She Runs Away

You may not see the end of it

But luckily she comes around

It isn't what she talks about

It's just the way she is

(...and she says)

"Ooh darlin' don't you know

The darkness comes and the darkness goes"

(she says)

"Ooh babe why don't you let it go?

Happiness aint never how you think it should be so"

I mystified the simple life

I covered up with consciousness

I saw myself and broke it down

'Til nothing more was left

She saw the symptoms right away

And spoke to me in poetry

"Sometimes the more you wonder why

The worse it seems to get"

(...and she says)

"Ooh darlin' don't you know

The darkness comes and the darkness goes"

(she says)

"Ooh babe why don't you let it go?

Happiness aint never how you think it should be so"

She runs away

She runs away...

And then you know there comes a time

You need her more than anything

You may believe yours are the wounds

That only she can heal

Then everything will turn around

And she becomes so serious

What she chose to offer you

Was all that you could have

(...and she says)

"Ooh darlin' don't you know

The darkness comes and the darkness goes"

(she says)

"Ooh babe why don't you let it go?

Happiness aint never how you think it should be so"

She runs away

- Duncan Sheik

Had my quaintly-termed "alumni" group last night. Brought the laptop and showed the 4-minute LifeAbridged movie with my music to the group. Cried more in that group than I ever have in public... EVER. Marking an anniversary of death (at least for me) makes you go back and experience those last few hours all over again - and that is not time I necessarily ever want to relive. Don't get me wrong - it was an honor that Sam chose me to share her life and her death. Given the circumstances, I can't say I'd change anything. It was an honor to walk her to the threshold of whatever happens next. And I acknowledge the incredible gift that gave me: perspective. Because all that mundane crap the majority of people seem to think is so important means nothing. Nothing life throws at me from this moment on can intimidate or scare me - I held my wife as she took her last breath, and a month later hugged my father goodbye for the last time. And at the risk of sounding like a raving egomaniac, since I'm still breathing and raising two children on my own, I guess that makes me a fucking titan.

Lots of anger being shared in the group last night. We all have the common quality of having been caregivers for a terminally ill person. A person that would never be able to show any kind of gratitude or reciprocate for all that we did. Selfishly, I thought Sam would pull through, and that she would be there to take care of me when my health failed. I mean let's face it - we ALL will fail at some point. And the lucky ones will have family and close friends who will go to the wall for them. The luckier ones will have a spouse or partner who knows their soul, and who would stay and do whatever needed to be done no matter how incapacitated they became, or how many times they had to change the bedding and wipe up their shit.

I have no doubt that when my time comes, I will have the friendships I've worked hard to foster throughout my life - I will have friends at my side. And I'm pretty sure my kids won't leave me in a ditch somewhere. But I really wanted that insurance, that trump card, that bastion of strength that only a soulmate, a life-partner... a wife... can provide.

In other news, my dog Wiley is the only dog I've ever met who can do a Chevy Chase pratfall while cleaning himself. What the hell, dog? It's not like you aren't already sitting on the damn floor. Ah well. He's comic relief. Which is good, because I tend to brood and listen to depressing, angsty music throughout the majority of the day, and a little random mirth keeps me from carving my wrists up with an X-acto knife.

Six Months

Six Months ago today, at 5AM, Samantha passed away. I'd never been present at the death of a human being before that moment, so I have little basis for comparison, but I guess it was peaceful, as death goes. Well, no. No it really wasn't. For three hours her body clung onto life. Her lungs strained to take in breath. Her heart beat strongly. This was a young woman who did not want to die, and who had no business dying at this stage in her life. I've written previously about what I saw as the travesty of a human body shutting down piecemeal like that. One infected organ is all it takes to start a chain reaction. And in her case, the liver was key. Had the liver survived, it would not have poisoned the brain with toxic ammonia levels, which then would not have shut down her other systems.

And all that is very technical and clinical and doesn't change the fact that for three hours I sat by her side and watched helplessly as her body killed itself. I think that was the true horror - not being able to do anything. I considered several times calling 911 and getting her hospital care. But then I remembered how the surgery to remove her infected port had really sapped what little strength she had left. The two considerations that kept me from dialing those three numbers were:

1) Sam's oncologist had thrown in the towel. He had remained hopeful up until the last couple months, but then he'd been very realistic and told us in no uncertain terms that she wasn't going to last long, and that no amount of care in a hospital was going to change that.

2) At one point about a week prior to her passing, I'd told Sam, "any time you want to go to the hospital, you just let me know." To which she gave a look as if to say what are you, crazy? and replied, "Heck no. You're giving me the best care I've ever had."

For the month or so after she died, I wondered if I'd done the right thing. Then my dad died in the hospital, with every intervention under the sun - something he said he didn't want - and I knew I'd spared Samantha that final indignity. I guess that should be of some consolation. I did give her comfort, love, dignity and a hand to hold all the way to the door. And I did my best to give my dad the same.

Was down all evening yesterday with a migrane. Never got them until my mid to late 20s, and only 3 times or so a year. After Sam was diagnosed, I could count on one showing up at least once a month (and maybe staying for two or three days). One was so severe Sam took me to the ER where they gave me a shot of Imitrex that made my head feel like it had transformed into a Hawaiian volcano god. Then I read that the drug had been implicated in cases of heart failure and declined to fill the prescription. Exploding heart, not so much, thanks. I kept them in check with a combination of diet, exercise, chiropractic, massage and Excedrin. They declined in frequency and severity after Sam passed away, but still manage to sneak up on me if I don't keep up with the first 4 deterrents. Seems to be better today.

Woke up at 4AM to Wiley whuffing and whining in the spot where Sam's hospice bed had been (which is directly over my bed downstairs). Put on the headphones and brought up the mp3 random playlist on the laptop (which I generally keep next to the bed).

First song, And Tears Fell - Devil's Lullaby (one of our songs currently undergoing re-recording for the tribute CD).

And should you fall,

One winter's day

The angels and devils

Around us surround us

And take your soul away

Next song, Echo & The Bunnymen - The Killing Moon.

In starlit nights I saw you

So cruelly you kissed me

Your lips a magic world

Your sky all hung with jewels

The killing moon

Will come too soon

Next song, Brendan Perry - The Captive Heart

But then if I close my eyes

I can see you standing there

Your face in permanence smiles

Your lips a chalice

Seems like I've loved you all my life

Never thought I'd find you

One day the muse may lend these words wings

So I can touch you

Next song, Sarah Shannon - I'll Run Away

Two thousand miles and a day since I left my home

I watch the sun leave the sky as I sit here alone

Nothing to do - I don't care, I don't care, I don't care

Just watching beautiful time pass by without you there

Next song, And Tears Fell - Fire Inside (another of the works in progress)

I never thought you'd run away like that

I always thought we'd be together

I never dreamed that it could hurt so much

I always thought I'd take it better

Okay honey. Thanks for checking in. I love you.

Dawn of the Slacker

Well I woke up this morning... (blues riff here)

That's it, really. Jeez, such a clever opening and... nuthin'. What a rip off!

Came upstairs to find everything tinted the color of orange sherbet. Still a bit groggy, of course - could be my eyes going wonky after years of sitting too close to the television and 8 years in the videogame industry, staring at color pallettes on a CRT monitor. Let Wiley out of his kennel and took him to the back door to let him out for his morning business. Opened the door to the most beautiful sunrise EVAR. Beautiful pink and orange clouds strewn across a light blue sky, sun just coming up, front-lighting the autumn trees. It was like a freakin' Bob Ross painting ("Here's a happy little cloud right here...").

It occurs to me I haven't posted in over a week, but it's not due to disinterest, just to a generally busy state of being. Been working on Arrowflight 2nd Edition, the Ordinary Angels screenplay, and finishing up some music.

