All Depression and No Sleep Makes Todd Something Something

"Go crazy?"
"Don't MIND if I do!!"

Skipping ahead from the Simpsons reference, one of the reasons I have not posted in the last several days is that I've not been getting more than 3 to 4 hours sleep at night. Part of it is depression. When Samantha and I were together, one of the things we did was put up with each other - I think that's a certain percentage of every relationship. You put up with each other's quirks and foibles. I put up with her explosive temper, and she put up with my "artistic temperament", by which of course I mean bipolar swings. Oh yes. That particular condition is pretty common in the general public, and my family is a little cutaway view.

In the months after our marriage counseling in 2000, I decided to see a shrink - just to get a few things ironed out and refine my toolkit for being a productive partner. What came out of those few sessions were: 1) clarity of the behavior patterns on both sides of my family; 2) a diagnosis of "mild bipolar disorder".

Fortunately, the shrink recommended I not seek a pharmaceutical remedy. By his reasoning, I had a mild form of the condition, meaning my highs and lows were slightly higher and lower than the average joe. He also said that because I'd demonstrated throughout my life the ability to "ride the lows" and "capitalize on the productive energy of the highs", medication in my case would only dull the extremes and serve to neuter my artistic insight. I believe great art is born of extremes - some of the greatest minds in history weren't quite right.

But this also means that after I lost my wife and father so close together, my depressive swings throughout the grief process tend to be lower than normal (but since there's truly no "normal" in grief, that and four bucks will buy you a latte).

So for the past week, I've simply been treading water - dealing with the immediate needs of the kids, the contractors, and my family and friends. The rest of the time I'm pretty dead inside. Some people sleep a lot when they're depressed. I wish that were my case. But it's not. I sulk, stew and get really quiet. In the past, "down" times like this have inspired some of my best creative concepts. But this time, the "down" is mostly focused on feeling isolated.

If we were in our own house, it would be better.

If dad were here, it would be better.

If Sam were alive and healthy, it would be better.

Or so the depression says. I take it with a grain of salt. Nothing that goes on in my brain during these cycles do I take 100% seriously. It's all part of the process, and eventually things will be more in-balance.

So last night, for the first time in over a week, I got 7 hours of sleep. And I had what was probably the second most disturbing dream about Sam (the first being detailed in the So Long and Goodnight entry). Keep in mind we've lived in the same house in the same neighborhood since early 1995, and have seen a lot of development occur to the local area in the past 11 years. So I was not surprised to find myself standing in a composite setting of the Westwood parking lot between the BofA and the Staples, mixed with a bunch of downtown Renton of all places (we did live in Renton for our first year and a half in Washington, before moving to West Seattle in 1992).

So I'm there, looking around at the different construction, marveling at how different everything looks from my vantage point. And suddenly Sam is approaching me, healthy, 30-ish, worried look on her face, arms outstretched in a hug. I put up my hands and turn away. I can't face her again. She's dead, damnit, and this isn't fair. She's giving me that concerned cooing she usually did to calm me down when I was upset - the shushing, the "it's okay honey", all of it. And I'm trying to be strong and turn away through a veil of tears. "Please don't," I protest. "You're dead. I can't do this again. It hurts too much."

And she comes right up to me and wraps me in a soft embrace, and I feel my defenses crumble. I melt into her arms. "I'm so sorry," she whispers in my ear. "I'm so sorry, baby." She cradles my face in her hands and touches her forehead to mine. "I love you. I'm so sorry." She keeps repeating it over and over.

She mentions someone else being responsible, but responsible for what, I'm not sure. It seemed to have to do with the cancer, an earlier diagnosis and/or different treatments. Coulda-woulda-shoulda stuff. It's a dream - it rarely makes rational sense. And by that point, I feel too overwhelmed to make any rational sense of anything. The end.

These things always make me feel like I've taken a huge step backward in letting go. But I guess now is a good time for any of that to go on, since I'm not dating or in a relationship. It could be disastrous later.

I'm not sure this makes any sense, and it really doesn't matter - this blog is primarily my catharsis, and secondarily a touchstone for others. Speaking of which, I would like to thank those people who have emailed me, widda and non-widda alike. It feels good to know you appreciate what I write here, and some of you can identify with the path I walk.

A non-blogging widda friend (who shall remain anonymous) recently wrote me to express her current state, and I could really identify with this piece:

"I go through each day with a mask on. I throw fake smiles at everyone, I drone into the mindless chatter with co-workers and people have actually said that they admire my strength and I feel like screaming at the top of lungs because I don't have it together, I am broken and I fear this will be my fate until the grave finally accepts this carcass known as my flesh, because the spirit seems to have already abandoned me..."

This really sums up loss and the grief process. There's a lot of fear involved. A lot of unknowns. And sometimes the best we can do is to be there for (and lean on) one another. Just keep moving - in any direction. Because movement - in any direction - is still movement. Grief is a cyclical beast. There are no whys and hows. It just is, and you take the experience and hope you become a stronger human being for having it.

Be well.

Summer Craziness (and Some are Not)

The pun above is courtesy of my late father, a big fan of language and dumb humor. And of course, I got stuck with the same warped sense of humor, albeit with a bit more cultivated sense of irony and sarcasm - (big wink to pop on that one).

The week has been filled with the usual packed scheduling of dealing with contractors, planning family events, entertaining two schoolchildren without the school, while trying to check off the items on my own to-do roster.

I started on the poster for this summer's Pandemonium show, Once Upon a Mattress. At first I thought I might do a stacked-up mattress design with the title in the layers of mattress. Then I went online and discovered that EVERYONE DOES A STACKED-UP MATTRESS DESIGN WITH THE TITLE IN THE LAYERS OF MATTRESS. So I decided instead on a more classic Medieval illuminated manuscript idea. Looks good so far. I'll post it here when it's all approved and stuff.

Had a production meeting for Ordinary Angels with Heath Ward & Darlene Sellers last night. The test scene we shot on Wednesday looked good enough that we unanimously green-lit the project and are shooting in September. I'm thrilled and petrified at the same time, but Heath is a real pro and makes the process a lot easier. Caleb and I are scouting locations tomorrow.

Took the kids to see Cars today, and were not disappointed. Pixar is a storymaking machine, and hasn't failed to stay on-message for seven films. It is a great story, beautifully executed, full of remarkable characters and great shtick.

Tyler & I had another butting of heads until 2:30 AM last night, but we ironed it out today and had a great time at lunch and the movies.

Just let me get through all the summer events and get the kids back in school...

Oh, and we may be able to move back into our home by mid-September. There was much rejoicing... or, there will be, when we actually do the moving.

Too Bloody Hot

So when you're acclimated to 55-degree T-shirt weather and crisp, cool rain, it's a little unreasonable to expect daytime 90s and nighttime 60s to be comfortable. It's supposed to hit 93 today, with overnight temps staying at a balmy 62. Even with windows open and fans on, it's 4:30AM wake-up time, laying in a puddle of your own sweat. Nice.

To catch you up on the weekend, Kayleigh was awesome in both of her dance recital shows. We got a short visit from Sam's folks, and got to see her brother and SIL at the Saturday evening show. The Sunday afternoon show had my stepmom, brother and SIL in attendance (actually stepmom saw both shows). Kayleigh is excited about joining prep next month.

Tyler seems to have stabilized enough that our doctor reduced his meds dosage for the summer to see how he does (and hopefully catch up on some growing and weight gain).

Work continues on the house. We now have a door from the downstairs hall into the carport, where previously none existed. I'd always wanted a door there (or anywhere downstairs, really), but I was always vetoed by the boss lady. There was always something more pressing on our finances. But now, it's an egress issue as well as a convenience issue, and we now have a little concrete stairway leading down in the corner of the carport slab to a 6-panel steel exterior door. The contractors also purchased the replacement for the upper story back door, and I expect that will be installed this week.

We aced the framing inspection, which bought us a lot of momentum, since the subs are all lined up to do the work. This week the painter will start on the exterior (taking advantage of our lovely sunny week) while the plumber and electrician get started on the inside. I chose the cabinetry last Friday, and am shopping for appliances. I also decided to run coaxial, network cable and audio wiring everywhere while the walls are open and the electrician is rewiring the house. You never know when something like that will come in handy, and this way the kids can have their school computers networked in their bedroom study areas. It will be a very different house when this is done.

