Spent the day - all day - sifting through the blackened remains of my home with the cataloguing crew hired by my insurance company. Itemizing losses.
Itemizing losses. Twenty-plus years of memories and generations of family antiques and memorabilia reduced to lines on a sheet with an approximate replacement value and an age for depreciation.
Among the pots and pans, we found a simple utensil from when Sam was a Pampered Chef rep (which she only did long enough to get the discount on the cool gear), which triggered a million memories. Across the fridge, crisp black rectangles that were once photographs of the kids, or of Sam & me.
In the corner of the dining room, I discovered a pile of photos which must've fallen out of a box. Singed around the edges. The ones on the top and bottom were blackened and unrecognizeable. But in opening the pile to the middle, I found the picture of Sam feeding me cake at our wedding reception.
Jesus.
Even though I was kneeling solidly on my right knee and not crouching, I could feel it give way and my vision went misty with tears, like I was swimming in a badly chlorinated pool.
The ladies were understanding and let me take a break.
All in all, we spent a full work day picking through ash, describing what the ash used to be, figuring how much the ash originally cost and how long I'd owned the ash. I came home at 5:30PM, covered in soot and smelling like a strip club before the smoking ban, my nose and throat scratchy with dust and ash, one knee strained and a heart filled with angst and sorrow.
And tomorrow I get to do it all over again.
I would like to mention that the folks in the adventure game industry are some of the most incredibly kind and generous people I have ever met... and not met. Apparently there is a silent auction to be held at the GAMA Trade Show (GTS) this year - to benefit my family. Some folks have offered a number of favors, goodies, services and the like. And Matt Forbeck (who has contributed to several of my favorite RPG titles evar) posted a really unexpected and completely wonderful blog entry about me, my company and my family. As Matt says, we don't even really know each other personally (although we did meet at Gen Con 2003, if I recall correctly). And yet, when there's a man down, everyone rallies. As Rule #1 clearly states: Never split up the party.
Thank you all. You're amazing.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
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...
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...
Monday, February 27, 2006
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.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, February 24, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
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...
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.
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...
- 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.
- 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.
- We have beds to sleep on.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- My buddy David Choi came down to the house on Sunday and shot a walkthrough for the Extreme Makeover folks.
- 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.
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.
Monday, February 20, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
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.
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, February 14, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
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.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
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...
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...
Monday, February 06, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
"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.
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.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
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
"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
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
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
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
Friday, January 13, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Gypsies Maybe?
So if I wanted to sell my children to Gypsies, would I look under G in the Yellow Pages? Do Gypsies even buy children anymore? Did they ever, or was that just a cheap parental threat, like the boogeyman or communists?
Just kidding of course. I would never sell my children to Gypsies. Now if there were still Visigoths, I might entertain an offer. But they go as a pair - no breaking up the set.
It's been one of those mornings. You parents know the mornings I'm talking about. "Get up, it's time to get up. Come on, let's go. Get to the table. I said get to the table. I said get to the table. Get. To. The. Table. Clear your place and get your shoes and socks on. Tyler, get your socks on. Socks, Tyler. Right in front of you. [five minutes later] Tyler, quit goofing off and get your socks on." Ugh. Okay, I know from having been a kid that there is an inherent amount of convenient deafness and ignorance when it comes to interaction with parents. As Bill Cosby would say, "children, y'see, they got the brain damage." But honest to God, ask my mother - I was NEVER that bad. I mean, there's really no excuse to have to be told ten freakin' times to put on your socks when you're eleven years old. Mom, did you ever have to tell me TEN times to do anything reasonable?
So I will have my tea, grab a shower, and repeat the mantra: "I love my children." And all will be well. Because this too shall pass.
Children. Can't live with 'em, can't sell 'em to Gypsies.
Or Visigoths.
Anyhoo, the tear-out on the basement is done. No more stinky, no more fixtures, doors, furniture, or anything else. Ironically, the flooding never touched our raised closet in the master bedroom, so all Sam's clothes I was planning on bagging up were the only things left untouched by the whole flood/demolition process. Guess I should bag them up now before the contractor gets started with the rennovation.
The cat is now getting braver and will actually come up on the couch for purring, snuggling and head scritches - but only when she's sure Wiley is crated.
We have Gilda's tonight. Looking forward to venting a bit. Been fending off a migraine for 2 days now - I should get a nap at some point... that may help. Sleeping on the couch is hell on my spine, and having the kids on air mattresses on the floor with no privacy and a whole house worth of clothing and rescued linens, boxes and furniture in HALF the space is getting really old really fast.
The West Seattle Herald ran a story on the flood damage: Online version here. Aside from the reporter getting the month of Sam's death wrong (April, not July), he also mangled a pretty straightforward and articulate quote. "I always try to find some light in the darkness - these things can often be gifts in disguise" became, "It's all about looking for the hundreds of gifts that come from things like this". What does that even mean?? It sounds like I'm some greedy bastard trying to find Christmas prezzies or charity.
Stupid freedom of the press.
Just kidding of course. I would never sell my children to Gypsies. Now if there were still Visigoths, I might entertain an offer. But they go as a pair - no breaking up the set.
It's been one of those mornings. You parents know the mornings I'm talking about. "Get up, it's time to get up. Come on, let's go. Get to the table. I said get to the table. I said get to the table. Get. To. The. Table. Clear your place and get your shoes and socks on. Tyler, get your socks on. Socks, Tyler. Right in front of you. [five minutes later] Tyler, quit goofing off and get your socks on." Ugh. Okay, I know from having been a kid that there is an inherent amount of convenient deafness and ignorance when it comes to interaction with parents. As Bill Cosby would say, "children, y'see, they got the brain damage." But honest to God, ask my mother - I was NEVER that bad. I mean, there's really no excuse to have to be told ten freakin' times to put on your socks when you're eleven years old. Mom, did you ever have to tell me TEN times to do anything reasonable?
So I will have my tea, grab a shower, and repeat the mantra: "I love my children." And all will be well. Because this too shall pass.
Children. Can't live with 'em, can't sell 'em to Gypsies.
Or Visigoths.
Anyhoo, the tear-out on the basement is done. No more stinky, no more fixtures, doors, furniture, or anything else. Ironically, the flooding never touched our raised closet in the master bedroom, so all Sam's clothes I was planning on bagging up were the only things left untouched by the whole flood/demolition process. Guess I should bag them up now before the contractor gets started with the rennovation.
