There Are No Words.

Yesterday I decided to follow the advice of my chiropractor and get a deep tissue massage. I looked up places in West Seattle and decided on a little studio on California Ave. It's fairly new, but I liked their stated approach. The LMP I got doesn't have a lot of post-school experience, but is one of those natural healers. Like my friend who does acupuncture out of the Maya studio in the Fremont, she has a calming energy about her, that puts one immediately at ease and in a trusting space. I had a nice wakeup call the other morning in the form of my left knee threatening to buckle as I was taking out the garbage - I need to attend to my own oxygen mask before assisting others. As one who instinctively helps others, I need to realize I can't do much good in a weakened state. So now I have my team... family doc, acupuncture (for which I'm woefully overdue), chiropractor and now a massage practitioner. All but the family doctor were my choices, and they all happen to be women. I think when it comes to healing, I respond better to female energy. Interesting, but probably not uncommon.

Drove the whole West Seattle clan out to Shilshole last night for a birthday celebration on board Volant. We had a favorite meal of my dad's: lemon chicken, mashed potatoes, brocolli, caesar salad and olive bread. Music alternated between John Denver and Pavarotti - surreal, yes, but he was that ecclectic. We crowded eight of us around that settee below, chowed down and told stories about my dad (aka Grampa Bear to the kids). Dessert took the form of a lemon sheet cake with this lemon sauce that dad used to tease the kids with, telling them it was made from banana slugs.

Had some trouble with Tyler at bedtime. He's trying that boundary push again, just making sure I'm paying attention. You better believe I am, but I really don't need the added stress of preteen rebellion. Sigh. This too shall pass.

Crawled into bed and had a dream...

I entered a hospital-ish room, but I could tell this was more homey, like a rehab facility or something. And sitting up in bed, smiling and healthy, was Samantha. She had her long dark hair and a nice red tint to her skin. It had been a long time since she hadn't looked gaunt and gray. I was astonished. I sat on the edge of her bed and she reached out and held my hand.

"They're not finding any cancer anymore," she said. "They're going to do a full scan tomorrow, but all the blood work has come back negative. I think it's gone."

I looked at her seriously, caught in the turmoil of being ready to continue my life and yet being faced with my soulmate, my partner of twenty years - back in the flesh. "Honey, you were dead. I held you as you died. I thought I'd never see you again."

Her hazel eyes sparkled with tears. She squeezed my hand earnestly. "I know. I know. And I was, technically. But it was all a lesson I had to learn. This was all something we had to learn."

We were cut off in mid-conversation by a stray cell signal buzzing my laptop speakers as they occasionally do. I awoke. It was 6:15AM. I tried to go back to sleep and continue the conversation, but to no avail. Perhaps we can continue later...

This is the first really clear conversational dream I've had of Sam. And the most clear in terms of setting (with the exception of the scary eyes opening dream, which was entirely too realistic). So much of this past few years (and this last one in particular) has been about being pushed along, out of my comfort zone, to grow and change - even though such growth hurts like hell. I still haven't sorted out what everything means (at least in terms of my own intuition), but I'm working on it.

Back to the gym today - finally...

When I'm 62?

Among my first memories is being a toddler playing outside our house in San Carlos, CA, and watching my dad chase our dog, Muffet, down the street after she'd gotten loose.

We did the usual suburban family things. Dinner parties, camping trips, BBQs. I watched Monday Night Football with my dad on a little black & white TV set in his den. We did the YMCA Indian Guides and Cub Scouts together. We went sailing on Lake Vasona in San Jose. When our family built a house in the Aptos hills, he let me help nail the outside stairs and deck planks, and never took me to task for getting it wrong - just showed me the proper way to do it.

My dad ran along behind my first bike, only letting go when I was completely under my own power, letting me fall upon occasion (because that's how we learn), and always there to help me up and try again. He went to my soccer games, my basketball games and the occasional field trip. I used to ride on his shoulders a lot. When he was the age I am now, he was 6'4", like me - it was the best view a boy could want.

I was 11 when my dad left his marriage. The next year was painful, as we rarely saw him. I tried hard to fill that void in my house, becoming my mom's chief of staff as she went to work to support three children on a shoestring budget. It was hard to do without my dad that year, but we talked about it in depth later, and I understand why it would have been hard to be in contact - not to say it's okay, because it most certainly wasn't - but I understand.

When he re-entered my life, it was as if he'd never left. We just picked up where we left off. We got NAUI certified together and went diving off Monterey. He took me to rated R movies, much to my mother's chagrin. When he married the woman who would become our stepmom, my brother and sister and I were all part of the ceremony. When we moved to Palo Alto in 1984, not only was it the right move for a 16 year old boy who was stagnating in Santa Cruz, but it facilitated meeting a certain hazel-eyed actress in drama class.

My dad and I didn't always get along. There were periods of angst and strife and family drama, but when I came into my twenties, we did a lot of sorting it through. We stood united against the generations-old dysfunction and abuse in our family. He owned his own computer consulting company and retired early to follow his dream of living aboard a sailboat and cruising different parts of the world. He was an example of success on the most personal level, an example I've always tried to follow.

He was a loving dad. He was a loving grandfather. He would have turned 62 today.

I miss you, pop. Fair winds.

Bad Luck?

The Seattle PI article is out. Yeesh. I look like hell. In all, Hector did a good job describing things and checking facts. The only small "oops" (and it is truly small) is that Punky was female.