On that front, the master for Impetus - Triskelle just went out, due to some last minute tweaking and the addition of the final track. The piece just poured out of me one afternoon as I was writing the very sparse dialogue in a scene from Ordinary Angels where a terminally ill woman is dying in her husband's arms and Cadmiel, one of the angel characters, leans in to whisper in the woman's ear, which begins the active dying process. As you can imagine, it's kind of a strong scene, and very close to home. But this beautiful acoustic guitar riff came to me and I assembled the track in about 3 hours. Called it Whispered the Angel, and knew it had to go on Triskelle. The following morning, I put it behind a 4-minute montage of photos and video clips from Sam's life. Easier to send friends in a chat window than a 30-minute DVD. And even a bit more powerful - the fact that it's Samantha's life condensed into 4 minutes.

Went to lunch again with LA, had a good time, showed her both Sam's and my dad's memorial DVDs. What a trooper. Took my folks to the airport - they're having a great time visiting old friends in England, going to Paris for a bit too.

This last Saturday I took Muriel over to Brian Chase's studio to meet him and get her comfortable in the studio setting. She's singing several of the songs that are going on the And Tears Fell tribute CD. The simple introduction turned into her actually singing some placeholder vocals on two songs, which now allows Brian and I (and other musicians) to layer in more instrumentation. All the time I was sitting there listening to Muriel's amazing voice and wondering "does Sam approve of this?", because while Muriel has a really great voice, it's so very much NOT Sam, and our sound was really defined to a great extent by Sam's voice.

But I remembered this is a tribute to Sam, not us trying to re-create her vocal style. Muriel had known Sam since she was 14 and Sam was 30. They had a big sister/little sister thing going on. This is done with the best of loving intent, and yes, Sam would approve. Besides, my guitar work is better now than it was back in the day, and we're no longer restricted to lo-fi analog recording equipment and limiting media like TAPE. Muriel's vocals sound like an unholy crossbreeding of Natalie Merchant and Johnette Napolitano - really haunting. I guess to compare, Sam's voice had more of a classical-to-pop quality, and Muriel's is more jazzy/bluesy.

It's all good.

Sunday we drove the new rig up to Bellingham for a nice afternoon visit with my grandparents. I'm very lucky to have my mom's folks still here, sharp as tacks and in possession of their own teeth. My grandfather turns 89 next month. There's a ton of family history being written down now, thank heavens.

Came home, threw together dinner, and riffed on some CD cover art for the And Tears Fell project. Settled on the idea of featuring a rose photo that Samantha took on Vancouver Island in 1986 when we drove up to the World Expo. The rest is about a dozen layers of texture to create a kind of 23 Envelope vibe. I was a big fan of their album cover design work for 4AD Records; it was a big inspiration for Samantha & I in our music.

So that's where it sits now. Tune in again later. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!

Just Keeps Going... And Going...

So this week has been a nonstop orgy of schedules, milestones and activities. It's a biggie, but bear with me...

Tuesday - Took Kayleigh to get ballet slippers and tap shoes, then to dance class. Not a huge deal. Got me primed for each day getting a bit more busy.

Wednesday - Took the kids to school, picked up my brother and headed to Shoreline to shop cars. See, my late grandfather's estate dropped a sudden, one-time-only gift in the laps of each of my dad's children, thanks to my aunt, uncle and grandmother. It couldn't have come at a better time. The '92 Sable was about to become one of those "old car money pits", especially since the radiator cracked back in '03 and leaked coolant into the engine. Since then I've been getting crappy mileage and crappy performance, despite our local greasemonkeys doing everything mechanically possible (short of replacing the engine). Sam's Taurus wagon blew the tranny on the trip down to Oregon, and was basically hauled away for parts.

So here I am, a single father of two with a limited income and a failing car, no way to afford payments on even a crappy used car (which would be no better a solution than sinking money into the Sable). Yet here was this magical means of buying a new, reliable car with a full warranty for cash. It felt like Grandpa Ken came back to Earth to help me out this one last time.

After much research and a lot of test driving, I settled on the Kia Sportage - you know, the commercial with each person driving it somewhere and then throwing the keys to the next person. It's the overhauled new design built on the Hyundai Tucson/Elantra chassis. Not so much a small SUV as a sport wagon. Thing is shorter than a sedan, yet has amazing space inside, like a Dr. Who TARDIS. 4-cylinder 5-speed stick, good horsepower for the size of the engine, ABS, traction/stability control, front, side and curtain airbags all standard. Excellent passenger/cargo space, and 21-28 mpg (way better than the Sable, which is a really good thing as gas prices keep climbing). Has the Hyundai warranty too: 10yrs/100,000mi powertrain, 5yr bumper-to-bumper, 5yr roadside assistance and 6yr corrosion (a nice feature in Seattle). Got a great deal and excellent treatment from Chuck Olson Chevrolet/Kia in Shoreline (plug plug). Did the deal, but the exact rig I wanted was on a lot in Oregon and had to be brought up. 37 years old, and just bought my first new car. Go me.

Went to my Gilda's group that night. Met a woman who was roughly my age, had been high school/college sweethearts with her husband, lost him to the same cancer Samantha had, over a similar course of treatment. Has a 4yo girl. Brought back a ton of stuff for me, emotionally. Go figure.

Thursday - 15th wedding anniversary. The tormented blog entries are below. It was a rough day from the get-go. Could not stop crying... and it wasn't the break-down-sobbing kind... more like a constant stomach ache and saline drip leaking from the eyes. Decided I'd put it off long enough and went out to get inked that evening. Well, I tried anyway. When I got out to my car, I discovered my left front tire was flat, and the tire shop around the corner was closed. Message received - take a friend. So I called Caleb for a ride and he took me to Admiral Tattoo (plug plug), where a very friendly veteran artist proceeded to transfer the winged heart that was Samantha's symbol to my right calf. Yes, it hurt. And something about the physical pain became a catharsis for all the emotional agony I'd been feeling that day (and for the last 5 - 1/2 months). It was another milestone. When it was over, Caleb & I went around the corner to the Admiral Pub and shared a pitcher of Mack & Jack's Ale. And when I say we shared the pitcher, I mean Caleb had a glass, and I had the rest. In about 15 minutes. So needless to say, my leg didn't hurt too much. Put the kids to bed and crashed hard.

Friday - Kayleigh's 8th birthday. Up at 5:30AM, made breakfast. Got the kids up and moving, then drove around the corner on the Sable's alloy rim to get the tire replaced. They hooked me up and I was off - to the store to get cupcakes for Kayleigh's class celebration. Took the kids to school for the last time in the Sable. Forgot to go to the chiropractor. Met up with Erik and Caleb and went to check out Serenity. LOVED it, but then I loved the short-lived Firefly TV series upon which the film is based. Got home and cleaned for half an hour. Kids got home, piled them into the car and picked up my brother. Headed up to Shoreline to pick up the new rig. Bye bye Sable, hello Sportage (which Caleb has decreed we must pronounce with a French accent, i.e. spor-taaj, so we can drive the Spor-taaj to Tar-jaay). Got down to the Northgate Red Robin for a birthday dinner with my stepmom and our whole car load. Of course, being a Friday night, it was completely mad in there. We just managed to finish, drop my brother at home and get back to the house before the guys got there for our weekly game night. Put the kids down around 10PM, the guys left about midnight, I finally got to bed at 1:AM... Long day.

Today was actually a holiday in comparison! Got Tyler to Aikido, then grabbed some lunch with the kids. My stepmom picked up Kayleigh this afternoon for a dinner-and-ballet outing, just the two of them. Tyler and I took the Spor-taaj to Tar-jaay and got prezzies for Kayleigh's party tomorrow... when I get to host a Chuck E. Cheese birthday party with 5 eight-year-old girls and a bored boy of 11.

I am a leaf on the wind.