The cat is now getting braver and will actually come up on the couch for purring, snuggling and head scritches - but only when she's sure Wiley is crated.
We have Gilda's tonight. Looking forward to venting a bit. Been fending off a migraine for 2 days now - I should get a nap at some point... that may help. Sleeping on the couch is hell on my spine, and having the kids on air mattresses on the floor with no privacy and a whole house worth of clothing and rescued linens, boxes and furniture in HALF the space is getting really old really fast.
The West Seattle Herald ran a story on the flood damage: Online version here. Aside from the reporter getting the month of Sam's death wrong (April, not July), he also mangled a pretty straightforward and articulate quote. "I always try to find some light in the darkness - these things can often be gifts in disguise" became, "It's all about looking for the hundreds of gifts that come from things like this". What does that even mean?? It sounds like I'm some greedy bastard trying to find Christmas prezzies or charity.
Stupid freedom of the press.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Someday
I ran across this in some computer archives, written in January 2000. Kayleigh would have been about 2-1/2, Tyler almost 6...
____________
Someday
Someday,
I’ll be able to eat a hot meal.
I won’t have to break up fights.
I’ll clean my house and it will stay that way for more than 5 minutes.
I can take out and display all those breakable things I’ve put away in boxes.
Someday,
I’ll be able to cook one meal, and everyone will eat it.
I won’t have that ever-present smell of diapers in the house.
I’ll take a bath all by myself, and no one will bang on the door yelling “MOMMY!”
I can sit down and read a book that doesn’t start with “Once upon a time”.
Someday,
I won’t be able to steal all the kisses I want.
I will have to remember how to laugh alone.
I won’t hear a little voice saying “I love you DIS much!”
I can’t hold a little one in my lap and watch them sleep, just because.
I hope someday doesn’t come too soon.
–Samantha Downing
____________
Someday
Someday,
I’ll be able to eat a hot meal.
I won’t have to break up fights.
I’ll clean my house and it will stay that way for more than 5 minutes.
I can take out and display all those breakable things I’ve put away in boxes.
Someday,
I’ll be able to cook one meal, and everyone will eat it.
I won’t have that ever-present smell of diapers in the house.
I’ll take a bath all by myself, and no one will bang on the door yelling “MOMMY!”
I can sit down and read a book that doesn’t start with “Once upon a time”.
Someday,
I won’t be able to steal all the kisses I want.
I will have to remember how to laugh alone.
I won’t hear a little voice saying “I love you DIS much!”
I can’t hold a little one in my lap and watch them sleep, just because.
I hope someday doesn’t come too soon.
–Samantha Downing
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Hello, New Year.
Here we are on the other side of the 3-day federal holiday. The day started with trying to get the kids to the bus after having two weeks of non-scheduled do-what-we-wanna. It wasn't too bad. They both made it to the bus with minimal gnashing of teeth and no discernable bloodshed.
Then the city adjuster and the field adjuster came out and poked around my ground floor with about six dudes representing various contractors to bid on the work happening all down our street. All the carpet is gone, plus the vinyl, toilet and sink from the kids' bathroom, plus about 2 feet of drywall from every wall. In taking down the drywall in Kayleigh's room, we discovered 1" thick solid pine paneling underneath. Evidently there was a finished room down there before the last owners covered it up. Despite the drywall screw holes in it (which can be steamed shut), it's in lovely condition, and K wants to keep it. We also found an uncapped drain that had been covered by the carpet the previous owners had put down. Crazy. But since we're adding the door downstairs for access to the carport, we will probably replace the carpet with vinyl down that whole hallway (since it also includes our laundry facility).
Took down the Christmas tree this morning, put away all the ornaments. Put on the new Kate Bush. Had a nice weep. First holidays without Sam and my dad are over. Putting more time and distance between where I was when they were in my life and where I'm going now that they aren't.
Had another Sam dream last night. Won't go into specifics, due to content. Most folks would probably assume I'd be having "those" kinds of dreams about my late wife, to kind of stave off the skin hunger. Actually I only ever had one of "those" dreams about Sam, when I was 18 and she was on a long vacation with her grandmother (back in the days when we were rutting like rabbits). To be sure, I have had several dreams about Samantha since her death, some of them quasi-erotic in nature, but they're never the typical adolescent wet dream; they're always much more deeply emotionally-rooted. It's cuddling, kissing, holding onto each other as if we knew to let go meant more than a temporary parting. It was the way in which we connected from the moment she was diagnosed. We lived and loved more fully, freely and deeply in those two and a half years than in the prior two decades. If I had to name my single largest regret, it would be that it took cancer to break us free of whatever held us back, whatever holds most people back.
In any case, the dream had to do with the two of us getting ready to go somewhere, but instead (as was so often the case) found ourselves rolling around on the bed. It was just PG-rated kissing and hugging, but damnit it was so vivid - I could feel her, hear her voice (the tone and the words that only I got to hear). I could smell her. Do you know how long it's been since I've been able to actually catch her scent on anything?
Sam put on a tough exterior much of the time. She adopted the online handle of Cast Iron Bitch, and most of the time it was quite fitting. She admitted (and even reveled in) the fact that she was strong, suffered no fools, spoke her mind and didn't worry about diplomacy too much. Many people could find her abrasive. And yet, if you got to know her... if she trusted you... you'd be let in past the moat and the spiked pit traps and the alligator pits, and she'd show you a whole different person. A woman who was soft-spoken and loving and kind, extremely funny, nurturing and generous, and vulnerable. And I think until her diagnosis in 2002, I was one of the few who got to see that vulnerability. But then again, I was rarely the object of her Cast Iron Bitch persona - from the time she set her sights on me in high school, with few exceptions, I was a VIP in the fortress.
I wish more people had known her other, softer side. Since cancer really forced that side of her to the forefront, she ended up embracing people at first meeting, rather than holding them at bay until she'd figured out the whole trust issue. She made a lot of friends in the cancer community, right up until the end. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there is the wish that her cancer had gone into remission, that she hadn't died, and that we would move forward into a new chapter of our life together, armed with the lessons of cancer, taking nothing for granted from this "near miss". But that would have been a very different lesson, a very different experience.