Interesting that so many have mentioned luck as a factor. What bad luck. They've had a run of bad luck. That would indicate the presence of randomness in all of this, but that doesn't explain the timing of it all. Was Sam's diagnosis just bad luck? Was it mere chance that something funky on the kidney scan made our doctor ask for a full torso CT? And my father's diagnosis just two months after that? Okay, maybe. Was Sam's death just before spring break 2005 just random, so that the kids had time away from school to be close to family? Perhaps. What about my dad dying just 6 weeks later, on Memorial Day, after a VERY rapid 2-week decline? And not directly from the cancer, but of a pulmonary embolism in the hospital? Was that random, or was he supposed to go with Sam for some higher purpose? Were those left behind supposed to learn something from the odd set of circumstances?

People die all the time. I suppose just by playing the odds you could come up with two people related by marriage dying within 1 clendar month of two unrelated, non-hereditary, rare cancers. But I'd bet those odds are astounding.

Okay, so we're reeling from having these two people ripped from our lives, and starting to get back into a semblance of normalcy and life. But wait - Christmas Eve wouldn't be complete without a little sewage in our bedrooms. Okay, sewer mains back up, I understand that. Sometimes people get flooded. On Christmas Eve (when we have winter break to deal with it). Fine. I suppose that could be random by itself too. But to lose the rest of the house in a fire on Valentine's Day (just before the President's Day/midwinter break), in combination with EVERYTHING that's happened in the last year... well, that's just a little bizarre. It smacks of fate or plan or whatever you want to call it. In my opinion (speaking from the eye of the huricane), we're meant to be changed by all of this - my kids and I are being set on a different path. I was beginning to make strides in my own life toward releasing the "couple" part of me, toward making "our" home into "my" home. But whatever forces are at work (be it a collective intelligence, my own higher consciousness or a gentle janitor played by Morgan Freeman - see Bruce Almighty), it is clear to me that we were not meant to remain in that home. That home was something that Samantha and I created with our kids. And that part of our lives is over. We have no choice but to move forward.

Bad luck? I don't think so. I think people make their own luck. And in the midst of everything terrible we are dealing with, there are bits and pieces of really good luck to be found: friends and family who drop everything to run to our aid; a school PTA which organizes food delivery so we don't have to worry about cooking every night; a vacant rental house right across the freakin' street; the firefighters who thought our situation warranted some special attention; a massive campaign by friends around the world to get us on Extreme Makeover...

Whatever lessons are to be learned in all of this are being learned. Outside of those larger lessons, we nurture relationships and try to attract positive things into our lives. Even though my kids have had their world turned upside down, they smile and hug me and know in their hearts that the universe is ultimately in balance and things will work out. Maybe that's pig-headedness, or maybe it's faith in an ordered universe. Regardless, I think it goes beyond a roll of the dice on some cosmic scale.

We are where we are for a reason, and are becoming the people we need to become. Luck... mmm, yeah, not so much.

Open

So the Youngstown Cultural Arts Center opened to the public tonight. Twelfth Night Productions set up in one of the exhibition rooms and ran the Bye Bye Birdie DVD on a video projector. Seattle Poetry Slam fielded some really amazing poets in the movement room, and the Pandemonium Players did a couple numbers from the musical Working.

Representative Jim McDermott was there tonight. Former Seattle mayor Norm Rice and family were in attendance on Wednesday night when I made the booth dedication to Sam. Mary Springer delivered a really beautiful introduction to Sam, and turned things over to me. The name plates are not the typical brass or plastic strips with a name on them, but rather large pieces of slate from the former school's own vintage blackboards, etched with the name of the donor or contributor. Sam was on a DNDA subcommittee, and really contributed more to the whole process than I ever imagined.

My video camera and stuff came on Thursday. As you might recall, I'd ordered the stuff the day before the fire, and because it had to be shipped out from NY, it was not a fire casualty. I cracked the manual today and filled out the product reg stuff. Can't wait to try it out.

It was good to see friends and note the very packed facility. But I'm all done with sensory overload now - took my melatonin and I'm gonna hit the sack. For those of you who have seen The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, "I SLEEP NOW."

P.S. My brother and SIL rock. Thanks G&M. For all your help.

Dedication

We got a house full of rental furniture today. Cable was hooked up here at the rental so I am now reconnected to the digital world. Hi.

Two of the three adjusters I have working on my claim through Allstate came out to the house to walk around, take pictures and poke and prod. I'm sick of the smell of wood smoke, soot and burned plastic.

There is obviously a lot going on right now and will be for some time, but I wanted to mention a few positive things that are keeping me going...

1. RestorX says it looks like they will be able to salvage some of the data on the hard drives they yanked from the office computers and laptop. Holding breath.
2. RestorX says my Ovation guitar (the 22nd birthday gift from Sam) was in a hard shell case and is being sent to a stringed instrument shop to be detailed, but it seems to have survived okay.
3. We have beds to sleep on.
4. I am still out of pocket for my replacement computer, printer and dress suit (which I purchased for Jordan's wedding 2 weeks ago and the dedication for Sam tonight, and which was hanging by the front door and vaporized in the fire), but at least I have them, and can make the presentation tonight.
5. A reporter from the Seattle PI called and talked to me this afternoon, so there is going to be more press. This part always makes me uncomfortable - I'm no stranger to hype for creative endeavors, but this is not exactly how anyone wants to become a celebrity.
6. Tomorrow, the Seattle Fire Department is presenting the kids and me with a Fred Meyer gift certificate (more clothes for the kids - school starts back up next week). The reporter will be there, and there will be a photo op.
7. My buddy David Choi came down to the house on Sunday and shot a walkthrough for the Extreme Makeover folks.
8. David Beach, my oldest friend on the planet with whom I'm still in contact, wrote perhaps the most beautiful tribute to me on his blog. Thanks Dave. It makes a huge difference in my psychological outlook.
   