Speaking of different, I showed Ron the place on Sunday after our usual coffee chat, and he made a suggestion for the family room that I absolutely love. Since insurance had to cover my brand new video projector that perished in the fire as well as the brand new widescreen HDTV, and since I'm running all these internal wires and cables, I've decided not to replace the big TV at all. I'll replace the video projector, mount it from the ceiling over the arch between the dining and family rooms, and build in a drop-down projection screen on the north wall. All our media can be pumped through the projector - from cable signal to DVD to the video workstation computer in my office. The room will already be wired for surround sound. And when the screen is not displaying a giant video image, it will hide in the ceiling and reveal framed art on the wall. That way we keep the room "big" by not having a giant tube or even plasma set intrude into the room on some gargantuan wall unit.

I'm also putting a small wood stove in the northwest corner of the room, to cozy it up a bit for winter. The new heating system is 100% electric, and while we haven't lost power in years, it's still nice to have a backup heat source.

Ran across a song I recorded for Sam's 32nd birthday, entitled "More Than Yesterday". This was part of a compilation CD of love songs I put together for her in 1999. A year before our near-split. Three years before her diagnosis. The lyrics are extremely personal and pretty sappy, but it's an interesting snapshot in time.

Was it just yesterday
You took a skinny surfer boy
And caught him in your spell
You were a green-eyed girl
Who grew into the woman
That I know and love so well

But that was years ago
Now we're staring down that
Twisting, turning road of life
I see inside of you
The spark that makes you more
Than Woman, Lover, Mom or Wife

Now here we are again
At the crossroads again
With a will that will not bend

Chaotic history
At times it made want to
Run away and cast it all aside
A case of destiny
You've made it up to me a thousand
Times throughout our lives

Now here we are again
At the crossroads again
With a love that will not end

And when the sky is overcome with gray
And when the dawn breaks to another day
I cross my heart and promise, come what may
I'll love you more than yesterday

Now that time has passed
And home and children keep us
Marching to another tune
Every day it seems
I find another reason to fall
Back in love with you

And when we're old and overcome with gray
And when the dawn breaks to another day
I cross my heart and promise, come what may
I'll love you more than yesterday

- Todd Downing, 1999

Last Day

The kids have their last day of school today, and everyone exclaims, "wow - I didn't think anyone was still in school... my kids have been out since March and we've already been to the Bahamas for two weeks!" We didn't even have any snow days this year, so whaddupwidat?

Tyler and Kayleigh decided to walk down to QFC yesterday and use their own money to buy snacks. I agreed, using the following points of logic:

1. They are 8 & 12, and know how to cross streets properly
2. QFC is a block away and the only street they need to cross has a giant crosswalk & lights
3. I was walking 2 miles with my buddy Josh from our street to Deer Park in Aptos when we were 10 (a very different time, but still...)
4. Sam & I have raised the kids on the concept that "snacks" means apple slices or granola bars, not donuts and Pringles

So they trotted off to QFC... and returned with donuts and Pringles, and soda and candy. It was like a processed sugar orgy of Roman proportions. But rather than step in to regulate, I let them have their binge, knowing full well what would happen.

Skip ahead, to 2:15 AM, and I'm sitting on the kids' bedroom floor in my underwear, scrubbing Tyler's vomit out of the carpet while he goes back to sleep, and Kayleigh groans, "I will never eat junk food again."

It was a lesson learned the hard way, for both of them. And even as I sat scrubbing purple puke from cream-colored carpet in the wee hours, I got some perverse satisfaction that they were learning an important concept about health and moderation without me drilling it into their brains. It was the ultimate feeling of parental I Told You So without resorting to saying it aloud.

Of course, Tyler was absolutely impossible to drag out the door this morning, and ended up getting his games taken away for the second day in a row (and on the last day of school - bummer). Honestly, I don't know how someone can end up being so choosy about friggin' track pants.

Sigh. Apple slices and granola bars, anyone?

Everything After

Slipped away to the open
Watched the shadows deface the ground
'Til the day we all
Believe that we might lose control

Will the moment we fear
Turn to everything clear

After you’re gone
Away from the life
Of the planet you’re on
And everything after

Faded awake
Somebody spoke
When I left here today
And everything after

It pulls us back into orbit
When disorder surrounds this place
And it brings us down
We can’t keep our feet on the ground

Until the moment we fear
Turns to everything clear

We are down here
We are space

- Revis, "Everything After"

* * *

I'm tired.

Two graduations, two celebratory dinners, a celebratory brunch and a Mariners baseball game for Father's Day. Then, for some reason, my bedside clock got pushed ahead an hour, so when I awoke at 7:08AM this morning, I thought it was 8:08AM. My poor kids - I was hoisting them out of bed and packing them in the car, and it wasn't until I was as far as the Junction that I noticed the car clock was an hour earlier than I'd thought. So I took them to breakfast at the little indie cafe (and by "indie" I mean "not Starbucks or Tully's or SBC") at Jefferson Square and we had some joking around time before school.

Came home. Went to the gym. Checked on the old house. The concrete guys were there putting in the new steps to the carport door. Apparently, someone broke in last night or early this morning, because the padlock on the plywood "door" had been popped off with a crowbar. Oddly enough, I'm not worried. There was nothing to steal (except a pro nailgun and $100 worth of hardware, which wasn't touched), and nothing was vandalized. I have a feeling it was high schoolers with too much time on their hands looking for a "safe" place to get loaded with whatever they're loading up on. Listen to the crusty old fart... "Damn kids, with their... rap music... and their... Zimas!" Honestly, we're not even in a bad neighborhood - 9 times out of 10 it's a teen or twentysomething looking for wine or something harder, or cash to take to acquire said alcohol. And that, unfortunately, happens in just about any city. Also, I know that 99% of security is occupancy. And we are not occupying the house yet. Once we are back in with Wiley and motion lights and an ADT system, we'll be golden. In the meantime, I've parked my car back in the carport for the night, hoping that it'll dissuade potential interlopers from popping the NEW lock (or disturbing the concrete).

Had a wonderful lunch with my uncle and his wife at Salty's on Alki. The day was beautiful.

Came home and crashed out on my bed. The kids got home and unfortunately Wiley pushed his way out past the front screen door and ran out to a guy jogging with his black lab. Now Wiley is definitely not an attack dog by any stretch of the imagination, but if I were jogging with my dog, I wouldn't want to be greeted by a German Shepherd nipping at my feet. So he was understandably testy. Even more unfortunately, the guy chose to take it out verbally on Kayleigh, who was barely able to wrestle Wiley indoors. So as always, I went to play mediator. I let him spout off for a minute, then talked him down. Then I went in and did damage control with Kayleigh, who was understandably shaken and in tears. As of this entry, the Earth still turns and we are all alive.

Once again, a precarious balance is struck, and all plates are spinning. I think I'm going for a new record...

Father / Dad

I will reiterate what I said regarding Mothers and Moms. You need not have contributed your genetic material to a child to have your influence felt in his or her life.

I pinged a widda friend online last night to wish her a happy Father's Day, 1) as a way of honoring her late husband, and 2) to honor her dual role (the opposite of my own dual role). Her daughter was using her Messenger account and felt the need to reproach my greeting, stating that dads were merely sperm donors who paid for a bunch of things they didn't want to pay for. I seem to remember a lot of Cub Scout & Indian Guide meetings and events, soccer games, school plays and family gatherings, where there was this guy who everyone referred to as my dad. If all dads are merely sperm donors and ATMs with legs, I wonder who that guy was.

She went on to say that once a person is dead, they no longer have any impact on our lives. Wow. Call off MLK Day, Veterans Day and Christmas, forget the teachings of Gandhi and the eloquent words of Chief Seattle, forget the lessons of the Holocaust, and by all means forget that there was once a beautiful woman in my life who gave birth to two beautiful children and gave them a strong foundation upon which to build their lives and identities.

I know it's just the teenage angst talking, not to worry. I wasn't offended or insulted - just sad for the place she's in. It's a tragic mindset. This morning I actually called my widda friend and gave her the Father's Day wish personally. And guess what - she appreciated it wholeheartedly.

So Happy Father's Day, fathers. And stepfathers, and mothers doing double-duty. Any jerk can be a sperm donor or ATM, but if you have made a positive and lasting impact in a child's life, this stupid Hallmark holiday is society's way of giving you a pat on the back (ah, the sarcastic bait-and-switch!). But it's not about the day, is it? It's about making that lasting impact, and seeing the result - a child becomes a responsible adult and passes on your legacy of positive influence. With any luck, teen angst gives way to adult perspective.

Your guidance and influence ARE felt for a long time. Even after you are gone. Here's to you, Pop. And Sam, thanks for giving me the gift of equal joy and pain that is fatherhood.