I'm in the home stretch now. Sam's birthday is 2/11, my dad's is 2/27. Then we have Easter and the anniversary of Sam's death on 4/12, and dad's on 5/30. After that, it's familiar territory. The flood is forcing change and renewal, and that's not a bad thing at all.
Then the city adjuster and the field adjuster came out and poked around my ground floor with about six dudes representing various contractors to bid on the work happening all down our street. All the carpet is gone, plus the vinyl, toilet and sink from the kids' bathroom, plus about 2 feet of drywall from every wall. In taking down the drywall in Kayleigh's room, we discovered 1" thick solid pine paneling underneath. Evidently there was a finished room down there before the last owners covered it up. Despite the drywall screw holes in it (which can be steamed shut), it's in lovely condition, and K wants to keep it. We also found an uncapped drain that had been covered by the carpet the previous owners had put down. Crazy. But since we're adding the door downstairs for access to the carport, we will probably replace the carpet with vinyl down that whole hallway (since it also includes our laundry facility).
Took down the Christmas tree this morning, put away all the ornaments. Put on the new Kate Bush. Had a nice weep. First holidays without Sam and my dad are over. Putting more time and distance between where I was when they were in my life and where I'm going now that they aren't.
Had another Sam dream last night. Won't go into specifics, due to content. Most folks would probably assume I'd be having "those" kinds of dreams about my late wife, to kind of stave off the skin hunger. Actually I only ever had one of "those" dreams about Sam, when I was 18 and she was on a long vacation with her grandmother (back in the days when we were rutting like rabbits). To be sure, I have had several dreams about Samantha since her death, some of them quasi-erotic in nature, but they're never the typical adolescent wet dream; they're always much more deeply emotionally-rooted. It's cuddling, kissing, holding onto each other as if we knew to let go meant more than a temporary parting. It was the way in which we connected from the moment she was diagnosed. We lived and loved more fully, freely and deeply in those two and a half years than in the prior two decades. If I had to name my single largest regret, it would be that it took cancer to break us free of whatever held us back, whatever holds most people back.In any case, the dream had to do with the two of us getting ready to go somewhere, but instead (as was so often the case) found ourselves rolling around on the bed. It was just PG-rated kissing and hugging, but damnit it was so vivid - I could feel her, hear her voice (the tone and the words that only I got to hear). I could smell her. Do you know how long it's been since I've been able to actually catch her scent on anything?
Sam put on a tough exterior much of the time. She adopted the online handle of Cast Iron Bitch, and most of the time it was quite fitting. She admitted (and even reveled in) the fact that she was strong, suffered no fools, spoke her mind and didn't worry about diplomacy too much. Many people could find her abrasive. And yet, if you got to know her... if she trusted you... you'd be let in past the moat and the spiked pit traps and the alligator pits, and she'd show you a whole different person. A woman who was soft-spoken and loving and kind, extremely funny, nurturing and generous, and vulnerable. And I think until her diagnosis in 2002, I was one of the few who got to see that vulnerability. But then again, I was rarely the object of her Cast Iron Bitch persona - from the time she set her sights on me in high school, with few exceptions, I was a VIP in the fortress.
I wish more people had known her other, softer side. Since cancer really forced that side of her to the forefront, she ended up embracing people at first meeting, rather than holding them at bay until she'd figured out the whole trust issue. She made a lot of friends in the cancer community, right up until the end. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there is the wish that her cancer had gone into remission, that she hadn't died, and that we would move forward into a new chapter of our life together, armed with the lessons of cancer, taking nothing for granted from this "near miss". But that would have been a very different lesson, a very different experience.I'm in the home stretch now. Sam's birthday is 2/11, my dad's is 2/27. Then we have Easter and the anniversary of Sam's death on 4/12, and dad's on 5/30. After that, it's familiar territory. The flood is forcing change and renewal, and that's not a bad thing at all.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Thanks, Baby.
Had a nice visit from Sam last night. Dreamed Kayleigh and I were on a school bus which was waiting to take us on a field trip. Samantha boarded the bus, appearing as her younger self, around K's age (which was likely more appropriate to the setting). She sat in the seat in front of us, but immediately turned around and smiled. I asked Kayleigh, "you recognize your mom?", but my daughter was already launching forward to hug Sam.Sam looked at me from her little girl face, and the sun caught her hazel eyes in just the right way. Those were the eyes I knew. Lethal to me, those eyes. I started tearing up in the dream, leaned forward so our foreheads touched, and whispered in her ear, "you know I love you... always." She whispered back, "I love you too."
The dream immediately changed locales, to an enormous house that resembled a cross between a department store and a Southern plantation home. I wandered through the rooms, sometimes catching a glimpse of adult Sam as she bustled here and there, talking excitedly about some trip she was packing for. The trip she was going to leave on soon. I was not down with that plan, if it included being separated from her, even in dreams. She assured me it would be fine - I would be fine.
Then she was gone, and a couple guys I didn't know were assessing flood damage (big surprise, as my whole LIFE has been assessing flood damage all week), and they started tearing down entire stairways and walls. But when they started on this one stairway that led back into the part of the house where Sam had been, I protested. "You can't just tear this stuff down wholesale," I warned. "You're blocking us off into one wing of the house if you don't leave any egress."
They left the one set of stairs.
So, I guess Sam goes on her trip, and I keep working on fixing my "home", being sure not to close off all avenues to those memories of the woman I spent more than half my life with - there should always be one staircase left open, just in case. I don't have to live in those rooms, but they need to be left alone and not torn down. Knowing that section of the "house" is still there gives me comfort.
And, I know I haven't mentioned it much, mostly because I haven't really seen my dad in a dream recently, but happy anniversary, Pop.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Flappy Gnu Ears!
Well, after having an empty house for most of the week, with the kids off at various friends' places, we were all back under the same roof last night. Tyler's on a camping air mattress in my office, Kayleigh's on another in front of the coffee table, and I'm on the sofa - and it's killing my back.
I deleted the link to Lisa's blog, by personal request. She has killed the old blog (and assures me she's doing well). I have added a link to my friend Lynnae's blog in its place.