Speaking of the dedication, I thought I would end my entry today with the speech I'm delivering at the event tonight...

I hope I don’t sound trite when I say that theatre was in Sam’s blood. We met in a high school drama class, later discovering we’d both worked tech on the same production of Romeo & Juliet at the Palo Alto Children’s Theater two years previous. And although we were both film majors in college and dabbled in music, we never wandered far from the stage.

In the twenty-plus years we shared, Samantha honed her craft, whether on the stage, backstage or in the booth. In productions at the Haymarket Theatre, The New Varsity, Palo Alto Children’s Theater, Foothill College, San Francisco State, LACT, ArtsWest, Theater Schmeater, and with Wingspread and Twelfth Night, she proved to be a tireless talent, a driving organizational force and a consummate professional.

Samantha was drawn to the Twelfth Night mission of building community through the arts. It was this sense of community that enticed us to settle in West Seattle, to become merchants, to raise a family. It is this community which sustained us through Sam’s cancer diagnosis in 2002, her three-year fight against the disease, and her passing last year, just one month before my father lost his own battle with cancer. It is this community which reaches out even now, as my children and I meet continued challenges and create new lives for ourselves.

Although exhausted from constant chemotherapy and radiation treatments, Samantha was able to tread the boards one final time, as Mrs. Peterson in the Twelfth Night production of Bye Bye Birdie, sharing the stage with her husband and daughter – a girl of eight who is already charting a future in the arts. In productions to come, Kayleigh will be able to see her mother’s name on this booth, and be reminded not only of her mother’s talent, but her contribution to the Seattle theatre community, including her expertise in the design of the control booth at this facility.

I am honored to continue Samantha’s legacy of involvement with the Seattle arts community, and to dedicate this control booth in honor of my Juliet, Samantha Downing.

Home Again?

Okay, we got the rental, as I think I mentioned previously. Our landlady is great - she and her family lived in the home and were our neighbors for about 5 years before Sam was sick. Her husband (who is usually her partner in the whole rental business) is serving in Iraq, so it's nice that she won't have terribly high maintenance tenants in there for a few months. The home is small, but it's clean and much better than either the motel or the air mattresses on the floor in our house.

Sunday David Choi came down with his DV cam and shot the walkthrough and interviews for the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition submission. There was actually a moment where I found a melted picture frame containing a portrait of my dad just weeks before his death, and later a Polaroid of Kayleigh as a toddler. If we get on the show and you see any misty eyed looks from me in the walkthrough, it's real.

I got my girls from Gilda's club to back me up today. Sharon (who lost her brother to stomach cancer the same weekend Sam died) got on the phone and sorted out my utilities, phone etc. Gavin already handled the cable - we'll have broadband sometime Wednesday. I filed a claim on my primary home insurance so I have an advocate who can get me reimbursed and go after the responsible parties instead of me doing the legwork and the waiting. At the adjuster's behest, Jeanne (a widower from my Gilda's bereavement group) and I went down to CORT furniture rentals and ordered a house full of furniture for the 6 months we'll be living across the street from our former house.

Meanwhile, Pathfinder School has organized parents into a daily food brigade. It's amazing how just wrestling verbally with bureaucrats over the phone all day can exhaust you to the point of forgetting to cook dinner.

Bottom line, we're being taken care of, by the community and our friends and family. The utility companies are treating us well and it looks like we'll have furniture and a new work machine for me by the end of the week. People are writing to ABC on our behalf to get us on Extreme Makeover. Still others are putting money in my PayPal account to cover the inevitable shortfalls of the insurance companies. So far, my insurance has said all the right things - but until I am depositing that final settlement into my bank account, I'm staying on my guard. It's tiring, but I fell like I've been savaged by rabid mutant crocodiles right about now, and my defenses are on full alert.

Again, my thanks to everyone for everything you've done and are now doing. And we don't currently need any more milk. :)

OK - more sleep and then back to the pile of rubble to identify the pieces of our lives tomorrow. And Wednesday I get to make the lighting booth dedication to Sam.

Just a Quick Update

Not feeling so good today... the shock has worn off and now reality has set in. Had a couple too many at the pub last night too. Won't be doing that again. The kids went to overnights at friends' houses and I spent the last night in the motel by myself. This morning I hauled my hungover ass to the new place - our former neighbor across the street still owns the house in question and uses it as a rental, and it had just become available. RestorX stepped up to bat and got us in on a 6-month lease.

This place is smaller, but it's clean and it's right across the street from my house. The kids can go to their same bus stop and I can oversee the reconstruction, collect my mail and try to pick up my business again.

I will just make this observation: the insurance companies are being slow behemoths and balking at reimbursement at every turn; in contrast, RestorX is being pretty darn stand-up so far, taking the initiative to make sure we're covered for stuff quickly. I will reserve the right to yank that praise if and when it ceases to be true, but so far they've been pretty good.

We had a bunch of friends and family converge to help move what little we have into the new space, and to acquire what we needed. Members of my Gilda's group came through with legwork and a few amenities (like a TV set and DVD player, etc).

And let me just give a shout out to all the folks on Widownet and YWBB who have crowded my email inbox with PayPal donations. I'm floored. Seriously stunned at the overwhelming show of support. I didn't even ask, yet here it is. You people are seriously the best. I wish I had the time and energy to reply to each person right now... eventually I will, but I'm just worn to the bone right now.

Thank you everyone for your support and prayers. I'll update when I can.

WHAT.