ConGraduations

I must give a shout out to my two younger siblings, who both graduated college this weekend. My sister Sara got her AA while working full time and being a single mom. My brother Gavin got his BA and teaching cert on a brutal fast track (if you can call two years of family loss and disaster "fast"), sometimes taking as many as 25 units in a single quarter.

Drove up to Bellingham yesterday for Sara's commencement and celebratory dinner, and to Key Arena in Seattle for Gavins (and back to W. Seattle for dinner). My aunt and uncle even came up from California (dad's surviving bro & sis). It was very fulfilling to watch the two kids I nurtutred through the breakup of a household achieve these milestones. And I found the presence of Sam & my father a comfort - I was half expecting to hear my dad's mega-decibel "whoop!" when my siblings' names were called.

Tomorrow is Father's Day, and my mom & stepdad are taking us to the Mariners/Giants game. Although I'm happy to be seeing my old hometown team face off with my adopted hometown team, Father's Day is understandably melancholy for me.

It's Never Easy...

This week has been packed with one form of parental drama or another, just in time for summer break (which is really just a break for the kids, not dad). I don't know how I managed last summer... well, yes I do actually - adrenalin and shock were still my companions, whereas this year I don't have the dubious pleasure of their company. I also had mucho help from family and friends, as last summer was my first little bit without Sam & my dad. And while I still have help from family and friends, it's not to such a high degree anymore. After all, other people have moved on with their lives. It's natural for them to do so. But I'm not to that point yet (also a natural place for me to be).

Our tale begins on Monday with Miz K. asking when she could get a training bra. I was doing laundry and tried not to look like a deer in the headlights as I managed a reply, which basically amounted to "we can get you a training bra when you need one, but don't try to rush things." Apparently one of the girls in her class has one, and she's naturally comparing notes. So I thought we'd put that one away for a year or so - how wrong that assumption turned out.

The next day, Tuesday, just before the end of the school day, I got a tearful phone call from Tyler at the Nurse's office at school. Apparently, 6th grade girls run in little gangs now, aggressive and organized, and one was bullying the other kids on a class hike back from Alki that afternoon. A friend of Tyler's decided to blow the whistle on the abuser, whom the teacher hauled out of the classroom to talk to. While the teacher was gone, the girl's posse started berating Tyler's friend about busting their friend. Tyler went to his friend's aid with moral support, demanding "why shouldn't he have [told on their friend]?" Some heated words were exchanged, and Tyler was struck in the side of the head hard enough to see stars. He lashed out blindly to defend himself, and the second girl decked him in the eye hard enough to knock him down. His head struck a table on the way to the floor.

Where to begin, where to begin...

Tyler has been a target for bullies in the past. He's a cerebral (and advanced) kid, and kids who are above-average in IQ or gifted in other ways are often perceived as strange by their fellow students. It happened to me as a kid, and it happened to Sam. Last year, a kid in Tyler's class told him his mom wasn't really dead - she was hiding from the family (the same kid started a fire in the portables this year). When it took two days for any official notification from school staff about the incident, I raised a stink and demanded immediate inclusion in any altercation in which Tyler was involved. After all, I cannot effectively parent if I'm not getting all the information. From then on, I always got at least two phone calls from principal and staff when Tyler was bullied or having a problem at school. A much improved situation.

So after the call from Tyler, I got a call from the principal and the teacher. The girls were hauled into the principal's office and wrote their own version of events, which of course labeled Tyler as the aggressor. Now granted, Tyler is dealing with a lot of anger and emotional issues at this time in his life, but it still takes a lot to set him off. He got to be a 7th kyu in Aikido by the time he was 10, and knows that force is only acceptable in self defense. While it's true that he can often bait and inflame a situation verbally, I do believe he did not hit first.

Meanwhile, back at the dance studio: Imagine my surprise when Kayleigh's instructor tells me she needs to get a sports bra to wear under her costume for the recital. Sigh.

The next day (yesterday), I kept Tyler home from school and got him in to see the doctor. No permanent damage to the skull, nose, ears or ocular bone. Just a nice shiner that has made Tyler a school celebrity, much to his chagrin. But things have changed a lot since I was a kid - [in crochety old man voice] in my day girls were a lot less aggressive in general, and didn't usually try to deck a guy. If they did, the guy would have to live with having been decked by a girl, yet wasn't expected to defend himself. I always hated that double standard. If a girl initiates a fight with a guy, the guy should not be expected to hold back. Conversely, the source of Tyler's celebrity seems to be the fact that he stood up for his friend doing the Right Thing. When we arrived at school to pick up Kayleigh, three of his former teachers commended him for doing the Right Thing, and hopefully not be dissuaded from doing the Right Thing in the future. I'd been telling him the same thing since the incident, so it was good to hear the teachers back him up.

In terms of discipline, I have not yet heard what will happen to the girls who assaulted him. School is out next Tuesday, so a suspension doesn't serve as much of a penalty. At the same time, however, just because it's the end of the year doesn't mean the penalty should be softened. This kind of situation is especially difficult for a parent. We want to advocate for our kids, but not to the point where we become obstructive to the process (and/or perceived as raving loons). I will talk to the school today and find out where things stand.

Tyler and I are agreed the situation is the last deciding factor in moving him to Madison next school year. A change is needed. In the meantime, ice and Advil are the order of the day, and hopefully Tyler will have a nice distraction in the form of a class field trip to Wild Waves.

Watching You Without Me

You can't hear me
You can't hear me
You can't hear what I'm saying
You can't hear what I'm saying to you.

You watch the clock
Move the slow hand
I should have been home
Hours ago - but I'm not here,
But I'm not here.

You can't hear me
You can't hear me
You can't feel me
Here in the room with you now,
You can't hear what I am saying,
You don't hear what I am saying, do you?

Can't let you know
What's been happening
There's a ghost in our home
Just watching you without me
I'm not here,
But I'm not here,
But I'm not here.

You can't hear me,
You can't hear what I'm saying
You didn't hear me come in,
You won't hear me leaving.

- Kate Bush

Some Enchanted Evening

So my mom calls me up last night: "Hey, Channel 9 is showing South Pacific in Concert..." Basically, it's a reading of the play with a full orchestra and all the musical numbers performed (but little to no choreography, costumes or props, and the actors had scripts). Alec Baldwin as Luther Billis, Reba McIntyre as Nellie Forbush.

Great, I thought. South Pacific is one of my all time favorite musicals. I'll just give this a look.

The grief attack came out of nowhere, just ramming me through the heart like the alien queen through Lance Henricksen. I could not separate the music from the memory of performing South Pacific at LACT with Samantha back in 1987. It was acute, physically painful - I really needed Sam to hold me, and be held by me. I turned off the show and sobbed for a solid hour. After a year, the sensations of loneliness, of that stark separation from the one person in the world who knew you best, who you could trust most, and who loved you unconditionally, are perhaps even more tangible - more aggravating and inflammatory. Because now there is no veil of shock and adrenalin. Now there is less help being orchestrated by family and friends. Now the reality of your circumstance is all around you - empty and terrifying and just waiting for any opportunity to get through. Like hearing a familiar song, from a show you once did... with her.

One dream in my heart
One love to be living for
One love to be living for
This nearly was mine

One girl for my dream
One partner in paradise
This promise of paradise
This nearly was mine

Close to my heart she came
Only to fly away
Only to fly as day flies from moonlight

Now, now I'm alone
Still dreaming of paradise
Still saying that paradise
Once nearly was mine

Ugh. Thanks a lot, Rodgers & Hammerstein.

I almost called two people. They know who they are and they also know why I didn't call them, and they both read me the riot act for not calling them. Sometimes you just feel so squashed inside that it's physically impossible to pick up the phone. Sometimes you just can't articulate the level of desolation you feel. Sometimes there are no words...

I went to group tonight and ended up getting a crystallized bit of wisdom from another widower in the bunch. I will not go into any sort of detail about him or his story, as that would be a breach of the group's confidentiality, but the essence of his comment really gave me another Scottish wound searing.

It serves no purpose to pine for my dead wife. It is ultimately wasted energy, because that life is over - the life we shared together. She's. Not. Coming. Back. And I cannot return to that old life. No matter how fondly I remember the good old days (and being together since high school, there were plenty of good old days), I have to focus my energy on creating good new days and learning how to enjoy life again. Twenty years of intense closeness with someone is hard to overcome, and I'm not trying to be hard on myself by denying the pain I feel. I definitely feel the pain - I let it happen, because it's far better to feel it, address it, and let it go than to lock it up for some future manifestation in the form of a heart attack or mental breakdown. But I'm now very aware of the origin of the pain: is it mourning the immediate absence of my wife, or is it mourning for the old life, feeling melancholy over memories of years past?