Wave

It seems that I remember
I dreamed a thousand dreams
We’d face the days together no matter what they’d bring
A strength inside like I’d never known
Opened the door to life and let it go

This sun may shine forever
Upon the back of love
A kingdom raised from ashes and held within your arms
And should the rain break through the trees
We’ll find a shelter there and never leave

I’ll run to you, nothing stands between us now
Nothing I can lose
This light inside can never die
Another world just made for two
I’ll swim the seas inside with you
And like the waves, without a sound
I’ll never let you down

Upon the wave of summer
A hilltop paved with gold
We shut our eyes and made the promises we hold
A will to guide and see us through
I’d do it all again because of you

I’ll run to you, nothing stands between us now
Nothing I can lose
This light inside can never die
Another world just made for two
I’ll swim the seas inside with you
And like the waves, without a sound
I’ll never let you down

I’d tear my very soul to make you mine

- David Sylvian

Letter to Samantha

Hello my Darling,

Sometimes it seems like that magical first kiss was just last week. Other times it seems like forever ago. Even though I was only 16, there was this feeling deep down in the pit of my stomach that said "she's the one". I won't lie - that feeling was scary to me. But then I'd always had a sort of freaky sense of Destiny (with a capital D), so I rolled with it.

Fast forward 6 years. A hundred fifty of our friends and family assembled at a beautiful stone church in Portola Valley to watch us make our lifetime commitment a public statement. I was as stoic and unsmiling as the stones in the church - so solemn! And yet, once the ceremony was done, I was the life of the party. You were so beautiful. The gown with the puffed shoulders, and your hair up under that hat... you looked like a southern belle.

Then the limo ride to the Garden Court Hotel in Palo Alto, standing up and waving out the sunroof all the way down University Avenue, while people honked and cheered. The wonderful food, the champagne, the cheesy DJ who cracked stupid one-liners but nonetheless played what we wanted. We made our entrance to the strains of John Williams' Star Wars fanfare. Randy, my father & stepfather and your dad all made toasts in our honor. We danced to Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes", that romantic '80s anthem made even more popular by the ubiquitous John Cusack date movie, Say Anything. And David Sylvian's "Silver Moon" with its somewhat prophetic lyrics:

I will build a shelter if you call
Just take my hand and walk
Over mountains high and wide
Bridging rivers deep inside
With a will to guide you on
Your heart will need no one
Those days are gone

Baby I can tell you there's no easy way out
Lost inside of dreams that guide you on
Baby I can tell you there's no easy way out
Soon the guiding moonlight will be gone

Years later, I would find video of you at the reception, dancing by yourself to Peter Gabirel's "Solsbury Hill", your face a vision of happiness and contentment.

We finally retired up to our suite, exhausted and aglow, only to find our friends had trashed the room. We could have called down to have the hotel staff clean it up, but we were so tired it didn't occur to either of us. We just cleared the bed, managed a celebratory tryst, and crashed hard. Until 5AM, when the alarm clock hidden under the bed went off.

The next day would be spent prepping for our month-long journey through England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. It was a symbol of the adventure that awaited us in our life together. We would undertake careers, interstate relocation, childrearing, and small business operation. And we would do it all TOGETHER. It's hard not having TOGETHER anymore. I miss TOGETHER. I miss having a partner who knows my most intimate details, my quirks and habits, my soul. But I am grateful for the time we did have.

Baby, fifteen years ago today, I promised you I'd be yours forever in front of "God and everybody". In Celtic fashion, every year I renewed those vows, and so did you. I just want you to know that I would do it all over again, even knowing what happens at the end. I'm really hurting without you. I miss you. Your bright smile, soft touch and just your overall companionship. The kids miss their mom. I miss my best friend, my wife.

I will always love you, Samantha.

Eternally,
Todd

Wake Me Up When September Ends

Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends

Like my fathers come to pass
Seven years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends

Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are

As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends

Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends

Ring out the bells again
Like we did when spring began
Wake me up when September ends

Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are

As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends

Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends

Like my fathers come to pass
Twenty years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends

- Green Day
(emphasis mine)

Waves Become Wings

The birthday meaning entry was stupid, so I'm replacing it with something that might have a bit more insight and less cheese. Today's title comes from a song by This Mortal Coil. I thought it might be relevant.

I had a pretty deep conversation with my stepmom yesterday, in which I thought of an interesting analogy to the grief process each of us is currently undergoing. The emotional devastation we feel is akin to a forest fire. It sweeps through, killing all aspects of our former life with our spouse, laying the whole zone bare, blackened and charred. Eventually, life will return. Even more lush and vibrant perhaps. But it will take time, and we will always see remnants of the old fire damage here and there, despite how much it may become overgrown with new life.

Had my first bereavement group at Gilda's. It's bigger (more people), more diverse in ages, more diverse in stories. There are a few members who are mourning spouses, so I don't feel out of place. It just doesn't have the immediate comfort level of my past two groups. We'll see how it works.

Been thinking a lot about those old connections... My brother Matt, whom I last saw in the hospital, surrounded by a crash team and rigged with tubes and sensors. I remember how he looked up at me, how we locked eyes and he silently told me goodbye.

My grandfather Ken, with whom I shared many deep and meaningful philosophical conversations. How comforted he looked when I described the human soul as a spark from the Source/God/creator.

My great grandfather Charles, who used to slip me money to go buy comics or candy when I was a wee lad. A man who felt so strongly about passing the torch to the next generation that he voluntarily gave up nourishment.

My uncle Doug, my father's youngest brother, black sheep of the family, with whom I shared a strange kind of advocacy. As he was dying of leukemia from radiation treatments for an earlier cancer, we shared several teary phonecalls, and I remember telling him it was alright if he had to go - that I didn't want him to, but if he had important work to do, he should not feel bound here. That "release" would become standard practice from then on.

My yard-long, 22-lb Maine Coon tabby (Gryphon), who was my constant companion from 1987 to 2003. I held him as he died.

My darling wife of almost 15 years, partner and companion of more than 20, Samantha. Those pivotal moments... our trip up to Victoria and Vancouver in 1986, driving up - just the two of us. The time we broke up for a month. Our first apartment in Mountain View. Long phonecalls when we were at different colleges. Our trip to the Caribbean in 1989, our wedding in 1990, our exodus north in 1991. The birth of our son in 1994, the purchase of our home in 1995. More angst, more love. Our daughter's arrival in 1997. Our near-split in 2000, and coming out of that closer and stronger than ever. Her diagnosis in 2002, followed by my father's. The constant trips to the hospital, and her boundless courage, hope and humor. Holding her as she breathed her last... God, I will never forget that horrible silence.

My father. A man who suffered greatly as a child, yet found the strength within himself to break a generations-old cycle of abuse. A man who showed me how to follow my dreams and never look back. How he asked Samantha where she would most like to go in the world, and when she answered Greece and Italy, said without missing a beat, "Book the trip - it's on me." Remembering how he insisted on coming to dinner for Tyler's birthday, just one day after his first brain surgery. How he never quite came back after that. How frustrated he looked in the ICU bed, being subject to all manner of humiliation after another brain surgery... and another. How he cried on the phone when I told him we'd adopted our dog Wiley. How I knew the moment I heard the phone ring that he was gone, before the doctor even said they were still trying to revive him.

It's all a charred forest now.

I'm trying really hard to find new growth... but it's a hellishly long and painful search. Especially this big redwood grove that was my life with Sam. That will take forever to come back, no matter how many dates I may go on.

And tomorrow I might feel totally different. Welcome to Widda-World.

Dating, Guilt Factor and Getting on With it...

Monday, for the first time since I was 16 and took Sam to dinner and a movie, I went on a date.