Okay, whoever up there has been trying to get my attention, I'M LISTENING!

On Tuesday afternoon, the subcontractors who had been hired by RestorX to decontaminate and clean my furnace (as the last part of the sewage flood cleanup before reconstruction could begin) accidentally ignited a piece of foam that was used in the cleanup process within the ductwork. When the exchange kicked in, it turned my oil furnace and the ducts into a giant blowtorch. I grabbed my daughter's guinea pig cage (with James Brown inside), let Wiley out the front and left the back open for Punky. I called 911 as the furnace guys tried their best to stop the flames. But the thick black smoke was too much, and I sat on the front lawn and stared in wonder as my house burned.

The house that Sam and I bought as a young couple with a toddler, back when I was working as a concept artist in the videogame industry. Our first home. The only home Tyler can remember. The only home Kayleigh has ever known. The home Sam died in.

The kids were at school, so they had to be told. Why, in the name of an ordered universe, must my children have to withstand yet ANOTHER horror? I don't care about being kicked around - I've been a rock all my life. But leave my kids alone, damnit.

We'd just been replacing some of the stuff we'd lost in the flood. Now we have to replace the replacements.

All the stuff we'd saved the night of the flood had been stacked upstairs. Poof.

The new TV, the new leather couches that were my attempt to create a stable home out of what chaos my life had become in the last year. We enjoyed them for 5 days. All the new studio equipment, the work computers (jury is out on salvaging hard drives - the laptop drive may be saved, thank you Dell). Photo albums, CD & DVD archives. Our film collection, our music collection, our original music master tapes and digital archives. Our business - from tax records to content. 1 of a kind artwork by friends and by me. The huge forest painting I did for Sam's 26th birthday. The Ovation guitar she gave me for my 22nd. 20 years of our life together, and family history dating back generations.

Just stuff, sure. But HISTORY. It ain't the Library of Alexandria, but it may as well be to me, to my kids.

The contractor and fire inspectors agreed - it's back to bare external studs and rebuild from scratch. At least 5 months. The house across the street is a rental and the insurance companies are trying to get us in there on a 6 month lease. It would be the ideal annex for the rebuild operation.

The wagons are again being circled, and the community is pulling together. How sick I am of having to be the object and beneficiary of that community once again. Not that I'm ungrateful - I am blessed beyond imagination to have an incredible network of friends, family and community (both local and international). I just don't want to NEED help again. I've been needy enough this past year. Still, when this stuff gets put on you, how else can you possibly stand up without the help of others? The lyric from Nada Surf's "Do it Again" say it perfectly:

Maybe this weight was a gift
Like I had to see what I could lift

Honestly, this is shock talking. I'm not as rational on the inside. The inside is crouched screaming maniacally inside an old steamer trunk. I know the folks who read this blog care for my family and for me. At this point our basic needs are being addressed, but if someone reading this wants to help in some way, they should probably communicate with my brother, since my access will be spotty until further notice.

If any of you guys have an "in" with admin, can you please find out when they expect to send the locusts?

I'M KIDDING. DO NOT SEND LOCUSTS.

OK... back to racking up my cell minutes sorting out my life from this moment forward. Take care - I hope to post again soon...

More pics here. Thanks Gavin. BTW, the dead gray cat is Punky. She used to be white.

Tuesday AM Check-in

Yesterday, the head of the company (meaning me) ordered the DV camcorder that will be the ceterpiece of the studio. I also got the green light from the city to start the reconstruction - so as soon as I hung up the phone, I was back on it, calling the contractor. The ball starts rolling today.

Yesterday was so good, I didn't even care that the court in North Bend, OR decided to uphold my alleged speeding ticket from back over Thanksgiving. Ehhhh. So what? I'm finally on the road to getting my house back! Many smileys.

Also watched Hurlyburly after the kids went to bed, which I will review on Manic Lobster later.

Today is crazy busy. Because of the cool stuff happening, I totally spaced on getting Tyler's prescription refilled. It will be a late-to-school day, as we must wait for the pharmacy to open and then wait for the prescription to be filled. But that's also OK, because Kayleigh needs to bring some Sprite to her in-class Valentine party, and we don't keep soda pop in the house. So, to RiteAid we go, and then home for me to rehearse a project with Conor, a project which will be shot with the new camera. Sorry, couldn't resist putting it in there a second time.

That means the gym will have to wait until later this afternoon, but then maybe Caleb can join me. Working out is better with a partner to keep your head in the game.

Happy Birthday, Honey.

Sam would have turned 39 today.

She was proud of every new smile crease and wrinkle, ecstatic when she found her first gray hair - it mean she had achieved age, and she equated that with wisdom and character. In her case, I'd mostly agree (at least the character part - ;) ).

But after her cancer diagnosis at age 35, those birthdays meant something else entirely. It was an even more profound milestone, because cancers of her kind usually killed within 6 months, and by the time she hit 38, she'd outlasted those odds by about two years.

After that last birthday, "mile marker thirty-eight" as Caleb wrote in his poem, it was over. The doctors gave up, and I think she gave up on herself. Although she acted tough and resolute, I could tell that she'd lost the battle in her mind... it would only be a matter of time. Infections and surgeries and hospitalizations didn't help either. Starting in March, she began to shut down.

Today I woke up missing her. Did some writing and production prep. Focused on mundane tasks and kids. Got a very nice phone check-in from Sam's brother, feeling a similar melancholy vibe. Then I sent the kids off to a friend's house to play, and went to Brian Chase's studio with Caleb and Muriel to work on the tribute CD. The Divine Mizz M. trooped through the vocals for FOUR entire songs, including overdubs and harmonies that had never been rehearsed. And she put them ALL in the can in three hours. I'm in awe of Muriel - the vocals do not in any way sound like Sam's, but the point is that they are not like her, they are for her.