I think a lot of these feelings are close to the surface because I've been cleaning up my old film, which features Sam in several shots. Because she was the PA and script supervisor, she was almost always on set, and could be placed in the background whenever we needed a body. The film also shows our old home in Palo Alto as it was before any of the remodeling, as it looked when I was in high school. And Sam is not the only ghost to be seen... my father has a brief cameo, forever immortalized at age 41. And my favorite director and drama teacher, Natasha Jorgenson, who passed away in the mid '90s - another cancer conquest. On top of it all, the story itself revolves around the restless ghost of a woman who died young and is lonely without her husband. It is about love knowing no bounds - even time and space, even physical death. What also makes the film a pivotal part of my development as an artist is that my dad paid for the post production - a staggering $2,200.00 in 1986 money, for a student film that really had no viable market. It wasn't a loan. It was an investment in my future as an artist. That was a statement that said, "I believe in you, son. You can do it."

Maybe I miss these people because of how much they loved and supported me, and maybe I miss feeling loved and supported in that way. I know it will get better eventually, but right now...

...right now it sucks.

People Watching

The morning certainly belongs to the elderly in my community. West Seattle is a pretty diverse neighborhood - a semi-cosmopolitan, semi-rural salad of caucasian, black and Asian/Pacific Islanders in a sleepy suburb of the Seattle sprawl. We are hemmed in by the port, the Georgetown industrial district, and unincorporated King County, yet we have (in my opinion) the best view of the city and surrounding islands from Alki Beach.

So getting back to my point, part of our cultural diversity in West Seattle is that we have a large population of retired/elderly folks, and when the kids are in school, they come out en masse to enjoy what the local area has to offer. As I was driving back from dropping the kids at school on Wednesday, I happened to spot an elderly couple moseying (which is what I feel to be an appropriate term for the style of walking one does past a certain age) down California Ave. with canvas shopping bags a-swinging. They were a lovely old couple and here's what I thought was the coolest: they wore matching T-shirts. I couldn't see what the design was from the car, but I thought, how cool it would be to get to the point in life where it would be CUTE to wear matching T-shirts with my spouse, and not be thinking shoot me in the head if I ever think wearing matching T-shirts with my spouse is cute... Now, Sam & I ran a publishing company, and we made frequent appearances at local and regional conventions. So part of our married life was spent wearing matching T-shirts, which I figure is just a corporate uniform thing. But who knows? Perhaps this old couple run a game company too.

So then I get behind another couple in a late-'90s Mercury Sable (which is mandated by city ordinance to be driven by those over 60 - and I say that having recently owned an early-90s Mercury Sable). Local lore is full of comedic bits about how the speed limit in Ballard is 15 MPH and you must drive with your left blinker on, dragging a seatbelt out one of the doors, and in some of the more suburban neighborhoods of Seattle, odds are you will find yourself behind the old lady in the climactic sequence of Ferris Bueller's Day Off at least once a week. But while on the freeway I've been known to give driving lessons via psychic impulse and verbal monologue, when I'm in a neighborhood I tend to relax and not let other drivers get to me. The guy driving this Sable was, contrary to the steroetype, absolutely competent, save for the riding of the brakes and the speed of 20 in a 30 zone. But what was cool about him was his face, which I saw as they made a left turn. He must have been 3'6", with a Rex Harrison hat and a white beard that made him look like Popeye's pappy (complete with squint). The trenchcoat he wore completed the picture of McGruff the Crime Dog and Gus Chiggins the Grizzled Prospector, if they'd ever dated. And I wouldn't put it past ol' Gus Chiggins. Awwww, peaches.

In short, I'm starting to step back and observe people - really notice their "characters" and catch a glimpse into other lives, even if most of it is manufactured in my own mind from the observation. I'm also becoming aware of what it takes to get to the point where you truly have CHARACTER. I think I will have fun being the crochety old guy waving his cane at the whippersnappers on his lawn and criticizing their "rap music and their Zimas" (actual quote from an irite old man in the University district).

* * *

I got the transfer back from Victory Studios - the one from the sole remaining 1" master tape of my first film, Project. This is the 20th anniversary of it's "release", and I wanted to finally put that sucker on DVD. It's a good excuse to learn more about Vegas and DVD Architect. It's amazing to think we shot it as juniors in high school, and I edited it after graduation in 1986. I'm not going all Lucas and adding the nifty effects we wanted but didn't have with analog equipment in the mid-'80s, but I am cleaning up the audio a bit and fixing some bad edits. Maybe I'll record a commentary and poke fun at all the actors (many of whom are media professionals today).

One Year for Dad

One year ago today, I called my father at the UW Medical Center to inform him we'd just adopted Wiley. I thought that such news might help cheer him up a bit after three brain surgeries. He wasn't able to verbalize much, but communicated his feelings of approval with his sobbing, which, as his wife confirmed, was due to joy, not sorrow. He knew how much we'd wanted a dog when Sam was alive, but we'd decided against bringing a canine into the house when she was sick; it wouldn't have been a good situation. Dad knew with a dog around, we'd be well looked after.

My dad and stepmom played cards that day. Kit finally left to go back to the boat and get some sleep. After she left, I got a call from the hospital - my father had suffered a pulmonary embolism and was going fast. I knew where this was headed. I started calling everyone in my family. Finally, I got the frantic call back from Kit at the boat. My father was dead.

He'd been diagnosed about three months after Samantha, with a rare form of leiomyosarcoma (LMS). It had started in a nerve bundle in his calf, and appeared to be gone upon surgical removal. But months later, it showed up in his lungs. Again, they cut into him, cracking his chest and removing a portion of both lungs. Again, it seemed to be holding back, then it metastasized to his skin. Then, just after Sam's death, he began getting bad headaches. A scan revealed the cancer was in his brain... in two places. Two surgeries appeared to get the tumors, but the second surgery gave him a bacterial infection and blood clot, and he had to have a third emergency surgery to remove the clot and treat the infection. He'd been in the ICU for several days, and had just been moved into the standard oncology ward when he died.

My dad was my hero when I was a kid. He had ample opportunity to repeat the patterns of abuse directed at him throughout his childhood, yet he did not. He survived the loss of a child and later, a marriage, and came out a better human being. He was a kind and gentle man, a traveller, author, philosopher, entrepreneur. He was a talented computer programmer and a passionate yachtsman. He was a loving father and husband and a devoted grandfather. He embodied the Roman motto carpe diem, "seize the day", in his early retirement to a liveaboard cruising life in Florida, his sail cruises with Kit up the Eastern Seaboard, across the Caribbean and South America. Thank God he seized the day and did that - your normal healthy 62 year-old would usually still be working that day job. He inspires me even now to excellence in my own vocation, and in my fathering skills. When Samantha was sick, he was the lynchpin of my support system, despite his own condition.

He made the world better by being in it. His wife will miss him, his siblings will miss him. The grandchildren will miss Grampa Bear. And, Pop - I will always miss you too. Fair winds and following seas, Captain. We will meet again where the setting sun meets the vast and open sea. And there will be drinking of Chivas and telling of dirty jokes.

Until then...

Gee, THAT'S a Surprise...

You scored as Cyclops. Cyclops is the team leader of the X-Men, and a skilled one at that. He loves Jean Grey very much. He's a strict and sometimes uptight leader, but he believes in his cause and he knows what he's fighting for... Peace between Mutants and Humans. Powers: Optic blasts Cyclops 95% Iceman 65% Colossus 60% Storm 55% Jean Grey 55% Wolverine 45% Rogue 40% Nightcrawler 40% Beast 35% Emma Frost 25% Gambit 20% Most Comprehensive X-Men Personality Quiz 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

...which brings me to X-Men: The Last Stand. First off, I will say that it was not of the "unwatchably bad" variety, but that was mostly due to the cast being packed with really good actors. Really good acting, however, can't save a weak script, lame direction ("Bryan Singer's not available? Then let's get the guy who did the Rush Hour movies!"), or unnecessary character murder. The alterations to canon characters and continuity will leave most X-fans less than enthusiastic (and that can look like anything from rabid frothing-at-the-mouth to head-scratching and mutting, "But... but... WHY??").