The last 5 days have been spent sorting through contaminated possessions with latex gloves on, itemizing damages and losses. I have over 120 listings in my Excel spreadsheet so far, and the process has only just begun. It ain't pretty. Some stuff can be cleaned, but some is a total loss. The wicker bassinet both kids slept in, some of Sam's old stuffed animals (thank heavens we saved Perlo the little horse). Some of my original artwork, some original music master tapes, a rare Frank Miller print from the ''80s... it goes on and on. The sheepskin rug Samantha got in Greece. All three mattress sets, and tons of winter bedding. Tyler lost 22 (that's TWENTY-TWO) Playstation 2 games. I didn't even realize he HAD 22 PS2 games! Of course, we've been acquiring them since I worked in the videogame biz and was working on Playstation titles.
I lost pretty much all my clothes, and have to start over from scratch. The city will owe me a new pair of work boots when this is over, too. Made a Target run in the interim, and am doing laundry at Darlene's down the street. The tearout continues, despite the mitigation company stretched to its limit what with all the flooding in King County. I got interviewed by the West Seattle Herald on Tuesday. Hopefully that will help solidify our position with the city - not that I would ever expect the city of Seattle to try to get out of clear liability (careful not to slip in the dripping sarcasm). An open claim has been filed. A bunch of city officials and contractors are descending on the street bright and early Tuesday morning, bids will come in and decisions will be rendered. I miss my own bed and want to get back in it within a month, dammit.
Forgive me if the next few posts are a bit cranky. I've got two kids with cabin fever, and a dog and cat who don't get along all in close proximity, and I'm not sleeping well to boot. In fact, having Wiley's excessive energy around has actually increased the stress level instead of alleviating it, and seeing at how poorly Punky has adapted to the dog, I am tempted to find another home for him. Tyler protests and gets very good at taking responsibility for the dog for about five minutes, then his nose is back in some project or videogame, and I'm dealing with the bored animal while the poor cat tries to hide. When my dad was alive and our family was facing a real void of energy in the house without Sam and the other cats around, the dog seemed like a fantastic idea - and really, he has softened the blows of loss we've suffered this year. But the big guy needs more attention than I alone can give him, and the kids are being severely lax in their duties.
I should've just found another cat.
Happy New Year - may it be better in EVERY FREAKIN' WAY POSSIBLE.
I deleted the link to Lisa's blog, by personal request. She has killed the old blog (and assures me she's doing well). I have added a link to my friend Lynnae's blog in its place.
The last 5 days have been spent sorting through contaminated possessions with latex gloves on, itemizing damages and losses. I have over 120 listings in my Excel spreadsheet so far, and the process has only just begun. It ain't pretty. Some stuff can be cleaned, but some is a total loss. The wicker bassinet both kids slept in, some of Sam's old stuffed animals (thank heavens we saved Perlo the little horse). Some of my original artwork, some original music master tapes, a rare Frank Miller print from the ''80s... it goes on and on. The sheepskin rug Samantha got in Greece. All three mattress sets, and tons of winter bedding. Tyler lost 22 (that's TWENTY-TWO) Playstation 2 games. I didn't even realize he HAD 22 PS2 games! Of course, we've been acquiring them since I worked in the videogame biz and was working on Playstation titles.
I lost pretty much all my clothes, and have to start over from scratch. The city will owe me a new pair of work boots when this is over, too. Made a Target run in the interim, and am doing laundry at Darlene's down the street. The tearout continues, despite the mitigation company stretched to its limit what with all the flooding in King County. I got interviewed by the West Seattle Herald on Tuesday. Hopefully that will help solidify our position with the city - not that I would ever expect the city of Seattle to try to get out of clear liability (careful not to slip in the dripping sarcasm). An open claim has been filed. A bunch of city officials and contractors are descending on the street bright and early Tuesday morning, bids will come in and decisions will be rendered. I miss my own bed and want to get back in it within a month, dammit.
Forgive me if the next few posts are a bit cranky. I've got two kids with cabin fever, and a dog and cat who don't get along all in close proximity, and I'm not sleeping well to boot. In fact, having Wiley's excessive energy around has actually increased the stress level instead of alleviating it, and seeing at how poorly Punky has adapted to the dog, I am tempted to find another home for him. Tyler protests and gets very good at taking responsibility for the dog for about five minutes, then his nose is back in some project or videogame, and I'm dealing with the bored animal while the poor cat tries to hide. When my dad was alive and our family was facing a real void of energy in the house without Sam and the other cats around, the dog seemed like a fantastic idea - and really, he has softened the blows of loss we've suffered this year. But the big guy needs more attention than I alone can give him, and the kids are being severely lax in their duties.
I should've just found another cat.
Happy New Year - may it be better in EVERY FREAKIN' WAY POSSIBLE.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Cut the Crap
This might be slightly entertaining, to see how many "potty" references I can use in regard to our situation. Nah. It's already old.
The update is as follows:
The water damage guys came out to begin the dry-out phase yesterday, sucking up waste water from the carpet with their Vacu-Suck 5000 Suck-o-Matics. Okay - I'm really done with the sophomoric glibbery. And with making up words like "glibbery".
It's a tough time for them, as they are stretched thin with all the flooding happening in Seattle and the surrounding area. We usually get one guy, two at the most. But they work hard, and at least the lion's share of the water is out. The dehumidifiers have been blowing around the clock. Today we had a contractor come out to look at the potential rebuild. Also got a call from the adjuster assigned to our case (and the others on our street). He will be out tomorrow to check the place and talk to us about our various situations. One encouraging thing I got from the city adjuster head honcho was that they are taking this very seriously, as they know it was their liability. The guy even offered to put us up in an Extended Stay America, but the closest one is in Tukwila and I'd have to drive my kids in to school and back every day. Not a pleasant prospect.
As of now, there are no toxic fumes. There is a musty smell downstairs, but we keep the basement door shut and the HEPA filter going upstairs all the time. We're not running the heater, but the dehumidifiers radiate their own heat, which warms the upper floor. The drywall tearout has begun, and they've roughed in a new access door to the carport, something I always wanted but Sam always talked me out of. It will make much more sense to have carport access downstairs, making it much easier to haul out the washer & dryer, as well as the carpet and drywall debris. In fact, rather than replacing the carpet in the hallway, I'm considering replacing it with a good strong vinyl. Carpet in the bedrooms for sure. They also may have to rip out the tile floor in the master bath, depending on how much brown water got into the grout.