And finally Caleb took the mic and recited Mile Marker Thirty-Eight, at the end of Sometimes, the end lyrics of which still haunt me...

But knowing I am here
Away from what I love
Lets my heart know
We have somewhere to go

Leaving all behind
The places and the time
When I'm with you
It's magic...

Stopped at the store on the way home and picked up dinner and a small chocolate cake. When the kids get back, we'll have a little birthday celebration for mommy.

Happy Birthday, honey. I miss you.

UPDATE: We had some dinner and each lit a candle for the cake, then we sang happy birthday. Then I happened to see a photo (this one, of her kissing me at my 21st birthday in 1989) and it all imploded. Major wave. Crash.

Now all I want to do is get drunk... but I don't think depressants are a good idea right now.

I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it until it ceases to be true: This sucks.

Coyote Ugly

Well it appears Wiley's previous owners were completely wrong about him being part coyote. The trainer (who is a pro at spotting such things as dog breeds) took one look at him and said, "oh, looks like he's part Basenji!"

Of course, I was intrigued, and went online to check it out. Sure enough, he has all of the habits and personality of purebreed Basenjis and Basenji/shepherd mixes, as well as the gait, facial features, build and bizarre "yodeling" vocalizations.

In a way, it's kind of a relief - I mean, there was a certain "cool factor" telling people Wiley was a coydog, but there were plenty of people who would give us an apprehensive sidelong glance when they heard the "coyote" part of "coydog". The Basenji is an African guard/hunting breed utilized in Egypt long ago (and will no doubt have some jackal in their lineage). They are really smart on their own, but mix them with the German shepherd and you get a canine Mensa candidate who will tie your shoelaces together when you're not looking.

I appreciate the comments of support I get, both on the blog and in email. But if you want to comment about another blog I link to, please don't post it here. There's no need to get catty about someone else and create yet more internet drama. As Brad said in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, "Read it. Learn it. Live it."

And speaking of Fast Times, here's an amusing short on iFilm for all you comic book geeks...

Checking In

It's been just over a week without an update - only because life is full and busy. Trying new discipline with Tyler and so far it appears to be working. Wiley is having sessions with a pro dog trainer, and he's much more mellow now that he's better sure of his place in our pack.

Finished my dedication remarks for the light booth at Youngstown on the 22nd. Planning to go into the studio again on Sam's birthday with our vocalist to put down some tracks on the tribute CD. It's coming along. Slowly, yes, but I'm happy we're making some progress.

Dating schedule is full, which is a bit odd (just because I've never "played the field" before), but satisfactory. Meeting some great women and making new friendships - no pressure to jump into anything substantial at this point.

Non-dating social calendar has also been pretty full. Helped Darlene out with her Year of the Dog Chinese New Year party on Friday, complete with trivia, bingo, picture matching, scattergories and dog stories. It might be the year of the dog, but the night belonged to the Monkey/Dragon/Rat team. In actuality there were 2 monkeys and a dragon, and no rats. So my monkey-led ace fighter squadron dominated early, and ended up taking the exquisite trophy at the end of the night. One of my teammates (the dragon) was Heath Ward of the Zero Film collective, and I daresay we hit it off quite well. I was already a fan of his film The Winter of Her, and we had a lot of shop to talk. I hope to work with him someday.

Saturday was my friend Jordan's wedding to his girlfriend Mali, and it was a nice event with just about every alt cultural scene represented. Unfortunately my goth gear was at the clean--er, I mean the morgue, so I was one of just a handful of "norms". Ron looked very Bondian in his black tux, and stuck out like a sore thumb among a very colorful and diverse wedding party. It was good to see some friends I'd not seen in awhile, and I found going to the restroom conveniently during the garter toss was very telling. Hmmmm.

Sunday was a coffee date with a nice gal from the old neighborhood (Palo Alto, CA), and then Superbowl XL, which as anyone with a TV set knows by now has become a very controversial topic. Lest anyone think the yelling is a case of sour grapes, I think Seattle is a very level-headed, realistic and gracious community, and would not begrudge the Steelers a win if they'd actually won it by playing better, as opposed to having it handed to them by official calls that were questionable at best. Pittsburgh did have a few amazing plays, but Seattle played rings around them in terms of most of the stats. The 11 point spread in the final score is ironically the number of points denied Seattle and/or given to Pittsburgh under dubious circumstances. And I have to say, when the commentators start scratching their heads and questioning calls repeatedly, that's a sign of bad officiating. Either corrupt or incompetent, take your choice - the result is the same. I'm sure this game will be debated for a long time to come. There is a huge fan outcry (including Steelers fans who wanted a legitimate win and are embarrassed by the result), but to their credit, the Hawks came home with heads high - deservedly so. It'll be interesting to see if there is any inquest by the NFL, or perhaps they have gone the way of baseball in the 1920s or boxing in the 1950s.

So enough football. I'm not even a huge Hawks fan. I'm old skool Raiders, baby. But as a Seattleite, I'm happy to root for my home teams, especially when they play a great season.

Now I'm just cracking the whip on the house reconstruction, and hopefully seeing some progress soon. Queuing up the financial stuff for the accountant - boy, tax time will be a real joy this year... bleh. Looking forward to my coffee date on Friday, and life goes on.

"So Long and Goodnight."

No, this isn't the end of the blog. It's a lyric from My Chemical Romance's song "Helena".

Let me back up.