I understand that changes must sometimes be made in translating comic book characters to the big screen, but it HAS been done successfully in the past, without sacrificing the core ethos of the title in question. Singer's first two X-films were, with a few notable exceptions, fairly loyal to the characters, if not the continuity as a whole. They had heart, and were well executed and entertaining. Fox claims this is the final X-film they will tackle. I say, if this is the way they are going to treat Marvel's most popular comic title, thank God.

So here's my list of good & bad - it's VERY geeky, and your mileage may vary. !!SPOILER ALERT!!

GOOD

• Kelsey Grammer as The Beast. Perfect visual representation and a great performance.
• Visual representation of Angel was, I felt, spot-on.
• The Danger Room, Sentinels and the Colossus/Wolverine "fastball" were all represented.
• Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen are always awesome, especially playing off one another.
• Magneto's "detour" of the Golden Gate Bridge is a great sequence.
• Liked the representation of Juggernaut, despite a continuity issue (see BAD).
• Kitty Pryde, one of my faves from the Claremont/Smith days, has a lot more to do in this film, and is well represented visually.
• Jean Grey's transformation toward what in the comic would be her Dark Phoenix form I felt was pretty impressive and well done.

BAD

• The X-Men represent a multi-ethnic, multicultural melding of ethics and ideas. Why was Colossus made American?
• Why remove the Kitty's love interest in Colossus and give it to Iceman?
• Where was Nightcrawler?
• Rogue does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, and punks out by taking the cure. WTF??
• Magneto walks away from Mystique after she takes the shot meant for him, and loses her powers. The Magneto we know would not have abandoned such a loyal comrade - he would have tried to find a way to re-cure her and get her mutant abilities back.
• Juggernaut is NOT A MUTANT.
• Since when does Callisto have super-speed/time-phasing ability?
• Did Hugh Jackman actually grow another couple inches in height, or did he lose weight? Wolverine is in the mid 5-foot range and built like a tank. Although Jackman had sort of grown on me in his Wolvie portrayal in the first 2 films, this was the least convincing Wolvie yet. Tall, slender and hardly any chops. They need to look much more like The Beast's whiskers. Sorry Hugh - most of it was the script and makeup, not you.
• I'm not against the occasional loss of a major character in an epic continuity. It increases tension and keeps interest, and usually serves as a catalyst toward some major plot twist or action. But to kill a main character OFFSCREEN?? I was going to invoke the script yet again, but IMDB doesn't even have a listed credit for whoever wrote the damn thing. Ugh. Come to think of it, a lot of folks just get punked in the film - mostly by neutering of character.

Anyway, don't spend the money for a nighttime show. Stick with a matinee or wait for DVD.

Mood Swings and Birthday Cake

The past week has been chock full o' family dynamic goodness. Well, some of it not so good. Tyler's birthday culminated with him throwing a major tantrum, barricading himself in the kids' shared bedroom. He'll be paying for the door out of his allowance. We had a good counseling session with Tyler's therapist, and Tyler seem to be rebounding well. I think the arrival of summer break - and all the attendant activities - will be a much needed break for him (although not for me), and the switch to a new school will be a positive step.

There was a fire at school, allegedly caused by the same kid who had been picking on Tyler earlier in the school year, saying that he didn't believe Samantha was really dead - that she was just hiding from the family. Needless to say, this kid (whose parents are not in the picture at all - he's being raised by his grandmother) has a lot of personal issues. According to the report from Tyler, the kid was expelled.

The kids' school is one of a dozen on the chopping block this time, at least three of the dozen are in West Seattle, which seems a bit disproportionate, but I don't have any of the enrollment data at hand. According to the current plan, the school facility would be closed, but the program would be relocated. As long as Kayleigh can stay in that curriculum, I'll be happy.

We headed up to Bellingham last Sunday for our usual May birthdays celebration. Because five of us have May birthdays and more than half of them are up north, it makes sense to just gather all at once, rather than making a bunch of trips (or none at all). I was tired from the start. Although Tyler likes to ride shotgun, he usually just plays his Gameboy - not much for conversation. So of course I start wishing Sam was there to keep me company for the trip. Once there, I was OK until we ate. Then I had to go outside and have a grief attack. Kept feeling like there were two other people who should've been there. Got home and slept for 2 hours.

I can feel the mood pendulum swinging over to the depressed side, and for once I'm not trying to stop it. We're coming up on the one year marker of my dad's death. I still remember very clearly how he had everything all tidied up and in order regarding his estate. I think he knew on a subconscious level what was going on, and he wanted us to be cared for. I remember how, after his first brain surgery, he insisted on attending Tyler's birthday dinner. I think he knew that would likely be the last birthday dinner he would share with his grandson.

I miss my dad... and my wife. The craving is not as bad. Now it's more just feeling pissed off that they're not around.

Happy Birthday, Tyler!

So it didn't start particularly well; I woke him with a gentle "Happy Birthday, Tyler," and a big hug. Then he insisted that because it was his birthday that he shouldn't have to go to school. Wrong. Then he laid in bed until the very last minute, and insisted he should be allowed to wear the filthy sweats he's had on all week. Wrong again. Then he fought me getting dressed, fought me out the door and down the street to the bus stop. He fought me at the bus stop, and I literally had to drag him onto the bus. That's what real ADHD does to a 12 year old kid (and yes, he'd had his meds at wake-up, as usual). As a single parent, I choose my battles. Unfortunately, there are times when Tyler chooses some battles that put us at complete odds. All sense of rational thought goes out the window and this hyperintelligent kid reverts to a three-year-old having a tantrum. It used to scare me, because in these instances you wouldn't recognize him - it's a complete Jeckyll and Hyde. But now I just take a deep breath and guide him through the motions. It sucks that he had to get his videogame priviledges taken away on his birthday, especially since they have early dismissal from school today. Kayleigh smiled and waved from the bus. Tyler made a big production of looking at me and then dramatically turning away from the bus window. Hopefully he'll mellow out today.

Had a meeting at the house with the contractors, now that the preliminary demo work has been done. There was a lot more smoke and fire damage than we'd thought, and some of the framing will have to be torn out. There are some code issues that will have to be addressed as well, as the original house is 80 years old. Hopefully it'll end up a better, more liveable space. I have confidence in these guys.

I'll have some more pics later. Off for my LMP appointment, then we go to dinner at Tyler's choice of restaurant - Red Robin, here we come.

Dad Does Hair

With all this positive reinforcement for moms, let's also give a round of applause for those single dads who do their daughters' hair and get their costumes assembled in time for dance class pictures. In our case, two classes = two complete costume & hair days in one week. Good thing I have had 1) a modicum of theatrical experience and 2) past experience as an owner of long hair. Kayleigh looks like the spawn of an 1880s saloon dancer and a 1920s flapper, which is perfect for the theme of the recital this year, Viva Las Vegas. It's a much better costume than last year.

The kids made me Mother's Day cards, which I told them they didn't have to do. But I still appreciate the sentiment. Kayleigh's came on green construction paper, with a beautiful pipe-cleaner & tissue paper flower taped to it. Scrawled in big letters (in Sharpie) is: HAPPY MOTHER'S/FATHER'S DAY, DAD! Then there's an additional note: Look what's inside the flower! Lift the flap and see! So you open up the petals of the tissue paper flower and there's a little bee inside, saying: "I'm happy to bee your child!" That one hit me hard, and I hugged her. A lot.

* * *

The demolition guys are almost done with the tearout. When I checked on them today, they were vacuuming out the insulation in the attic and the old furnace was sitting in the carport. Yep, that's the one. Look at it, sitting there in a pool of its own oily excrement. Good riddance, ya bastard.

I will take more pics of the tearout and reconstruction as it happens, most likely posting some this week. In the meantime, here's a shot of my house with a pile of debris in front. Oooooooh.

Oh, and someone stole my lawnmower. My sloth of an electric mower with a 100ft extension cord. Gone. They left the kids' Razor trikes (the ones that look like chrome Big Wheels) and Tyler's bike and the hedge trimmer. It reminds me of Gilbert Godfried's standup act about Moby Dick (paraphrased): "I was talking to Herman Melville the other day, and I said, 'Herm, what's all this with the one-legged sea captain chasing the big whale? Are we to believe that there's this little teeny guy, and this giant whale, and the whale just takes the leg?? BIG WHALE, LITTLE GUY, JUST THE LEG!'"

That's the problem with not living in one's own home - I could have heard someone getting into my shed if we were still in our house, but it's hard to hear a lawnmower being stolen across the street. Or a giant whale taking the leg off a little teeny sea captain. Which actually sounds like a euphemism for a sex act one could purchase in White Center... "Excuse me, you know where I could get the leg off my little sea captain?"

