipe for miztery, mizunderstood. I think I should try maybe one more time, To keep myself in check to keep myself in line But the palette that I m using seems to me all red, It s all the same damn colors that are in my head. Toward the end of my book it s just another page, Then tell me why I m feeling all this built up rage All the things I ve done just because I could. Then there s the promises that I said I would. My mind says no and my heart says I should Just the recipe for miztery, mizunderstood. 4

9 Fuwa Pencil Drawing by Paul Walters 5

10 Poem of the Stars By Cody Stiles oh brightly stars in the sky they seem to gleam oh so high with all of this a bliss they take the way of the night we know not much about these distant friends but they bring us truth for all men from the ancient times till present day they still glow and show the way from the north to the sun from constellations they have made now it shows that we are small upon the face to this we know we might find soon but for now the key is through the scope of light 6

11 Rhododendron By Trevis Hicks A Two of Hearts By Jennifer Dudley A strong heart that spans the distance. An aching need that seeks completion. A stony heart in shattered pieces. A fire rekindled in a cold, cold core. Though the future is uncertain, You know I will be here. Forever as Friends, Eternal in Love and Bond. 7

12 Dreams By Shawn Trull Thinking of words that wouldn t expand by voices. Thought patterns shape the mind personality and soul. Aggression spikes it while mending smoothes it. How it effects the physical appearance is false. Other minds can t see it only what they want to see. That s the meaning of dreams. I Wish By Trista Sneed I wish it could have been different I wish we could start over I wish we had gotten closer I wish there were better memories I wish there were more I love you s I wish there were fewer I hate you s I just wish it was different between me and you So now I ll tell you. I love you and miss you, Dad. 8

13 The Dying Twins 2006 by April K. Outen I awoke to a fine, crispy morn. The cold, though, did not chill me. My sixth sense told me, Something s wrong. I turned on the TV, watched tragedy unfold. Two twins were dying as mothers cried. The twins had had a long rich life, And they were left open to enemies. Happy years had passed for the twins, While enemies plotted in secret. Then they attacked and with great poison. The first twin s head exploded, While the other s side was gashed. Then they fell with a mighty sound. Mother screamed, father cursed, While children hid, frightened and scared. The enemies triumphed, While the country mourned. 9

14 The Christmas Tree By Polly Moore Being widowed with seven children meant that my mother had to make tough, hard and heartbreaking decisions to keep us all safely together and in our home. Our neighborhood was filled with many families whose children had new bikes, name brand clothes and trips to the dentist twice a year for checkups. My brothers and sisters and I had bikes that were handed down and repainted, clothes from Dollar General, and a trip to the dentist was when we were in pain. We knew that we would never miss a meal, but there would always be things that we simply could not afford. Our mother did not have money for many things, but she always had enough money for milk if we were thirsty, bologna if we were hungry and always, always money for a Christmas tree. The day after Thanksgiving was the absolute latest my brothers and sisters and I could wait for a Christmas tree. Our house was three blocks from the bus stop where our mother caught the same old city bus for work in the morning and returned each evening at 5:25. We would take turns meeting our mother at the bus stop because with seven children there was always a constant need for soap, shampoo, socks, shoes, and school supplies. I don t have a memory of seeing my mother step off of that old bus without at least two Dollar General bags. Across from that bus stop was our local grocery store, which was just a size larger than a mom and pop store. By today s standards, it would fit inside a Kroger, but it was a good fit for our neighborhood. Each year a local tree farmer would rent a corner of its parking lot and sell Christmas trees, and each year we would buy one. This particular Christmas season, my younger brother had just turned five and was now old enough to walk with me to the bus stop and help carry the Dollar General bags. We excitedly waited for our mother s bus to arrive as the two of us stood there and watched the workmen put up poles and string yards and yards of electrical cord with light sockets to light after dark. The two of us knew that those men were our starting pistols for the begging for a Christmas tree. We could hardly stand still. We would walk close to the curb and strain as far as we could, looking down the highway, in hopes of seeing that old, gray, diesel smokestack of a city bus make its way closer to us. 10