Two nights ago I had an incredibly lucid dream. I was laying on a brand new Sleep Number bed, that I'd bought with some of the flood reimbursement. I could have sworn I was sleeping downstairs in my finished bedroom, not tossing and turning on a cheap air mattress on my office floor. I opened my eyes and the clock radio said 4:59AM. I heard raspy breathing - the kind I'd listened to for the last three hours of Sam's life. The sickly attempt to gulp oxygen into a body that is shutting down.

I knew it was her. I knew Sam was laying next to me in the bed. She was sick, but at least she was alive. I rolled over and saw her as she'd been the few days prior to her last - shaved head (hair partially grown back), sunken cheeks, huge dark circles under her eyes. But it was her! I tried to sit up, but my body was sluggish and unresponsive. I kept trying to yell out, "Sam, is it you? Sam, is it you?" but my vocal chords were paralyzed. I wanted to embrace her and just hold her living body once more. To feel as she felt the night of April 11th, not the morning of April 12th. When she was still warm and alive.

And as I clumsily moved in closer to hold her, her eyes snapped open with a look of abject terror and astonishment. It scared me awake immediately.

So imagine my surprise when I was flipping through the music channels this morning and caught the video for "Helena", in which mourners at a young woman's funeral are caught up in their own grief and don't notice her rise from the open casket and engage in a final celebratory dance before she falls back into the box and is carried away by the band, all pallbearers.

Now keep in mind, I'm not a big fan of MCR, or of emo in general. It's like goth went back in time and mated with the early guitar-based new wave from the late '70s and this was its unholy spawn. Also keep in mind that I had the dream before seeing the music video. But now I can't shake the image of Sam's astonished wide-eyed look, remarkably similar to this...











What's the worst thing I could say?
Things are better if I stay
So long and goodnight
So long not goodnight

This also came right after I'd heard that the new cultural center (at which the Pandemonium Players will be anchor tenants) will be dedicating the light booth to Sam. We thought it might just be her name on the back of a seat. But this is the whole booth. Lights and audio control, where she spent much time in her last eight years at various theaters around Seattle. A fitting honor for a dedicated thespian.

She would have loved the production of Sleeping Beauty we saw at the Seattle Children's Theater tonight. I'll link to a review over at Manic Lobster later... right now I'm exhausted and children must be awoken bright and early.

Life marches on.

Mach Five toward the Cinderblock Wall...

...with my hair on fire. And that Looney Tunes sound effect of the jet aircraft whooshing at the ground.

Relived Sam's last days with the Gilda's group last night. Compared notes. Another wound-searing in the greatest Highland tradition. After the holidays spent un-coupled, I decided to say the hell with it and just go out and be sociable. Since I'm working in my office and sleeping in it too, the only way to get my ass out of the house at all is just to do it. Casual coffee & lunch dates are the extent of what I'm after; just an excuse to relate to a female of the species and NOT SIT IN MY OFFICE 24/7. I have plenty of female friends, but I guess I want to cast a slightly wider net. Or perhaps the fishing metaphor is not how I should be explaining this. Or perhaps I don't need to explain it at all.

In the words of Nada Surf:

Oh, fuck it
I'm gonna have a party

Got almost no sleep last night. Had to wrestle kids out the door while complained they were tiiiiiirrrred. Picking them up early for Tyler's med check and an exam of my ear canal - why the heck is styrofoam creaking around in there?? Then a counseling session for the three of us.

2 weeks 'til Sam's birthday (Feb 11). Not looking forward to that. Kayleigh wants to have a birthday party for mommy, so we'll likely observe the day in some celebratory fashion. Wheeee.

Anniversary home stretch, here we come.

Crawling Mightily Forward

"You're incredibly strong."
"You have amazing strength."
"I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through..."

Well that's true. Hell, I can't begin to imagine, and I've been in the middle of it all. I think it is by definition unimaginable. But I'm not strong. I'm not amazing. I'm just doing the best I can under shitty circumstances. That's really all there is to it. If the kids were not a factor, it would have been done with on April 12th. A two-for-one special.

But then there would have been no blog to give others insight. There would have been no continuation of my unique vision of Sam's memory. I wouldn't be able to see what happens next. As I wrote in the first draft of Damn These Ruby Slippers: "It's not that I'm scared to leave - it's that I'm driven to stay." I guess I really need to see whodunnit. And ultimately, it doesn't matter why I didn't gulp down the gross of morphine we had laying around for Sam's pain management. The kids are a more than adequate reason, as is my morbid curiosity to see how it all turns out. My instinct tells me there is a persistence of energy as yet undefined by science, and I have every reason to believe that I will have my questions answered when I cross the threshold. Let's hope that's not for some time yet.

Don't let the somewhat somber tone of this post scare you. I'm not depressed, and miles away from the momentary suicidal consideration that ran through my head at 5:01AM April 12, 2005. Just rummaging through stuff. Feeling introspective. Had yet another dream about Sam. More PG tender hugs and kisses. I don't want those dreams to end. They put me totally at peace.

RestorX has continued with the tearout. And here's a concept - they actually used a chalk line to guide them when cutting the drywall, as opposed to hacking a haphazard wave with a drywall saw. Awesome. I'm interested in getting this mofo DONE, thank you. Looks like construction can begin by the end of next week. Hallelujah. Also thinking that I will radically alter the color scheme in the master bedroom. Since we moved into the room, it was a blue scheme: sea blue carpet, sky blue walls and ceiling, navy blue comforter on the bed, with clouds hand-painted by yours truly at Samantha's request. The clouds were for her, and I don't think they belong in there now. I'm thinking a wine colored carpet, with red-browns in various shades on the walls and ceiling. When I had my sweetie to keep me warm, blue was a nice, calming color to have in there. Colors in the red spectrum are a bit more masculine and will warm things up. And I'll hang up my art nouveau prints (I have an absinthe ad and a really beautiful Alphonse Mucha). Heck, maybe I should just get a brass bell and a ship's wheel, mount a moose head above the bed and call it a day.