So I'm orchestrating the work from the office, and sleeping on the sofa with Wiley on the floor beside me. I rescued Punky from Kayleigh's room and brought her upstairs, where she promptly hid in the office closet. I have her catbox and food dishes on top of a card table above Wiley's night kennel. She has access to her stuff without coming into contact with him directly (although he certainly raises a fuss whenever he smells her). Tyler and Kayleigh are scheduled for sleepovers the next couple nights. Having them gone during the busier parts of the day makes everything a lot easier to manage - and they're not constantly getting cabin fever and attacking one another with random makeshift weapons.
Whew... Goodbye, 2005, you bastard. Don't let the door hit you on the way out. Come on in, 2006. Let me rub your feet.
The update is as follows:
The water damage guys came out to begin the dry-out phase yesterday, sucking up waste water from the carpet with their Vacu-Suck 5000 Suck-o-Matics. Okay - I'm really done with the sophomoric glibbery. And with making up words like "glibbery".
It's a tough time for them, as they are stretched thin with all the flooding happening in Seattle and the surrounding area. We usually get one guy, two at the most. But they work hard, and at least the lion's share of the water is out. The dehumidifiers have been blowing around the clock. Today we had a contractor come out to look at the potential rebuild. Also got a call from the adjuster assigned to our case (and the others on our street). He will be out tomorrow to check the place and talk to us about our various situations. One encouraging thing I got from the city adjuster head honcho was that they are taking this very seriously, as they know it was their liability. The guy even offered to put us up in an Extended Stay America, but the closest one is in Tukwila and I'd have to drive my kids in to school and back every day. Not a pleasant prospect.
As of now, there are no toxic fumes. There is a musty smell downstairs, but we keep the basement door shut and the HEPA filter going upstairs all the time. We're not running the heater, but the dehumidifiers radiate their own heat, which warms the upper floor. The drywall tearout has begun, and they've roughed in a new access door to the carport, something I always wanted but Sam always talked me out of. It will make much more sense to have carport access downstairs, making it much easier to haul out the washer & dryer, as well as the carpet and drywall debris. In fact, rather than replacing the carpet in the hallway, I'm considering replacing it with a good strong vinyl. Carpet in the bedrooms for sure. They also may have to rip out the tile floor in the master bath, depending on how much brown water got into the grout.
So I'm orchestrating the work from the office, and sleeping on the sofa with Wiley on the floor beside me. I rescued Punky from Kayleigh's room and brought her upstairs, where she promptly hid in the office closet. I have her catbox and food dishes on top of a card table above Wiley's night kennel. She has access to her stuff without coming into contact with him directly (although he certainly raises a fuss whenever he smells her). Tyler and Kayleigh are scheduled for sleepovers the next couple nights. Having them gone during the busier parts of the day makes everything a lot easier to manage - and they're not constantly getting cabin fever and attacking one another with random makeshift weapons.
Whew... Goodbye, 2005, you bastard. Don't let the door hit you on the way out. Come on in, 2006. Let me rub your feet.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Homeless For the Holidays
Well, that's not entirely true. We still have a home. It's just that we can't access the part we usually sleep in.
Christmas Eve saw an army of Sea Scouts arrive with breathing filters and rubber gloves to help move everything out of the downstairs. I started to itemize the losses. The largest single monetary loss will end up being the cases of books contaminated by sewage and water. Over $5K wholesale so far. We're thinking Sam's cedar hope chest and the oak rocking chair we used to rock both children in can be cleaned. The master bedroom tub has whirlpool jets which will never be properly cleaned, and the water came up over the top, saturating the greenwall behind the surround. I can't imagine they'll be able to do much except tear it out and replace it. I can't even begin to comprehend the loss in clothing, bedding (Tyler lost his bed totally), books and stuffed animals. The appliances and electronics that were on the floor and are thus sitting in contaminated water include the washer & dryer, a phone, boom boxes, a game console (and several games). And of course, just random "stuff" - photos, papers, bits and pieces which are irreplaceable. The latch hook rug Sam made for Kayleigh just before she died was being used as a bedside throw rug. I hope we can have it cleaned.
So the bottom line is that Allstate doesn't cover this damage because it was a city liability, not something that originated on our property. Fortunately, an inspector with the city arrived first thing Saturday morning, with claim forms and business cards in hand. This is a serious, serious matter. To their credit, the city of Seattle is being very proactive in responding to the emergency and accepting full liability - it is far better to take care of these issues now, rather than wait for a class action lawsuit from everyone who was affected.
And how many were affected? That is unclear. We do know that rainfall choked the east/west sewer main at about 2AM Saturday morning, hit the dead end and came back up the north/south line under our street. Everyone on the west side of the street with a low drain of some kind got sewage flowing out of those drains. The woman nearest the main got over TWO FEET of sewage in her basement. And since this neighborhood includes a lot of smaller 1920s craftsman homes, you find a lot of them (ours included) have converted/finished basements for additional living space - and that will add up to a huge loss for the city. Especially since that living space is currently uninhabitable and the city is responsible for lodging all of these displaced people. Now, we're currently able to sleep upstairs on the floor - there was enough rainwater dilluting the sewage that there are no noxious fumes (and Wiley is very sensitive to such odd smells). We are also fortunate that the tear out process will begin today. We got a mitigation specialist who is familiar with sewer decontamination work, and will bill the city directly, so we will not be out of pocket for the majority of the rebuild and cleaning. I guess the bright side is, we get a whole new downstairs essentially. All the carpet and all the drywall up to a height of about 3 feet must be torn out, replaced, relaid, repainted, etc. It will probably be a month before we are back in our bedrooms.
I think this week we will do a lot of overnights with friends while the kids are still on break, and after that find a local B&B (there are really no hotels per se in West Seattle, save for a single Travelodge). I will be contacting the city adjuster and finding out exactly what they recommend, and what will be covered.
I hope everyone had a safe and happy holiday. As if I didn't already have loads of perspective, this weekend gave me loads more. We're alive and surrounded by love from family and community. And we'll be okay.
Christmas Eve saw an army of Sea Scouts arrive with breathing filters and rubber gloves to help move everything out of the downstairs. I started to itemize the losses. The largest single monetary loss will end up being the cases of books contaminated by sewage and water. Over $5K wholesale so far. We're thinking Sam's cedar hope chest and the oak rocking chair we used to rock both children in can be cleaned. The master bedroom tub has whirlpool jets which will never be properly cleaned, and the water came up over the top, saturating the greenwall behind the surround. I can't imagine they'll be able to do much except tear it out and replace it. I can't even begin to comprehend the loss in clothing, bedding (Tyler lost his bed totally), books and stuffed animals. The appliances and electronics that were on the floor and are thus sitting in contaminated water include the washer & dryer, a phone, boom boxes, a game console (and several games). And of course, just random "stuff" - photos, papers, bits and pieces which are irreplaceable. The latch hook rug Sam made for Kayleigh just before she died was being used as a bedside throw rug. I hope we can have it cleaned.