Yeah, at 5-1/2 months, I went on a date. And you know what? It felt good. Really good. Because although Sam died 5-1/2 months ago, I hadn't related to her from a "romantic" point of view since before chemo. It just wasn't part of the equation. Caring for her was the number one priority - not being mushy and boyfriend/girlfriend (or husband/wife). We had our tender moments. We were still physically intimate when we could manage it. But I was losing her for a long time, and deep down I knew I was losing her. The amount of anticipatory grief I experienced during the last 2-1/2 years of Sam's life probably has a lot to do with my ability to even consider relating to a woman on any level other than platonic at less than 6 months of official widda-hood. "LA" is a single mom, really sweet, really supportive of my process, and extremely patient because of it.

Concern #1: That I'd be too hung up on Sam's personality or body type/physical traits to be open to anything different. LA is like a complete about-face from Sam, so concern #1 was rendered moot - and that felt good to discover.

Concern #2: That the Guilt Factor would be debilitating, and I would not be able to function socially. I kept waiting for it, but the Guilt Factor never registered - and that felt good too.

Concern #3: That skin hunger would drive me too deeply and too quickly into a relationship, which I'm totally not ready for. That's still a concern, so I'm taking things slowly and not jumping into anything serious. Not with LA. Not with anyone.

Bottom line? I felt human and alive for a few hours. I related to a female of the species and didn't do the social equivalent of pulling the pin on a grenade and waving it around. It felt natural and positive and I didn't feel any of the guilt I was anticipating, nor did I care about what "everyone else" might think. Guess I'm cutting myself some slack, which is one of those about-damn-time things.

Admiral Nelson, R.I.P.

My father's parrot, Admiral Nelson, died yesterday of what the vets called a heart attack. Enlarged chambers, shrunken arteries, went instantly. He had no other health problems and was acting completely normal when we saw him on Tuesday. We got him back in the '80s as a Christmas present for dad. They bonded, and Admiral sailed with my dad & stepmom when they transitioned to their cruising lifestyle.

Katherine took excellent care of the Admiral, and he could have lived another 30-40 years. But parrots bond with their primary humans, and veterinary literature is full of stories just like this. Quite literally died of a broken heart. He was the last of the pets we had in the house on Sutter Avenue in Palo Alto. The house that we just sold.

It is truly the end of an era. I can almost hear the page turning.

For some reason Blogspot is having trouble with pics... I'll keep trying.

An Actor's Life For Me

Well, we did the Twelfth Night fundraiser last night. It was generally a good show, with kickass food, an auction, etc. We pirates screwed up the opening number, but other than that things went pretty smoothly. Travis (aka Commodore Wee Pecker) brought a couple replica pistols and some plastic caps - when you crammed the cap over the firing nipple and fired, it made a nice report in the hall. We worked the crowd between numbers and chased each act off the stage with some funny improv shtick.

I'm not sure how much we made for the theater company, but it was plain that folks were really being generous. Twelfth Night gives away all of its profits to local charities and community improvement projects, so this will be an annual event, to help replenish the operating fund.

I'm tired and sore, but it was a lot of fun, and I really feel like I'm continuing Samantha's efforts with this group (and in general).

Here We Go.

Monday will mark 5 calendar months since the morning Sam died. But the dying process took weeks - how much more cruelly a human body could be punished by itself, I cannot fathom. I was reminded of the last portion of Sam's life by a post my brother made in his blog. Tell you the truth, I'd blocked that day out (for obvious reasons). And when I read that, the breathtaking horror of that specific moment came flooding back, and it knocked me flat.

It had been a rough fight. Sam had chosen to go 100% chemo - to be as aggressive as she possibly could. For more than two years, doctors pumped her full of chemicals meant to kill tissue, not strengthen the patient. She was young and strong when the battle began, and although the cancer certainly destroyed her liver, the chemo took a heavy toll. I don't know why they didn't remove her port when they decided to quit chemo. It eventually became infected, and caused a trip to the hospital for a surgery from which she never recovered. It wasn't the surgery itself, but a cumulative effect. The constant barrage of poking and prodding and sticking and medicines. Healthcare is invasive. And often, the cure is worse than the disease.

I don't fully blame chemo for killing Samantha. Chemo prolonged her life for a year or more - while she was still strong enough to take it. But after a time, you reach a point of diminishing returns. We went to a naturopath who works with Swedish, and he put her on some immunity boosting supplements and a dietary plan to help take the load off her liver, but it was too late. After that last surgery to remove her infected port, she declined again... about 2 weeks after she rallied so hard (and I really believed she might come back - I was pulling for that miracle), she kissed the kids goodnight for the last time.

Kayleigh went to a sleepover at a friend's house, Tyler retired to his bedroom downstairs. I stayed with Sam in the family room where her hospice bed had been situated for the past three weeks. Candles were lit, soft music played. After a stampede of family and friends over the last few weeks, it was eerie to be alone together - just like the night of our first kiss in my dad's driveway 20 years before. I sat with her until 11PM, then collapsed on the sofa next to her.

At 2AM, I sat bolt upright. She was breathing in halted gasps - the last stage of "active" dying. I sat next to her and held her. I kept telling her how much I loved her, how much everyone loved her. I told her I wished she wouldn't go, but I understood if she had something important to accomplish elsewhere. She kept repeating "love... love..." I would have given anything to bring her back from that precipice. I kept fantasizing that any second she'd open her eyes and breathe a full, calm breath of air, and she'd look at me and smile, and be completely healed, like this was another childbirth, not dying of cancer. I'd been warned about the "death rattle", when the airway gets saliva in it and causes a chilling sound. But Sam was classy, and instinctively cleared her throat with each breath. No rattle.

I sat there holding her for 3 hours. Every breath she took was agony for me - never knowing if THAT one was the LAST one. Finally, at 5AM on the nose, she took one last breath, exhaled. Funny thing was, I could tell no more breaths would come. Up to that point, she'd had spaces of thirty seconds or more between breaths. But the moment she let that last lungful of air out, I knew she was gone. Her body remained warm for some time, but her spark was gone. I just kept holding her and crying, because I knew what this meant.

Samantha's passing represented the death of an era. Not just the end of a loving marriage and another point for cancer. Not just another two kids who would have to grow up without their mom. But the end of everything she and I had experienced together for 20 years, from our teens, through our twenties and into our thirties. From getting yelled at for making out in drama class, to road trips with our SCA pirate clan, to an interstate move, careers, children, home... all of that shared history is no longer shared. It becomes my own memory archive, or the memories of my children, friends, family members. And those memories are made painful by virtue of the fact that the one person I chose to make such memories with is now gone.

I hadn't even had a chance to sort through these feelings when my father was told his cancer had metastasized to his brain. He had one brain surgery, then another... for me, it was torture having to see him in the hospital, being carved on, poked and prodded - all the stuff I'd just gone through with Sam. Then he developed a blood clot and infection in his brain from the surgeries. For the week following his third brain surgery, my poor stepmom practically lived at the hospital. And I knew what she was going through. I visited him pretty frequently that week, despite how much I fucking HATE hospitals. But when I got the call from the doctor that he'd gone into respiratory distress and they were trying to revive him, I knew it was over. And I couldn't go see him afterward. Not with the intubation tube in his throat and all the hospital gear all over him. I'd had enough. Enough. No more hospitals, cancer, pain and agony - no more DEATH, please. At least for a long time.

I felt I wanted to re-post this pic, for a lot of personal reasons. I love you Dad... I love you Sam... I miss you both, more than I can ever put to words.

Sage Advice.

Taurus horoscope for today:

"If your emotions were a bank, you might be feeling just a touch overdrawn right now; remember that while it's always nice to feel a little nostalgia for days of yore, you're really not helping yourself by staying stuck in the past. In fact, you may actually be missing a wonderful opportunity by not being fully present in the here and now. Not only is the present moment pretty great, but your future could be bright indeed -- if you can get out of your memories."