Watched a couple DVDs. Must Love Dogs. Comic Book: The Movie (for Caleb's benefit). I think Absolute Beginners triggered the introspection. I hadn't seen it in awhile and it was one of the first movies Sam and I saw together. We were both fans of the soundtrack and the production design, even if the film itself was a patchwork extended music video (to be expected from director Julien Temple). I'll do a writeup on the other films over at Manic Lobster.

I've started to let select people have a look at Ordinary Angels. It's still in first draft form, so I don't want it out among the general public, but it's generating some really excellent feedback so far.

The dog trainer came over today and got us started on Wiley's edjumacation. He's a really smart, sweet dog, so I'm having second thoughts on my second thoughts. If he improves like he did in just one hour of working this morning, he can stay indefinitely.

Hoping to do coffee with Ron tomorrow morning. Took some to my neighbor Darlene today (she's very kindly doing our laundry until we get our new washer and dryer - and a laundry room to put it in), and her giant ursine shepherd beast (known as Kodiak Bear Dog) hardly barked at me. Good sign. And the cat (Sage Good Times Blue Shark Ranger) actually not only acknowledged my presence, but also played soccer with me and a foam cat toy. Darlene's having a Year of the Dog party next week, which should be fun.

That's all for now. I'll leave you with Colin Hay's beautiful song from Garden State, one of my favorite films...

I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You

I drink good coffee every morning
Comes from a place that's far away
And when I'm done I feel like talking
Without you here there is less to say

I don't want you thinking I'm unhappy
What is closer to the truth
That if I lived till I was a hundred and two
I just don't think I'll ever get over you

I'm no longer moved to drink strong whisky
'Cause I shook the hand of time and I knew
That if I lived till I could no longer climb my stairs
I just don't think I'll ever get over you

Your face it dances and it haunts me
Your laughter's still ringing in my ears
I still find pieces of your presence here
Even after all these years

But I don't want you thinking I don't get asked to dinner
'Cause I'm here to say that I sometimes do
Even though I may soon feel the touch of love
I just don't think I'll ever get over you

If I lived till I was a hundred and two
I just don't think I'll ever get over you

Just Stuff

I spent most of today sorting through the bags of contaminated clothing and sundry bits with the gals from RestorX. The city adjusters were not thrilled with how 1-800-Water Damage had left things when they said they were done. So now RestorX is out here, bagging up stuff that can be cleaned, carting away contaminated stuff that can't be saved, and cataloguing absolutely everything (something that fell completely to me with the former company, although I'm still monitoring stuff with RestorX).

Among the things that were logged and thrown in bags to go to the dump: my wool Baja sweater from my trip to Mexico with Randy in 1989; a woven wool blanket from the same trip; a couple of Sam's favorite sweaters that now no one can use; a chronicle of my teens and twenties in the form of all my concert T-shirts (Marillion, Berlin, Missing Persons, Love & Rockets (x2), Stranglers, Howard Jones, The Cure, David Bowie, Concrete Blonde, The Rise, Autumn Cathedral, Xymox, Lollapalooza 1 & 2 - most of which I saw with Sam) and cast shirts from South Pacific, Inherit the Wind and Fiddler on the Roof. In fact, all of our Deep7 corporate logo shirts were tossed, as was all my Zingo logo gear. More original art, play posters from high school and college (all irreplaceable), art prints (including a few old Frazzettas). My collection of high school and college newspapers featuring my Zingo comic strip. Souvenirs from our honeymoon in the UK. Stuffed animals from my childhood. Pajamas and robes from Sam's last months. A box of college correspondence and love letters we sent to each other over the 20 years we spent together, and a bunch of photos they will try to save with a paper-safe chemical process.

And then, in the midst of everything, laying in some muck on the carport floor, a plastic hospital bracelet, the last accessory Sam ever wore.

I 952999 (SSN)
DOWNING, SAMANTHA K
DR. BEARD, J MARK
02/11/67 27 F FC/ D
MRN- 494201 TITLE:

To Swedish Hospital Providence Campus personnel, that was Sam. Not the creative dynamo, the restless spirit, the mom, the wife, the muse. Not the theater maven. Not the better half of the four-legged spazzmatron known as ToddSam. Just another poor young woman afflicted with a rare cancer that was eating her liver alive. Of course, I know better - know her better. I know who and what she was, and keep that alive in some small way every day. And as I watched all of that history get bagged up for the landfill, it occurred to me that although it symbolized the history, it is not actual history. I still have the memories.

It's just stuff.

Nothing changes the life I had with Sam. It's done. It was challenging and wonderful and adventurous and loving, each in its own part, and at the end of the day what matters is that I'd live it all over again if I could, even knowing what awaits. Watching that stuff get carted away left me with a whole other emotion: relief.

In a way, I'm really glad that stuff isn't around anymore. For what it's worth, I can approximate a fresh start without a lot of anchors to the past. For a long time, I took pride in my past, and I felt it anchored me (in a positive way) to my youth. Although I feel pretty severed from that youth now, there's a freedom in it. And a curiosity as to what comes next.