15 When that old bus finally came within view we both began jumping and pointing at the parking lot across the street. The two of us lived for this day, and it was finally here: Christmas trees were going on sale! I remember how our mother finally looked up from her paper, startled, wondering why her children were jumping and pointing. Many years later Mama told me that she thought a building was on fire with the way Jimmy and I were jumping and pointing that year. Our poor mother. She looked over at the parking lot from her seat as the bus came to a stop with a look on her face that I can now, as an adult myself, understand. It was the exhausted It can t be Christmas already! look. This yearly event was a special one, and it required teamwork. We all had a job to do and each of us had a part in getting this year s tree upright and decorated. Going to get the tree was the job of my older twin brothers, David and Daniel. I believe we tried a couple of times with all of us going together to pick out a tree, but getting eight people to decide on one tree was just too hard on my mother s nerves and too cruel to the Christmas tree salesman. That particular family tradition was quickly altered to the six of us eagerly waiting for David and Daniel to arrive with our tree tied to the roof of our car. The waiting was the hardest, especially for the younger ones. Jimmy and I were the two youngest, and it was our special job to watch for our older brothers to arrive with the tree. Jimmy and I would stand on a chair we had dragged into the living room and placed under a window, so we could be the watch outs. We were determined to be the best watch outs in our family s history. We would pass the time, which seemed like hours, fogging up the windowpanes and playing Tic tac toe by drawing lines on the glass. I always won because he was too young and just learning the game, and I would tell him where to put his X right where I wanted it. By the fourth game it would happen. David and Daniel would honk the horn just as they turned onto our street. Jimmy and I would start screaming, They re here! Seeing that tree tied to our car was just as, if not more, exciting than actually picking it out. The hours it took trying to get that thing to stand upright in its stand was almost comical. It did not take a dead, defenseless tree long to bring my brothers to fits of anger and I can t swear to it, but I 11

16 think I saw a tear or two. Each year my brothers would have to cut and adjust the tree on our back concrete patio and try to get it to fit into the stand at least twenty times. Jimmy and I were not allowed to touch the saw used to trim the trunk, so, we were the tree holders and we took our job seriously... well about as seriously as any sevenand three year old could take such a responsibility. We stood strong and held our own against the eye poking, scratching limbs, and we all four ended up covered with pine tree sap. Almost a quarter of the pine needles were on the floor in a path from the patio to the living room. The other set of twins, Pat and Patty, worked with Mama popping corn. The smell of popcorn always reminds me of our Christmas trees. After many adjustments and a few tears, my brothers overcame and had our tree up and standing in the small metal green and red Christmas tree stand. I had heard David tell his twin that the stand was the stand from hell, but I was not supposed to tell Mama that he said that word. There stood our bare Christmas tree with all of us lined up in front of it armed with boxes of bulbs and piles of tangled lights, ready for battle. The time had finally come. We were going to decorate our tree. There was not to be a bulb or a single string of tinsel left off of that tree. We could do it! The only thing standing between that tree and us was our sister and the oldest sibling, Janet. My poor sister Janet had the hardest job. She had the job of keeping all the rest of us from stepping on lights and dropping bulbs, and with the extra eyes in the back of her head, she had to keep Jimmy from putting tinsel in his mouth. But, most of all, she was to somehow, someway, keep that tree upright and off of its side. Pat and Patty had the battle of detangling the yards and yards of Christmas lights. Mama was in charge of filling every bowl we had with popcorn and still be able to break away and stop an argument or to yell from the den, Why is Jimmy crying? The night was filled with Walter Cronkite s voice and the aroma of popcorn. Clinking lights and glass ornaments held together as seven pairs of hands desperately vied for the perfect bulb and tinsel placement, while the matching seven pairs of feet tried not to step on the bulbs and tinsel that fell from their perfect placement. It took a good couple of hours of fighting over who put on 12

17 the most green bulbs, accidentally stepping on toes and franticly calling for another extension cord, but each and every year we got the job done. By the time we had finished decorating that tree, the angel was hanging on for dear life, the lights were all over the place, too many red bulbs hung in the same spot, and the popcorn string had a huge gap of missing popcorn. At dead center, toward the bottom was about a pound of icicles in a big clump, where Jimmy insisted it should be, and the entire tree leaned a few degrees to the left. With one last glance from each of us around the living room, we made sure that we had every bulb and string of tinsel on the tree. Finally, the time had come for us to all scatter through the house and turn off all lights. Each of us darted for a light switch that was in the on position, while Jimmy darted straight for Mama s arms with the oncoming darkness. After a few of us banged into each other in the darkness trying to get back to the living room, the anticipation became its greatest. When we had all gathered in the living room, with the entire house full of darkness, Pat, standing guard at the plug, would ask, Ready? and we would all excitedly reply, Ready! Then it would happen. The incredible burst of color with our sounds of joy and amazement instantly lifted off the thick blanket of darkness. Our tree was now full of life, color and strength as its limbs and needles proudly held out for all to see, our store bought bulbs, lights and tinsel along with our homemade angels, stars and popcorn. All eight of us would stand in that moment of joy and then look up toward our mother as she gave her yearly blessing, This is the most beautiful tree in the world. 13