Good to know. Like it's gonna happen any time soon. ;)

Back to School

Well I haven't posted in a few days... Labor Day weekend and all. Had a nice BBQ at Sam's brother's place with my extended family on Saturday afternoon. Came home, made the previous post. The next day was really bad. Had no energy, severely depressed, missing Sam - felt like what I imagine someone feels like coming off heroin. At bedtime, I cried harder and longer than I ever did as a child. Almost passed out. Finally talked myself down and fell asleep.

Dreamed the kids came into my room and said, "we hear mommy upstairs." Our house has a reverse floorplan - bedrooms downstairs, entry upstairs. The door at the bootom of the stairs lines up pretty much with my bedroom door. Both were open and I could see this golden warm light spilling down from the landing at the top of the stairs. Then, plain as day, I heard Sam call out, "Sweetie." She always had a particular inflection and tone when she called me that, and this was her way of telling me to calm down, that everything would work out. She said it twice, and I tried to respond, but... stupid vocal paralysis in dreams. Then she was gone and I started to wake, and could see behind my closed eyes a light in my room that shouldn't have been there normally. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Woke up at 5:30AM. And sonnovabitch, my door was open. I shut it tightly at night because I don't like the cat cleaning herself and shedding next to my head in the middle of the night. So... wackiness.

Monday was great. Went to a little gathering at Darlene's down the street. Much hilarity and soaking of clothes in a water fight. Then Kayleigh hung out with Darlene and I went to meet Steve, JD, Caleb and Jeremiah (actor from Duo) down at the Celtic Swell for some going away pints. Then Steve brought over some Spike & Mike's animation and I showed him this awesome Looney Tunes documentary. Steve's a fanatic for the LT (and so am I). That was a good, full day. There were some dark pockets, but on the whole, I navigated through the shoals pretty well.

Tuesday was less productive than I wanted, being the last day of summer vacation for the kids. Ah well. Best laid plans and all. At 5PM, rounded them up and took them to the back to school carnival, with inflatable bouncy rides and dinner. Hung out there for a couple hours. Cracked the whip and managed to get computers and TVs off, pets fed, teeth brushed and kids in bed by 9:30. Then set about folding the bazillion loads of laundry hiding my bed. All this mundane stuff used to be fun when Sam & I did it together. Finally crashed at 12:30.

So Tyler's in middle school now. When I left him with his homeroom crowd this morning, in his gray camo pants, Vans and blue fleece sweatshirt, freshly showered and combed, it struck me how grown up he is. This is the same little kid I have on video performing songs from Winnie the Pooh at age 3 with a curtain rod for an air guitar. And to watch Kayleigh running around at the fair with her friends yesterday... whew. Where have the last 8 years gone?? Eight years ago, I was working on Allegiance at Microsoft, and Sam was pregnant with Kayleigh. Tyler was in preschool. They used to come out to the Redwest campus and have lunch with me. I got to take my new design work home on Fridays to bring in the following week, so I could maintain a presence at home. It doesn't seem like that long ago, but look what's changed in those eight years: another kid at home, the launching of Deep7, the release of the licensed Red Dwarf game, the loss of Ace & Gryphon, the diagnosis, treatment and deaths of Samantha and my father. Oh, and my descent into hell. Yeah, I know. Enough with the self-pity. But I don't see it as self-pity; more a casual statement of fact.

When people ask me how I'm doing now, I just answer, "surviving." Because that's all I can really do right now.

The left side of the photo was taken in 2002, before Sam's diagnosis. The right side was in the fall of 2004, about 6 months before she died.

The Last Straw

Hotel hobbies padding dawn's hollow corridors
A typewriter cackles out a stream of memories
Drying out a conscience, evicting a nightmare
Opening the doors for the dreams to come home

We live out lives in private shells
Ignore our senses and fool ourselves
To thinking that out there that someone else cares
Someone to answer all our prayers

Are we too far gone, are we so irresponsible
Have we lost our balls, or do we just not care
We're terminal cases that keep taking medicine
Pretending the end isn't quite that near

We make futile gestures, act to the cameras
With our made up faces and our PR smiles
And when the angel comes down, down to deliver us
We'll find out after all, we're only men of straw

But everything is still the same
Passing the time passing the blame
We carry on in the same old way
We'll find out we left it too late one day to say what we meant to say

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the water
Those problems seem to arise, the ones you never really thought of
The feeling you get is similar to something like drowning
Out of your mind, you're out of your depth, you should have taken soundings
Clutching at straws, we're clutching at straws

And if you ever come across us don't give us your sympathy
You can buy us a drink and just shake our hands
And you'll recognise by the reflection in our eyes
That deep down inside we're all one and the same

We're clutching at straws
We're still drowning
Clutching at straws

- Marillion, "The Last Straw"

Clutching at Straws, 1987

Yeah, probably not the best music to be listening to in my state, but there's something to be said for getting it out. Sam & I saw Marillion live twice. The first time was in 1985 at the Filmore in San Francisco. In the days before mosh pits and barricades, I could always guarantee Sam a great concert ecperience. We would always be right next to the stage and I created a shield around her with my body, so she would be mostly immune to any shoving and pushing.

The concert in question was the Misplaced Childhood tour. The album remained one of Sam's favorite, most-played albums all her life. The poetry is amazing and the music (although somewhat dated sounding now) is astonishing. They played the whole album as one continuous song (as it was recorded), along with some singles before and after. Our friend Colin had managed to slip a roadie a news clipping about our other friend Dan's suicide. Earlier that school year, Dan had taken a dangerous cocktail of controlled and OTC drugs, and gone to lay down on the railroad tracks. They found pieces of him everywhere. Sam and I weren't close to Dan, but we ran with the same crowd and were tight with Colin, so obviously we were affected.

So the show went well, they played like the virtuosos they were, and the band left the stage. We were satisfied in a show well done. But then... they started their first encore. The vocalist, Fish, was lit in silhouette behind one of the translucent flats on the stage. And he began this speech about how he'd read the news article and it disturbed him to see a young life cut short so tragically. And they proceeded to play the title track to Fugazi, which happened to be Dan's favorite song of theirs (or so Colin told me after the show in a state of disbelief). The basic gist is in these few lines:

Cowering behind curtains and the taped up painted windows
Decriminalised genocide, provided door to door Belsens
Pandora's box of holocausts gracefully cruising satellite infested heavens
Waiting, the season of the button, the penultimate migration
Radioactive perfumes, for the fashionably, for the terminally insane, insane

Do you realise? Do you realise?
Do you realise, this world is totally fugazi

The second time we saw them was the Clutching at Straws tour, at the Warfield in San Francisco. Another great show, and this time we got to meet the band by the tour bus. I got my concert shirt signed by Fish, and shook the keyboardist's hand (I was a big keyboards guy at the time). We had a giant wall-size poster from that tour in our apartment, along with a similar one from Peter Gabriel's So tour (we saw Peter Gabriel twice in the space of a year - once for So, and once for the Amnesty tour with Sting, Lou Reed and U2).

I can listen to virtually no music without being reminded of Samantha. How she looked in stage lights (whether on stage or in the audience), how she felt backed against my chest in the crowd of people, or how we used to go dancing at the Vortex in Palo Alto (or in the dance pit at our friend Wombat's communal pad). How she got so serious when working on one of our own songs, and how she would curl the corner of her mouth into a subtle smile while singing, pursing her beautiful lips. How we would spontaneously slow dance in the living room...

Last week my brother Matt would have been 35. It's hard to imagine. Things might have been very different. We were very competitive as children. My personality may have developed in some other direction. My parents may have stopped with my sister Sara, or even with Matt. I might not have my brother Gavin today. My parents may not have split up, and I wouldn't have been the life preserver for my siblings. I may never have met Sam. And if I'd never met Sam, I wouldn't have my wonderful children.

So I guess things do happen for a reason, painful as they may be at the time... and for years afterward. That's the price we pay for being human. Loss hurts like a son of a bitch. But it's part of the mechanism of existence. There is joy to follow. I can't see it from my current vantage point, but there MUST be. Because if there isn't, what's the point?

