"So Long and Goodnight."

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

Let me back up.

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

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

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

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

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











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

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

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

Life marches on.

Mach Five toward the Cinderblock Wall...

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

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

In the words of Nada Surf:

Oh, fuck it
I'm gonna have a party

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

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

Anniversary home stretch, here we come.

Crawling Mightily Forward

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Stuff

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

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

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

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

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

It's just stuff.

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

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

Mile Marker Thirty-Eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Caleb Long

Concrete Bed

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

Concrete Bed

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

To find someone you love
You gotta be someone you love

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

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

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

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

P.S. Happy Birthday, Mom.

Where'd the Nav Bar Go?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Movie of Todd

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

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The kids slept at a family friend's house while I finished a bottle of wine and crashed on the sofa here at home, Wiley at my side. I awoke at 5AM to the sound of two sewer "suck-trucks" at work just south of my house. They'd cordoned off everything south of about two houses down. Apparently, the sewer backup had also undermined a section of street which was totally sunk and will need to be repaired. In the morning, my brother, SIL, SIL's twin sister, stepmom and kids came to the house and we had a Christmas morning. Blueberry pancakes and tea, and the delight of my kids discovering what Santa brought them. Then we headed north to my mom's place for the larger family gathering. It was a good day. Finally got the kids to crash out on the floor at about midnight last night. They're still sawing logs.

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.

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.

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.

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

Tears Are Not Enough

Yesterday marked 8 months since Sam left us. It just happened to be occupied by the end of a 3-month dating relationship with LA. There were some misunderstandings and a few hurt feelings, but it's mostly ironed out now, and we are going to remain friends, which is good. I value LA's presence in my life, and the light she brought into a very dark time. She's a great woman and deserves a guy who can fully reciprocate her feelings. Nothing but good reviews here.

I guess that, even though I was totally going to avoid the whole dating/relationship thing for a long time (look how well that worked out), I've gone and done the same exact thing a lot of my fellow bereaved do. They are so lonely for a taste of what they've lost, they get in over their heads (in whichever way you want to imagine), and before long, there is the gnashing of teeth and the wailing of broken hearts when the non-widda in the relationship gets inadvertently stomped on. It's not something I'm especially proud of, but I guess I've earned my Widda-Scouts Premature Relationship Merit Badge. My widda friend Lisa in Florida says I'm going to be a Widda Eagle Scout soon... or something. Huzzah.

I was listening to an old song by the Chameleons today. The title of today's blog entry actually comes from the original song title (it ended up just being shortened to Tears), and has to do with frontman/songwriter Mark's experience of losing a friend to cancer. Funny how it speaks to my relationship with Samantha. I'm missing her very acutely now.

TEARS

It's just coincidence
Well you can talk that way
But I have to say
I don't believe in it
And with the chill of chance
I decided to dance the days away

And I wasn't worried at all
Sneaking through the backdoor
No I wasn't worried at all
Dreams are what you live for

Waiting for the light to turn green
Carry me home
To the kindest eyes that I've ever seen
Carry me home
Can you tell me how will it be now?
How will it be?

Well we were younger then
And the days were long and slow
But were we wiser then?
I couldn't say
I wouldn't know

But I wasn't worried at all
I had someone to run to
No I wasn't worried at all
I knew which way the wind blew

Kicking out the chaos and gloom
Carry me home
I'll watch the ceiling spin round the room
Carry me home
Can you tell me how will it be now?
How will it be?

In a cold world how will it be?
In the real world how will it be?
In a lonely world
How will it be?
Will the ghosts just stop!
Following me

Now drawn into the sun
He was the only one
He cries out to everyone
For his only son

From the window of my room now
I can see the colour blue now
You can't even look in my eyes now
What would you see?
If you could look into my eyes now
What would you see?
What would you see?

The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe

Quick disclaimer - the Narnia books are beloved far and wide by kids 8 and up. Therefore, I went into the theater with a lot of expectations and willing to let a lot of little things slide. Little things like some occasionally whacked-out acting by the actors in the kids' roles (especially Lucy). Like little blemishes in the effects (with Rhythm & Hues, ILM and WETA behind this project, it surprised me how many effects shots looked like ass).