18 Haiku 2006 George McCabe Glow bugs in a jar, Blink a message of distress. i twist off the top. Ice cubes in a glass. Sparkling liquid poured on, Make my eyes blink. Lightning By Trevis Hicks 14

19 Selections from Ancient Oak s Haiku House By Kathryn Lea Temple Maters and Taters Tomatoes and Potatoes I eat the same way Pine tar on my heels Sticks stubbornly to grassy blades; Nature s best glue Clothes lines what are they But ancient air dryers Naughty birds delight Portly Blue Jay nips From our pet s dish without fear; Such a lazy cat! Through the wooden flute Body and soul s entwined breath Mix; emerges song Gliding hawk surveys School regally winged fingers Grasp pre autumn breeze Whistler boy in Checked shorts carries cheerful Tune: song for himself 15

20 Song of Innocence Innocence: The Creek By Stephen Wood There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light William Wordsworth The creek runs northwest, Along the border of Poppy s land, It was the very edge of the world, The frontier between memory and imagination. It rises from the earth in the midst of loam and leaves; Sentinels of fern guard its cradle. It runs along cliff and forest, Pasture and thicket. It ran for miles in falls, pools, and rapids That pulled a toy boat toward its destiny. Spring lizards, crawdads, and horny heads Patrol its length. Gloriously alien monsters lurked in shady pool And under mossy rocks. The water sweeps away, Joining a never ending torrent, Small becomes big and bigger, Fast becomes faster and then slow. The creek ran on, Into the unknown, the Bossonian Marches, The land of Mordor. 16

21 ...and Song of Experience Experience: The Darkness By Stephen Wood Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be Christopher Marlowe There is a darkness that hangs... In the spaces between our words... In the spaces between our actions... Between us. It hangs like the smoke from a flesh consuming fire, Dark, rolling billows rising from an oven Up against a slate gray sky. In it is every lie that we tell ourselves and others, Monstrosities born of greed and fear, suspicion and hatred. They are all our children Monstrous progeny with a strong family resemblance. They have your eyes, your nose, my tongue... They are all our children... They are all... Inside Our children wait for us The cries of loveless passion and passionless love The sour stench of sweat on the dealmakers, The empty eyes of the true believer, The acrid odor of gunpowder, alcohol, and cigarettes, The smell of the flowers at the funeral home of our lives Visitation from 6:00 to 8:00; Graveside service cancelled due to inclement weather. 17

22 Firing on the Run By Jerry Trull This is a poem/song based on my observations of wasted lives as a result of the Vietnam War. As I review the work, I am struck by how much of it represents the feelings of our military in any war. Having been mobilized as a North Carolina Army National Guardsman, assigned to the 101st Abn. Div. During Desert Shield/Storm, I see a relevance to that war also. When will we stop this insanity? When we were just lads of seventeen Our whole world was like a simple dream Scrape up some bucks and buy you a car Just knew in our heads we would go far Wildcat football on Friday nights Pickin for dances, it was outta sight With any luck we were gonna be stars We d be playing clubs and honky tonk bars What fear no fear firing on the run grab another beer, have a little fun. These were benefits of paying our dues we were the original rebels without clues. Then there was a place called Vietnam Letters from our neighbors and Uncle Sam We were molded and folded in Nixon s plan And when we came home we were different, man Oh, they say there ll be wars and rumors of wars The stench of the mud as the monsoon pours. A wounded warrior cries and talks of his mother Another one s still cause he s give his last shudder. 18

23 The smell of battle, air must weigh a ton slap another magazine into your gun When the battle s over in the morning glare total exhaustion but no one s aware. It s more about living and staying alive Than Old Glory waving and patriotic cries Politicians planning and setting the tone All we could think of was if we d get home Blood, sweat, and tears, all the battles won, But it never felt like anything got done. Like a record stuck on a Helter Skelter song, All the land went back to the Vietcong. Feel fear taste fear firing on the run slap another magazine into your gun When the battle s over in the smoky air drink a fallen man s water, too tired to care For the scars of the war in common we share So ole Jane Fonda you say that now you care Just a very short time and nothing but a thing, But it cost a lot of pawns and then finally the king. Feel fear taste fear firing on the run slap another magazine into your gun When the battle s over in the morning glare total exhaustion in a thousand mile stare 19