Sorry for the tangents... it's sunny and 80 degrees in Seattle, and I think I probably have ISD (Impending Summer Delerium).

Still hitting the gym six days a week (and on Sunday, Todd rested), and doing upper body three times a week. It's helping.

Motherhood

moth·er
n.
1. A woman who conceives, gives birth to, or raises and nurtures a child.

I've pondered this for a long time, ever since I first made a Mother's Day card for my stepmom. In my opinion, the first part may more define a mother, but it is the all important second part, to raise and nurture a child, that defines a mom.

I was lucky enough to have more than one mom in my life. Of course I have the mom who gave birth to me and 3 siblings, who raised us to be gentle and conscientious achievers, and who supported three of us on a clerical salary after the divorce. I also have my stepmom, the woman my father married and with whom we went to live in 1984. For one who was raised a military brat in a huge family, she is amazingly serene and spiritually aware, and because her 22-year marriage to my father ended with his death last year, we now share a connection that only another widda would "get". During my time growing up in Santa Cruz, I was often the Beach family's third son. Louise Beach was one of those truly amazing do-it-all moms, and had the nurture thing down. And later, I would come to know Samantha's mother as simply "Ma". We didn't always understand one another, but I have discovered since the loss of the "Sam filter", that it was because we relied upon that filter and never really cultivated a relationship based on our own merits. I am closer to Sam's mom now than in the past 20 years.

I'd like to take a moment to honor the single moms I know, those women doing what my own mom did - raise a child (or more) without the aid of a partner. Some are single by choice - some had their partner taken from them: Jeanne, Carrie, Jen, Lisa, Sheila, Lynnae, SJ... you are doing the best you can under often difficult circumstances, but your kids are becoming truly amazing individuals - big props to you ladies.

To my friends Elizabeth and Sara, and my cousin Katie: you've created vibrant, dynamic families, facing life's challenges head-on without forgetting who you are and what's important. I salute you. To my aunt Kendra, ever the peacemaker in a family with often volatile politics - love you - keep making the peace.

And to my sister Sara, who has been raising my niece (who is just 3 months older than my own daughter) single-handedly almost from birth, and who just made the dean's list in college as she pursues her degree: just know that I think you're amazing. You're my hero. Thank God my kids aren't in diapers, or I'd end up in a straightjacket. You really are Supermom.

To all mothers: the miracle of childbirth is certainly awesome to behold, but you need not have given birth yourself to be called mother. What happens after that miracle is the real test, and those who excel get to be called mom.

HA!

Andrew over at SteamPower had this new personality test on his blog: which Star Trek character are you? Apparently, like Andrew, I am Riker. That's funny, because I always thought he was the most like Christopher Pike, who never shows up in these questionnaires (because Jeffrey Hunter only did the original series pilot, "The Cage") and who is my favorite USS Enterprise captain. There are worse options, of course. And the beard (when I have one) is pretty close...

Your results:
You are Will Riker

Will Riker 70%

At times you are self-centered but you have many friends. You love many women, but the right woman could get you to settle down.

Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Test

The Power of Sound

I ran across a listing for an old George Winston album the other night while perusing my mp3 store of choice. It's an older title of his, the aptly named 1982 album December, which includes his variations on several traditional winter melodies as well as his own original compositions.

I thought, wow - George Winston - I haven't heard December in ages... let me just preview the first track...

And when the first strains of "Thanksgiving" hit my ears, I was immediately reduced to a pile of sobbing human rubble. It was almost as if I'd been hit by a car or shot - the reaction was that quick.

You see, December had always been one of Sam's "go-to" albums. She owned it on cassette and it was always in her car or, later, on our CD deck (until it went missing in one of our many moves). We listened to it at Christmas time, sure. But we also listened to it on any blustery autumn day, or snuggled listening to it after making love. It sounds like softness, and beauty, and, well... love. It sounds like safeness. And for a moment I found myself staring into the face of grief, utterly, painfully missing Sam. But just as suddenly, I also felt her arms around me. I rode out the wave with her holding onto me, and then it was over.

Weird. I haven't had a wave like that since... oh, probably back in November? I guess they get fewer and father between, but when they do hit, they hit just as hard.

* * *

I was happy to see a bunch of big, burly pirate dudes destroying my home today. The demolition is finally underway!

Happy Birthday

Today, some 38 years ago, a baby boy came into the world - kicking and screaming in a US Army hospital in Germany. He would share this birthday with the likes of Sigmund Freud, Robert E. Peary, Willie Mays, Orson Welles and George Clooney. Perhaps of more significant social importance, porn star and B movie actress Traci Lords was born the following day.

The boy was backpacked around Europe within the first year and a half of his life, and returned "home" to the San Francisco Bay Area before the birth of his little brother. At only 19 months apart, these brothers had a rivalry like no other. The older brother would build a world wonder in wooden blocks, and the younger would run up and, Godzilla-like, destroy it all with a shriek of glee. The older brother would experience major loss just before his 4th birthday, when the younger managed to get into a bottle of adult iron supplements (in an upper cabinet) and poison himself. The last time the older brother saw the younger brother was in a hospital room, surrounded by a crash team.

The next couple years would unfortunately include molestation by his paternal grandmother, a terrible secret he would carry for twenty years.

If the first lessons in the cycle of life had been tragic, the next few lessons were from the other end of the spectrum. The family cat had a litter of kittens, some of which were born on a towel on the boy's lap. Then a baby sister came along just after his 5th birthday. More growing and learning, then another baby brother when he was 8. In that same year, the family would move into a KOA campground to await the finished construction of a home in the Aptos hills in Santa Cruz, CA. The move to Rio Del Mar Elementary School opened new doors, and ushered in new friends, including David Beach and his older brother Adam.

At age 11, more tragedy hit when the boy's father moved out of the family home and divorced his mother. The mother, who had been the traditional stay-at-home mom, was suddenly faced with supporting two schoolchildren and a preschooler. During one particularly bad rainfall, the mother stood hip-deep in mud, fending off the collapsing hillside with a single shovel as wet muck poured in through his sister's bedroom window. It is a powerful image and a very apt symbol for the circumstances at the time. The house was eventually sold and the mother moved her children into a series of rentals in Aptos and Santa Cruz, always attempting to keep the kids in their schools.

At age 12, the boy met a fellow hiker nine years his senior on a camping trip in Nicene Marks, and latched onto him as the older brother he never had. 26 years later, they would still refer to each other as brothers.

During the next few years, the boy and his siblings were shuttled between their mother's home in Santa Cruz and their father's boat in the harbor (and later, the father's home in Palo Alto - which belonged to his new girlfriend). Both parents remarried in the same year, the father to an old acquaintence of the boy's kindergarten teacher, and the mother to a man who tagged along as the third wheel on a date. Both of these marriages would outlast the original.

The boy had assumed the chief male role in the household, sleeping with a baseball bat by his bed to protect the family. When the new stepfather moved in, however, a power struggle occurred. More rules and chores with less allowance and no acknowledgement of his prior status in the family unit. Fortunately, in 1984 (shortly after the death of his paternal grandfather), custody was changed and the three siblings went to live in Palo Alto with their father and stepmother, where the self-induced pressure to be "the man of the house" would be gone. With the exception of a few family dynamics that needed to be worked out, it was a positive arrangement for the boy, and he enjoyed meeting new friends and fell in love with a cute actress/cheerleader.

At 17, the boy wrote and directed his first film, a 70-minute supernatural thriller that, while primitive looking now, impressed the adults and professional videographers he showed it to at the time. It ended up in a PBS young directors' series.

At 18, he drove to Vancouver, Canada with his actress/cheerleader girlfriend for World Expo '86. On the long, scenic drive up the Olympic Peninsula, they fell in love with Washington.

At 21, he went on a life-altering bareboat charter cruise of the Virgin Islands, which rekindled a love of travel. It also gave him clarity on his feelings for a certain actress/cheerleader, and they would marry the following year - a beautiful ceremony in a beautiful stone church in Portola Valley, with friends and family in attendance. They spent the better part of the following month driving through England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland on a wonderful honeymoon.

In 1991, the young married couple realized that they needed to leave the Bay Area and make a home someplace that actually felt like home. That place was Seattle, at the beginning of the "grunge" movement and before the real estate craziness. At first, she worked as an administrator in a state technical college while he freelanced as a graphic artist and writer. But when she became pregnant with their first child, he went to work in the videogame industry as a concept artist and art director while she became a stay-at-home mom. It was an arrangement they agreed upon, to give their children the home that was taken from the boy at 11 when his parents split.