So the bottom line is that Allstate doesn't cover this damage because it was a city liability, not something that originated on our property. Fortunately, an inspector with the city arrived first thing Saturday morning, with claim forms and business cards in hand. This is a serious, serious matter. To their credit, the city of Seattle is being very proactive in responding to the emergency and accepting full liability - it is far better to take care of these issues now, rather than wait for a class action lawsuit from everyone who was affected.
And how many were affected? That is unclear. We do know that rainfall choked the east/west sewer main at about 2AM Saturday morning, hit the dead end and came back up the north/south line under our street. Everyone on the west side of the street with a low drain of some kind got sewage flowing out of those drains. The woman nearest the main got over TWO FEET of sewage in her basement. And since this neighborhood includes a lot of smaller 1920s craftsman homes, you find a lot of them (ours included) have converted/finished basements for additional living space - and that will add up to a huge loss for the city. Especially since that living space is currently uninhabitable and the city is responsible for lodging all of these displaced people. Now, we're currently able to sleep upstairs on the floor - there was enough rainwater dilluting the sewage that there are no noxious fumes (and Wiley is very sensitive to such odd smells). We are also fortunate that the tear out process will begin today. We got a mitigation specialist who is familiar with sewer decontamination work, and will bill the city directly, so we will not be out of pocket for the majority of the rebuild and cleaning. I guess the bright side is, we get a whole new downstairs essentially. All the carpet and all the drywall up to a height of about 3 feet must be torn out, replaced, relaid, repainted, etc. It will probably be a month before we are back in our bedrooms.
I think this week we will do a lot of overnights with friends while the kids are still on break, and after that find a local B&B (there are really no hotels per se in West Seattle, save for a single Travelodge). I will be contacting the city adjuster and finding out exactly what they recommend, and what will be covered.
I hope everyone had a safe and happy holiday. As if I didn't already have loads of perspective, this weekend gave me loads more. We're alive and surrounded by love from family and community. And we'll be okay.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
WTF??
Okay, so we've all heard the term "Shit happens". Well, in our case, it literally did.
At 2 in the morning, I awoke to the gurgling sound of water rushing into my bedroom. The city sewer line had flooded with all the rain and backed up, sending 4+ inches of raw sewage into the downstairs. The ENTIRE downstairs. Where our bedrooms and laundry facilities are. The carpet, which was originally just laid over concrete, was now floating eerily, rolling in waves. In addition to the living space, I also have thousands of retail dollars worth of Deep7 product stored in shipping boxes down there. And now I just heard a crash downstairs, as the carboard storage boxes on the bottom begin to collapse, sending whatever was on top to a stinky, watery grave.
Pardon me but, WTF IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?? I thought we were done with the tragedy and hardship this year, but apparently not. Apparently I need yet another lesson in stress management. I used to be so proud of the fact that I'd kept my hair as long as I have, but this year it's started coming out in figurative clumps. I'd make a glib reference to a certain Biblical character named Job, but then I'd totally end up with boils. I don't want boils. Not so much.
So, in terms of how this will affect our Christmas, your guess is as good as mine. We can't sleep here in the house because the sewage fumes will make us sick after prolonged exposure. We'll find out if we are indeed "in good hands" with Allstate. 10 years of insurance premiums better yeild some positive fucking results. Sorry for the profanity, but I think I'm due for some. And I got no sleep last night (in bed at 1:30AM, turn on the light at 2AM to water encroaching, rally the kids upstairs with as many clean clothes as I could salvage, call 911, call Allstate... blah blah blah). Sorry if this is less than coherent.
Merry Christmas anyway.
At 2 in the morning, I awoke to the gurgling sound of water rushing into my bedroom. The city sewer line had flooded with all the rain and backed up, sending 4+ inches of raw sewage into the downstairs. The ENTIRE downstairs. Where our bedrooms and laundry facilities are. The carpet, which was originally just laid over concrete, was now floating eerily, rolling in waves. In addition to the living space, I also have thousands of retail dollars worth of Deep7 product stored in shipping boxes down there. And now I just heard a crash downstairs, as the carboard storage boxes on the bottom begin to collapse, sending whatever was on top to a stinky, watery grave.
Pardon me but, WTF IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?? I thought we were done with the tragedy and hardship this year, but apparently not. Apparently I need yet another lesson in stress management. I used to be so proud of the fact that I'd kept my hair as long as I have, but this year it's started coming out in figurative clumps. I'd make a glib reference to a certain Biblical character named Job, but then I'd totally end up with boils. I don't want boils. Not so much.
So, in terms of how this will affect our Christmas, your guess is as good as mine. We can't sleep here in the house because the sewage fumes will make us sick after prolonged exposure. We'll find out if we are indeed "in good hands" with Allstate. 10 years of insurance premiums better yeild some positive fucking results. Sorry for the profanity, but I think I'm due for some. And I got no sleep last night (in bed at 1:30AM, turn on the light at 2AM to water encroaching, rally the kids upstairs with as many clean clothes as I could salvage, call 911, call Allstate... blah blah blah). Sorry if this is less than coherent.
Merry Christmas anyway.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Ghosts
It's been over a week, so I figured it's time for an update...
I miss my dad.
I miss Sam.
Film at 11.
This should really be no surprise. I mean, birthdays are bad enough, but this is the first Christmas without either of them, and I've always had them there - Sam for 20 years, my dad for 36. Even though we're keeping busy with holiday things, it's still that aching, empty feeling. Especially now that the weather is cold - Sam's favorite season was Autumn, when it got colder and we could snuggle together every night. I don't have to tell you I miss the snuggling - that's pretty much a given. The skin hunger is EXTREMELY acute right now.
I've been going through lots of old junk and throwing out a lot. My front patio holds stacks of garbage bags and sundry office furniture debris. When I'm done in the house, I will have a hauling service take it the hell away. At night, I've been digitizing old video, including the Black Pelican Dead Man's Party & Hallowe'en Ball videos. The Black Pelican theme parties ran from 1988 to 1991 with a fifth held in Seattle in 1993. They were invite-only custom-written mysteries couched in a certain genre: 1930s, 1960s espionage, B-movies, pre-20th century authors... it was great fun and we have video from the first four in California.