24 In Defense of the Humanities, The Degree You Choose to Pursue is Your Own By K.L. Temple This paper was originally written by K.L. Temple for her distance education/graduate studies efforts with California State University Dominguez Hills (2005). It has been updated and slightly modified for submission to TCCC s Logos. The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all. Tagline from Mulan (1998) In the opening sequence of Disney s Mulan (1998), the main character, Mulan, is unable to satisfy society s expectations. Although she tries to conform to the cultural standards and specialized traditions that are demanded of Chinese brides to be, Mulan, intelligent, energetic, and extroverted, is challenged to perform the passive, obedient women s test set before her. She must prove that she is proper wife material demur, dutiful, disciplined, graceful, and skilled; however, a series of events undermines her best efforts, and her true nature is revealed. The strict, no nonsense examiner, a woman known as the MatchMaker, labels Mulan as a complete failure and tells the girl that she will never bring her family honor. Disgraced, ashamed, and disappointed, Mulan returns home and, in song, laments, When will my reflection show who I am inside? It is a soul stirring question that many Americans secretly ask themselves when they consider the multitude of educational choices and career paths available in today s fast pasted, technology driven society a hungry, impatient society that increasingly demands specialization and, like the MatchMaker in the Disney movie, strictly defines proper roles and worthwhile degrees. It is a question that I asked myself at the beginning of my own educational journey. Advisors, parents, guardians, counselors, employment officers, and community leaders encourage students to pursue 20

25 meaningful degrees in disciplines such as Business, Computers, Health Care / Wellness, or Education degrees that offer certain skill sets, specified expectations, and firmly labeled career options. Many students excel in such prescribed learning environments, and upon graduation, they enter the workforce as skilled, qualified representatives of their particular disciplines. However, we Mulans of American society often cannot conform to these highly structured, career in a box programs because these programs do not represent who we are inside. At odds with what seems reasonable or beneficial to others, we Mulans often find ourselves in a personally defining moment where we must choose to stay in someone else s expectations or choose to follow our own ideas. Often, we choose to strike out on our own and seek degree programs that speak directly to our hearts and minds rather than to society s trendy expectations or to certain designated occupations. We Mulans pursue degrees in the Humanities history, literature, art, music, theatre, cinema, philosophy, religion because we value [and crave] the infinite, beautiful learning lab that is human experience. We do not / cannot limit ourselves to one tiny workstation within that gigantic learning lab. We want to explore the world past, present, and future. We want to share our findings and add our own voices to that collective experience. We Mulans need to embrace the human in the Humanities because it is who we are inside, and we, in light of all the modern marvels, do not want to lose our humanness. It s our own special sensitivity. We Mulans have also asked the hard questions of ourselves and of our educational programs: In this specialized 21 st society, what value is a Humanities degree? Upon graduation, what can one expect to do with an open ended, fluid education? What careers are available? What impact, what value, do we Mulans have in a society that eagerly promotes specialized graduates? Surprisingly, the answers to these questions are rooted in the plot of the Disney film. In the story, the character Mulan goes through many trials and much education. She learns about family, about gender roles, about her country, and about herself. Eventually, she uses her collective knowledge, her cunning, and her insights into human nature to save her people. Her broad interdisciplinary education allows her to make important intel 21

26 lectual connections that no one else can see, and from these connections, she is able to generate amazing ideas and new plans that ultimately prevent invaders from winning the battle for China. Thus, she proves her worth, and she returns honor to her family (Mulan 1998 / IMDb.com). In other words, Mulan can think outside of expected rules, roles, and career boxes. It is this ability coupled with her fierce determination that allows her to conquer aggressors who are many times her strength, size, and number. She isn t just a woman; she is a warrior. She isn t just a warrior; she is also a thinker, an observer, a teacher, and a communicator. She is a rebel and a patriot. She has many, many transferable skills to call upon. She is not limited to a particular skills set from a certain career or limited to a certain theme of understanding and neither are we, the dedicated students of Humanities. A degree in Humanities offers students [we Mulans] the chance to grow into something truly special as unique and independent as each individual snowflake that falls in winter. We can become thinking leaders, observant warriors, concerned teachers, passionate communicators, loyal guardians, keen artists, effective writers, powerful advocates, cultural commentators, and dutiful caretakers. Some of us can be found in government jobs; others of us may be off on some archaeological dig in some remote part of the world. Some of us are recording our own times or interpreting other times. Some of us are entertaining the masses, and others of us are questioning them. Some of us are preserving the past while others of us are planning for the future. Thus, the true value of a Humanities degree rests squarely on the shoulders of the people who earn it and what we choose to do with our lives and the collective knowledge offered by interdisciplinary studies, knowledge that represents the pinnacle of human thought, expression, and experience, knowledge that, in truth, makes all careers specified or not possible, for every subject, every occupation, has a history, a philosophy, a body of literature, a collection of art, and a set of sounds or beats (music). People should admire and appreciate the efforts of computer technologists, health care professionals, scientists, business 22