That Time of the Night

At that time of the night
When streetlights throw crosses through window frames
Paranoia roams where the shadows reign
Oh, at that time of the night
At that time of the night
Your senses tangled in some new perfume
Criticism triggers of a loaded room
Oh, at that time of the night

So if you ask me
How do I feel inside
I could honestly tell you
We’ve been taken on a very long ride
And if my owners let me
Have some free time some day
With all good intention
I would probably run away
Clutching the short straw
- Marillion

Got a load of dishes done. Folded 3 loads of laundry. Paid bills. Got the ball rolling on a refi for the house. Assembled the dog kennel for night use (he's getting into stuff while we're asleep - stuff that will make him sick). Talked to the accountant. Got the car washed. Helped my brother replace his car battery. Made a hot dinner for three. Went to rehearsal.

Now I'm sitting in bed trying to type through a goddamn tear parade. WTF??? Is it going to be impossible to have a productive day without breaking down? I know why - it's because I don't have Sam to talk to and confide in and congratulate me when I get everything done on my list.

I am so not looking forward to September 29th this year - would have been our 15th wedding anniversary. Kayleigh's birthday is the day after. Then we go into all the holidays - our first without Sam. The kids' first without mommy. First Halloween (sacred to Sam & I as Celtic New Year), first Thanksgiving (she loved to host), first Christmas (ugh - I can't even think about that one), first New Year (where's my kiss??).

Having friends - close friends like I do - is great. But it often makes the fact that my closest friend is gone that much more unbearable. I would do anything to have her back for one night... to cuddle, to kiss, to hold her hand in mine, to feel her breath on my neck, to make love to. So bloody unfair.

Meanwhile the Jerry Springer Show across the street from us has had two police calls and two ambulance calls in the last month. There's a grandma, a Jethro, his waif-like, chain-smoking girlfriend, and their toddler. Their fights are audible down the street, and they have a motorhome, an old minivan and two primered pickups with plywood walls in the driveway. Most of the time Jethro walks around in one of two NBA uniforms he owns (sporting his impressive gut and redneck tan), or drives around in one of the trucks, chortling like an idiot. Is Jethro aware of the awesome gift he's been given? Does he live every day to its fullest? Does he rejoice in the love of a woman (preferably not when he's smacking her around)?

I'd be lying if I said my relationship with Sam was perfect. There's no such animal. We had our bumpy rides, but they were few and far between, and we always moved through them with love and respect for the other. As far as I'm concerned, we did everything right. We approached life with a positive attitude and a house full of love. We set good examples of respect and intelligent discourse for our children. We ADORED each other.

And Jethro hits his kid and ambulances come, and smoking waif stays with him, and he just prances along, alive as the next guy.

This is one of those nights where I'm convinced there's no fucking justice in the world.

More Withdrawal

I feel like shit. Maybe it's partially the cold I'm getting over and I'm tripping on cold meds, but I really physically miss Sam's presence. Even just occupying space would be of some comfort. But then, I recall how bad things were for her the last few months of her life, and wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Got a well-timed phone call from my "big bro" in California, Randy. Helped me put some thoughts in order. Allowed me to talk about the crap I feel. Thanks bud.

I apologize if this post isn't entirely coherent. I'm posting this from the laptop in bed, just prior to hitting the sack. Got a scene written for the Ordinary Angels script. JD should be happy with some progress when he comes over tomorrow.

More later. Homer sleep now. Yaaay, sleep! That's when I'm a Viking!

The Brothers Grimm

Went with Caleb and Jonas to check out Terry Gilliam's new film, The Brothers Grimm. As expected, the art direction and production design is breathtaking. Gilliam's flair for recreating the Napoleonic era is always worth watching.

The performances by Matt Damon ("Matt Damon!") and Heath Ledger (The Patriot, The Order) are adequate, but mostly uninspired. Ledger is definitely the more interesting to watch of the two. The real standout is Lena Headey as Angelika - subdued, not wacky, and very genuine (and not hard on the eyes, even covered in mud). Peter Stormare (Minority Report) is mostly obnoxious as the Italian torturer whose heartfelt alliances seem to switch arbitrarily, and Jonathan Pryce (Tomorrow Never Dies) is simply regurgitating every villain he's ever played - it's almost as if his character from Gilliam's Baron Munchausen switched sides and got promoted. His douchebaggery is legendary and it shows.

Of course Monica Bellucci (The Matrix Reloaded, Brotherhood of the Wolf) is gorgeous, but does little... except look gorgeous. Richard Ridings (Erik the Viking) and Mackenzie Crook (The Office) are fun to watch as comic relief and never cross the line into obnoxiousness. Thank God. We get enough of that from the villains.

What the film mostly lacks is heart, and I place the blame for that squarely with a weak script. Aside from that, the film is watchable, even enjoyable in parts. I really wanted to like it, and I guess I didn't feel cheated - it is after all the setting of our upcoming Deep7 RPG, Grimmworld. The story actually does run somewhat like an adventure game session, with stupid asides and arbitrary motivations. But it is missing some really key points like consistency and coherency. The mood is all over the place, and anachronisms are everywhere in the dialogue.

The parts that resemble an old Vincent Price witch hunter film are very enjoyable - the weird tech, the costumes, the sets. The first sequence with the witch battle is quite good! And there are nuggets of coolness throughout. It's nowhere near as bad as Van Helsing, but it's not as good as Baron Munchausen or Time Bandits either. Stick to a matinee if you can. I will probably get it on DVD to join Sleepy Hollow and Brotherhood of the Wolf in my Grimmworld collection.

Last Impetus

I finished the last of the final Impetus CD tonight. Triskelle is the third in a trilogy; there will be no more Impetus after this. Where the first 2 albums were a way for me to deal with the plight of my wife and father, this one is definitely all about the aftermath. It's a bit angry, sullen, mysterious and scary at times, merging my penchant for big beat with acoustic guitars and synth pads. I even sampled a vocal riff from our old And Tears Fell track, Chamber of Light, so Sam could have a vocal on one piece, Long Road Home.

I'm proud of the work, but moreso of myself for finishing it. It's a huge catharsis, and as painful as pouring rubbing alcohol in a deep cut. I'll finish mastering tomorrow.

Impetus - Triskelle
1. Everlasting
2. Aquarian Eyes
3. We Made a World
4. November Kiss
5. Stay
6. Embrace
7. Last Touch
8. Long Road Home
9. Skin Hunger
10. Another Time
11. Haunted

Sick as a Sick Dog

EDIT: This is me if I were a South Park character. I don't really wear an eyepatch, but I do carry around a beer and a chainsaw.

Ugh. Picked up a nasty head cold right after the show. It's kicking my ass currently. Haven't had the energy to catch up on all the crap that's been staring me in the face since before the show.

Some of the Pandies started a MySpace community, so now I'm over there too.