Although the son had a traumatic birth and went into distress, and the wife hemorrhaged and started bleeding out, everyone recovered and the experience didn't sway the wife from eventually wanting to have one more. They studied the Shettles Method of conception, and put it into practice for conceiving a girl. Three years after the birth of their son, a little girl was added to the family and their family unit was complete.

At 34, the boy received the news that his wife had a rare form of cancer. Over the next two and a half years, they would fight together, hoping for everything from a medical breakthrough to a supernatural miracle.

At 36, the boy held his wife in his arms as she died. At 36, he was a widower. At 36, he was a single father.

The memorial service was held just prior to his 37th birthday. And not long after that, the boy lost his father, the lynchpin of his own support system, to a different cancer. He felt the world rip apart around him. Then his house flooded with sewage. Then it burned down.

The end.

Actually just the opposite.

Today the boy is 38. He is a different person at the most primal level. He has earned perspective at a prohibitive cost. He has paid what many would call some of the highest dues possible. He is facing the future with a positive attitude and his children at his side.

Today the boy is the same age his father was when he remarried and started his life over. Today the boy is the same age his wife was when she died. If anything can make one perceive life and death as circular, that's certainly it.

Today the boy is 38, and the circle begins anew. Happy birthday, boy. Step forward and seize your future.

I'm Too Sexy for my House

Well, at least for any real progress to be made. Actually, that's probably not quite true. I did meet with the contractor on Friday, and met the guys who would be doing the actual work when said actual work actually commences. The permits have already been applied for, and that will take about a week, then the demolition phase will begin (probably early next week).

For anyone who has dealt with permits, contractors and/or city bureaucracies, this should come as no surprise. Add in not one, not two, but three insurance companies, and it's REALLY not surprising in the least. Hopefully we can move back into our home before Tyler graduates high school. [/sarcasm]


I think we need to deep-strike some assault terminators to do the house demolition. That would make for some good TV. [/warhammer joke]

Got the opportunity to see trip-hop vanguard Massive Attack at the Paramount on Wednesday with Steve, JD and his girlfriend Allison (who, according to my first impression, is a real sweetheart). Visually stunning light rigs - very cool indeed. It was unfortunate that the sound board was having issues getting a good mix. Lost vocals and obnoxious mic feedback. That said, it was great to see a lineup of guest vocalists like Horace Andy and Liz Fraser (of Cocteau Twins). Plus, it was their first show on the tour - one of only 3 US dates, I might add, all of which are west of the Rockies. So I can't find too much fault with some technical issues. I just grooved for 90 minutes on a great set with some powerhouse tunes and the ubiquitous white-raver-chick-freeform-dancing on the theater floor.

I was all set to go to Tacoma and shoot coverage of Steve's 1-hour caricature challenge, but Kayleigh woke up this morning with a fever and cough. So that was that. Just one of those single parent things that comes up from time to time - usually at the worst possible moment. Could I have gone to a local friend or family member to have someone here while I went to the event? Sure. But sometimes - especially when she's sick - a girl needs her daddy.

I did get my workout in, though. One of the benefits of living a block away from the gym. I've started a new program: doing an hour of cardio every day, with a light upper body sequence twice a week. I decided I missed being slender, and although I probably won't end up at 160 lbs like when I was 16 and riding my bike everywhere, I will be happy on the light side of 220. A decade of sedentary work in computer games and the last 4 years caring for a sick wife (or mourning her) did a number on my metabolism, and I'm kick starting it again. I should mention that my friend Dave Beach has been extremely inspirational in this quest (whether he is aware of that fact or not). On days when I go just prior to lunchtime, I get an all-fruit smoothie from Jamba Juice and drink that for lunch. Add in my daily vitamin supplements and about 1.5 gallons of water per day, and I'm already feeling better than I have in the last 5 or 6 years.

We will be locking in the dates for the fall Twelfth Night Productions show at Youngstown soon. I will be attending the next board meeting to deliver the proposal in person, but formalities aside, it looks like I will be directing A. R. Gurney's The Dining Room - opening in November!

No Surprise

It probably comes as no surprise when I say that the last post took a lot out of me. That's why I haven't posted in over a week. Now I'll try to get y'all back up to speed.

Been fighting a sinus/ear infection that has the added benefit of giving me some TMJ problems as well. No chewing gum for me for awhile. While the kids were home over spring break, I did not go to the gym once. Feels like I slid more than just a week, even though it's only that much actual time. The good news is the first time back last week I did a full-on workout with extended cardio and upper body, and I wasn't too sore afterward. I've also been keeping up with my chiro and massage, so the muscles and spine are in good shape. And my LMP has been studying reflexology, so I get to be her guinea pig. Fine by me!

Got a visit from my buddy Hans over Easter weekend. Hans and I were the first artists at Boss Game Studios back in the early 3D days (circa 1994). Remember the first Sony Playstation (aka PSX)? The Sega Saturn? The Nintendo Virtual Boy? I don't blame you if you don't remember that last one - it was on the market for about five seconds. Hans still works as an artist in the game industry, albeit in San Diego - so whenever he comes up to Seattle to visit family, we try to meet up. We're like a couple dorky kids when we get together.

Things with Tyler have been going pretty smoothly, despite a small incident today. He's really starting to show an amazing level of maturity. In fact, he took his last month's allowance that he'd saved and opened a savings account today. Wow!

Kayleigh was invited by the owner of her dance studio to join a second class during the week - the members of which will do a second performance at this year's recital. This morning as I was dropping her off at school, she wished me luck dealing with Tyler. That made me chuckle.

Kayleigh and I went to the Pacific NW Ballet production of Sleeping Beauty on Saturday night, thanks to a fellow widda in my Gilda's group. It was a lavish, beautiful performance - although at 3 hours with 3 intermissions, a tad long for the younger set. Honestly, ballet is probably my least favorite of the classical arts. There are only so many moves and so many solos I can watch before I'm making a snowflake out of my program or counting the lights on the grid. But it's hard to beat a top-notch ballet company doing their shtick to Tchaikovsky's famous score (played by one of the best orchestras in the world). The sets were fantastic, the makeup and costumes amazing. In fact, I must mention the coolest thing for me personally as a history geek: the first half is set in a 17th century fairy tale kingdom. Long hair and van dykes, cavalier jackets and floppy boots. Totally appropriate given that the origins of the written story date back to the 17th Century French folklorist Charles Perrault. Then, after Aurora falls asleep for 100 years and we meet the prince who will save her, everyone is wearing 18th Century waistcoats and tricorn hats. Very cool - "hats off", as it were, to the costume designer.

I've been getting a lot of email correspondence from the folks putting on my 20th high school reunion. Although I plan on going to California to meet up with some old friends that weekend (and will probably go to the family picnic), I have decided I am not attending the reunion dinner. Five hours of constant reminders of Sam and having to tell the story over and over just doesn't fill me with warm fuzzies.

I just finished editing a commercial for Steve Hartley's caricature business, Muggshotz. I feel like my old editing chops are starting to thaw. Also finished a second draft of Ordinary Angels, which now has a producer and a casting director. I'm putting together a scope for a documentary on the widowing process and starting a new life. There have been several widdas who have come forward to offer interviews. I think it's a promising project. Looks like I will be directing the fall show on the Twelfth Night Productions season - I've proposed A.R. Gurney's The Dining Room. Small cast, one set, limited costume changes. The ideal show for a space like Youngstown.

Other than that, the weather in Seattle has been beautiful - sunny and mid-70s with a gentle breeze. It feels like spring - it feels like rebirth. The summer schedule is filling up and the demolition on the house is supposed to start this week. Things are looking up.

Thanks for checking in!

Dear Sam,

One year ago today I watched you take your last breath, a moment I will never forget. For the next several hours, you lay peacefully on the hospice bed while I waited for the couriers to come pick up your body for donation to the UW Medical School. I sat there in the family room with your brother and his wife and the three of us conversed in the most oddly calm manner - a clear combination (at least on my part) of shock, exhaustion and relief. Relief because your fight, and hence our fight, was over. After your body had been removed, I picked up the neck pillow I'd placed under your head the previous night, and was shocked to find it was still warm, after 5+ hours. I carried that pillow around the rest of the day, and kept it in bed with me for weeks. Anything that carried your scent or reminded me of you was hoarded. I obsessed over your recordings and images, tried to locate every bit of you I could find.