Putting together a 2-DVD set of the four parties of course led me to the And Tears Fell music video we shot back in 1990 for our single Ghosts, which we never edited. So I found the footage, took it into Vegas, and edited it. Just as if we'd put it together 15 years ago - even the style of editing and layers of ethereal color over black and white sync footage. It looks like something you'd see on the 4AD Records compilation Lonely is an Eyesore. But something it also has done is create a Sam-saturation. I'm now archiving stuff and putting it away - it's too painful for me to have all of these images of Sam, with her voice all digitally preserved, right here at my fingertips, and yet not have her physically here. It hasn't reached obsession levels, but I can feel an ever-growing discomfort with all the constant exposure to her image and voice. After the holidays, I will be able to finish up some of these projects and not dwell so much on the loss.
I want to get to the point where these triggers cause happy memories and not pain of loss. It's happening. I know it is because I'm undergoing the equivalent of a Medieval wound-searing. It hurts like hell now, but the wound will be closed without further infection.
We (my kids, sister, brother, SIL, niece and stepmom) saw the Pacific NW Ballet production of The Nutcracker on Wednesday, after an awesome dinner at the Bamboo Garden vegetarian Chinese restaurant across from Seattle Center. It was the production with Maurice Sendak-designed sets & costumes. I loved the sets and costumes. Nuff said. The children enjoyed it plenty, but at one point in the second act, I just reached saturation. Beautiful sets... with some activity happening on stage... honestly, there's only so many bodies you can cram leaping about onto a stage before it becomes ridiculous. And as much as I applaud the Sendak design for turning the Nutcracker's candy kingdom into a 19th century Ottoman slave camp, I found I really missed my Russian dancers and the fat-butted lady with the gingerbread kids in her skirt.
Was supposed to see King Kong today, but Steve-o got a gig that conflicts. So we'll go next week. Got dinner at Salty's on Alki tonight with Sam's folks, my stepmom, bro, SIL, and the kids. Tomorrow is Christmas eve at Sam's brother's place, then Christmas day happens... I'll let you know how that goes.
I miss my dad.
I miss Sam.
Film at 11.
This should really be no surprise. I mean, birthdays are bad enough, but this is the first Christmas without either of them, and I've always had them there - Sam for 20 years, my dad for 36. Even though we're keeping busy with holiday things, it's still that aching, empty feeling. Especially now that the weather is cold - Sam's favorite season was Autumn, when it got colder and we could snuggle together every night. I don't have to tell you I miss the snuggling - that's pretty much a given. The skin hunger is EXTREMELY acute right now.
I've been going through lots of old junk and throwing out a lot. My front patio holds stacks of garbage bags and sundry office furniture debris. When I'm done in the house, I will have a hauling service take it the hell away. At night, I've been digitizing old video, including the Black Pelican Dead Man's Party & Hallowe'en Ball videos. The Black Pelican theme parties ran from 1988 to 1991 with a fifth held in Seattle in 1993. They were invite-only custom-written mysteries couched in a certain genre: 1930s, 1960s espionage, B-movies, pre-20th century authors... it was great fun and we have video from the first four in California.
Putting together a 2-DVD set of the four parties of course led me to the And Tears Fell music video we shot back in 1990 for our single Ghosts, which we never edited. So I found the footage, took it into Vegas, and edited it. Just as if we'd put it together 15 years ago - even the style of editing and layers of ethereal color over black and white sync footage. It looks like something you'd see on the 4AD Records compilation Lonely is an Eyesore. But something it also has done is create a Sam-saturation. I'm now archiving stuff and putting it away - it's too painful for me to have all of these images of Sam, with her voice all digitally preserved, right here at my fingertips, and yet not have her physically here. It hasn't reached obsession levels, but I can feel an ever-growing discomfort with all the constant exposure to her image and voice. After the holidays, I will be able to finish up some of these projects and not dwell so much on the loss.
I want to get to the point where these triggers cause happy memories and not pain of loss. It's happening. I know it is because I'm undergoing the equivalent of a Medieval wound-searing. It hurts like hell now, but the wound will be closed without further infection.
We (my kids, sister, brother, SIL, niece and stepmom) saw the Pacific NW Ballet production of The Nutcracker on Wednesday, after an awesome dinner at the Bamboo Garden vegetarian Chinese restaurant across from Seattle Center. It was the production with Maurice Sendak-designed sets & costumes. I loved the sets and costumes. Nuff said. The children enjoyed it plenty, but at one point in the second act, I just reached saturation. Beautiful sets... with some activity happening on stage... honestly, there's only so many bodies you can cram leaping about onto a stage before it becomes ridiculous. And as much as I applaud the Sendak design for turning the Nutcracker's candy kingdom into a 19th century Ottoman slave camp, I found I really missed my Russian dancers and the fat-butted lady with the gingerbread kids in her skirt.
Was supposed to see King Kong today, but Steve-o got a gig that conflicts. So we'll go next week. Got dinner at Salty's on Alki tonight with Sam's folks, my stepmom, bro, SIL, and the kids. Tomorrow is Christmas eve at Sam's brother's place, then Christmas day happens... I'll let you know how that goes.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
God Only Knows...
Tyler's math teacher called last night, but I didn't pick up in time, so I decided to let the answering machine get it. My immediate thought was, Ugh - what trouble is Tyler in now, or what is he the victim of this time?? Imagine my immense, pleasant surprise when the teacher announced that out of two 6th grade classes at his school, Tyler was the only student to score perfectly on their math final - including 6 extra credit logic problems which were meant to stretch the most limber of reasoning skills. I walked into the front office where Tyler was sitting at his mom's old workstation, grabbed him up in a huge hug and (with tears welling up) whispered in his ear, "I'm SO proud of you... and your mom is proud of you too."
Earlier in the day, an email came in from a friend of mine from high school. JS was born with a congenital heart defect, and spent much of his childhood frail, small and purple. I don't think he'd begrudge me the description - it's pretty accurate. Sam had been a big sister to him, as she had been to MH, who had lost a leg to cancer at 14. It occurs to me that this might be why she thought she wasn't popular at school, at least with the "in-crowd", because she hung with the kids outside the mainstream. The girl with "no maternal instinct" was already everyone's mama bear.