Also took this survey:

TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Name:	Todd
Birthday:	5/6/68
Birthplace:	Heidelberg, Germany
Current Location:	Seattle, WA
Eye Color:	Blue
Hair Color:	Blonde, red, brown, black, copper, gold
Height:	5'16" (you do the math)
Right Handed or Left Handed:	Righty
Your Heritage:	Celto-Cherokee
The Shoes You Wore Today:	Haven't put them on yet - probably Vans
Your Weakness:	Kryptonite
Your Fears:	Killer bees
Your Perfect Pizza:	Black olives & mushrooms
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:	Figuring out this widowed parent thing
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger:	AFK
Thoughts First Waking Up:	"Ugh. Five more minutes."
Your Best Physical Feature:	Late wife loved the smile and the ass
Your Bedtime:	Way too late
Your Most Missed Memory:	The hell does that mean?
Pepsi or Coke:	Neither - I avoid pop (occasional root beer)
MacDonalds or Burger King:	Both will kill you
Single or Group Dates:	One on one
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:	Home-brewed sun tea
Chocolate or Vanilla:	Caramel
Cappuccino or Coffee:	Iced caramel mocha
Do you Smoke:	Used to be in a native pipe circle, but not now
Do you Swear:	Way too often (but rarely in front of the kids)
Do you Sing:	All the time - in fact, I feel a song coming on now...
Do you Shower Daily:	Duh!
Have you Been in Love:	Oh hell yeah
Do you want to go to College:	Again? Eventually.
Do you want to get Married:	Again? Eventually.
Do you belive in yourself:	Inebriato ergo sum
Do you get Motion Sickness:	Sometimes
Do you think you are Attractive:	Sometimes
Are you a Health Freak:	Less than I probably should be
Do you get along with your Parents:	Mostly
Do you like Thunderstorms:	Love em!
Do you play an Instrument:	A variety - used to record for an indie label
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:	Probably more than I should
In the past month have you Smoked:	Only second-hand
In the past month have you been on Drugs:	What qualifies? Excedrin Migraine - yes.
In the past month have you gone on a Date:	No
In the past month have you gone to a Mall:	Yes
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:	Yuck!
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:	Yuck!
In the past month have you been on Stage:	Oh yes - best show the group had ever done!
In the past month have you been Dumped:	No
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:	Haven't had the opportunity
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:	Aside from a friendly grope backstage, no
Ever been Drunk:	Oh hell yeah
Ever been called a Tease:	Only by my gay friends
Ever been Beaten up:	Only once - then I got big
Ever Shoplifted:	In my troubled youth
How do you want to Die:	Painlessly, a long time from now
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:	That really should be IF... maybe an astronaut
What country would you most like to Visit:	I want to go back to Scotland!
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color:	Yes
Favourite Hair Color:	Yes
Short or Long Hair:	Around shoulder length, but not too much longer
Height:	Tall enough not to strain my back when we kiss
Weight:	I like curves - a little junk to hang onto
Best Clothing Style:	Whatever looks good
Number of Drugs I have taken:	Alcohol, pot, shrooms
Number of CDs I own:	Can't count that high without an abacus
Number of Piercings:	1
Number of Tattoos:	None, although I have one coming
Number of things in my Past I Regret:	Too many little things to list - move on
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS!

Record-Setting Show

We closed Fiddler on the Roof with full house on Sunday afternoon. In fact, most shows were pretty packed. The only thin house was Saturday's matinee, and that was not unexpected. We averaged 50 more seats filled per show over last year, or about 250 more people (almost like doing an additional show). Unfortunately the video crew decided to shoot the show on Friday night, which was the weakest performance (still not bad, just not as good as the others). Saturday night's show rocked.

In terms of scale, ambition and quality, this was far beyond anything Twelfth Night/Pandemonium has ever done. And the audience reaction (and post-show commentary) said exectly that.

I just got back from strike, and need to prep dinner and some Tyler-Daddy time tonight.

Fiddler Pics

Fiddler in the Hizzy!

I'd better post now while I have a minute. Chances are I won't be posting again until after we close the show on Sunday. Tonight is final dress, and the improvement from last Sunday's rehearsal is nothing short of astonishing. The vocals are sounding good, the orchestra is sounding good (I'm a sucker for lots of strings), and even the shaky dance numbers are getting better. My beggar costume rocks (I'll post pics when we have them). Kayleigh looks like she could run off with Gypsies at any moment. The Dream number is really cool now that we have a rotating gobo throwing psychedelic color patterns on the cyc. UPDATE: Here's a pic of K & I from the finale, Anatevka.

No matter how the show does, this is a great crowd of people - and one with which I am proud to associate. This is also Kayleigh's second show with the Pandemonium Players (she was in one song in Bye Bye Birdie last year, but now she's on stage quite a bit - and at least 3 songs to boot!). It's a good group for her to get involved with while she hones her talent. She wants to be a performer, something Samantha and I have always encouraged.

The last week has been really difficult for me emotionally. Everything seems to trigger a memory of Sam - no doubt due to our theater history and the fact that we've been practically living at rehearsal. This will also mark the first production since 1983 in which I've been involved and she either didn't see, didn't work on or wasn't in with me. That's a rough concept to accept. I don't want to accept it.

Today consists of swimming lessons for the kids, a trip to the drugstore for makeup supplies, and a trip to the trophy shop to have the Samantha Downing Grand SPAM Award engraved. Sam was the first recipient of the award on record, and I was last year's recipient. It is given by the Pandemonium Players to the participant whom they feel has contributed most mightily to the production in time, talent and/or skill, which is no small feat. There are other awards, but the Twelfth Night artistic director and I agreed since Sam was the first to win this thing, her name should go on it as a way to keep her memory alive in this wonderful group she loved so much.

Been listening to the latest Telepopmusik CD. Probably not the best thing to be listening to, but as I said, I'm a sucker for strings. And techno. And techno with strings.

Sit still
And close your eyes
What’s behind the other door?
No more silence,
Don’t kill this thing we got called love
Just searching for the perfect drug

When Love comes calling
Don’t look back
When love comes calling
Don’t look away

And I’m standing over here
Watching you over there
Smiling, happy, unaware
Oh, life is spinning round
You’re going underground
Forgetting who we were
Let’s try and keep it just one more day

When Love comes calling
Don’t look back
When love comes calling
Don’t look away

You take your love
And throw it all around
Like it’s nothing special
Just a sound
Let me say one more thing
I don’t think you realize
That a day is like a year sometimes

When Love comes calling
Don’t look back
When love comes calling
Don’t look away

- Telepopmusik, Don't Look Back

Broken

Wow. Four months just snuck up on me, hit me with a hurley stick and left me in the gutter. Don't know what it was exactly. A cocktail of factors, probably. Was listening to Seether in the shower this morning, which probably wasn't a good idea to begin with. Just really missing Sam's physical presence in my life. The photos, the video, the songs she left behind... they're not enough, and they never will be. This kind of wound can only be tended by Samantha, and she's gone. I want to call my dad and cry on his shoulder, but he's gone.

I now have family members asking when I'm going to start looking for work with another company. As if all the work Sam and I did over the past 6 years growing our own company was just a waste of time. Hello? When has this ever been an issue before, and why is it suddenly an issue now? I am still running the business, and although it's not quite back to where it was in 2003, it's coming back, and it will support me again. If I quit and go to work for someone else, I will not be able to give it the focus it needs. I will be giving up on the work Sam & I did - the product cycles, authoring, editing, the long hours, the finances, the conventions...

Sorry. Ain't gonna happen. I have a shitload of products in half-gestated conditions that I need to get out. As we've learned in the past, you need to keep putting out product to keep your positive cashflow. Last year, Sam was so sick we only got 2 products out (as opposed to 6 the previous year). That's the difference between a small business that survives on momentum and a small business that supports you.

I did 9 years in the videogame biz, and it sucked my soul dry. I've been a professional artist since my late teens, and made a living (frequently a decent living) at it since my early 20s. My dad was the ultimate entrepreneur, and set a great example for me to follow. It's who I am, and if I didn't change that when I had Sam by my side, why the fuck would I want to change now, when I have the added stress of solo childrearing and a company that needs the coal to be shoveled?

God, I miss you Sam. I miss you so much.

Broken - by Seether (the single has Amy Lee from Evanescence singing on it)

I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away
I keep your photograph and I know it serves me well
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain

‘Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel right when you’re gone away
You've gone away, you don't feel me here, anymore

The worst is over now and we can breathe again
I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away
There’s so much left to learn, and no one left to fight
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain

‘Cause I’m broken when I’m open
And I don’t feel like I am strong enough
‘Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel right when you’re gone away

'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away

You've gone away
You don't feel me here anymore
_______________________

Postscript: Andrew got home safe and sound, and sans his shampoo, which he left in our upstairs shower.