27 administrators, and others who excel in specialized disciplines. However, they should not wholly endorse the strict MatchMaker attitude and dismiss us Mulans, who choose degrees in Humanities. American society needs us, the modern Mulans. We faithfully ensure that the human stays in humanity in human experience. Who knows when we will splash upon the scene and, through ingenuity, observation, and fierce determination, save society (or you, dear reader) from an ugly, raging hoard? Works Cited Mulan (1998). Directors: Tony Bancroft and Barry Cook. Walt Disney s Special Edition: 2 Disc DVD Set and Cover Notes Release. Mulan. IMDb.com The Internet Movie Database, Inc < > 26 September Temple, K.L. Embracing Human in Humanities: The Value of HUX M.A. Degrees. [The original title of this paper] Submitted as program requirement for California State University Dominguez Hills Humanities External Degree Program (2005). Sunset By Trevis Hicks 23

28 Contributors Jennifer Dudley Jennifer is a College Transfer student at TCCC s Graham County Center. The Greenwood, South Carolina, native likes to write as a way of expressing her feelings without having set boundaries. Writing gives her a feeling of freedom and allows her to be herself. Jennifer s grandparents are Brenda and Roy Pollard, Jr. Lee Ann Hodges Lee Ann teaches English at TCCC. She created the page design for Logos. She resides in Warne with her husband, Chad, and two children, Mariah and Reid. Polly Moore Polly grew up in Mobile, Alabama, with four brothers and two sisters. After her father died of cancer when she was seven, she and her siblings were mostly raised by her wonderful mother, who worked endlessly and sacrificed everything for her children. She wrote The Christmas Tree as a Christmas present for her sister Patty. She finished her degree at TCCC in Fall 2006 and is now an Accounting major at Western Carolina University. Cheyenne Gaffey Cheyenne created the lettering for the Logos title design. She is a freshman at TCCC s Early College High School. She is from Martin s Creek, and her parents are Tim and Deborah Gaffey. Trevis Hicks Trevis is an Information Systems Instructor at TCCC, and he resides in Peachtree. George McCabe George McCabe is an Information Systems Instructor at TCCC. The Franklin, North Carolina, native moved to Andrews in He is married to Connie and has a menagerie of children from biological to adopted, to step, and anyone else that might call him Dad. April Pascia April is an Office Systems Technology student. She is married to Scott Pascia and resides in Ranger with Scott, her beagle Beethoven and their toy Chihuahua Vienna. She has been writing poetry and prose since the first grade which was a selection of her own fairy tales. On the day of September 11 attacks, April (then April Outen) wrote her poem ʺDying Twinsʺ as she watched the first building fall. 24

29 Cody Riffle Cody created the oval cover artwork for Logos. He is a freshman at TCCC s Early College High School. He is from Martin s Creek, and his parents are Jeff and Dulcie Riffle. Trista Sneed Trista is an Office Systems Technology student at TCCC. She wrote her poem, I Wish, a few days after her father died in August of She and her son, Austin, reside in Murphy. Cody Stiles Cody is a freshman at TCCC s Early College High School. He is from Andrews, and his parents are David and Sheila Stiles. Kathryn Temple Kathryn L. Temple is the Coordinator of the Student Support Center at TCCC. The Murphy native is currently working on a Master of Arts in Humanities Degree through the California State University. She has published newspaper articles and short essays. She has also written a screenplay for Appalachian State Universityʹs Adult Basic Skills Staff Development Project. In 2000, the screenplay was selected for production, and an instructor training video entitled ʺTeach & Reachʺ was born. Her motto for art, writing, life, and other: It is what it is. Jerry Trull Jerry lives with his wife, Audrey, and children, Catherine, 18, and Shawn, 15, in Andrews. Although he is an Andrews native, he has lived in various places, including Muskogee, Oklahoma, and New York City. His paintings and writings are a personal extension of his thoughts. While he hopes that others share the connection, the primary focus of the effort is for him to express his feelings at that precise point in his life. Jerry is a current student at TCCC. Shawn Trull Shawn is a freshman at TCCC s Early College High School. He is from Andrews, and his parents are Jerry and Audrey Trull. Paul Walters Paul is a College Transfer student. In his spare time, he enjoys playing guitar, drawing, and running. Stephen Wood Stephen teaches English at TCCC. He is from Blue Ridge, GA, where he lives with his wife, Patsy, and two children, Allison and Nathaniel. Both Allison and Nate the Great contributed to Logos. 25