Here he comes, again, Cathy's clown: life and times of Glenn House | MARK HUGHES COBB

Rules work best when broken. That'd be my new one, if I had rules. Like mottos, rules should be pithy, strong-willed, and utterly useless in reality.

Now of course ― disclaimers are like rules and mottos, mostly unnecessary except in a legal cover-your-rear sense ― this doesn't apply to good sense when squalls blow in this liminal time of year, as likely to be sunny and 77 as wrath o' god thundering, blazes of lighting scratching indigo skies, as likely to be the days where we all stretch and bask and say "This is why we live in Alabama" as to be days when we look down a winding drive, lane or boulevard, and with View Master layers clicking through memories, see the things that aren't there anymore.

This is the time of year when life begins to bloom, but remains precarious. When we celebrate with festivals, but also when we mourn. The tale of two cities: Before April 27, 2011, and after.

More: 'Thousands are gonna be dead': Tuscaloosa Mayor Walt Maddox reflects on April 27, 2011

Charles Dickens broke all manner of rules against repetition, over-long lists, pronouns without attribution, writing an opening that's still tragically applicable, as we are still burdened with foolishness, belief, incredulity and despair, sometimes all in the same 140-character post.

We say the names of the dead, remember them to those who already do, but also for those not fortunate enough to have known. Those of us still here have passed through turmoil, with no doubt more to come, but for those who helped with the unburying, the rebuilding, we can attest. We can weather.

Though the 12 years ago tornadoes of April 27 come readily to mind, we shouldn't forget that just three years later, another massive front passed through, less devastating: 23 tornadoes in 2014, as compared to 62 in 2011. Since then, we've been relatively lucky. But still, in reflecting with Mayor Walt Maddox, after watching, thankfully from afar, strikingly beautiful electrical storms on that anniversary, it's never wrong to keep basic rules at hand:

• Find local news (Including us; our 2012 Pulitzer was not just for the on-the-ground reporting which went into print, but for how we sent text info through social media, which was sometimes all people had access to, through handheld devices), or NOAA Weather Radio, for updates on emergencies. Watch skies: Darkening during day, winds whipping, lightning flashing.

• Postpone outdoors stuff, as a precaution. Pickleball can wait. You've heard of "lightning from a clear blue sky"? It's more likely from a murky dome, but people have been struck by lightning while not even in a rain. If you can hear thunder? You're close enough to be struck by lightning. Here's one for the grade-schooler in us all: "If thunder roars, go indoors." The National Weather Service recommends staying inside for at least 30 minutes after you last hear a clap of thunder.

• When under severe warnings, take shelter in a solid building. Mobile homes typically don't fit that definition. Stay away from electrical equipment and telephones; battery-powered devices are most likely OK. If your windows have shutters, close them, then get away from the windows. Shut all outside doors securely.

• If you're driving, safely park somewhere off the road. Stay in the vehicle, with windows up. Turn on the emergency flashers. Avoid touching metal or any other surfaces that could conduct electricity.

• If you're outside and can't get to a building, avoid water, high ground, tall isolated trees and metal objects. Open shelters such as picnic areas, dugouts or sheds are not safe.

• And yes, it's true, indoors you shouldn't take a bath or shower, or even use plumbing.

It was spring's second-cousin, autumn, while attending a festival of some sort, a joyous celebration, when we heard tragic news: Glenn House had passed, at 83, at DCH Regional Medical Center. This giant of a living, loving being, was done in, as more than one person said, by a damn mosquito. West Nile virus. Like a mile-wide six-minute monster, it was simultaneously stark, undeniable, and unreal.

More: Tuscaloosa area artist Glenn House dies at 83

I'm happy to claim Glenn as a friend, going so far back I honestly can't remember when I didn't know him. We probably met through his fellow artists, or possibly Georgine Clarke, founder of Kentuck. Or at a Kentuck Festival, where he loaded out on the ugly-face Aunt Ida sculptures, as those were most portable and popular; or at a House collective, or Crossroad Arts Alliance — one of many names for the web of eccentric creatives spun from that family tree — exhibit. I'm almost certain I already knew Glenn when I first visited that hallowed spot where he and his sibs grew, the hoarders' paradise his mom collected over acres, and seven buildings, as "Ma 'Cille's Museum of Miscellanea." Glenn suggested that musical name, and Lucile was so amused, she didn't bother to tell her son that Lucile, thus Ma 'Cile, should only have one L. Family legend.

I wasn't yet born when Glenn sketched out and colored in what would become his most-seen work: The glorious, beaming Moon Winx sign. I recall seeing those graceful neon swoops, as a child visiting family in Tuscaloosa, long before I actually met the maker, but even that's blurry. Glenn was one of those presences who seems to have always been there, and still is. Can't you see your long-lost, through your personal View Master?

I can see his hip-forward shuffle-dance to "Cathy's Clown" — His pick, after marriage to fellow adroit artist Kathy Fetters — which my bands, the Simpletones, the Damn Dirty Apes, the Corvairs, the Crying Jags, the Infinite Monkey Typing Pool, or MHC and the Biscuit Cannons, played whenever the House fam was within hearing range.

I can definitely hear that joyous cackle, deployed as often as the smile, which — can't believe I never pictured this before — cracked open as wide, glowing and sly as that winking crescent in the Alberta sky.

Of course, those of us up on current events know the Moon Winx sign has absconded, leaving a gap in the Alberta landscape, a yanked tooth, taken from us as abruptly, as inelegantly as death. Here's hoping it's being treated well, and can soon shine again, in public view.

More: Whether and however to weather the loss of our Moon Winx | MARK HUGHES COBB

Glenn did much more than that sign, of course, over a multi-decade career, helping develop and direct the Book Arts program at the University of Alabama, through the library school; helping guide and inspire actual and adopted family including painter-photographer Kathleen Fetters, photographer-sculptor Barbara Lee Black, printer Amos Kennedy and numerous others folded into those Gordo collectives; and uncovering formulae for mule-poop paper. Glenn seemed to create as easily as most folks breathe. When his fingers weren't thrust deep into clay, or paint, or poopaper (I don't think that's trademarked, so up for grabs, Gordonians), they danced through the air, sculpting a story that may have been partly true, though more likely capital T True than literally so.

You could say he worked outside the box, joyously broke rules and boundaries, but I don't think Glenn even knew there was a box.

I know I'm not the only one thinking of Glenn often, keeping him alive, but believe it or not, down in my birthplace, Dothan, not everyone has heard the legends. Not all have Glenn memories to revive. So we're bringing the House home to Zoom, hosted by the Wiregrass Museum of Art, and friend Holly Roberts Myers, another onetime Kentuck-er, artist and art-lover. Holly's opened her own place down in the Peanut Capital, the Bells Gallery, at 1861-1 W. Main St. Check it out at www.thebellsgallery.com.

I'm flattered, honored, and a wee bit intimidated to be leading the talk, titled "The Life and Times of Glenn House," from 6-7 p.m. May 11. It's free, so register through Zoom, at www.tinyurl.com/39yz3wyh. You can see more at the Facebook event post.

The event is supported by a grant from the Alabama Humanities Alliance, the state's affiliate of the National Endowment for the Humanities. Tall cotton. Hope I'm not the boll weevil.

Here he comes.

Reach Tusk Editor Mark Hughes Cobb at mark.cobb@tuscaloosanews.com.

This article originally appeared on The Tuscaloosa News: Glenn House tornado art Moon Winx, Zoom talk online | MARK HUGHES COBB