In any case, Jason wasn't supposed to see 20. At about 36 now, he's beaten the odds, recently married a great gal, and they hoped to eventually start a family. Unfortunately, his cardiologist dumped a great, steaming pile of shit on his morning oatmeal, explaining that his current heart is likely going to start degrading very quickly over the next few years, and that he's not a good candidate for replacement (and all heart replacement can buy is about ten very painful years of isolation and procedures). He might see 50, but nobody knows for sure. He hit the figurative emotional wall and had a meltdown. Not that any of this was a huge surprise, JS says. "I've always known I won't live as long as the average Joe, but it's hard having it stuck in your face."
Dude.
So he had a dream about his mom's house in Palo Alto. I was standing in the kitchen, evidently examining a frying pan (perhaps occupied with providing for my family?). Sam was there too, and JS described her in her later years, post-chemo: the short cropped hair, the bruising on her arms from IV needles, her weight, her post-chemo smell. JS has not seen or spoken to Sam in over 20 years, and hadn't seen any pics of her early chemo state.
I won't post the entire missive out of respect for JS' privacy, but the section that kicked me in the gut was this:
She crooked a finger at me and said, "Come here."
I followed her out the back door onto the porch. It was cold, and I could smell woodsmoke.
"I heard about this," she said, tapping my chest with a finger.
I stared at her for a moment, then said, "I don't want to die."
She shrugged and quirked her brow. "Neither did I, kiddo."
It was then in my dream that I started to cry, and Sam held me in her arms. I've never been there in the past, I assure you--but I could just tell it was *her*. I cried and cried, and she just held me...
After a while I felt empty, sort of cried-out.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said. Then I looked at her. "You're dead."
"Yeah," she said. "And you still have no tact."
"Sorry."
"It's okay. We all go sometime." She hugged me again. "Just make the best of the time you have."
"Okay," I said. I knew it was a dream but it felt different somehow. Once I knew it was a dream, I started waking up. "I think I'm waking up," I told her.
"Take care then. Tell Todd I love him."
Jason is a writer by trade, with a gifted imagination. However, he will be the first to disavow belief in the woo-woo side of things. He's not a believer in ghosts or the supernatural. His mind is like a scientist's dissection tray and scalpel. Sharp and inquisitive. We've never been particularly close. In high school, he was surviving and I was goofing off. We got reconnected through work in the adventure game biz, and, while there is a certain level of Old Paly Dog cameraderie, we're not on the daily (or even weekly or monthly) email/phonecall/whatever schedule. So I find his dream extremely interesting, just from a Jungian-Collective-Unconscious angle.
I thought it was a pretty amazing message, whether it came from Sam's persistent spirit out there somewhere, or from Jason's own intuitive subconscious mind.
And of course, as I was reading his email, David Bowie's cover of God Only Knows came up on my '80s playlist...
If you should ever leave me
My life would still go on, believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me?
God only knows what I’d be without you
Earlier in the day, an email came in from a friend of mine from high school. JS was born with a congenital heart defect, and spent much of his childhood frail, small and purple. I don't think he'd begrudge me the description - it's pretty accurate. Sam had been a big sister to him, as she had been to MH, who had lost a leg to cancer at 14. It occurs to me that this might be why she thought she wasn't popular at school, at least with the "in-crowd", because she hung with the kids outside the mainstream. The girl with "no maternal instinct" was already everyone's mama bear.
In any case, Jason wasn't supposed to see 20. At about 36 now, he's beaten the odds, recently married a great gal, and they hoped to eventually start a family. Unfortunately, his cardiologist dumped a great, steaming pile of shit on his morning oatmeal, explaining that his current heart is likely going to start degrading very quickly over the next few years, and that he's not a good candidate for replacement (and all heart replacement can buy is about ten very painful years of isolation and procedures). He might see 50, but nobody knows for sure. He hit the figurative emotional wall and had a meltdown. Not that any of this was a huge surprise, JS says. "I've always known I won't live as long as the average Joe, but it's hard having it stuck in your face."
Dude.
So he had a dream about his mom's house in Palo Alto. I was standing in the kitchen, evidently examining a frying pan (perhaps occupied with providing for my family?). Sam was there too, and JS described her in her later years, post-chemo: the short cropped hair, the bruising on her arms from IV needles, her weight, her post-chemo smell. JS has not seen or spoken to Sam in over 20 years, and hadn't seen any pics of her early chemo state.
I won't post the entire missive out of respect for JS' privacy, but the section that kicked me in the gut was this:
She crooked a finger at me and said, "Come here."
I followed her out the back door onto the porch. It was cold, and I could smell woodsmoke.
"I heard about this," she said, tapping my chest with a finger.
I stared at her for a moment, then said, "I don't want to die."
She shrugged and quirked her brow. "Neither did I, kiddo."
It was then in my dream that I started to cry, and Sam held me in her arms. I've never been there in the past, I assure you--but I could just tell it was *her*. I cried and cried, and she just held me...
After a while I felt empty, sort of cried-out.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said. Then I looked at her. "You're dead."
"Yeah," she said. "And you still have no tact."
"Sorry."
"It's okay. We all go sometime." She hugged me again. "Just make the best of the time you have."
"Okay," I said. I knew it was a dream but it felt different somehow. Once I knew it was a dream, I started waking up. "I think I'm waking up," I told her.
"Take care then. Tell Todd I love him."
Jason is a writer by trade, with a gifted imagination. However, he will be the first to disavow belief in the woo-woo side of things. He's not a believer in ghosts or the supernatural. His mind is like a scientist's dissection tray and scalpel. Sharp and inquisitive. We've never been particularly close. In high school, he was surviving and I was goofing off. We got reconnected through work in the adventure game biz, and, while there is a certain level of Old Paly Dog cameraderie, we're not on the daily (or even weekly or monthly) email/phonecall/whatever schedule. So I find his dream extremely interesting, just from a Jungian-Collective-Unconscious angle.
I thought it was a pretty amazing message, whether it came from Sam's persistent spirit out there somewhere, or from Jason's own intuitive subconscious mind.
And of course, as I was reading his email, David Bowie's cover of God Only Knows came up on my '80s playlist...
If you should ever leave me
My life would still go on, believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me?
God only knows what I’d be without you
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