Mile Marker Thirty-Eight

Caleb just composed this spoken word piece to be added to one of the songs being recorded for the And Tears Fell/Samantha Downing tribute CD, Requiem. It so perfectly sums up my life with Sam, juxtaposing a time when we were truly inseparable with a time when I am truly alone.

There is a child in everyone’s past
Mine was toe-headed
Sly
And always up for oatmeal
But until I met her
There was no child in my future

She was so beautiful to me
All hair and lips
And in between,
Those eyes
And I touched her all the time
To try and pay her back
For that time she touched my life forever

In a bench seat we broke 55 near Shasta
On the way to all that elsewhere
We had dreamed about
Back home in a teenage haze
Underneath pennants and posters
Kicking socked feet
Rolling breathless
On an old plaid comforter

And the first time our city’s lights
Bent their brilliant Braille upon our dashboard
A hand was squeezed
But just like the shot heard round the world
This sinewed trigger had no name
Just like before
Someone had to feel it first
And react

Now when I wake up every morning
Further along the continuum that is my life
The bench seat’s all in buckets
And to my brief surprise I’m all alone
I turn my head longingly back
And in my brains binoculars she’s sitting
Back at mile marker thirty-eight
Singing to me, “remember”
Remember,
That, she and I are, for now, a then and there
That, she took a flight last year beyond the border
That, there, the road of life is an infinite kilometer
That, “You should see it this time of year
The way the leaves turn blue and purple
And never die”

- Caleb Long

Concrete Bed

A fitting title, given the whole sleeping on the couch situation. Thanks to Brian Chase for turning me onto this Nada Surf album, The Weight is a Gift. I was only familiar with their cover of OMD's 1980s anthem "If You Leave". This is the opening track, and it has a certain relevance to my current emotional state.

Concrete Bed

The world's locked up in your head
You've been pouring in a concrete bed
Your habits ossified
You don't realize you're fried, so fried

To find someone you love
You gotta be someone you love

The reason's somewhere in the timber
It takes years till it sinks in
You've used up the easy streets,
And you lost your taste for treats
You're so fried

To find someone you love
You gotta be someone you love
Stay high if you have to
Do whatever it asks you
You got another calling
Don't let it pass you

You know it cause you wrote it
You just didnt think you'd actually do it
It's just another wish you wished in a very long list

To find someone you love
You gotta be someone you love
To find someone you love
You gotta call your own bluff

P.S. Happy Birthday, Mom.

Where'd the Nav Bar Go?

Although today's title could be a fairly accurate analog for my life, it refers to the fact that apparently the navigation sidebar has gone missing. Don't know how or when, although it was working fine after I posted yesterday.

EDIT: The nav bar, as Lynnae pointed out, was actually there all the time. It was just lurking at the bottom of my somewhat verbose entry for yesterday - the width of the movie graphic had knocked the page layout off-kilter. All is well now.

Went to Gilda's last night. There are now more people who have lost spouses than any other relationship in that group. I can't (and won't) break confidentiality by talking specifics, but there was a lot of discussion of coping through the holidays and distribution of the spouse's clothing and other possessions to family members. I got some good pointers on donating Sam's underthings to various women's shelters in the area. I had wondered about that. Not like I'd want to give her intimates to any of my female relatives, nor would they want them. But if a woman has to leave an abusive relationship, like NOW, without the benefit of packing a bag, and she can get temporary use from some of Sam's PJs and underwear, I think that's a good thing. Sam would approve. Between Kayleigh and the theater group's costume department, I think the rest of the stuff will be spoken for.

Put the kids to bed and watched a bit of the new Red Dwarf series 7 DVD on the portable player, then nodded off and dreamed of my grandfather. This is my mom's father, affectionately known as "Opa", as my mom's parents were the ones to come visit in Germany right after I was born (so they got the German names for grandmother and grandfather). He was raised on a walnut farm in southern California, was a Naval officer in the Pacific theater during WWII, an educator, Presbyterian church founder and all around upstanding citizen. At 89, he's still sharp as a tack and possessed of the wry family humor I inherited, despite diminished vision and hearing. He composes original limericks and poems, especially on the subject of new friends he meets. He's always got a hug or a pun for you (trust me - take the hug!). He recently walked around with a burst appendix for a week before doctors figured out what was wrong with him and removed it. The man is an icon to me.

In the dream, we were in a doctor's office. He was sitting on the edge of the exam table, and the doctor was just finishing up his exam. I approached him and hugged him tight, and told him I loved him. Then suddenly he wasn't Opa anymore. He was my grandpa Ken, my dad's father who died in 1984. I just continued to hold him as he changed again, into my dad. It was as if I was communing with all three of forefathers back two generations, like I was inherently aware of the genetic and psychological history and how I was the product of it all. It was a real 2001: A Space Odyssey sequence, for sure. There was some mention of "moving on", and I couldn't tell if it was Ken or my dad saying it. And regardless of whether one takes this kind of message as being figurative (i.e. I'm the one "moving on") or literal (their spirit is transitioning to a higher existence or whatever), it's not always something one wants to hear.

So the recap is that I am a bit disturbed that my living grandfather appeared in a dream with my deceased father and grandfather, but I get the larger context. It wasn't about him specifically - it was about continuity through the generations. And in that context, the dream was comforting. I awoke happy and ready to hit the day running.

The water damage guys left an ozone generator going downstairs to kill any remaining bacteria and mold spores. I realize it's just oxygen with an extra O molecule, but when it began smelling like bleach upstairs, I knew it was time to shut it off. The adjuster comes back to tour the street tomorrow. Hopefully then the actual reconstruction will start. I want a real bed to sleep in.

The Movie of Todd

Thanks, Gavin... Now I know what's wrong with me.

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