Time Keeps on Slipping, Slipping, Slipping....

Apologies to Steve Miller. It just seems the week has flown by. We've watched apprioximately three metric assloads of movies, eaten far too much and drunk more beer than I think I ever drank in college. It's been a blast. Andrew is a lot of fun and a good conversationalist, despite my having to ask for repeats due to his lost voice.

Last night, I made Andrew watch Free Enterprise, and Darlene came over in the middle. Just as we were finishing up, Caleb and Jonas arrived. Showed Darlene some of the Will Ferrell DVD, then she went home and the guys chatted until 2:AM.

So Andrew has eaten at some of the fine restaurants West Seattle has to offer, and has seen Alki at sunset. Last night he accompanied us to a pizza party hosted by Camp Erin, the weekend camp my kids will be attending this month. It focuses on the kids' grief from losing a parent or sibling. This week has been kinda hard for me in that regard. As much fun as I've been having, I really miss Sam and wish she could have been here for Andrew's visit.

Today, we're grabbing an afternoon ferry to Bainbridge Island and heading over to the winery. Hopefully be back at a reasonable hour and go over to JD's place for a little birthday party for Steve. Tomorrow, Andrew is back on the plane for Old Blighty. Hopefully I'll be hooking up with my old pal Dave Beach and his family, who are in town for less than happy reasons (a friend just lost a newborn baby). On that same tangent, a good friend of the family just died. She had the same kind of cancer my dad had. In fact, she'd been fighting longer than he had, longer than Sam too. As my brother said in his blog, just knock it the fuck off.

I've pretty much played hooky from rehearsal all week. I'll go back Sunday night, just in time for hell week. We open the show one week from yesterday. I plan to devote Sunday to finishing the playbill layout. Didn't have the bandwidth to do a banner this year. Oh well...

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Okay, here we are, Monday morning. Haven't posted since Tuesday. We set out early Friday morning for Florence, Oregon. My sister, her daughter, my kids, and the dog all crammed into Sam's former primary vehicle, the Taurus wagon. I'd been driving it around town for weeks, and had the tranny fluid checked Thursday afternoon - no problem. We decided to caravan with my mom and stepdad, which turned out to be a good call. We made it across the Oregon border and as far south as the north Eugene area, when suddenly the wagon started losing power.

Fortunately, we were at an offramp, and the vehicle was easily pushed off the road and into the parking lot of a quasi-1950s theme diner - a bunch of Ricky Nelson, Johnny Mathis and Elvis memorabilia lining the walls... high cheese factor, but charming people. We had shakes and floats and waited for my stepdad to return with some tranny fluid. After sucking up 6 quarts of the stuff, it was decided to tentatively press onward. We made it about 10 more miles but there was just no power. We ended up in a Home Depot parking lot in Eugene, checking the state of the tranny leak. The wound bled like a stuck pig. Main seal kaput.

So I got on the phone and got a rental car (actually an SUV) for $400 - my rental car budget being $0. Stepdad ran me out to Eugene airport to pick it up, and we transferred passengers and cargo back at Home Depot. Even with the transmission debacle, we were only 2 hours late. Had dinner at Mo's (kind of like a posh, family-owned Skippers). Our reservations at the good motel on the strip right outside Florence proper had not gone through, so we were booked in a cabin across the road. Very nice upscale thing, crammed full with the 5 people from my car, plus my brother and SIL (and the dog). I got about 4 hours sleep. Motel beds and I don't get along.

Breakfast at a nice country kitchen there on the motel grounds. Yum.

Went into Florence and headed out to the retirement community where my great aunt resides. The sister of my grandfather, the 80 y/o birthday girl. Still smokes like a chimney and swears like a sailor, but by the time you get 80 I kinda figure you've earned some vulgarity points to spend. Ducked out for lunch with my sibs and our cousin we've not seen in over 20 years (and her hubby). They redeemed much of the trip. We checked in at the motel we were supposed to stay in the first night, I managed a 15 minute nap, and we congregated at the Florence Elk's Club for dinner.

Dear Lord.

Where to begin... The first thing we were told was that they were out of prime rib, oysters and baked potatoes. Good start, as it was only 7:PM. We were seated at a long table with vinyl rolling chairs circa 1971. Sea shells and sand dollars hung from the brandy snifter chandeliers. A duet of keyboard and guitar performed renditions of old standards with a disturbing country/lounge vibe. Open mic karaoke would have been an improvement. The "bread" consisted of packaged dinner rolls with a foot of flour on them. Their beer on tap selection consisted of Bud, Bud Light, Coors, Coors Light and MGD. Sis, cousin, cousin's hubby and I all got bottles of Widmer Hefeweitzen. Hearing they had that was like finding an oasis in the desert.

After we ordered, we were informed they were out of rice. Let me repeat for effect... Out. Of. Rice. How exactly does one run out of rice, at a restaurant on Saturday night? It's not exactly hard to stock up ahead of time, and it keeps for a long while. The "garlic mashed potatoes" were from a package. My brother's fried chicken was still frozen on the inside. Just amazing. Even the veteran Elk's diners said we were getting the dregs.

Took my sis and the kids to Dairy Queen for blizzards afterwards. Went back to the motel and fell into bed. Slept better, and awoke early to take a shower before heading home... three guesses what was wrong with that plan. The power was out. And the water was on a pump system, so no luck there. Found out my grandfather had gotten a bad case of bowel trouble from the food the previous night. At that point, my sister and I were more than ready to hit the road. Bro and SIL were not far behind. We drove almost straight through, and the kids were great together the whole trip. We left at 8:AM, had lunch in Vancouver, WA by Noon, and were back home in Seattle shortly after 3. Sis still had a 2 hour drive back to Bellingham, so she didn't stay long. My back was severely shot. But I arrived to find Caleb taking out my garbage and his German friend Jonas vacuuming the carpet. They even went out for Papa Murphy's pizza. Thank you C & J. You guys rock. Grabbed a shower and took some drugs for the spine.

Soon after, Ron arrived with Andrew in tow. He'd blown out his voice on 2 days of chatting with Ron over beer and/or Krispy Kremes (thanks for the clarification, Andrew!), so we were quite the pair. Watched a great deal of Justice League and Will Ferrell SNL videos.

This week, I get to take the kids to swimming lessons and figure out what we're going to do with Sam's wagon. Hooray for road trips.

A Shite State of Affairs

And so it goes. Seeing those videos of Samantha really kicked me in the gut, and I still haven't recovered from the assault. One of the tracks for the final Impetus CD is called November Kiss, and every time I listen to it, I'm taken back to that night in 1984, the two of us alone on the sidewalk in front of my house. Our platonic hugs became awkward teenage kisses, and she looked dreamily up at me and said, "I think I'm falling in love with you." That was over 20 years, two children, an interstate move, a whole world ago. And I can still remember what her hair smelled like, and what her lips felt like. That's the craving right there.

I guess it's good that the music is so powerful. I've had friends listen to it and cry because they know the story behind it.

I hate having to grow out my full beard for the show. Somewhat because it's never exactly been "full", but mostly because it's currently at the "itchy sandpaper" stage, and my moustache is getting in my mouth. Bleh. Gimme a neatly-trimmed Van Dyke any day. But then I guess turn-of-the-century Russian Jews didn't often wear neatly-trimmed Van Dykes. Oh well, it's only for a couple more weeks, then I can go back to my Sir Francis Drake.

Which reminds me - this is my favorite bit from Trainspotting:

TOMMY: Doesn't it make you proud to be Scottish?

RENTON: I hate being Scottish. We're the lowest of the fucking low, the scum of the earth, the most wretched, servile, miserable, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some people hate the English, but I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. We can't even pick a decent culture to be colonized by. We are ruled by effete arseholes. It's a shite state of affairs and all the fresh air in the world will not make any fucking difference.