That said, my kids absolutely LOVED it. Kayleigh actually said, in her ever-ebullient manner, "That was the best movie in the history of the world!" Granted, she is the target age for the book series, and I'm waiting a few more years before showing her Citizen Kane. Call me crazy, but she may not always feel that way.

I enjoyed the film immensely (all effects nitpicks aside). It was VERY faithful to the book, and where it does trim, it trims with love. The cast members were well picked for their resemblance to respective characters, and Liam Neeson I thought was a good choice for Aslan. Many would have opted for a real booming basso like James Earl "Mufasa" Jones or the like, but Neeson has a gentleness to his voice that is very appropriate here. The performances are "by the book" - that is to say, the acting is all very faithful to the novel and does not tread far from the page. No one really pushes the envelope (as I thought Viggo Mortensen did in Lord of the Rings). And that's just fine.

Let me just say the gryphons rock the house. They are the one element that really stands on equal footing with the best fantasy movie bits ever. Oh, and seeing Angus from Highlander in the role of Father Christmas was a nice geek moment. The beavers are cool (Ray Winstone & Dawn French are terrific in their voices). Mr. Tumnus the faun is cool. The wolves are ok. Wasn't really digging the White Witch's dwarf henchman, but Tilda Swinton was quite good in the WW role. Jim Broadbent (a BBC veteran of such comedy as Blackadder) was really charming as the professor. The centaurs are probably the weakest in terms of facial appliances - their makeup was not as well done as it could have (or should have) been. Production design was otherwise beautiful. Score was adequate, if uninspired. Cinematography was lovely. It is perhaps more fair and accurate to equate this film adaptation with the Harry Potter movies, in scope and execution. I've heard many comparisons with LotR, and it's really not even the same ballpark.

Bottom line, if you like the Narnia books and sparkly, fairy-tale fantasy, I recommend it. I wouldn't take a kid under 7 or 8, as there are some pretty intense moments. But it's a nice escape from the bustle of holiday shopping and will eventually go on my DVD shelf alongside LotR and Harry Potter.

Now let me vent about the two things that almost ruined the experience. The lesser of the two was the Star Jones wannabe Montel renegade in the track suit who, in the middle of the climactic scene, decided to get into a loud argument with the patrons around her. She finally did exit in a huff, telling everyone who shushed her, "y'all be trippin'!" I hate it when stereotypes come true.

The second and more irksome thing was that outside the theater were a handful of Christian fundamentalists passing out these cute little cards with some nice graphics from the film and C.S. Lewis - The Chronicles Collectible printed on them - as if to indicate some kind of official connection to the film. On the back, however, was a hardcore tract about how if you'd broken any of the Commandments, you were going to hell. Now, I understand that C.S. Lewis was Christian, and that The Chronicles of Narnia is a Christian analog. HOWEVER... it is also just plain classic fantasy literature, and shame on those hucksters for using it as a bully pulpit to scare children, a most un-Christian act. I'm sure Disney would love to know their film, for which they paid huge license fees to make, was being co-opted by some of the same zealots who urged a boycott of Disney due to their gay-friendly corporate culture. The hypocrisy here is simply astounding.

Fortunately, some of the more clear-thinking parents complained to the theater staff, and the hucksters were driven from the premises. Parents taking children to the film may want to be aware that this is going on, in case you don't want your preteen being threatened with eternal damnation before you actually have a chance to discuss theology with them.

Other than that, a pretty good day.

For the record, I was raised Presbyterian, briefly went to Catholic school, married a Pagan, and wound up with a Deist philosophy (like most of this country's founding fathers). I have nothing against a person's faith, unless it becomes invasive and used as a weapon against others. If more proponents of a given faith would actually live their lives by their own religion's doctrines, we wouldn't have nearly as much strife in the world. Thank God I'm a Deist. Amen. ;)