A year later, I still think about you every day. I still remember the way you smelled, the way I could get you to laugh at just about anything, the way your head felt cradled in the crook of my neck and chest when you came looking for a hug. I miss the comfort of going to sleep with you beside me, and waking up next to you in the morning. I miss talking shop about kids, acting, theater, film and publishing. I miss debating the merits of a particular novel or play, or a certain childrearing technique. I miss traveling with you, whether it be a road trip or a long vacation to a foreign country. Lord, how I miss your awesome cooking!

Though I believe you are still out there, watching out for the kids and me, I miss having your corporeal energy, your physical presence in my life. Will I ever stop missing you? Perhaps in the years to come, the craving will be less acute. But I don't anticipate living a single day and not thinking about you, about us, for at least a few minutes. We shared a formative portion of our lives, and I'm profoundly honored and proud to have been your partner, friend, confidant and lover for the 20 years we were together.

You know how the last year has been for us. You know my dad followed your exit at the end of May. You know the city flooded our bedrooms with raw sewage and the subs cleaning the furnace burned down the house. Any one of those events would have been much more tolerable with you at my side, but to face all of them in concert without you was more than I thought I could bear.

But I did.

You see, losing you brought out an inner strength I thought came from you. But it turns out it was within me all the time. Losing you made me strong enough to face these other disasters, to protect our children and soldier on with them. If there's anything positive I can take away from the loss of my high school sweetheart, it's the realization that I am stronger and more capable than I ever thought possible.

All this being said, here we are a year later... and I am extremely positive looking forward. The immediate pain I felt from having you ripped away from me and from the kids has dulled with time, and will continue to do so. I have dated, but have found I don't need to tie my identity to a relationship - so now I'm concentrating on the kids and the business. I continue to work with the theater group you were instrumental in introducing me to. I continue making strides toward a return to film, which you so ardently supported before your passing (and for which I will be eternally grateful). I found I hadn't lost my camera chops - so theory still serves me, even though I was technologically not up-to-speed. Some of my creativity has come back. I'm returning to a semblance of balance.

Really what I mean by all of this is... thank you. Thank you for being in my life for 20 wonderful years. Thank you for giving me two amazing children. Thank you for making me realize my strength and identity are not tied to outside influences. And most of all, thank you for continuing to inspire me (and others) in continuously new and creative ways.

I will always love you, Samantha Kate.

Love,
Todd

A Year Approaches

I haven't posted all week due to a few reasons:

1) I was getting actual work done (evident in my 2nd draft of Ordinary Angels).
2) I was being sick.
3) The last week before spring break entails a lot of school-related activities.
4) I was also indulging in my favorite form of crack - some tactical strategy games, namely Star Wars: Empire at War (which has all the cool stuff about Star Wars without any of the lameness), and Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War (which is based on a tactical miniatures game I used to play back in the day - which was a Wednesday, if you believe Dane Cook).

I'd feel a lot worse about #4 if #1 and #2 weren't the case. :)

I wanted to give a big shout out to GAMA, the Game Manufacturers Association, who held a silent auction at this year's GTS show, and presented us with a generous check. Thanks Anthony, and all the wonderful folks who made the auction happen. I keep marveling at the generosity of our industry. It really helps, guys. Thank you.

And to the generous folks in the Puget Sound area who donated to the Seattle's Bravest firefighter charity - thank you. We were presented with another check that really helps take the sting out of the out-of-pocket expenses we have absorbed (and will have to absorb until we get a final insurance settlement). Dave came out to the house with a big envelope full of your cards and notes. You are all wonderful.

There's been a huge buildup in my mind regarding this coming Wednesday, which will mark 1 year since Sam died. Since our family was transformed. Since the kids lost their mom. Since my life as I knew it ended. I don't know how I will observe/handle/cope with the day. I guess we'll find out. Don't be surprised to see another open letter to Sam. It's kind of my shtick, I guess.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about Sam. There's still some longing, some looking back with a tear and a sigh. But that looking back is from a completely foreign perspective now. I look at those old photos and it's like observing someone else's life... like, "oh yeah, I knew that guy... married, couple kids, videogame designer..." It just doesn't seem like me anymore - probably because I feel fundamentally different at the core. And while I might sometimes wistfully remember what it was like being him with her, that is a dynamic that no longer exists. That combination, that equation is no longer valid. It has gone out into the universe as something good and loving and unique, and will never be seen again.

I don't usually talk about a lot of metaphysical stuff on this blog, due to the fact that it is very personal to me (and I only post stuff I feel comfortable sharing with the world at large). But interestingly, Tyler confessed to having had a dream about Sam, where she briefly talked to him. That was good to hear - it's only about the second time he's talked about his mom appearing in a dream. According to Tyler, she said she was glad we'd found a temporary place to live, she was glad Tyler and I were getting along better (we are), and she was sorry about James Brown's accident (he's still not recovered, but is slowly gaining back some use of his hind legs - a good sign). I don't claim these "visits" are anything more nor less than what they appear to be. If they are real to the dreamer, so be it. Sam & I shared too many freaky "connection" moments for me to disregard the possibility of a persistent soul. I also had a dream about Sam last night, on the eve of a road trip up to Bellingham to help celebrate my grandparents' 65th wedding anniversary. Seemed like she was just checking in and giving me a hug to keep moving forward.

Picked up my brother & sister-in-law bright and early, and trekked up to the B-ham. We surprised my grandparents at their church, and all of us went to brunch after the service. There was a time (recently) when I would have been sour and jealous at the thought of celebrating such a wonderful anniversary - from a purely selfish perspective (like that could have been Sam and me eventually, blah blah blah, bitter bitter bitter). But I'm a lot more at peace with the way things are, the way things have been, and the way things will be. And VERY happy that my grandparents are still here with us and celebrating such a great milestone! I love them dearly and I'm glad we made the trip. Photo, L: Jack & Dorothy Brown, April 1941. Photo, R (from Left): sister-in-law Michelle, grandmother Dorothy (aka Omi), little sister Sara, yours truly, grandfather Jack (aka Opa), and little brother Gavin (who is taller than me, so "little" only refers to our chronological age).

My best friend, Randy, has been working on some CAD designs for proposed alterations to the house when they get to rebuilding. There's a lot of talk of opening up the upstairs quite a bit, to allow more flow. There are also some alternate designs that include an enclosed garage (we've had a carport since day one) and a dedicated studio space above. I keep remembering what Sam said when she'd decided on that house 11 years ago (much to my astonishment): "It's perfect."

"It's too small for us," I worried. "We already have Tyler, and we want to have a second kid - this place isn't big enough." "But the lot is huge," she countered, "and we can add on..." It was totally the wrong reason to buy a house, but the fact that within 5 years we'd doubled the square footage drove her point home. Because of the home's modest beginnings as a 1924 craftbuilt 1-bedroom bungalow, there were always space issues - not enough storage, small rooms sectioned off from one another, plaster/lathe walls filled with blown newspaper insulation (most of which had settled halfway down the wall after 80 years), a full bath upstairs which was rarely used since the basement was turned into living space. Now we have the opportunity to make it a truly useful space with lots of storage and good flow. I'm really excited to see what we can do. And my adjuster says we should have approval to start work by Friday of this coming week.

Caleb and I were watching the documentary Murderball the other night, and it really inspired me to start interviewing some of my friends in the widda community, with the goal of assembling a compelling documentary piece on spouse/partner loss.

Kayleigh's having a blast with her cousin and my stepmom in Oregon. They are visiting a friend's farm and getting to feed the new lambs. It's a valuable experience to have - every kid should at least visit a farm.

That's all for now. No school for the kids this week. There's a beer with my name on it and rebel scum who need a good Imperal smiting. More later.

Emerald City + Shop Talk

Caleb & I showed up at the Emerald City Comicon this morning, and I broke in the HDV cam with some crowd and vendor shots for Brian & Co. to use in their advertising next year. Also took some footage of Steve doing caricatures. I want to assemble a mini-commercial for his website. It's really great being associated with the great guys who run the show, because I get to watch a friend's project blossom and become a success from within. The show has grown enormously in its scant four years, and Brian, George and Jim (and a small army of partners in crime) deserve all the success this show has coming. And there is more to come - mark my words.

We shmoozed from 9:30 until about 12:30 and then headed back to the homestead. Gavin took Tyler to Ice Age 2, and Caleb and I hung out with Heath Ward, whom I declare forthwith to be The Nicest Dude in Indie Film in Seattle. We talked shop, and discussed how we'd like to do the Ordinary Angels project. He's got some great ideas, and has some great motivating energy. He wants to be attached to the project, and I am looking forward to the collaboration.

Well, the clocks get set forward tonight, so I'm gonna try to put the kids to bed. TTFN.